Koh Tao was a new chapter in my limited dive career – easy, chilled out diving with lots of cool stuff to see, but less of the the sensory overload of Komodo or the Similans. I was in town to get more dive experience, and completed 13 fun dives in a week, learning loads in the process thanks to some great Master Divers’ DMs and instructors – Phil, Adam, Johanna, Sarah and Paul. Here’s the highlights:

HTMS Sattakut

This was both a great dive and a strange dual-time experience – the Sattakut is a World War II era Landing Craft Infantry (LCI), but it has only been underwater a few months so is weirdly both old and new.  The wreck sits almost perfectly upright with a buoy line leading onto the bow at 14m, before the stern drops away down to around 30m – great fun to watch your no-deco limit falling off a cliff as you drop into the depths. Deck guns fore and aft give it that “boys’ toys” swagger chic a sunken car ferry just doesn’t deliver, whilst the lower level of a dual entry wheelhouse a couple of metres wide makes for a simple swimthrough.

With the newly sunk MV Trident further out and deeper down for the slightly suspect “look at my 17 tanks” kit fetishists otherwise known as Tech Divers, the Sattakut has been permanently parked as a plaything for us recreational dive muppets. Only time will tell how it fares in Koh Tao’s monsoon storms, but looking back I wish I’d made the effort and taken the PADI wreck specialty on this trip as it’s a perfect training site – all clean passages and dead ends welded shut.

I dived the Sattakut twice – the first time from on top of the wreck and straight down the line, buddied up with the lovely Gabi – a Swiss woman just embarked on a hugely exciting two-year Asian odyssey – great dive buddy and good company for the day or so we dived and dined together. Second time around, a slightly murkier warship came into view after a frankly knackering “25m” surface swim in low to mid surface chop (a personal note to dive guide Phill – that was waaay more than 25 metres mate – remind me never to buy a used car from you).

Red Rock drop-off to Japanese Gardens

Nanguyan Island sits just where you’d put the top left tack into a wall map of Ko Tao, a hundred metres or so offshore.  Unsurprisingly, a private resort dominates, with an impossibly pretty sandspit leading Matryoshka doll-like to an equally fetching mini-me island, then on again to another islet. This fairly unique piece of photogenic island geography leaves a wide, sheltered bay facing back to Ko Tao that is home to Japanese Gardens – the dive site where thousands of divers take their first fin-kicks towards a PADI card.

I had the luxury of a “private” dive guide on this one – just me and instructor Johanna, who was winding down and looking forward to getting home to Sweden after a long season on Ko Tao. The two of us dropped in North of Jap Gardens and followed a boulder complex back towards the shallows. We missed out on the area’s resident turtle but were kept awake by numerous Titan Triggerfish who were definitely up for a game of “Did you spill my pint? Were you looking at my girlfriend’s bum? Outside!”

As well as an interesting dive, this was also a great example of how Master Divers go the extra mile with their divers. I’d mentioned in passing when I walked into the shop a couple of days earlier that I’d like to learn how to deploy a surface marker buoy at some point, but hadn’t raised it again since, so was pleasantly surprised when on the boat out, Johanna passed me a spare SMB and briefed me on what to do – the classic “watch one, do one” of dive training. As ever with diving, nothing is as simple as it looks, and with SMBs the trick is not to inadvertently accompany the buoy to the surface once inflated, something I just about achieved. Marker buoy up, surfacing at Jap Gardens was an experience – I’d never had to play “find the dive boat” before. Not because it had disappeared, but because there were so many to choose from – this place really is PADI Ground Zero.

Chumphon Pinnacles / Southwest Pinnacles

Further out from the inshore dive sites with their 15 minute boat rides in and out, Chumphon and Southwest Pinnacles definitely edge over into super cool territory and give the adrenalin glands a workout.

Chumphon Pinnacles

I dived Chumphon with Gabi, happy to be buddied with a diver whose experience matched mine. From the buoy we dropped down onto the top of the central pinnacle and further down the side of the main wall, staying around 25m. Plenty of cool stuff to see along the side of the seamount before we reached the end of the first leg and emerged into a brisk current.

The other diver pair in our group were a young Israeli couple, whose rollercoaster buoyancy profile and continuous “arm-swimming” (been there, done that, had it beaten it out of me by a succession of instructors) revealed their experience level. So, when dive guide Sarah requested an air check, their answer effectively stymied any plans for wider exploration – this would be a rare occasion when I WASN’T first to show the dreaded 50 bar sign…

The reward for making it this far though was a great encounter with a giant grouper, facing us head on from a gully a metre or so below, a freakishly wide mouth lazily open, plus a school of giant barracuda and the ever-lovely batfish. This clip of a Malaber Grouper was shot at Chumphon within a month of our dive, and you know what, he looks kind of familiar.

