Sunday, April 12, 2015

Palawan, an Island Paradise

Sunday, January 11th, Manila to Palawan Island.

El Nido Islands

At 3:45 A.M we are shaken awake by an earthquake and our hotel sways noticeably. I jump out of bed expecting aftershocks and wonder where the safest place in this not up to building code hotel might be?  I slip on clothes, use the bathroom and locate my purse should we need to evacuate.  I worry about John and Joe on the floor above but there are no aftershocks and I drift back to sleep for 45 minutes until our alarm sounds at 4:30 for our morning wake up. While Art showers, I check my phone to find out the magnitude of the earthquake. It was a 6.2 ; 85 miles west of Manila and 10 miles deep. There is no significant damage and there are no reported casualties. Because of the earthquake, the elevator is out of commission and I start to carry my bag downstairs but a bell hop (or elevator repair man?) appears from nowhere to carry it down two flights to the lobby. Joe and John appear momentarily and we catch a taxi to the airport.

There is little early morning traffic and the ride to the airport takes just 30 minutes. We check our bags and search for breakfast and fueled with coffee, we go through security and proceed to our gate. My rattan back pack gets a lot of attention from the x-ray technicians and passengers alike and I am able to slip my jacket, my computer and my extra shoes in the back.  I sleep the hour and a half plane flight to Palawan. 

We deplane and walk across the tarmac to the tiny airport terminal and our luggage is off-loaded quickly. The climate is warm and I am happy to be down from the cloud forest highlands of Luzon and to slip into “Island time.” I spot a young man holding up a sign printed with Shosku Bobroskie and catch his attention. He takes my suitcase and I start to follow him to the waiting van, but Art, John and Joe have halted and are watching a welcoming dance performance, an eclectic and odd combination of Spanish dancers and loin clothed male dancers. Our driver asks me where the 5th passenger is and I tell him that there are only four of us. Was Julie Ann, Joe’s friend planing on going with us?

It is a six hour drive to El Nido and the two lane road takes us past small villages of houses built of bamboo, corrugated tin and cinderblock.  Woman, children and animals walk and loiter along the side of the road. Men ride scooters and (water buffalo) and trikes zip along beside us. The countryside is lush and green; a patchwork of rice paddies, banana trees, coconut palms and bamboo. We have glimpses of the ocean, a steely blue in the distance and we cross over a wide jungle river where longboats float idly at the water’s edge.  

El Nido Town 
El Nido Street Stall











Hotel Silla Del Vincejos




We arrive in El Nido around 3:00 P.M. and check into Silla Del Vincejos hotel on the main tourist street. Joe has stayed here before and although our hotel isn’t on the beach, it is in the heart of town and just a 5 minute walk to the beach strip of restaurants and bars.  There are about 20 rooms in this clean and family run hotel.  The rooms are simply furnished but the management is trying and a pair of swan folded towels form a heart on the king sized bed in our room; the air conditioner works and there is hot water.

El Nido Beach
El Nido Catamarans


El Nido Beach Front Restaurants and Bars

Beach Front Bar
























Ten minutes after checking in we are walking the shop lined street towards the ocean. Beach front restaurants line the shore, all with tables set in the sand and sandwich boards advertising their happy hour specials. John wants to sit and enjoy a beer in this beautiful bay, fringed with jagged black limestone cliffs and dramatic “Jurassic” islands jutting up from the sea.  It is 3:50 P.M. and happy hour starts at 5:00 P.M  I procrastinate drinks on the sand and suggest that we walk the pathway around the island and see what might be around the next corner? This area isn’t as touristy and there are guest houses interspersed with village houses. Joe knows a Japanese, American women who owns a guest house and we walk to her inn and find her in the courtyard. She is about 70, slight and genky and greets Joe warmly. They banter as old friends about gardening, Koi ponds and her apparently failing husband who repeatedly reads the same book over and over.

