This was a first, even for me who since the age of dawn had a lot of firsts on such a strict budget. Then again it wouldn’t be the epic potato without giving an absurd justification to having a trip on a whim

Granted though, this is hardly a difficult place to go to. Not a lot of my PTB friends even consider Galera as an out of town destination which is such a shame because honestly, the place is absolutely beautiful. And yes, that includes them transsexual bartenders.

My intention of going to this trip does sound ludicrous, I wanted to acquire the inspiration that’ll enable me to write 4100 words for 3 pending articles, not to mention my many, many, many backlogs (blogger term: unblogged trips) it is insane if you are like my friend Marky who has bit smidgen bit more common sense than I. He asked if I could just get my mojo in coffee bean, silly of him to say that because if he was my friend he’d know that I’m insane and the fact that caffeine is a depressant while alcohol is a stimulant. Why that is a well known knowledge that a lot of people know. Starbucks aplenty near your workplaces and bars dot the red light districts. Where do you use up more energy. Riiiiiiiiiiight.

Now, had my plan worked I wouldn’t be writing this in the bus ride back home. I’d be done with all my things. But no, inspiration is fleeting. And unpredictable. The only tip I can give you is the same one that Ernest Hemingway said, “Write drunk. Edit sober.”

Well I never did achieve that delightful state of inebriation where my hands are a waterfall gushing with words filled with emotion, So like a dummy I sat, I stared, and I ordered a Mindoro sling.

I ordered more and got hungry so I got a Schitzel, never mind the perky hamburger bun it was served on. My tranny waiter who kept on calling me darling sneaked a double shot in my drink, how nice of her but no, I’m not a 40 year old myopic foreigner.

Went back to my nice traveller’s inn. I got it at such an amazing price, considering my other options. — okay, a little back story first before I completely forget to tell you. When I boarded a boat to Puerto Galera, it dropped me off at Sabang Beach which the locals described as “for diving and the nightlife” I haven’t been there so I thought I might as well try it and 5 minutes after being in the island I immediately hired a nice habal-habal driver to please just please bring me to white beach.

You can’t swim in Sabang beach unless your hotel neglected to pay their water bills then you can hide between the many boats and jagged rocks and have a quick bath. There are looooads of bars there. Too much in fact, that you can’t ever see the beach and walking in it makes you feel like you are in Malate rather than Batangas.

So I’m glad I spent the 150 pesos and 30 minutes to cross Galera’s other side. White beach is easier on the eyes and the sandbar is so nice to walk on. My habal-habal driver even went beyond the call of duty and helped me look for a hostel. After not settling for the huge-ass rooms that makes me more depressed about my perennial solitude and their owners who wouldn’t even give a discount> But I finally found the perfect one at Residencia de Galera, the only one I saw that offers well kept rooms at less than a thousand pesos

I thought if I followed Hemingway’s wisdom this room would only be a glorified shower cum dressing room but I actually had an early night. Much to my indifference i had no myopic middle aged men encounters. Very needless to say that them trannies were just prettier and sexier than I will ever be and I am still the socially awkward loner I was in high-school and just acquired a higher alcohol tolerance that’s all.

Now you know I can’t get drukunkk and that I had an early night with a laughable dinner. So with my next day I welcomed my breakfast with much vigor, I had it in a place where I am so close to the beach I could taste it and I’ll say that the sea salt compliments my jam and toast pretty well.

It was during beakfast time that I finally got to do a bit of writing. With the blazing sun baking my already tan skin I was afraid I’d need to pay for another school ID because I became very unrecognizable. But I love it to bits, my color now feels like my battle scars from many places successfully conquered.

Now showered, prepped and checked- out. I went to the farthest point of the island so I could sit at the Italian restaurant with a view. It was everything I thought it would be– very expensive. And since good writing doesn’t grow on barren land I filled up on some *say this with an italian accent* Penne a la Mama Rosa and the Signore, who is chain smoking on the next table to me can only shake his head at my high pitched voice.

It’s a really good place to percolate. Huge servings and great service. But maybe it was that Sangria making me so mellow. As with all the other places in Galera they have an in-house tranny ready to deflect any attention I may or more likely may not get. The breeze that flows through their window and the view they have is really cliched. Cause you’ll use the all the cliche adjectives to describe it. So there goes my short Galera get-away. I ate away all my inspiration and like Ernest Hemingway, if he was there with me, he’d follow the Epic potato and would instead say, “Write with a heavy stomach. Edit hungry.”