Southwest Pinnacles

Southwest Pinnacles a day or so later was another pulse-raising trip. Like Chumphon, this is a true “open water” site, far offshore from Koh Tao, so we were fortunate to find it on a day with virtually no current and very decent visibility – dropping down and looking around there was a real sense of 360˚ of deep blue sea around you, fading into darkness.

Exploring the multiple pinnacles, the usual pleasures awaited – the largest school of Batfish I’d seen, plus some neat macro spots from guide Adam – banded coral shrimp and a typically shy Scorpionfish. The dive turned out to be another first for me – watching a diver get “Triggered” by a Titan Triggerfish. Fine as long as you get a fin between you and them, but this one took a long time to get bored of chasing Phill – their territorial tendencies definitely expansive. Hanging a metre above the group and keeping my movements to a minimum as much as possible kept my air consumption respectable at 47 minutes – I’m getting better, slowly.

White Rock (night)

My last piece of underwater fun on this trip was a classic night dive experience. Our group were guests on another school’s dive boat that night – a busy, unfamiliar and potentially hazardous deck which, combined with what might generously be called a “lively” sea state, made it a night to pay attention and focus – thankfully we had “our” deckhand Wintae on the team to babysit us off and on the boat. The conditions did make it a superb training experience though and seriously hard work in the water on the surface – the usual safety crutch of a mooring line to descend on had turned Black Swan-like into a danger – rising and falling several metres with every wave, it would have happily dragged any diver dumb enough to use it out of the water and into trouble.

A few metres down though, all worries about waves subside and the night dive fun begins – Giant Barracuda slide menacingly by on the hunt for prey, clouds of bioluminescence follow the movements of your hand once the dive torches’ beams are blocked, and a sweet find for myself of a shy little octopus trying to avoid everything and everyone. Underwater, with a slightly foggy mask (mine, not a rental), the challenge was ensuring I stuck with buddy Sarah and guide Phill as we came across other groups. In the darkness, with everyone dressed in black, it sounds silly but there was a real chance of swimming off after the wrong stream of bubbles!

The dive ended with a long, sloping free ascent, hard work all the way up, but worth it to minimise what would have been sketchy surface swimming conditions and I was absolutely knackered as Wintae dragged me off the top of the ladder. Job done and looking forward to a large Chang.

More from this trip

• Master Divers Koh Tao - diving review December 17, 2011
• A week on Koh Tao December 24, 2011
• Koh Tao dive sites – the highlights December 24, 2011

Ko Tao is a classic Goldilocks island – close to the beaten track and relatively easy to get to, but far enough from Bangkok and the busy heart of central Thailand that you can (pretend) you’re in remote tropical island bliss, which of course you sort of are – coconut palms and white sand, but with added wall-to-wall free wifi and a ladyboy cabaret – Tom Hanks in Castaway we are not.

The trip down from the big city is the typical low-stress Thai tourist experience – just get yourself to the Khao San Road, part with a fistful of Baht, switch off your mind and a well-oiled machine means the next time you’ll be required to make an actual decision will be when you’re Feet Dry on Ko Tao itself.

My babysitters for this trip were Lomprayah – a quiet 6am start from their office on Soi Rambuttri, then into comfy reclining seats on the VIP coach and South down the rapidly narrowing peninsula between the Gulf coast from the Andaman Sea. Five and a half surprisingly quick hours take you through Thailand’s first try at a seaside resort town, Hua Hin, and onto the end of the road (for us anyway) – Chumphon.

There’s a perfectly adequate cafe at the pierhead there, plus an air-con mini-mart which, despite being the only show in town, doesn’t play silly games with prices, so time to stock up on cold Chang and hot Ramen before a long walk down a very rickety pier out to a modern catamaran, then away to sea. The twice-daily schedule goes first to Koh Tao, then Koh Pha-ngan and finally to Koh Samui and the no-doubt frequent wrong-person-wrong-suitcase-wrong-island experiences have led to a foolproof system – like cattle we’re (temporarily) branded with school-trip style colour coded stickers which the crew use to kick you out on the correct lump of trees and sand.

Onshore, Mae Haad is a standard issue tourism-driven concrete mess, with lots of smiles to make up for its limited charm. The baseline in September is 400THB-ish for a grotty, dark, noisy fan bungalow, so pick your price point from this up. 750THB a night got me a perfectly OK big room at Kallapangha Bungalows, with the holy trinity of aircon, Thai TV and fridge. Free wifi only in their cafe on the beach, but a quick chat with one of the long-term residents should snag you a password for the next-door resort without too much effort. Kallapangha is fronted by a outdoor beach bar and a high-ceilinged, open fronted cafe restaurant. The bar can get noisy in high season, so pick a bungalow further back if you want to sleep, but during my time, the bar was quiet and chilled – some great music and the slightly over-loquacious but utterly charming English Barmaid Samantha kept Dive buddy Gabi and I entertained when we stopped off for a nightcap.

