Rich People Problems-Kwan 2017 (WWT)

the coast, landing forty-five minutes later at a small desolate airstrip on the edge of the
sea.
It was gray and raining when Charlie got off the plane. All the passengers were guided
onto a colorfully painted bus, and they were driven down a muddy track to a series of
open-air wooden huts. EL NIDO AIRPORT, a charming painted wooden sign announced. A
row of Filipino women stood in the rain at the edge of the hut, singing a welcome song.
Charlie got off the bus and was about to follow the tourists into the hut when an athletic
young Filipino dressed in a white polo tee and crisp navy cargo pants approached him,
holding a large white golf umbrella.
“Sir Charlie? My name is Marco. If you’ll come with me please,” the man said in an
American accent. Charlie followed the man down a pathway to a private dock, where an
elegant Riva speedboat awaited. They hopped into the boat, and Marco turned on the
engine.
“It’s been a wet morning. There’s a raincoat under that seat for you,” Marco said, as he
expertly turned the boat around and sped off onto the open sea.
“I’m fine, I enjoy the rain. Where are we going?” Charlie yelled over the roar of the
wind and the splashing waves.
“We’re heading twenty-five nautical miles southwest.”
“How did you recognize me?”
“Oh, my boss showed me your picture. You’re easy to spot in a crowd of American
tourists.”
“Sounds like you spent some time in America yourself,” Charlie said.
“I went to UC Santa Cruz.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who your boss is?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Marco said with a little nod.
After about thirty minutes, the gray clouds gave way to open sky and puffy white
clouds, turning the color of the ocean into a deep sapphire. As the speedboat continued to
zoom along the Sulu Sea, Charlie stared out to the horizon as fantastical rock formations
rose up from the water like apparitions. Soon they were surrounded by what seemed like
hundreds of tiny islands floating on the blindingly azure waters. Each island resembled a
monolithic rock carved in some otherworldly shape, bursting with lush tropical vegetation
and sugary white beaches.
“Welcome to Palawan,” Marco announced.
Charlie took in the mystical landscape in awe. “I feel like I’m dreaming. These islands
look like they don’t belong on this earth—they look like they rose out of Atlantis.”
“They are more than fourteen million years old,” Marco said, as they sped past a
towering rock face that gleamed in the late-morning sun. “It’s all part of a marine reserve
park.”
“Are most of them deserted?” Charlie asked as they passed an island with a particularly
pristine crescent-shaped beach.