The morning boat is the sensible one. It leaves in daylight, it mostly leaves when it says it will, and you arrive in Mindoro with the whole day left. That is also why nobody writes poems about it.
By seven the port smells of garlic rice and fried egg. Every stall along the terminal is selling the same breakfast, and every table is full of people pretending not to watch the board. A woman near me eats with one hand and holds a sleeping toddler with the other. This takes real skill.
Finding your seat
The best seats are not the ones with the best view. They are the ones near the stairs, away from the speakers, where the breeze comes through. The lower deck fills first, because it is closer to the vehicles and to the toilets. The upper deck empties a little after departure, when everyone discovers that the sun is out.
Sit on the shaded side. Which side that is depends on the hour and on your luck, so ask someone who has already been burned.
The best seat is wherever the breeze decides to be.
The crossing
Once the boat clears the breakwater there is nothing to do and nowhere to be, which is the point of slow travel. Children run laps. Two teenagers share one set of earphones. An old man in a barong carries his lunch in a tied plastic bag and eats it at precisely ten past nine.
Calapan appears as a grey line, then as a harbour, then as a queue of tricycles. You will walk off the ramp into noise and sunlight, and someone will offer you a ride before your feet are dry.
Worth knowing
- Come early. The terminal is busiest at breakfast, and the line for the ticket window is slower than the line for coffee.
- Keep your ticket until you are out of the port. Somebody will ask for it twice.
- Times here are samples from the morning I travelled. Check with the operator before you go.