If you’re here to dive and not too fussed about deserted romantic hideaways, then there are worst places to base yourself than Mae Haad – plenty of shops and ATMs, a 7-eleven (say no to plastic people) and all the restaurant choices you need, from fab fifty baht Thai main courses in strip-lit, plastic-table local eateries, all the way up to 200THB Western comfort food in luxury surroundings. A cute little one way system (one road up, one road down) links the village with the “main road” at the top of the hill, whilst a steep, hilly track also hugs the coast and runs a mile or so North to Sairee Beach.

Visiting Sairee for the first time made me realise that Mae Haad is actually an unspoiled bucolic paradise. Even in the early evening, large chunks of North Sairee Beach had already slipped into party central mode, and bumping into a quartet of impeccably dressed ladyboys handing out fliers for the nightly cabaret was a little unexpected – this place has something for everyone. But shoulder season quiet and reasonably chilled at the Southern end, beachfront restaurants sported low tables, lots of cushions and great service – Ko Tao’s target market is affluent, European tourists and it shows with every other table lit by both candle and iPad screen.

A heady cocktail of post-dive lethargy, the availability of cheap Chang and Master Divers’ lunchtime dive schedule meant I only made it over to the South side and Chalok Baan Kao once – another bay and another string of restaurants and bars, so plenty more to explore if I ever make it back.

Koh Tao is no deserted paradise then, but great fun for a week or so of diving and relaxing.

More from this trip

• Master Divers Koh Tao - diving review December 17, 2011
• A week on Koh Tao December 24, 2011
• Koh Tao dive sites – the highlights December 24, 2011

As the ferry cruised down the West coast of Koh Tao towards the pier at Mae Haad, I was chatting to a commercial diver returning “home” to the island after working in the Caspian Sea, who helpfully pointed out the various dive operations as we passed them. It turned out to be a long conversation – top to bottom Koh Tao is just 6km, and perhaps 2.5km across at most, but forty-plus dive schools have made their home here.

So, take your pick. Up in Sairee and out at the resorts you have the vast “factory” dive schools with huge boats and all-inclusive accommodation, firmly focussed on the Gap Year market. Then, dotted about are the the smaller shops zeroing in on particular market niches: Russian? Go say hello to Jolly Roger Divers; Want to try the free diving thing – walk up Sairee way to Apnea Total and you’ll be sorted.

My choice was Master Divers, on the basis of a quick visit to the Holy Church of Trip Advisor, and a frequently updated blog on their site which, now I’ve dived with them, I know is both reliable and refreshingly free of the over-the-top hyperbole some operators insist on. Oh, and they have a nice logo, which sealed the deal.

Master Divers sits towards the Southern edge of Mae Haad village between the Songserm and Lomprayah Piers. Their niche is definitely small-scale, old-school, high-standards territory, – I witnessed one diver being politely reminded/informed that “we do buddy checks here”. There’s a longtail roll call on the way out to the boat, a boat safety brief as you steam out to the site, comprehensive divesite briefings, post dive roll call and a suitably pedantic in/out tank pressure check – this is no dodgy SE Asian Dive shop far from the eyes of a PADI inspector.

The flip slide of the deal is that small dive school means one boat, and one boat means taking into account the needs of both an open water student as well as experienced divers – a constant juggling process which more or less worked in my time with them.

The rental kit

Just 40 dives in, so I’m still no expert, but Master Divers are clearly on the money here. Pre-dive, kit was laid out with military tidiness, my BCD part-inflated and releases arranged “just so”, ready for me to check, before being bagged up and lugged over to the longtail, where a strict boat plan reunites you with it.

Post-dive, kit cleaning (they even give you homework!) was very much a supervised activity – one divemaster trainee (the closest thing to a slave in modern society) behind the rinse tanks to make sure the first stage O-rings stay out of the water, another standing watch at the kit room door, folding the Regs correctly before logging them back in.

The kit was high quality, and stored each evening with real pride by the shop’s kit specialists – every BCD hung the same way, with clasps connected – the end result by about 5pm is an obsessive compulsive’s dream – a full kit room, perfectly organised – you get a clear understanding that Wilco and Ayesha are PROUD of their standards and I look back with horror now at the kit quality/management at Uncle Chang’s in Mabul where I did my first DSD “try-dive” back in the day.

