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30/07/2018 Anstasia Thomas
#creativestory #lovewriting #shortstory #university #professionalwriting
"Summer Blues"
"Irina, let’s pack up"! Anna impatiently shouted at the doorway. Summer days never fill in with boredom but hope for a delightful day out at sea in your 17th year. Two cousins ecstatically mulled over snacks for their trip to the Black Sea a night before when grandma brought up boiled potatoes and eggs to be bundled chaotically with apricots from her private garden. "Summers couldn’t get better, as my naughty little pale skinned sister is here" Irina deeply inhaled. Their unique holiday friendship had flourished since childhood. Irina’s mum and grandma announced their vacation house was to be open for relatives from Europe at any time. Nothing is more pleasurable than looking after her little sister. Being 15 years old, Anna, with her tiny body shape and pale skin, showed signs of life in cold Europe. As the prettiest in the family, proudly mentioning her European background to Irina’s friends, Anna felt a strong bond to country holidays with her cousin though, and away from parents’ control. Irina’s town friend, Olga, asked to join the cousins. Nothing is worse than listening to her complaining mum about the recently passed away father.
Inexpensive *Kvas, a traditional Ukrainian soft drink, started warming up on the beach, even placed with an ice pack. Sunscreen didn’t seem to work since the hottest day occurred at the Black Sea. "Did we grab the playing cards?" Anna asked Irina. "Sure we did, silly," Irina replied. The popularity of play cards undeniably proved the effectiveness for time wasters. "You won again," Irina said in frustration and blushed. Olga was laughing when looking at two sisters to compete over the Queen beating the King. Suddenly, the young ladies heard remotely male voices. They were juvenile and offbeat. "We have company," Anna said anxiously. "Ah, Anna, they’re just fooling around," Irina added. Her expertise in boyfriend and girlfriend theory assured Anna and Olga of Irina’s maturity. Irina always told stories passionately of her new date begging to go out when standing under the half broken fence and expecting to be told off by grandma. The group of three young men was distractedly moving forward within the lonely beach. Anna’s first instinct was to run away. "Just hold on, everything will be all right," her inner voice whispered.
"Hello, pretties, are you getting a tan?" One of the men asked. Irina invited them to join the card game. Olga pretended shyness and then disappeared into the sea for a swim. The brightness of the sun and the heat blunted the cousins’ clear thinking. The brain, much like the ice-cream purchased at the train kiosk two hours ago, kept melting down. Hence, Anna’s tension about the three men’s intentions on the empty beach disappeared for a moment. Irina being in charge and flirty, picked up scores in the card game when playing with Ivan. His traditional Ukrainian name, shaggy clothing revealed the village background. Poor education and low intelligence were relevant here and gave Anna thoughts of run in’s with the police a common theme. One of his companions, Alex, glanced impurely at Anna and back to Olga, enjoying the sea. "Hey, Irina, see those sprouted reeds, can we hide there?" Ivan asked. Irina quietly stood up, looked fearlessly at Anna, and left with Ivan. Anna’s knees trembled a bit. Awareness of stories about Bad boys, possibly stealing her sister, was not original. Just turn on the TV, and read news about shocking people’s disappearance. "It exists, but not here, and not today," Anna thought.
Alex and the third friend pointed out on a boat, parked at the little bridge. "So, sister, fancy a boat ride? Alex pleaded sinfully. No, I have to wait for Irina and Olga, Anna replied with a fake confidence. "Come on. It will be fun!" The third fellow exclaimed. The flight instinct was a proven theory. When we feel threatened, we run or attack. The rejection made fellas vanish. Silence. Olga just returned, enough of swimming. "But where is Irina?" Anna was wondering.
It was sunset on the Black Sea. The last train was leaving in 20 minutes. After two hours of intense search for Irina, Olga packed her bags and headed to train station without any hesitation. So much for a real friendship! Anna thought and couldn’t hold on to tears. Is Irina alive? What happened to my cousin? Why did she leave me behind? Cousins should keep loyalty to youngest!
Back home, the stepdad of Irina furiously shouted at mum. “It’s your entire fault, Elena! See results of your frivolous parenting; Irina will be raped, possibly beaten and killed”! Anna’s first thought was to call the police but 48 hours’ notice rule was universal. The waiting time had never been so long. That night, Anna cried her eyes out. The feeling of betrayal and guilt didn’t let her go. Anna wished this nightmare to be over. Irina, please, come back home! Elena took some calming pills; her lampshade stayed on all night. Stepdad was ready to head over to the beach and start searching. “Why didn’t they abduct me?” Anna was groaning all night.
