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In the lush, unspoiled regions of Palawan, a band of
buddies indulge in the wonder of exploration with
island expeditions. Duncan Forgan joins in the fun
The lost boys
of Palawan
The
bangka
is your only mode
of transportation, with a friendly
crew to guide you ashore
LITERARY FANTASIES
are coming to life as the light starts
to fade and the sun melts like a dissolving lozenge into the
ocean off Palawan.
Tropical hideaways have long had a resonance with
readers in search of a portal to the exotic, and the scene I am
witnessing is like a cross between
The Beach,
Alex Garland’s
modern backpacker classic, and
Peter Pan.
From the sea, the crew of
Aurora
, the 72-ft wooden
bangka
on which I have been sailing for the past few days,
emerge clutching crates laden with giant shiny fish and ice-
encased bottles of beer.
On dry land, torches constructed from empty bottles
point the way to a palm-shrouded clearing, where the
evening’s meal is being prepared next to a long wooden table
surrounded by explorers from various corners of the globe.
One muscular boatman is cleaving hunks from a rosy red
suckling pig, freshly salvaged from the spit. Another is dishing
out servings of
ginataang
papaya (young papaya cooked
with coconut milk) under the unseeing gaze of a collection of
animal skulls.
In the midst of it all, a young Englishman is holding court
over glasses of local rum as the monkey draped on his
shoulders attempts to thwart his conversational efforts by
clawing him repeatedly in the eye.
“
The Lost Boys,
I like that better,” laughs Jack Footit, the
simian-toting gent in question, when I put the comparison to
him. “
The Beach
ended badly so I think we’d rather be the
boys that never grew up.”