The first Philippines post, on Manila and Sabang, can be found here.
Port Barton was the next obvious stop in our route north along Palawan's west coast. We'd read it was cut from the same mould as Sabang but even more laid back, with less visitors and an even slower pace of life. Sabang defined the word 'sleepy', so we were intrigued by what would await us in Port Barton.
The boat trip there provided another microcosmic view of why the Philippines is a great traveller's destination. We jumped on board our bangka boat for a 2-3 hour journey that hugged the green Palawan coast, cutting through clear blue waters as the sun beat down.
I love the 'travelling' part of holidays, the sense of being on the move. A good boat trip in tropical waters, thousands of miles from home, can't be beaten.
Kevin and Sabina had cleverly booked a couple of nights at the Secret Paradise Resort on a private island near Port Barton, so we dropped them off en route.
Kate and I struggled to hide our envy as we approached an almost-too-good-to-be-true deserted white sand beach with a handful of cute bungalows set back from the sand.
We parked the boat and let them off; I sneaked in a quick toilet break and a couple of photos:
Eat your heart out, Conde Nast Traveller.
Thirty minutes later we arrived in Port Barton. As promised, it was a laid back village of a few hundred people - all housed in a small cluster of streets behind the long beach.
We had booked a room in Summer Homes, a quaint resort in the centre of the beach that had been highly-rated on Trip Advisor. And who doesn't like a massive Christmas tree and papier mache nativity scene greeting them on arrival?
The hello was typically Filipino: friendly, smiley, accompanied by a welcome drink (iced tea) and overseen by a 60-something German guy with an arm round his local young bride.
The room was a step down in style, and price, from Sabang but it made a nice change to rough it slightly. Not that a pleasant room with a perfectly functioning en-suite bathroom and a veranda overlooking the sea could really be called roughing it.
One thing we did notice straight away was the heat.
Because Port Barton was situated in a tight cove, there was hardly any breeze and the sticky heat felt oppressive - not helped by a bought of prickly heat on my chest and neck that I'd managed to pick up in Sabang.
Kate - god bless 'er soul - did a stellar job of providing me with a ready supply of cold wet flannels that I draped on my chest while I wished the prickly pain away. I think I'd picked up the rash during a quick 20-minute sunbathe on the beach in Sabang without suncream on. That'll learn me.
Electricity only runs in the evenings in Port Barton, including room fans, so we were up early each day to get some air.
On our first full day we had a boat trip to go on: a tour of some islands close to Port Barton with a guy named Puti who we'd met on the beach. He wasn't pushy or aggressive, simply offering a couple of day-trip options at a dirt cheap price.
That's the extent of tourism in parts of Palawan. No booking offices, no reservation slips, no deposit to put down or credit cards to scan. Just a young bloke with a boat who's happy to take you on a private full-day boat trip for less than £10 each.
So that morning we jumped on board our small bangka for a spot of snorkelling, an al fresco lunch and some pootling around the turquoise sea in a heavenly tropical breeze.
Where do I sign up?
After a short trip across the bay we stopped at a reef, donned masks and snorkels and jumped into the clear water. The visibility was incredible, up to 20-30 metres at times, and we had a great time hovering at the surface and gazing down over contorted banks of coral and schools of brightly-coloured fish.
Snorkelling - and being in deep water generally - would never be top of my holiday wish list. I blame Steven Spielberg (Jaws) and my mum (for allowing me to watch Jaws). But I surprised myself. I loved it.
It was the first of several days' snorkelling on the holiday and the more I did it the more I understood why people go on diving courses and spend half their holiday time under water.
It was only at reef no.2 that we noticed other people snorkelling in their lifejackets. Lottie and I had a lightbulb moment as we realised how much easier snorkelling would be if you had a float attached to your body to keep you from sinking. Genius!
