Lost in Paradise: A Yoga Teacher's Adventures in Palawan

November 13th, 2024

Puerto Princesa, Palawan, Philippines

The transition hits me like a wave of fresh air - from Manila's relentless urban symphony to Palawan's natural orchestra. Gone are the mechanical honks and yelps, replaced by a gentler chorus: roosters announcing the dawn, geckos chirping their staccato songs, dogs offering their sporadic serenades, and always, always, the ocean's endless whispers. Just a two-hour flight south of Manila's concrete jungle, I've found myself in a beachside bungalow that feels worlds away. The mosaic tile floor beneath my feet tells its own stories - a kaleidoscope of colors that shifts and morphs, revealing new faces with each passing hour's light.

That first night remains etched in my memory - arriving late, heavy with exhaustion and a 22-kilogram duffel bag. My scooter driver, a portrait of Filipino ingenuity, somehow balanced my entire luggage on his modest moped. Through the warm night air, we wound our way from Puerto Princesa's bustling downtown, the city lights gradually giving way to star-studded darkness. The giant estate welcomed me with silence, broken only by the padding of paws - the property's faithful guardians, both canine and feline, already claiming me as one of their own.

Morning broke like a revelation. The absence of sirens felt physical, a weight lifted from my ears and soul. Island life rushed back to me in waves of sensory memory - the warm nuzzle of friendly dogs, their tails wagging with unconditional welcome. Coconuts and papayas dotted the dirt roads like nature's forgotten treasures, their sweet perfume mixing with the salt air. The beach beckoned, close enough to hear its morning song, while local residents moved through the low tide like practiced dancers, harvesting the sea's daily offerings.

My first day unfolded in Puerto Princesa's embrace. The swim to the white sandbar became a journey of discovery - ten minutes of rhythmic strokes through crystal waters revealing an underwater menagerie. Through swaying sea grass, I glimpsed octopi unfurling their tentacles like living smoke, clams nestled in the sand like hidden jewels, snails leaving their silvery trails, puffer fish bobbing like curious balloons, squid gliding like alien spacecraft, jellyfish pulsing like transparent hearts, and starfish painting the seafloor with their living constellations. Each creature a reminder of the ocean's endless mysteries, making me ponder - perhaps our search for extraterrestrial life is misguided when such alien wonders exist in our own waters.

The first two letters of my name, E.T., take on new meaning here, where I truly feel like a benevolent alien. The children of Puerto Princesa make this feeling both acute and beautiful - their excited faces, grabbing hands, endless questions, and fascination with my fair skin transform my otherworldliness into something joyful. Their pure curiosity reminds me that being foreign doesn't mean being unwelcome. My smile becomes my universal language, my warmth a bridge across cultures.

Back at the estate, fate introduced me to Antoine, my French roommate, in a meeting that felt predestined. The conversation flowed like water, beginning with my revelation about being a yoga teacher. His response caught me off guard with its candor: "You know, if you told me you were a yoga teacher six months ago, I would have laughed in your face. I would have told you you're crazy, but ever since breaking up with my ex-girlfriend, I've had a spiritual awakening that's completely transformed my perspective on life. Now I'm really interested in yoga, and I think it's a really fruitful endeavor."

Our dialogue deepened as we traded spiritual heroes like playing cards - Ram Dass, Eckhart Tolle, Joe Dispenza - but the real magic happened in the silence that followed. Antoine's suggestion to meditate together felt like a natural progression, our souls seeking communion beyond words. As we sat in lotus pose, eyes closed, my mind wandered to a vision of us as children, perhaps in a past life, running through sun-dappled fields. In South Korea, they say crossing paths with a kindred soul means you've brushed past their spirit in a thousand past lives. Maybe Antoine and I were once two best friends in our youth, frolicking through fields of daisies and sunflowers on an endless summer day.

Our synchronized emergence from meditation led to deeper revelations - confessions of our parallel pasts as chronic stoners, psychedelic explorers, club-goers seeking escape, politically charged youth. Antoine's insight struck deep: "I think that young people create political unrest and turn to the streets because there's a deep anger inside them that they don't have the willingness or strength to look at. Their cause is righteous, but their frustration is wrongfully expressed." 

My response came from a place of newfound clarity: "I think that political activism is a form of escapism from inner work, and inner work is actually the more fruitful and impactful protest. If everyone in this world was a practitioner of yoga and meditation, there would be far less war, famine, inequality, greed, and suffering."

Here in Palawan, far from the world's atrocities, I choose optimism. Call it delusional, call it blissed out, call it ignorant - I choose peace. 

The Puerto Princesa Underground River, demanding my presence, beckoned on my second day, while Antoine chose solitude, fasting and beach meditation. The journey itself was a meditation in transitions - bus to motorboat to paddle boat, each vessel bringing us closer to mystery. The cave entrance loomed like a gateway to another world, and in many ways, it was. In the velvet darkness, an ecosystem thrived - bats swirling overhead, crustaceans scuttling below, microscopic life pulsing in every drop of water.

Our guide's flashlight became a magic wand, illuminating limestone formations that sparked our imaginations - Mother Mary's silhouette, the Last Supper frozen in stone, the Holy Trinity emerging from shadows. The Spanish colonial influence colored these interpretations, yet the resemblances felt uncanny, as if nature herself had decided to speak in religious metaphors.

The Cathedral chamber stretched impossibly in all directions - 100 meters of sacred geometry carved by water and time. Later, in the whimsically named grocery store chamber, our audio guide pointed out natural sculptures resembling cauliflower, mushrooms, and chicken wings, reminding us that even in the depths of the earth, humor finds a way to surface.

The moment of complete darkness, when our guide extinguished his lamp, offered a glimpse into the bat's world - a darkness so complete it felt alive. Cool drops of water - "holy water," according to our guide - blessed our skin, while we remained vigilantly alert for the warmer "holy shit" bat droppings he'd warned us about with playful solemnity.

Emerging from the cave felt like being born anew. The sunlight transformed ordinary scenes into extraordinary visions - coconut trees became cathedral spires, rhesus monkeys performed their aerial ballet, and monitor lizards patrolled the shoreline like ancient guardians. Palawan had worked its magic, changing me at a cellular level. Would these transformations prove permanent, like the limestone formations slowly growing in the cave's darkness, or would they fade like footprints on the beach? Only time would whisper the answer.

Love,

Etai