The first signs of sunrise blissfully scattered over a holiday house, but all the family saw was darkness and uncertainty of 17 year’s old disappearance. Grandma yelled loudly at Anna to go and get some bread first thing in the morning. Never argue with grandparents!
Irina was idyllically sleeping on the couch when Anna returned with a loaf of cheap Ukrainian bread. They hugged tightly, and tears started pouring down. It was the happiest moment of relief, anger, and hope that they both fell asleep and just woke up out of the nightmare.
“They would do that to you too, Anna, but I asked them not to, I tried to protect my little sister” Irina murmured convincingly.
And, the next morning Ivan securely showed up at the half-broken gate asking for Irina.
The summer will never be the same, the trust will never be unbroken but the love between cousins still will.
To Inna
#creativestory #lovewriting #shortstory #university #professionalwriting
"Summer Blues"
"Irina, let’s pack up"! Anna impatiently shouted at the doorway. Summer days never fill in with boredom but hope for a delightful day out at sea in your 17th year. Two cousins ecstatically mulled over snacks for their trip to the Black Sea a night before when grandma brought up boiled potatoes and eggs to be bundled chaotically with apricots from her private garden. "Summers couldn’t get better, as my naughty little pale skinned sister is here" Irina deeply inhaled. Their unique holiday friendship had flourished since childhood. Irina’s mum and grandma announced their vacation house was to be open for relatives from Europe at any time. Nothing is more pleasurable than looking after her little sister. Being 15 years old, Anna, with her tiny body shape and pale skin, showed signs of life in cold Europe. As the prettiest in the family, proudly mentioning her European background to Irina’s friends, Anna felt a strong bond to country holidays with her cousin though, and away from parents’ control. Irina’s town friend, Olga, asked to join the cousins. Nothing is worse than listening to her complaining mum about the recently passed away father.
Inexpensive *Kvas, a traditional Ukrainian soft drink, started warming up on the beach, even placed with an ice pack. Sunscreen didn’t seem to work since the hottest day occurred at the Black Sea. "Did we grab the playing cards?" Anna asked Irina. "Sure we did, silly," Irina replied. The popularity of play cards undeniably proved the effectiveness for time wasters. "You won again," Irina said in frustration and blushed. Olga was laughing when looking at two sisters to compete over the Queen beating the King. Suddenly, the young ladies heard remotely male voices. They were juvenile and offbeat. "We have company," Anna said anxiously. "Ah, Anna, they’re just fooling around," Irina added. Her expertise in boyfriend and girlfriend theory assured Anna and Olga of Irina’s maturity. Irina always told stories passionately of her new date begging to go out when standing under the half broken fence and expecting to be told off by grandma. The group of three young men was distractedly moving forward within the lonely beach. Anna’s first instinct was to run away. "Just hold on, everything will be all right," her inner voice whispered.
"Hello, pretties, are you getting a tan?" One of the men asked. Irina invited them to join the card game. Olga pretended shyness and then disappeared into the sea for a swim. The brightness of the sun and the heat blunted the cousins’ clear thinking. The brain, much like the ice-cream purchased at the train kiosk two hours ago, kept melting down. Hence, Anna’s tension about the three men’s intentions on the empty beach disappeared for a moment. Irina being in charge and flirty, picked up scores in the card game when playing with Ivan. His traditional Ukrainian name, shaggy clothing revealed the village background. Poor education and low intelligence were relevant here and gave Anna thoughts of run in’s with the police a common theme. One of his companions, Alex, glanced impurely at Anna and back to Olga, enjoying the sea. "Hey, Irina, see those sprouted reeds, can we hide there?" Ivan asked. Irina quietly stood up, looked fearlessly at Anna, and left with Ivan. Anna’s knees trembled a bit. Awareness of stories about Bad boys, possibly stealing her sister, was not original. Just turn on the TV, and read news about shocking people’s disappearance. "It exists, but not here, and not today," Anna thought.
Alex and the third friend pointed out on a boat, parked at the little bridge. "So, sister, fancy a boat ride? Alex pleaded sinfully. No, I have to wait for Irina and Olga, Anna replied with a fake confidence. "Come on. It will be fun!" The third fellow exclaimed. The flight instinct was a proven theory. When we feel threatened, we run or attack. The rejection made fellas vanish. Silence. Olga just returned, enough of swimming. "But where is Irina?" Anna was wondering.
It was sunset on the Black Sea. The last train was leaving in 20 minutes. After two hours of intense search for Irina, Olga packed her bags and headed to train station without any hesitation. So much for a real friendship! Anna thought and couldn’t hold on to tears. Is Irina alive? What happened to my cousin? Why did she leave me behind? Cousins should keep loyalty to youngest!
