09 September 2015

Prelude: Baler Trip (How to murder a getaway)

I know some terrible things I have done in my life, and clearly, my karma’s out of balance to have some counterpart terrible encounters and come across with a pile of dreadful things, especially during my quest for adventures. Surely, these are total disasters that complicatedly made things reach that point of highest entropy level.. the things that utterly made my trips downright nuts.. or as I prefer to call it, murdered my getaways. 

Unlike many travellers, I usually do not prefer tour packages in lieu of the comfortable and hassle-free tour, but rather practice diy's, like a pro at that. Things though don’t always go well as how they’re planned: case in point, that long road trip to Baler, Aurora. Let me tell my side of this series of unfortunate events. 

After a long ride from the busy streets of Cubao all the way down to that hapless place called Cabanatuan in Nueva Ecija, I immediately jumped out of the bus and wandered my gaze around to look for that life-saving final bus bound to Baler. Time check, a little over 10pm otherwise known as death hour, because I’m dead right at that moment in so many levels. For one, the last ride off to my destination does not go beyond that mark which hurtfully means I’m doomed. Two, my phone’s nearing the emptiness state of mind which means I’m fucked up. And three, my internal organs were heavily throwing their profanities on me since I skipped that meal of the day called dinner, in hope of saving some extra time and catch that final ride.

To recap, I did miss the all-important last-trip bus, and well, all I could do was to wait until 3 or 4 AM the following day. And so I opted to 7eleven the free time, recharge my phone and myself, in anticipation of the long waiting game ahead, a la middle of nowhere. Half an hour has passed and I already wholeheartedly accepted the fact that I’m spending the rest of the night on the streets. In no time, I found myself lurking at the side of the streets gulping a can of San Mig Light, after a can, after another can, and another can, because basically it was all I can. It was that hard to kill time.

The clock had just struck midnight and I was still facing the blankness of the night. Then my senses felt that sullen urge to momentarily escape the trap I got myself caught into. I was too tired to make pleasant conversations with anyone (which was btw very me), but there was this certain sidewalk vendor who was too persistent to force some conversation, for some goddamn reason I have no idea about regarding some topics I don’t care about. But to cut the long story short, she dropped that magic word of a bomb that put an end to my bus-ride dilemma. 

She said there was this other bus bound to Casiguran, which regularly drops by Baler. And there really is. It was a splash of water right on my face, and a splash of lessons too. But the night was still quite young, and a night that's dark and full of terrors' waiting ahead.

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