meaning in the moving design

disclaimer:
I usually try to clean up my writing before broadcasting... but this is about 6 months old and I'm kind of mad at my own lazy lack of productivity, so I'm just lettin' 'er go*.

Michael and Ba
We tramp down the hill in search of a coffee shop. A man comes out of a nearby house waving emphatically. "You turists?" he asks. We explain that we'd been hiking the East Coast Trail and that we were in town for the night. He slams the porch rail enthusiastically and invites us in. "Ba!" he calls into the house. "We got guests! They're turists!"

Inside the house, a toothless man sits at the table in a simple kitchen. A few slabs of unidentifiable grey meat are sizzling in a pan next to a pot of boiled potatoes, and a half-drained bottle of rum sits on the table. The waver's name is Michael. He greets us with a combination of cheek kisses, hand-holding and fist pumps. The toothless man is Michael's uncle, whom he calls "Ba" but isn't actually related to him at all. Michael keeps apologizing because Ba is drunk... even though Michael is clearly drunk too. He chastises Ba with stern little speeches. "You can't be drunk, Ba. We got turists here. You're lucky to have turists in yer home like this. No more drinkin', ok? Tomorrow we stop drinkin'"

"Weeengshmaaaa," gurgles Ba.

Ba has the unfortunate disposition of being entirely incomprehensible. Three main factors contribute to this:
1. He's drunk
2. He's toothless
3. He's a Newfie

The first thing you'll hear about Pulau Derawan and the Sangalaki Archipelago in East Kalimantan (...if you hear anything at all) is that it's a pain in the ass to get to. The second thing you'll probably hear is that it is worth all the pain and more.

This place is magic. There are no cars on Derawan, no ATMs, no money changers, no internet cafes, no German schnitzel, no Muesli breakfasts, and no electricity during the day. Hardly any tourist infrastructure at all. Just a handful of losmens, some exceedingly smiley locals and a very out-of-place, fancy-shmance dive resort that is always empty. Oh, and a few hundred turtles, pristine coral and tropical fish to keep you company. Yes, it's as good as it sounds. These tiny little islands are... it's like... well they're just completely unspoiled havens of pure underwater WEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

I really can't explain it better than that. But to give you an idea of what I mean, here's a breakdown of my week.

Friday
Snorkeled with dozens of manta rays in the plankton-rich waters off the coast of Sangalaki. Came so close to these graceful majestic creatures that, on more than one occasion, I thought I would get clubbed in the head with their giant wings. Thankfully, they saw me at the last minute and swooned past me, all stealth bomber styles. If my mouth wasn't clutching a snorkel, my jaw would've been perma-dropped all day. They were beautiful beyond words.

Saturday
Did one of the craziest dives of my life at Barracuda Point near Kakaban. The dive entailed dropping down 30 meters into a very strong current, getting pushed mercilessly along the coral wall, and then, at the sound of the guide's signal, swimming furiously across the current to calmer waters (or risk getting pushed down to the 50m-60m mark by a raging down current!!) I'm not a very strong swimmer, so I was nervous as hell before entering the water- especially because the equipment was rather sketchy and I didn't have a depth gauge... but once in the water, it was pretty fun. My dive partner and I even struck a Superman pose as we flew along. The coral wall along the calmer bit is gorgeously intact with loads of fish abound.

During the dive break, we took our snorkeling gear into Kakaban Lake. The lake consists of warm brackish water (both sea water and fresh water), which makes for an interesting species soup. An ice age about 12,000 years ago transformed the waters into a landlocked marine lake, with a bed of sea water at the bottom. Millions of stingless jellyfish roam the lake, a specially-evolved species that was able to survive due to lack of natural predators. Millions. You couldn't swim a single metre without bumping into twenty of them. The mangrove forest that hugs the lake also added to the fairy tale feel of the island- the tree roots were covered in coral! Weird magic!

Sunday
Went down to the beach on Derawan and watched a few giant female sea turtles struggle up on shore under the bright waxing moon. Watched one choose a choice spot, dig a hole and lay a few dozen eggs. Then watched it toss the eggs like salad, using its back flippers to throw them around and bury them in the sand.

Monday
Stretched out in my hammock, stared at the sea, read, and napped with vigour.

Tuesday
Feasted on coconuts fresh from the tree, delivered to me by two happy, charming Indonesian brothers (erly and henri) who have the curious distinction of being able to speak both Bahasa Indonesia (obviously) and... French. Not a word of English. They were my ideal language skills practice partners. Communicated in Frahasa Indonesia for most of the afternoon. Took a sunset canoe ride along the coast of Derawan and was smiled and waved at enthusiastically by Derawan locals.

