The Bohol Adventures of Carmen SanDiego

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

It’s countryside tour day! Today we’ll be hitting the main tourist sites on the island of Bohol, chauffeured by a friend of a friend of the guy who drove us to the Cebu ferry terminal yesterday. We finally awoke to some beautiful clear skies for the first time in a few days. After our obligatory massacre at the breakfast buffet, we were picked up by a lovely Filipino man named Paul who is a native here on Bohol. To be clear, we are staying on Panglao island, which is the largest island off the coast of Bohol, which is a big island off the coast of Cebu. But since the entire damn country is and island off an island off an island, why split hairs?

Our first stop of the day was the chocolate hills – which is a weird geological formation of about 1200 or 1700 conical mounds of limestone sprinkled throughout the countryside. The numbers depends on who you ask. It basically looks like the ground grew a shit load of boobs all over the place. In the dry season they turn brown, hence the name, however in the current wet season they are a beautiful green. I inquired as to the cause of these formations, under the assumption that the answer would be geological in nature. No, no my friends. Let me tell you a story about a Filipino slut named Carmen, who fell in love with a giant. Then one of two things happened: (1) she banged another giant and he cried tears which turned into the chocolate hills, or (2) she banged another giant and they got into a fight with mud balls which turned into the chocolate hills. If those seem a bit far fetched, there is a third, far more viable theory: Dinosaur poop. We obviously decided on the slut and the giants. Carmen SanDiego, you little minx.

First order of business was to take these earth boobs for a test drive – with some ATVs and dune buggies. We ended up getting one ATV and one dune buggy, because they don’t let two people on an ATV. I obviously did not drive because (1) I hate driving, and (2) perks of having a bum shoulder mean I don’t have to. So Kristie is manning the dune buggy with me in tow and Mar on the quad bike. We leave the little road side stand and off we go through the chocolate hills. It was a dirty ride, as the path was muddy from the typhoon that hit earlier in the week (the same one that turned us into drunk, wet club rats on New Years Eve).

About a third of the way through our drive, Kristie and I hear a “pop” and our dune buggy dies. The guide calls someone to bring us a new one, but surprise, they are fresh out. Being the problem solvers that we are, I hop on Mar’s ATV and Kristie takes the wheel of the guide’s ATV. The poor guy had to ride side saddle behind Kristie. Mar then decided to make that countryside tour her bitch and floor it, effectively becoming our new guide, while I yelled “later losers!” while she cut off random tourists on a muddy dirt road. We are such fucking liabilities. We went back to the roadside stand and demanded some money back. They sales girls did their best to duck us, but we persisted and were rewarded with half our money back. Which was like $10. Hello, beer money. You didn’t honestly expect us to spend a day being basic tourists without getting drunk, did you?

We found this in a little cave and chugged our beers

Next order of business, pick up some beers on the way to the chocolate hills viewpoint. As if I didn’t love the Philippines enough already, you can buy beers out of the window of your car from random stands on the side of the road. Paul dropped us off at the viewpoint, where we trekked up the 200+ stairs to get to the viewing platform. The other tourists commended us on our resourcefulness in bringing beers for the journey. I swear, it’s as if I fucking invented drinking while touring everywhere I go. How do these people not bring or buy refreshments when being shuttled around by a tour guide? It’s fucking baffling. They obviously want to get liquored up, or they wouldn’t be staring at the beers in our hands with foam at the mouth. And my disdain for the general population is once again bolstered.

Our next stop was to see the Tarsiers, which are the smallest primates on earth. If golem had a baby with a spider monkey, it would look like a Tarsier. These little fuckers walk a seriously fine line between cute and creepy. Mar and Kristie say cute, but I’m on the fence. They are nocturnal and they are fucking terrified of everything. Loud noises, their own shadows, you name it. If they are subjected to enough loud noises or activity they will get so stressed out that they will actually commit suicide. Usually by banging their weird little heads against a tree. So naturally the conservation effort here on Bohol includes selling admission to obnoxious (and sometimes drunk) tourists to creep on them. It’s no wonder they are endangered. I hate to state the obvious here people, but natural selection. This was a fifteen minute stop at best. Walk around, look at these poor little creatures who are clearly terrified, feel bad for them, get out. One Italian couple had a child running around screaming. Finally, I have found another primate who wants to bang its head against a wall at the sound of misbehaved children. One more point for evolution.

Next stop – hanging bridges. It’s exactly what it sounds like, you cross some sketch looking bridges over a river. Obviously we needed more beers before crossing the very possibly unstable bridge, because tourism. Bridge selfies ensued. Our last stop of the day was a church. We specifically mentioned to Paul that we weren’t into the church scene, but he really wanted us to see this one. It was currently being rebuilt after having crumbled during an earthquake a few years ago. We needed to pee anyway, so we figured we’ll take a piss in the church, Paul will think we felt the Holy Spirit, everyone is happy. Earlier in the day Marissa asked Paul if he’s ever met a Jewish person. When the answer was no, she very excitedly informed him that it was his lucky day because he has two drunk ones in the backseat. So I think it’s safe to assume his reasoning for our stop at the church. Sorry Paul, it’s gonna take a lot more than a half-built church who’s women bathroom doesn’t open until 1 pm for us to join your ranks. By the way, we used the men’s. This bladder waits for no one, not even at church.

We headed back to the hotel, stopping for champs on the way because, unlike the rest of us primates who are composed of primarily water, Mar-Mar is about 60% champagne. I got a massage before dinner. We ate a mediocre free buffet and went to bed around 9 pm.

Sunset from our room



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