It’s early; we’re awoken to the sound of waves lashing the shore and the fact that we had agreed to go kayaking despite the copious amounts of San Miguel consumed the previous evening. Well, the early bird catches the worm and all that- so we ignore our thumping heads and head out to breakfast- not quite sure what to expect around here. We also have a notion to move digs, as at 900 pesos, the cramped cottage seems a little over priced, considering the fact that it’s without a direct sea-view. We’re certain that there are less pricey, more pleasing options knocking around.
We take our breakfast at a café directly in front of our resort- a little apprehensive, as Rob and Mary informed us that this place may or may not have been responsible for a recent bout of food poisoning. Admittedly there are hoards of flies around the tables; but apart from this not so uncommon occurrence, everything seems to be perfectly edible and nice. There are also some very cute kittens skulking about. Bonus.
Who cares about food poisoning anyway!
Rob and Mary turn up in good timing. Mary orders a mango shake and going by the look on her face, is far from impressed. It seems we have all become mango shake connoisseurs over the past couple of months. Rob gives it a bash- yes, it’s a weak example of a mango shake.
Whilst we’re discussing the finer points of this mighty tropical beverage, we suddenly notice a couple that we met back in Malaysia- Nipun and Jonathan. Both are off on a dive- we promise to meet for dinner later. It’s great to see them, and we’re immediately reminded of our time in Melaka, eating delicious curries and scrumptious satay.
After breakfast, we take a quick wonder down the rather intimate lane that joins most of El Nido’s establishments. For a Filipino town, El Nido appears to be the quaintest we’ve come across. There’s definitely something about it. It has an altogether different feel compared to the gazillion other cardboard -cut –out towns across the Visaya’s. Perhaps this sentiment is due to its sheer remoteness or the fact that it’s back dropped by some of the most dramatic and beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen.
If it wasn’t for the same- same stalls selling those tired old tye-dye t-shirts and garishly coloured skin tight jeans- I’d even go on to say that it’s romantic in a rustic, other- worldly sort of way.
Facing north down this picturesque lane, your eyes are instantly drawn up towards the mountainous, somewhat overbearing limestone cliffs. To the right, all you can see are the many cottages, shops and stalls; yet the sound of the sea constantly reassures you that just beyond these necessary abodes is the most epic, dazzling bay (probably in the world). And that is exactly where we’re heading after we’ve secured a supply of mangos, peanuts and water. We need the energy for our adventures out to sea.
In fact, I’ve not really given this much thought. Perhaps that’ll be my folly once out on the open water…
When we get to the shore, Rob and Mary are already shoving their bags aboard their bright yellow kayak- both getting unavoidably wet in an attempt to embark.
I worry for our bag- which contains our camera and speakers (just in case we decide to have a private rave on a deserted beach). I also worry that I’ve no idea how to make a kayak move- especially on open and seemingly rough ocean water. Stef however looks right at home, assuring me (and himself perhaps) that his years with the Sea Cadets will serve us well.
We can but hope.
Tally ho- the sky is bright and the morning is young. Before us lay some rather inviting islands- deceptively close by- the faintest yellow line of beach still visible to the eye. I expect we’ll head in their general direction.
It’s already been decided by the male members of the expedition that Mary and I are to head the crafts- which means steering.
Hmmmm…
Apparently this is the less strenuous position.
After a particularly awkward moment getting aboard, desperately trying to keep the bag dry; we’re off. I take a moment to absorb our surroundings; I have a notion that those lovely looking limestone cliffs are going to haunt us in one way or another. I feel like a little Frodo Baggins as I realize how heavy and cumbersome my oar is and that’s not to mention our kayak- which appears to be rudderless.
Heave Ho- no really- HEAVE HO. After just five minutes, I’m flagging. Being an idiot, I’ve completely forgotten about my bad shoulder- which has, despite numerous massages, totally seized up since carrying my back pack.
It would seem that canoeing and pulled shoulder muscles really don’t get on.
I’m in two minds to turn back- watching Rob and Mary steam past without a pant.
Yet those damn inviting Islands in the distance egg me on (not to mention Stef’s face which doesn’t look entirely happy with the prospect of defeat).
I would make some comments now about how beautiful things look out at sea in this paradisic little world, alas I can barley breathe through the pain, the sweat and the tears it takes to move our bloody kayak!
We soon realize that we’ve drawn the short straw with our rather inferior vessel. There aren’t even any backs to our seats, adding yet another burden to an already difficult task. Needless to say; things go pretty slow.
Despite the hard work, once we close in upon the first deserted island- it all seems worth it. It took us double the time we we’re told it would. Rob and Mary are already on land when we arrive.
We gratefully row towards our haven for the afternoon. Glad to be off the grave, open water that ruthlessly beat us for the last thirty minutes or so.
Upon closer inspection, it would seem that this island is not in short supply of coral reef. We carefully scoot around the bulbous creatures until we slide onto the shore.
