Rebound from Borneo

In many ways it was lucky to meet a group travelling together, especially as their destination coincided with my own. I don’t shun company while travelling, though sometimes I don’t exactly welcome it. But they were all nice people, and the group of four made a single traveller easy to join with and share the costs of chartering various forms of transport, of which there are many that would prove prohibitively expensive alone. The hope had been to make the journey from Tawau at least to Berau in a single day, though it proved we’d bitten off more than we could chew. A small powerboat was offering to take us from the port at Tarakan, the first port of call in Kalimantan, direct to Pulau Derawan. In effect the boat was a tiny speedboat hardly big enough to fit five people in, let alone the luggage. The three hour journey, in a deteriorating sea seemed madness, so we opted for spending a night in Tarakan instead. The next morning would be plenty of time to embark on the next leg of the journey. (Photo: Chewing the cud before sailing - Tarakan dock, Kalimantan)

I guess it went well enough, an early start followed by steady progress got us to the island of Derawan in the afternoon. It’s the island that the archipelago takes its name from, though is nowhere near the largest of the group, it just happens to be the nearest to the mainland. Prices are high, for everything. There are no public ferries, boats have to be chartered, which proves expensive. Mind you the cost always feels much higher than it actually is. With 18,000 Indonesian Rupiahs to the pound, a million is actually only £55.56. So you do have to put it into perspective. At a cost of half a million the twenty-minute boat ride is still expensive for Indonesia, however cut off the islands are. The dollar signs kerching as the tourists step out the car on arrival at the port. No-one is about to offer a reasonable price, you’re easy meat, and they know it. It did make me think though, could it have been easier to slot in with locals had I been alone? Maybe, but once you commit yourself to one course of action you may as well stick with it. (Photo: The church never reflects the poverty - Tarakan, Kalimantan)

Puttering the last few metres to the jetty on Derawan the excitement started, two turtles could easily be seen. I nearly jump overboard immediately, so keen was I to swim with turtles. Over the years I’ve seen a fair number, but only individuals on rare occasions. To see two in rapid succession was delightful, whether or not the locals assured me there was an abundance of them I needed a little more than offhand claims. Looking off the jetty one swan lazily within a few metres of the supports, seemingly unconcerned with life above water. I was tempted to dive straight off the pier, but knew the splash would have scared them away. When a stray plastic bag wafted off the pier into the water I couldn’t just stand and watch it drift off to sea. So in I went, diving into the water five metres or so below. The water was lovely, and I resisted the urge to swim out to the turtles who’d, true to form, vacated the immediate vicinity. A valiant effort maybe, but I hate to see the sea polluted, even by accident. (Photo: White egret, I think - Tarakan dock, Kalimantan)

The turtles are reputed to come in their droves with the incoming tide, or so the locals claim. Call me a cynic if you will, but I’ve heard too many claims to entice the tourists. Still I was determined to check out the scene for myself, so I took only a little time to grab a room and don my swimwear. If there were turtles in them there waters I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to meet them. I even forebore the offer of a free massage, though I can’t claim to be enamoured with his desire to play with my nipples, massage is one thing, sexual foreplay with a weird Native American lookalike is quite another. It’s not that I object, but it just ain’t my thang baby. Anyway, armed with snorkel, fins and mask I went on the hunt for the sure sign of turtles between the numerous jetties. It took a while, there are so many jetties and many prohibit non-guests. But as the sun sank, I wondered down a lonely pier and saw the tell tale signs, a turtle surfacing for air. (Photo: Living platform - Sailing to Tanjung Siloh Kalimantan)

Striking out for the last place I saw it surface I didn’t really expect to find it so soon. But it wasn’t particularly evasive, not excessively shy. It sat on the seabed, munching happily on eelgrass, paying little attention to my close proximity. I didn’t get too close though, they do tend to be slightly timid. Instead I hung nearby, observing from a distance. As it grazed ever onwards I tailed it from a distance, not being too impatient though desperate to get a closer look. Following in its wake, I was surprised to find it took me to yet another. If I thought the first was a good example the next was a virtual behemoth. Even more surprised when the first started sniffing around the rear end of the one we encountered. Strewth, for one minute I actually thought they were going to get it on together. No such luck, but they did stay in the same vicinity. The glorious conclusion of that first session was to encounter four turtles, all fairly close together. (Photo: Seaborne city - Sailing to Tanjung Siloh Kalimantan)

