I wake up at five and the aircraft takes off in the early morning for the twenty-minute flight to Bahrain. Home by ten for some late breakfast, gym and a nap, the minimum rest life.

At night, I return to the airport and enter the briefing room. Our destination for tonight is Cebu in Southern Philippines, our flying time is estimated at ten hours and ten minutes.
Having operated long flights before, the length of this voyage does not seem to be an issue for the first five hours, whilst the plane winds its way through Kashmir and over Kolkatta. The Bay of Bengal ahead of us nevertheless being a different story. Riddled with monsoon storms, the aircraft bounces up and down, left and right, forcing our breakfast service to stop. ‘Hold onto anything you can, sit down and await for further instructions.’ My stomach cramps in an attack of acidity when I notice I have not eaten in almost ten hours and the turbulent air is making everything worse.

The aircraft dips several meters through the tail of a cyclone and successfully lands at Cebu Mactan in the heavy and damp morning. Crushed by the earlier turnaround, the long flight and the stomach cramps, I crave nothing more than a hearty meal and some sleep upon arrival.

It is a long drive to the hotel, the modern crew bus leaving Mactan Island and entering Cebu, a proper definition of the geography reigning the archipelago the Philippines sits on.

      ‘The hotel was really nice, a tall tower located right next to the Ayala Mall. Cebu reminded me a lot of Latin America, sometimes feeling like I was standing right in the middle of a street in Colombia or Ecuador, the crowds of people and ‘jeepneys’ (modified trucks working as public transport) trying to make their way through the streets.
The crew and I gathered at the lobby for dinner and I found pure pleasure in the Filipino cuisine, the sizzling fish and grilled squid smell almost as good as the price we paid for it.’

I am told Filipinos are crazy about shopping. Despite Cebu not being the size of Manila, the city sports one of the biggest shopping centres in the region and every store seen abroad can easily be found here. Youngsters and adults alike hangout and hold onto plastic bags and over sized milkshakes, whilst a few of them take selfies of yet another visit to the mall.

Having requested this flight, I cannot wait to explore. At seven in the morning, I am joined by a crew member from Singapore and we take a taxi along the wet streets of Cebu and right into the port.
A fast ferry to Tagbilaran is announced and, the empty morning departure leaves the dock, cruises parallel to the coast and sets course along the Cebu Strait, some two hours later docking into the main port at Bohol Island where we rent a van for the day.

Bohol is the lost world. The volcanic nature of the Pacific has uniquely shaped the archipelago for millions of years. Endemic vegetation has found its way through tall bamboo forests whilst the tarsier, the smallest primate in the world, indulges in the eternal summer of the rain forest only to be found in this island.
I gasp and wonder about my own existence at the sight of the Chocolate Hills, the geological masterpiece a consequence of millions of years of dramatic volcanic activity, erosion and underground rivers. Hershey Kisses anyone?

The driver rushed down the steep hills and texts whilst driving, indeed making for some drive from the heart of the island to the coast. To slow down the rhythm of the past days, an afternoon at Panglao Beach is the perfect recipe to recover, the hours passing caressed by the white sand, the warm turquoise water and the swing of the hammocks placed under coconut trees.
We burn some of the calories from the chicken adobo with the rowing of a flimsy kayak and at sunset, with no will to leave the place, we depart from the dock and head back to the bustling streets of Cebu.

My last day in Cebu is lazy but necessary. At the Ayala Mall, I stock on purple marble bread, otap, polvoron and dried mangoes, later forcing myself to properly rest in preparation for the long return flight to Doha.

The captain confirms a few diversions and show us a map dotted with patches of adverse weather conditions on our flight path. We leave in the late afternoon and the eleven hours necessary to cross over Asia are spent in between laughs, smiles and some juicy Cebuan dishes brought by some of the crew members straight from mama’s kitchen.

Note to myself: I must return to the Philippines.