Adventures In Boracay: Part IV

It turns out there are many more dangerous things in Boracay than just the Muerte Gang. As we discovered later in the day after coming back from sailing and snorkelling, there are also ants and the sun.

Here is a pro travel tip: When in the tropics, do not save half of that amazing breakfast muffin by putting it in your purse. Instead, if you put it in your purse, you should bring it wherever you go so the ants can’t find it—or at least you will get a head start.

We were heading back to our room, wet, happy, and feeling a little sunburned. The blood on the stairs was long gone, but this time when we got to the top of the stairs, we saw a long, thick line of large, tropical-sized black ants leading to (and away from) our room.

Cautiously we opened the door and saw that our room was filled with ants; the focus of their attention was Jenn’s purse. Chunks of muffin were being carried away by the hoard across the floor, the bed, the walls. We both got the worst case of the willies.

I called the front desk again.

“Uh, hey. It’s me again,” I said. “No, no, the foot is fine, thanks. You were great, and the doctor was awesome,” I continued. “Um, we have an ant problem now. Could you help us out?”

A few minutes later, a helpful hotel worker showed up with a spray can — likely chock full of illegal chemicals in most countries — pulled a bandana over his face and proceeded to fog our room. DEET FORMULA 2000. A few minutes later, he came back with a broom and, as he had probably done thousands of times before, swept out piles of dead ants before letting us back in the room.

We opened all the windows and went for dinner.

Both Jenn and I started feeling sick — maybe it was the DDT, but more likely, it was the Incredible Hulk-inducing levels of radiation we soaked up on our sailing trip. We both definitely had sunstroke and were burned to a crisp; even though we coated ourselves in sunscreen, the water clearly washed it off, leaving us very white and very exposed.

I have a vague recollection of going to the pharmacy across the street and getting a lot of aloe vera—they recognized me as the “Toe Guy” and asked how I was doing. I pointed at my bandaged toe and gave a thumbs up. The pharmacist rang me up but asked me to move over a little because the heat coming off my skin was melting the chocolate bars in his display. He might have offered a two-for-one deal on the aloe and strongly suggested drinking a lot of water. I smiled and split my lip. It was so burned it was swollen.

Fun. I had two scuba dives booked for the next day. At least the water will be cool.

Back in the room, things were heating up. Jenn’s legs were so burned they were starting to look like kielbasa. We both had fevers and the shakes and took turns basting each other in aloe and sending each other to take ice-cold showers every hour.

To prove to each other just how badly we were burned and just how fried our poor little brains were, we decided to watch TOP GUN. It was Top Gun, right, Jenn? Or maybe we were having shared fever dreams of Tom Cruise?

Somehow we survived the night and Top Gun. Had we bought shares in aloe vera before our trip, we would have come back, millionaires.