Amazing, that’s more turtles than I’ve seen altogether in many years, and all in one place, on one snorkel session. Those who had already experienced the delights of the Derawan Archipeligo were probably somewhat amused by my early enthusiasm. I didn’t curtail my delight though, the following morning I had the pleasure of floating in the middle of a group of six, none of which were perturbed at my presence, until I dove into the middle of them. At which time they scattered to the four corners. I was still taking cautiously, not getting too near, trying my damnedest not to spook them. But I couldn’t resist reaching out a hand, as one surface next to me, and stroking its shell. Euh, slimy or what! It was covered in algal growth, rather than feeling hard and shell like it was more like the slimy side of a dirty fish tank. It didn’t appreciate it either, I swear the look in its eye was of near panic. So I go back to my normal practice and look but don’t touch. (Photo: The first view of the island - Pulau Derawan, Kalimantan)

Most the turtles I’ve seen have remoras attached, parasite eating fish who live a symbiotic life. They sucker onto the turtle’s shell and life on whatever encrusts itself there. Some are huge, almost the length of the turtle itself. It’s strange, they generally favour the top shell. Yet whenever the turtle heads to the surface for a breath of fresh air the remoras scuttle underneath, so they’re not exposed to the air. It was funny though watching one turtle, obviously irritated by something it scratched frenziedly at its underside, first with its front fins then with both. I don’t think it was the remoras themselves, more likely at a persistent parasite they’d failed to alleviate the turtle of. It’s a crying shame to see gouges in the shells of many of them, obviously the local speedboats extract their toll. I watched one near fly across the water when suddenly a loud grating noise erupted from the prop, there was no sign of any debris so my guess is another turtle had a close encounter with modern outboard engines. (Photo: Happy snapper - Pulau Derawan, Kalimantan)

I got bolder with my interaction with my shell like friends, started spending more and more time underwater with them. It appeals to me, surfacing for air at the same time, diving down alongside one of these graceful beasts. But on my third day they seemed more easily spooked, as I tried swimming alongside them they increase speed, slightly perturbed at my proximity. Unable to determine exactly why I could only make assumptions. Spending lots of time up close and personal didn’t work well, when before it had been fine. Was it the cloudiness of the water, was I acting too predatory. It took patience and lots of time to get close and not unsettle them. I’ve seen literally dozens of them in the last few days, more than I could have imagined before. It’s true the feeding grounds of the Derawan islands are second to none for swimming with turtles. I can only recommend you see for yourself, it’s a most amazing experience. But don’t hassle them, certainly don’t grab hold of them and try to ride them, if you do a pox on you, I hope life treats you with the same contempt. They’re beautiful creatures and shouldn’t be meddled with.  (Photo: Gawking at the world above - Pulau Derawan, Kalimantan)

It isn’t only the turtles that make this island a place of wonder, the local populace are so friendly and laid back as well. Yeah, their understanding of a clean environment leaves a lot to be desired, but they’re a developing nation, they need time to learn the intricacies of a bright and clean future. They are slowly learning, but when you see kids go to the sea specifically to throw their rubbish away it makes you wonder. Near the jetties local accommodation is littered with discarded rubbish, but with no rubbish collection it’s little wonder. A little education will go a long way. Trouble is the adults need educating as much as the kids, and I think it’s where tourism comes in. It’s our job to make it clear how much we dislike the pollution they take for granted, if they think their livelihood might be under threat I’m sure it will improve their disposal practices. Or maybe they’ll just be more secretive about them. You know, out of sight out of mind. (Photo: Typical tourist accommodation - Pulau Derawan, Kalimantan)

