This is what lies before us: the bow of a boat (a faded sky blue with pale yellow borders) and on its sides, a wooden ladder and rust encrusted anchor, both lying in wait.
Behind these material objects, a cerulean road stretches in all directions as far as the eye can see, dazzling in its immensity, dizzying in its inconstancy. Straight ahead, still two hours away, lies a range of mountains, a troop of cotton clouds tumbling over them. Elee, who will serve as our host for the next eight days, makes a sweeping gesture and says, “That is Culion.”
This is part of a small series called The 100-Word Travel Stories. Why 100 words? 🙂
