Wanderlust Heaven!

Rosanna & Co. run a good place, and I felt a lot better about my time in El Nido after making the move.

Visited Squiddo’s for a drink or two on Thursday night, after a beachfront dinner at Antonio’s with my boatmates Tim, Ralf and Marco. Wanted to check and see if the mad woman from the previous night was still around – if not, I wanted to give the owner a hard time for allowing her drunken tirade. But she wasn’t there – apparently she shows up once every month or so, gets drunk, and vents against the world. Thrilling. I did complain to the French owner, but we soon fell into a discussion, in French, about other topics with two other Frenchies sitting at the bar. Cigarettes and beer flowed and soon I forgot about the irritation of the previous night.

On Friday I wanted to go diving, so followed the counsel of Mario my Coron acquaintance and went to see an Englishman named Barrie, owner of Sea Dogs Dive Shop. He took me out for a couple dives near Miniloc Island. On the second dive, right when I was despairing at the lack of sea life and wondering if the dire predictions of marine extinction by 2050 were already becoming obvious, we came upon several tremendous interlocking schools of fish, dancing and weaving amongst each other. One school was young tuna; another was snappers; and there was a third I couldn’t ID. Gave me faith that we haven’t killed off all the fish yet. But seriously…they say the RP provides something like 70% of the topical fish for fishtanks around the world, but on some dives I don’t see much at all.

Barrie is a loquacious fellow and is a good one to consult on anything local. Might ask his advice later on about getting on a liveaboard to the Tubbataha Reefs, about 12 hours by boat from Puerto Princesa. I’ve heard that diving at Tubbataha is one of the top diving experiences around – on a level with Palau, Truk/Yap, Papua New Guinea, and a few others. It’s too late in the season now, but at some point I want to return to the RP and that’s top of the list.

Got back to town around 2 p.m., reasonably early. Went to the Arts Café to have a sandwich. I was halfway through with it when Marco, one of my boatmates, waltzed in. He had an injured foot and took the day off, while the other two guys hired a boat and made their own island-hopping itinerary. I was game for one more day of heading out – but wanted to keep it simple and not race from island to island. I was feeling a bit weary from 10+ days in northern Palawan – each day consisted of diving, island-hopping, or a madcap series of errands to enable those two sorts of activities. So wanted to wind things down in my few remaining days before returning to the ‘urban life’ in Puerto Princesa…

It being Friday night, the three musketeers and I felt like a good night out. Started at a nice beachfront bar…then felt like some BBQ’ed squid so went over to (you guessed it) Squiddo’s. No controversies this time. Had a good meal, then went over to the New Zone Disco, an obscenely sweaty little room full of cigarette smoke/haze/yelling. We put in a good effort, led by Tim, a 19-year-old Brit who is full of life and doesn’t mind ruffling a few local feathers. He had his eye on one bird but she didn’t seem interested…we ended up dancing in a group with a few local lasses and that was good fun. Didn’t want to piss off the local boys – managed to befriend a few (we told one that Tim was gay) and that worked out fine.

After a couple hours the heat got to us and we went over to the videoke place near Squiddo’s. Full house…had to wait a while to get in our songs. Ralf and Marco were game – but did commit the usual rookie errors of picking their favorite songs instead of playing to the crowd. They chose ‘Help’ by the Beatles, and a few others – all good songs, but not great for karaoke UNLESS you really can belt them out professionally. I went with my favorite of Just Once – which may be the perfect karaoke song, at least for my limited larynx. Stumbled out of there in the early hours and went to bed without getting into any real trouble.

On Saturday I met Ralf and Marco at Arts Café for a late breakfast. We were all a bit bleary from the night out. Decided to do a couple things that day – rent a boat and have it drop us off at Helicopter Island for a few hours of snorkeling and relaxing, and then climb the cliff right behind the town for the views. Helicopter Island looks like a Huey copter and is fairly close to the town. Brought some mini-pizzas from the café with us and had a great half-day there. We were the only people on the island – and it was a fantastic little beach. Did a bit of snorkeling, but mostly relaxed in the surf and talked. Marco told me some surprisingly disturbing stories from his native Switzerland – apparently there are quite a few immigrants from Eastern Europe who have sought refuge in Switzerland, and some of them are real trouble-makers – Marco and his brother have both been attacked and injured while minding their own business. Not something you’d expect to hear about lovely little Switzerland.

Had a random conversation about computer/video games. I was an addict when in my teens – I loved games like Zork, Castle Wolfenstein, Archon, Ultima, Dr. J. vs. Larry Bird, Borg, Lode Runner, and all of the Intellivision sports games. Marco and Ralf are younger and know a newer generation of games, but knew about my favorites too. One of these days I’ll get online and see if I can find downloads for the oldies – it’s probably not good for me to get re-addicted, but it would be a trip down memory lane at the very least…

Went back to shore. Ralf and I met our guide for the cliff climb, while Marco rested his foot. The climb was damn hard – I expected a fairly mellow hike, but there were times when I was hanging from the cliff, feet flailing around in search of a toe-hold. Meanwhile, Ralf is 20 years old..and a martial arts expert…and from Switzerland. Wonderful. He and the guide had lots of stops and rest waiting for me to catch up. But it was a cool climb – just shy of being technical. The karst limestone is very sharp and you have to pay attention; I was surprised to come down without any cuts. The positive aspect is that the outcroppings are well-defined and solid – lots of hand-holds that you can count on.

The views from the top were spectacular and I’ll drop a couple pics in here:

The trip up and back took about 2.5 hours and I was exhausted when we were through. Our guide, Sandy, took us for a beer over to his friend’s place, a woody bar/restaurant/live music house called Balaytubay. Sandy knows the owner, a nice guy nicknamed Bong (yes, Bong), who also plays drums and sings in the house band. Ralf and I decided to return that night to have dinner and hear the guitarist.

I booked a seat on the following morning’s bus to Port Barton. Then, still tired from the climb, I took a nap. It was about 4 p.m., so the power was on and I aimed the fan right at my head and managed to sleep for an hour or so. Every once in a while a gecko would get vocal – have you heard this before? The first sound is a trill, then they make a series of ducklike quacking noises. It’s interesting the first few times – then deeply annoying. I went over to the space in the wall where El Gecko seemed to be residing and gave it a smack – that seemed to take care of the problem for a while.