Back home, the stepdad of Irina furiously shouted at mum. “It’s your entire fault, Elena! See results of your frivolous parenting; Irina will be raped, possibly beaten and killed”! Anna’s first thought was to call the police but 48 hours’ notice rule was universal. The waiting time had never been so long. That night, Anna cried her eyes out. The feeling of betrayal and guilt didn’t let her go. Anna wished this nightmare to be over. Irina, please, come back home! Elena took some calming pills; her lampshade stayed on all night. Stepdad was ready to head over to the beach and start searching. “Why didn’t they abduct me?” Anna was groaning all night.
The first signs of sunrise blissfully scattered over a holiday house, but all the family saw was darkness and uncertainty of 17 year’s old disappearance. Grandma yelled loudly at Anna to go and get some bread first thing in the morning. Never argue with grandparents!
Irina was idyllically sleeping on the couch when Anna returned with a loaf of cheap Ukrainian bread. They hugged tightly, and tears started pouring down. It was the happiest moment of relief, anger, and hope that they both fell asleep and just woke up out of the nightmare.
“They would do that to you too, Anna, but I asked them not to, I tried to protect my little sister” Irina murmured convincingly.
And, the next morning Ivan securely showed up at the half-broken gate asking for Irina.
The summer will never be the same, the trust will never be unbroken but the love between cousins still will.
To Inna
18/02/2013 Yaron Levy. Yaron lives with his family with kids and works in IT industry in Melbourne, Australia. He is a very deep, balanced and enlightened soul interested in philosophy, spirituality and sport well looking after both his physical and spiritual worlds and keeping them in perfect harmony. Yaron writes books one of which has been just published recently. Today he shares the first chapter of his science fiction book called The Defenders (Unity) with our attentive readers...
Prologue
So many faces. I guess I knew it was possible, but seeing it for myself has put everything into perspective.
Despite the discomfort of being squeezed in among the lofty stands, I feel a bond as the crowd’s rhythmical chants touch my soul. But it’s not just this atmosphere which keeps me united, for I know each person is also here to watch my son.
Seeing his every move sends pride coursing through my veins, caressing my heart with each beat.
From afar, I can see his thick dark hair, just like his father’s military cut, sparkle as the sun’s dizzying heat sears from above. If the sweaty droplets slowly dribbling down my temple are anything to go by he, and the other participants, must really be in distress. Knowing this, I will not wipe my face for I too want to share in every moment.
“You’re gonna die!” yells an anonymous voice from the crowd.
Thankfully these agitators are small in number because their abusive taunts seem to resonate tenfold to that of our own cheers. However, despite some of the other spectators quickly putting a stop to any crudeness, the shocking words have ignited concerns for my son’s safety. My only comfort is knowing the panic-stricken faces of the other participants is a fear not shared by my boy.
Standing with a calm innocence, he seems more in awe of his new surroundings than afraid of what’s to come.
His breath is purposeful. His lungs exhale.
As he wrenches his neck un-naturally backward, I can see him stare in wonderment at the colossal amphitheatre surrounding him. I doubt whether he has even noticed all the people.
So many faces. I guess I knew it was possible, but seeing it for myself has put everything into perspective.
Despite the discomfort of being squeezed in among the lofty stands, I feel a bond as the crowd’s rhythmical chants touch my soul. But it’s not just this atmosphere which keeps me united, for I know each person is also here to watch my son.
Seeing his every move sends pride coursing through my veins, caressing my heart with each beat.
From afar, I can see his thick dark hair, just like his father’s military cut, sparkle as the sun’s dizzying heat sears from above. If the sweaty droplets slowly dribbling down my temple are anything to go by he, and the other participants, must really be in distress. Knowing this, I will not wipe my face for I too want to share in every moment.
“You’re gonna die!” yells an anonymous voice from the crowd.
Thankfully these agitators are small in number because their abusive taunts seem to resonate tenfold to that of our own cheers. However, despite some of the other spectators quickly putting a stop to any crudeness, the shocking words have ignited concerns for my son’s safety. My only comfort is knowing the panic-stricken faces of the other participants is a fear not shared by my boy.
Standing with a calm innocence, he seems more in awe of his new surroundings than afraid of what’s to come.
His breath is purposeful. His lungs exhale.
As he wrenches his neck un-naturally backward, I can see him stare in wonderment at the colossal amphitheatre surrounding him. I doubt whether he has even noticed all the people.
Even with sporadic outbursts from one of the many oversized participants, reminding him of his intimidating surroundings, my son diffuses the distraction by transforming his naive stare into a smile.
