That’s right—we’ve made it to the Philippines! But not without an incredibly long journey.
We checked out of our hostel at 11 AM and hung around until 5 PM, then took a two-hour taxi to the airport. After more waiting, we finally boarded our 11 PM flight—a four-hour journey to Malaysia. There, we had another four-hour layover before catching our next four-hour flight to Manila. After landing, we faced yet another three-hour wait before our final one-hour flight to Puerto Princesa.
We stayed overnight in Puerto Princesa before hopping on a shared minibus to Port Barton, finally arriving at around 5 PM. Safe to say, after two and a half days travelling, we were absolutely exhausted!
We were so tired on the journey that at one point grace tried to buy some minni eggs only to discover they we actually just little quails eggs, we settled on an ice-cream instead.
Port Barton is beautiful but strange—a fascinating mix of rustic charm and rapid development. It feels like a town that has decided it’s on the verge of becoming a major tourist destination but has skipped the gradual transition, jumping straight to the final stages in some areas while barely beginning in others. There are no paved roads, and most buildings are simple wooden or plastic huts, yet among them stand large European-style restaurants with pizza ovens and modern amenities. It’s a place caught between two worlds, making it both intriguing and a little surreal.
Our hostel perfectly embodies this contrast. From the outside, it’s a modest structure—breeze blocks covered with woven banana leaves, tucked away on a dirt trail backed by forest. We arrived with no idea what to expect. But inside? It’s like a five-star hotel—gleaming tiled floors, beautifully crafted wooden bunk beds, and a brand-new power shower. It was an unexpected surprise, but definitely not one we’re complaining about!
We booked a boat tour for our first full day in Port Barton, setting off on a bright orange catamaran shared with about 15 other people. While we didn’t get to chat much with the Filipino family on board, the rest of the group was made up of Europeans of varying ages, and they turned out to be a fun and friendly bunch.
Our tour took us to several stunning spots. We stopped at a large sandbank in the middle of the ocean, where we spotted starfish beneath the clear water. Next, we visited a small fishing village to pick up our fresh fish for our lunch before heading to multiple snorkeling sites—at two of them, we were lucky enough to see turtles gliding through the water. Throughout the day, we explored beautiful beaches, walking along the soft sand and soaking in the scenery. One of these beaches was also where we enjoyed a delicious BBQ lunch, making for a perfect break in between swims.
Our tour guide, Pong, was a lively guy in his early 20s who kept the energy high throughout the day. He was constantly cracking jokes, dancing around the boat, and bursting into song, making the whole experience even more enjoyable. To top it off, he treated us to plenty of rum cocktails at the end of the tour—so our last few snorkels were definitely a little bit tipsy. That might also explain why we forgot to reapply sunscreen and ended up with slightly burnt backs as a souvenir of the day!
After rinsing the salt water out of our hair with a much-needed shower, we headed back to the beach to watch the sunset with a group of Spanish, Argentinian, and French-Canadian girls we had met on the boat tour. The sunset itself wasn’t spectacular, but the conversation more than made up for it. Pong happened to be at the same bar, so he joined us, keeping the energy high as always.
Later, we moved to a taco and ceviche place that the French-Canadian girl, Cassi, had been eager to try. The food was delicious, but the evening took a sad turn when we noticed a stray dog with a large, open wound on its back. We quietly slipped him some of our leftovers, Pong explained that the wound was likely from a local slashing at the dog with a knife—something people do to keep hungry strays away from their food. It was heartbreaking to hear. We called a local shelter to report the dog’s location in the hopes that someone could help, but beyond that, there wasn’t much more we could do.
To lift the mood, we grabbed some gelato before heading to a hostel with a live band. As it turned out, even more people from our boat tour were there—it’s a small village, after all! The atmosphere was great, and the live music made for a fun night.
I also finally found a drink here that’s as cheap as beer but actually drinkable—it’s called a Smirnoff Mule. It seems to be a mix of ginger beer and vodka—not my favorite, but definitely an improvement on beer and, most importantly, cheap!