Wednesday
Went back to Kakaban and tried to capture the magic on camera...



Thursday
Snorkeled around Derawan and found crazy abundance of marine life- crocodile fish, scorpionfish, morays, lionfish, nemos... Spent more time in hammock. Practiced being lazy.

Derawan was just... ridiculous. If you love sea creatures and the simple life, I can't think of another place that could be more fulfilling. It does take a minimum of 2 days to get here, but the upside is, you won't want to leave anytime soon. If you're used to easy traveling, well, it's not easy... Almost no one speaks English, and unless you're willing to pay the big bucks, no one is going to organize anything for you. But considering the reward, this place is a bloody gift. It's amazing. Go. GO NOW.

The Nitty-Gritty Details
Getting There:
There are 2 ways to approach Derawan. The easier way is via Malaysian Borneo. From Tawau, take the ferry to Tarakan (145MYR). Then it's Tarakan to Tanjung Selor by ferry (80,000INR); Tanjung Selor to Berau (70,000INR) by kijang (share taxi); and Berau to Tanjung Batu by kijang (60,000INR). From Tanjung Batu, you'll need to charter a speedboat to Pulau Derawan. The boatmen typically want 200-250,000INR per boat, so it's a good deal if you can find folks to split it with.
From the south, it's a 16-18 hour bus ride from Balikpapan, the capital of East Kalimantan, to Berau.

Being There:
Rooms: 75,000-200,000 per room (I stayed at Losmen Danakan, which was wonderful)
Food: Typically 12,000-20,000 per meal. There is a great restaurant closer to the end of town (going towards the mosque) that has a gaudy pink exterior. The ladies here don't speak English but they serve fresh fish that you pick yourself and a host of super yummy vegetables, tofu and tempeh. Their Nasi Kuning (coconut saffron rice with fish steak and sauce) is sooo good. Danakan does meals too, but I like to spread my money around...
The Fun Stuff: To get to Sangalaki and Kakaban means finding a boat, ie. a local fisherman willing to take you out for the day. Again, there's power in numbers. Typically, boats run for 600,000 to Sangalaki and as much as 800,000 to Kakaban, but if you know who to ask, the prices can come down significantly. Don't be afraid to negotiate. There's a guy named Tiar (I call him Manta Orang) who owns a really slow boat, but he's a lovely lovely man and definitely knows how to spot the mantas. His house is a few left of Losman Danakan's, the one with the circular steps. He doesn't speak a word of English.

Diving and snorkeling equipment can be rented from the dive shop at Losman Danakan, but I personally think they suck. I didn't do a lot of dives out here because I was pretty unimpressed with them. The diving equipment is sketchy, their attitude was horrible and they're quite expensive. It's about 500,000 for 2 dives, not including boat rental, wetsuit, torches or anything else, so it adds up. They're very money-grabby, which is a personal quality I happen to hate. What's more, unless you're into crazy currents, there is almost nothing you can't see just by snorkeling (the mantas came right to the surface, and most of the fish are no more than 3-5m down). The snorkeling right off the jetty on Derawan is excellent.

Erly and Henri run a mini golf course on the far side of town (past the mosque). It's super fun and they are lovely boys to chat with if you speak French (or B. Indonesia). That side of town is also where the sun sets and the beach is quite nice. Watch out for falling coconuts.

More photos here. That is all.

My time in Sipadan (world renowned dive site) and Danum Valley (one of the last remaining swathes of primary rainforest in Sabah) was really defined by sights and sounds. In Sipadan, everything was bigger and more abundant than anywhere else I've dived- the turtles and fish were ginormous and the schools of fish were overwhelming. In Danum, hornbills, warblers, cicadas, gibbons and orangutans provided the lively soundtrack for our jungle walks. I'm having a hard time writing about it because those experiences feel really... tactile, like you really had to be there to get it: the sweat and the sounds and the leeches; the need for ninja stealth when looking for wildlife and the anticipation of spotting an animal; the giant, century-old trees towering above you; the quiet awe of being surrounded by a giant swirling school of barracuda; the jedi mind trick of scuba diving and being able to control your movement with your breath... Words just aren't cutting it, so maybe photos and recordings will do better (the recording ends with a gibbon duet :)

We pick up where we left off; Our Intrepid Heroine (OIH!) is in Borneo, making her way east across the Malaysian state of Sabah. Determined to indulge in a sumptuous diet of Mountain, Oceans and Jungle (or MoJO, if you will), OIH! arrives in Sukau, a sleepy village that sits on the banks of Sungai Kinabatangan, the longest river of the region. The area is home to a cornocopia of Bornean wildlife; orangutans, gibbons, hornbills, and the endemic proboscis monkey are all here in mad abundance.