I know that look. It’s a reassurance driven by his countless training sessions and a self-determined intellect. But above all else it’s his passion that propels this poise; a trait inherited from his father and one which I know will elevate him above the rest. Beep! There it is! Time is running out. My son’s smile disappears. I hope he’s not losing focus. After shaking his arms to release any tension, my thoughts ease. His legs, trapped beneath a skin-tight black bodysuit, also wobble with intent. As if tattooed on his thighs and torso, this uniform provides the perfect recipe for his heart and lungs to move in unison, allowing him to breathe as efficiently as his internal organs require. |
While rotating his head, another breath inflates his pectorals causing his abdominal muscles to ripple. The protruding blood vessels, accentuating the tautness of his arms, tell me his body is screaming, ready to burst out of its imaginary cage. With his sculptured physique on display I can’t help but wonder how many others are enjoying his muscular demonstration.
He has not shaved for three days. The growth has begun to show through. But as his hand brushes across a crescent-shaped scar tracing his jaw line, I can see his mind has begun to stray.
This is when my son’s concentration has always come into question. His golden brown eyes stare skyward as his thoughts shift to another time, another place.
However, in the time it took for more hollering to roar throughout the arena, his focus snaps back to another nearby participant. The disruption, yelled by this giant only a few metres away, continues.
“Victory is MINE!”
The hulk-like figure glares left, then right, daring to eye off anyone in sight. If the result was to be decided on shape alone then this man would be unmatched. In spite of knowing this, the hulk’s burning thoughts begin to unravel.
“What are you looking at?! I’m gonna beat you! Beat you bad!”
As the voices in the crowd swell yet again my son, who has furrowed his brow, must also feel like shouting.
He must remember where he is and what he’s here for. I wish he could read my thoughts. Be patient, it’s not time yet. But as his bare feet slowly clench the ground, preparing even the finest body parts for the battle that will soon ensue, I realise it is I who requires patience.
He has not shaved for three days. The growth has begun to show through. But as his hand brushes across a crescent-shaped scar tracing his jaw line, I can see his mind has begun to stray.
This is when my son’s concentration has always come into question. His golden brown eyes stare skyward as his thoughts shift to another time, another place.
However, in the time it took for more hollering to roar throughout the arena, his focus snaps back to another nearby participant. The disruption, yelled by this giant only a few metres away, continues.
“Victory is MINE!”
The hulk-like figure glares left, then right, daring to eye off anyone in sight. If the result was to be decided on shape alone then this man would be unmatched. In spite of knowing this, the hulk’s burning thoughts begin to unravel.
“What are you looking at?! I’m gonna beat you! Beat you bad!”
As the voices in the crowd swell yet again my son, who has furrowed his brow, must also feel like shouting.
He must remember where he is and what he’s here for. I wish he could read my thoughts. Be patient, it’s not time yet. But as his bare feet slowly clench the ground, preparing even the finest body parts for the battle that will soon ensue, I realise it is I who requires patience.
Beep!
As another breath enters his body my son lifts his shoulders, allowing him to hold it at its deepest point.
I’m sure nothing but emptiness is filling his mind.
With the slow exhale that follows, his shoulders lower, releasing any remaining anxiety.
While his eyes close, mine drift to the other grandstand, less than one-hundred meters directly in front of me and my son. The enormous chrome structure, ominously draping the entire finishing area, is a sight to behold. Its elevation is so steep that only the midday sun can peak over top.
Sometimes I marvel at our recent technological advancements. It seems like only yesterday these events were held in an eight-lane circular stadium, but as I gaze back to the starting line, beneath my stand, I am still in awe at how this new rectangular design allows every participant to race at once. Although fitting a handful of men across evenly spaced lanes may not seem like a great achievement, positioning one thousand hyperactive participants within these narrow barriers is no easy feat. But I guess that’s why, when I peer left and right, the arena looks like a valley being stretched between two cliffs. It’s something so notable in these big races for nothing but barren land borders the outside lanes.
Despite all that space, the adrenalin-filled men are currently squeezed between the starting line and the first row of my congested grandstand. I’m guessing this is not the moment to be claustrophobic.
It is with a sense of irony that, with all the modern technology surrounding them, the track’s surface, laid out in front of my son, is speckled with loose red-brown rubble. Like an ancient gladiator stadium, our use of this dirt has been a tradition for the ages.
Since the latest beep, the crowd’s chants have amplified. At first I thought it was because time had almost expired, but now I realise something else was augmenting their voices.
Beep!
As I glance up, the sea of faces that had once washed over me seem to vanish beneath a cloudy blur. Something else was coming.
It does not take long for this blurry image to clear, leaving a sight I had only ever seen from afar in its place.
The planet’s entire population has arrived, one billion in total.