For lunch, Puti took us to a stunning location. It was a couple of islands separated by a spit of sand. The blue/green water flowed over the spit (as it was high tide) and the result provided a view you might find on a postcard:
At this point my prickly heat was on fire, not helped by the salt water, and I was struggling to enjoy our idyllic lunch venue or provide much company to Kate. After a bit of time lying in the shade of a tree we were beckoned for lunch, an assortment of grilled fish, squid, rice and vegetables:
It was a shame to be in so much pain for what was - on the face of it - an amazing spot in an amazing country, with a lovingly-prepared lunch and brilliant company. But there you go.
Prickly heat: one. Harry: nil.
We visited more snorkelling areas in the afternoon, including a true Robinson Crusoe-esque desert island (unfortunately shared with a couple of other small boat parties, but no matter).
I'm going to run out of superlatives for describing some of the islands and beaches in the Philippines, but this really was sensational.
You want wafting palm trees overlooking a powdery white sand beach? You want freshly-dropped coconuts embedded in said white sand beach? You want emerald green waters surrounding the beach, reaching as far as the eye can see? You want a perfectly positioned hammock to lie in as you gaze over those green waters?
Check, check, check and, yes, check.
Suitably wowed, at about 4pm we were taken back to Port Barton by Puti and his ever-smiling sidekick (who'd spent the day spearing and catching fish to take back to his friends at Summer Homes).
The evening entertainment in Port Barton consists of having a quiet dinner in one of the few simple family-run restaurants, where we kept bumping into the same familiar groups of other holidaymakers staying in town.
On the first night we'd chosen to eat at a place called Evergreen, run by a Filipino/European couple and their children. We had a fantastic fish curry, one of the best dishes we ate all holiday. It was so good we went back and had the same on our final night in Port Barton.
On the evening of our snorkelling trip we decided to go wild and went to a different restaurant, constructed impressively out of shiny teak, but stayed safe and went for yet another fish curry. Predictable, moi?
Puti had obviously done a good job impressing this pair of tourists with his boat trip. The following morning we'd signed him up again - this time to take us to one of Port Barton's few 'sights': the Pamuayan waterfall.
We left Summer Homes relatively early so we wouldn't be caught in the midday sun. The route there was a walk along a snaking dusty path that started behind cottages at the far end of the beach.
With a distinct lack of exercise having taken place on the holiday to this point, a walk was just what the doctor ordered. It wasn't particularly punishing, more of a gentle stroll through the lush forests that backed up above Port Barton.
The route took us past flooded rice terraces (the Philippines had just emerged from its rainy season) and over a couple of rickety log bridges:
At one point Puti stopped us in our tracks and pointed out a huge black and yellow spider suspended between two trees just to the side of the path. "Very dangerous", Puti said. We decided to take his word for it and crept on.
(apologies for blurry pic, obviously couldn't keep a steady hand in the circumstances...!)
After an hour or so we reached a rocky stream between two steep hills. It immediately took me back to a trek I did in Colombia where we crossed several similar waterways.
We ventured upstream to find the source and soon came across the waterfall:
Puti took a breather on a rock as Lottie and I gingerly stepped into the cold water. We tried swimming towards the waterfall but were pushed back by the force of it as we got close.
Back in Port Barton the owner of our guesthouse had taken great delight in telling us that there were jumping leeches on the walk to the waterfall, and presumably in the waterfall pool itself.
Leeches that jump - thanks for that.
So as we were paddling around in the dark brown water under the waterfall I guess I wasn't in full relaxation mode, knowing that at any minute a leech might land on my leg (or worse...) and start sucking my blood.
But despite that, we had a refreshing dip and in the event didn't come across a single leech - jumping or otherwise. Maybe it was a Filipino old wives tale. We'll never know.
As we walked back we passed Kevin and Sabina, arranging to meet the following morning to get a boat north to El Nido. I liked that about Port Barton - it was so small that you knew you'd bump into a familiar face or two without having to arrange anything too formal.
We spent our final afternoon mooching around the village, admiring the impressive Christmas trees, saying hello to the locals...
...and then having lunch of garlic bread (a piece of pitta bread with raw garlic scattered on) and tuna sandwiches in an odd beach hangout called Jambalaya.
It was run by a neurotic woman who'd been having a long-running feud with the owner of the premises next door. The spat had come about because of some negative reviews Jambalaya had received on Trip Advisor and the owner had pointed the blame next door.
