A Comedy of Errors: Part 2

Landing in Dumaguete was fun in the sense that I still don't like take-offs and landings. Hence, I was asleep the whole trip. Yes, I'm like that: if cats were made to fly, we would have been given wings to begin with. (Bear told me that the CebuPac crew ran contests and sold souvenirs, hawking them down the aisles like cigarette vendors. WTF?)

Stepping on the tarmac, I realized that despite [identity-protected]'s warning of the Dumaguete heat, it wasn't so bad. In fact, I noticed a number of dark clouds in the early morning horizon and wondered if we had brought the rains from Metro Manila.

My first impression of Dumaguete was that of a nice, sleepy little town: small roads, old houses, large tricycles puttering around. However, I was surprised to see little restaurants, cafes and small hotels-- reminiscent of those I've seen in Boracay-- sprouting here and there and adding some color and gaiety to the surroundings. Unfortunately, this good feeling didn't last when we got to Bethel Guest House, our hotel located on the prominent Rizal Boulevard and fronting the sea.

"I'm sorry, all our rooms are full up and you have to wait until 12 noon when some of our guests will be checking out," said the Bethel receptionist. We were quite aghast at what we were hearing: remember, this was around 9 a.m. and we were thinking of crashing first for an hour's nap.

It seemed that Channel QTV was holding some kind of wedding event on the Bethel premises and the place was a madhouse. Unfortunately, it also seemed that the TV people were being billeted at the hotel and were being given first priority. As we stood at the desk, a group of TV people from our flight managed to check in breezily.

"But I reserved this room the first week of May," I complained.

"I'm really sorry sir, but we really don't have anymore rooms."

"So what do you want us to do until 12?"

"Well, if you like, you can leave your bags here and go around the city first?"

At that, I gave the receptionist a piece of my mind. Behind me, a grumpy Bear slunk off, trying not add fuel to the fire. To placate me, the receptionist haltingly said, "I-- I can call up a nearby hotel and you can transfer there?"

Grumbling, we assented and headed outside in a huff. Unfortunately, the hotel they recommended was worse. Bear was suspicious of the Honeycomb Hotel frontage and he was proven right when, after checking in, we were lead to a side corridor that a janitor was currently mopping while spraying Lysol.

"Uh-oh," I thought.

The double room we were given was cramped, more like a box than anything else. The window didn't look out into anything, the walls were water-stained, the TV hated remote controls, and Bear had a spider as big as his fist for a bedmate. What was worse was when we headed out of our room, the aforementioned corridor was now smelling really, really strongly of Zonrox.

"Fucking hell, we really do not want to stay here!" I lamented.

(to be continued)