El Nido | Philippines

We got up early to ensure we had enough time to gulp some free coffee and grab a snack before boarding the shuttle to the bus station. The owner of Dallas Pension, Rusty, a perpetual grin from ear to ear, had a sweet little girl that liked to sing and twirl around. No wonder we got along effortlessly. Rusty helped get our ride situated and ensured us the driver would stop for an ATM on the way. Paradise doesn’t have an ATM.

We arrived to the bus station with our new friend, Joey, who was taking our same bus about half way, where he would get off at a small village and attempt to find a nomadic clan of natives his friend once stayed with. With a dowry and a photo of his friend in hand, the only mutual pal he and the chief shared, Joey was the lone passenger to exit at his stop. We wished him well and he waved the bus away. I wonder if he ever found the chief and his tribe.

A few hours of riding through the island of Palawan leaves you hungry, and my intelligent husband decided to run to the grocery store that morning and packed a to-go lunch for us to assemble en route. Bread, hot sauce, and canned tuna made for a simple, protein packed bus-lunch. We cracked the can of tuna to discover it was packed in thick, gloppy oil, and in a lame attempt to drain it into an empty water bottle, spilled the tuna mess all over the seat and our laps. Using bread to soak up what we could of the fishy goo, we quickly finished our messy lunch, stinking up the entire bus, right as it pulled over for a lunch pit stop. We had no clue the bus would make a stop, let alone at a nice oasis filled with homemade meat and rice, snacks, and coconut ice cream. It’s not like we were on the MegaBus from Minneapolis to Chicago, where passengers know they stop at the Rockford Clock Tower for a fast-food fix. We rolled our eyes, hopped off the bus to clean up, grabbed a few snacks and some ice cream, and were back on the road before the tuna smell wafted out the front door.

We curved around the cliffs of the coast, looking into the beautiful bay where the town of El Nido calls home, and excitedly started walking towards the guest house Rusty and his business partner owned. They didn’t have a room, and after many failed attempts, a booker spotted us and brought us to her “Aunties” place. “Auntie” may or may not have really been her aunt, but Auntie and her family owned a little shop, selling packets of shampoo and 3-in-1 coffee, and lived in the home behind the store front. She had 3 rooms upstairs, no hot water, no wi-fi, and no air-conditioning, but we took the basic yet comfortable room gratefully.

The sun was setting over the water, so we ventured to the little waterfront area and found dinner and drinks, watching the last of the outriggers bring tours back from the islands bobbing in the open waters accessible from El Nido. The town itself isn’t anything fancy; a simple little run-down fishing town turned signature port to see some of the most incredible untainted islands and ocean on the planet. From a beach perspective, Boracay was better, but you don’t go to El Nido to stay in El Nido. You go to El Nido to find utopia.

For post dinner drinks, I opted to try a ripe, young coconut, slurping the massive volume of fresh coconut water and eating the slimy, mushy flesh straight from the shell. I learned I don’t like young coconut, I prefer the wiser, more mature version that, post consumption of a slightly sweeter water and much crunchier meat, makes the perfect fraternity luau bikini-top.

We rose early the next morning and thanked “Auntie” for letting us slumber in her abode, and set off to find another, more comfortable place. Walking off the main drag, we found the Cliffside Cottages, and settled into a great little bungalow. Townhouse style, we had a neighbor to our right, sharing one wall. We never saw him once!

We rented a motorbike and cruised around the countryside for the morning, avoiding the yells to “SEE OUR WATERFALL” from roadside locals. Eventually, we made it to Las Cabana beach, and spent the day relaxing and basking in the sun. It was stunning, a true slice of heaven. As the water receded from the shore, tucking in to the ocean for the night, I did some sun salutations on the freshly exposed sea floor.

As I saluted the sun, attempting to keep my suit appropriately covering my warrior 1 and 2’s, Will chatted with the Canadian owner of the quaint but growing resort tucked away behind the jungle bush that eventually kissed this immaculate beach. The owner bought, and fought for, the land in the 80’s, almost losing it to economic dips and poor cash flow, and eventually built a few basic bungalows. Now, he rents those huts out for hundreds per night, the location absolutely stunning, something even the gods would desire, and runs a restaurant and bar right on the land. By law, his little resort must be majority owned by Filipinos, so with the corporation he started that acts as majority owner (I assume he is majority in the corporation), he and his Filipina wife make a living talking to guests and playing in paradise. He knows how to make an investment.

We negotiated hard for our bike, blatantly quoted a higher price than our predecessor renters, a miss by the owner who grinned in shame and amusement that we overheard his previous deal when I called this out to him. Shaking his head, he agreed to my negotiated priced, looked at the bike and checked the gas level and tire pressure, and promised to have it back in the early evening.