I became an instant nature geek (I think Borneo has this effect on people). I learned how to identify the mating call of a female gibbon, recognize the dominant male in a proboscis monkey harem, differentiate between various species of hornbills, and name loads of other beautiful tropical birds by sight.

The Lower Kinabatangan is teeming with life. I've never had so many successive days of feeling so awed and humbled by nature, EVERY DAY I saw, heard or learned something new and incredible. It helped that I met a guide there who was also a total nature geek. Jamil had worked as a photographer/videographer for conservation NGOs for over 10 years and was "taking a break." He was a brilliant guide and just a generally happy and adventurous chap. He'd once climbed a tree and slept in an abandoned orangutan nest just to try it out for a day.

The Lower Kinatabatangan offers the best opportunity in Sabah to see animals in their own natural habitat, but it's a bit of a catch 22. The irony is that the relatively common sightings of wild primates is only possible due to the massive deforestation of the area- we can only spot the animals because their natural habitat has been so incredibly devastated.

We turn to the enemy- palm oil. Over half of Borneo's forests have either been logged or burnt down, much of it replaced by ever-profitable palm oil plantations. Palm oil is used as a cheap substitute for vegetable oil, and is found in everything from soap to cosmetics to food. As of late, it has also been touted as the EU's biofuel solution (another display of environmental shortsightedness a la ethanol). Malaysia and Indonesia are the biggest producers of palm oil in the world (together they make up some 85% of global palm oil production) and all this economic stimulation is directly threatening one of the most biodiverse pockets of the world. Borneo has already lost almost half of its primary rainforest, and Indonesia's deforestation rate has earned it the honour of being the 3rd largest carbon emitter after the US and China.

You can't blame Malaysia and Indonesia for thinking this is a good idea. Ok, maybe Malaysia (that's Strike 2, Sabah), but Indonesia is pretty poor and frankly just needs some- ANY- economic leg to stand on. For both countries, it's essentially a double bling- they log the forest and make a killing on the hardwood, and then they set up palm oil plantations, which are fruitful and immensely profitable.

I really had no idea how much sweat my body was capable of producing until I came to Borneo. It's mind boggling, really. I mean, I don't want to turn this into a big philosophical thing, but there's a certain zenful rite of passage that everyone travelling through the tropics must undergo. You go from furiously wiping your brow, your neck, your upper lip and any other part of you that's publicly acceptable to wipe, to just letting the sweat slide gracefully off your chin (sometimes into your dinner); from being completely disgusted with the smell of your sweaty, rank body to recognizing that smell but accepting it as your own. eau de you.

There was a plan. The Plan was to hike into Batad, a small rice terrace village only accessible by foot, and then spend a few days going further afield, staying in remote villages and traveling deep into the valley before popping back out onto the main highway. The Cordilleras in Northern Luzon is a beautiful stretch of eye candy; a mountainous region shining an unreal neon green. What's most amazing about this place is that its beauty is entirely man-made. Thousands of years ago, the Ifugao people of the region started hacking into the hills surrounding them and planting rice. They devised an ingeneous irrigation system and in the process created hill after valley after hill after valley of terraced neon green fields.

I woke to the sound of Tim discussing the weather situation with the Germans*. "It's the worst of the worst," one declares. Cloudy, rainy, foggy morning. If I'd thought the day before had been bad, well. We took our time with breakfast and started out once the downpour was down to a drizzle. It wasn't so bad, actually. Aside from occasionally having to brace myself against the punishing wind, and, well the last hour, the way down was kind of fun.