On the boat

Trips start from the beach behind the shop with a longtail ride taxi out to the main boat. Master Divers have their “own” boat, ably captained by Pi Dong – by far the friendliest dive boat captain I’ve met on my travels, assisted by deckhand/engineer/switched on cookie Wintae – having someone to grab hold of you when the boat is pitching and there’s a 15L tank on your back was very useful.

A lot of Koh Tao diving takes place within site of Mae Haad on the West coast, which means relatively short boat trips, so no need for lunch on board, just the usual tea/coffee/iced water and, forget whale sharks or ghost pipefish, as far as the instructors and crew were concerned the biggest news on the boat that week was the return of the Choco Stick biscuits – you really need to eat 5 or 6 of them (per dive) to appreciate the quality.

There’s more about the Master Divers’ diving experience in my Koh Tao Dive sites blogpost coming soon.

Conclusion

Overall I’d definitely recommend Master Divers and, next time I’m on Ko Tao, I’ll be turning right off the Lomprayah Pier, past the lovely lady selling mango shakes, and into their shop once more. So, thanks and best wishes to Wilco, Ayesha, Phil, Rachel, Charlotte, Paul, Yuri, Instructor Sarah, Adam, Johanna, DMT Sarah, and Elaine.

Pros

• High standards, great service, nice people to deal with
• Good quality rental kit
• Awesome T-shirts – the Jedi Master Divers design is a must buy
• Nice little cafe for breakfast and lunch, with good coffee and the perfect pre-dive breakfast – banana honey porridge
• English humour and plenty of Dutch around to mock

 Cons

• I personally didn’t like the late starts - unlike every dive centre i’d been with, Master Divers go out LATE – think noon or after. The plan is to miss the crowds, but I do prefer going out early and having the afternoon to do other stuff.
• They inventory all their kit EVERY day, which meant for the first time I didn’t have my “own” box for the week I was with them. So, every day, it’s a small hassle to make sure you have a weight belt you like etc. No problem, but I’m trying to fill a “Cons” list here, so give me this one.
• I didn’t like the cat – bit of wimp, and lazy to boot…

More from this trip

• Master Divers Koh Tao - diving review December 17, 2011
• A week on Koh Tao December 24, 2011
• Koh Tao dive sites – the highlights December 24, 2011

Days 3–5. Darocotan to Coron, via Linapacan and Dicalubuan

Leaving friendly Darocotan behind, the reward for another choppy hour or so of big-boat whitetop surfing is Takling Island – anonymous speck on the map, but vivid and memorable in reality – even when just a smudge on the horizon its tell-tale electric blue halo is a long-distance hint of undersea delights to come. Under naked, high-noon sunlight, the snorkelling here was good, though I managed to go the wrong way from the famed “coral garden” much to the obvious annoyance of our guide Zaza. Then onboard and onward again – swim, lunch, beer, swim, read, rum – past more islands and the odd pearl farm, the lowering sun pushing shadows down and out towards camp, a cluster of huts on Linapacan Island, ready for another intense, high speed Palawan sunset, dinner and an unexpected visit by carolers from the village, reminding us that Christmas is eagerly awaited in this most Catholic of Asian nations.

Everywhere on our journey the close dependence of the local people on the sea is obvious. At Dicabaito Channel, nutrient-rich currents funnel between two islands, fueling a mini-hotspot of marine life and healthy coral below the surface, which in turn sustains a handful of small houses and their occupants above. Lionfish float serenely off the reef’s edge, smug in their poison-finned arrogance, daring a predator to come and play. Below them, large white plastic boxes are strapped to the seabed, ingenious holding and maturing pens placed by the locals for their catch. From Dicabaito a long run takes Aurora to anchor just as the last dregs of twilight disappear into the sinkhole of night, my kayak taxi hard to control in the bright rip tide running along the beach next to our new home. I make two trips with passengers before giving up and leaving the experts to bring the rest ashore.

“Ashore” is the imaginatively named Banana Island Resort (the assumption being that tourists can’t manage its real name – Dicalubuan). We are only a day away from Coron Town and its airport and there’s a sense now of the wider world pushing towards us, hence the “resort” – no more villages this trip. The place is fun, but shambolic, and feels alien – each hut has a rectangular wooden panel blocking the entrance, a little over six feet in height and perhaps three wide. This, I learn, is a “door”, with access to the hut being via a magic tool called a “key” – just 3 nights of sleeping in an open-sided hut and my sense of “normal” has already taken multiple reboots. When asked at breakfast the next day if anyone had actually locked their huts, the answering blank expressions told all I needed to know about how the Tao experience had gotten under our skins.

