chollie

Seeing a new TR from eightblack is like opening a bottle of your favorite downtime beverage.

You sit back with a sigh and a smile, because you know you are in for hours of enjoyment!

Jaimito Cartero

Perhaps you could look in to selling your "Little One" into slavery, before she bankrupts you.

iamthehpt

Seems to me that their relationship is already that of slave and master -- it's a pity that EightBlack is the slave.

Jaimito Cartero

That's why I think it's time to think ahead. Just imagine how demanding she will be when she gets older. I imagine Veruca Salt's poor father.

raiz

You had me at The Eastern U.S Winter storm, and the ensuing eighblack road-trip through the blizzard. Since that TR my wife has curiously watched as I read your reports, wondering what in the world could possibly be so funny, to make a grown man with children of his own to laugh uncontrollably at a computer screen.

She now understands! She Laughed hysterically. In a small way, in her eyes, you have legitimized, my spending way too much time on FT.

Can't wait for the next installment.

SMART51

The people are asking for more, more, more.

meremale

Excellant ! Funny ! Enjoyable !
Just what I needed to start my weekend. Hopefully to finish with a 'happy ending'.

iamthehpt

Come on now, eightblack, move away from the beer. Time for an update.

Paint Horse

I did not realize you were related to my father-in-law. The first time I visited the eventually wife's parents, the first thing the future dad-in-law showed me was his brand new "Remington 12-gauge tactical entry shotgun". I was never quite sure if he was really proud of it or providing a warning.

neuron

hmmm, I felt like something was missing today and then I realized there was no TripReport Update.

Eightblack trip report is as addictive as crack!!!

Flying Machine

Just esatblish your own Pay for View Site and all purcahses at DMall will be covered and more These guys are circling..

eightblack

Do you remember that US Senator who said "a billion here, a billion there. Pretty soon you're talking real money"?

Or something like that.

Well going on a family holiday makes you understand what he meant. Especially when everything is being charged to the master account. And especially when you have 2 children who have a hard enough time understanding what dollars are worth, let alone trying to get their head around the Filipino Peso. I've told you before, to your children, you are nothing more than a walking ATM machine.

I remember once having a bad skiing accident and as I was lying there, trying to work out if anything was broken, my son arrived on the scene, and peered down at me with a look of disdain. I couldn't talk as I was winded. I was convinced I would have to eat through a straw for the rest of my life. Gradually, my lungs re-filled with cold alpine air and I ascertained that no bones were broken.

"Whats wrong?" he contemptfully asked
No "are you alright", "are you in pain", "shall I call 9-1-1?" Nothing. Zip. Nada.
"Well", he repeated, "whats wrong with you?"
"I nearly well freaking killed myself thats what"
"Can I have some money?"
"What for?"
"I'm hungry"

The fact that I could hardly breathe, was foaming at the mouth and my skis and poles were in another zip code, worried him not the slightest. All he was concerned about was how would he pay for the pinball machine back at the ski lodge if I was carted off by the ski patrol on the back of a skidoo.

Anyway.

The kids figured out within about 3-hours of arriving at Jonys that everything was free. It happened over lunch. And now there's no turning back. It went like this. We sat down at the restaurant and ate and drank like Romans.

Then the bill came, and I signed for it.

"Dad, don't you have to pay?" quizzed our son
"No, we'll pay for everything when we leave"
"Really, they trust us?"
"No, they have your mothers credit card"
"They do…?"
"Yes"
"Why?"
"Oh nothing…"

The Small One and Number One Son spoke in some sort of kid sign language, which I later found out meant "quick, lets fleece the oldies while we can"

Or something like this.

And the Filipino's (as I later discovered), being the wonderfully natured people that they are, didn't question what a 10-year old and 8-year old were doing charging all matter of things to the room.

One afternoon, my wife and I went out for a walk and told the kids to behave. They were watching TV and had no desire to be seen in public with their own parents. Especially my daughter. We decided that the hotel was safe and we told the kids to lock the door and let no one in. Or out. My wife left her cellphone with them as a precaution.

"Why don't you come with us?" my wife asked
"We don't want to"
"Why not?"
"Because you might hold Dads hand, and thats disgusting"
"No its not"
"Yes it is"

So we left them there. Which was the first mistake. Although we did tell the front desk we were leaving our children on their own - at which point, the lovely girl simply nodded in amusement, having no clue what we just said. When we came back a couple of hours later, there were plates and dishes from one end of the room to the other. Remnants of Ice cream sundaes, half eaten hamburgers, pizza crusts, empty cans of drink, and I have no idea what else.

"What the hell is going on here?" I demanded
"We got hungry" The Small One said
"How did you pay for all of this?"
"Dad, chill out. Its all free. Tony brought it to us" my son said matter of factly
"Who the hell is Tony?"

And then I remembered Tony, my best friend, the waiter. From the front bar.

"Me and Tony are going to have words", I shouted

"Dad, relax. We signed for it", my daughter said. To a child, that is as much logic as you need.

My head started to hurt, at which point, I decided to self-medicate with San Miguel. My wife simply shrugged her shoulders at me and gave me that look that this was all my fault.

* * * * *

Our morning routine was straightforward. Well, mine was. I would get up early, like I always do, and enjoy 3 hours of blissful peace on my own - in the front bar, having breakfast on the beach. The espresso machine was even able to deliver an acceptable coffee. And would you believe, the restaurant was decked out with blisteringly fast wi-fi.

What more could you need? I said to myself. Apart from Amber Heard and a gallon of baby oil.

