The signs were ominous from the beginning, there was very little information online about the ferry from Iloilo in Panay that sails across the Sula Sea to the island of Palawan, the most westerly region in the Philippines. The scant information available was contradictory, it went twice a week or maybe once a week,  it left at midday or 3pm or maybe 8pm. It seemed to depend on mood or wind and tide. We went to Iloilo on a Friday hoping to sail on Saturday or Sunday and went in search of tickets for the Montenegro ferry. On a hot crowded street, we walked past the ‘office’ twice before we found it but we’re able to purchase tickets  in the dark poky office…no internet.. and we understood why we couldn’t book online and the info was so sketchy.  More worryingly, the ferry was moored in the dock just across the street. It had  a pretty name- the Marta Rebecca (or maybe the Maria Rebecca)….the rusting made it difficult to decipher😮.  It had the tired, worn-out look of a vessel that had traveled far, lived long and needed some TLC or preferably retirement. When I asked the man selling us the tickets if the ferry was safe, he laughed and said ‘yes, of course’ and that he would be sailing too. I’m not sure if he meant that we would have the consolation of all going down together😮.

It was Paddy’s Day so after relaxing in our hotel (Castle Chateau @ 20€ a night with swimming pool and air-con), we went in search of an Irish bar without success(maybe the only town in the world without an Irish pub)and had to make do with an Italian restaurant where the live music was fantastic especially the saxophone player🎷🎹☘️

We were due to depart at 5pm and we arrived at the dock at about 3.45pm. The loading was in full swing – pallets of goods, bags of vegetables, drums of what looks like kerosene , pallets of coca cola, farm equipment, crates of water melons and fishing tackle. It was chaotic. The aisles were filled up with cargo and still more was hefted on board.  When we eventually found our bunks, they were crammed with goods, no room for us. The assigned bunk beds numbers were completely arbitrary….three decks of goods and people and children. Other passengers said to just grab a space, any space.

We settled on the top bunk of the top deck for a few reasons. it might be safer if the ferry went down. and we would get more ventilation because the sides were open.  Our last long -distance ferry was beginning to look like a luxury hotel in comparison to our current home for at least 36 hours. The ferry was filthy and we hadn’t even left port.  A man on the bottom bunk was shouting into his phone and drinking beer. There were 80 bunk beds on the top deck in four rows,  room for 160 people on this level with no privacy at all. Roosters in ventilated boxes provided the entertainment, harmonizing from the deck under us like a barber shop 🐓🐓🎶🎶.

We were late leaving by about an hour and a half…slow travel indeed. At first, our progress was gentle along the strait of Iloilo, a lulling soothing motion for a few hours. The loud man on the phone spilt his can of beer on the floor which turned as slippery as a skating rinks. We lay on our bunks, designed for short people.( Just about Ok for me but Caoimhin was dangling from both ends). It wasn’t cold but the ocean breeze became stronger and circled around us as the night wore on. The towel and sarong that I wrapped around myself flapped like a sail as the wind, pulled and tugged from all sides. At times, the sea splashed loudly against the sides of the ship but all was relatively quiet on our deck once the drunk man passed out. By dawn, my face felt salt encrusted, my eyelashes were glued shut and my mouth was parched. I had been limiting my water intake since we boarded to keep trips to the toilets to an absolute minimum.

Remote Cuyo Island appeared before us like mirage at about 8am. Goods were unloaded and other cargo loaded in a disorganized dance that involved much shouting and lots of men. We wobbled down the gangplank which was literally two slippery planks of wood, placed at an almost vertical angle. Cuyo was a tantalizing vision of turquoise waters and white sand. We wandered around the market where slabs of raw meat were being fanned to keep the flies away. An old women shouted that she could make up a salad for us -she probably noted the look of disgust on our faces😀.We declined but she kept calling after us about fresh lettuce while wielding a knife!

 The second leg from Cuyo was more crowded as more people got on and few disembarked. There were now more people on board than available bunks. We hung on to our spot even when an insistent guy said that we were in his bunk and waving his ticket. He was right of course but it must have been his first time on the ferry because he didn’t know that ticket numbers meant nothing. Possession was nine tenths of the law and we weren’t going to give up without a fight. Thankfully, the loud drunk was gone but the roosters remained. Sleep which was so elusive the first night, was not an issue the second night… The body can adjust to anything. It was also less windy so there was no tug of war with the towel/sarong😴. People on the boat were travelling for all sorts of reasons – work, to meet family, for a wedding and about thirty teenagers who got on in Cuyo were going to Palawan to sit exams. We were some of the few making the trip for ‘pleasure’.

 Puerta Princessa, the capital of Palawan Island,  with its backdrop of mountains was a welcome sight at dawn. After 39 hours on board the ferry, we felt almost institutionalised. We headed to the bus terminal and boarded a local bus to take us on a 4 hour journey to the other side of the island. Raindrops splashed on the windscreen as we wound our way through the jungle interior  up and up and then down to Port Barton and the sea. 

Port Barton was ramshackle and dusty (most of the roads in town are unpaved). It was just a few street running parallel to the beach and a few more running perpendicular. The backdrop was stunning, hills of green-clad jungle on three sides and on the other, turquoise waters lapping  golden sand with bobbing fishing boats and  an astonishing numbers of islands, silhouetted in the distance. There were no high-rise hotels, most were small establishments with just a few rooms. The tourists here were backpackers and independent travelers, no tour groups or tour buses.. 

We loved Port Barton from the first day and we found ourselves extending our stay….just one more day, one more sunset, one more dinner, sitting directly on the beach feeling the sand between our toes, eating fresh fish barbecued on the spot. 

The  boat tour to some of the tiny islands nearby was glorious and probably the highlight, snorkeling in crystal waters with multi-coloured fish, looking for turtles and starfish. Such a perfect day for €20 including a sumptuous lunch on a tiny uni habited island, freshly prepared by the two crew. 

Street lighting was virtually non existent so the nights were aglow with stars. The only fly in the ointment in this paradise were the dogs. There were everywhere-under the tables at the restaurants, on the street, in the massage tent. Usually they were gentle and caused no bother to humans but in the middle of the night, rival dog gangs set upon each other and the ensuing battles were ferocious and deafening. We moved from one accommodation to another partly to get away from them. In the second place there were no dogs but there were bloodcurdling catfights outside the bedroom windows.

WiFi and internet on Palawan  is patchy at best and non-existent most of the time and it is particularly poor in Port Barton….very frustrating especially when we are trying to book accommodation, keep in touch with people and do some research. Uploading photos to the blog is virtually impossible. But small worries!

Port Barton has had troubles of its own. Super Typhoon Odette wrecked havoc in this small town in December 2021. knocking down about half the trees along the beach, flattening homes and destroying boats. Quite a few premises never recovered. Odette was unusual because of its ferocity and coming so late in the season and tracking to Palawan which usually escaped typhoons.

Our next move is to a hut in the hills for a few days and then we are heading to a resort on a small private island, about a hours boat-ride from shore where there’s no internet and even electricity is limited.  A French retired couple that we met on the boat trip told us about it and it was surprisingly affordable (about €35 a night). I’ll tell you all about it in the next instalment….if I manage to post it.

Thanks for reading 😎🌞🌞🌞🌞