We stayed for a while, listening to the band and chatting. When they played Hey Baby (you know the one—Heeeey, hey baby, ooh ahh, I wanna knooooow if you’ll be my girl), me and Grace couldn’t resist teaching the group the dance moves we used to do at school discos. Who says we’re not still hip and cool?
It was a fun evening, but we called it a night around 11 p.m., wanting to be up early the next morning for a waterfall hike.
Cassi joined us for our waterfall walk the next morning. The route wasn’t particularly strenuous—only two hours, much of it on paved or dirt roads—but the sun and humidity, even early in the morning, made it challenging.
Also, after laughing at Grace’s stomach misfortunes in Sri Lanka, karma had come for me, and I had spent the previous evening suffering. As a result, I decided to skip breakfast, which probably didn’t help with the walking.
Despite the heat, we enjoyed the journey. The first part of the walk took us through the quieter backstreets of Port Barton before leading to open roads, lush greenery, and rickety bamboo bridges. Finally, we reached the waterfall. After our sweaty trek, the cool water was a blessing, and we happily took the plunge.
As we sat on the rocks drying off and reading, a group of local kids approached us, eager to sell coconuts. They quickly became fascinated by my Kindle, repeatedly asking, “Book? How many books? Library?” Every time I turned the page, they gasped in amazement, eventually gathering around me like I was performing a magic trick.
After a few hours of being the local entertainment, we decided we were dry enough to get dressed and start the trek back. What we hadn’t considered was how much hotter the midday sun would make the return journey. There was no shade, the hills felt steeper, and we were drenched in sweat by the time we reached town.
Running on empty after skipping breakfast and tackling the heat, we made a beeline for a restaurant near Cassi’s hostel. The catch? It was at the top of a massive hill. That final climb nearly finished me off, but the panoramic views and incredible food made it worth the effort. Grace had a laksa—a coconut noodle soup—while I devoured pork asado, a spicy soy-based broth with chilies, peppers, and tomatoes, served with rice. I had finished mine in no time.
Our original plan was to go to the beach after lunch, but after so much sun, we opted for showers and naps instead. Later, we sat outside in the hostel’s social area and got chatting with some guys—Max from Germany, Neil – a Dutch guy, and an English guy named Elliot. We all went for dinner, where the conversation naturally turned to travel horror stories. Grace and I shared our classics: her emergency surgery in Bolivia and the time we got shot at in Colombia. We thought we had strong contenders—until Max shared his experience in Guatemala, which had made international news.
Max had decided to climb one of the country’s big volcanoes, a six-hour hike. On the way down, he mistakenly took the wrong route. Instead of backtracking up the volcano, he figured he could cut across the jungle to reconnect with the correct path. Big mistake.
The terrain was treacherous, with deep craters and unexpected drops, forcing him to take a disorienting route. He quickly ran out of water and, with a weak phone signal, couldn’t call for help. Luckily, he managed to send a text to his ex-girlfriend, asking her to alert authorities before his phone died. For three days, he was lost on the volcy, surviving without food or water. His detailed retelling had us all on the edge of our seats, I won’t go into all of the details of the first two days. In the end on the third day, he realised he had two choices, both with a high chance of killing him: sit tight and hope rescuers found him before dehydration killed him, or attempt a dangerous 20-meter descent. He chose the latter, launching himself at a tree growing on the side of the cliff, sliding down the trunk, and dropping the last five meters onto a flat rock—narrowly avoiding jagged boulders. It was the most intense story I’ve ever heard, so much so that we moved to a quieter bar halfway through just to hear him better. We certainly went to bed thankful our Guatemalan volcano hikes never ended like that!
The next morning, we went to explore White Beach with Elliot. It was a 20-minute tuk-tuk ride away, and given how bumpy the roads were, we essentially got a free massage en route. I was relieved we’d chosen a sturdy tuk-tuk—some of them here look like they’ve been welded together from scrap car parts and seem like they’d fall apart on a road like that.
White Beach was stunning, It’s beautiful sand living up to the name. We arrived at 9:30 a.m., and it was practically deserted except for some goats. It was the perfect way to relax before a quick lunch and then squeezing into a very cramped minibus for our next stop: El Nido. I’ll tell you all about that adventure soon.
Lots of love, Alice x