Saturday, April 6, 2013

Off the Grid: The Tao Experience


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.

No comments:

Post a Comment