Sabang - or, This Is My Happy Place.

The beach at Sabang drowns at high tide, the water sweeping greedily right up to the line of sentinel coconut palms that lean sleepily over the sand. At low tide, the beach is a wide graceful crescent of white sand, the flotsam raked away by the diligent staff of each little guesthouse or resort, the heavy thump and swish of the waves a slow, hypnotic beat. 









This is where, despite my better efforts and my previous protests (those of you who followed me through South America will remember my outrage here and here), I became a morning person. The electricity - and more specifically, the fan - only ran from 6 pm until 10:30 pm, so by 6:30 am each morning, at the latest, we both woke up in a hot sweat, desperate for a cold shower or a dip in the waves.



 




 We stayed for five nights in a little bamboo cottage on the beach, swimming (well, more fighting with the waves), drinking two-dollar-a-twixer sugarcane rum, reading, and playing cards. 

We had a single touristy day during which we trekked through the jungle for two hours to see the region's most famed attraction: a massive subterranean river, recently voted in as one of the world's new natural wonders of the world.

Although it’s a two hour drive from the Puerto Princesa City, tour companies in the city sign people up for one-day tours to Sabang to see the river, rather than encouraging tourism in Sabang itself. Sad for Sabang's potential for a tourist boom, amazing for that gloriously quiet beach.


The river was interesting. The guides use paddles rather than motors to take you through the
prescribed route, one-and-a-half kilometres down the river and back (the full river is just over eight kilometres long, so the only sound is the echo of the paddle slapping against water. The stalactites and stalagmites the guides pointed out to us were inevitably interpreted as either food items ('the mushroom,' 'the garlic') or as religious symbols ('the cathedral,' 'the face of Jesus'). It's a deliciously cool break from a sweltering afternoon. 

But better, really, was our week spent enjoying the slow life of Sabang, whiling away the days until out flight to Vietnam, where everything was about to get a lot more hectic.


S.

El Nido

To get from Coron Town, on Basuanga Island in the Philippines, to El Nido, on the main Palawan Island, there are two options. First is to fly all the way back to Manila and then down to El Nido: not long flights, but seemingly an awful lot of backtracking. Second is to take a pump boat for eight hours (if you’re lucky) and thread between uninhabited islands in the sapphire sea while perched on a hard, wooden bench in a slightly too small and (probably) radio-less vessle, getting pummeled by waves that come right over the side of the boat.

Not such a Superferry.

Obviously we chose option two. If you do, make sure your passports are somewhere waterproof and consider wearing your raincoat. On the way, we saw a breached passenger ferry - oops? 


The beach in El Nido is crowded with guesthouses and battered day and night by the ferocious waves that roar in from the South China Sea. The town itself is basically a long strip with a small cross-street, full of guesthouses and restaurants, set at the mouth of a bowl-shaped bay.

All of the tour operators in town sell the same beach-hopping/snorkeling packages for the same prices - basically, you are loaded into a pump boat with some other tourists and shown the sights of an area in the Bacuit Archipelago, the marine park surrounding El Nido. We took tour ‘C,’ which takes you to some of the sites farther from town, the day after we arrived, and we took tour ‘A’ a few days later, which hits some of the lagoons and beaches closer in.





 This whole area is stunning: limestone karst islands jutting up from impossibly clear water, white sandy beaches littered with coral (ouch), and lots and lots of marine life. This is now a protected area, so there’s no longer the cyanide fishing or dynamite fishing that blights the seascapes of many other regions of the Philippines. The snorkeling we did here was the best I’ve ever seen.

Highlights on our tours were:  




The ‘Secret Beach’ featured on the C tour. Here, the boat stops alongside a cliff, in water that is roughly seven metres deep and full of beautifully coloured fish and bright corals. The water is absolutely clear - like being in a massive fishbowl.

The entrance to Secret Beach

From here, we swam through a small opening in the cliffside (below the water, it looks like a purpose built laneway, while above it’s barely more than a crack) into a hidden lagoon where the corals look like crimson brains, and the shallow water is calm and serene. We sat on this beach for a half hour before leaving to play in the fishbowl a while longer.