Taiyo Village Guest House

Handstands in the Sand
















We return to the tourist strip of beach front restaurants and choose one at the far end for happy hour.  Joe orders a banana smoothie which proves to be more expensive than the gin and tonics. We move to the restaurant next door where they have happy hour margaritas and appetizers. The margaritas are good and strong and the fried mushrooms are delicious. I leave the restaurant feeling a bit tipsy as we move down the beach to choose a restaurant for dinner.  We choose on on the sand and our dinners are all pretty awful, but in spite of this we have a good time. We make our way back to our hotel along the side streets, past tourist shops, tiny massage parlor, nail salons, tattoo parlors and bars.


Happy Hour, El Nido Beach
Happy Hour, El Nido Beach




Ten Hours to Manilla


Saturday, January 10th. Bangaan Village. Heritage village.

We wake early, check out of our hotel and are finished breakfast by 6:45. I have still not purchased a Hunter’s Backpack and I walk to the gift shop to buy the small rattan hunters back pack that I examined last night but it has been sold. I am very disappointed and don’t want to leave Banaue without one. Having shopped and compared in the village,  the two at our hotel were/are the best. I tell the sales girl that I was prepared to spend $3500 pesos for the one that was sold but not $5500 for the larger one. She offers the large one to me for $4500 but the owner is not here and she is not authorized to discount it further. Just as I am exiting the lobby, the owner comes running after me and offers me the large one for $3500. ($45) I am still disappointed because I would have preferred the smaller one, that got away, which was beautifully woven and designed for a women with a closing cover. I quickly pay the $3500 and exit the hotel with my purchase. 

Bangaan Rice Terraces

Bangaan Heritage Village

Bangaan Rice Terraces



Vista, Bangaan Rice Terraces













We meet the boys at their guest house for our morning tour of Bangaan Village.  We drive the muddy cliff hanging road, clogged with heavy road work machinery and with jeepneys trying to pass each other on the narrow mud slick road. Our jeepney has isinglass windows that diminish the view yet not the morning chill. The mountains are shrouded in fog and we stop at several view points for the required photos and John and Marky climb on top of our jeepney for the final leg of the drive to Bangaan.  

Trekking to Bangaan Heritage Village

Bangaan Heritage Village

Bangaan Heritage Village











Bangaan Heritage Village














This is my third day of rice terrace trekking and I feel somewhat conditioned and I appraise the trek down to the village in the valley below as an easy one. The initial part of the trail is steep and there are countless stone steps to descend. Once down the steepest section we descend more slowly, walking carefully along the narrow dikes dividing the terraces. The raised dike pathways are between 18” – 24” wide with irregular rock stepping stones imbedded in the mud. A few of the rice fields are lush and green with sprouting rice shoots and women, knee deep in mud, separate these brilliant green shoots and replant them with optimal spacing in the empty fields.  There are just a few women planting and I take particular notice of a girl of about 13, wearing ear buds who thrusts the shoots deep into the thick grey mud.

Rice Fields, Bangaan

Marky Pounding Rice

Husking Rice





















Fighting and Acrobatic Carvings
Relief Carvings, Bangaan Heritage Village














At the bottom of this steep valley is Bangaan village, a UNESCO heritage site and the villagers are subsidized by the government to keep the old traditions.  Children scamper nimbly along the dikes, peeking shyly at us and a village woman shows us how to pound and husk the rice. There are a few souvenir  trinkets to buy and John and I argue who will buy  the one wooden lizard box. We are the only tourists and we wander the authentic village where pigs, chickens and one proud rooster wander. Three old and bent women walk by, presumably walking the steep terraces to the road above and I marvel that they are able to make the climb.

Stooped Women of Bangaan

Stone Stairway, Bangaan 



















Marty in front of Bangaan Stilt House


How many feet do you see?















I take my time climbing the pathway and many steps up to the road and the return climb seems relatively easy.