Meanwhile, the kids and my wife were passed out like zombies. They would eventually appear sometime during the morning and about 11am we were ready to do something as a family.

Like I said, today was fishing.

Now I love fishing. And I've been fortunate to go on some great fishing charters off the Barrier Reef, in Queensland. You know, in boats with The Big Chair at the back, a mass of rods sticking out of every conceivable surface and deckhands who clearly, in a previous life, had been "guests" of one of the many Australian government correctional institutions.

Given that we had already passed close on to 50+ separate spruikers, all promising the fishing experience of a lifetime, I thought to myself "how hard could this be?"

As luck would have it, right out the front of Jony's was a guy who I later discovered was called Bob. Or Uncle Bob to his friends. Bob's smile could light up an entire room.

I struck up a conversation...

"Bob, we want to go fishing"
"Yes Sir" he beamed
"Can you recommend someone. Or something?"
"We want a big boat. Many children. Fussy wife" I said

Even though his English was limited, he understood where I was coming from. Beaten husbands seem to be able to empathise with each other, no matter their background, their chosen profession or their mother tongue. He nodded his head in sympathy and without even saying anything, I knew he understood the gravity of the situation.

We agreed on a price. Sort of. He told me how much. And I agreed.

I proudly reported back to the family that I had successfully negotiated the rental of a fishing vessel and that we should prepare. Moments later, Bob was downstairs, with chariot awaiting.

Actually, it was his brother-in-laws tricyle. We all piled in and headed for the beach. When we arrived we met 2 nice young guys, who spoke even less English than Bob. Turns out they were his nephews. Then we saw it. The boat. If you could call it that.

Essentially it was a wooden hole, surrounded by water. With these funny looking outriggers attached. To stop it tipping over or sinking apparently.

My wife and I took one look at each other and like Bob and I before, didnt need to say anything to each other. Our worried expressions were enough. See this picture below. Well, this is the Queen Mary compared to what we were about to board.



But we threw caution to the wind, and I said to myself, if we perish, we may as well all perish together. We jumped onboard and the first thing we both looked for were life jackets.

The 2 deck hands passed us the oldest, sorriest looking "life-preservers" you have ever seen. I was expecting to see "Property of RMS Titanic". Or something equally as ancient printed on one side.

We put them on the kids and for once, they didnt offer an ounce of protest. I think they were even grateful. My son turned to me and said,

"Dad, is this safe?"
"Of course, wont this be fun", I lied
"Er, no. It looks like a death trap"
"Dont be silly, I'm sure its quite robust"
"And besides, we're probably going out just a little way", I said

There was a lot of commotion as the 2 young sailors went about starting the "engine". I found out that it was a single-cylinder Briggs and Stratton marine donk, with no exhaust. They started it with a bit of old rope. And controlled the throttle with a long bit of string. I kid you not. The noise was simply deafening, but amazingly, the little engine whisked the wooden craft along with alarming speed.

We came to the first fishing point. Thankfully, there were other equally crappy looking vessels beside us and the locals looked at each other and gave each other the "wink", which basically said "look, more suckers..."

The guys handed us these antique hand-lines, with the tattiest looking tackle attached. They duly baited the hooks for us all and away we went. Staggeringly, within seconds the kids were pulling in their first catch. I was stunned. The kids were delighted. Howls of laughter ensued.

Now, when you fish in Australia, there are some very serious men who roam the waters - who work for something called the Fisheries and Wildlife Commission. Or something similar. They are there to ensure you have a fishing license, and don't catch and keep anything you're not supposed to. Only a government could afford the boats they cruise around in, and these guys have zero sense of humour. They also carry 9mm handguns and their motto is far more pragmatic than our silly, liberalised police forces. The fisheries guys simply shoot first, and then start asking questions. They dont do paperwork.

Or something like that.

When the kids hauled in their "catch", I started to laugh. They had both caught something the size of a goldfish. But our deckhands insisted that we should keep them. I was fit to be tied.

No sooner had the men re-baited the hooks, the kids would haul in more guppies. It was raining midget fish. Even my wife, who would have to be the worst fisher-person I have ever met, was pulling in catch after catch.

"Isnt there a law against this. I mean, dont the fish have to be a certain size?", I enquired
"No sir" came the semi-innocent reply
"Why not?"
A shrug of the shoulders was all that was offered.
The fish we were catching you wouldnt ordinarily use as bait. But the guys were insistent that all was above board. And they kept stuffing all that we caught in a little bucket.

Looking back on it, we had a hoot of a time. We would punt from one fishing spot to the next. The kids thought fishing was the easiest sport in the world. When we got bored of catching goldfish, we would jump in and go snorkelling. The water was glorious. And the visibility spectacular.

There was a man in a little canoe who would come and hit you up for a "snorkelling tax". It was a pittance, but it made me smile. If ever there was a country that had mastered the art of ripping you off gracefully, it is the Philippines. Departure tax. Arrival tax. Snorkelling tax. Nature preservation tax. Island tax. In fact, if they could get away with it, they'd tax you for breathing.

Dont get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I've lived in Asia too long to care.

As we motored home, with a bucketful of sardines, we asked the kids if they had had a good time. They both nodded. I was just thankful we didnt drown. And more amazed that this "boat" we had chartered had actually made it.

"Who owns the boat?" I asked inquisitively
"Uncle Bob", said one of the deck-hands

But of course he does.

Apparently, tomorrow we're going go-karting. And dune buggy driving. Now that's more like it...

SPBanker

ROTFLMAO!!!

WC_EEND

I have a sneaking suspicion the next installment will be even better...

gba

Great report! I'm going to have to do a search and find everything else you've written.