Arriving at the check-in counter, my heart lurched a little as a niggling thought in the back of my mind pushed itself momentarily to the fore. The sense of panic became complete when I realised that I had brought along the wrong credit card for verification of my seat booking. This was the first time in my history of electronic air tickets whereby my passport and a copy of the e-ticket were insufficient to prove that I was the right passenger. But I couldn't really blame the airline as, upon closer observation, I realised that the fine print on the e-ticket did in fact request that the credit card used for purchase be made available for confirmation of booking at check-in.
I had all of 50 minutes to get back home, grab the right credit card, and return to the airport before check-in was closed. I made it in 45.
The 3.5 hour flight to Manila was fairly uneventful. I was seated next to a couple half of which comprised a moody girlfriend - the first of several such pairings that I was to encounter on the trip. She shared the same features as a severely disliked ex-boss - a gaunt face that forces the viewer to notice its narrow and protruding lower jaw, the downturned sides of a thin-lipped and disapproving mouth, a painfully wide-open pair of fearful and accusing eyes, the complete lack of cheekbones or anything that could be mistaken for strength of character... Okay, I admit that my interaction with others is largely influenced by physiognomy. Some call it shallow, I call it genetic hardwiring.
Fortunately "Nights in Rodanthe" (confusing billed as "The Notebook") was on and the inimitable chemistry and frisson between Richard Gere and Diane Lane ("Unfaithful" remains one of my favourite films) presented a surprisingly tearful diversion from my neighbours for most of the flight.
(Sunrise from Manila airport.)
Disembarking passengers at Puerto Princesa airport were pleasantly treated to welcoming fanfare from the military band, which somewhat made up for the chaos in the temporary arrivals and baggage collection... hut.
(The Welcome Band.)
(The hut.)
Distinctly foreign passengers (read: Caucasian and Japanese tourists) would find themselves suddenly pulled aside to join a "customs and immigration" queue. The operation was manned by a sole Filipino seated on a plastic stool at a rusty foldaway table, furiously penning each foreign arrival's passport details in a ledger damp from the man's sweat. I hesitated to join the queue since it looked hot and slow-moving and I had clearly passed for a Filipina, until flashes of me lying with a broken body in a makeshift hospital tucked away in the remote Philippine wilderness, completely ignored by the local authorities with my fate unknown to my family, changed my mind.
Emerging from the chaos, we found the sign declaring my name (spelt correctly!) and were hustled to the minivan that would bring us to Sabang, our final destination for the day.
(View of Ulugan Bay en route to Sabang.)
I had quite hastily made reservations at a self-proclaimed "nature park resort" in Sabang, the only one that had a website. (I found out later that the best way to get good accomodation in Sabang - or anywhere in Palawan for that matter - is via any Manila-based Philippine travel agency.) My optimism wavered a little when I saw where I would be staying, a stilted bamboo shack right on the edge of the Sabang jungle that did no more than provide walls and a roof for a small room with a mosquito-net draped bed. There was a hole in the floor that my foot went straight through, and I couldn't help but notice that the widely spaced bamboo bars in the windows would easily let in any number of wild creatures that were so inclined. Toilets and shower stalls were located minutes away from my doorstep.
(Home for two nights.)
(Around and about at the "resort".)
(What used to be the in-house farm, clearly abandoned some harvests ago.)
(Flock of herons amongst the resort's trees.)
The rest of the day - what was left of it - was spent reassuring my parents that it would be a wonderful and different experience. However hard I tried though, my father decided that there was no way he would be staying there for all three nights, which meant that the entire family would have to return to Puerto Princesa a day early (ruining my plans to continue my onward journey to El Nido via Port Barton on boat).
I have never experienced a darkness as complete as that night, when the generator stopped running right about midnight. Imagine being enveloped by the colour black, not seeing your hand a mere inch from your face, drowned in the night's cacophony of jungle sounds. Having just drifted away to sleep, I was awoken by a honking sound in my room. It sounded something like a cross between a dog and a goose, with each series of honks punctuated by a sigh. I groped for my torchlight, switched it on, and was shocked to find a lizard the length of my arm on the wall. Surprised by my half-smothered shriek, it slithered out of my room through a hole in the corner of my room.
I honestly have never quite so looked forward to daybreak. I will never go camping, unless it's in the wilderness-free White Desert of Egypt, where I know the only non-human creature I would wake up next to is a resting camel and the only night sounds I would hear are the murmurings of other travellers marvelling at shooting stars in the clear night sky.
...
.JPG)
