Diary of a Homebird
T MINUS four days ’til lift off. The bridies take to the skies this Saturday on what we have affectionately called this holiday, the ‘last hurrah’.
The group had made a pact to hit for the bright lights of Las Vegas to communally celebrate our thirtieths in 2018. The pact was made about seven years ago, those heady days when all we cared about was having enough money to party. Not much has changed to be honest, but just in case someone decides to become a grownup and get some real responsibilities before 2018, thus hindering our holiday plans, we’ve decided that this may have to be the early birthday celebrations for us all.
Eleven days in The Philippines. Each time I inform people of our holiday plans I’m met with the same bewildered and confused look, followed by ‘Why the Philippines?’. The simple answer is, ‘Why not?’. It’s said to have some of the most unspoiled beaches in the world. So, unwinding on hammocks and walking along golden sandy beaches will hopefully soon be the reality. Until then, it’s all go. You see The Philippines consists of about 7,641 islands, so getting about to all those lovely beaches is a bit tricky.
I foolishly thought the most stressful part of organising the holiday would be booking the flights from Dublin to London and on to Hong Kong before touching down in Manila. Turns out that was only the beginning, and a myriad of internal flights still had to be organised. PayPal accounts were hastily set up, and a WhatsApp group quickly filled up with more flight paths than the operations room in NASA.
If that wasn’t enough, we were each designated locations to organise our accommodation. Two weeks before we set off. Cue panic.
In one location, we’ve been informed that the town only has a limited supply of electricity per day, oh and we’ll be staying in a tree house. Hey big spenders! Rather than saying we’re ‘roughing it’ we’re telling people we’re going to ‘find ourselves’ and be ‘one with nature’.
Personally, I’d prefer to ‘find myself’ in a five-star air-conditioned hotel, but, them’s the breaks.
It’s an expensive aul holiday with all the internal flights, and it’ll be ‘tight marking’ in a lot of the places we’ll be staying in – not just the treehouse. But again we’ve glossed over this with the ‘it’ll be snug’ description.
Considering three out of the group of five once spent a night in a Toyota Corolla in the depths of winter after being locked out of our accommodation (the next day I found the key in my pocket), I think we’ll be OK with sharing king-sized beds.
The male roomie has come to the rescue thankfully, supplying meds – anti-malaria, anti-diarrhetic, antibiotics, you name it. Which reminds me, I must remember to ask him if there’s such a thing as an anti-hangover medication, and while I’m at it I might see if he has any miracle pills that burn fat. The whole gym thing didn’t go to plan. Instead of dumbbells and pilates it’s been doughnuts and pizza. Oh well, perhaps a few nights clinging onto a tree house will see me lose a few pounds.
> In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old still living with her parents.