To cut a long story short, the woman from Jambalaya had written a series of rambling rants on Trip Advisor, then printed them out, then stuck them in a ring-bound folder for all of her guests to read. It smacked of paranoia, delusion and of a woman several marbles short of a full set.
There were also lots of odd signs scattered around her bar, some anti-men, some extremely defensive about 'anything negative you might read about Jambalaya'. Not the kind of vibe most travellers are after in a tropical island paradise, but I'll probably refrain from writing that scathing Trip Advisor review...
With a nasty taste in our mouths - both literal and metaphorical - we finished our lunch, picked up a couple more mosquito bites and left.
That evening, during our final Port Barton dinner at Evergreen, I got up to visit the toilet that was situated in a outhouse in the garden. As I walked round the corner of the restaurant I luckily glanced down at the path, where I noticed this little fella:
Nothing really prepares you for coming across a shiny black 6-inch scorpion in the wild.
Luckily my British sensibilities kicked in and I managed to stifle a yell. I calmly (ahem) whispered back to Lottie that there was something she might like to see.
Soon the host family came out to join us and were visibly excited at seeing the scorpion on their patch. One of the sons went and grabbed a cookie jar and bravely crouched down to shepherd the creature into the jar. He then proudly showed off his find to the other diners - obviously not something any of us see on a daily basis.
We managed to find our way home in the dark, despite spooking ourselves by imagining every dark blob on the floor to be a scorpion. Luckily there was no sting in the tail of that particular story.
I'll get my coat.
The following morning we were up before the crack of dawn (getting changed and ready by torchlight due to no electricity) and stepped outside onto the beach to board our boat. We'd arranged for some able seamen to take us the 4-6 hours north to El Nido and had roped in the German couple and a French guy to share the cost.
It was a shame to wave goodbye to Port Barton. We'd liked the tranquillity of it, the smiley people and the day trips we'd taken. But it was time to move on and visit one of the Philippines' most amazing natural wonders: the Bacuit Archipelago.
Here's the final Philippines blog post: El Nido and Manila
Port Barton was the next obvious stop in our route north along Palawan's west coast. We'd read it was cut from the same mould as Sabang but even more laid back, with less visitors and an even slower pace of life. Sabang defined the word 'sleepy', so we were intrigued by what would await us in Port Barton.
The boat trip there provided another microcosmic view of why the Philippines is a great traveller's destination. We jumped on board our bangka boat for a 2-3 hour journey that hugged the green Palawan coast, cutting through clear blue waters as the sun beat down.
I love the 'travelling' part of holidays, the sense of being on the move. A good boat trip in tropical waters, thousands of miles from home, can't be beaten.
Kate and I struggled to hide our envy as we approached an almost-too-good-to-be-true deserted white sand beach with a handful of cute bungalows set back from the sand.
We parked the boat and let them off; I sneaked in a quick toilet break and a couple of photos:
Eat your heart out, Conde Nast Traveller.
Thirty minutes later we arrived in Port Barton. As promised, it was a laid back village of a few hundred people - all housed in a small cluster of streets behind the long beach.
We had booked a room in Summer Homes, a quaint resort in the centre of the beach that had been highly-rated on Trip Advisor. And who doesn't like a massive Christmas tree and papier mache nativity scene greeting them on arrival?
The hello was typically Filipino: friendly, smiley, accompanied by a welcome drink (iced tea) and overseen by a 60-something German guy with an arm round his local young bride.
The room was a step down in style, and price, from Sabang but it made a nice change to rough it slightly. Not that a pleasant room with a perfectly functioning en-suite bathroom and a veranda overlooking the sea could really be called roughing it.
One thing we did notice straight away was the heat.
Because Port Barton was situated in a tight cove, there was hardly any breeze and the sticky heat felt oppressive - not helped by a bought of prickly heat on my chest and neck that I'd managed to pick up in Sabang.
