We walked through the fishing village in the darkness, our pathway lit by flickering candles and the beam from the flashlight. Children crowded around the bamboo huts, staring wide-eyed in the shadows. I followed my guide to three small shops in the village, where we gathered basic supplies for the evening and bought fresh fish before heading back to the boat.
That night I camped on a deserted island, the lonely waves luring me to sleep as they lapped gently against the shore. The experience was surreal. I think a sea-witch must have cast a spell over me as I slept because the next day, back on the mainland, I found myself completely enamoured with Port Barton.
Port Barton is located on Palawan, also known as “The Last Frontier” in the Philippines; one of the few islands in the Pacific that is not spoiled and overrun with tourists. After spending two days in Puerto Princessa, a tour guide tried to convince me to bypass Port Barton and head straight for the tourist town of El Nido. But my heart told me otherwise. After a bumpy but adventurous five-hour van journey from Puerto Princessa, I arrived.
With a gorgeous beach, lush forests, waterfalls, and endearing people, Port Barton seems to me to be a tonic for the soul. The villagers who live there are very special, possessing a quiet strength I came to envy. I could have stayed months, quite possibly forever. Spending my time strolling along the beach, chatting with the locals, going on guided tours, listening to the blessed silence–the days faded all too soon.
It’s with hesitation that I write this post…I strongly encourage people to visit this part of the world but I pray that the graceful beauty remains unchanged as tourism grows. Perhaps I’m being selfish. The area could use tourism. After all, as a local I befriended mentioned on my last evening there, some of the villagers are not happy. Many of them live hard lives, making very little money and dreaming of better opportunities in the U.S or Manila. For me, Port Barton is a dream world, an island-fantasy, so different from anything I’ve ever known. For him, maybe it’s a prison. But as I tried to explain, of course things aren’t always what they seem. In many ways, the locals there are richer than those of us who live in more developed regions. We live in our own prisons-prisons made of concrete, cynicism, and skewed ideas of what “true” success and happiness really mean.
One day I hope he realizes the blessings he has under his feet. And the visit reminded me to take a good look at my own.