Trails always look different on the way down. It's a challenge of a different kind, it's no longer about endurance and stamina, it's about balance, weight distribution and minimal impact. The trail becomes a jigsaw puzzle for the feet. It's a game of brain not brawn. If going up is the mindless zen of planting feet and just keeping the pace, going down is the thoughtful process of planning ahead- left foot pushes off here so that right foot can use this foothold... Working my way down a trail always gives me a serious appreciation for that ever-underrated art of trail making- all those artfully or randomly distributed rocks and logs and leaves that all do their little part to ensure that you don't go sliding down on your ass for 3000 metres (... although that might be kinda fun too). Not only did a few good folks take the time to haul several giant rocks and whatnot partway up a mountain, but they really thought about how to lay them down properly. That's a beautiful thing, that is.
Onwards.
After a longish slog, we get down and are met with the hospitality of the Siangyang police. They are about to have lunch and insist that we join them. When I refuse, they say "hey, we are police. We must take care of you." After Tim and I get over the shock of hearing this, (I mean... they're cops) we sit and relax with tea, food, and a bit of rice wine.

After lunch and mounds of tea, we head to Lidao, descending into the fog. At some points, vis was a mere 10 metres ahead. In Lidao, we park the car and look around for a homestay. Walking down the street, we're met with a chorus of "Hello friend!". A massive group of Bunun aboriginals (ones we later learned we'd passed on our way up from Jiaming) were celebrating their mountain descent in a big way. They'd slaughtered 2 pigs (or rather, were in the process of slaughtering [the two decapitated heads were facing us, their expressions something between solemn and bored]) and had been at it for 2 days. We joined them, drank, and were merry. They laughed a lot, which made us laugh a lot, and best of all, they told all their jokes in Mandarin and I understood everything, which made me laugh even harder.

Lidao sits low in a valley below the mountains. Everywhere about is forest and bamboo and green and green and fog. It's apparently a town of 300, and evidently Bunun. Also evidently poor for the most part. Houses are makeshift- some are sheet metal shacks, some towers of tile, some take the remnants of old brick walls and tack on some corrugated metal to fashion a roof. Everywhere we turned, there seemed to be some form of innovative architecture at work. A cool town, indeed.

Back at the homestay, Tim and I sit down for tea with an oldish Taiwanese lady who'd been living in Virginia for the past 38 years. In the midst of our lengthy conversation, she taught us the finer points of deer hunting (she's got a 2-barrel rifle and a sharp eye), did an awesome Chinglishstrian impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger, and tried to turn us against Darwin and evolution. She was... interesting to say the least.

The next day, Tim and I decide to relax with a trip to the hot springs. We have our choice of a few, but us being us, we opt for what I can only call "the adventure springs." (Neither of us have this "relaxing" thing quite... figured out, exactly.) The Lisong Hot Springs are natural sulphur springs that run down to the river. To get to them, you have to drive to Motien, walk 2km down along a gravel road, cross a farmer's field, hike (or, if you're in sandals, slide) down a super steep forest trail of leaves and trees and giant boulders, cross the river, and scramble over some rocks. Then you're there. And man, is it fucking cool. Getting there was half the fun- especially the rock scrambling. Here's an artist rendition (that's me suspended horizontally using a giant log to get over these giant rocks):


The river itself was freezing cold, and the hot springs were, well, really hot. To get that real "ahhh" feeling involved a carefully maneuvering of rocks, allowing just enough cold water in so as not to burn, but not enough to totally cool down the water. We soon discovered that our talent in mixology was... not that great. Often we'd find half our bodies totally scorching while the other half shivered with goosebumps. Midway through conversation, one of us would interrupt with "burning... burning". and so forth.

We ended up accidentally staying the entire day. When, after several attempts to leave, we finally made it out, I wondered why it looked like it was getting dark. Turns out it was close to 6pm and we had been in the springs for over 6 hours. Driving back, I discovered yet a new record for bad vis- I couldn't see the road at all. Somehow, we made it back, crawled into bed and promptly passed out.

There is a difference between living somewhere and travelling somewhere. They are two very distinct paths, present two pictures of the same place, each with very specific trade-offs. We only get a glimpse of life in the places we travel, and we never seem to travel the places we live in. I lived in Taiwan for 15 months, and I've just traveled it for a week and a half. I felt like I was in two different countries, but in any case, I'm glad I got to see them both.


*The Germans are 3 dudes we met en route, hereafter known as Hardcore (he was rather.. hard), Mediumcore (our favourite), and Vertigo (so named because he was afraid of heights)
**more pictures of Lisong and Jiaming can be found here.

I woke before my alarm went off. My cell phone read 3:55am. Still dark out, but the adrenaline was pulling me out of bed. After coffee, breakfast, and a bit of stumbling around, we set out at daybreak. Well, sort of. The thick blanket of fog only let in a wee little bar of light, but it was pink and pretty and enough to make my heart swell and sigh in a satisfied "aahhh" kinda way.

