To Palawan

Thursday, April 21st, 2011 in: News, Travel

I woke up feeling suspiciously rested for an hour’s sleep. Glancing at the clock, I saw that I succumbed to my exhaustion, and my 1 hour catnap was a 3 hour snoozefest. I had only an hour before my flight to Puerto Princesa. Shorts! I yelled, grabbing the bags I had fortunately finished packing the night before. Troy ushered me out the door with a prayer for Godspeed and a good taxi driver.

Someone must have been listening, for Danny pulled over for me before I even saw him. “where to? Zest? What time is take-off? 7:40?” Danny  glanced at the dashboard glowing 6:30. I had already partially given up, used to uncompromising airlines, long security checks and 2-hour pre-boarding habits. “no problem, I’ll get you there in time.”

Danny wasn’t kidding, he threaded the needle of traffic, weaving around tricycles and jeeps with reassuring speed and agility as he casually talked about his cousin, the governor of Bohol. We pulled up to the terminal with more than 40 minutes to spare, and I pressed two hundred pesos into his hand. “bonus!” he laughed. “for saving my butt today.” Check-in for my flight was still going on, with a few calm-looking passengers there to reassure me. Any medical conditions to report? The agent asked.

Just a tendency to oversleep, I laughed.

On touchdown, as I was collecting my bags, I noticed one of the other hopelessly white passengers with a slightly glazed look on his face. “Going into town?” I asked, hoping to save on the tricycle fare.

Jacob had been to the Philippines before, but this was his first time to Palawan. For once, I was armed with a place to stay, so I invited him along to see if they had extra room. As the fog of unfamiliarity lifted, I realized we had a lot in common. Jacob has taught English in Korea for 7 years, and even lived in the same neighborhood as Drew. On top of that, he attended the Reel Rock Film Tour in Seoul. We’d been in the same room just a few weeks ago. Small world, indeed! At first he was a little reserved, but the more we hung out the more I liked him. He’s a gentleman juggler and had a keen interest in the yo-yo, another Jack of all trades. His stories are endless and all pretty hilarious, which makes him a very entertaining travel buddy.

Banwa Pension in Puerto Princesa probably has the most character I’ve ever seen in a hostel. The lobby was clearly built by hand, with an assortment of heavy wooden tables and chairs of various intriguing sizes, surrounded by large wooden masks. It has a cozy feeling despite having no walls, due to the heavy surrounding vines creeping in and filtering the light into a warm greenish yellow glow. A gorgeous tropical flower sat in a vase on the center coffee table, a Torch Ginger, standing in stark contrast with the dark stained wood and green walls. The effect was very much that of being enveloped by nature, a feeling I discovered a taste for here in the tropics. The dorm rooms were standard hostel fare, with bunk beds and cold showers, but I wasn’t complaining, especially at 300 pesos a night.

Jana was still sleeping when we arrived around 10am, and I let her wake up of her own accord. It turned out to be a good idea, because she’d been up late last night getting acquainted with the locals and some fellow travelers. Matching our travel schedules was almost effortless, in that we put forth almost no effort to meet up, but there we were.

She was glowing, partially with the reprieve of being on her first real vacation in a year, but also with the confidence that came with her experience and independence from working abroad. It was over a year ago that I first met her over coffee for a Q&A session. She just signed on for a year of teaching English in Taiwan, and was nervous about moving abroad, peppering me with questions to which there really are no answers. You’ll see for yourself, I assured her. For those facing the precipice of ex-patriation for the first time, this is the only correct answer, but also the least reassuring. How far along she had come in a year. She went forward and saw for herself, and was all the better for it.

Our first day was spent in the search for a sandy beach. We walked through Puerto Princesa to Baywalk, a concrete row of docks with a lovely view and absolutely no sand. We took a tricycle all the way out to Honda Bay, but realized too late that the only reason anyone went to Honda Bay was for island hopping. Since we’d been planning to do that in El Nido, where the islands are rumored to be even more amazing, we hung around and wandered about the bay before snagging another trike back into town. The driver said he knew of a good beach near Puerto, and took us to White Beach, a spot next to Pristine Beach. The sand was incredibly fine, mushing between our toes like wet flour. The beach wasn’t exactly pristine, with bits of garbage beating up against the shoreline, a testimony to the Filipino nonchalance about littering. A couple covered bamboo picnic tables lined the beach, the rising tide slowly submerging the sand below.

We waded out into the questionable but clear waters, pushing past the litter and out into the gentle surf. The water was as calm as it was shallow, and the sun was breaking behind the amazing clouds, for a sunset that could have inspired spiritual awakening. As the sun dropped behind the clouds, we made for the road, lest we get trapped behind the shady plank road cutting through the mangrove forest leading to the water.

Dinner was at a local place called Lotus, touted as a Japanese restaurant. The overpriced buffet was almost exclusively Filipino stirfry, and it seemed they couldn’t even get that right. Despite being on an island surrounded by delicious fish, the sushi was crap and almost devoid of seafood, poorly wrapped and undersized. The supply was being slowly replenished by a bored looking kid in a headband. I might have forgiven his laziness if he wasn’t rolling such terrible sushi. The dessert was a rainbow of radioactive-colored pearl beads and jello, which was completely devoid of flavor. I was actually surprised that anything could be that bland, I am not exaggerating at all when I say that a cup of water has more flavor than the dessert there. I begrudgingly dropped my pesos on the table and stormed out, biting my tongue and apologizing to Jana and Jacob for suggesting we eat Japanese food in Palawan. Curiosity wasn’t too kind to the cat either.

On the way back home, we stopped at Ernie’s Pension, owned by an older Filipino gentleman who Jana had met the other night. Ernie liked to go around to the other pensions and bars for drinks, and to chat up younger travelers. Jana mentioned her interest in seeing bearcats, an indigenous wild animal that was somewhere between a weasel and a racoon. Ernie told her they’re rarely spotted in the wild anymore, but he has a bearcat pelt she could see. He then asked her to accompany him to the local disco. She declined the offer but wanted to see the bearcat, which he was more than happy to share, along with a few beers. The bearcat was an interesting creature, with a narrow snout, wide cheeks, a long body covered in soft but wiry hair, and a poofy racoon-like tail. I hoped that before my trip was over I would get a chance to see the real deal. “Let’s get a photo,” Ernie suggested brightly, and he wrapped his arm around Jana’s waist as she wrapped the bearcat around her shoulders. We shared a laugh about that on the way home. “Hey, he treated us to some San Miguel and let me see his bearcat, if an older gentleman wants to flirt with a pretty young lady, who are we to judge?”

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