Coron musings

It’s been ages since I’ve had the urge to blog. In this world of 140 characters and status updates, it feels unnatural to have to churn out paragraphs and full sentences to express your innermost thoughts. For example, my tweet last Friday only had five letters, “Coron!” My followers, however few they may be, already knew that I was headed for Coron, and that I’ll be basking in the sun while they slave away in the urban jungle of Manila. Yes, life is harsh sometimes.

If it were a few years back, say, in the time of Friendster and the peak of blogging, I’d have taken a lot of photos and documented every part of the trip, right down to a personality profile of the Tatay, the bankero. Now, I’m reduced to posting a (really cool) photo of me on a banca as my Facebook cover photo. I didn’t even Instagram anything.

This leads me to believe that there are now so many things left undocumented. Where I had journals and photos and notes years ago in high school, I now have a digital timeline. It’s different. It feels like time flies too fast. It has made me lazy.

How could I remember in later years the exact feeling I had upon reaching Coron, one of my remaining must-visit sites in the Philippines, if I didn’t write about it in a lengthy fashion? If you should know, I felt hopeful and happy. It wasn’t the dreaded bukid feeling like when I landed in San Jose, Mindoro Occidental. It was the forgiving kind of hopefulness, the type when I didn’t mind the bukid because I knew that islands, the coral reef at Siete Picados, the Barracuda Lake, Cayangan Lake's limestone cliffs and hiking trails, shipwrecks, fish, turtles, seafood, and rest, ever blessed rest, awaited me.

Having toured most of the must-visit sites, I think Coron is a site for barkadas, lovers and families. I can imagine that a group of friends would love Coron. They can have beers by the dock or a paddling boat race to the floating cottage, a shared confession while swinging on hammocks. Of course, let’s not forget the requisite videoke (insert Dancing Queen here).

Lovers can find privacy in Coron because it is decades away from Manila. And the food, my goodness—freshly caught fish grilled to perfection, roasted squid stuffed with cheese, tomatoes and onions; sautéed lobsters and crabs in butter, by the dozen. In the islands, there is no electricity from 7am until 5:30pm. A couple can explore Coron during the day, in all its vivid underwater glory, and talk about life during a romantic beachside dinner at night.

And last, families. As we were about to board our return flight, one of our top bosses said hi, with his four sons in tow. As they bounded up with all that long-lost youthful energy I now pine after, I can imagine how they must have basked in the sunlight filtering through the Twin Lakes’ lagoons, their laughter echoing in the cliffs. With those four boys, it must have been one raucous bonding experience, something only Coron’s rich marine life, geographic formations and stunning views could offer.

After about two full days on the island, I was silent on the 15-minute boat ride back to town. It was mid-day, but the faraway islands and hills reminded me of Ha Long Bay in Vietnam. It was a beautiful sight that reminded me of didgeridoos, echoing the sound of rolling mountains. To think locals wake up to that sight every day of their lives. To think they live in that paradise. To think of how writers and divers can stay there, holed up in their own little worlds until they emerge, radiating from some inner peace they found within themselves.

I think I’ll get that on my 2nd trip to Coron, which I’m already planning with my sister. I’ll go to Calauit Island too, which is about 3 hours away from town by boat. That would be a different high, since I’ve always wanted to go on an African safari. The thundering hooves, the sun setting on zebras and giraffes—that would be a sight for the books!

All in the Philippines, ladies and gentlemen. Here’s to my checkmark next to Coron, a literal, visual gem in Palawan.