“I don’t know if this is for real,” Ryan starts. “The Danish guy still hasn’t asked for any money for his boat.”
The six of us laugh, to cover the possibility of our dream breaking.
“At least we’ll be in the Philippines, and it’s cheap and beautiful,” Sam chimes in.
“I’m just saying, if this turns out weird, I warned you guys.”
Ahem.
“Look at that one!”
Ryan zooms in on one of hundreds of islands. A emerald speck emerges, both sides curved in identical coves of white sand, the shallows ringed in surreal, bright turquoise.
“Brah…!”
Even for the kids raised on Maui, the place is jaw dropping.
The thing is–out of the six of us, only Ryan can sail.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll learn to tie bowlins!” We laugh and promise Ryan.
Hopefully it’s not a problem.
There’s me, my husband Sam, my 18 year old stepson Jai, our 5 year old Anika, Cap’n Ryan, and his 10 year old son Zeb, all flying halfway around the world to jump on a stranger’s boat in a remote archipelago of the Philippines: Palawan. What could go wrong?
On a map this trail of islands looks like it’s trying to escape westward from the rest of the country’s eastern swing. Palawan is the old land bridge to Borneo, and we’re aiming for a group of gorgeous islands near its border. “Isn’t that area full of pirates? And salt water crocodiles?” My friend asks after googling it. “It’s close to all that,” I say, “but not quite in it,” hoping to reassure her. Still, I learn to say help among other choice words in Tagalog.
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