The biggest surprise for me, and the most shocking is bad news from the Philippines. My friend has apparently been admitted into hospital, suffering from internal haemorrhaging. The details are sketchy as contact has been severely restricted due the international dictates of local cell phones. All I can ascertain is that she has lost a lot of blood, is in hospital and needs an operation. I know neither her nor her family have the funds for such treatment, so I’ve decided to beat a hasty retreat and do what I can to help. Part of the pressing problem for this woman, as well as the bereavement and drug use, was to find herself pregnant. As she’d already had her existing child taken out her care, another unwanted offspring wasn’t exactly her best step forward in life. She was looking for a way out, as I’ve already mentioned. I took it upon myself to provide that, part and parcel of trying to help her. It now seems the abortion she sought didn’t go as planned, the complications sound severe. I can only try and make amends for something I involved myself in initially, whether right or wrong I can’t turn my back on this. Though I do wonder whether it would be easier to walk away, it isn't really in my heart to do so. (Photo: Everyone loves a sailor - Pulau Derawan, Kalimantan)

Provincial strife

It was with some consternation that well wishes came flooding in from home and abroad. Apparently everyone was worried about my safety, something to do with a typhoon. Sure the warnings came, even to my far corner of the provinces, but it passed without undue stress in a matter of twenty-four hours. Sure we relocated to a safer abode, the palms swaying over the Nippa hut, the family home, caused some concern. Not from me, they were leaning completely the wrong way to come crashing onto the hut itself, but I wasn’t about to ignore the families worry. So we all slept in a friend’s home, a concrete built abode that made everyone feel more secure. Ironically, the same haven of safety had structural damage from the earthquake that hit a couple of months ago. At that time it was the Nippa hut that was the safe option, it suffered not at all when the tremor uprooted part of the concrete floor in the friend’s house, making it look like the house that Jack built. (Photo: In memory of beautiful islands - Busuanga, Palawan)

My concerns in our little provincial hideaway, were of a more domesticated nature. Having praised the ever-helpful kids and the tolerance and happiness that seemed to prevail in the family home, it came as a shock when all hell broke loose. I still don’t know what caused it, as far as I could tell it was nothing more than the kids messing about while taking an outside shower. You’d never have guessed at something so innocent, not from Cookie’s response. A few simple words were all it took for the kids responsible to be cowering and begging for mercy, trying to use me as a shield to keep away from their mother. And no, she wasn’t about to meter out physical punishment in front of me. Instead she ushered them inside and commenced to beat the living daylights out of them. Fair enough, signs of physical damage was minimal, but it went on for much too long, too long for me to witness the screams and pleas coming from inside the hut. (Photo: Living a farming life in the provinces - Valencia, Cebu island, Philippines)

Zoe tried to intervene, and was told to mind her own business, it’s her sister’s house and she’ll discipline the kids as she sees fit. I couldn’t bear it, so after five to ten minutes left and tried to walk off my anxiety. I felt like a coward, undeniably, despite trying to travel with a philosophy of non-interference. They’re not my kids, it’s not my home, nor my country, and certainly not my culture. But it wasn’t too many years ago such forms of discipline were quite common at home too. I must be honest it deeply upset me, I didn’t want to face any of them. I walked for miles until finding a little country store that sold beer, then sat down and swigged three litres of beer before deciding I better return while still capable. Everyone else was pretty complacent about it, after all it doesn’t happen all the time, does it? I wouldn’t know, in my eyes it shouldn’t happen at all. My only action was to try and point out the benefits of peaceful interaction, setting a non-violent example for your kids. Whether or not it will do any good is yet to be seen, I honestly felt they were merely trying to placate me. (Photo: A hard day on the farm - Valencia, Cebu Island)

Without doubt it disturbed me and put me into a very cynical frame of mind about life in the provinces of the Philippines. I noticed how seldom the kids were praised for the thankless tasks they undertook each and every day, yet how quickly they were admonished if they faltered or did a bad job. I know it’s a hard life living close to the poverty line, but why make it heartless as well. The parents spend almost every waking hour trying to make ends meet, but the kids do a reasonable share too, they don’t sit about or run around playing that much. I was astonished at the amount of work they do as a unit. Sure we all get annoyed at times, wishing to vent our anger, but why take it out on your kids? We bring them into the world, shouldn’t we be showing them how to get on in life, how to treat our fellow human beings. One thing is certain, beating them only sets the example that you control by violence and intimidation, which isn’t right. (Photo: How many horse power? - Valencia, Cebu Island)