The path to Jiaming Lake is, for the most part, a long narrow trench cut along the side of a ridge, dipping up into peaks and down into the valleys for about 5km. When the fog opens up (or on a clear day) the view of the surrounding mountains and the valleys below are just amazing. I also love the vegetation at these heights. Toughened by the cold and wind, the grass, the trees, even the rocks have a different kind of character. It's vast, barren, rocky terrain- totally my thing.




.... Jiaming Lake?



Tim insisted that we were in the right place, so we sat around and stared at the fogged out hole while the wind blew mercilessly at our backs. After a while (admittedly a long while [let us not speak of lost hours of sleep]) the sun blessed us with a few clear moments, enough to snap off a few impressive shots before the fog rolled back in. It was actually a lot more exciting this way, like it sort of gave the lake a magical mystique; it shone brilliantly but only at certain special moments. As we were joined by more people, a chorus of excitement would rise up around the lake whenever the sun came out, which pleased me immensely. [Much in the same way that plane rides in South Asia do, how everyone onboard breaks out into relieved applause when the plane lands smoothly. Like, hooray! No one was maimed or injured! and so forth. That might've been a tangent, but in my brain, it connects.]

After making our way back from the lake, we chilled out at the cabin for a little while. In the late afternoon, I ventured out for another walk. The 2km before and after Jiaming Cabin was probably my favourite stretch of scenery of the entire trek. Part mossy green forest, part barren golden grassland, the landscape made me feel very far from home... which, incidentally, is a feeling I really like.

Not 3 minutes from the cabin, I spot an animal in the trees below. It had the face of a raccoon, but a yellow stripe and a long bushy tail. Here is a picture I attempted to take while running with my camera. You can just maybe sort of make out the, um, tree:

Here's a better photo. It's a Formosan yellow-throated marten (黃喉貂). We're especially tight because we have the same family name. Whattup, coz.

All in all, it was a pretty kickass day. Tim and I were both happy that'd we'd chosen to stay the night and didn't have to rush back from the lake, pack and slog our way down the mountain. Night set in, and after the bustle of dinner, everyone settled into their sleeping bags. Unofficial lights out, some time around 8pm. Party hardy.

Taiwan is almost entirely mountainous in nature. Once upon a time, the plates around the South China Sea trembled and pushed inwards, resulting in the long range of central mountains that run the entire length of the island. There are 3 cross-island highways, each twisting and turning through the country's mountainous interior before flattening out to reach the coast. Only two of these highways actually make it to the other side; the Central Cross Highway was taken out of commission by a devastating earthquake in 1999 and has remained like the elevator-to-nowhere ever since.

I'd heard that the South Cross Highway (Hwy 20) was the most beautiful and least trafficked, and so it began. After a year of feeling trapped in Taipei, I was finally going to be able to a) stretch my hiking legs and b) (arguably more exciting) experience Taiwan on a weekday, without the hoards of people that had disappointed many a weekend of the past. The plan was to rent a car and drive across the island, from Tainan to Taitung, with a few stops in between to hike the surrounding peaks, including a 3-day jaunt up to Jiaming Lake.

I'm going to pause here to give a hearty thanks to Richard from Barking Deer. I had trouble finding English info on the hike, and I threw out a posting on the Formosa forum (which is a great resource for hikers in Taiwan, btw). Richard served me up a whole bevvy of it, not just on Jiaming, but about other hikes off Hwy 20 as well. What a star! I never got to meet him or treat him to the beer I'd promised him, but he incredibly helpful in planning the logistics of our trek, down to the tiniest detail- from weather and permit info to trail descriptions and choice camping spots. Much obliged, thanks Richard!

From Tainan, we made it to Meishankou by early afternoon. The friendly police processed our permits on the spot, one for our day hike to Guanshanlingshan and one for our 3-day trek to Jiaming Lake. By 4pm, the fog had set in, giving the forested scenery between Tienchi and Yakou an atmospheric mist a la Lord of the Rings. On the other side of the Yakou tunnel, it was as if someone had turned the fog switch off. The climate was completely different- the air was crisp and dry, not wet and misty, and the sun even looked like it'd been out and about. At the lookout, we gawked at the infamous Sea of Clouds, a phenomenon whereby all the surrounding peaks look like distant islands washed over by wave after wave of puffy whiteness. At over 2700m, Yakou is the highest point on the SCH, and as such, probably the stupidest place to choose to camp. But we were high on scenery adrenaline and the promise of a beautiful sunrise was too much to pass up, so we secured our tent and settled in under one of the lookout gazebos. That night, I froze....
Onwards.