Got up and did a bit of yoga. The power gave out – I decided to keep going. Got very sweaty, very quickly. My yoga mat was drenched and I finished up. Sat on the porch admiring the sunset for a few minutes – here’s a superb shot that I want to share with you of the sunset here. New friend Alan took it, not me – regardless of provenance, I want you to see it:

It was Saturday night, but I was weary from the day’s activities and felt like something mellow. We went over to Balaytubay and had a fine time there. We tried the local ‘Nido Soup,’ made from the nests of swiftlets – ‘el nido’ means ‘the nest.’ Pretty tasty, similar to Chinese bird’s nest soup (of course). Had a massive chicken cordon bleue – the lads had steaks. Soon the guitarist emerged, a bit drunk from the look of him, and got started. Quite a talented fellow – probably 50 years old, wearing a baseball cap, with a good command of the classics. I thought of him as the Pinoy Mississippi Delta Blues King, particularly when he played Mr. Bojangles. He played a very good set – Jackson Browne, Jim Croce, CSNY, some of the songs with a slide on his guitar. Bong the owner joined him and they dedicated a song to me – ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane’ by John Denver – as I was taking off the next morning (not on a jet plane, however). They finished the set with ‘Country Road,’ also by John Denver. Felt a bit incongruous sitting there in the rural Philippines listening to lyrics about West Virginia – although I imagine that parts of West Virginia resemble the rural Philippines. Need to confirm that one day…

Left around 11 p.m., having had a great mellow time at Balaytubay. The place is a real gem, and not mentioned in any guidebooks – all the better for us, but Bong the owner would be more than happy to get more business. If you get to El Nido, hang out at Balaytubay and chill with Bong. You heard it here.

We each sang a song at the videoke place. Ralf did a nice rendition of Blowing in the Wind by Bob Dyland – that seemed to get the audience going. Then called it a night, as my bus was at 6 a.m.

Got up and finished packing. Stood out on the porch for a last look at the islands. A guy was running on the beach – which is not that long, nor unencumbered by boats. He went back and forth, back and forth – at first I thought he was a bit crazy, but I admired his effort and chided myself for getting lazy in recent weeks. When I get back to the cities I need to get my act together…

The bus was actually heading all the way to Puerto Princesa, the capital, and I planned to get off near Roxas to transit over to the little bayside town of Port Barton, where I’d spend a night. Bong sat next to me – I had known he was also heading south and that we’d be busmates. I was glad to have a friendly face beside me. We talked about music – he’s a music lover and quite knowledgeable. I gave him my iPod to listen to, picking out some songs by The Replacements, one of my favorite bands but unknown to Bong.

The bus was going downhill around a series of bends when I noticed that we were going pretty fast. I looked out the window, past Bong, who also seemed concerned. The bus engine was winding up and we barely made a couple of the corners. People were either hushed or gasping…the driver got us down the hill…and then the bus conked out. My heart was in my throat, it was really all quite dramatic and fast. What happened was that the brakes gave out, nearly or completely, and the driver threw the bus into first gear to slow it down. He managed to do just that, but in the process killed the engine. Water/fluid was leaking like crazy and the bus was going nowhere after that. Still, the driver did the right thing and got us down the hill in one piece. People understood that and were grateful for his competence.

Now, of course, we were at the side of the road without a working vehicle. But in a few minutes another bus, a larger one, came by. We flagged it down…and in the space of 20 minutes had transferred all the people and belongings (most of which go on the roof – huge amount of stuff) over to bus #2, and we were underway again. Goes to show that you can’t get too fretful when your plans change – just grab the next opportunity and carry on. Bong had a motorcycle strapped to the back of bus #1 – it took a bit of time to transfer that over, but it got done and that was that.

Pretty long morning – stopped for food a couple times, at fairly grim roadside carinderia (cafeterias) where the food was just a dollop of rice and a side of something else – pork, chicken, fish, or veggie. Uninspiring…but I was hungry and joined in. Cost less than 30 pesos, and worth no more than that. Oftentimes I bring my own food along, but had forgotten and paid the price. At least it went down without protest and I felt fine afterward.

One of the stops was in the town of Taytay, the former capital. Bong showed me the old Spanish fort there – nice. Not much else to do/see in Taytay.

Passed through the town of Roxas. There seems to be a Roxas on every sizeable island here – and the common element is that all are featureless, at least to the tourist. The US comedian Chris Rock had a joke about the prevalence of Martin Luther King Boulevards in most US cities – and that if you found yourself on MLK Blvd., you’d best get yourself out of there immediately.

Got to San Jose, just past Roxas. No more than a tiny crossroads. Got off the bus, after exchanging tel #s with Bong. We planned to meet up in Puerto in a couple days. Got a trike to Port Barton, only about 25 km away but on a heinous road. Trike was not cheap – 500 pesos, I believe. The bus had only set me back 200 pesos, but I understood the reality and took the trike.

The road was crappy, but mostly dry. But clouds were looming and it started to rain lightly when we got to Port Barton. I paid and walked quickly to my hotel, Greenviews. En route I passed by the ‘Chicago Sunset Bar,’ which seemed to be the nightlife in PB and was currently full of inebriated locals. Charming. Here’s the bar:

As soon as I got to Greenviews and went to ‘reception’ the woman there told me that a friend was looking for ‘Mike.’ That would be Tim, one of my boatmates who had gone on from El Nido a day beforehand. Not one minute in Port Barton and I already had a community in place. Put my pack in my cottage and set out to find Tim. He wasn’t in the hotel where I expected he’d be…so just walked around the beach taking in the sights. Then it started to rain – very hard. Took shelter in a small market area, bought some water, and hung out there. Then I saw a tall blond guy running out into the rain from a side street – Tim. I shouted and he came over. Reunited. How random.

Grabbed a beer and cheeseburger at the Bamboo House nearby. Shared stories of El Nido and travels onward. Decided to meet later for drinks at Chicago Bar. I needed a nap, the rain had cooled the air, and I went back to Greenviews to collapse. The bus and trike rides had taken their toll and I was asleep in minutes, even without having a fan trained on me. Port Barton only has power from 6 p.m. to midnight.