I’m away from that now, not due to the experience, but because it was time for me to head to Borneo. And here I am, having hot-footed it across Sabah, waiting patiently for a ferry in the morning to enter Kalimantan, the Indonesian area of Borneo. So much changed as soon as I set foot on the island, being mainly Muslim was a big enough change. Most the women are covered, few have bared heads and none sport the short shorts that are so favoured in the Philippines. I have noticed though that many younger women no longer wear long loose tops, seeing fit to show the shape of their derrières. Is there hope yet? When I see a young woman in skin tights leggings, walking with a sexy wiggle it doesn’t fit with the traditional image of a virtuous follower of Islam. Especially not when it appeared as though she had nothing on underneath, certainly nothing that showed or restricted the natural movement of her posterior. That was the most severe show of a bid for freedom from restrictive religious strictures, skin-hugging jeans are becoming more popular here, the younger generation are beginning to make their mark. The people here in Tawau are naturally friendly, but it’s rare to receive so many smiles and welcomes from young Muslim women. (Photo: Couldn't resist this, a Ferrari in a tiny backstreet garage - Manila, Philippines)

I might well be off the radar for a while, I'm off into Kalimantan tomorrow. Really looking forward to it, not even the threat from the recent terrorist attack can put me off. I've always found the Indonesians friendly I just hope they're as nice as the locals in Tawau, my visit to the fish market today was like a reunion of old buddies. Seems I'm still in a world where they love dreads. Another common compliment I receive is when I eat out, many people comment on how nice it is to see a foreigner who can eat properly, i.e. with their hands. AS in the Philippines many Malays speak pretty good English, it's not the same in Kalimantan. I won't worry though, my Bahasa seems to be making a rapid come back. If I could only find a dictionary I'll cope really well. For now though I'll put on a good show of knowing more than I actually do. If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit eh? (Photo: Some you just have to share. A street name - Tawau, Sabah, Borneo)

Be good people, there's a whole host of refugees in the Philippines who would appreciate some financial support. Please remember them on your Christmas lists.  

Life in the provinces

For a change I’m not living it up or lazing around on a golden strip of paradise, I’m living a simple life on Cebu. Away from the glitter of tourist excess’, far from the luxuries of seaside havens, my temporary home is the small family house in the Barangay of Valencia. And it is small, two rooms with a double bed sized cubbyhole under the kitchen to give extra sleeping space. For a family of five kids, pregnant wife and husband space is at a premium. Construction is of natural materials, wooden framed with woven bamboo walls and bamboo slats for the floor and outside seating area. Half the roof is corrugated tin, the rest of palm fronds. The toilet, of which the wife, Cookie, was extremely embarrassed about, is a crude shed in the garden. I tried telling her there was no problem, I’ve used worse, but it took days before I surreptitiously used it instead of a friends house across the road. There’s no running water on this property, it’s the eldest lads job each morning to fetch water for the kitchen and toilet. When it rains they collect as much water as possible, not because there’s any particular shortage, merely because it saves a lot of hard work. (Photo: The rather small and tightly packed family home of Cookie and Din Din - Valencia, Carcar, Cebu Island, Philippines)

And the kids do work, from as young as seven or eight most are given set tasks to do each day. There is no messing around, and no argument, they accept their allotted roles and do them without complaint. Even Jaslyn, the seven year old, automatically sweeps through the house every morning. She isn’t actually the family’s daughter, rather the daughter of my friend, who came to live here when Zoe lost her way a bit in Manila, courtesy of Meth Amphetamine and family bereavement. Maybe that’s a bit personal to gliby announce to the world at large, but I’m not exactly a prime example of saying no to drugs in my life, and I understand bereavement. I thought she could do with an understanding soul to help her move forward again, her intentions were there, but the means to do so were beyond her. Sucker or not, to see the pleasure as mother and daughter were reunited was worth the effort. And Zoe’s family here have been perfect hosts, welcoming me into their home with every courtesy manageable. (Photo: Zoe with Daughter soaking up the sun - Buko Beach, Sibonga, Cebu Island)