Jiaming Lake is one of the youngest meteor lakes in the world, a crater bowl set amongst alpine grass in a rolling mountainous valley 3300 metres up. The trailhead starts on the back end of the Siangyang Forest Recreation Area, on Hwy 20 just east of Yakou Tunnel. From here to Siangyang Cabin it's a gentle switchback trail through a beautiful mossy forest. The path is of the soft, spongy forest floor variety, with the usual confusion of tangled roots for steps. Could've all been nature's design, for all I could tell. I was especially happy that the trail is made with special care to those of us with short legs. As a small girl, I tend to... not so much hike as shuffle along a path, trying to exert as little energy as possible. Normal steps for other people can end up feeling like hurdles for me, and can really kill my stamina on long hauls. But the Jiaming trail is perfect, easy on the legs... well, at least for the first hour.

From Siangyang cabin, the trail climbs steeply. I have to admit that for this stretch, I was mostly doing one of 3 things: looking uphill, looking at my feet, and asking everyone that passed me how much further to the next cabin. The path here is a little more savagely cut; we were scrambling up long narrow ditches cut by rock slides, mercilessly steep and somewhat precarious at points. As we climbed, the altitude began to take effect. I felt like I was hyperventilating every 5 minutes, the cold air just couldn't feed my lungs fast enough.
The scenery changed too, the alpine climate gave rise to a rougher tougher breed of plants- bonsai variations, gruff porous pines, and my favourite, the white trees. Trunks burnt hollow by forest fires, the dead and naked. There was something about the bareness of the forest that really struck me, always does. I had old imaginings of the forest in action, of the trees in dramatic pose, communicating elaborate messages to me and each other. As the wind grew stronger, I saw my old green-haired goddess friends stretched in yogic prostration, reaching out to wrestle the wind.

The 2km before Jiaming Cabin was awingly beautiful, even despite (or especially because of) the fact that the fog had set in and everything beyond a couple hundred metres was completely whited out. Naked bushy-haired bonsais bowing low amongst yellow alpine underbrush, along a dramatic ridge down down down into the fog. After 7 hours and about 500m gained in altitude, we arrived at Jiaming cabin. I was achy, exhausted, and filthy. But fuck, was it beautiful.

I almost failed art class in high school. I know, it's a pretty hard thing to do, impressively so even. The art teacher used to look over my shoulder and shake her head worryingly at my cartoonish mock-up of a fellow classmate. She took pity on me and gave me a C+ as a final grade. It was the lowest mark I ever got in school. Even today, it's hard to distinguish my drawings from a 7-year-old's. But once in a while, I slip out of self-consciousness (or get stoned) and decide to make something.
This is my mania contribution, although it's a little inexact. I could've opted to show you the 26 web links (and counting) of travel research I've collected for my upcoming trips around Taiwan and to the Philippines, Borneo, and Indonesia... but I thought this might be a liiittle more interesting. I have a horrible habit of always looking too far ahead or behind me, and as such, usually end up not watching my step and landing flat on my face. One day, thems smarty mcsmarterton physicists will build a space-time magic machine that will fix all that. yes.

dromomania - compulsive longing for travel

After almost 11 hours in transit*, I expected more from El Nido. More... or less, actually. With the end-to-end line of beachfront cottages and seaside restaurants, the barrage of signs advertising tours, and the string of Internet cafes every 100m, Nido is a lot more developed than I'd expected. I felt like I was on Any-Island, Thailand; time and that every persistant promise of profit had turned Jacques Cousteau's Last Frontier into just another backpacker haunt. After I had walked one length of town, I was almost ready to hop on the next bus and go right back to Sabang... but the draw of the beach and the islands won out.

There are at least a dozen tour operators in town, the biggest of which is the Art Cafe, which initially, I'm told, held a bit of a monopoly on tours, though business is beginning to fan out through the island. Unfortunately, everyone in town has followed the Art Cafe's lead and adopted the same utterly unimaginative names: Tour A, B, or C. Each tour consists of a group of islands, and while the list varies from operator to operator, there is a lot of overlap. So, travellers are forced into these assanine conversations about their daily activities, like
"What did you do today?"
"I went on Tour A..."
and so forth.