Got up, showered, and went over to the bar. Tim was already there, shirtless, hanging with the Pinoys. Drinks were flowing and after taking a few photos of the sunset, I joined in. Here’s PB’s sunset view – not quite El Nido’s, but it’ll do:

The Pinoys were good fun, for a while. Taught us how to say ‘are you drunk man?’
in the local dialect, which is ‘hubug ka doi?’ That phrase was used and misused ad nauseum in the ensuing hour or so. Went with Tim for dinner at El Busero down the beach. Talked about girls and travel adventures for a couple hours – Tim’s only 19 and it was interesting to see how he views things. Sometimes I feel like I’ve seen it all and get a bit jaded – but Tim’s at a very different stage and things seem so fresh to him.

Every now and then there’d be a lightning flash, much like there was in El Nido. Lights up the entire sky and you feel like you’re in some sort of natural light show.

Next day wanted to get to Sabang, sight of the Underground River, a 20 km river that winds through a series of caves. It’s the longest underground river known, although one in Laos may be longer. Had a lot to do in Sabang, and really just had a day there. Wanted to do the river trip, go on a mangrove swamp tour, and then walk the ‘Monkey Trail’. Decided to take a private boat from PB to Sabang – relatively expensive, but the alternative was to take jeepneys and I wouldn’t reach Sabang till 6 p.m. I applied one of my key principles, which is: don’t miss out on the good stuff to save a bit of cash. There was another consideration in this case – I was running out of pesos and there were no ATMs anywhere around (they’re only in Puerto). Still, I had enough and decided to take the boat.

It was Fathers Day, so I called Dad. He was out in Colorado with Ellen and her kids, it was (Aaron’s daughter) Samantha’s second birthday and they were celebrating it together. Everyone was doing well and it was good to catch up. I’ll be in Boston end of July for a week or so and that’s coming up fast.

The air in PB was moist – even more so than in Coron and El Nido. My stuff felt slightly damp. There were quite a few mossies around after dusk. I felt a growing need for some aircon to 1) dry out my stuff and 2) cool me off and give me a solid night’s sleep. I’d get aircon, plus 24-hour power, once in Puerto. Was looking forward to the niceties of urbanicity. In Coron Alan had mentioned one of his/Janine’s travel principles, which is that they tend to seek balance – if they’re in the mountains for a few days, they move on to the beach. If in crappy hotels, then spend a night or two somewhere nice. I felt the same way in general, and here was an application of that principle – two weeks at the beaches, in basic living conditions – now it was about time to switch over to some city comforts.

Slept OK despite not having power after midnight – the air was reasonably cool, much cooler than in El Nido. Got up at 8 a.m. and had breakfast at the hotel. Had eggs and rice – I’m eating far too much rice and am getting fat from it (the beer, of course, has no effect). When I get to Japan, I plan to avoid the rice – which comes with most dishes, but which is usually the least flavorful/desirable thing in front of you. In the RP, it’s often the best thing. Enough said.

There were 3 American youngsters at breakfast. Took me about 4 seconds to tell they were American – all had the valley accent that I find so grating. I don’t hear that much of it these days and that’s a good thing. At first I wondered if they were gay – but there are 3 traveling together and that would probably get too messy. At the very least, the accent sounds effeminate and unsophisticated, given that I had been hanging out with Tim the Brit for a few hours the previous night. Anyway, I drank my coffee and moved on. Tim was heading straight to Puerto to get some cash and take care of onward flights. We had made vague plans to try to meet in Puerto.

Got on the boat – just me and two crew - and we made good progress. Ride took 2.5 hours, past some nice islands and shoreline – nothing spectacular, given that I’d been hanging out in El Nido. It was a mellow journey, unlike the bus/trike mayhem the previous day. And I just sat there, watched and thought the entire way. No book…no Ipod…just sat there. Couldn’t even recall the last book I read – might have been the China Mieville book Iron Council. I’ve been reading magazines lately, or simply not doing much reading, which is quite unlike me. Perhaps it’s because I’ve had lots of companionship recently…perhaps it’s because I need fewer and fewer distractions besides various activities and simple life.

The boat crew, for your perusal:

These guys (one of whom was drinking with Tim and I the night before – we traded a few ‘hubug ka doi’s’) took me straightaway to the Underground River, and I went on the 45-minute tour while they waited on shore.

Entering the cave is a little spooky – here’s the opening from the river:

The tour only covers a few km, after that the river gets dangerous/unnavigable – but it’s quite something. The river and caverns are absolutely huge and awesome. They’re are full of swiftlets and bats – the birds are flying around during the day, while the bats (mercifully) sleep. The guide points out stalactite and stalagmite formations that have been given nicknames – this one is the Holy Family, that one is a giant mushroom, and here’s a sexy woman. Does this look to you like a sexy woman’s body? Could be, if you’re hard up…

Corny – but it works. Very Filipino, methinks.

Finished the tour, and went back to the boat to head to Sabang village, right on the beach. Mellow little beach, similar to Port Barton. Here it is, coming in from the bay:

Checked into a cottage at Taraw Hotel. Took a swim to cool off…had a sandwich…then walked north along the beach to the Mangrove Tour, the second of my 3 activities that day. I came to a little shack on the edge of the swamp – and woke up the two slumbering guides, Nita and Chris. I later learned that they were just snoozing after a mini drinking binge - comforting. Had a neat little boat tour with them – huge, beautiful mangrove trees all around the Puyoy-Puyoy River. Apparently the name ‘Manila’ came from ‘maynilad,’ which means ‘mangrove.’ Hard to imagine mangroves where Manila now stands, but it’s true. Here’s a cluster of mangrove trees – the roots are massive and well above the waterline, particularly in low tide”

Chris and Nita wore unusual straw hats that reminded me of colonial American troops’ two hundred years ago. They gave me one as well, but it didn’t fit that well and I just braved the strong sun as we rode along. Here’s Nita with her hat:

They gave a good tour, and I was happy to see that they took pains to locate and remove plastic bottles and other trash from the river. There wasn’t much of it – probably the cleanest place in the RP – but they removed a few bottles and I wish their attitude was infectious. Got back to the shore just as the rain was coming on. Hung out in their tour shack while the storm raged…they shared some of Chris’s homemade tuba (coconut wine), which was what the two of them were up to before I showed up. Odd taste – a bit sweet, a bit soapy. I felt a bit woozy after a glass and declined a second. Talked about malaria with them – Nita had it once but seems OK now. I’m paranoid about malaria (amongst other things) so try to learn as much as possible. Had some DEET-based lotion and shared it with Nita. Chris looked like he’d lived through multiple bouts of malaria and didn’t want any. So be it.

