Storms, Shipwrecks and Shangri-La

I’m standing alone. On a dock. In the pouring rain. In the dark of night.

Everything had gone smoothly up until this point. A driver had met me at the airport and sped me along muddy roads to this dock where a boat was to whisk me off to the Sangat Island Dive Resort. Once we arrived at the small harbor in Coron Town, the driver pointed vaguely towards a series of boats I could barely make out in the darkness. I assumed—it turns out foolishly—if I just headed over in that direction I’d quickly find my captain.

But now I’m standing here sopping wet. My bag is drenched. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here. I’m at a bit of a loss what to do. I realize I probably have the resort phone number somewhere. I hustle to shelter under some nearby trees and navigate emails on my cell. I finally find the number and I dial. It rings and someone answers, a minor miracle I will come to realize once I arrive at my destination. The person on the other end extends various apologies and finally does direct me to a boat some ways down the dock where a skipper is in fact waiting for me. I thank the person at the hotel, hang up and board.

The Filipino boat captain gives me a large poncho that resembles an industrial strength garbage bag. It’s a good thing, too. He seats me at the tiny motor boats bow. As soon as we get going, I’m pelted by driving sideways rain. It feels like it’s denting my face. The faster we go, the more sharp the pain. I put my chin to my neck and let my Dodgers cap take the brunt of the storm. This will go on for 45 minutes.

“I wonder, ‘Was it a bad idea to visit Palawan at the end of monsoon season?’”

There will have been no need for concern. Over the next week I will come face to face with tropical beauty the likes I’ve never seen. I will SCUBA dive through the hulls of sunken Japanese World War II freighters. I will befriend monkeys and bury my toes in the sands of hidden beaches on unnamed islands.