Path to Palawan: A Philippine Paradise
It’s June 2017. 4am. Bleary eyed I wheel a suitcase through a London Airport security check, also gathering a small pack of belongings over my right shoulder. My small case is big enough for carry-on, only containing a few essential items; notebooks, a film camera, a copy of the New York Times for the flight, a mechanical pencil, a small banded notepad (top-pocket sized), denim shirts, sports shorts, bermuda style trunks, a weathered baseball cap, numerous books and enough clothing for a month away. The gate is called. Gate 40. Excitement builds.
The wonderful thing about travel writing; is that it’s endlessly evergreen. My month long trip to South-East Asia was probably no more adventurous, no more beautiful than the next travel blog, no more humbling than the next travel writer who just returned from Singapore. But we all engage entirely independently with an environment and that’s what makes travel blogging so exciting and ultimately so refreshing. Our five senses are stimulated, terrified and overloaded in a completely unique way and so every location is experienced slightly differently, through a slightly different lens. Reds are richer, spices are more pungent, the drawing dusk more translucent. We all leave our own unique fingerprint and recalling it can be a treasure worth sharing.
Tires screech. Wings buffer. Passengers startle and stir, rising from their slumbers. A small jet carrying us from the Philippine mainland drops us onto Palawan, a thin strip of land so isolated and untethered from Cebu, a mere scratch in the vast South China Sea. A fleck.
The runway crackles from the blistering mid-afternoon sun, bamboo shaded gondolas await the small collection of visitors. Locals, slung up on the small motorbikes, chew stifled cigarettes, sweat on brow, glazed from the defeating heat but bright eyed and grinning. A long road awaits. One single road, spearing through the heart of Palawan, banked by miles upon miles of rice-fields and palm-lined beaches.
We reach our bamboo bedded hostel, throwing rolled rucksacks, yoga mats, dusty over-shirts, food parcels, unlaced boots and battered luggage onto the floor of the room. Cold, amber-coloured lagers are purchased from the small bar, it only takes two to bring the heart-rate closer to the gentle rush of the swaying tide in the distance. Day closes.
The truth is, we can all travel, we can all expose ourselves to a variety of culture, faith and landscape but true exploration is a building of the inner-self, that’s why we venture on, that’s why we explore; to reach a state of fulfilment and belonging.
Wind courses through salt-caked hair, blowing warm on our faces, the last remnants of the oceans saliva falling wayside to the breeze. The moped engine squeals carrying two bodies, it’s creaking suspension weaving through familiar potholes and cracks. The Palawan dirt tracks are hospitable but exhilarating, navigating them with skill and speed is imperative to reaching the golden beaches concealed by surrounding thick foliage.
The June weeks fly by, whizz past, filled with aromatic food of heavy-sticky rice, coconut infused pork and sweet banana dishes. Stone baked pizzeria's are popular and huts selling fresh fish are located across the island. During the day, the heat is unrelenting, slowly turning skin darker and more weathered. Dusk brings coolness and evening swims in the South China sea are a welcome unwind from the glare of the sun.
The tranquility and untouched beauty of Palawan is unmatched, even elsewhere in the Philippines. Bags are packed, passports searched for, belongings stuffed into rucksacks, it’s July 2017. 3:38am.
The gate is called. Gate 38. London bound.