This throng of new people, transmitting their visual support to the participants, chants with an eerie unison as the countdown to The Challenge is almost complete.
To add to my own anxiety the opaque cover blanketing the dirt track disappears while revealing what each participant has feared.
The hulk-like man near my son has been silenced. His face has become ghostly.
Even though the length of the course does not seem far, negotiating these newly uncovered objects will make finishing feel like a painful eternity.
With impending hurt foremost in their thoughts, I recall that my son had once told me how these entities prey on the weakness of any unprepared participant, speaking to them in silent tongue. By the looks on some of their faces, I don’t think it will be long before the weaker participants will be hearing these whispers. Until then, the secret driving these cruel objects remains concealed.
My son, unwilling to open his eyes, firms his torso. The long awaited task, and the time for his own secret to be revealed, has arrived.
Through the chants, and following yet another beep, an official greeting is heard, instantly diffusing our voices.
“All who are in attendance are privileged to witness this Challenge. Welcome and congratulations Defenders, it is you who honour us.”
Although the salutation sounds welcoming, the words feel haunting, leaving me on edge.
The greeting ceases.
With the entire planet seemingly silent, the lack of sound becomes painful to my ears. The anticipation is unbearable.
As if answering my own torment, the primitive sound of a gong crashes, startling myself, and those around me.
The participants steady themselves one last time. Other than a steely few, who have their eyes fixed well into the distance, most glare at the objects spread between them and the finish.
My son settles into his tightly-coiled starting position, crouching three-quarters down to the ground. He is ready to explode.
Knowing the countdown must be nearing its end, my own grip tightens. As my fingernails dig into my clammy palms I hear a more subtle beep. Another then sounds, and another. Just then, the gong blasts again.
In an instant my son and the other participants launch themselves forward in unintended unison onto the track and towards the deadly objects.
The crowd around me erupts with an explosive roar.
However, in spite of all our togetherness, I still can’t shake a feeling that not everything is as harmonious as the crowd’s support.
I have always sensed another force has willed the participants in this direction – a power that may also be controlling them now.
If you like reading the book please like the book's facebook page.
To read more purchase the book by contacting the author directly.
As another breath enters his body my son lifts his shoulders, allowing him to hold it at its deepest point.
I’m sure nothing but emptiness is filling his mind.
With the slow exhale that follows, his shoulders lower, releasing any remaining anxiety.
While his eyes close, mine drift to the other grandstand, less than one-hundred meters directly in front of me and my son. The enormous chrome structure, ominously draping the entire finishing area, is a sight to behold. Its elevation is so steep that only the midday sun can peak over top.
Sometimes I marvel at our recent technological advancements. It seems like only yesterday these events were held in an eight-lane circular stadium, but as I gaze back to the starting line, beneath my stand, I am still in awe at how this new rectangular design allows every participant to race at once. Although fitting a handful of men across evenly spaced lanes may not seem like a great achievement, positioning one thousand hyperactive participants within these narrow barriers is no easy feat. But I guess that’s why, when I peer left and right, the arena looks like a valley being stretched between two cliffs. It’s something so notable in these big races for nothing but barren land borders the outside lanes.
Despite all that space, the adrenalin-filled men are currently squeezed between the starting line and the first row of my congested grandstand. I’m guessing this is not the moment to be claustrophobic.
It is with a sense of irony that, with all the modern technology surrounding them, the track’s surface, laid out in front of my son, is speckled with loose red-brown rubble. Like an ancient gladiator stadium, our use of this dirt has been a tradition for the ages.
Since the latest beep, the crowd’s chants have amplified. At first I thought it was because time had almost expired, but now I realise something else was augmenting their voices.
Beep!
As I glance up, the sea of faces that had once washed over me seem to vanish beneath a cloudy blur. Something else was coming.
It does not take long for this blurry image to clear, leaving a sight I had only ever seen from afar in its place.
The planet’s entire population has arrived, one billion in total.
This throng of new people, transmitting their visual support to the participants, chants with an eerie unison as the countdown to The Challenge is almost complete.
To add to my own anxiety the opaque cover blanketing the dirt track disappears while revealing what each participant has feared.
The hulk-like man near my son has been silenced. His face has become ghostly.
Even though the length of the course does not seem far, negotiating these newly uncovered objects will make finishing feel like a painful eternity.
With impending hurt foremost in their thoughts, I recall that my son had once told me how these entities prey on the weakness of any unprepared participant, speaking to them in silent tongue. By the looks on some of their faces, I don’t think it will be long before the weaker participants will be hearing these whispers. Until then, the secret driving these cruel objects remains concealed.
My son, unwilling to open his eyes, firms his torso. The long awaited task, and the time for his own secret to be revealed, has arrived.