Rain finally abated. Walked out to start the ‘Monkey Trail,’ so called because macaques are sometimes seen there. The trail actually winds up at the Underground River. The usual thing is to walk to or from the River from/to Sabang…but my morning boat transport made that unfeasible so I was doing it a bit differently. I planned to take a boat back to Sabang from the river.

Lots of steps and embedded rocks marked the trail. Some stretches were manmade, others passed over beautiful, deserted little beaches. See for yourself:

Far easier than the El Nido cliffs – thankfully. Took my time, the path was wet. Slipped once but grabbed a rail and didn’t hit the deck. Little land crabs ran around in front of me, and when I got near they played dead. Here’s my attempt to photograph a couple of them – strange little critters:

Got to a ranger station, registered my name. They had a walkie-talkie and contacted the staff at the Underground River to ensure that a boat would wait there for me. Then I walked on. Got to the river around 4 p.m. or so. Took the boat back, it cost 600 pesos, yet another rip-off, but I didn’t want to walk all the way back to Sabang. I was running out of pesos, but had just enough to get by another day.

Sabang only has 4 hours of power/day – 6-10 p.m. I made a mental note to take care of everything before 10 p.m., when it would be nearly impossible to do anything but sleep (unless a more interesting opportunity presented itself). Took another swim…was hungry, so looked around the beach/village for a place with snacks. Found a little restaurant/shop with chips, cookies, etc. Got some junk food. Felt a bit guilty, but it probably wasn’t a hell of a lot worse than the usual pork and rice meal…or am I equivocating?

When I walked in and was looking around, I saw a foreigner sitting at a table. I thought nothing of it – but he immediately launched into 20 questions. I really despite that – it’s not the way to engage me. And within the space of a couple minutes, I heard from him that he:
-taught at Harvard for 3 years (did he fail and get booted?)
-had worked at Sotheby’s
-lived in Hawaii
-had retired at age 39
-had been traveling, with his wife, for 4 years
-had spent 14.5 months (not 14 months, mind you) in China
-was a vegan

Some people might find this sort of information exchange fascinating. I did not, and pretty much ignored him while he blathered away. He turned me off, and anyway I preferred to eat my junk food and drink my San Miguel in peace. I did interject, however, when I felt it necessary to all him out. On the vegan bit – it became clear that his wife was actually in back, in the kitchen, with the proprietor, preparing their dinner. This was at 4:30 p.m. or so. I told this fellow that I preferred to have more eating options, with less hassle, and I questioned the viability of following a vegan diet in the RP. A regular vegetarian diet would be hard enough, but workable – Janine the Brit is vegetarian and has had a challenging but OK time getting by here. Vegan – way too hard, unless you’re willing to spend half your day tracking down/preparing your own food. So I said this to the fellow, who denied that it was a hardship. I pointed out that his wife was already busy preparing their dinner, at an early hour, and suggested that he join her and lighten her load. That didn’t seem to register – people like this generally aren’t interested in listening, just talking. Which reminds me of an old Ambrose Bierce definition, from his brilliant Devil’s Dictionary. Egotism, n. Someone who talks when they should be listening to me. QED.

I also mentioned – after some prodding – that I was only 39, that I had retired at 38, and that I had lived outside the US for many years, and that I was traveling long-term. When you’re confronted with someone who thinks they’re really cool, it’s fun to poke a few holes in their superiority complex…

The fellow was either super-friendly/talkative, or he was doing the usual male thing of sizing me up. I assumed the latter. How boring. I’d really rather talk to females, they’re less insecure and egotistical. Travel exposes you to fantastic people and places…but also to losers and hellholes. Losers can travel too. All it requires is a bit of money, and in many countries you don’t need to be intelligent or competent to get some. I may sound whiny here – but I’ve had the benefit of meeting some top people on my journeys and the jerks really stand out. You can’t (and shouldn’t) like everyone.

Saw a water buffalo on the beach. Had dinner at a little beachfront restaurant – got a small yet hearty grouper for only 120 pesos – with rice, naturally. Finished up – hurried back to hotel to pay my bill (I was taking off at 7 a.m. next day), pack up, and read a bit before the power cut out at 10 p.m. I really would not miss the power limitations.

My karma must have been out of whack – because when I got to the jeepney the next morning, the loser and his wife were already there. They took the front seats, next to the driver. A bit more comfortable than those in the rear, but you pay more – and as foreigners sitting there, you look like a prize asshole. If you’re going to take a jeepney, go whole hog and sit in the back with a gang of locals, you get to have a chat and trade some smiles. The jeepney had a bunch of schoolkids, who were incredibly cute and shy, and we had fun sneaking looks at each other and grinning. I nearly forgot that my foreign nemesis was on the same jeepney…although I did feel a bit annoyed about the circumstances. There was the annoying couple from Coron, now this couple.

We had a few minutes before the jeepney left. The jerk spent it talking to the only other foreigner there besides us, a 50-something semi-hippy named Adam who used to own a hotel in Jamaica, or so I gathered. And while I was trying to ignore their conversation, I really couldn’t. Within 2 minutes the loser had told Adam precisely what he unloaded on me the day before – vegan, Hawaii, etc. How depressing. Adam seemed more receptive than I – perhaps he was starved for companionship. Who knows.

I should point out that the jeepney is a superb invention. It moves people efficiently, it carries heavy goods all around, and it serves as a type of Pony Express as well, distributing mail and other information from place to place. Jeepneys really embody the resourcefulness and determination of the Filipinos, in my opinion.