We bought some cheap rum and a coke and played cards (with the puppies and kitties, of course) back at our bungalow. Laundry still hanging to dry from the morning wash and exhausted from the sun’s charm all day, we slipped into bed feeling pretty accomplished. Adult duties done and frolicking on paradise’s playground in the same day? You really can have it all!

I snuck off to breakfast before Will to get some wifi; we had been on Sajadi Baby Watch 2015 and were anxiously awaiting the arrival of our little niece or nephew. Exhausted of rice and meat, I splurged and devoured the first bowl and fruit and yogurt I’d had in months. Fruit is plentiful here, but refrigeration is inconsistent, and yogurt isn’t cheap. The bowl was bigger than my head, filled with sweet goodness and topped with honey. Unabashed, I licked the bowl.

Things were moving along back in the States, and baby Sajadi would make his or her appearance soon. Will met me over coffee and we bantered about what the baby would be. I thought girl, then boy, and then girl again. Will wanted a nephew, mostly so he had an appropriate excuse to buy all the toys he wanted to play with (“No, Will, a newborn cannot play with Star Wars Legos…”).

As my family members prepared to become a first time grandma/grandpa/uncle/mom or dad, we prepared to board a longtail boat. El Nido offers 4 unique tours of the islands (A,B,C, or D), depending on your personal preference. We opted for the alpha-option including the best swim and sun bathing time. We slid across turquoise waters, from little uninhabited island to uninhabited island, had a BBQ picnic lunch on a small section of rocky beach after snorkeling to the tinkle of a longtail ice-cream man’s chime (who new!!), and explored hidden coral reefs and caves tucked back from island shores. The reefs were impeccable. Masks were practically unnecessary. The water was so pure and translucent the sea life was vivid and easily experienced from the surface.

We swam, waded, snorkeled, basked, boated, and mostly marveled at the intense scenery surround us. My heart ached a little every time anchor dropped, as pristine coral reef paid a sever price for every wading boat. With no care, or complete lack of slow reef reproduction knowledge, chunks of coral shattered to the ocean floor, promising a quick demise of these vivid and marine-life rich waters. I’m not even a marine activist or well versed on any sort of coral or reef conservation but I understand slamming 20 some anchors into living reef every day will eventually destroy it, not to mention deteriorate the local economy with eventual declines in tourism and fishing when there is nothing left swimming these pretty waters. Apparently, my minimal knowledge is more than my anchor-dropping friends cared to consider, and I waded by harmed coral as I swam away from the boat to shore or snorkel destination.

Closing our island hopping adventure, we tooted by a secluded bay on a private island. John Legend could be heard from the large speakers as white-clad staff set white bamboo chairs along the white sand beach, for the perfect bride to waltz down the white aisle runner in her white dress and veil, during sunset, to marry her prince on a white stallion. The stallion may be exaggerated, but this bride’s wedding kicked every other wedding’s ass. Martha Stewart could fill every one of her 255 page ‘Weddings’ with this one wedding alone.

We made it back at sunset, waded through waist-high water to shore, and ate dinner as the sun dipped below the horizon for his normal night-swim in the cool ocean water. Finally connected to internet, we formally celebrated the arrival of Peter, Pan the Man, my little Nuggy Nug Nugget, our first (and forever favorite) nephew. We gawked over plenty of pictures of his chubby cheeks and button nose, counted 10 fingers and 10 toes, and fell asleep with hearts a little fuller than when we woke.

The next day, we ran in to a couple from San Francisco we’d met in the clear waters the previous day. Carlos was pleading with his wife to use those little cords that safely rest your glasses around your neck while Julie reminded him she’d paid successful attention to her glasses for 30 years without his help and to worry about his own Ray Bans for a change. I chuckled, “sounds like a conversation I’ve had with my husband!” We lounged in the water, sharing travel stories and recommendations. They had a lot to share on Vietnam, and I am looking forward to experiencing their suggestions first hand.

We planned to meet Carlos and Julie later that evening for a fresh fish BBQ. Until then, Carlos recommended we take a nice walk along the beach on a faint footpath, difficult to see from the main stretch of shore. We parted ways and started on our adventure, curving around the island, walking through jungle woods and mulchy paths, until the trail opened to a rocky, unseen beach. We were all alone until another couple completed the same island trek, and departed, leaving the hidden little treasure for the lovebirds to enjoy in privacy.

