The Joys and Sorrows Of a Life At Sea » Philippines 2013

Perfect Birthday

Jana Benešová — Mon, 08 Jul 2013 08:34:19 +0000

“You go on reading! After all you deserve a proper rest after yesterday!” commented Petr on my slightly lethargic mood, when after breakfast I quietly disappeared to my favorite cockpit seat with my Kindle. I didn’t so much suffer from a post-celebratory hang-over as one might suspect given that the previous day was my birthday. Truth is, I was just plain tired. Janna, however, was almost spotless and our sewing machine saw the daylight again after quite a while. Not everyone would agree but for me this was a perfect B-day! Except perhaps for the evening downpour, that thwarted our plans of taking a stroll to town before dinner. On the other hand, nothing is ever perfect so there’s no point complaining. Instead of walking, we took a tricycle and contributed, in our own modest way, to the local economy.

Back in Taiwan when we were still repairing and upgrading Janna – by the way it’s not that long ago since most of our days were spent sawing, drilling, fiberglassing, mounting and assembling – in other words during those days that we were still repairing fulltime, I used to dream about the day we’ll finally be finished and will be just enjoying ourselves and the boat. Reading the whole day or going for an afternoon sail without first putting away boxes of tools and spare parts. Will it ever come? Sometimes I almost started to doubt that it ever will. Don’t take me wrong, I am not complaining here retrospectively. In fact, it’s the other way round! Both of us agree that there are not many things that give you such strong sense of accomplishment like a job well done. But beware, it’s actually highly addictive!

Janna is far from perfect. There’s still plenty of items on the future to-do list, always something to repair or upgrade, like when you suddenly discover a new leak, especially when it blows hard and the rigging chainplates, porthole gaskets, etc. start to “move”. In other words there’s still a lot to be done, as it always is on a sailboat (or a house, an apartment, etc.), but luckily we already got to the point, when we can take a day off, just read or explore the surroundings of a new anchorage. We can even take two or three or even more when we are not currently translating of writing. A few days back, fastening some odd screw, Petr asked me astonished: “When was the last time we fastened something with a screwdriver?”

On the other hand, now that the amount of physical work on the boat has significantly decreased and we spent more time by the computer translating and writing, I’ve begun – believe it or not – to really miss all the mounting, drilling, sending, simply all the hard work! Every couple of days I suffer from a serious fit of restlessness and try to come up with something that could be done.

Last time it was our engine who became the victim of my maintenance mania. Fully armed with WD-40 and a bronze wire brush, I descended into our engine room and minutes later the rust was flying everywhere. Since the unfortunate day some five years ago, when mechanics in Lumut drilled a hole through our hull during the engine mounts installation, whereby giving them a saltwater bath in the process, we have to occasionally spray all four of them with generous amounts of WD-40 and clean the new layer of rust that tends to develop there no matter what. Next item on the restless day to-do list were the cleats and some other stainless steel fittings that needed polishing. Finally, I scrubbed the nonskind and scraped off all the algae that previously decorated our waterline. The next day, pleasantly tired we contentedly sat down to the computers again and resumed the intellectual work.

On my birthday, my hands were itching once again, and it was more than obvious that I was suffering from yet another of my I-can’t-just-sit-there-and-do-nothing fidgety moods. The first symptoms manifested themselves right after breakfast, when I started pulling out buckets and made odd noises rummaging through the cockpit lockers.

“It’s got into you again, hasn’t it?” said Petr, who was already sitting by the computer dutifully punching the keyboard. What could I say? I gave him an innocent smile and disappeared on deck with a bucket and scrubbing brush. After Janna was all clean and shiny on the outside, I grabbed my cleaning gear and proceeded inside in the following order: closet area, main cabin, our Force10 stove and finally our SS teapot and pressure cooker. In the afternoon I took out our Singer sewing machine and sewed new curtains for the portholes above stove and navigation table – another one of those “cosmetic” to-do items for which there’s never enough time.

At around 4 p.m. we had a coffee and were about to set for our little walking trip to KaLui restaurant, where we celebrated my birthday four years ago, when we sailed through Puerto Princesa on our way to Hong Kong. Since then the city changed almost beyond recognition but KaLui is still here and still retains the reputation of one of the best restaurants in town. We had a reservation there for 6. Since we ride our bicycles all the time, we decided that this time will walk for a change and take a tricycle on our way back. We assumed it’ll take us about an hour or so to get there.

