How do you know when home is far away?
I mean, really far away. Distance is important, for sure. But, it's
not all about distance, is it? It's also about a taste of alienation
and uncertainty; it's about a culture shift and a departure from all
the sensory benchmarks we have in our day-to-day lives. It's
something that transports us far beyond the realm we know and take
for granted.
Such was the case for us in the
Philippines recently as we ventured not just out of Manila, but
further and further up the west coast of Palawan, a slender reed of an island
southwest of Manila in the lower region of the South China Sea. To
get here, at least for some of us, required six flights, one van
ride, and three boat rides. To the ends of the earth, I'm telling
you. The boat rides were courtesy of the “bangkas,” essentially
narrow wooden boats with bamboo outrigging and two wooden benches
facing each other to carry their six or seven passengers. The sounds
the bangka engines make are not unlike those of a 1994 Camaro whose
muffler has long been missing – only louder. From Puerto Princessa
to Sabang to Port Arthur to El Nido. And, all this was merely by way
of prelude to our jumping off point to lands that, for all we knew,
had been officially mapped for the first time just yesterday. There were no
people along the way. No towns, no cars, no planes. Nothing. All
we saw en route was the occasional flying fish rocketing across our
bow earnestly in search of something. The landscape was primeval:
small, heavily treed islands, some with jagged cliffs jutting out of
the sea. It would not take much imagination to feel like you were
back in the Mesozoic era. I would not have been shocked to see a
dinosaur lurking on the shore.
Our hosts call themselves Tao
Philippines, a group that takes hardy souls beyond the resorts, the
restaurants, the conveniences and creature comforts that satisfy most
tourists. We would climb aboard their own much larger bangka that
could accommodate two dozen guests and a small staff and head
generally north through virtually uninhabited islands in search of
good times and memorable stories. As the Tao literature openly suggests, this trip is not for everyone. I mean we're talking no toilet seats here, no towels, and electricity as a novelty, not a given. We're talking sleeping in open air bamboo huts with pads for beds and mosquito nets to crawl through. And, hot water? fuggedaboutit.
And, our guide for all this? An irrepressible
fellow named Ollie, a former fisherman from the area, now transformed
into part jack rabbit and part entertainer. Relentless energy and
good humor flow through Ollie's veins pretty much the way blood flows
through ours. Ollie could leap around the boat in hair raising
fashion whether over and around the outriggers or from lower deck to
upper deck. Gravity is not his enemy.
Our shipmates were an apt assortment of
just the kinds of folks you might expect to find on a venture like
this one: Brits, Germans, South Africans, French, Dutch, Norwegians,
and one Filipino. Everything from teachers, to business managers
of various sorts, to IT systems or sales personnel, a TV producer,
and one former prisoner. Eclectic. Most of us intermingled to trade
personal histories and travel experiences, and share commentary on
what we now all faced. Given the fairly limited space available to
us on the boat, we would get to know some of these folks far better
than your typical fellow hotel guest.
Our days were awash in leisurely
amblings about the Palawans, stopping for snorkeling or strolls
around empty beaches, as we meandered through our 150 mile course to
our end point, Coron. Snorkeling was without fanfare or ceremony.
When we stopped for snorkeling, you would just find some fins, mask
and snorkel and jump overboard. And, what you might find was
amazing. Take Secret Beach, for example. Aptly named. From the sea
all one could see was what appeared to be a very small island ringed
with tree-covered towering limestone walls. What you did was swim to
it from the boat and find a small tunnel to squeeze through and then
swim your way to the bright sunlight beyond. Emerging from this
darkness revealed a place that many could justifiably mistake for the
Garden of Eden: a rounded interior surrounded by the same towering
walls we saw from the outside, but with a level of quiet inside at
odds at with what we had left behind moments before. Raising your
head, you could hear the echos of your voice and others'. There was
no breeze, no sound, just a pristine beach and placid water with a
wild assortment of coral formations underneath.
Other times, we would find ourselves
snorkeling in distractingly shallow water seemingly barely escaping
the beautifully colored, but razor sharp coral beneath us dotted with
the gorgeous but deadly black spiny sea urchin with their sharp
needles unmistakably aimed at our bellies. We would slide by holding
our breath, afraid to breathe lest we invite painful scrapes and
stings.
Back on the boat, the time would pass
with reading, dozing, or chatting, with everyone finding their own
comfortable niche on the boat. Lily would find endless inspiration
for painting. Chef Toto and his staff, working out of a cramped
walk-through kitchen in the rear of the boat, would ply us with three
meals a day and mid-day snacks. And, Toto did not disappoint. We're
talking squid adobo, fried calamari, curries, beans, rice,
watermelon, suckling pig (with its incredibly crispy skin), all
washed down with a spicy ginger tea or a cold San Miguel. Other
times it might be carved out coconut with papaya, mango and porridge
or an amazing assortment of vegetables and fruits. The succulent and
sweet mango alone was worth the trip. Whatever we might not have in
the way of creature comforts was quickly forgotten when Toto's dishes
were wheeled out for us.
Civilization did make an appearance
every now and then, mostly in the guise of tiny fishing villages that
would appear sporadically. When we would stop at these villages, the
boat would get close to shore, and we would either swim or get
ferried ashore. At one such place, we were greeted by groups of
young, impossibly cute children who would flock to Ollie as kids
might to the Pied Piper. When their attention turned to us, they
would giggle and swarm to see their images shared with them from all
the photos our group would take of them. For the younger ones, these
photos were like magic. They don't see too many of these. At
another site, we were invited to play in a volleyball game in which
the young ladies of the village were on one side and us on the other.
Alex, sensing damsels in distress, gallantly took their side. When
his spikes won points for the girls, the girls would start chanting,
“handsome, handsome” at their new hero with equal parts squealing
and laughter. Later, in a basketball game on a rough hewn court,
every time Alex scored a basket, the same chorus would break out from
the sidelines. I have a feeling Alex won't let us forget this any
time soon.
On our last night, in a fitting burst
of craziness for this adventure, we were treated to a homespun disco
complete with karaoke. They had a book so weathered you'd swear it
had been through wars and countless typhoons that listed thousands of
songs you could choose to cause you maximum embarrassment. And,
select we did: No Woman No Cry, Don't Stop Believin', Viva La Vida,
I Want It That Way, Wonderwall, and, of course, Sledgehammer. The
ensuing cacophony – and, really, there's no other term that better
describes it – roared through the night in a manner worthy of
frightening all but the most intrepid children and cats. All of this
was nicely fueled through a heady mix of rum and pineapple juice.
Nothing was held back. It was great fun and only embarrassing the
next morning.
Karaoke aside, what Tao Philippines
offered us was special. What we lacked in creature comforts was made
up in full measure by some astounding sights, tastes, and, best of
all, memories. We were far from home, for sure. As Dorothy once so
indelibly remarked, “Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas
anymore.” I thought of that line more than once on this adventure.
We were off the grid, alright. But,
there was no place we'd rather be.
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