Through the chants, and following yet another beep, an official greeting is heard, instantly diffusing our voices.
“All who are in attendance are privileged to witness this Challenge. Welcome and congratulations Defenders, it is you who honour us.”
Although the salutation sounds welcoming, the words feel haunting, leaving me on edge.
The greeting ceases.
With the entire planet seemingly silent, the lack of sound becomes painful to my ears. The anticipation is unbearable.
As if answering my own torment, the primitive sound of a gong crashes, startling myself, and those around me.
The participants steady themselves one last time. Other than a steely few, who have their eyes fixed well into the distance, most glare at the objects spread between them and the finish.
My son settles into his tightly-coiled starting position, crouching three-quarters down to the ground. He is ready to explode.
Knowing the countdown must be nearing its end, my own grip tightens. As my fingernails dig into my clammy palms I hear a more subtle beep. Another then sounds, and another. Just then, the gong blasts again.
In an instant my son and the other participants launch themselves forward in unintended unison onto the track and towards the deadly objects.
The crowd around me erupts with an explosive roar.
However, in spite of all our togetherness, I still can’t shake a feeling that not everything is as harmonious as the crowd’s support.
I have always sensed another force has willed the participants in this direction – a power that may also be controlling them now.
If you like reading the book please like the book's facebook page.
To read more purchase the book by contacting the author directly.
11/01/2013 Sergey Stadnik. Sergey was born in Sochi, Russia. he lives with his family and works in IT industry in Melbourne, Australia. He writes electronic music, likes travelling, freediving and he also writes short stories in his spare time.
Freediving in the Philippines. Day 1
In March 2010 I went to Cebu Island of the Philippines with a group of Russian freedivers. This is my diary of what happened there. It is a long story; so, sit back, relax, and enjoy the reading.
Looking at the map, I find it hard to believe that the Philippines are so far from Australia. Indeed, if there were direct flights from Australia, it would not be so far away. But, unfortunately, none of the airlines have direct flights from Melbourne to Cebu Island of the Philippines where I was going. Therefore I had to fly to Singapore first (seven hours) and from Singapore to the Philippines (four more hours). That was certainly closer than from Moscow, but still a long way. However, I should not complain. By Australian standards it is practically around the corner. I bought the tickets so that I would meet the team of Russian freedivers midway – at the Singapore airport – and then we would fly to the Philippines on the same plane. The seven-hour flight from Melbourne to Singapore was quite easy, except for the flight being delayed for an hour, and I managed to sleep almost through. Interestingly, despite the night flight (the departure from Melbourne was at 1 a.m.), the Singaporeans offered a supper immediately after take-off and climb – at 3 o'clock in the morning. I wisely declined the "supper".
In March 2010 I went to Cebu Island of the Philippines with a group of Russian freedivers. This is my diary of what happened there. It is a long story; so, sit back, relax, and enjoy the reading.
Looking at the map, I find it hard to believe that the Philippines are so far from Australia. Indeed, if there were direct flights from Australia, it would not be so far away. But, unfortunately, none of the airlines have direct flights from Melbourne to Cebu Island of the Philippines where I was going. Therefore I had to fly to Singapore first (seven hours) and from Singapore to the Philippines (four more hours). That was certainly closer than from Moscow, but still a long way. However, I should not complain. By Australian standards it is practically around the corner. I bought the tickets so that I would meet the team of Russian freedivers midway – at the Singapore airport – and then we would fly to the Philippines on the same plane. The seven-hour flight from Melbourne to Singapore was quite easy, except for the flight being delayed for an hour, and I managed to sleep almost through. Interestingly, despite the night flight (the departure from Melbourne was at 1 a.m.), the Singaporeans offered a supper immediately after take-off and climb – at 3 o'clock in the morning. I wisely declined the "supper".
Singapore was a double shock: the size of the airport and the climate. The Singapore International Airport consists of three terminals and the adjacent multi-storey shopping mall, with trains running between the terminals. If one were planning to explore each terminal in detail, he would probably need a few hours. All the terminals are air-conditioned, the trains too. But during a short period of time when the train's doors are closing as it is leaving the station, the "outboard" air leaks through the gaps. At this point, one has an opportunity to fully evaluate Singapore's climate. I knew that the air temperature at Singapore was about 30 degrees C all year round with nearly 100 percent humidity, but I didn't really understand what it meant until I felt it.
|
In Singapore, I met Julia Petrik and the rest of the Russian freediving crowd, and together we boarded the plane to Cebu. However, the trip wasn't without incident. The plane made a stop en route to another island of the Philippines to disembark some passengers. The transit passengers, including us, were asked to temporarily leave the plane. Not all of our Russian folks were able to understand from the captain's announcement that we hadn't arrived at Cebu yet, and they vigorously tried to break out into the city. As a result, the whole crowd was divided into two parts: those who could understand the captain's statement (including me), and those who could not. The former were calmly relaxing in the airport lounge, while the administration of the airport was trying to catch the latter. Finally, all were recaptured, seated in the plane, and sent on the route. After another three-quarters of an hour we arrived in Cebu.