The minute we got into our dinghy and started to row towards the yachtclub, the previously bright skies suddenly turned black and when we approached the club’s pontoon, I was already pulling out our raincoats. We literally ran to the club and just when we were safe under the roof, the tropical downpour began. Usually they don’t last long so we joined a few friends who were already there for a beer.

We were quite thirsty and quickly finished our bottles, but it didn’t seem the rain’s going to stop any soon. The club house is open on all sides except one and though the bamboo blinds and later also the exterior canvas awning were all put up, sheets of rain were still pouring inside. Everybody started to shift towards the rear of the room. It was clear that we won’t be able to make it to KaLui on time, even if we had a tricycle to pick us up in the club, because we would be soaking wet before we even got in, not to mention that the tricycles are also open from the sides. Luckily we were able to find KaLui’s number on the internet and changed the reservation to 7 p.m.

At about 1830, after hour and a half, the rain finally abated, so we put on our raincoats and set off for the main road to catch a ride downtown. After the second turning, already partially wet, we managed to stop Roland, whose high spirits obviously couldn’t be ruined by some minor rain.

“It’s raining, in Palawan always rain, Luzon, Mindoro, they don’t have, but here always raining!” said Roland, broad smile on his face, his eyes nearly glued to the front window as he was trying to pierce through the falling rain. Suddenly he lifted his legs, knees almost touching his chin. We were just driving through a huge puddle and the water was flying everywhere. The wild ride was further livened up as he sang “Happy Birthday to You” for me.

The dinner in KaLui was a success, though the style of the cuisine seems to have moved more towards “Chinese” since our last visit. When we finally cleaned all the plates and looked around, we were surprised to notice that we were having dinner with quite a few Taiwanese tourists! No wonder, the fried cuttlefish and the vegetable stir-fry looked and tasted so familiar!

Yesterday was another B-day. This time it was John, one of the yachtclub owners, who had birthday. It has been a couple of days since my last fit of restlessness and already in the morning I started to experience some of the familiar symptoms. Desperate for something to do, I took out the sailing kit for our dinghy and decided to go for a sail. Of course, the minute the dinghy was all set up, the little wind there was before, completely died. Luckily, after the big buffet-style lunch in the club, the wind picked up a bit, so I was able to burn some of my restless energy on the water. Withdrawal syndromes temporarily overcome, but for how long…? Probably it’s really high time to heave the anchor soon and move to another anchorage!

Janna’s Track So Far

Jana Benešová — Tue, 02 Jul 2013 03:35:28 +0000

We have been meaning to post maps with at least partial tracks of our voyages so far, for we can describe from where towards where and really try not to miss any island or rock that we passed by but in this case words just can’t compete with a map. A single glimpse and you are immediately up to speed! Not to mention the tongue-twisters and jaw-breakers that lots of the Filipino geographical names present to us ignorant foreigners. Try telling someone: “Today we passed Guintungauan and anchored at Ditaytayan.” Or Inambuyod, Dilumaoad, etc. Plus we found out, that sometimes same toponyms are used for different places. So far we anchored at two “Maricaban”s already. The former being an island in Verde Passage between Luzon and Mindoro, the latter a bay on the north coast of Busuanga Island.
In short, a map is a map and here we finally managed to create one (sometimes the speed of the internet and poor internet access here is real maddening! Especially when you spent last 30 something minutes clicking your track on Google Maps only to lose it all when the internet connection is suddenly lost) that roughly follows the trail we sailed so far, including all the anchorages we stopped at. In retrospect our favorite place so far is definitely Apo Island, whose gorgeous underwater world and breathtaking sunsets are just unbeatable! Not many people stop there but if you find yourself in the vicinity, you must definitely give it a try!

View Taiwan to Puerto Princesa in a larger map

Puerto Princesa Four Years Later

Petr Šimon — Fri, 21 Jun 2013 00:10:15 +0000

Our days in the lovely Bacuit Bay and the anchorage off Corong-Corong are over. We’ve spent there almost two weeks, half of it translating, i.e. working, and half exploring. When the wind was fluky we were hitting the keyboards and with the first sign of a breeze, we pulled the plug, stashed our awning and set sail.
But the time has come and we had to move. We’ve got this condition, you know. A travel bug. Quite contagious. We are turning literally in front of our eyes into nomads, pure and passionate gypsies.