Big Lagoon

On the ‘A’ tour, both the Big and Small lagoons were gorgeous - deep green water with big limestone walls and stubborn trees at the tops. The boats go right into the Big Lagoon, where we snorkeled despite some pesky little jellyfish. The Small Lagoon is another swim-through. Both delightfully calm after an afternoon on the waves.

For a break from the crowds, we also spent a day in a two-person kayak. We didn’t go very far, but fortunately just around the headland from El Nido’s bay is a string of gorgeous beaches, all of which are untouristed apart from the famous “Seven Commandos Beach” that all of the ‘A’ tours visit. We spent our day paddling from beach to beach, snorkeling where the water was clear. Slipping along the shoreline away from the noise of the boat motors, we could hear the waves break on the cliffs, the hiss as the water tried to escape from the holes in the limestone.


Late in the afternoon, we could see storm clouds rolling over the islands, obscuring them one by one. We took shelter on an empty beach and huddled under a rock overhang as the rain pounded the beach. I fell asleep with my head on my knees, while watching the little ghost crabs scuttle over the tide line again and again, searching for tasty treats in the sand.


S.

Lombok - Kuta

By the time we made it to Kuta Lombok, we were exhausted. We'd travelled for 28 hours across thousands of kilometres, the equator and a time zone. We nearly missed our first flight because our shared taxi from Toba left late. We ran into the airport literally fifteen minutes before the flight left, expecting to be refused... thankfully Indonesian airlines are much kinder about these things than their Canadian counterparts.

Then our connecting flight from Jakarta to Bali was denied landing, so we had to wait for two hours back on south Java. It was the end of the ASEAN conference and we think it was someone important leaving, possibly Barrack Obama. When we DID land, it was 2 am, so after searching in vain for a hotel, we took a taxi to the ferry port an hour away and caught the 4 am ferry to Lombok.

There were wide, cushioned benches for the four hour crossing - I've never slept so deeply in a public (and dirty) place!

We took a shuttle to Kuta Lombok, found a room easily and collapsed onto the bed.

Kuta, in fact southern Lombok in general, is gorgeous. The coast is a series of curved bays with white sand linings, guarded by steep, green hills. The waves sweep in unhindered from the Indian Ocean, crashing against dark, craggy rocks at the mouth of each bay.

We spent a fantastic day touring around in the hills to the west of Kuta on a rented scooter, ogling the beaches and drinking in the peace of the coastal back roads. Between beach turn-offs, it's just tiny villages and wallowing water buffaloes.

We took advantage of the surf situation and signed up for a lesson - the waves are huge and we'd never surfed a reef break, so we were nervous of going without an expert.

What I learned: reef breaks and big waves are hard! I caught a few waves and stood up comfortably, but mostly I got tossed around by the waves. The second half, after a rejuvenating cookie break on our little fishing boat, was much more successful.

Tragically, although the surfing went well, I got the worst sunburn ever. Ever. It hurts thinking about it!

S.

The Dalmatian Islands

On leaving Dubrovnik, we spent eight days lounging about on the Dalmatian Islands, off the mainland coast of Croatia near Split. The ferries were easy to arrange and reasonably priced - although annoyingly, we had to go all the way back to Split to hop from island to island.

Bol - You can see the beach extending into the ocean.

We halved our week between two islands: Brac, the nearest to the mainland, where we settled into the touristy-cute town of Bol, and Vis, farther into the Adriatic, undeveloped until Croatia's departure from the Yugoslavian Federation twenty years ago.

As with most visitors to Bol, we spent a lot of our visit on the gorgeous Zlatni Rat beach, known in English as the 'Golden Horn.' The beach spikes out into the sea towards neighbouring Hvar Island, thus forming the horn, both sides dotted with big beach umbrellas and covered with tanned bodies. (Except for me... Dan told me that while he was swimming, I was easy to pick out back on the shore. It didn't help that most of the tourists seemed to be either Italians or Croatians on holiday in the September 'slow' season.)

