Malapascua

We were there right before the typhoon hit.

The day before you arrived was the last calm day, they said, the sun was still shining and the surface of the sea was flat.

But walking to the dive center, we could already see the frothy white-capped waves. The journey from Singapore had crossed the witching hour, and the short boat ride from the mainland had not been particularly kind to us. We were desperately eager to freshen up, eat, and dive.

Over the next few days, the winds buffeting us got progressively stronger. We trooped out stubbornly for dawn dives with the thresher sharks, but by breakfast the winds would pick up, sending us back to our rooms bent double and squinting against the gale that pricked our eyes.

Dives were restricted to a sheltered area we less-than-affectionately called the "Sandy Bay". It was, quite uncreatively, full of sand and raggedy seagrass. We were suitably bored by the third dive.

There wasn't much else about the trip that stood out. More dives over vast expanses of sand, a dive center ill-equipped for large groups of people, and chilly nights by the beach. There was a delicious paella somewhere. A restaurant that kept us waiting for three hours for grey slivers of tasteless meat. An outrigger boat that almost ran us over as we surfaced.

Jared and I chose to end the trip with an overnight stay at a spa on mainland Cebu. It had - I kid you not - a canopy bed, two massage tables, a jacuzzi, a sauna, and was smack in the middle of a street with amazing restaurants. We hardly left the room, and when we did, we were always welcomed back with a full body massage. It was a marvelous way to end a trip that was unremarkable in all other aspects.