Itchy feet

Ruby de Vera
Inquirer

MANILA, Philippines–Ever since I was little, I’ve had itchy feet. My mother would go crazy looking for me during mealtimes, finding me in some house several blocks away from ours. I’d reason, “I just wanted to see their place.”

All throughout my student life, I was limited to seeing the world within a five-mile radius. Except when I lied through my teeth that I was working on a project, when actually I would be eating at friends’ houses several towns away. I paid dearly for those lies.

When I started earning my own money, suddenly the possibilities exploded. The thought of being able to go anywhere I wanted, as long as I could afford it, was too much that for the first five years of my working life I was almost always broke.

It didn’t matter where. If I had both time and money, my motto was “When?” I started small, like going to Baguio or Ilocos on a whim. Land travel was my specialty. I would either board a bus, or go on road trips. I drove straight for 12 hours at one time. It didn’t matter that I didn’t get enough sleep on weekends; I was making up for lost time.

After a couple of years, it was time to up the ante a little bit. My itchy feet took me to Palawan, Cebu, Bohol, Bicol, Cagayan de Oro, Davao, Boracay, Mindoro, Sagada, Banawe, and some other short land trips in between.

My first travel out of the country brought me to Singapore. I lied again because I knew that if my mother learned that I’d be spending what little I have, I would never hear the end of it. By this time I already had travel buddies, friends who also had itchy feet like I did.

I have since gone to other countries in Asia that didn’t require a visa. A little tip, though: Always check what they stamp on your passport. Never assume you’re always allowed 21 days to a month in their country.

Priceless experiences

When I travel, I don’t think about the damage it will do to my bank account. The experiences I get from all my adventures can never have a monetary value.

I have been scared to death driving at 3 a.m. on an unknown stretch of road somewhere in Ilocos, the fuel gauge blinking “Empty” and we had no idea where to find a gas station.

I tolerated high fever during the Pahiyas Festival in Quezon, because I woke up very early to make the trip. The little inconvenience of being sick would not stop me from seeing the parade.

I almost drowned swimming in Subic. I experienced how pitch-black the night could be out at sea when our boat got stuck on seaweed while island-hopping in Bohol.

I rode a habal habal (motorcycle) with four other people in it in Davao. I fed the giraffes in Calauit, and then almost had a zebra kick me because I poked its baby. I got so drunk in Boracay I entered another hotel. I’ve had coffees with truck drivers in stopovers in remote towns.

I have boarded questionable ferries in Malaysia, lost my passport and money in Singapore (then claimed it at the Lost and Found), got lost in Hong Kong while dripping wet, watched special women do their special skills in Phat Phong, almost got ran over by trams in the Central District, and was reduced to a sniffling lump by immigration officers in Bandar Seri Begawan.

I may have gone to a lot of places, but the rest of the world is still waiting. My travel record is actually nothing compared to the real jetsetters. But hey, I’m not rich.

However, the proliferation of budget airlines and promo fares bring my friends and I endless joy and excitement. Now there is almost no excuse not to go places, and indeed we will. We are nowhere near done.

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