So for three days, we lay snuggled into the grey pebbles of the beach and swam in the unbelievably clear Adriatic. Our little apartment had a kitchen, so we could cook for the first time in several months, but we did go out for a meal of salted, fried sardines. Which are served with all the bones - thankfully no head. Crunch, crunch, nom nom nom.


After a brief return to Split, we grabbed the two hour ferry to Vis Island, the farthest and least developed of the mid-Dalmatian Islands. We stayed in Komiza, across the island - a pretty little town, set in a wide-mouthed bay, where every house has tourist apartments and restaurants line the harbour, but where even the moderate crowds of Bol had dissipated  to leave us with space to breathe.

Our landlady, on finding that our Croat was very limited, decided it was best to speak to us in Italian... also very limited. Lots and lots of nodding and gesturing.

We spent four days on the rocky beach outside our window, where the fishies developed a strange affection for Dan, following him in clouds as he swam; we rented a two-person sea kayak for a day on the water, and we spent a day hiking out to the end of the bay (past a garbage dump... yum). But mostly, we lounged in happy laziness and swam.

S.

Sun and Ruins - Fethiye and Pamukkale

We're flat out on the wide stones of Turkey's Oludeniz beach, on the Western Mediterranean shore. The sun beats down, still hot in the late afternoon. Above us, paragliders swirl in the thermals, spinning up and then float down to land up the beach behind us. The fishy-salt smell of the ocean blows over us, the waves, white-foamed in the brilliant azure water, smash again and again against the cove.

Eventually we overheat and speed-limp across the scalding stones to plunge into the ocean, just cool enough to refresh us, but so salty that I surface with teary eyes every time I put my head under water.

When we get out, I consider: should I reapply the waterproof SPF 50 sunscreen on my face when it's already four o'clock?

Yes. Yes I should. Ginger kids burn fast. And I'm not alone with my pale skin - this corner of the coast is practically one big British resort town.

That evening, on our way back to our hotel in Fethiye, we stopped at one of the many tour boats in the harbour to arrange a Twelve Islands tour. Fortunately for us, Ramadan meant a lull in domestic tourism, so an eight hour boat trip with swimming stops and provided lunch was running at twenty-five lira - thirteen bucks. Yes please!

So we spent a whole day lounging aboard the Princes Serap with about fifty other people - not bad on a boat with two levels and 150 person capacity. Drinks are expensive on-board, and outside drinks are forbidden (we were able to sneak some water on), but even with the drink tab, the day was cheap.

We swam in five little coves, some with other tour boats, some alone, and the Captain lent us his diving mask for free so that we could explore underwater.

The next day, we grabbed a dolmus from Fethiye to the Saklikkent Gorge, where we spent the afternoon wading along the polished, white canyon floor.

Dolmuses are driver-owner minibuses but the fares and routes are predetermined by the regional authorities. So a driver will linger as long as he can before leaving to get as many fares as he can, and then troll slowly along the route, honking at prospective customers because more people means more money.

So it takes a while to get anywhere.

Dolmuses are decorated with everything the drivers can think of: evil eye pendants and stickers, Turkish flags (Turks are a very patriotic bunch), photos and business cards taped to the windows. In one, we saw a shag dashboard cover. It was magnificent.

We moved north a few days later to the little town of Pamukkale, which sits at the foot of two impressive attractions.

Visible from across the wide valley are travertines, a shiny, white hill that to our Canadian eyes looked strangely like snow. Rather, the hill is a series of calcium terraces deposited by thermal springs. The mineral-rich water runs down the hillside, forming pools and painting a thick crust as it flows.

There's no shoes allowed for the hike up the hill, just bare feet on the little ridges and in the slimy calcium mud that builds up in the pools.

At the top of the hill is the partially preserved ruin of Hieropolis, built as a health resort when the Romans found the mineral springs. The steep theatre has been partially reconstructed, the necropolis is in impressive shape, and you can pay to use the baths near the white cliffs. We visited at sunset, when there aren't many people, so we wandered the site without the crowds, examining columns and fountains and tombs until the night-time call to prayer rolled over the hills and it was too dark to see properly.

But just one ancient city is never enough, so the next day we packed into a hired car and drove two hours into the dry hills to see Aphrodisias.