You do get pretty dirty riding on them, though. I made a mental note to get laundry done in Puerto. Filipinos are quite cleanly, but don’t seem that fussed when their clothes get soiled. I have noticed that many people here spend tons of time doing their wash – I suppose that’s part of their life and they’re used to it. I regard dirty clothes and having to arrange (as opposed to do) my laundry as an annoyance, but I should probably view it differently. It’s not like the laws of entropy will reverse themselves and I’ll forever be done with laundry, right?

A woman with an axe got on the jeepney at one point. The axe blade was wrapped in newspaper. I smiled at her.

Joke coming up. Q: how many people fit on a jeepney. A: one more!

The loser and his wife got off at a town called Salvacion, to head to Port Barton. Salvacion (‘Salvation’) indeed. When we took off, they were waiting at the side of the road waiting for a connecting jeepney. They might have four years of traveling under their belt, but they looked every bit the newbie travelers – wheelie suitcase, huge water bottle, etc. Grim. I smiled broadly as we headed off, and traded knowing looks with the Pinoy travelers, who can spot a phony/loser a mile away.

Got to Puerto Princesa before noon. Checked into a great little place, Casa Linda, with aircon. Immediately unloaded all my gear, washed off my pack, and let things air out and dry. Walked around, got some toiletries. Noticed a soap called Dr. Wong’s Medicinal Sulfur Soap. Wondered when old friend Bryan Wong got into the hygiene biz.

Went to a proper Internet café, plowed through my emails. Read Alan/Janine’s blog, it’s excellent and a great mix of text and graphics. Also read another blog, called Tales of Asia. Will provide those URLs soon, in case you’re interested in branching out.

Went to Kalui for lunch. Had gone there a couple weeks earlier, when I had a few hours in Puerto. Again, had a nice piece of tuna and some vegetables. And a cold San Miguel. Thought about meeting Bong that night at Kinnabuch, the local outdoors bar and grill. Reflected on my somewhat Japanese propensity to visit a place largely to try the local restaurants and specialties. Some Japanese are such foodies that they trek to a tiny village to try the local mushrooms that sprout for 2 weeks a year. I’m less sophisticated, but the principle holds.

Saw a local newspaper headline: ‘Gay killed by 4 boy toys.’ Couldn’t bring myself to buy and read that…

Met Bong, and 4 of his friends, that night at Kinnabuch. Ate some crispy pata, the house specialty – it’s a roasted pig’s leg, skin and all. Better than it sounds…but lethal as well. Not an everyday dish. Then we piled into a jeep and went to the local videoke establishment, replete with comely GROs and flashing lights. Got a VIP room…sang a few songs with the boys and girls…’Cool Change’ by the Little River Band was what I considered my inspired choice for the evening.

Slept wonderfully in the aircon room. Got up, did a few errands. One was to see about getting a refund for the flight I missed from Coron to El Nido. My previous post detailed this bump – I drunkenly overslept and missed the early a.m. flight. Went to SEAir, told them a sob story about being sick, and I got 75% of the cost back. Was perfectly satisfied. Went to the Internet café, with my injured laptop, to do my banking. The laptop screen seems less damaged, perhaps it’s slowly drying out. But the machine is really hurting, operating very slowing, and I’m looking forward to getting a new one when in the States. I got some $ from my travel insurance, so am reasonably happy about that.

Will stop here and go for a run. Puerto has nice straight roads and I’m heading to Cebu tomorrow, the roads there are a different proposition entirely. So will take advantage of my setting to work off the rice and pata (not the San Miguel). Over and out.

Coron is known for its Japanese WW2 wrecks, as mentioned last week, and I was there to visit them. I had already done a few dives from Sangat Island, and wanted to do a few more from Coron. On Friday, my first full day there, I went with the Sea Divers shop boat out to the Akitsushima wreck, which I had seen a couple days before. Our guide was a local named Tantan – good guy, tremendous garlic breath. Anyway, I had previously only dived around the outer sections of the wreck, and only gone inside a fairly wide-open section. This time, we achieved full penetration – no snide remarks, please, that’s the terminology they seem to use. Quite an experience (isn’t full penetration always?). Got a glimpse of a few torpedos/bombs, the generator/engine, and a huge turbine wheel . Visibility wasn’t that great, though…and the light that the dive shop provided was weak. So it was slow going, and I was awkward. At one point I nicked my finger on a piece of metal – Yamashita’s Revenge, as it were. A little blood appeared, and I applied some direct pressure while continuing my dive. I had a faint fear of the blood attracting some descendant of Jaws, but the blood stopped straightaway and nothing nasty emerged.

Second dive that day was the Kogyo Maru, a 160 meter wreck at 20-34 meters. Also went inside that one – some very tight fits. Wreck diving is a far cry from what I’d experienced and it took some getting used to. For one, you can’t go straight up if you get spooked – so you need to maintain your composure and count to ten. In this wreck, to get through some passageways I had to turn sideways so that the tank and I would slide through. And at one point I snagged my regulator hose and played myself a brief internal movie of the hose getting sliced and me gasping desperately for air in the dark of the ship. But the hose slid off when I moved it, and it was in one piece. Learned a lot about diving that day.

I wasn’t impressed by Sea Divers, though. I dove on Nitrox on each of the two dives. For the Akitsushima, I dove with a 32% oxygen mixture, which is a good blend for depths of approximately 32-35 meters. On the Kogyo Maru, we were given 36% - which has a max depth of 30-32 meters. After that, you risk oxygen toxicity and potential convulsions. Well, when we were inside the Kogyo Maru we were hovering around 30 meters or so – was hard to tell because it was quite dark and not easy to see my watch. Then, right when I was starting to get concerned about the depth, my watch lit up and started to beep. Great. We were at/just over the max depth and the watch was warning me. I ascended a few meters, as far as I could, and was very careful to stay high during the balance of the dive. When we were all back on the boat, safe and sound, I asked Tantan the guide why we had used 36%. He told me that it was because 34% wasn’t available. That was not the right answer, and I was annoyed.

