I sat with my feet buried in the sand, watching the sunset over the most beautiful section of coastline I had seen in the Philippines. The beer in my hand was a frosty "Red Horse Lager," and all was well in the world.

Despite all of the challenges, I had proven it was possible to traverse this island nation on an electric bike and knew that I could make it to the island of Siargao. Due to its isolation and surf, Siargao has reached legendary status amongst the more adventurous souls backpacking Southeast Asia.

After you reach Siargao, the next land you'll hit if you keep heading East is Costa Rica on the other side of the Pacific. It seemed like as good a place as any to select as a destination to finish my e-bike adventure.

As I sat back in my chair, a cloak was thrown over my head, and a grinning, tattooed Filipino man said:

"Well, brother, what do you want?"

This was Greg, a member of the "Lost Boys" who call Siruma home. It was my final day with this rabble of laidback legends and Greg had offered to cut my hair, so I would arrive in Siargao looking fresh.

My whole brand is scruffy. It just works. I'm at my best with holes in my clothes, a sun-baked farmer's tan and unruly hair sticking out from beneath a crusty cap. That's my aesthetic.

Greg gave me a haircut that would have suited a man with veneers and a fake tan who patrols the nightclubs of Essex (or New Jersey for American folks)… I looked like a midget gem.

Now, I've had haircuts like this before, and they can be managed with a bit of product, but I barely had space to carry toothpaste, so hair wax was out of the question.

If you have read my other articles, you may have learned that I have drowned before on my travels, flipped a vehicle on the skeleton coast and been chased by a murderous elephant. Why am I crying about a haircut?

For the majority of the past five years, I have forgone the lifestyle of partying and beautiful women in favour of adventure and collecting stories. Life's about balance… I was very much looking forward to dipping my toe into the other side of life upon reaching Siargao. But who was going to look at this walking troll doll and say

"Hey… you with the Mr. Whippie on your head… let's go kiss in the sea, under the stars."

This was a disaster.

I took one look at the photo of myself and Greg smiling on the beach and knew I was doomed. I thanked him, gave him a hug and headed back to the bar to order something stronger than beer.

Over the following days, whilst travelling South through a land of volcanoes, I never allowed myself to talk to a camera without a hat. I may not be able to hide my hair from everyone, but I would be damned if I was going to reveal it to the hundreds of thousands of people watching my TikToks.

After 10 days of camping and navigating my way through some wild Filipino road manoeuvres, I was finally sitting on the last ferry of the trip. In three hours, I would be arriving in Siargao… the promised land.

99% of the travellers on this island had arrived by plane, and the other 1% had definitely not undertaken the gruelling drive direct from Manila. I was rocking up with a speargun and dive fins strapped to my back on one of the most sought-after dirt bikes in the world. It was a real struggle to keep my ego in check as the ferry's landing gear clunked down onto the port, and I came bursting onto the island I had been trying to reach for four weeks.

On the Instagram post announcing my intention to ride an e-bike from Manila to Siargao I had included a poll for people to vote on whether I would make it or not. When the voting had finished, 50% of people thought I was going to fail. I let out whoops and cries of triumph on the ride to General Luna, the tourist hub because I had proven the doubters wrong.

As I pulled up to the cheapest hostel on the island, I was met by a group of five shirtless Frenchmen who looked like they had been carved from marble. They were tanned from head to toe, had expensive-looking tattoos and didn't give me a second look before speeding off into the hustle and bustle of town.

I hope all the guys don't look like that…

I thought to myself whilst frantically flicking the mop of hair that sat above the rest of my shaved head.

I trudged into the dimly lit dormitory and threw my belongings onto a bed before heading into town to find beer. Every review online championed the "Happiness Beach Bar" as the perfect spot to enjoy a chilled drink with a view, so I made a beeline for it and got exactly what I wanted.

I ordered two bottles, grabbed a bean bag and stuck myself at the very front looking out across a perfect bay with waves curling on the horizon and palm trees waving overhead. That first sip went down like a nectar from the Gods. I let out a huge sigh and relaxed my shoulders. I had done it.

After I had inhaled the first beer, I began to notice more about the crowd that surrounded me. It seemed like every person here had attained that bronzed, salty glow that weeks at the beach give to humans.

Despite being in the Philippines for months I hadn't been living the life to attain that lovely glow. I had been wearing a crash helmet and dragging around twenty kilos of gear for over two thousand kilometres. I glanced in the toilet mirror and saw a pale man with extremely bloodshot eyes and a haircut you would expect a toddler to give their Barbie doll (should they find some scissors).

I looked at the bubbly, beautiful people drinking their cocktails and cast my mind back to the last time I had been solo travelling in a place like Siargao… it had been years. Six years to be exact, when I had spent a month backpacking through Sri Lanka.

Christ… Have I forgotten how to travel alone?

I felt foolish. There was even a wave of social anxiety that I could feel forcing my hand into my pocket to retrieve my phone. Staring aimlessly at a phone screen when alone at a bar has become a safety blanket that we can use when lacking the confidence to put ourselves out there.