You wouldn’t find happier people when we make port. We drop the hook, exhale — yay, we made it again — explore and enjoy the delights of land like fresh veggies, cold beer and, yes, the company of landlubbers (in small doses).
But after few days the shore keeps creeping towards us, even closer, the karaoke from the nearby bar become so annoying, never mind the roosters showing off in the morning — finally, you got up, we’ve already had our breakfast — and squealing pigs being tortured and butchered in the village (remind me if I ever have cravings for some pork).
So we loaded our little boat with water and fresh produce, cranked the windlass and we sailed away.
This time of year in the Philippines is rather funny. You get a little breeze, sometimes, then it dies, you start the engine, so that you can turn it off again in about half an hour when a big fat black cloud starts approaching and the first tropical bullet-like rain drops hit you in the eye. That’s because you are staring at the windex at the top of your mast all the time, instead of feeling the wind on your face as the true mariners of the past did. Not to mention the pain in the neck. The wind in the Philippines is simply a big pain in the neck.

And that’s what we got when we sailed north around El Nido. But at least you get moving. The squall mind blind you for bit, so you head offshore, but these squalls have a short life. Before you get too far from your rhumbline, they die and you get to sail straight into your intended anchorage with a beautiful breeze on the beam. It might drizzle the rest of the day, but you are snug in the cabin, anchor dug deep in the mud, because you just found one of the few anchorages with a good holding ground.
You sleep well and get up in the morning full of life and the breeze gives a promise to kindly blow you out of the anchorage once you heave the hook. There’s no indication that the breeze should die when you are just passing that rock in the mouth of the bay that provided such comfortable lodging.
You keep fighting. You sail/drift wing-and-wing, pass the rock, avoid the fishnets set by the fishermen and you hypnotize the horizon looking for any signs of wind. But you are looking in a wrong direction. In the meantime a big mean squall just crept behind you. You are sailing hard at it’s edge, hoping for the wind to last without getting stronger. May be it could shift to the west just a little bit, so you can pass the little island in front of you. And it does, yes it does. Even though only for couple of minutes before it start dying off. You shake off the reefs, hoist a larger jib. You want the get the most of the wind that you have.

You’ve been paying too much attention to the sail and suddenly you find yourself blocked off by a field of buoys — a pearl farm. You don’t want to entangled in that! The guards don’t mess around. But you clear them, even if only by few feet.
A bay full of reefs and submerged rocks opens up in front of your eyes. All you see, however, is water. You know what the chart says. There are rocks that can tear a hole in the belly of you floating home. The sun is tired, it’s falling towards the west horizon. There’s not much time to linger. When you left your last anchorage you expected the wind to be from the south-west, but here the conditions are different. The anchorage you have chosen is exposed. Quick look at the chart. The options are few. The best one is soon discarded. Pearl farm all around.
Finally you drop the hook in 7m above corals right next to a beautiful coral head surrounded by colourful fish and underwater vegetation.

This is the east side of Palawan. Two days away from Puerto Princesa.
Morning breeze takes you out to sea. You are still in the protection of a group of small islands connected by a reef. Once out of the hiding, the sea swells up, the wind picks up. This might finally be the monsoon. And another squalls approaches. It misses you just right to give you a lift and then you continue, first in fluky winds, but you stand your ground and the monsoon kicks in again, it’s on the nose, mind you, but the heading you are able to keep is not too bad. Not too bad at all.
The night falls and it’s going to be an interesting one. Squid fishing boats rim the horizon, nowhere to hide. The moon is still week, but the bright lights from the boats light up the night, you are not alone, not tonight. Surprisingly, you pass right between them, no need to change your heading, no need to mess with the trim.
Another watch change takes you down into your bunk, little tossing and turning and soon you slip into another world until the other grabs your shoulder and mercilessly drags you back.

The sunrise is quite ordinary. It’s cloudy, drizzling from time to time and you are just couple of miles away from your goal. You ran out of wind and with the wind you patience has gone as well. The engine has to be turned on from time to time, basic maintenance, you tell yourself as you are streaming toward the comfort of another anchorage. But this one is unlike the other before. This one you know. You’ve been there before. The name brings out good memories, people you’ve met, the atmosphere of those days.
You’re almost there. A worry creeps up. What if you have too many expectations, what if you’ll be disappointed. But you already know a remedy for that problem. There’s nothing simpler than lifting your hook and sailing to a place down the road…

Subic Bay

Jana Benešová — Sat, 04 May 2013 03:20:47 +0000

After arriving to the yacht club, we were met by the marina employees. They told us to come to the office to sign some papers and also helped the owner of the small speed boat, that towed us in, argue for his reward.