Kate - god bless 'er soul - did a stellar job of providing me with a ready supply of cold wet flannels that I draped on my chest while I wished the prickly pain away. I think I'd picked up the rash during a quick 20-minute sunbathe on the beach in Sabang without suncream on. That'll learn me.
Electricity only runs in the evenings in Port Barton, including room fans, so we were up early each day to get some air.
On our first full day we had a boat trip to go on: a tour of some islands close to Port Barton with a guy named Puti who we'd met on the beach. He wasn't pushy or aggressive, simply offering a couple of day-trip options at a dirt cheap price.
That's the extent of tourism in parts of Palawan. No booking offices, no reservation slips, no deposit to put down or credit cards to scan. Just a young bloke with a boat who's happy to take you on a private full-day boat trip for less than £10 each.
So that morning we jumped on board our small bangka for a spot of snorkelling, an al fresco lunch and some pootling around the turquoise sea in a heavenly tropical breeze.
Where do I sign up?
After a short trip across the bay we stopped at a reef, donned masks and snorkels and jumped into the clear water. The visibility was incredible, up to 20-30 metres at times, and we had a great time hovering at the surface and gazing down over contorted banks of coral and schools of brightly-coloured fish.
Snorkelling - and being in deep water generally - would never be top of my holiday wish list. I blame Steven Spielberg (Jaws) and my mum (for allowing me to watch Jaws). But I surprised myself. I loved it.
It was the first of several days' snorkelling on the holiday and the more I did it the more I understood why people go on diving courses and spend half their holiday time under water.
It was only at reef no.2 that we noticed other people snorkelling in their lifejackets. Lottie and I had a lightbulb moment as we realised how much easier snorkelling would be if you had a float attached to your body to keep you from sinking. Genius!
For lunch, Puti took us to a stunning location. It was a couple of islands separated by a spit of sand. The blue/green water flowed over the spit (as it was high tide) and the result provided a view you might find on a postcard:
At this point my prickly heat was on fire, not helped by the salt water, and I was struggling to enjoy our idyllic lunch venue or provide much company to Kate. After a bit of time lying in the shade of a tree we were beckoned for lunch, an assortment of grilled fish, squid, rice and vegetables:
It was a shame to be in so much pain for what was - on the face of it - an amazing spot in an amazing country, with a lovingly-prepared lunch and brilliant company. But there you go.
Prickly heat: one. Harry: nil.
We visited more snorkelling areas in the afternoon, including a true Robinson Crusoe-esque desert island (unfortunately shared with a couple of other small boat parties, but no matter).
I'm going to run out of superlatives for describing some of the islands and beaches in the Philippines, but this really was sensational.
You want wafting palm trees overlooking a powdery white sand beach? You want freshly-dropped coconuts embedded in said white sand beach? You want emerald green waters surrounding the beach, reaching as far as the eye can see? You want a perfectly positioned hammock to lie in as you gaze over those green waters?
Check, check, check and, yes, check.
Suitably wowed, at about 4pm we were taken back to Port Barton by Puti and his ever-smiling sidekick (who'd spent the day spearing and catching fish to take back to his friends at Summer Homes).
The evening entertainment in Port Barton consists of having a quiet dinner in one of the few simple family-run restaurants, where we kept bumping into the same familiar groups of other holidaymakers staying in town.
On the first night we'd chosen to eat at a place called Evergreen, run by a Filipino/European couple and their children. We had a fantastic fish curry, one of the best dishes we ate all holiday. It was so good we went back and had the same on our final night in Port Barton.
On the evening of our snorkelling trip we decided to go wild and went to a different restaurant, constructed impressively out of shiny teak, but stayed safe and went for yet another fish curry. Predictable, moi?
Puti had obviously done a good job impressing this pair of tourists with his boat trip. The following morning we'd signed him up again - this time to take us to one of Port Barton's few 'sights': the Pamuayan waterfall.
We left Summer Homes relatively early so we wouldn't be caught in the midday sun. The route there was a walk along a snaking dusty path that started behind cottages at the far end of the beach.
With a distinct lack of exercise having taken place on the holiday to this point, a walk was just what the doctor ordered. It wasn't particularly punishing, more of a gentle stroll through the lush forests that backed up above Port Barton.