Morning dawns bright and calm and, after pancakes with Palawan honey, a final extended snorkelling adventure awaits. There’s plenty to see and we’re in the water for well over an hour, steadily part-circumnavigating the island. Eventually, Aurora motors up to sit a hundred or metres or so off the reef – time to go. As I’m about to leave the shallows and swim out, a mid-size black-tip reef shark fins across the channel ahead – just a fleeting glimpse in the distance, but long enough to know I wasn’t imagining it, and a welcome sight – with sharks amongst the most persecuted of marine species, every siting is a pleasure.

A couple of hours later, crossing Coron Bay from the Bulacao Islands, the scent of marine diesel switches from background to foreground and unfamiliar sounds emerge from the reputedly pension-eligible engine. There’s little concern and no impatience – we’ve all long since surrendered to the voyage and the crew will do what they do, when they do it, no faster, no slower. Captain Lito sidles cautiously to a bright spot of shallow water plumb-centre in the bay for a little on-the-fly marine engineering masterclass and we settle down for read, a chat, a snooze or a drink.

I sit on deck, trying to read as Aurora gimbals gently in the swell, but my eye is constantly drawn to the Karst cliffs which fill the entire West coast of Coron Island. Coming off the back of three days of low, cartoon-cliche, palm-fringed desert islands the contrast is total – the island appears as an unbroken wall of other-worldy geological menace, awakening a submerged memory of the terrible Land that Time Forgot. At any moment I half-expect a Pterodactyl to float down from the tops of the cliffs. But no, not today. Instead, lunch is served.

Eventually, we resume course and track around the island’s coast to a final snorkelling stop at the rather underwhelming Barracuda Lake. Across the channel Coron Town marks journey’s end and the last of the rum disappears in a final toast as we pull into harbour and transfer ashore. After the solitude of the sea and a handful of lo-fi village encounters, it takes a few minutes to readjust to the relative madness of Filipino life as we walk through Coron’s bustling market, up to the Tao office and journey’s end – another Tao Philippines open expedition over.

I’m OK to be leaving Aurora and moving on – there’s only so many times you can go snorkelling and 5 days is long enough to so do, but it will be a long time before I forget how the hard-working and helpful Tao staff made this a great trip

The verdict

• Fun, safe, fairly luxurious “pretend” adventure tourism through a rapidly changing part of the Philippines.
• Hardworking staff make things very easy, and just about make the premium pricing worthwhile.
• Some days you don’t actually DO that much. It takes a LONG time to get going in the mornings and there’s a LOT of hanging around.
• From comparing my experience to that of others I’ve read about, I get the impression that what you do depends on which lead guide you get.
• If you’re lucky enough to get calm seas, you’ll probably get a bit more out of each day as the open channel crossings will be faster.

If you don’t like grilled fish and cold rice, this trip is one to avoid!

Overall, a HIGHLY recommended way to get from Coron to El Nido or vice versa

Previous: Life on Darocotan and an unlucky pig

Day 2: Tao Retreat to Necpan and then on to Darocotan

Our island-hopping first day with Tao had taken us less than 10km from El Nido, so time now to get some nautical miles underneath Aurora’s keel, which limited the morning’s entertainment to a single swim stop in the waves off Necpan’s long, curving beach. Then, nearing the rounded northern tip of Palawan, it was time to hold on tight and watch the bow pitch into a lively sea, speed dropping as the captain jockeyed the throttle wave by wave, threading his way through the swells.

Our journey

Midway around the point, one of the younger crew members appeared on the sundeck to sit and look forlornly ashore as his home village passed by – a tentative plan to buy fish here had been stymied by the sea state. Instead we continued on and Aurora eventually turned South towards Darocotan Island, camp, and an overnight glimpse into local life.

Even at a distance, Darocotan stands out – insanely saturated green palms and a thin beach strip lifted rather than dulled by a backdrop of temper-black storm clouds, all coated in the area’s signature late-afternoon deep and warm light. Once more it was a mass snorkel ashore via a small wreck, near invisible in the murky shallows, then through low surf onto the beach and into camp.

Darocotan, evening rain behind

Tao have access to a dormitory on a private plot at the edge of the village which would be our home that night – a large, open-sided hut with multiple sleeping platforms and a communal dining area. Having missed our shopping stop earlier, it was fried eggplant omelet (a version of Tortang Talong I think) which accompanied the rice and vegetables that evening. By that time, enough Tanduay had gone down to head off any possible complaints from the carnivores, not that there would have been any – am not a great fan of aubergine, but this was blissful stuff.