“This boat is private, you must pay now. It’s 5000 pesos (120 USD).”

“The tow was organized by the port control and tomorrow they will want us to pay once again. We don’t want to pay twice. Couldn’t we wait till tomorrow, we pay the guys from the port control and they will then pay the speedboat owner for his service,” suggested Petr.

In the end it was agreed that we will pay immediately and the marina office will write us a receipt, that we could show the officials at the port control the next day. At least we now had a rough idea how much they could ask for the tow, i.e. we knew what was the highest price we would be willing to pay. We sent the marina workers back to their office saying that we will come once we organize ourselves and the boat.

While still underway we read about Subic in the cruising guides we had in our boat’s library. Most of them mentioned high bribes to officials and one of them even vividly described the situation in the yacht club – a huge complex with 500 berths, cost a fortune to build, but recently in a serious financial crisis. How accurate!

The yacht club is full, we haven’t seen so many masts in one place for quite a while, nevertheless this is probably the only indication of a living and soundly operating yacht club, that we saw here. In the office located in the tower of a dilapidated pink building and consisting of two wobbly tables, scrawly notice board and two shabby armchairs, we were told that the stay here would cost us 33 USD a day! The plan was obvious – find a mechanic that would be able to diagnose what was wrong with our engine first thing tomorrow morning and leave here asp. In case is was really a broken feed pump, we were resolved to somehow slog down to Puerto Galera and have the pump sent there.

Since when we arrived to the Subic Bay Yacht Club (SBYC) it was already past midnight, we first of all longed for shower and some sleep. Once we signed the documents in the office, we asked where we could take a shower.

“Showers next to the swimming pool are already closed but you can use the crew showers just round the corner. The surrounding are not that pleasant but if you don’t look around, it’s bearable. And the water is clean. We will call a mechanic first thing in the morning. No worries.”

We thanked them and went straight to the crew showers. At first we couldn’t find it for a while but then we smelled the horrid smell of urine, it was beyond doubt that the showers must be nearby. Carefully we peaked into men’s showers first, but a single glance was enough to put us off. We turned towards the women’s shower. They didn’t look much better, if nothing else at least the smell was not that unbearable. Clogged toilet bowls, leaking faucets, broken and dirty tiles. The water in the shower couldn’t be turned off and around the half clogged drain a nasty looking pool of water was forming. We watched this for a while and then turned away. This was just too much.
However, we were so sweaty, our bodies covered with salt, that we summoned all the courage we could find and returned to that pigsty. Luckily we were wearing crocs, i.e. a cheaper Taiwanese version of the footgear, and so we took turns taking shower wearing our shoes. On our way to the showers we noticed a 7-11 just opposite the yacht club and so we decided that we the least we could do was to reward ourselves with a beer before we go to bed. We had to fight our eyelids real hard to even finish our drink.

The next day about 8 am we were woken up by knocking on our hull. Well, to be honest, Petr was woken up, I was still fast asleep. But once he jumped out of the settee, it frightened me enough to pull myself up as well. Mr. Mendoza from the customs was already waiting outside. We invited him to our cockpit and nervously waited for him to ask us for a bribe. However Mr. Mendoza was really a nice guy, he asked us where we came from, what we did in Taiwan, how old are we and how many children we have.

“So far none,” was our answer.

“Good Lord! You must bear children! You are not young anymore, it is necessary for you to bear children!” emphasized Mr. Mendoza couple of times.

“So far we have been studying, so there was no time, but we will work on that,” we tried to calm his worries.

And then it came.

“Here it’s customary that customs, immigration and quarantine take 50 USD each.”

“We can’t afford this. This is too much for us. And now our engine is broken, otherwise we wouldn’t even come to this expensive yacht club in the first place.”

“How much you can afford to pay?” Mr. Mendoza wouldn’t be put off that easily.

“We just can’t pay and that’s it.”

“Well, you are no businessmen after all, just students. The truth is, we don’t have to take your money. So I don’t want anything from you and I will also tell the others not to ask for money from you.”

“Thank you, that will be very helpful!” we thanked the good man.

Well, for starters, that was not that bad, hopefully it will be that easy with the immigration officer who should come around 9.