This is the cynical traveller in me, though, because when you get right down to it, northern Palawan is beautiful. The charm of Nido lies outside Nido, amongst the outlying islands that make up the Bacuit Archipelago. On a clear day, it's pure eye candy- turquoise water spotted with towering limestone cliffs jutting up from remote junglified islands... it's where the bush meets the ocean. The beaches and lagoons up here are incredible, and if you paddle far enough away, you can even feel a bit of that lost Brooke Shields magic... So yes, it's a bit of regimented fun, but in the end, it's just fun. So I stuffed my internal cynic under the bed, took a deep breath and just... enjoyed it. Tour A, B, and Ced it. Kayaked out to a deserted beach. Rented a motorbike for a day and outran a storm. Didn't think- just enjoyed.

Almost every morning, I ate breakfast at the small roadside canteen next to the police station, run by a sweet toothless lady named Lucy. Cheap and tasty (the food, not Lucy). My favourite was her eggy eggplant- a long skinny eggplant cut lengthwise and dipped in egg- ingeniously simple and oh so yummy! (Lucy will even shoot whiskey with you at 9 in the morning, if you're into that sort of thing.) You could easily save loads of money eating from these canteens, which are about a third of the price of the restaurants along the beach.

If you are going to splurge, go to The Alternative. The food can be hit and miss (their banana leaf curry and desserts are reeeaally good, though) but the atmosphere rocks. By far the best seats in the house are the pods that jut out over the ocean, cushioned with bean bags and designed for putting your feet up- for a long time.
As I was eating, a mini posse of boys gathered beneath my pod, all armed with fishing lines wrapped around a Pert Plus bottle in one hand, and a handful of bread in the other. First they threw the bread out, and as the fish swarmed around, they flung they fishing lines out, hoping to drag their hook along the water and magically ensnare a fish. There was lots of excitable discussion about this, presumably criticisms on Boy A's throwing technique, or Boy B's angling and what not, but the boys seemed quite jovial and brotherly in their collective confusion. No one caught any damn fish, in any case.
Amidst all this excitement, one boy climbed up the leg of my pod, poked his head through a slat and said "hello." I smiled and 'hello"ed him back. Seemingly satisfied with this response, he climbed back down and rejoined the fishing experiment. After a short while, a waitress came over and shut off my TV by shooing the boys away.

If you are going to Nido and have company, here's what I'd suggest:
Strand yourself on a deserted island, Robinson Crusoe/Tom Hanks style.
It's what I'd hoped to do, only I was rained out on the two days I'd set aside for such an adventure. The boys at Sea Slugs, however, offered me a killer deal- P350 for boat transfer, cooking gear.. and a cook. That's right, they'll stay the night with you, if you want. Or not. Oh, and incidentally, P350 is cheaper than most accommodations in Nido. Except, instead of bad Western food and a crappy room, you get a deserted island, a campfire, a seafood dinner, and a night under the stars. Pretty sweet, no? Yeah.. it would've been.

But... onwards.

I didn't spend much time in Puerto, but here's my two cents anyway:

I'll be going back to the Philippines for one last trip in April, this time for the full 21 days of the visa. No time limit, wee! My co-workers here in Taiwan totally don't understand me. They keep saying "Philippines again??" Fact is, the thousands of islands of the Philippines are so spread out, and each island so distinct in culture, that I could easily come back dozens of times and still not get the feel of the country. But I guess I could say that about a lot of countries I've been to...

*Boring transit details- I took the bus from Sabang to Salvacion, where I had to wait another 2.5 hours for the Nido bus. The bus is a real bus and the road is fine- don't listen to the wingy English travelers that tell you otherwise. I chose not to take the boat because 8 hours on the road is much more manageable than 8 hours on a boat, in my opinion. Plus, the bus was 1/4 the price.

Other Useful Bits
El Nido
Room: P400 Single (El Nido Plaza Inn- don't stay here unless you can lull yourself to sleep with the sound of cocks crowing from 3am till morning), P300 Shared (Tandikan Cottages)
Food: P50-P250
Island-hopping: P600-P700 (includes massive lunch)
Survivor styles: P350 (tent, cooking gear, boat transport and optional guy; food separate)
Bus to PP: P350

Puerto Princessa
San Jose Terminal to town: P40-50
Room: P500, single (Amelia Pensione)
Food: a splurageous amount, Ka Lui (pretty damn good... but all the restaurants in that are looked good, so take your pick)

Jacques Cousteau once called Palawan, "The Last Refuge," a pristine island of lush rainforest, towering green-tinged limestone cliffs, and countless deserted islands and undiscovered beaches. And while Palawan does indeed have all of the above, Cousteau's vision of a remote and unspoiled island off the beaten track is well, so 10 years ago.

