A Travelling Sprout

A Sprout Finds Sun in Boracay
By Shelley Banks

We’d been in the Philippines for almost two weeks, and we’d seen a big city (Manila) and smaller, island towns (Coron, followed by El Nido), and now we were heading to the most popular tourist destination in the country, Boracay.

There had been drama at El Nido airport before we could board our flight, as the plane was ‘overweight’. Not because there were too many passengers, but because there were too many bags. Our flight was delayed for over an hour as the airline tried in vain to get some of the passengers to take the next day’s flight. The deal the airline was offering wasn’t the best, and everyone we spoke to already had accommodation booked and paid for in Boracay.

So, with no takers, the airline decided to randomly unload bags, which then wouldn’t arrive in Boracay 24 hours after the owners. There was no way we were putting up with that, so we had a very ‘frank’ conversation with the airline staff until we made sure our bags would be coming with us. And we were able to confirm this because we could see them. They were in the galley at the back of the cabin, next to the trolleys the snacks would be served from during the flight.

Upon arrival in Boracay, we discovered the baggage carousel was broken, so we had another delay while we waited for it to be fixed. But at least we eventually got our bags.

After a minivan, a boat and a walk behind a man who was carting our luggage in a large wheelbarrow along a sand road, we arrived at Coast.  Our accommodation was an architecturally designed take on a 1950s motel, only a few metres from the beach.

Our room was beautifully appointed, there was a large pool in the middle of the complex, and the restaurant was at the front overlooking the ocean. The staff wore white polo shirts as part of their uniform. On the front, it said Coast. On the back, it indicated what sort of job they had. ‘Neat Freak’ referred to the cleaners, ‘Your Alfred at the Beach’ were our beach butlers and the general staff had ‘Just Like Men in Black but in White’.

Following the dramas at two airports that day, a relaxing afternoon was in order, so we walked across the sand road to the beach where our beach butler set aside two sun loungers and brought us two towels and two glasses of water. After our swim, in the crystal clear, perfect temperature ocean, our beach butler came down to the water’s edge to put towels around our shoulders. It wasn’t the only time during our stay that this happened, and it didn’t take long to get used to.

All along the sand road, there were bars, restaurants, shops and touts selling all sorts of tours. We perched ourselves on two high stools in the bar at the front of our hotel to watch the sunset. And it was happy hour. Two cocktails for $9. The sight of the sun setting over the ocean was magical, and we were content to sit there until the last of the sun’s rays disappeared.

Having already spent two weeks in the Philippines, island hopping and running around so we could cram as much in as possible, we decided to take things a bit easier in Boracay. Swimming, reading a book on a sun lounger, and going to the markets to test our bargaining skills. And at night, seafood dinners, live music and other forms of entertainment like sand art. Every night on the beach, a sand artist carves the date and Boracay out of a mound of sand. As we were there on my husband’s birthday, we thought it would be nice to get a photo with that date on it. Which we did, for a price. But it was a nice thing to do, as was ending our Philippines adventure in Boracay. The island is known for its beaches, which are blessed with long stretches of powdery white sand, crystal clear water, and stunning sunsets and after being there, I can see why. It really is a tropical paradise.

Musings

There is a Road there Somewhere
By Shelley Banks

For those who live in Queensland, you know that summer storms aren’t always the run-of-the-mill variety. Sometimes, they feature howling winds, driving rains, skies so black you’d think it was night, and hail the size of golf balls.

It was during one of those types of storms that I found myself on the highway, heading from Gatton back to Brisbane.

When I’d departed, there were clear skies all around but like so many squalls that come in from the west, it moved quickly and before I knew it, I couldn’t see the road in front of me. The rain was torrential, and the winds had whipped up to the point where tree branches were brought down.

That didn’t stop certain trucks on that same stretch of highway from zooming by, sticking to the 100-kilometre speed limit as if there was no storm.

But most of the other drivers slowed down and, I’m sure, like me, were wondering how long the storm would last and when it would either move ahead of us or we would outdrive it. However, the slower speeds at which we were travelling made outdriving the storm impossible.

Luckily, I came across one of those small, mobile cranes, its flashing lights providing beacons in the darkness and I was able to change lanes and sit directly behind it. At least now I had a clearer indication that I was still on the road and not veering off the bitumen.