The route took us past flooded rice terraces (the Philippines had just emerged from its rainy season) and over a couple of rickety log bridges:
At one point Puti stopped us in our tracks and pointed out a huge black and yellow spider suspended between two trees just to the side of the path. "Very dangerous", Puti said. We decided to take his word for it and crept on.
(apologies for blurry pic, obviously couldn't keep a steady hand in the circumstances...!)
After an hour or so we reached a rocky stream between two steep hills. It immediately took me back to a trek I did in Colombia where we crossed several similar waterways.
We ventured upstream to find the source and soon came across the waterfall:
Puti took a breather on a rock as Lottie and I gingerly stepped into the cold water. We tried swimming towards the waterfall but were pushed back by the force of it as we got close.
Back in Port Barton the owner of our guesthouse had taken great delight in telling us that there were jumping leeches on the walk to the waterfall, and presumably in the waterfall pool itself.
Leeches that jump - thanks for that.
So as we were paddling around in the dark brown water under the waterfall I guess I wasn't in full relaxation mode, knowing that at any minute a leech might land on my leg (or worse...) and start sucking my blood.
But despite that, we had a refreshing dip and in the event didn't come across a single leech - jumping or otherwise. Maybe it was a Filipino old wives tale. We'll never know.
As we walked back we passed Kevin and Sabina, arranging to meet the following morning to get a boat north to El Nido. I liked that about Port Barton - it was so small that you knew you'd bump into a familiar face or two without having to arrange anything too formal.
We spent our final afternoon mooching around the village, admiring the impressive Christmas trees, saying hello to the locals...
...and then having lunch of garlic bread (a piece of pitta bread with raw garlic scattered on) and tuna sandwiches in an odd beach hangout called Jambalaya.
It was run by a neurotic woman who'd been having a long-running feud with the owner of the premises next door. The spat had come about because of some negative reviews Jambalaya had received on Trip Advisor and the owner had pointed the blame next door.
To cut a long story short, the woman from Jambalaya had written a series of rambling rants on Trip Advisor, then printed them out, then stuck them in a ring-bound folder for all of her guests to read. It smacked of paranoia, delusion and of a woman several marbles short of a full set.
There were also lots of odd signs scattered around her bar, some anti-men, some extremely defensive about 'anything negative you might read about Jambalaya'. Not the kind of vibe most travellers are after in a tropical island paradise, but I'll probably refrain from writing that scathing Trip Advisor review...
With a nasty taste in our mouths - both literal and metaphorical - we finished our lunch, picked up a couple more mosquito bites and left.
That evening, during our final Port Barton dinner at Evergreen, I got up to visit the toilet that was situated in a outhouse in the garden. As I walked round the corner of the restaurant I luckily glanced down at the path, where I noticed this little fella:
Nothing really prepares you for coming across a shiny black 6-inch scorpion in the wild.
Luckily my British sensibilities kicked in and I managed to stifle a yell. I calmly (ahem) whispered back to Lottie that there was something she might like to see.
Soon the host family came out to join us and were visibly excited at seeing the scorpion on their patch. One of the sons went and grabbed a cookie jar and bravely crouched down to shepherd the creature into the jar. He then proudly showed off his find to the other diners - obviously not something any of us see on a daily basis.
We managed to find our way home in the dark, despite spooking ourselves by imagining every dark blob on the floor to be a scorpion. Luckily there was no sting in the tail of that particular story.
I'll get my coat.
The following morning we were up before the crack of dawn (getting changed and ready by torchlight due to no electricity) and stepped outside onto the beach to board our boat. We'd arranged for some able seamen to take us the 4-6 hours north to El Nido and had roped in the German couple and a French guy to share the cost.
It was a shame to wave goodbye to Port Barton. We'd liked the tranquillity of it, the smiley people and the day trips we'd taken. But it was time to move on and visit one of the Philippines' most amazing natural wonders: the Bacuit Archipelago.
Here's the final Philippines blog post: El Nido and Manila