We had a quick breakfast and nervously waited for the immigration and quarantine officers to come. But nobody came and then a guy from the marina was sent to tell us that we should come to the office and then go straight to the port authority. They are already waiting for you, we were told. Most likely they want to charge us for the tow, we though. We finished our breakfast and went to the office.

Finally we could look around the yacht club in broad daylight. The desolateness of the whole place that was partially covered by the darkness the previous night was now more than evident. It must have been a nice place once, but now obviously no one maintains it, the planks on the pontoons are rotting off, cement plaster falls down, the lights on the fingers won’t work and don’t even think about asking the guys from the marina for something. You just call us on channel 72, we were told. However, the truth is that you can call them the whole day and in the end you just have to stand up and go directly to the office to make something happen. For those 33 dollars, that end up who knows where, we were mercifully allowed to use the showers next to the pool, which is by the way empty most of the times, but in case we wanted to take a swim in the pool, we would have to pay extra for that!

To get to the showers you have to walk by a huge hotel with a posh restaurant, where on each table you will see two bottles of wine, napkins and a set of silver cutlery. Yet same as the swimming pool, the hotel and the restaurant are just deserted most of the time. Just next to the showers there is a huge room with ceiling maybe 10 meter high and massive marble pillars, in which you’ll find several whirpools. And yes, you guessed it, no water, no customers here, either… On the one hand, they try to establish a sense of luxury, on the other hand half of the doors don’t have a handle and if you want to wash your hands in the washbasin, you must first try several before you finally find the one that actually has running water from the faucet.

A similar atmosphere of decay can be spotted all over the Subic Bay port. It seems that once the American soldiers left, the locals suddenly lost a major source of income and haven’t find another way of living yet.

In the office they first surprise us by having us sign the same documents we already filled in last night once again. When we asked if they already called a mechanic, nobody knew anything about it and when we suggested that we go directly to the boatyard next to the club and ask ourselves, they mercifully gave us their blessings.

“Yes, that would be best. But now you must go to see the port authority.”

“But the immigration and the quarantine officers haven’t come yet. Nobody gave us permission to even step on land.”

“That’s ok. When you come back, we will call them and ask them to come.”

We sighed and head for the Sea Port. It was not far away, maybe 20 minutes by foot. First we tried to find someone whom we could ask about the towage, but they send us to get the port clearance. When this was done, we went back to the 3^rd floor, where they again asked us what we wanted. We explained that we were towed into the port yesterday, first by patrol boat Triboa and then by a private speed boat arranged by the yacht club. It was obvious that the guy doesn’t know what to do with us and so he took us to the 2^nd floor. In a moment another Filipino guy, probably his boss, appeared and once again we had to explain what happened.

“First you go downstairs and get the port clearance.”

“We already have it here,” we showed him the official document with the stamp.

“So you have, then everything is fine, isn’t it?”

Evidently he was not interested in our tow at all. Big victorious smiles on our faces we ran down the stairs and fled the place before someone had a chance to change his mind.

In the park just next to the Sea Port we met a group of taxi drivers, who were dosing in the shade. Elmo, their boss, approached us and asked us where we wanted to go. Why wait for the immigration to come to us, let’s go directly to their office, an idea struck us. In the yacht club they explained that the officers ask for special “fees” because they have to come to the boat and their office is just sooooooo far away in Olongapo City.

At the Sea Port we asked for the address of both the immigration and quarantine and told Elmo to take Department of Health that was just nearby. Unfortunately the doctor was away and when we asked his secretary to call him, the guy gave us an apologetic smile and said that his credit only allows him to send SMS but that he will write him and let him know that we will come back around 2 pm.

The next stop was immigration. Elmo turned the car and after 5 minutes we were crossing the bridge with armed guards, that separates the small Olongapo City from the duty-free zone of the Subic Bay port called the Freeport. We left the deserted area of huge department stores and seemingly posh restaurants and entered the crooked narrow streets lined up by half dilapidated small houses. Here we could finally see some bustling activity.

Crowds of people everywhere, in between the tricycles, small busses that you board from the back and rusted vans were passing through, everybody was honking and trying not to collide with each other. The colorful atmosphere of the city was further emphasized by the posters featuring the faces of local politicians that decorated almost every inch of any free space on the facades. Again and again the name Gordon popped up, even on the people’s T-shirts. They have a whole avenue named after him, as well as a hospital, basic and secondary school and what not.

