After a one not so comfortable tricycle ride to the center of town with 4 adult Filipinos and 1 child, we arrived at the center of Puerto Princesa for the 2nd time. Waiting for us was the local Jeepneys (Filipino: Dyipni), sometimes called simply jeeps (Filipino: dyip), are buses and the most popular means of public transportation ubiquitous in the Philippines. They are known for their crowded seating and kitsch decorations, which have become a wide spread symbol of Philippine culture and art. On the side they have the town they are going to and from. We boarded the one going to San Jose New Market, where all the vans, buses and private cars leave from to Port Barton.
Before the van took off, we bought some rolls, peanut butter, bananas, oatmeal, and cinnamon rolls. Little did we know this would become our default meal for the next week, minus the cinnamon rolls. Every morning we would mix oatmeal with peanut butter and banana, what we now call a Filipino Breakfast.
We haggled from 350 pesos down to 300 per person, then waited nearly an hour for the driver and his co-workers to sell enough spots to fill up the vehicle. We were scheduled to leave at 11:00, but the concept of time is lost on the Filipino people. The final two slots were filled with two Swiss girls, and we were on our way.
The ride was horrible. Although the roads are in pretty good shape, remarkable, they were windy and made us both dizzy. Next time we will have to put on our sea sickness patches.
3.5 hours later in Port Barton, we walked the dusty roads to our humble abode, Cubby's Guesthaus hut 2, a bamboo cottage that was cozy yet peaceful, during the daytime at least.
Living up to the Filipino reputation, the food in Port Barton left something to be desired. The town itself was enjoyable, if you can call it that. It certainly wasn’t intended to be a tourist destination. There was very little infrastructure or attractions, just a beach and hastily built cabins and home stays. There was a certain charm to the town, an interesting blend of natives trying to survive and adventure seeking tourists eager to visit a foreign land.
While walking through the town that afternoon, we came across signs on a wooden post that advertised Hummus, Sabich, Shakshuka, and other Israeli delicacies. We hollered over the gate in Hebrew, half as a joke, assuming it was Filipino owned by catering to Israeli tourists, who are very well traveled. To our surprise, moments later a middle to late aged Israeli man emerged and introduced himself as Yosek, and invited us to sit down to chat. When we began to pepper him with questions about his life and how he ended up in Port Barton, of all places, he directed us to a painted FAQ board that numbered the timeline of events in his life, listed chronologically. We found to be extremely vain and impersonal. We felt uncomfortable asking him any further questions, lest he point at the board. He showed us around his hotel, Yosek Garden of Eden, with each room having been named after his children and parents. He had re-married a Filipino woman, whose name was not amongst the room titles. It was a Friday and the Shabbos was approaching, so he invited us to do kiddish with him and a few Israeli guests in a couple hours. After kiddish, if we would like, we could feel free to stay and sample his homemade special couscous. We asked the price, to which he responded he would give us a menu and we could order as we wished. Great, we’re excited to have a home cooked dish we are familiar with.
At 7pm sharp we arrived, greeting our fellow Jews with the obligatory Shabbat Shaloms and took our place at the table. After the necessary prayers for wine, bread, and welcoming Shabbat, we ordered pita, falafel, schnitzel, hummus, and tahini. The portions were small and overpriced, and the hummus was terrible, but the rest of the meal wasn’t too bad. Yosek thought he was king of the castle, refusing to sit at the table, and speaking only about himself. Talk about self-absorbed.
Sleep that night was hard to come by, but not because of the cabin. Excuse our French, but the god damn roosters next door were unbelievably discourteous and were making squacking ALL NIGHT and the early morning. It’s unfathomable to think that residents of the town deal with it day in and day out. Nadine went as far as going outside in the middle of the night and throwing rocks in their direction, “accidentally” striking the side of the owner’s house twice. She swears it was not purpose, but Ben has his doubts.
Tired yet positive, we woke up early to participate in an island hopping tour with a Filipino guy we met the day prior. The price was twice as much as the tours we had done in Vietnam and Thailand, so we had high hopes. More confusion came out way when we the moment we were about to depart from the beach to go to the boat, after waiting 30 minutes, our “friend” told us the tour was magically filled and we had to go on a different boat filled with Chinese. This made no sense since we told him the day before that we would be attending. Eventually, after arguing and insisting, we allowed us on the boat, which still had a seat or two available even after we climbed aboard. Oh, and we were told to each give 50 pesos for some ecological city fee, or something. Some random guy who introduced himself as a city official or maybe police officer told us the tax was required. We had seen this scam in other places, so we tried to shoo him away by saying we paid yesterday but don’t have our slip with us, having left it in our hotel. It ended when we agreed to bring him the slip when we return from the day tour. Thinking he was going to walk away, he then jumped on the boat with us, because sure enough, he wasn’t working for the city, he was the skipper of the boat! Scam confirmed.
It was a rocky start, but the tour turned out to be the one we had taken so far. We snorkels with turtles, played clownfish (Nemo!), and saw several different species of starfish. (This would be the start of Nadine's opssesion to clown
At home in the evening, we had a doggy friend who hung around most of the evening, who we named Manny after the Filipino boxer turned politician Manny Pacquiao. Eventually we turned in for the evening, fully expecting the onslaught of roosters, but the gods favored us that evening, and the roosters kept to themselves.
The next morning we had our Filipino breakfast with Manny, and decided to have a chill day, which surprisingly are hard to come by. The following day we had another long van ride so we needed to mentally prepare.
Tickets to El Nido were running for 600 peso a pop, which makes little to no sense. From Puerto Princesa to El Nido directly was 500, that route is 7 hours. How can a trip that is half the distance cost 20% more? It was a blatant ripoff but we had no other choice. Somehow Ben managed to convince the hotel owner to lower it to 550, so we save 100 pesos. Another $2 added to the pot.
That evening we found a great pizza joint around the corner from our accommodation. They served giant pizzas. We ordered some mix of brei cheese, spinach, and mushroom. It was yummy, we carried our leftovers home for breakfast the next morning.
The noise level of our third night seem like we were sleeping in a peaceful monastery. Not only were the roosters practicing for the choir tryouts, the cats decided it was the right time to hiss and have premarital sex from 10pm to 7am. If there was ever a sign to leave Port Barton, this was it. Sayonara!
Comments