It started promisingly enough. My first stop was Sabang. After a strenuous week of deadlines and mad overtime, I left Taipei on a Saturday, but still had to endure two transit days (one night in Manila and one full day getting to the West coast of Palawan) before there was any fun to be had. After the bustle of planes, taxis, more planes, and one rollicking jeepney ride that left me looking the colour of dust, arriving in Sabang felt a lot like coming out of a banging club and witnessing the eerie silence of morning.

Sabang is a small, coastal town fringed with mountains and rainforest, and a famous nearby river that runs emerald green. It's literally the end of the road, and totally feels like it. Despite quite a bit of evidence of tourism (most notably felt in the price of food), the town has managed to stay pretty low key, endearingly awkward with a pinch rustic charm.

I stayed at the far end of the beach (left, if facing the water) at a place called Alpuerto Escapade. If there were an invisible set of train tracks dividing Sabang, I would say I was on "the wrong side of town." To the right lay uniform huts on manicured grounds and resort attendants busily attending to tourists. To the left, town- where the people of Sabang lived. In the center sat a cluster of restaurants, the Sabang visitor center and the town pier. Sabang reminded me of other places I had visited in Asia that were just beginning to recognize the draw of tourism and trying to perfect the formula, the one that's turned Thailand into something of a McDonald's version of backpacking. The way Sabang is laid out, I'd say they're about halfway there...

It wasn't that I chose or didn't choose to stay where I stayed. I was actually looking for a room at Blue Bamboo, but they were full (or at least that's what I was told) so I was shooed off to the place next door. I ended up with a cute little seaside nipa hut on stilts. And by seaside, I mean that when the tide came up, I was a little nervous. Interestingly, the sea-facing side of the hut was... how shall we say.. "open concept." There was no wall, per say. Just a few wooden slats going across, and no shutters or windows to keep anything out. The nice part was that I didn't need a fan, the ocean breeze kept the room extremely cool through the night. The downside was that it rained, so the ocean breeze became a bit of an ocean gale. I thought the shower curtain in the room was there as a safe refuge from peeping toms, but apparently it had more practical uses. Nothing like a little ocean spray in your sleep to keep you young! It was pretty amusing, actually.

The next morning, I took to the trail, towards Sabang's famed Underground River. If you go to the river (and chances are, you are only in Sabang because you plan to go) DO NOT miss the trails. The peace of the rainforest, the wild monkeys, and the sound of birds and cicadas made the hike one of the highlights of my trip.

I paired up with a Finnish girl, and we did the Jungle Trail there and the Monkey Trail back. Both trails consisted of wooden or stone blocks framed by a confused tangle of vines and roots, with a few short sections up and down proper wooden staircases. The Jungle Trail (going towards the river) was a super gentle hike, capped off with a brief uphill scramble up a rocky forested hill. I really liked doing this trail to get to the river, but the downside is that the Monkey Trail can be a little difficult coming back. Come high tide, the beach disappears, so we were forced to do some innovative rock climbing. At an incredibly chill pace with plenty of stops for pictures and monkey watching, it took about 2 hours each way. If you are going to cheat, I would recommend taking the Jungle Trail there and catching the boat back. But don't cheat, it's beautiful both ways. Both trails were very well marked and blissfully empty. In fact, we didn't see anyone until we got to the Underground River and encountered the hoards of people waiting for the boat to take them back.

I was almost going to conclude this post without saying anything about the Underground River. Here's my two-cents: Yeah, it was cool.

Here are a few pics.





My only regret about Sabang is that I didn't stay longer. The rainforest in the area and the mountains nearby would've made for an incredible trek. The river falls under the auspice of St. Paul's Subterranean River National Park, and I'm sure guides are available to take you out to some of the more unexplored terrain in the area. Don't do what I did and rush out to El Nido. Trust me, Nido can wait.

The Useful Bits
Room: Alpuerto Escapade, P300
Food: Avg P150 (Go to Dab Dab's for their Fish Curry mmmmm!!)
Jeepney from Puerto: P150
Underground River: P200, more for boat transport; trails are free

*Apologies for writing like I actually have a captive audience... just thought it might sound better.