Landing on our feet

El Nido

 

My first instinct is to write every detail of our first day in Palawan. This wouldn't be doing any justice to this island paradise we found ourselves in, nor would it do any justice to the people that we met.

 

The feelings I had during every moment of being there were dreamlike, the setting surreal in every sense. The setting beauty of the sun at night, the silhouette of colours in the night sky, the limestone cliffs jolting from the sea, our corner beach, our new friends made, gave the whole place a feel and ambience that leaves one in a total state of peace. I ultimately left Palawan in a state of surrealness. Waiting on the side of a newly paved - simple white - road at 5am, with the full moon lighting up thick banana leaf jungles, only added to the surrealness of it. This was a dream. Our time, our days, were to good to be true.

 

***

 

Off the plane we had a beer - as is our custom - with one of the many young locals who laze around in 'tourist shops' all day, more like bare, concrete floor garages. We were told there is no more acomodation in El Nido, our destination six hours away by windy, bumpy roads.

 

We would have been uncomfortably squashed in the back of a 15-seated mini-van (and 16 people!!) had it not been for the untouched and tranquil scenery outside. These were movie sets, untouched by a single breath of wind, and wafting with the smell and smoke of charcoal chicken. No man had yet touched these lands, save for the odd hut. We also would have been bored had it not been for Derek and Josie. Derek, an Australian, upon hearing one of us in the back said "we've got two Kiwi jokers in the back." Such a remark set off a chain of events that I - as a somewhat tight-fisted and wide-eyed Kiwi boy - never thought I would end up in. Nor that I would be so lucky.

 

Derek was travelling with his long-time partner Josie, a Filipino, and they both lived in Hong Kong.

 

We got out of the van and into the darkness, both in a figurative and literary sense. We couldn't see but three metres in front of us, nor had we any acomodation in a town with no spare beds. Out of a genuine kindness, we found ourselves walking down a dark, secluded path, and further down a long beach until we reached a corner of the ocean. I say a corner because it literally was - two oceans met and become one, the very tip of the corner the last place a man can stand. Through luck, good fortune, and incredible generosity, we would be staying in the resort owner's house, in the same green ambient room as Derek and Josie.

 

We enjoyed an immense dinner with them, eating our first proper meal since, well, leaving New Zealand. It was here we also began our love affair with San Miguel beer, our constant, and dearly loved companion throughout the trip. The food was delicious and very welcome after the cold rat meat of downtown Manila.

 

Around 9pm we headed back down the beach. Understand - there were zero people on the beach. The oasis of palm trees lining the back of it whispering ever so gently, the shore was calm, and the temperature was such that you didn't feel a thing. Not warm, not cold. Perfect.

 

We felt like we had our own private beach.

 

And we were counting our lucky stars, almost in a state of shock of the kindness that had been shown to us. We were staying in the most beautiful of island resorts - don't think of the brochure kind, think of the kind made of natural plants and cobblestones, each of the half-dozen or so structures built out of labour over many years, and careful love and nurturing blending in beautifully with the natural habitat. This was the home of insects, trees, animals, and the long shadow of the sun, on which we humans were to tread ever so lightly.

 

We had another beer or two on the beach, lazed around with stray dogs on hammocks, smoked a cigar with the bemused local chef, and listened to gentle sound of the water, before sneaking back into our room just past midnight.

 

This was going to be some trip.