There are no foreigners around the village, I’m the only one, and at the moment the talk of the town. It bugs me though that everyone is talking of the Americano, damn that really bugs me. The kids love it though, when we arrived the first thing they did was to raise my hand to their foreheads, the sign of respect to your elders. Then the extremely emotional reunion stole my heart. Income for the family is mainly from a general-purpose workshop across the road, a close friend owns it but Din Din, the husband runs it. It caters for mechanics, welding, spray painting, tyres and a whole host of small engineering type jobs. They also grow a range of crops, mainly to feed themselves but they sell the excess to supplement their income. Since I’ve got here the kids have been all over me, wherever I go I’ve a trail of shadows. The first morning here we took them to school, I didn’t have enough hands to deal with the demand. When we took a hike to the local bathing spot it was easier to split into male and female groups, then the two of us could deal with four kids easily. The eldest, Ike, copes for himself. Hey, he’s a teenager, though much more capable of dealing with life alone than the average youth at home. ( The four youngest kids - Buko Beach, Sibonga, Cebu Island)

Actually the kids love being seen in my presence, they don’t cockily lap it up but you can see it gives them pleasure to accompany me, partly due to being the centre of attention. It was like a family outing going to the communal bathing area, a concrete trough with a clean flow of water, to wash clothes and bodies from, and collect fresh water. We provided quite a spectacle, dreads are liked here, they never receive distasteful looks, only appreciative comments, but it was so much more than hair that none had seen in real life. The scene at the small rural bathing area was one of amazement for the locals who came along, most stopped in their tracks and stood watching, mouths agape. It isn’t as if they haven’t seen a white man in their midst, I doubt if any have ventured out and bathed publically before. How I love village gossip, it’s an integral part of village life, and no different in Valencia. It amuses me no end to be the talk of the town, especially as it’s without having done anything untoward. There is actually another foreigner in the area, he owns a house just outside the village but doesn’t actually live there. No-one can understand why, he’s built a mansion by Philippines standards but stays, with his Filipina wife, out of town in a hotel. There doesn’t appear to be any effort made to integrate with the community, which is a close and lively one. (Photo: A rather scrappy beach looking pretty once the water covers up the debris - Buko Beach, Sibonga, Cebu Island)

Family first would be a good statement to describe priorities here. It goes much deeper though, however little you have you share with those around, especially with those who have less than you do. As we sat down to a family meal the other night, it was shared with others who were simply hanging around at the time. A passer by was invited to partake of a bowl of chocolate porridge, because it was pouring with rain and he walked past wet and cold. The western world should take an example of the philosophy the provincial people here live by, they wouldn’t see their neighbours starve or go without if it was in their power to prevent it. I’m prejudice, but few city folk share these admirable qualities. The respect shown to elders is also a shining example, you don’t cast off those who have already made their contribution to society. Look at our world, we dump our parents in homes when they get infirm. We deprive the most needy of basic provision, we label them as lazy or no good, listen to the poison words of cost cutting governments and turn our sympathy away for them. (Photo: Cookie, Angel Princess and Din Din appreciating a tranquil scene - Buko Beach, Sibonga, Cebu Island)

