How I ended up in Palawan
I first met David at a meet‑up for members of the now‑extinct website VirtualTourist.com — a brilliant travel community before the big platforms came along and took over.
That’s how we ended up here in Palawan, an island in the Philippines that David has called home for over twenty years. He and his lovely wife Helen kindly put us up for the night in their home in Puerto Princesa.
My brother Barrie also joined us — eleven years into his never‑ending travels and now sporting a beard with a distinguished grey tint.
Iwahig Penal Colony: “Open‑Air Prison” & nervous smiles
David drove us to Iwahig Penal Colony, which is essentially an open‑air prison the size of a small country. Prisoners work freely on farms and rice fields, and tourists can sign in and drive around the grounds, casually mingling with inmates.
They’re identified by T‑shirts labelled minimum, medium, or maximum security. So, when a toothless “medium security” inmate shoved a wooden carving in my face asking for 200 pesos, all I could think was: “Please don’t kill me.”
But to be fair, they were incredibly friendly. They even put on a dance routine they’d choreographed themselves. Honestly, they’d destroy Simon Cowell. Louis Walsh would probably adopt them.
Strangely, the system works — repeat offending is far lower than in regular prisons. Some inmates can even have their families live with them in small huts or get land to farm when they’re released.
El Nido & Island-Hopping Heaven
Palawan is still relatively untouched — dense forest in the interior, ancient tribes living traditionally, and beaches that look like they’ve never seen a tourist.
El Nido, six gruelling hours by van from Puerto Princesa, is a tiny village in a turquoise bay surrounded by dramatic limestone cliffs. But the real magic lies offshore — dozens of small islands with hidden lagoons, white‑sand beaches and water so clear I could still see the dirt in my toenails. A day of island hopping was pure paradise.
Motorbikes, Mud & a Loss of Confidence
We hired off‑road motorbikes to explore the more remote parts of the island. I’ve ridden plenty of road-bikes, but this was my first proper off‑road adventure — full Ewan and Charley mode, me with Anya on the back and Barrie cruising solo ahead. Potholes, mud pits, streams, rickety bridges… it was brilliant fun.
Until it wasn’t.
I lost the front wheel in a muddy puddle, and we both went flying into a pile of thick red mud. No major damage — just bruises, cuts, and my pride. But Anya immediately declared she’d be walking every tricky section from then on. Confidence in my riding skills has clearly plummeted to zero.
Doug’s Beach & The Greatest Burger in Asia
We eventually rolled up at a remote beach where a giant American named Doug and his wife run a self‑sustaining house with a few rooms and a café. He hadn’t had visitors in two weeks due to the wet season, but in a booming Arizona accent he promised us:
“I can fix you guys a big fat juicy burger with tomaayto, coocumber, ketchup, mayo, and peppered mushrooooms. Gimme half an hour.”
He sold it so well we were practically drooling. We swam in the warm sea, lounged in his hammocks, and when the burgers arrived… they were phenomenal. Handmade Western comfort food at its finest.
Coron & The World’s Slowest Bus
We took an eight‑hour boat to Busuanga Island and stayed in Coron — a dusty little town with rickety stilt houses that looked like they’d collapse if someone farted too hard.
Like El Nido, Coron is surrounded by stunning islands, lagoons and snorkelling spots. Another perfect day out.
Still craving something really remote, we headed for some beach huts on the far side of the island. To get there, we needed, what was described as a thee-and-a-half-hour local bus ride. We arrived early, only to find every seat “reserved” with scarves and shirts — the Filipino version of Germans reserving sunbeds.
We managed to claim three seats, and I sat on the bus for an hour to guard them. It felt like fifty degrees inside. I sweated from body parts I didn’t know could sweat. Even my eyeballs were sweating.
The bus stopped at every village to drop off supplies — rice, building materials, who knows what else. The word “hurry” does not exist in Filipino culture.
After six painful sweaty hours to travel 75 km, we finally arrived and hopped onto motorbike taxis for the last stretch.
Ocamocam Beach: Paradise by Day, Frog Rave by Night
Our hut was simple but peaceful — nothing to do but read, rest, and swim. The beach was full of seaweed, but the sunsets were spectacular.
Then night fell.
Every insect in the Philippines descended on us, and the frogs in the nearby pond held an all‑night rave. The noise was deafening. Even my earplugs surrendered.
The next day came the disaster trilogy:
- I walked into a bush full of biting ants who attacked my stomach like it was a buffet.
- Fleeing the ants, I stepped in hot boat tar, which splashed up my legs. I ran into the sea and scrubbed it off with sand until my skin was raw and bleeding.
- Only then did I realise I’d taken my iPhone into the sea for the third time in three months. Another batch of un‑backed‑up photos gone. Another few hundred quid down the drain. I am, at times, a careless donut.
Three days was enough. Beautiful, but just enough.
Goodbye Palawan, Hello Bangkok
After weeks of constant movement since Russia, reaching the beaches of Southeast Asia felt like bliss. Palawan was the perfect introduction — wild, raw, and unforgettable.
Next stop: Bangkok, the gateway to the region and a whole new chapter of adventure.