Each day you awake with the dawn, teased gently from rum-fuelled sleep by the morning light flooding past absent curtains, windows and walls, content not resentful with the hour. It was these early starts which gave insights into how people live in the remoter parts of Palawan province. The first order of business for the residents is a steady brushing of the sand around your home, to disturb the sandflies and prevent them hatching. This work is done, predictably, by the women, although the men were already up and working on boats or nets. Today on Darocotan was a Saturday, so no school and by eight, a handful of children were busy collecting seaweed from the previous night’s high water mark. The weather picked up speed as breakfast approached, skating from cloudy and dull through to the blue skies you feel the palm trees and white sand demand for the cameras, then back again. No fish available to buy, so Zaza went to Plan B, and a cute little pig met its maker for $50.

A bad day for this little piggy

As we waited for the unfortunate little swine to be butchered, Zaza took us on a stroll around Darocotan village. The island is home to some 17 families whose lives are grounded in their surroundings – fishing, seaweed or copra (coconut farming). Midweek, school-age children journey across the strait to the mainland, and Tao have built and funded a smart little daycare centre for the pre-school kids to give their mothers a break in the middle of the day.

It’s always tough to work out the economic circumstances of places like this – Zaza described the village as “middle class” – the children looked healthy and well-nourished, had some education opportunities and the village had a clean water supply. But, ultimately,  it is what it is – a small, remote village almost off the radar of the State – so no primary health care and I imagine some pressure to get out of school young and into work. I never did quite get to the bottom of what the “escape routes” might be from somewhere like Darocotan – is it a job in the tourism industry across the peninsula in El Nido? With just one Tao boat passing though each week, and then only during the dry season, it didn’t seem as if our arrival was something resented and Tao’s social project work will hopefully be a positive for the communities they touch.

Previous: Day 1 – Exploring Northern Palawan with Tao Philippines

Next: From Takling’s electric blue to journey’s end…

Full Flickr gallery for this trip

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Day 1: El Nido to Tao Retreat via Helicopter Beach, Pasandigan Cave and Cadlao Lagoon.

Never go back, they say. My last visit to El Nido six months before had already taken on the warm glow of nostalgia – spiky edges of truth and reality smoothed off by happy hour cocktail-laced memories of a new place, easy living and great company. But now – meh – not quite perfection – El Nido is changing, and quickly. The journey up from Puerta Princesa definitely faster than last time as road improvements to the National Highway continue – less bumps, but a less-memorable journey, from the perspective of an excited tourist like me, not a local of course.

The Alternative, El Nido

An overpriced, under-enjoyable room at The Alternative is home for one night and a personal first – being woken by floor polish fumes seeping into my room from the bar next door is OK when you’re paying crap money for a crap room, but less than awesome at 900PHP (no breakfast, broken shower). There’s lots to love about the Philippines, but value-for-money accommodation doesn’t get close to that list. Still, not here for the town this time, or even the daytrip-perfect islands scattered within sight of the Art Cafe’s balcony. Tao Philippines mine a healthy niche in Palawan’s tourism ecosystem and their lodestone is a five day “open expedition” shuttling between El Nido and Coron – that’s the real reason I was back in this barangay.

Aurora - our home for 5 days

After a burst of busy indolence at the Tao office just off the beach – “let’s get another couple of bottles of rum, just in case” – it was out to where our cruise liner, Aurora, sat moored. The largest of the Tao fleet, and with 12 guests on this trip pretty much full, Aurora is a tourist-friendly take on the traditional local Bangka outrigger design – top-heavy looking with a rough-floored sundeck, a handful of loungers and a basic but spotless marine toilet. On board with the guests were head guide Zaza and guide Olly, our Captain Lito and his assistant, chef Ann and crew guys Den Den and Adrian. They’re a friendly bunch, with a strong customer care ethos – you can trick yourself into thinking this is a back-to-basics adventure trip, but the bottom line is you’re being VERY well looked after by people working damn hard from dawn to past dusk.

Fellow travellers for the journey North to Coron were a typical cross-section for an adventure tourism trip like this; not quite a mini United Nations, but a nice slice of experiences and differing perspectives – French, German, Danish, Zimbabwean, South African and British, topped out with a pair of very chic Parisian ladies who’d abandoned husbands and families for un peu d’aventure en Asie du Sud Est.

Our journey

First stop for Aurora is Helicopter Beach – cliche-perfect during my last visit, all dry season late-afternoon light giving Oscar-winning natural cinematography – but reduced today to mere half-decent TV movie by low cloud and squally showers.   An hour or so later we maybe nudged a Golden Globe nomination with Pasandigan Cave – swim through into a cool, dark enclosure where stream meets sea, variable salinity giving a fuzzy, dreamlike look to everything through the mask.