Roughly after 15 minutes ride we arrived to the immigration. So this is the so called “sooooooo far away”, we frowned. We informed the officer behind the counter that we came on a sailboat and that we want to officially enter Philippines. We already have the visa from Kaohsiung, all we need is a stamp in the passport. The guy looked caught off-guard, we probably surprised him by showing up here by ourselves. First, it looked promising. In a moment, they will stamp our passports, the officer informed us. We already started to rejoice over the fact that we will avoid another bribe but in a moment the guy called us to the counter once again and informed us that the officer that can stamp the passports is not here at the moment and that she will come to our boat at 4 pm. What else could we do? Disappointed, we left back for the yacht club. But first we made a quick stop in the boatyard to ask them to send a diesel mechanic to have a look at our engine. Also not available today, but will come tomorrow, we were promised.

In the afternoon after quite a hassle we finally managed to make the guys from the marina to let us use the water from the tap that actually belonged to the boat next to us. They sent someone to take a reading from the water meter and then we could finally start the process of Janna’s “desalination”, since she was all crusted in salt after the ride during the surge of the NE monsoon. We wondered how much water we need for washing the whole boat, but one hour later when we went to check the meter, we found out that it still was at 657. So the meter doesn’t work either, ha…

In the evening we originally wanted to go for dinner somewhere, not so much in order to celebrate since the experience from Subic Bay so far didn’t make much for a festive mood, rather to have some rest and sample some local cuisine. But it was almost 6 and the immigration and quarantine still nowhere to be seen. Actually we shouldn’t even be walking ashore before the two checked us and now it was almost 24 hours after our arrival and nobody was interested. We called the office again, they say they roger our inquiry and never called back as usual.

At about 6:15 finally a man in a black and white uniform followed by a plump lady with a bright pink lipstick from the immigration appeared. Without further ado they climbed into our cockpit and buried us in a heap of papers to be filled. You take some, you take the rest so that we settle this as quickly as possible, it’s already quite late. Wow, we wouldn’t have noticed if they didn’t remind us, right!?

“Actually, we have been chasing you the whole day!” Petr noted.

At first both of them were quite nice. The uniformed doctor maintained a strict face and repeatedly emphasized to us that he should be even more strict, that it’s very serious and that in the Philippines they are very uncompromising as far as the sanitary measures are concerned. We should have sent him to have a look at the marina crew showers! Not to mention that he enthusiastically shook our hands right after boarding our boat and now he tries to pretend how serious his inspection is. He surprisingly ignored our basil that was swinging next to his head in the evening’s breeze.

“And now the fees,” said the doctor.

“We won’t give you any money, these are not official fees, these are bribes. Everybody knows that you take them in Subic.” Petr was furious.

“No, these are official fees, here I will show you the law saying that when we work overtime, we can claim special fees,” protested the lady from the immigration.

“But we came to both of you today by ourselves, just as it is done everywhere else in the world, we didn’t want you to come to our boat.”

“No, here in Subic, we come to the boats and since we are doing “field work” we have a right to claim these fees,” jabbered the lady.

Then I tried the tactics suggested by Mr. Mendoza.

“Your colleague from the customs Mr. Mendoza, who came in the morning, told us that you don’t actually need to collect these fees. We are no businessmen, we are students, we have no money for such fees and now our engine is broken. Mr. Mendoza said that he would make an exception and also ask you not to take money from us.”

“But then, we will have to explain it to our superiors. So no, you will pay. And by the way if you say you have no money and you want to stay here for two months, here you can have a look at the list of persons that can be banished from entering Philippines: illegal worker, prostitutes…”

“So now you are threatening us?” we just couldn’t believe our ears.

“No, but if you say you have no money…”

“We have money,” Petr interrupted her. “But for food and traveling not for your bribes. If you want some money from us, you first give us an official receipt and I will send it to our embassy in Manila and ask them to verify its authenticity.”

“This is official fee, of course we give you a receipt,” the already raving doctor shrieked out.

So Petr climbed unwillingly inside the cabin to fetch a 100 dollar bill and with a disgusted face threw it to the doctor.

“So we will split this,” said the relieved lady from the immigration.

We were speechless when while filling up the receipt she suddenly asked the doctor: “So how much did they actually give us?”

When they finally left, we were so disgusted and tired that we didn’t want to go for any dinner and so we made ourselves noodles with an already precooked sauce from our food locker and after quick shower went straight to bed to sleep off those horrible experience.

The mechanic should come tomorrow and hopefully he will free us from the clutches of these vultures!