First things first- we run about the shore like lunatics- yelling and jumping about. I don’t know why but deserted islands seem to have that effect on us.
The island itself is close to perfection; once again being hugged by some pretty awe inspiring limestone cliffs. The sand is light, airy and seemingly untouched. And then, of course, there’s the glassy blue water containing all manner of tropical fish and coral.
That’s not to mention the steaming green jungle behind this beauty, which every so often lets rip some rather unsettling noises.
Strange noises aside, it’s time to lay back and rest our tired arms. We stare up at the gigantic palms swaying against the azure sky, whilst Mary writes sweet nothings in the golden sand.
But we can’t sit still for long; kitted out with our snorkels, it’s time to explore the reef.
The first thing we notice is that there’s jelly fish everywhere and the water is swarming with their strange gloopy spawn.
Still, we press on, trying our best to avoid the odd little beings. There’s some great coral to explore and many fish to be seen. Mary has the ingenious idea of taking a stick with her- I think to get the ghost-like jelly fish out of her path. I try this, but cannot bear to touch them, even with a probing stick. Euck.
At one point I’m horrified as one of the critters brushes past my mask- total freak out for a few seconds. Thankfully no one sees my pathetic attempts to evade this attack.
Time is getting on and it seems the others wish to explore the rest of the islands. I’m not too keen on this idea as by the looks of things, the sea is pretty rough- plus I doubt my shoulders will take us very far. Rob and Mary seem energetic enough and Stef promises to do most of the hard-work.
I agree (reluctantly as I would much rather spend the day on this island and reckon that it can’t get much better than this) and we lug our crafts back into the water.
Of course Rob and Mary speed off and we notice (rather enviously) that their more dynamic looking kayak not only has proper backed seats but also a nice streamlined rudder.
It’s not before long we head into trouble. The wind is picking up around the limestone cliffs and no matter how hard we try, we seem to be going nowhere fast. This isn’t helped by the fact that our sailing companions are just mere dots on the horizon.
There’s no way Stef can manage on his own (despite his earlier promise) and I’ve no choice but to pass many a pain barrier and steer with all my might.
We eagerly row to the closest island. Something doesn’t sit right. Sure enough, in rather aggressive crimson paint are the words “Private Property”
Private Property indeed!
Dejectedly, we sink back down into our vessel; not only must we turn back, but face the mighty prevailing winds.
It takes all our strength to haul our kayak back around the limestone rocks. Needless to say, I take cursing to a whole new level. But mainly, I’m just panicked- my eye constantly on the fierce currents drawing us closer to the jagged perimeter of the previous island.
The wind is as atrocious as the obscenities pouring forth from my mouth.
There are lots of “told you so’s” and “what did I say’s!?”
And then of course; there is mutiny.
It’s hard to decipher just what Stef is screaming back in reply to me through the ear pinching winds, but I think it’s something about my bitching and his not caring because all the sun cream has run into his eyes causing acute blindness and pain. So, it’s something like-
“Arrggggh, Well, I can’t fucking see shit!”
Something like that.
This does not do much for my overall morale.
I think if it wasn’t for our inherent fear of sharks, one of us at this ugly moment would have jumped ship.
The words- we’re screwed come to mind.
So, what with a blind Oarsmen, handicapped navigator and some of the strongest winds I’ve ever felt (not to mention the sheer cumbersomeness of the actual kayak), it’s a miracle we make it back to the island at all.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to feel dry-land.
Indeed, Stef and I are much nicer to each other once our feet are both firmly on the ground and don’t mention the (almost) murderous mutiny that we were just minutes away from.
I even give his poor peepers an eye bath with our rationed water.
Secretly, I’m kind of glad we had to come back here, as I don’t see why we couldn’t have just spent the day here anyway.
We settle down to some mango munching and enjoy the breathtaking vastness of it all. It really does feel like a tropical Lord of the Rings or Skull Island type place. On a creepier note; it almost doesn’t seem real.
But then perhaps that’s just us watching too many episodes of The Prisoner a few nights back.
A couple of hours later, Rob and Mary return. They’ve managed to get around quite a few islands.
We spend the rest of the day floating on the seashore in our life jackets. From an onlookers point of view this must look like the scene of some hideous wreckage.
Before long, it’s time to head back.
The winds are stubborn in places and although Stef and I oar like a couple of bats on speed, we’re still left miles behind.
We vow to take the other kayak if we ever have the energy to go again.
I would like to say that in some fantastical turn of fate, all that oaring miraculously loosens up my poor torn shoulders- alas, the next morning I spend tucked up in bed, doused in a bath of tiger balm.
For the next couple of days Stef and I walk around like Sly Stallone; our shoulders feeling noticeably hench.
We both agree that being buff is overrated anyway, and obstinately agree that doing nothing is a far more rewarding occupation; even if it means giving up our new muscles.
Yet, although it brought about great pain and a near miss mutiny, today was something we will never forget.