The day kept flipping between sun and cloud with our third destination, Cadlao Lagoon, slotting nicely into one of the bright, shiny windows – turqouise shallows encircled by the Bacuit’s signature towering karsts, a day camp for fishermen nestled in the deepest corner. Everyone had paid a 200php marine park fee before leaving El Nido, but it’s never quite clear where the money goes or how much good, if any, it does. From Cadlao there was just time for a brief stop mid-channel to pick up some sashimi via handlines before, chased by the coming twilight, camp beckoned – the Tao Retreat on the West of Cadlao and a first taste of the night-time routine. Aurora moors offshore and guests either swim, kayak ashore or wait for Hector, Aurora’s dinky motor-canoe, to ferry them in.

Perfect restaurant

Home for tonight is a former fishing village gradually being renovated by Tao – a cluster of open-sided huts sitting on stilts a few feet above ground just off the beach. There’s no electricity and no running water, but a hand-pump means tropical showers are a welcome relief, whilst after sunset light comes either from San Miguel bottles stuffed with oily rags or more efficient, if less atmospheric, headtorches. Bamboo sleeping platforms in nipa-roofed huts are allocated, and the crew busy themselves transporting comfy sleeping mats ashore, over which they’ll hang roomy box mosquito nets. All you have to do each morning is pack your own flour sack pillowcase and sheet sleeping bag into the supplied linen sack, then keep these with you for the duration.

The most important object to make its way onshore each evening, balanced precariously across Hector’s narrow hull, is a large blue coolbox – Ice, beer, vodka, gin, and lots and lots of Tanduay rum. At £1 a bottle it’s cheaper than Evian and surprisingly smooth considering its cost – mixed with Coke, Sprite and industrial-size tins of Del Monte pineapple juice – what more do you need? Dinner is grilled fish, vegetables and rice, then the ipod speakers are cranked up as the Tanduay goes down…

Next: Life on Darocotan and an unlucky pig

Full Flickr gallery for this trip

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Over the coming weeks, I’m going to be transferring my 2008 Island Peak Nepal trip over to globaljunkie.net from its current home on TravBuddy.  Looking back on the trip now, as incredible as it was to stand on the top of a snow covered 6000m peak in the shadow of Everest, there were a few objectively smaller moments lodged in the memory with just as much resonance and this is one of them.

Having flown into the famous Lukla Airport, the first part of the trip was a long looping trek in almost exactly the opposite direction of our first objective – the 6476m high Mera Peak. This counter-intuitive route allowed vital time to acclimatise as we moved up from Lukla at (just) 2600m – slow walking, but great fun as we learned more about life in Eastern Nepal.

Three days out from Lukla, the path finally began to turn back towards Mera Peak, snaking up a beautiful, fir-forested ridgeline between the Dudh Khosi and Hinku Khola river valleys. Staring early, it was steady, enjoyable walking, using the same trails as the locals between villages and over minor mountain passes. By now, we were maybe a week’s walking from the nearest sealed road, so these tracks were vital communication arteries for the locals who smiled and chatted with our porters as we passed them – there’s no FedEx next-day rush round here – you want something? – Then carry it in on your back.

Our destination that night was Chalem Kharka, which sits on the ridge at about 3600m. We arrived mid-afternoon, setting up camp as a low mist closed in around us for the night. I laid my mat and sleeping bag out for the night and tried to read, but was still small-child excited about where I was, so set out to explore the camp instead. Below our cooking hut a handful of porters had gathered around a low stone wall, their attention on a small, smiling Nepali man in his 50s.  We’d passed him earlier in the day, exchanging waves and smiles as he stopped to rest. He was hard at work now – this was a travelling butcher’s store and the shop was open.

With three big trekking groups on the circuit that day, he’d obviously planned to catch up with us just as our porters had finished work and was ready for them to turn their attentions to their evening meal. The shop consisted of a plastic sheet draped over a drystone wall, a block of wood and, most importantly, that most iconic of Nepali symbols – a curved, menacing-looking Kukri knife. Dealing with each porter in turn, he’d first cut the meat into manageable chunks using the Kukri cleaver style, then flip it over and, balancing the knife between his stomach and the wall, would then saw the meat into smaller pieces, ready to be handed over to the customer.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ECQJ31XNCXo

I was, sadly, a spectator here. The meat was vividly bloody without almost any scent – obviously fresh and delicious looking but, once again, I’d be eating vegetarian tonight – no meat and no alcohol until after summit day…  I sign-language asked if I could take some pictures, and the answering big smile and enthusiastic nodding allowed me to capture a little slice of local life – a perfect little insight into the rhythms of trade on the trails of the Khumbu.

After snapping a few pics and my video clip, I showed him the results and waved my goodbyes, on my way to a depressingly meat-free dinner. Looking back, Chalem Kharka was the end of the “fun” part of the trip – the following morning we crossed the 4000m level, and the first signs of altitude sickness surfaced in the group, so things started to get serious. But, I won’t forget the little guy with the big knife and the bigger smile.