A slight misunderstanding left us ditched for dinner, and we sauntered to the BBQ alone like sulky teenagers stood up on the first date. The meal was incredible, our fresh caught and grilled Unicorn fish and Red Snapper quickly devoured and washed down with San Miguel and lemon, and we called the server over so we could pay. As our bill arrived, so did Carlos and Julie, with their pal Greg, pulling up seats to our table. We quickly cleared up the miscommunication, greatly enjoyed conversation and a few more rounds of beers as they ate their meals, and together went to a new bar Greg recommended. He’s lived in the Philippines for 6 years, originally from Canada, and comes to El Nido to fatten up and refresh from months of hard work harpoon fishing on another Filipino island. His stories were incredible, from a much darker perspective of ‘the underbelly’ of the Philippines and an ugly truth of what the island life is really like, to tales of Sea Gypsies, re-evolving underwater eye site and sea creature lung capabilities allowing them to fish underwater for many minutes at a time with only a gun and breath of air.

We loved the relaxed music and vibe of The Playground and wished we’d found it days prior, as this was our last night in El Nido. French-owned, the bar rested at the base of the cliffs next door to our bungalow, hosting daily yoga classes and selling (overpriced) local goods. The area floods during the rainy season, so a long dock carries you from the road to the bar, illuminated by small lanterns along the way. It was a beautiful bar, enjoyed by secret-filled patrons leading quite interesting lives, per our insider Greg, along with the five of us new friends. A few cocktails and game of ping-pong later, we said our farwells and parted ways. We’ve kept in touch (Carlos and Julie were just in Brazil and had a great time!), and look forward to visiting them in San Francisco some day.

We rose early to walk to the pier where our ‘boat’ would take us from El Nido to Coron, where the airport is located, to catch our flight to Thailand. On our first day in El Nido, the same woman who offered her Aunties place shared this very ferry ride would cost us 8000 pesos. We quickly learned this was a complete bargain compared to any other ticket-office offer, and we spent the next few days hunting her down to purchase the tickets. We eventually found her, and learned the actual price was twice as much.

“We’ve spent time every day looking for you. Walking into shops and asking around. You told us the ferry would be half that much.”

“Sorry, that was the local price.”

Clearly we aren’t locals I thought, slightly annoyed. Realizing it was worthless to put any energy into this, I instead asked what fairer price she could offer, considering we came back to find her and could have booked through anyone from the street.

A few hours later, we found ourselves graced with the presence of another one of her “Aunties,” being stared at like idiots for our desire to pay less than the 13,000 peso offer on the table.

“We were told it was 8,000. You understand our confusion?”

“Of course, but I can go no lower.”

I walked to another vendor to see if I could get him any lower. Hearing my current offer, I acutally was yelled at: “You’re trying to take all my money! Get out of here!!” Slightly scared and confused, as I already knew he charged locals half as much as he would charge me, meaning HE was trying to take all of MY money, I sauntered back to Auntie number 2 and shook on the deal. We later learned we indeed did pay much less than any other passanger on that ‘ferry.’

Have you you noticed I wrote ‘boat’ and ‘ferry’ with little quotes around them? If I were telling this story to you live, I would have air quoted when I said ‘boat’ or ‘ferry,’ as calling this barely floating vessel anything that resembles something of a proper sea bearing vehicle would be wrong.

40+ passengers rode this outrigger for 11 hours. ELEVEN. Through some of the roughest sea’s Poseidon could create (well not really, but it did look like that George Clooney movie where his legitimate boat climbs and crashes over terrifying waves. Kind of…). Our saving grace was Greg, who told us no matter what to march directly to the top of the boat and demand to sit on the roof of the cabin. Ignore anyone who stands in your way. Blow by them, pretend you're pushing your way to the front of a site in China, claw, scratch, do what it takes to sit up top. Will took that to heart, immediately claiming 2 seats against either mast. Back rest a bonus, we bounced between the hidden and less traveled Philippine islands. Lunch was included, which was virtually impossible to scoop from the to-go box into any mouth successfully, and most of the rice landed in the water for fish to swallow whole.

Will had enjoyed a few more libations than I did the previous night, and the mixture of morning after and sea waves did not make a pleasant ride for my dear husband. At one point, ocean spray was so aggressive, I had to keep my eyes squeezed shut indefinitely, salty water slicing through my clothes and soaking every inch of me. I spent half the ride completely saturated, ringing my clothes out between the worse waves, eventually giving up and succumbing to Poseidon’s vengeance.

The sun gave in to the waves, too, and went to bed before we got to Coron. Now not only dripping, but freezing cold, too, I wasn’t even upset about this insane journey. My reward for surviving this was a front row seat at the stellar theater, staring Ursa Major, Orion, and their gang of shooting stars and falling comets. It was breathtaking, melting any frustration or desperate feeling right into the angry ocean. Again, I marveled, awestruck, at the beauty surrounding me, thankful I was lucky enough to experience this rough ride on a ‘boat.’

From El Nido, with Love,

Sara + Will