We all went for a day at the beach yesterday, seven kids and five adults, with a months supply of food to ensure we didn’t go hungry. It wasn’t quite that bad, not considering how much the average Filipino eats. Wow, they consume vast quantities of rice, normally it’s supplemented with quite small portions of meat or fish. My presence has marked a slight change, they’re trying to cater for me, however much I insist they don’t. Not in the type of food, they’re surprised at the absence of fuss over what I eat, I’ll even eat dried fish, including their heads. I don’t object to trying whatever they put in front of me, and even eat it tidily with my hands. Family meals are quite amazing, a huge banana leaf is laid out, a mound of rice spread across it with a couple of dishes to add a bit of flavour and protein, then every body tucks in. Yes, the occasional teenager takes rather large portions, but there never seems too little to go around. If they try to be too greedy someone will simply move some of the food away from them, and there will not be any complaint. As you may be able to tell, I’m quite taken with life in the provinces. I will return after my trip to Borneo, and probably spend a few months here. It won’t be the first time I’ve wondered whether I could settle somewhere, it is the first time I’ve considered returning and giving it a go. Not that I’ve made any promises or committed myself, but it might well be worth a try. (Photo: Sedrel, Sedser, Rael, Cookie, Zoe, Leo, Kurt, Ike, Angel and Jaslyn after the family outing - Buko Beach, Sibonga, Cebu Island)

There seems no end to the generosity of the people around here. Barring food and accommodation, my every desire is catered for. I wanted to ride into town, so was given a scooter to use. I fancied riding Din Din’s rat bike, so he immediately obliged. That was fun, it’s a 150cc Kawasaki cobbled together and run without air filter or baffles. It sounds great, crackling and popping as you thrash it through the reverse gearbox. The front brake lever is an inch long, giving only a touch of brake if you squeeze as hard as possible with the one finger you can use on it. Another guy turned up on a 200cc Ninja replica, Zoe told him I fancied a ride, ‘sure,’ he said, ‘here’s the key’. And away I went, for a fast and furious ride round the twisty country roads. He was so pleased to hear I liked his bike. I was dumbfounded at the trust he put in me, unable to imagine people at home giving a complete stranger the same honour. (Photo: Yours truly, happy after a burn on a stranger's pride and joy - Barangay Valencia,  Carcar, Cebu Island)

Busting for Busuanga

My time in the Philippines has gone in fits and starts, like life it’s presented a wide variety of unplanned events that have given about as much back as I’ve been willing to put in. While I can’t claim to be enamoured with Manila, I still enjoyed the time spent there. The plan had been to return to Puerto Princesa once replacing the laptop, but things changed. Instead I took a ferry to Coron Town, in the far north of Palawan. The town itself is busy and uninspiring, but of course I got the hell out of there as quickly as humanly possible. The actual island is called Busuanga, and whilst not being fringed by beautiful white sand beaches hold many delights that the average tourist will rarely get to see. Outside Coron there is nothing except local communities and one or two guesthouses. Most people come here for the diving, and stay in town. No way was I content with that choice, peace and quiet is what I demand. (Photo: Local waterfalls - Concepcion, Palawan)

 (Photo: Enjoying a beautiful sunset - Calambuyan Island, Palawan)

A circuitous route leads you around the island, the local communities are serviced by jeepneys, the ubiquitous vehicles that transport the majority of the local populous wherever you happen to be here. They are far from mere passenger transport though, they ship most of the goods around the island and the manner in which they organise it runs like clockwork, once it’s running. Early every morning the jeepneys leave their home base, heading for Coron Town. They stop at every place of habitation that shows any sign of life, either picking up people or shopping lists. The cost is ludicrously cheap, about £0.70 for the ninety-minute journey. Bearing in mind that many of the locals only earn about £15 a month it’s still a substantial amount of their income to go personally to market, hence the tendency to have your wares picked up for you. On the way into town the jeepneys prove to be quite roomy, if slightly restricted on head space. Which is no problem for the majority of Filipinos. (Photo: Coral beach - Calambuyan Island, Palawan)

The return journey is absolutely chaos, or so it seemed to me. It takes in the region of five hours to gather together the goods ordered along route. Some folks have goods waiting, which are unceremoniously crammed aboard the jeepney. Others have the shopping done by the jeepney operator, or his assistant. As the goods arrive much of it's stacked on the roof, but the inside is chock-a-block with perishable goods. All of which has the name and community of the recipient written on the bag or crate. As the driver’s mate is trying to load an ever-growing stack of goods into and onto the jeepney passengers gather, squeezing tightly into every available space. Every now and again everyone has to get out, piles of goods are forced into the every dwindling space, then an already full compliment of passengers must try and insert themselves back in. Honestly, it’s impossible to move. Once packed in you can’t even move either of your feet, being a sardine is luxury in comparison. (Photo: Joy, Ann & Mike's daughter, with friend - Concepcion, Palawan)