I spoke my mind to another diver, Steve, later on. Steve had been diving in Coron for a month or so and seemed quite sure of himself – and every single topic that was being discussed. During the entire hour-long ride from Coron to the wrecks, and back at the end of the day, Steve was holding court – about diving (despite his relative inexperience – he had been licensed only months before), about the Coron wrecks, about underwater photography, and about his travels. I got visibly tired of his spew after a few minutes – but the other divers, Mike and Liz, seemed not to mind his blather and I was thus able to remove myself from the conversation and take in the scenery, fresh air, and peacefulness of the setting.

I told Steve that I thought the dive shop was pretty sloppy in giving us 36% for the Kogyo Maru dive. Steve’s response was nearly word-for-word from the PADI Nitrox coursebook – a diver is responsible for his/her own blend. All right, fair enough – but it wasn’t as if I had dove the Kogyo Maru previously, and it wasn’t as if there were any discussion of the ship’s profile and the blend options beforehand. The tanks were simply loaded onto the boat in Coron and that was that. Before we dove, we each verified the contents of our respective tanks – that’s really what the PADI book is getting at. The dive shop needs to be careful about matching the right depths with the right blends – then handing the tank to the diver to verify. I mentioned the story to a few others, including the Otto’s Pub gang later that night, and they were taken aback. And Sea Divers is off their game in other ways, too – their equipment is awful, with O-rings on the tanks often in bad shape, the BCDs are tatty, and the booties (for the fins) ripped. In all it seems a ragged operation and the only real thing going for it is its key location – you need to make an effort to go with another shop. Here’s Sea Dive – café, dive shop, and hotel all located on the main pier in town:

Enough complaining. Later that day, went over to the SEAir shop to try to get a seat on the Tuesday morning flight down to El Nido. I had tried the previous day, upon arriving in Coron, and the clerk said that the flight was full. I asked about wait-list – she said there were 3 people on it, no need to add my name. I left…but felt later that I should have gotten on the wait-list. So here I was again…I added my name, then the clerk double-checked the latest situation and the next thing I knew, I was on the flight and paying with my credit card. Weird. Lesson learned, though – things are very fluid here and it always pays to get on a list.

Did a bit of yoga in my room – was a hard squeeze between the two beds in there, but I got through most of the asanas (postures) and felt clear-headed afterward. Then I went for a run, not having gone in a few days. The ‘National Highway’ in Coron is straight for about a kilometer, then it climbs steadily for another 1-2 km. I made it to the top, near the Kokosnuss Hotel, and was nearly spent by the effort – the heat was brutal, even after dark. Went back to the guesthouse for a shower, then over to Otto’s Pub to chat with the gang there. They recommended a few other places for a drink – one, Bottle Ground, was right across the street, so went there and sat through a few mangled karaoke songs before heading back to the hotel. A couple deep dives…yoga…hard run…I was asleep in minutes.

Saturday was busy. Needed to do an assortment of errands, most of them annoying, all of them necessary. Called a few hotels and made booking for the balance of my time in Palwan, plus later trips to Cebu and Manila. Took my backpack to the local tailor (little shack, actually), as it had ripped. Got a haircut…sat next to a pastor who recommended that I visit a nearby leper colony. Made a mental note to check my skin later that day. Did a bit of online research for new camera and laptop. Read a couple private equity documents sent to me, and sent some email replies out. Finally, did a bit of administrative stuff on my laptop – copied a few files to my external hard drive, in anticipation of getting a replacement laptop in a few weeks. When your laptop gets trashed (see previous entries), it creates a world of pain and I’m looking forward to getting through the process when I go to the US in late July.

So Saturday wasn’t particularly exciting, just productive…but as I was taking the backpack to the tailor, I saw a random fellow looking at me from across the street. He stared at me…I kept walking in his direction…he held out his hand. I shook it, wondering who the hell he was and what he was selling/requesting. Then I got it…he (Alan) and I had gone diving at the same shop, Asia Divers, in Puerto Galera about two months beforehand. We had a few brief conversations there, along with his wife Janine, and then gone our separate ways without really saying goodbye. Now we were in the same place again, randomly, after a couple months of treading around the RP on separate paths. It’s not unusual to see the same people over and over – I’ve remarked on this in earlier entries. It’s something I first noticed in the Indian Himalaya in ’92, and it’s been noticeable during this trip as well. But it is somewhat unusual to see people after a few months – usually you see them along precisely the same route. Anyway, Alan and Janine are a couple very cool Britons and I was happy they were here in Coron.

After taking care of my errands I took a trike over to an area called Caltex, a recommendation that the Otto’s Pub gang had given me the previous evening. They had refused to tell me about the place, but I surmised that it was a sleazy videoke parlor – and I was spot on. There are 2 or 3 little bars on this strip, on the pier past the public market, and they don’t get many foreigners there. I was a bit of a celebrity – and was asked to sing a few songs with the drunken local guys. The girls were wandering round in bras and panties – but I can’t say it was particularly provocative, it felt like a workaday atmosphere (probably because it was), and the dirt floors and mangy dogs roaming around only detracted from any exoticism the place may have had. I got out of there after a couple beers and stuck the experience deep in some cranial chamber for future reference, i.e. what sort of bars should I avoid in the future.

Walked over the Sea Divers café, where I expected to see some familiar faces. Alan, Janine, and their friend (from El Nido), Mario the Aussie, were sitting in the pole position on the back porch, drinking and smoking away. I invited myself to join them, and pretty soon it was like old times. We had lots of stories to trade on our time in Puerto Galera, but we soon moved to the routes we’d taken in the RP. Alan and Janine have seen a hell of a lot in their 3-4 months in-country, and I thought they’d visited most of the best places I know of. I think they’re big fans of the RP and its good to observe other people getting to know and enjoy this crazy yet rewarding land…

We moved over to The Bistro for dinner. This is by far the best place to eat in Coron, it’s run by a wild-looking French (retired) anthropologist. Had a good meal and chat there, must have been at table for close to 3 hours. Random animal spottings while there – a street kitty was meowing constantly and hung around for most of the night. And we spotted two geckos thrashing wildly together on the wall – our conclusion was that it was a rare sighting of gecko love.

