One time many years ago, while my brother Eric and I were kids, during a visit from my grandpa Bob, Eric had declared that he was bored. "Bored. You're BORED, are you?" Replied my Grandpa. He then proceeded to give us a lecture, half an hour long at least, about how wonderful a thing it is to be bored, how it is a luxury one should be thankful for. Finishing in his famous Bob Snow style, he shrugged, crinkled his nose, and declared, "I wish I could be bored".
I've tried to keep my grandfather's advice in mind the last week. In contrast to the first week and a half I spent in Coron, I haven't been diving once in the last 10 days. I realized this possibility before coming-- I had specifically looked for a small diveshop in an out of the way destination, so I really can't complain. My days have passed, more than anything rotating between the two hammocks in Crystal lodge. John, the diveshop manager, has supplied me with the password to use the office computer, so I've spent some time online, but not too much. Similarly, I haven't been tempted to watch the satellite TV in the lounge for more than a few hours.
Boredom, strangely, seems to be something that's come and gone. I seem, now, to be fairly content with just lounging around, reading hours each day. I've thought about it and can't decide whether I'm in a state of harmful decadence or one of healthy, even transcendental, relaxation. Thinking about it, I realize this isn't something I do very frequently. If I made a lifestyle out if it, it may be a concern. But I don't think a week here or there is anything to worry about, although I admit I already finished one large bottle of cheap Filipino rum and just bought a big bottle of brandy, and spent yesterday hungover after going out to the local disco till 3 a.m the night before with some local girls that invited me with them.
I've read several books since being here. The last two, Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut, and In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote, have been particularly interesting. Reading them from half way around the world, both are written by Americans and deal to a large extent about American cultural themes. Since first reading Vonnegut, I have been inspired by his challenge to 'traditional' American culture, which has reinforced my own decision to experiment with an alternative lifestyle to the traditional 'American Dream'. In Cold Blood, also deals largely with the idea of the 'American Dream'. Describing a brutal murder of a prominent Kansas farmer and his family in 1959, the narrative/documentary seem to go quite deeply into the American paradigm, and the challenges the two murderers make to it. It has made me think about my own decisions, in relation to my culture and life experiences, and whether, in my own way, I am also challenging this traditional American paradigm. I'm just now about to finish a book called No Shitting in the Toilet, a satirical "travel guide" written by a cynical, travel-hardened Aussie backpacker about his exploits. I was again laughing out loud at all the virtually identical experiences I had to the ones he describes, such as almost dying on buses, boats, etc, being outraged by the price of a slice of pizza in Italy, getting ripped off (he even described the exact scenario which happened to me a few days ago with a British guy), feeling smelly and quite out of place in nice places while wearing the same grungy clothes I haven't washed in weeks, trying to survive the boredom and uncomfortableness of a 57 hour journey somewhere, and countless other random experiences and attitudes that only people who've been backpacking could possibly understand. It's certainly good for a good laugh, but reading it also made me a bit uncomfortable, having to ask myself whether I really want to turn out as cynical and crazy as this guy seems to be as a result of years and years of travelling around the world. I've also been reading a lot of SCUBA diving material, and am at least progressing fine with the classroom aspect of my divemaster course, if not the practical.
I've met lots of interesting people and heard lots of interesting stories here. Today, walking on the street I greeted my friend Andy, whose mother owns a small restaurant I've eaten in a few times. Andy teaches at the local university, and when I told him I was almost out of books to read, he led me to his house and showed me his library, filled with enough books to keep me occupied for years, which he generously offered to loan me--Hemmingway, Mark Twain, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, even Dante.
From there I went to lunch at the Coron Bistro, where I had a wonderful salad (I'm trying to supplement my otherwise Spartan diet of mostly noodles, bread, eggs, and peanut butter and banana sandwiches with some vegetables) and chat with Bruno, the French owner. I admit I was a bit sceptical of him at first--he seemed a bit sketchy with his Pony tail, Hawaiian shirt, and numerous kids running around, but he also turns out to be a very interesting and cultured guy. An anthropologist by profession, he lived many years in South America, in the northern Atacama region of Chile, where I have wonderful memories of. We had a great discussion and he showed me the small sailboat he is building on his upstairs balcony to sail his family around the islands with (his second family--he told me about how his first French wife had died some years ago, and he has now settled down with a local Filipino woman. I think he said he has 7 kids, ranging from 47 to 3). Turns out he's a really nice guy. Just goes to show how wrong your first impressions of people can be.

On the other side of that coin, a few days ago a skinny British guy, probably in his 60s, showed up saying he had his bags robbed of all his money from his hotel room, and only had a few pesos left until the money he had arranged to come from London via Western Union arrived in a few days. I was suspicious from the start, but tried to put myself in the nightmare position of being robbed of all my money, and ended up loaning the guy the equivalent of about $11 U.S. He said he was a veteran of a bunch of wars, including Vietnam, and told me all sorts of stories. Of course he was full of crap. Turned out the guy had already been telling the same story to people around town for a few months now. When John found out he was staying there, he kicked him out immediately. Obviously I didn't get my money back. Judging from the smell, I'm pretty sure he was an alcoholic, at the least. What upsets me the most about it was that the only reason he was able to trick me was by speaking good English and appealing to what I had in common with him, namely that we were vulnerable travellers in a foreign country. If he had been a Filipino asking for money I would have said no way. But more than anything, it's really just pretty pathetic and sad.

Anyway, just one of the many random experiences I've been having here every day. The weather has gotten much better, and now that the rain clouds are mostly gone the sunsets over the hills are spectacular, with minor variations each night. I'm now known by name to the kids that live on the sides of the dock that leads out from the street to my lodge, and I've been teaching them some songs and games from the U.S, and they sang a hilarious song for me in Tagolog. They're very cute. The other day, walking to my room I saw a group of boys throwing firecrackers into the water, trying to blow up fish and a watersnake they had spotted under the dock, who seemed to be distracted by a face to face showdown with a large crab. Now how can I ever hope to improve on a sight like that?