(Photo: Outer fringes of the fishing village - Concepcion, Palawan)

It’s a marvel to watch, huge packs of buns, trays of eggs, crates of drink, sacks of rice, cooking pots, brooms, electrical goods, vehicle parts and almost anything else you could think of is loaded into every nook and cranny. The goods come first really, the passengers are given secondary consideration. Amazingly everything and everyone seems to find a space, some on the roof, hanging off the back or sides, if there is anything to stand, sit on or cling onto someone will do so. Finally, when vehicle is close to bottoming out, they set off for the return trip to their respective community. I guess you could call each place a village, but they’re more like a parish, loosely clustered groups of habitation, they call them Barangays. On Busuanga, outside of Coron Town, there is nothing but little Sari Sari stores. I hesitate to call them convenience stores, they’re little more than a stall selling sweets, cigarettes, booze and a limited number of basic goods. You couldn’t rely on these to buy your weekly requirements from. (Photo: Outside toilet, though I never saw it used - Concepcion fishing village, Palawan)

As the jeepney makes its ungainly way along the broken dirt road it stops wherever required. A simple slap on the side indicates you want to stop, or the drivers mate will let the driver know when a drop off is due. He clings on the back of the vehicle, ready to jump off and put a block under the wheel whenever it stops, there is no such thing as a handbrake. In his little satchel he has a wedge of plastic bags with shopping lists and relevant change for everyone who’s placed an order. Rarely is there any delay, at each stop the goods are quickly found, despatched and change given. I get the feeling the charge for transporting goods is minute, it’s certainly cheaper than going into town yourself. Virtually no-one on the island has a four-wheeled vehicle, and the only road, which they refer to as the National Highway, is potholed, dusty gravel, interspersed with sections of concrete. It’s more dirt road than highway, the further north you go the worse it becomes. (Photo: Girls are far more numerous in the Philippines, maybe why there is such an excess of young women for foreigners - Concepcion, Palawan)

My stopping point was less than halfway along the coast, a small community called Concepcion. It has no beach, though does boast a couple of choices to accommodate the occasional tourist who makes it that far. Along the route are a few high priced dive resorts, of which a steady dribble come to Concepcion for a drink or change of environment. Despite the lack of a beach I’ve really enjoyed my time there, the mixed Danish/Filipina family have been lovely to stay with. I fell quickly into the relaxed way of life there, feeling very comfortable, a part of every day life. All the locals are very friendly, all smiles and obliging welcomes each time I pass them. A couple of days were spent on an offshore island, Calambuyan, where a night was spent, having the island to ourselves as the only other visitors had been brief stop offs on their way back from a nearby dive. The coral is amongst the best I’ve seen in recent years, vibrant colours, profuse variations, and reams of other marine life. You can even watch from shore and see the fish shoaling mere metres away. I had a lovely time there, sleeping in the open, watching the fireflies dance, watching a delightful sunset and listening to the gentle lapping of the water on the shore. I actually considered staying longer, but you have to keep your own stock of food and without refrigeration it would be hard to maintain a decent diet for more than a few days. (Photo: Yours truly, looking industrious - Ann and Mikes Guesthouse - Concepcion, Palawan)

But now I’ve left the wonderful confines of Calambuyan and Concepcion, I’m on my way to Cebu. I’m not sure how long I’ll be there for, I’ve a family of a friend to look up. I’ve a mother and daughter to re-unite, something that appeals to my better nature. The intricacies of the situation are unimportant, for me I like the idea of bringing a bit of happiness into people’s life. But there you go, I’m a sucker for creating a bit of happiness for those less fortunate. (Photo: Bathing beauties, not wasting the washing water - Fishing village, Concepcion)

(Photo: A near perfect last night's sunset - Concepcion, Palawan)