Good chat, covering lots of ground. Alan and Janine also do a blog – she does the text, he handles the photos. Good division of labor – and helps me understand why my Slog features mediocre text AND graphics. Anyway…I was greatly reassured to hear from them that they’ve also spent countless hours in Internet cafes posting the entries. We’ve all gotten much better – with the primary bottleneck addressed being the slimming down of photo file sizes. We traded a few tips on that.

We also excoriated Sea Divers for their mediocre operation. I mentioned my Nitrox horror story; they told me that a 14-year-old girl was there getting her Open Water certificate, and taking a camera down with her during her training dives. That’s not exactly according to manual. And other assorted transgressions were brought up – not bringing flashlights when going inside wrecks…not having gloves or hoods, despite the danger of cutting yourself on the metal…etc. Sometimes it’s fun to bitch and moan – particularly when you’re probably justified in doing so!

Alan and I went to Bottle Ground, the videoke place, later that night. There weren’t any songs being sung – the machine was turned off. We counted our blessings and simply sat and chatted. A pleasant young woman was brought over to sit with us…she was quite nice. Turns out she and her two sisters, from Cebu, all work at the bar and were there that night. Random.

We left around 1:30 a.m. or so, a few beers deep. Right when we hit the street, the lights went out – brownout. Looked up at the sky and it was a beautiful deep blue, with a fantastic array of stars – really wonderful. We stood there and caught our breath. Then, of course, we finished up with a few character assassinations (of other, lesser divers) before we parted ways. I had a 10-minute walk back to my hotel (Alan was staying at Sea Divers – which really is the nerve center of town). As I came over the hill, a firefly showed itself above and in front of me, and I followed its light back to the lodge.

Which was barred and locked. Who knows why…perhaps things get dodgy when the lights go out. Or perhaps it was just the lateness of the hour. In any event, I made some noise, a guy came across the street to help, no avail, made some more noise, finally an employee came out and let me in. Something about getting the hotel’s generator started. I didn’t much care, I was fried and wanted to sleep. We were diving the next day.

That turned out to be one of the better days of diving I’ve had. It was me, Alan and Janine, Mike and Liz (victims of our character assassination), and the Sea Divers crew. We went to Coron Island, to dive the well-known Barracuda Lake, which has layers of fresh, brackish, and salt water, and different temperatures at the various levels. We landed at the pier…then had a short, surprisingly hard little hike over some sharp karst formations, with our BCD and tanks on our backs. Not easy. By the time we slid into the lake, we were thankful, and ready for some fun.

What diving! When you pass through the ‘barrier’ between fresh and salt water, it becomes murky – I think the German word for the haze is ‘schlerin,’ which you also see when you BBQ meat, and when you’re outside on a very hot day and vehicle emissions cloud the air. And the temperature of the lake varies drastically – in the fresh water section my watch read 30 degrees C, whereas in the salt water it jumped to 36 degrees C. I felt like I was cooking when in the hottest parts. Mike (not me) plunged his entire arm and head into the soft, muddy bottom of the lake and that was good for a laugh. Alan also went for a gunk-dive there. I avoided the muck, but headed into a dark, reddish deep section…and when I was inside, it was so dark I couldn’t see a thing. It was like a black hole…I didn’t stay in there for long, worrying that I might get disoriented and never get out again.

Next dive was mellow – it was along a lengthy coral wall, not that much marine life but it was a good dive for perfecting buoyancy, form, and breathing. We surfaced where Mike and Liz were snorkeling, and called it a day.

Back to shore. Backpack was stitched up…did a few emails…took a much-needed nap. Strange how your day gets completely filled and you worry about getting ‘everything’ ‘done’ even when you’re on holiday and have no job to get back to…

While we were having an excellent day of diving, Mario was not. We all met in the Helldivers Bar (that name does it for me, for some reason), and Mario told us all about the sins of Sea Divers that day. Many of the same transgressions as covered previously – lack of flashlights (torches, in British), no gloves, divers brought inside wrecks when not ready for that, etc. Mario seemed pretty down…I told him about another dive shop, where Thomas the German works. I had met and hung out with Thomas on Sangat Island, and it was obvious he was a diligent fellow (he’s German, after all). I suggested to Mario that he go over to the Crystal Lodge and see about going with their dive shop and Thomas. He did that, the next morning, and went out with that operation. Thomas was still on Sangat, but the shop had a Canadian divemaster and he was apparently good. Mario returned from that day in far better spirits and was back to his regular upbeat self.

As for me…well, I wasn’t paying my own demons enough heed. After a relaxed day, which included a very nice hour or so spent at the nearby Makinit Hot Springs, the evening again concluded with a session at the Bottle Ground. This time the videoke machine was going full tilt and Alan, Mario and I joined in. I stuck to a few crowd-pleasers that I know from my time in Asia, and which I’ve mentioned in earlier postings. I was pretty happy with my rendition of James Ingram’s ‘Just Once.’ Alan did a R.E.M. number, Mario did ‘Yellow Submarine,’ then Alan and our female minder collaborated on an Atlantic Starr hit the name of which eludes me. But quite good. I was semi-mindful that I was scheduled to fly early the next morning to El Nido, on the Palawan mainland. The flight was at 7:50 a.m., the jeepney to the airport was leaving town at 6 a.m. Ugh. That loomed large, yet we sat there and I let Alan and Mario buy me some ‘final beers.’ We had a friendly banter with the locals at the table next to us…at one point it seemed to deteriorate (Alan later told me he had my back – good man), but we somehow put it right and that was that.

We got out of there, hides basically intact, at 3 a.m. or thereabouts. I got back to the hotel (again having to cause a ruckus to gain entry), and finished my packing, aware that I would be nearly useless in 2 hours upon awakening. It was good that I did all that – because I woke at 8:30 a.m., having badly missed both jeepney and flight. So now I was all ready to go to El Nido – but the plane was gone, my bags were packed, and I was in a somewhat fucked state. But at the same time – it really wasn’t all bad. I called the El Nido hotel and told ‘em that I would be a day late (I knew there was a boat heading there on Wednesday, the next day). I grabbed some money, a credit card, my dive watch, and headed down to Sea Divers to see about diving that day. I thought that Alan and Janine were diving and I’d try to join them.