It is 11:00 A.M. when we leave Banaue for our 10 hour drive back to Manila. Two hours into our drive we stop at a McDonnalds in Solano for lunch. John is sticking to a strict vegetarian diet and orders macaroni and cheese and French fries; a carb and trans-fat meal.  I regretfully have the same, thinking how displeased Stephanie would be with my choice but I am unwilling to complicate travel by bringing food alternatives from home.

Art, Marky, McDonnalds
Solano McDonnalds

I withdraw $20,000 pesos at the ATM and we are on the road again. We pass the time talking. John talks about the electron double slit experiment and uses his phone to write an analogy between this experiment and proving the existence of God and how observation can change the outcome. The conversation shifts to Mizuho and the Mishima family history. Their eldest brother, Mizuho, who passed away 8 years ago, was a Green Beret in the Special Forces and flew 26 missions in Viet Nam. It is fascinating listing to the two brother’s memories of their childhood on Okinawa. The subject shifts to John’s beliefs and John tells us that he feels that he would have been a good fit for the military;  a good and disciplined leader but that he doesn’t believe in what the U.S. is doing overseas and that he would not want to kill people.  Art talks about Japanese history…..John more about our environment, species going extinct…etc. 

Joe’s ex fiancĂ© lives in Angeles about three hours outside of Manila. Joe has been texting her and the plan is to meet her briefly tonight. Our driver misses the turn for Angeles and I am not clear why we don’t turn back but Joe is quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of our drive. We drop Marky off at a bus terminal in Quezon City, a suburb of Manila. We say awkward good byes’ by the side of the road. The Sunday night traffic is light for Manila and we are soon pulling up in front of our Manila Crown Plaza Hotel. (Do not be fooled by the regal name; this hotel wears a very tarnished crown.)  Art’s and my room has a king bed and all the expected amenities, but the paint has formed cancerous bubbles above the air conditioner and the smoke detector will later cause us sleep deprivation.

It is 8:30 P.M. when we step out onto the streets of Manila to find dinner. We are exhausted and want to choose a restaurant quickly. There are several sushi  restaurants on either side of our “Royal” hotel and various female hawkers try to persuade us to enter their restaurants. One woman sidles up to John and asks him what he is looking for; would he like her? Another hawker asks John if he wants to go to a K.T.V; (Karaoke, T.V. and Video?)  We do our best to sidestep these aggressive hawkers and quickly choose a busy, smoke filled Japanese restaurant. Art and Joe order beef and vegetable rice bowls but as vegetarians, it is more challenging for John and me. I order a spring onion omelet and stir fry vegetables and John orders a croquette and rice. The vegetables are delicious and we order a second serving and wash our meals down with St. Miguel beers.

Japanese Restaurant, Manilla

It is 10:00 P.M. before we are back in our hotel. After quick showers, we fall into bed, anxious for sleep because our alarm is set for 4:30 A.M. to catch an early morning flight to Palawan.  I am beginning to drift when there is a chirp from a low battery smoke detector in the hallway just outside our door. The chirp sounds repeatedly at 1 minute intervals and Art calls the front desk. They tell us that they will call housekeeping.  Chirp….chirp….chirp.  Housekeeping comes and there is commotion outside our door but the chirp continues.  Art calls again but no one comes to change or remove the battery. Chirp….chirp….chirp. My blood pressure is rising and there is no chance of sleep. I make a third irritated call and shortly, there is a sharp knock at our door.  Art pulls on his clothes and opens the door and 3 maintenance men step into our room abruptly turning on the lights. They incorrectly assume that the detector is in our room and Art goes into the hallway and points up to the offensive alarm. There is more noise as the crew scrapes and bangs a ladder and it is midnight before the chirp is terminated. What we didn’t realize earlier was that the annoying chirp was distracting us from the thrumming beat and vibration from the disco a floor below.  I manage a couple of hours of sleep before the 3:45 earthquake wakes us and our hotel begins to sway.  


