You don’t choose the right time, just like you don’t choose the right place. Combining the two simply means luck. In the afternoon, tables are set up on the beach. Children come, more and more. In the evening, two huge suckling pigs are brought in a solemn procession on a spit. I think I admired one of them the day before yesterday during the jungle trekking.
The table is set. The sea is roaring, candles are burning, the palm trees are twinkling. Thunderstorms flash far out to sea. The village youth dance the Macarena and the musicians play incredibly weird music. The whole village has gathered for the feast, over 200 people. All related to the 35 employees of the Artistic Diving Resort. Christmas in the Philippines.
The rum flows in similar proportions to mulled wine at home. It’s not until late in the day that someone tells me it’s 80%, not the tasted 40%. But even the sound of the guitarreros sounds almost harmonious. The girls are dancing. A couple of Frankfurters explain to me that the maybe ten-year-old girl who is swinging her bum so wildly is not one of them. Okay, practice makes perfect. Just like the Philippines.
The crickets are chirping. Lots of children run around on the beach. They are all the sons of former dynamite fishermen, in other words: fierce pyromaniacs. New Year’s Eve at home is much quieter than Christmas here. You can’t feel the dynamite fishing here. Hangover diving in the morning was expensive but also good. visibility 25 metres, good reef, long dive and: three giant turtles. There are sweets for everyone. They are beaming. I miss home. But if not there, this is probably the best place to spend Christmas.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.