Tag Archives: philippines

West Coast; Busuanga & Palawan

From Manila we boarded a 14 hour ferry to Coron town on Busuanga Island. Unlike the Indonesian ferries – wooden benches crammed full of people, chain smoking throughout the journey and a lack of air conditioning – our first experience of a Filipino ferry was surprisingly comfortable in comparison. Primarily due to the strong American influence in the Philippines, we found over the next month that many western practices had been incorporated into day to day life there.

What greeted us on our departure from the ferry was a town which, had it been western society, would still very much have been asleep. Yet as we arrived at 4am, the hustle and bustle of the day ahead had already begun – numerous tuk tuks (taxis) met us at the ferry port and local families were rising to commence their daily routines before sunrise. Coron predominantly consists of one main street laden with restaurants, shops and a few scattered dive shops. The charm of Coron lies in the fact that – although it is an ever developing tourist hub – it retains much of its local atmosphere. We spent almost a week here getting acquainted with Filipino life and diving some of the 8 magnificent wrecks which are sunk there.

Outwith Coron town, Busuanga Island is a maze of differentiating terrain which changes from steep inclines over dirt tracks to sandy beach paths in a matter of minutes. We ventured through this maze of terrain one day in the hopes of finding a deserted beach much spoken about by our hostel owners. The journey was magical – away from the main touristy town of Coron, local life plods along at a happily relaxed pace.We passed through many communities on our way, each consisting of 10 to 12 houses aside the road. Children ran after one another as the intense sun bore down on their skins in the stifling midday heat. Children, families and whole communities gazed in our direction as we rode over the bumps and waved in passing. Outside one particular small, rickety shack, locals of all ages were gathered and roared with laughter as a bottle of rum, followed quickly by another bottle of rum made its way round. As we drove past them, they shouted in our direction in Filipino, while waving rum bottles and sending large gaping smiles towards us.

The beach was deserted – bar a few local kids splashing in the sea – we had 4km of white sanded, blue watered paradise to ourselves and yes, it was as blissful as it sounds.

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After a week spent reveling in the beauty of Coron and the surrounding Busuanga, we got on a boat to Palawan. The boat was lined on either side with wooden benches and white, plastic chairs lined the middle providing multiple rows of seating for the journey. Locals and tourists alike piled onto this boat which looked like it could hold 10 rather than 50 passengers (always reassessing those western normative ideals). Both hanging pretty badly, we folded our limbs on top of each other and closed our eyes, all the while wishing the wild waters below away from our churning stomachs. Thankfully, the 6 hour journey passed without much sickness from either of us!

El Nido was a picturesque town to welcome us to Palawan. Narrow lanes are laden with western delights – anything from burritos to crepes. The shops – instead of holding small, intricate gems from surrounding areas – were stocked with western attire and prices to match. We wandered to the beach for dinner where many BBQ’s were roasting the local catches of the day and the sand was laden with plastic white chairs and tables – the beach alive with the buzz of a true tourist hub. Naturally, sitting in the midst of dozens of tourists, we decided to hire a moped the next day and escape to Nacpan beach to camp out in a beach hut.

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Sadly our days of lazing in hammocks and escaping the tourist buzz were cut short as my sinus infection – which had been slowly creeping in on my mind – was now having a wild party in my head. We headed back to El Nido so I could get some painkillers and lie in a fanned room rather than a stifling beach hut. After a few days of my head constantly feeling like I was smacking it against a wall, I ventured to El Nido Doctors – this being a ram-shackled house with a broken, handmade sign saying ‘drop-ins’ and pointing to a back door. Thankfully the doctor knew what was going on and, prescribing me some antibiotics, sent me on my way.

In my opinion, travelling through different countries one after the other provides you – or it definitely did for me – with a forever altering mentality. Just as you think you’re getting the hang of it – and by this I mean that you’ve learned enough words to barter at food markets, you know what is and how to get the local public transport, you’ve spoken to enough locals to know how to have a joke with them – you’re thrown into another culture completely. Yes, there is a certain overlap within South East Asian countries in terms of culture but if you really come to terms with the ways in which their society functions, they are all so widely different. That is the beauty of travelling – just when you are starting to feel comfortable, you voluntarily through yourself into another awkward, uncomfortable ball of fire which you’ve got to figure out all over again.

Our time spent on the West coast of the Philippines was us trying to experience the true nature of the country. To desperately try to wriggle free of the tourist hubs which are all too easy to comfortably slip into, and instead search for those hidden gems.

 

Do not ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive. – Howard Thurman

Be weird. Be wonderful.:)

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Manila; A Baptism of Fire

Manila is a hypocritical baptism of fire to the Philippines. Hypocritical because momentarily I feared that the next month of my travels would be spent in places which mirrored this reckless, harrowing capital city; it was not. A baptism of fire as there is no respite in Manila – mocking gazes clung to our skin wherever we walked and sneering faces appeared around the corners of mysterious lanes.

As we wandered the filthy streets, a 3 year old child attached himself to my loose trousers, chasing my gaze while holding his tiny hand out in front of me. My mind fought against itself, silently questioning my morals as I held my gaze straight ahead, focused on some imaginary attraction in the distance, all the while praying the boy who was clung to my leg would lose interest and search for another victim. I despised myself for being so heartless; so detached.

The concept of detachment is something which I really mulled over during our months in South East Asia. I think that Western society makes it so incredibly easy for us to be detached; detached from issues of poverty – because I personally have never had a young child cling to my leg and beg me for money at home, detached from issues of meat consumption – because the majority of our population buy our meat packaged and ready for consumption, rather than choosing the chicken/duck/pig straight from our gardens and butchering it ourselves, and detached from third world development because we are already too comfy curled up on our cosy sofas with a glass of wine in hand. It becomes increasingly difficult to be detached when these people, these animals, these issues are standing right in front of you…screaming at you to listen, to pay attention, to take action. The issue with this is that the moment I stepped back into the comfort and ease of Western society, I started to feel that detachment creep back in and cloud the corners of my mind – to cloud my decisions once more and I have to fight everyday to disentangle what is right from what is simply easy.

Back in the dark streets of Manila, mothers with newborn babies nestled in their arms hovered next to our table with hands outstretched towards us as we absentmindedly munched through another meal. Mothers lie at the side of busy roads, inhaling the nicotine rush from their cigarettes with blanket scraps surrounding them as their daughters run between cars banging violently on the windows, pleading yet another far away gaze to be caught by their empty one. It broke my heart. Their faces haunt me now as I become immersed once again in the consumerist nature of Western society. In a culture which is constantly plaguing us with adverts insisting we buy more materialist items, convincing us daily that we won’t look, feel or be right without the latest item. Meaningless consumerism is something I feel pretty strongly about – especially after spending so much time with those who live such a minimalist lifestyle. It’s an issue which is deeply rooted in Western society and something that I want to write a full blog post on so I will leave it there for now.

Manila is a dark city, infested with crooks who take solace in your naivety of the winding lanes of the city and lurk in shadowy corners. Beggars meet your gaze at every turn, every shop corner and a breath stifling level of pollution attacks your lungs as vehicles jam together trickling along roads at a snails pace. We spent a few days in Manila on both our arrival and our departure from the Philippines and I can say with certainty that I would try to avoid it at all costs if I ever ventured back to the Philippines. As is with all travel destinations, this was simply my experience of Manila and I have no doubt there are many individuals who revel in its manic streets and have the ability to confront the suspicious, sneering faces.

 

Do not ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive. – Howard Thurman

Be weird. Be wonderful.:)