On and on the storm went, continuing for most of my journey and by the time I got home, I’d never been happier to turn off my car and close the garage door behind me. Have you ever driven in a storm like that?

Short Stories

Protected in Spirit

By Shelley Banks

On first viewing, Cassie fell in love with the house. It was everything she’d been looking for and was, surprisingly, in her price range. Buying a house was a big commitment though, so she came back for a second, then a third inspection before signing the paperwork.

Now, two months later, it felt like she’d always lived there. And that’s when she started to notice things.

Only that morning, the front door had locked itself. She’d been carrying in the groceries and kicked it shut because her hands were full. The lock didn’t catch, but right in front of her, she saw the lock turn and click into place. Three days ago, after she’d gone out, she realised she’d forgotten to shut the front gate. But when she got home, the gate was shut, and the latch was fastened. And windows that had been open when she left the house were closed when she came home.

On the one hand, it was a good thing because it rained. On the other hand, it freaked her out. Someone had obviously shut them, and there had been no one else with her in the house that morning.

Months went by and Cassie didn’t notice anything else strange, so she put those occurrences down as things she couldn’t explain and forgot about them. Then one day, as she headed out, the security screen between the verandah and the glass sliding door was stuck on its runner. It had been hard to slide for a while and she’d been meaning to fix it. Now it wouldn’t move at all. She didn’t have time then, so she’d have to do it later.

When she came home though, the security door was closed and locked. How had that happened? She didn’t recall mentioning to anyone that it needed to be fixed, and besides, if someone she knew fixed it for her, they would have let her know. The thought of someone coming into her yard and up on her verandah while she was out was unsettling. And also, ridiculous. No one would come in uninvited and fix the door. That was stupid. But she rang everyone she knew, just in case. At the end of the calls, it was still a mystery.

It puzzled her for weeks until one night she heard a noise and when she went out to investigate, she saw a light moving about outside.

Cassie looked around for something to grab and the only thing in reach was a large vase. As she inched closer to the front of the house, she noticed a window open. Not by much but it wasn’t as she left it. Behind it, the light was moving towards the opening, and then suddenly, the window slammed shut. And Cassie heard a voice commanding whoever it was outside to leave. Cassie didn’t move. She didn’t know what to do. Then she heard quickening footsteps along the path to the front gate and the gate slam shut.

Cassie crept forward and peered through the window, relaxing immediately when she saw the policeman on the verandah. On second glance, she realised something wasn’t right. She could see straight through him. And then he disappeared before her eyes.

For the rest of the night, she lay awake, trying to make sense of what she saw.

When morning came, she went from room to room. Nothing had been disturbed. Outside she was checking the fence when a neighbour called out.

‘Everything all right? I heard a commotion last night.’

‘I think someone was trying to break in.’

‘If they were, Joe would have taken care of them. He’s always protecting that house.’

‘Who’s Joe?’

‘He used to own your place but passed away a few years ago. He was a policeman.’

Cassie took a moment to let the information sink in. The only way that it could have been Joe was if he was a ghost. But they weren’t real. Were they?

Something Light

Is There a Doctor Onboard?
By Shelley Banks

Earlier this year, we spent a fantastic two weeks in the Philippines. The scenery was stunning, the people were friendly, everything was a lot cheaper than at home and we saw and experienced some amazing things.

One of the things that wasn’t amazing though was the flight home. There was nothing wrong with the flight itself. Even with bad turbulence, the pilot still managed to keep the plane relatively steady and got us through the worst of it without too much discomfort. It was the other passengers onboard that were the problem. Not all of them. Just the ones coughing and sneezing.

This is not something I wish to hear at 31,000 feet with nowhere to go for the next seven and a half hours. The longer into the flight we got, the more I knew we would end up getting sick by the time we landed. There were too many unwell people around us. And I began to wonder if we had a doctor onboard who happened to have a stash of antibiotics or other helpful drugs in their carry-on.

But alas, that didn’t come to pass and by the time we landed in Brisbane, we weren’t feeling as chipper as we had been boarding the flight in Manila. The next day we started to feel worse. And the day after that, we were off to the doctor to confirm that yes, we were both very unwell.

At least on a positive note, it was the flight back that was the cause, not the flight over. That would have put a troubling twist on the holiday.

Books

If you like my short stories I’ve published ten books.