The Temple of Aphrodite, to whom the city is dedicated, stands partially reconstructed, and a few of the other major buildings have been excavated and somewhat restored - a hilltop theatre, the massive house of an evidently important man and the baths are in decent shape. The city gate stands tall and glorious in the middle of a field. But just to the north, the stadium reigns king of the ruins.

It's set into a hillside so that you approach from the top of the seating - you pass a line of trees and the enormous oval stretches suddenly before you. It could hold thousands and thousands of people and is in remarkably great shape. The rows of stone seats are warped and crunched, but some are still usable. The ground-level, where I can imagine chariots racing before a roaring crowd, has been excavated and re-established.

Best of all, because Aphrodisias is so far from any major towns, there were only a few small tour groups and a few independent travelers around. We sat alone in the carved seats of the two-thousand-year-old stadium, contemplating chariots, awed by the enormity of it.

We ran into difficulty leaving Pamukkale. Whereas earlier in the week, Ramadan had proved to be a cost-saver, now it was ruining our plans to head up the coast. Ramadan had given way to Beyram, the festival celebrating the end of the fasting. Which is when everyone in Turkey goes on holiday, and the buses are booked.

So we ended up heading right back to Istanbul, because the night bus wasn't full. We spent two days doing nothing but wandering the crowded streets and eating kebab, and then loaded onto another night bus, destined now for the Bulgarian border and the Balkans.

S.

Bolivian Beach Vacation

So La Paz didn't as such work out. As the bus drove into the city after the bumpiest ride in history (oh, Bolivia.) I started talking to a Californian woman, Cara, just  few years older than me, who convinced me to skip La Paz and head right out to Lake Titicaca. We booked a bus and wandered La Paz for a few hour before taking off.

The thing that struck me most about La Paz were the markets. Coming from Chile and its gung-ho mall culture, it was a big difference. I didn't see any malls in La Paz, although they may just be farther from the downtown core. Instead, everything you could ever want is in the streets, in outdoor vendors. This existed in Chile as well (usually right outside the mall...) but not with this sort of enthusiasm. And the food market was incredible... several long, winding streets covered in fresh fruits and vegetables. Gorgeous colours. So much bustle.

So we wandered the market and got out of town. We made it to Copacabana, a little beach town on the lake (Bolivia is landlocked, so this is as good a beach as they get) on Friday afternoon. We spent the whole weekend there, first wandering the town and then hiking through a nearby island.

Remains of a building on the Isla del Sol

Isla del Sol is the birthplace of the Inca religion and the site of a fairly large temple ruin. It was neat to walk through, to see the complexity of the building itself and the care that was clearly taken in the way it was laid out. Otherwise, the 4 hour hike across the island was nice, but uneventful. We went back to Copacabana and grabbed a bus out Sunday night.

Copacabana (no, not the one from the song, that's a beach in Rio) is a cute little town, but clearly has morphed into the super-tourist hub. Despite this focus on tourism, however, there really was no hostel culture developing.... we couldn't find any hostels with common areas to meet people and hang out, which is tragic. Thank goodness Cara and I had banded together... we got a hotel room and saved a little cash that way. The restaurants were great, but the nightlife fizzled at about midnight... so Halloween ended a little early for us. Ah well.

Trout restaurants on the beach

I tried the local lake trout, which was really good. Although my stomach is making odd gurgles now... I also ate a salad even though I know better. Uh oh.

I must say, finding people to hang out with for two or three days is making this trip infinitely easier for me. You get past the backpacker twenty questions (where are from, where are you going, how long is your trip etc. etc.) and have real conversations like you would at home with your friends. It makes the longing for home easier to handle. I've found a few people now that I have been able to make friends with through the trip, and it´s fantastic.

So now, Monday morning, I am in Cuzco, Peru at the Loki Hostel, which is supposed to be a pretty bumping place. I´m exhausted after an all-night bus, but I think with a nap I will have the energy to wander the city today and set myself up a Machu Picchu tour.

S.

This little red head has a TAN.

.... Yes, you read that correctly, ladies and gents, your favourite super pale Canadian has a tan. And a burn, in parts. Hooooray for beaches!!