Customs and passport control at Cebu are mere formalities, and in no time we emerged from the airport's gates where our next transport was already waiting for us. We had our hotels booked at the White Beach resort, which is on Moalboal peninsula, three hours away from the airport by car. The hotel, which the rest of the guys stayed in, provided the transfer, but it turned out they didn't account for me. Everyone except me was going to "Club Serena", while I – to "Blue Orchid". These hotels are just 200 meters away from each other, but the minivan's driver flatly refused to take me, explaining that it was the particular hotel's transport and they didn't take "strangers", and besides there was no space left anyway. I didn't argue. Instead, I caught a taxi, waved my hand to the other guys, and was off.
Just as Singapore before, the Philippines shocked me. I knew that it was neither Australia nor Europe. In fact, I didn't know what I expected to see. But it shocked me anyway. According to the research I did before going there, Cebu was a large city. What can I say now? Large – yes, city – no. The landscape outside the taxi did not resemble a city at all. The best word to describe what I saw is "slums", slums three times and in the third degree. I was so stunned, I did not even try to get out the camera and shoot. The only place I saw something like that before was in "This could happen only in China" photos. Here are some of the pictures imprinted in my memory:
Customs and passport control at Cebu are mere formalities, and in no time we emerged from the airport's gates where our next transport was already waiting for us. We had our hotels booked at the White Beach resort, which is on Moalboal peninsula, three hours away from the airport by car. The hotel, which the rest of the guys stayed in, provided the transfer, but it turned out they didn't account for me. Everyone except me was going to "Club Serena", while I – to "Blue Orchid". These hotels are just 200 meters away from each other, but the minivan's driver flatly refused to take me, explaining that it was the particular hotel's transport and they didn't take "strangers", and besides there was no space left anyway. I didn't argue. Instead, I caught a taxi, waved my hand to the other guys, and was off.
Just as Singapore before, the Philippines shocked me. I knew that it was neither Australia nor Europe. In fact, I didn't know what I expected to see. But it shocked me anyway. According to the research I did before going there, Cebu was a large city. What can I say now? Large – yes, city – no. The landscape outside the taxi did not resemble a city at all. The best word to describe what I saw is "slums", slums three times and in the third degree. I was so stunned, I did not even try to get out the camera and shoot. The only place I saw something like that before was in "This could happen only in China" photos. Here are some of the pictures imprinted in my memory:
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If you think about it, as a matter of fact, there is nothing too shocking about it. However, after Melbourne and Singapore the contrast was simply overwhelming. It should be noted, however, that the majority of Filipinos are hospitable and sympathetic people and always willing to help. However, I still didn't have any desire to get out to the "city" and get acquainted with the local attractions. It just wasn't what I came here for.
At one point, the taxi came to a halt in a dense traffic jam. And after about twenty minutes of barely moving, we finally saw what was causing the problem. On the last day of winter the Philippines was celebrating the Mardi Gras. It was a great celebration. The grand fiesta stretched for several blocks. On both sides of the road were stalls with various kinds of food. "Everyone is invited to this celebration," explained my driver, "regardless of who they are."
By the way, I chatted to the driver. His name was Joey and he spoke English possibly better that I do. He told me that he was driving a taxi to feed his family. He had a wife and four children. His wife recently finished studying and worked as a chemical engineer for the government. (The Philippine's government subsidises the training of young professionals.)
At one point, the taxi came to a halt in a dense traffic jam. And after about twenty minutes of barely moving, we finally saw what was causing the problem. On the last day of winter the Philippines was celebrating the Mardi Gras. It was a great celebration. The grand fiesta stretched for several blocks. On both sides of the road were stalls with various kinds of food. "Everyone is invited to this celebration," explained my driver, "regardless of who they are."
By the way, I chatted to the driver. His name was Joey and he spoke English possibly better that I do. He told me that he was driving a taxi to feed his family. He had a wife and four children. His wife recently finished studying and worked as a chemical engineer for the government. (The Philippine's government subsidises the training of young professionals.)
The radio was on in the car and, to my amusement, the broadcast was in English, even advertising. Moreover, almost all the signs I saw during the trip were in English. I asked Joey and he explained that all Filipinos learn English at school, therefore almost all of them speak it, although not all fluently.