At least that went to plan – Alan stumbled into the café, said hi, and before his glassy eyes could focus I told him that I missed my flight and that I’d be diving with them. Cool. Had some coffee and food, then headed out with Tantan for another day of play-it-by-ear diving with Sea Divers.

And had a great day – was pretty much happy that I missed the El Nido flight. While we were waiting to go out, Alan and I were remarking on the nasty, festering state of the little canal under Sea Divers. Locals use the canal as a garbage can, and there are all sorts of things floating about. Alan spotted a ‘Filipino Bagfish’ while I pointed out a ‘Filipino Blue-nosed Bottlefish.’ That was a good laugh, although the topic was far from funny.

We did three dives, at Alan’s behest, and I felt especially comforted that I was at least having a full day of diving, with new friends, instead of sitting at the hotel under a cloud for having screwed up my flight.

The three dives, all good, were the Tangat cargo ship, the Olympia Maru, and the Lusong gunboat. Loads of fun and had a blast trading travel tales with Alan and Janine. It was like our own private dive boat and a memorable day indeed. Here are the Brits, pre-dive:

Was quite tired from the previous night’s mayhem and from the 3 dives, so had a quick dinner at the café with the gang. We said our second set of farewells – I really did plan to get the boat to El Nido the next morning. Alan managed to wind me up by pointing out that a couple I found naïve annoying would be on the same boat with me. Ugh. I think that Janine was a little cross with me for being so close-minded – but I can’t help it, I just can’t stand some people and have a hard time changing my mind. After all, I’m not a woman…

Our ship (which I made, by the way) was the Jezebel, a fairly capacious bangka. The annoying couple got on, but went straight back to an enclosed room (with life jackets) at the stern and we barely saw them the entire ride. With me in front were 3 fellows, 2 Swiss and 1 British. All cool. The ride was 7-8 hours, the weather was mostly excellent, and it truly felt like we were traveling through a world composed of water with a few specks of land thrown in by some divine, half-crazed artist just for effect. We chatted for an hour or so, then fanned out a bit. Lots of laying about and stretching our bodies to fit the contours of the boat and environment…

I listened to my iPod for a few hours – hadn’t listened to music (besides videoke) in a while and wanted to do that. Started off with Back in Black by ACDC…segued to some Black Lab – first, their amazing debut Your Body Above Me, then their second CD See the Sun – also quite good. Then some Macy Gray, her first album, which doesn’t have a single throwaway track, and which reminds me of my early days working in Sydney, having left an awful project in Tokyo – had bought the Macy Gray disc and that helped me get jazzed up for yet another challenging project (at least that one was set in the wonderful world of Oz).

The boat had trolled a fishing line behind it the entire ride – and managed to catch a decent-sized jackfish. Here it is:

I enjoyed the ride and found myself at the front from time to time, obscuring the skipper’s vision:

Watched bizarre flying fish launch themselves out of the boat’s frontal wake and send themselves 10-20 meters across the waves. Not too sure how they do that. And saw a pack (right term?) of dolphins playing as we neared El Nido:

Got to El Nido, which is set amongst a wild collection of little karst mountain islands known as the Bacuit Archipelago. I had wanted to see El Nido for a while, and had heard from Alan/Janine/Mario about its grandeur. Even though I was a day or so late – thanks to my flight mishap – I’d have 4-5 days here and planned to get out on boats and see the surroundings. Here’s a shot coming in from the water:

Got in around 5 p.m. A bit later than I like, given the need to hunt down a room. Rosanna’s, which the Brits had recommended, was booked out – wasn’t in the mood for a lengthy search, so just went with the nearby Laly & Abet Cottages. Then went down the beach and found my 3 shipmates, who were bunking together at a nameless, but decent, little place nearby. We walked down to the Arts Café, the nerve center of El Nido (for foreigners, anyway), and had a beer, a bite, and signed up for a boat tour the next day. We’d be seeing several islands, lagoons and beaches, all within an hour from town. Sounded superb.

When I had checked in to the hotel, I ran into a British couple whom I’d met in Sangat, run into in Coron, and now was seeing again in El Nido. You know how that works by now, gentle readers. We had agreed to meet for dinner at Squiddo’s, a standard meeting place for tourists. Met them there…the three lads joined us…we got the lowdown from the couple about El Nido. The night got weird, though, when we started hearing loud and unsteady rumblings from a woman at the bar behind us. Turns out she owns a nearby resort (well, her Canadian husband does, apparently)…and had some chip on her shoulder about her education/English/business/place in life. She was getting way out of hand…and it seems the Squiddo’s owners (a Frenchman and his Filipina wife) couldn’t do much to shut her up. Seems the Frenchman is good mates with the nutty woman’s husband…for what that’s worth. He did his best but she kept on shouting…our muted protests had no effect so we tried to intervene and get her to keep it down…but that only encouraged her and her tirade. We finally paid up and left, giving some lip to the owners. And we had a hell of a shouting match with the witch on the way out – I’m afraid I deliberately yanked her chain and she sent us off with some nasty words. Bizarre, to say the least – haven’t had that sort of unpleasantness here before. Will be watching my back for the next few days…

Had a few final drinks at a beach bar. Kept an eye and ear out for the crazy lady, but no signs. We later saw her, still sitting at the Squiddo’s Bar, when we went back to the hotel for the night. Everyone kept mum and that was probably for the best. I may just write a nasty remark in Lonely Planet’s online Thorn Tree discussion board about her and her resort – it’s called Las Cabanas, in case you’re interested. The woman said she didn’t care if we dissed her resort in Lonely Planet, so consider this a warning volley. You really don’t want to stay anywhere near her…

Next day (today), went out on the island tour (Version A – there are two other set tours), with the 3 guys from the Jezebel boat. Spent a lot of time at Miniloc Island – which has two beautiful lagoons, the smaller of which you need to visit by swimming through a narrow crevice. Also visited a ‘secret lagoon’ through a hole in a karst wall, and the lovely Seven Commandos Beach. Really wish I had an underwater camera – but give me a few more weeks.

Fantastic day – my words, and photos, really can’t do justice to the islands and seas. And I’m probably too weary at this point even to give it a good shot, so let me leave you with a few photos of the seascape, and the unparalleled sunset from the front porch, and I promise to tell you more next week. Over and out.