Coron – Day 1: Back in the Tropics
CORON
Day 1: Back in the Tropics
October 10, 2024
PART I
After a brief layover in Manila, I found myself on yet another flight, this time round to Busuanga Island. While most travellers visiting this part of Palawan tend to base themselves around Coron Town or visit nearby Coron Island, I decided to start with the more convenient base of Busuanga.
Busuanga Island is the largest island in the Calamian Archipelago in northern Palawan. It’s known for its stunning limestone cliffs, turquoise lagoons and exceptional World War II wreck-diving sites, where Japanese ships sunk in 1944 now rest beneath crystal-clear waters. Beyond its marine life, Busuanga also offers lush hills, freshwater lakes and abundant wildlife. It’d be the perfect start to my adventure.
But that seemed a long way off. As I sat down waiting for the flight, the PA went off, warning us that there would be a delay and a possible cancellation because of the weather in Busuanga. At this, I just closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I knew this would happen. You see, a few months back, when I had booked the flights, my friend had called me an idiot, knowing full well that October was still considered part of the rainy season.
Flash forward to a few days before the trip, when I randomly remembered that it was, in fact, still monsoon season, and I figured there’d be nothing much to do at this point but to just go and face the odds.
Happier Anywhere Else
As fate would have it, the universe laughed in my face. “Surprise, surprise, mothertrucker!” it called out – the cyclone whirling around the archipelago mocking me. I have to admit that I kinda froze the second I saw the forecast. I had my costly flights booked, and I had even gone through the trouble of having ChatGPT make me an itinerary. Life of a doc, okay? Also funny was how the cyclone preceded my exact planned route by a few hours.
My freak-out didn’t last too long. By that point in time, I had taken up so many extra shifts to cover all my trips that I was burnt out to say the least. I could use the getaway even if I just spent those three weeks cooped up in a hotel room. Also, whenever I closed my eyes, I’d picture myself on a sunbed on a stormy beach, chilling without a care in the world as tornadoes, waterspouts and whirlpools wreaked havoc in the background, lightning struck palm trees down and gusts of wind blew driftwood about. And I couldn’t be happier if I tried.
Anywhere would be better than being stuck at work at that moment. Even stuck in an airport waiting for a flight that might never happen.
PART II
First Glimpse of the Archipelago
A couple of announcements and half a book later, I was finally boarding the plane. As we took off and made for Busuanga, I couldn’t help but tremble with excitement the second the archipelago came into view.
Not only would the transit be over soon, but I’d finally get to start exploring and enjoying myself. I had no set plans for once and had decided to play it by ear. First up, I’d probably go for a dive, or maybe chill by the beach. I’d do whatever I felt like. Or, rather, whatever the island offered. Turns out, dives in Busuanga are usually scheduled as day trips, meaning that all boats had already set sail by the time I showed up to the main town. Oh well, c’est la vie. Instead, I left my stuff at the hotel I’d be staying in and headed for a stroll around town.
Ahh, to be back in such rural villages once again. The chaotic mess of jungle-overrun streets and dishevelled buildings. Stray dogs and chickens running around. Scooters and tricycles cluttering the roads. Locals going about their business and the occasional backpacker looking around excitedly. Man, it felt so good to be back. Somehow, some way, it felt like a continuation of my gap year – as if I had just picked up right where I had left things off. Somehow, some way, it felt as if I had gone right back to that mindset and way of being, something I never thought would be possible.
Cabo Beach
After getting lost in the hot and humid roads of Coron Town Proper, I hailed a tricycle – a rustic piece of metalwork attached to a motorbike that serves as the local version of a tuk-tuk. The driver, Donald, took me all the way to Cabo Beach – the first thing that came up after a brief search on Google Maps.
The ride there reminded me of my time in Ometepe, Nicaragua, with Amelia – the sheer rawness and wilderness of the jungle bordering the roads, the stalls and run-down buildings, the animals lazing about. I gotta admit that, for the first time in my life, I found myself not wanting to be alone. I would’ve given anything to have Amelia by my side once again.
Once at the beach, Donald and I agreed on a pick-up time, and he left me to my own affairs. Once again, I was alone and revelling in my solitude, this time on a gloriously pristine tropical beach. Here, a large sandy area dotted with palm and Ficus trees, as well as thatched huts and a kiosk, led to the bay. The beige-coloured sand peppered with seashells, the turquoise-blue water framed by mangroves along the edges of the bay, and the surrounding islands and hills in the background truly came together to make a magnificent vista. And, to top it all off, there was not one person in sight.
Finding Freedom
I quickly set my things aside and ran out to the sea, exactly as I had done in Playa Bonita, my first beach stop during my gap year in Mexico. I felt that exact same freedom. Only this time round, it was also different.
I remember how, with every beach I’d visit back then, I’d be burdened with this kind of existential dread that would leave me feeling so desperate. Not knowing what my future would hold in store for me. Not knowing if I’d ever be able to experience that sort of freedom again. Not knowing if medicine and travelling were mutually exclusive. And now? Running out to the sea feeling freer than ever was something I’d grown so used to back home. It was something I’d started doing regularly once I arrived back from my journey. Back then, I was riddled with anxiety and wrecked with nerves, not knowing if I’d be able to hold onto the lessons I had learned throughout that year. Now? Now I knew I had been profoundly changed in more ways than one, and that I could never go back.
Just one beach trip brought to life so many memories. Running out into the sea feeling freer than ever, like I had done in Playa Bonita. Picking up seashells like I had done with Pina in Playa Sisal. Snorkelling like I had done, well, pretty much everywhere. And thinking, breathing, being. All those beaches in Mexico, Belize, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama during that one trip, and all those other countless times in Malta since. I had truly reverted to being a carefree kid who was part of the sea.
And lemme tell ya, that kid would’ve been ecstatic. From synaptid sea cucumbers to chocolate chip sea stars, from three-bar porcupinefish to crescent grunters and gobies of all kinds and colours, the beach was teeming with sea life. Also waste, but hey, at least I put my clean-up skills to good use. “Leave a beach cleaner than you found it!” went the saying back in Utila, Honduras.
A Four-Hour Nap
Before heading back, I also stopped by the little beach kiosk and ordered some squid and a fresh fruit juice, which felt like the most fitting first meal I could’ve had in the Philippines.
There I was, still slightly damp from the sea, barefoot and sun-drunk, eating chewy, smoky squid while sipping on this ridiculously refreshing juice, with the bay stretching out in front of me and absolutely nowhere else I needed to be. Simple though it was, it felt like the exact kind of moment I had come all this way for.
The rest of the day was anticlimactic, to say the least. After heading back to town, I checked in and had a short nap, and by short, I mean a four-hour nap. I was pretty jet-lagged, so my body was thankful for that. Also, for the hour-long full-body massage that cost ten euros. Knowing I’d have many action-packed days ahead of me, I didn’t quite mind missing out on an afternoon of adventures.