To update you:

As I said in my last post, I made it to Santiago after leaving Valparaiso. I was there for about 24 hours, so not long, but long enough to get a feel for the city. It´s nice, lots to see, but didn't have the same kind of crazy bohemian vibe that Valparaiso did. I stayed in the barrio Bellavista, which is like the trendy, funky part of town, but it was a Monday. Win some, lose some. I did go out for beers with some English guys who bought motorcycles in Bolivia and were riding through to Brazil. Wicked!



Then Tuesday afternoon I made my way out to the enormous bus terminal and caught a bus out to Iquique. And by that, I mean I spent 28 hours on a bus. Deep. Breath.

It's cool in a way though because in the course of that bus ride, I went through wild changes in the scenery. From the bushy, rolling mountains outside of Santiago we moved into the desert, where the mountains are gnarled and polished and the dust just hangs in the air... you can tell it hasn't rained out there, like, ever. I've never seen a desert before, so this was pretty stunning for me. I sat for hours staring out the window.

Iquique is still in the desert but is a fairly large coastal city with a lot of tourism. Its nice enough, but really not somewhere i'm walking around at night ever. But you don't come here for the culture, really. You come for the gorgeous beaches, the surfing, and the paragliding.

I'm signed up for surfing today and for paragliding tomorrow... it's okay mom, promise. Should be a wild adventure. I spent yesterday wandering the town and then flat out on a beach... thus the tan!

S,

Hello, pisco.

Today outside it's sunny and warm. We're going to the beach. I am never coming back to Canada.

... just kidding.

The past few days have been fantastic. Friday I went wandering again. I found a market and bought some veggies, managed to communicate somewhat. Although I only wanted one onion and somehow I got a whole kilo, so we'll call it a partial success (rice and onions! Yum. Hah.) I saw some sea lions basking in the sun out by one of the piers in Valparaiso. Incredible. They're enormous! Friday night we drank some vino and I went to bed and was a good kid, but last night we got into the pisco and danced til 5.


Pisco is a wine-based brandy, Chilean or Peruvian in origin, depending who you ask. To me it tastes like wine meets vodka with some sugar, and it has exactly that effect on me. Ayeeeeeyeye. Hahaha. Delicious. Chris and I split most of a bottle last night playing poker with some of the other exchange students and a few Chilean friends. (For the record, I came fourth out of eight or nine. Poker champ.) and then we met up with B and we all went and tore up a dance floor.

The more I wander this city the more I like it. It's scruffy but it's so flashy. Valparaiso is colour, colour, colour. From down by the water, the houses look like jellybeans cascading down the hills, all different shapes and colours, stacked on top of each other. The graffiti seems to be a national art form, it's everywhere. You can track different artists by looking at the style of the graffiti. There's graffiti on the doors of the people who live in the slightly dicier areas because, well, it's hard to stop an artist sometimes, door or no. There's hardly a wall untouched.

You go ten minutes by bus to the sister city of Vina del Mar, and it's a totally different story. The buildings are ritzy and new, the streets are clean, there aren't any dogs begging for scraps. There are two Starbucks. Wait, what country are we in?! That's where the best beaches are, too, and they're gorgeous.

As far as my game plan goes, there's been a few changes. I think I'm going to give Mendoza a pass. It'd be fantastic to see, for sure, but I think for this trip it's too far out of the way. So from Valparaiso, on approximately Tuesday I'm going back to Santiago for maybe a night. Then I'll head north, probably by bus, to Iquique. Surfing and paragliding for a couple days, and then to San Pedro de Atacama. Mostly I'm just trying to make this all happen so that I can have the most time possible in Peru. Touristy, yes, awesome, clearly. If I end up with enough time I might check out Nazca and the Nazca lines. Wikipedia that. (Piper! Wikipedia challenge: "Nazca lines" to "banana". ie what I am living on... hah.)

Well everyone, have a fantastic Sunday. I will be on a beach, missing Hartholt family dinner. A little sad about that.

PS... shout out to my Mom's office friends, who apparently are following my trip. Hi!! Thank you!! :)

s.