Guihob Hot Springs

Friday, January 9th

Trek to the Hungduan Rice Terraces.  

Hungduan Rice Terrace Vista

Art riding inside the Jeepney
Vista stops on the road to Hungduan









John and Marky on top of the Jeepney
Hungduan Rice Terrace Sign
Papa and Son



The trek down is not as strenuous as yesterday's and is mostly along the narrow, meandering, stone dikes framing the rice terraces. The uneven stone pathways vary  between 12” - 18” wide and are slippery with mud so I must pay close attention to my footing and balance. We hike down, edging along the terraces for an hour before the rain begins in ernest; cross over a bridge footpath in the valley and begin our ascent on the other side.


Walking along the rice terrace dikes

Stepping stones along the dikes

Planting Rice, Hungduan
Hungduan Rice Terraces in the rain














Hungduan Rice Terrace Vista
Everything is deliciously green, slick and lush and I am chilled when we arrive at the Guihob hot springs and  we all look forward to slipping into the warm sulphur water. When we arrive, we sign a simple guest book and our guide pays the modest fee (included in our “tour.”)

Sulphur turns my ring black
Guihob Hot Springs












Frigid river beside the hot springs



Guihob Hot Springs














My swimsuit is underneath my clothes and I slip out of my damp jeans and stow my gear under wooden benches protected from the drizzle by an open round tin roof shelter. The natural hot spring is dammed and a half dozen other bathers soak in the clear hot pool. The frigid river is diverted and rushes along side the hot springs compound. I am wearing my silver Mavericks Wave ring and I notice it has immediately turned black from the sulphur. We soak and visit with the other bathers for 30 minutes before drying off and eating our meager lunch under the shelter of a picnic area. My egg and cheese sandwich is pasty and cold but I chew it dutifully, knowing that I will need the energy in order to ascend to our jeepney high up on the cliff road beyond.

Mossy stepping stones
Stone stairway to Hungduan

















We arrive back in Banaue mid afternoon and treat ourselves to afternoon coffees and hot chocolates at a local cafĂ©. There are no Starbucks here and no other patrons in the cafe which is dark when we enter. The waitress turns on the lights and a small T.V. glows from a corner of the ceiling.  A science fiction movie is showing that is of some interest to John, Marky and Art and just like back home, we check our phones for wifi. There is a bakery next door and Art steps out to buy pastries and returns with the uninspired sweets. Although this gloomy cafe is a far cry from the trendy cafes back home, I feel an overwhelming contentment, sipping the warm drinks and nibbling on odd pastries in this remote mountain town with my extended family. Late afternoon, Art and I hire a trike to take us back to our hotel to shower, rest and write. We ask our driver to pick us up at 6:15 for the return ride back to town.


Chess Game, Banaue
Banaue City
















Banaue City Cafe


Video Game Arcade, Banaue












Our trike is waiting for us at the appointed time to take us into the town meet our family at the Las Vegas restaurant, just across from the Greenview Guesthouse.  I have come to expect little from the food but surprisingly this meal is reasonably good. John and I are trying to be vegetarian, but tonight, following Marky’s lead, I choose a saucy chicken dish and we order a bottle of wine for $400 pesos ($9) that tastes rather like a fruity “Thunderbird.” 

Las Vegas Restaurant, Banue City

John, Marky, Karaoke Bar

John, Art, Karaoke Bar

Marky, Karaoke Bar




Not ready to call it a night, we walk up the street to a Karaoke Bar. The bar is on the second story of a rickety wooden building with a plank floor and wood shutters thrown open wide. The mountain air is cold and damp and Art who is looking forward to a real drink is disappointed that the bar serves only beer.  We order beers and Marky shows us how to operated the karaoke machine and soon Marky, John and Art are singing away. Joe and I are more timid but I eventually decide to try my skills at “On The Road Again,” and completely humiliate myself. An hour later, the boys walk back to their lodge and Art and I take a tricycle back to our hotel.