“Are you scared?”
“No, I love to fly.”
My tour guide laughed. I don’t think he believed me. It’s true though. My love for aerial views and flying or free falling through the sky is as strong as the worst case of acrophobia. As for ziplining, this wasn’t my first time. On my first RTW trip in 2012, I tried ziplining in Vegas although I’m still not sure whether that counts as a proper experience. Something about zipping through nature as opposed to a run down entertainment strip makes it feel more official.
Lying flat on my stomach, I was wrapped in a full body harness with only my arms free to move about and my neck craned to soak in the view. If this is how Superman flies, he must really need a good shoulder and neck massage at the end of the day. I hear the attendant count down, 3…2…1…ZOOP, and I’m off. Flying over a luxury golf course and resort with a view of the ocean on my right, my thoughts become a mix of how lucky I am to be soaring over Boracay right now and “weeeeeee.” As is usually the case, the fun is over too quickly. 30 seconds from one platform to another had me wishing I could zipline every day. My tour guide said he gets to zipline 3-5 times a week to which I thought to myself, “I think I’m working in the wrong industry.”
“How was it?”
“SO much fun. I wish we could go again.”
“Yes, but now we go zorbing.”
Sitting on the stairway that leads down to the zorbing path, I could feel the sun burning the back of my neck. I’m not tired, but for some reason, I feel this nagging sense to get back to the beach. Maybe it’s because I’m about to get soaked so I feel like a full day of swimming and floating in the ocean would be appropriate.
The line of people in front of me moves quickly, and before I know it, it’s my turn. Unexpectedly, in perfect Olympian form, I dive into the zorb through a hole that, from afar, doesn’t seem big enough for a human to fit through. I wonder if someone has ever gotten legitimately stuck. Anyway, as a germaphobe, I reluctantly slip on the foam helmet that those before me have worn, and I’m nervous about lice and sitting in other people’s sweaty water. But I’m already soaked from head to toe so I can hardly be concerned. They shove the giant safety plug in place, and when I laugh out loud to myself, it echoes off the walls. All I can see is the zorb that surrounds me and the sunlight. Soon I’m rolling down the hill, slipping and sliding all over the place in a 7ft. tall bouncy ball that looks like it’s made for a children’s party. What a strange and somewhat underwhelming activity zorbing is. Like, who thinks of these sorts of things, and why don’t I have a zorbing course in my backyard?
When I finally land in the pool, I hear “Okay mam, feet first.” I jump out feet first (not so gracefully I might add) through the hole that seems too small into a pool that is much deeper than I thought, the water coming up to my shoulders. Now, I DEFINITELY feel like going for a swim in the ocean because if I’m going to play in the water, I might as well stay in the water. Dripping wet, I make a b-line for the shuttle heading back towards White Beach, say goodbye to my tour guide, and am whisked back to the beach and the ocean where I happily remain for the rest of the day.