I started to audibly laugh at myself as I flicked through posts on Instagram.

So you've spent seven years travelling and reached an island full of interesting people, and now you're going to scroll instead of talk to any of them… come on, man!

I thought back to what life was like as a solo traveller and came up with a game plan. Go back to the hostel and meet potential friends there. I organised my belongings into a more acceptable pile on the bed and grabbed my toothbrush. Good breath is a decent place to start when making friends.

As I reached the tiny sinks at the back of the restroom, a curly-haired man arrived at the sink next to me. I gave him the customary gargled "Hello" one says to someone when brushing one's teeth and continued to stare at the grimy mirror in front.

Come on, you coward, ask him something

I said to my reflection and smiled that I had once again caught myself being shy.

"Where are you from?"

"Argentina. You?"

"UK."

Although not the most scintillating start to a friendship I knew he was "a good egg," so invited myself to join him for dinner.

We drove our bikes into the night and ended up at a local eatery serving a buffet-style selection of cooked meats and veggies for a relatively cheap price. A person's level of curiosity and enthusiasm is a great indicator that they are worth spending time with.

Renzo had just watched Lionel Messi lift the World Cup for Argentina, and as he told the story, his face came alive. Every time Argentina lost a game during that tournament, Renzo and his friends refused to watch another match in the same house. For the final game, they had done an assessment and come to the conclusion that they had watched the most Argentinian victories at Renzo's grandma's house… so they must watch the final there.

He spoke of the tears and the joy of watching his childhood hero fulfil his destiny of leading Argentina to World Cup victory and I could feel his passion whilst describing the scene. It turns out Argentinians face many difficulties caused by terrible government policies, but for one beautiful moment, football brought the nation together.

Renzo then started to question aspects of my life, and I told him the far-fetched stories of drowning, being locked down on a private island for COVID and driving through Africa in two tuk-tuks.

The more I talked, the more his eyes widened until he gripped me by the shoulder and said:

"This is insane… I want adventure like this."

Over the years of travelling, I've developed a pretty good intuition about the people I want to spend time with. Renzo and I were speaking as if we'd grown up as childhood friends. He wanted to understand how this bizarre story had unfolded and he felt no shame in asking questions.

After the food was finished, we hopped on our bikes and weaved through the weird and wonderful vehicles that chugged along the streets of General Luna. Luminescent tuk-tuks with neon lights and spoilers blazed tunes from their open sides, adding to the party atmosphere in the town. I followed Renzo's brake lights for a couple of kilometres before we arrived back at Happiness Beach bar.

It was a Sunday, so I wasn't expecting much, but it was unbelievable. A stepping stone path led from the road through a corridor of plants until you emerged onto a sandy floor by the beach, with a wooden stage at its centre.

A crowd of a hundred people were pulsing in unison to the DJ's upbeat, trance bass line. The intimate setting was exactly what any raver worth their salt appreciates. We moved through the crowd, and I looked behind at Renzo to say:

"This is sick!"

I recognised many of the tunes being played as the work of Marlon Hoffstadt, who has recently set the dance music world ablaze with sounds full of life and fun.

Renzo pulled a small bottle of rum from his shorts and said:

"70 pesos for a bottle from outside or 100 for one rum and coke from the bar."

"You smuggled that in?"

"Of course! I'm Argentinian… I can't waste money."

As the night went on, the music got faster and faster until the audience was whipped into a frenzy of sweat and limbs. Thanks to Renzo's bottle of rum, reality was becoming more chaotic by the second, and the night had all the markers of one that was going to be full of weirdness.

After hours of twisting and turning through strange interactions and characters, we found ourselves in search of food at 4 in the morning. The only place in town open at this time was "Andoks", a fried chicken restaurant.

We followed the smell of unhealthy food, and sitting underneath the counter was one of the strangest-looking creatures I have ever seen.

A ridiculously fat bulldog slumped against the wall with a yellow table marker clasped between his jaws.

Renzo and I froze. Nobody seemed to be paying much notice to the bulldog, but we were transfixed.

"Do you think he's learned that the humans with table markers get brought chicken?" I asked, watching him sniff greedily at the greasy bits of chicken being passed overhead.

"I think that's exactly what's happening. He's waiting to be brought his chicken…" replied Renzo.

"What's this dog's name?" I said to the cashier as I ordered.

"Bruno."

The scenario we had just conjured up was made all the more hilarious by watching Bruno's eyes whenever an order came out. Every time the cashier called out a number he would grunt and turn his head expectantly towards the counter, brandishing 55.

When the tray was handed over to the customer above his head he would slouch and sulk, clearly unimpressed at waiting for so long.

By the time Renzo and I received our food, we were pretty much crying with laughter. All thoughts of my strange haircut and social anxiety were gone. I could have dreamt up hundreds of dream scenarios regarding my glorious arrival to Siargao, and this would not have been one of them. But it was perfect.

Sitting at four in the morning, with an Argentinian man, watching a Bulldog called Bruno wait patiently for chicken, holding the number 55.

Life can provide some memorable moments if you give it half a chance.