Eventually we reached the hotel. We drove for three and a half hours, but covered the distance of just over a hundred kilometres. That was due to the fairly dense traffic. |
At the hotel I was greeted by a European-looking man, who introduced himself as Mark, the hotel's manager. He showed me to my room, wished me a good stay, and asked me if I wanted to order dinner. But dinner at the hotel wasn’t in my plans for that evening – I was going to visit the rest of the guys at "Club Serena" and have dinner there with them. I asked Mark how to get there, and he said that I just had to follow the path along the beach. I unpacked my stuff, took a shower, and set off.
At half past six in the evening the sun was switched off in the Philippines. It was getting dark so fast that I did not have time to get around. I tried to find a path Mark told me about, but realised that under the moonlight the chance of success was slim. I returned to the hotel and complained to Mark. With a smile, he fetched a small flashlight and handed it over to me. Armed with it, I made a second attempt. It turned out that I just had to go down to the beach and walk along the water's edge. After 10 minutes of stomping on the sand I arrived at "Club Serena", where I immediately headed to the restaurant, not doubting that everyone was already sitting having their dinner. However, the restaurant was empty. Surprised, I ordered a dinner and went to try to figure out where everyone was. Approaching the hotel's gate, I spotted a minivan from which our crowd was emerging. They were in a bad mood. It turned out that they had not travelled without incident either. Someone miscalculated, and they didn't fit into the minivan that was sent after them to the airport. As a result, they had to wait for another one, and therefore arrived two hours later than I did. The act of arrival was followed by the mess of accommodating. All rooms in "Club Serena" are different and are located in houses of various configurations. And our freedivers simply could not decide who stayed where. At the same time the hotel's staff tried to find when we were going to have dinner and collect orders. However, everybody was too busy to study the menu. I had to take the initiative myself. I chose a couple of dishes from the menu, which I reckoned would suit everyone, called the girl from the staff, and pointed at the lines I chose and said: "Eight of this and eight of that." And the issue was resolved.
At half past six in the evening the sun was switched off in the Philippines. It was getting dark so fast that I did not have time to get around. I tried to find a path Mark told me about, but realised that under the moonlight the chance of success was slim. I returned to the hotel and complained to Mark. With a smile, he fetched a small flashlight and handed it over to me. Armed with it, I made a second attempt. It turned out that I just had to go down to the beach and walk along the water's edge. After 10 minutes of stomping on the sand I arrived at "Club Serena", where I immediately headed to the restaurant, not doubting that everyone was already sitting having their dinner. However, the restaurant was empty. Surprised, I ordered a dinner and went to try to figure out where everyone was. Approaching the hotel's gate, I spotted a minivan from which our crowd was emerging. They were in a bad mood. It turned out that they had not travelled without incident either. Someone miscalculated, and they didn't fit into the minivan that was sent after them to the airport. As a result, they had to wait for another one, and therefore arrived two hours later than I did. The act of arrival was followed by the mess of accommodating. All rooms in "Club Serena" are different and are located in houses of various configurations. And our freedivers simply could not decide who stayed where. At the same time the hotel's staff tried to find when we were going to have dinner and collect orders. However, everybody was too busy to study the menu. I had to take the initiative myself. I chose a couple of dishes from the menu, which I reckoned would suit everyone, called the girl from the staff, and pointed at the lines I chose and said: "Eight of this and eight of that." And the issue was resolved.
The dinner was served an hour and a half later in a gazebo on the beach. It was our first night there, and it started traditionally with the introduction of everyone to each other, and ended the same traditional way – drinking whiskey and rum. At around midnight I said goodbye to everyone and went back to my hotel.
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More precisely, I tried to go. I walked a little bit down the beach and realised that the rising tide made my return impossible: the beach was completely flooded and I could get back only by swimming. I had to go back to Club Serena to ask what I could do. When I explained my problem to a bartender, a woman sitting next to me turned towards me. She introduced herself, and it turned out she was the owner of the hotel. Laughing, she announced that I was certainly in trouble. The hotels really are very close – just 10 minutes walk along the beach. And there is a road that links them. However, it is not straight, and walking along it from one hotel to another is not possible. However, she said she would help me and give me a lift. She called her driver, and while we waited, we chatted. I explained who I was and what I was doing there and asked her if she knew Michael, the owner of "Blue Orchid". She replied that she knew Michael well. He was the godfather of her daughter, or maybe niece, or something like that, and she was godmother to one of his relatives. It proved too complex for poor me to grasp the difficult relationship of the owners of the Philippine hotels. Finally the driver arrived and we set off.
Continue reading... Day 2 and more...