Breakfast above the clouds
First cold morning
Local smiles
My home for the night
Sumba and friend
Breakfast
The butcher
Chalem Kharka
Me

“Three friends, four continents” is the cover tagline of this rewarding, if lengthy, account of modern independent travel – our guides Amanda, Jen and Holly launch themselves several zip codes outside their comfort zones, then write it all down.

The eponymous lost girls are three New York-based media sector worker-bees whose (frankly scary) ambition has perceptibly shifted into promotion and career success, but share a nagging worry that the corporate hamster wheel might not be the One True Path. It opens with the trio on a typical US-style vacation – equal parts of enjoying the travel experience and worrying if their employers might decide that workers who take vacation time aren’t what the business needs – Jen’s description of taking ten days off work as being like a “prison break” is something few Europeans but many Americans will understand. Captivated by their holiday pleasures, the age-old “what if this holiday never ended” conversation starts. The difference of course, is these girls actually followed through with the dream…

Unsurprisingly, cool travel tales abound – Amazonian jungle exploration in Peru, giving a little back at a Kenyan school, two very different sides of modern India (Goa’s party scene versus a month of ashram discipline), treading the well-worn South East Asian backpacker trail and adrenalin tourism in New Zealand all keep the narrative brisk. It’s not all cargo pants, dodgy toilets and rucksacks though – Jen, Holly and Amanda are definitely more Prada than Patagonia, so the nightclubs of Lima and Rio get thoroughly explored, along with the realities, disappointments, dangers and possibilities of the backpacker dating scene.

Thankfully, a healthy dose of self-deprecating humour just about counters the feelings of green-eyed envy their adventure will arouse in most readers – buying a copy of “How to Pack” in preparation for a round-the-world trip is a great idea, but actually taking it with you on the road? Epic fail Holly…

So, “The Lost Girls” could potentially have been a fluffy, skin-deep travelogue pitched solidly at the younger end of the soccer mom demographic – pure concentrated escapism denied to most by America’s “work is everything” cultural orthodoxy. But, what rescues this from such pleasant inanity is an acceptance of how a year on “holiday” isn’t all sweetness and light – we get an insight into the darker aspects – the sexual safety of women travellers, tensions between hedonism and credit card limits, and how to stay sane when long-term travelling with friends.

Holly, Jen and Amanda take turns at the book’s 30-odd chapters and each develops a clear authorial voice. Technically, Amanda is the most accomplished writer of the three, but loses brownie points for starting out as an annoying, career-obsessed machine who just can’t let go, an introduction which gives real depth and traction to the inner journey she then experiences during the year away. Her travel mates similarly relate how their characters and motivations are challenged and changed by their shared experience in a warm, but not excessively confessional tone – “Eat, Pray, Love” is the elephant in the room which is surprisingly easy to ignore.

Downsides? There’s a little too much backstory re: boyfriends back home / past loves, and intermissions back in the US prevent a clean narrative “voyage” from emerging. But, these are details – “The Lost Girls” is a likeable story of travel, friendship and personal growth which is well worth a read. The irony is, there’s one market this book won’t reach, and that’s travellers themselves – sorry girls, at 542 pages, it’s just too heavy for the backpack…

Kota Kinabalu sells itself as the adventure capital of Sabah and pretty much lives up to this self-proclaimed billing. Whilst “The Mountain” and the orangutans are deservedly top of the “must-do” list if you’re round this way, there’s more on offer besides, including a couple of one-day white water rafting trips – chilled out fun on the Kiliu river or a slightly more hardcore experience on the (quite) mighty and (very) muddy Padas. Guess which one I chose?

The Padas River cuts a deep gorge through the Southern tip of the Crocker Range before draining into the South China Sea and, with our raft waiting for us a good 70km South of KK, it was an understandably early start into the cookie-cutter aircon tourist minibus. After a perfectly OK drive up and over the Crockers – all very picturesque and mountainy, with a quick coffee stop at the pass – we dropped down to Tenom – in the middle of nowhere, but the place had a bit of bustle and life to it so I wouldn’t complain if stuck there for a day.

Next to the garage/supermarket in town sits a poignant little memorial to a local uprising against British rule in 1915 – the sort of thing I’ve seen all over the world on my travels – local people protest at the British stealing their resources or subjugating them, and the British just reach for the machine guns – not much fair play there. The town’s other Lonely Planet attraction was a restaurant which served monitor lizard curry. Now I would have gone for this, but not enough time sadly.

From just outside town the last railway in Borneo hugs the narrow gorge all the way down to Beaufort – rail and river, but no road. Tenom was where we would transfer onto the rails for a short journey to our rafting start point. Except there wasn’t a train, and there hadn’t been one for several months, nor would there be for several more, which is when it all went a bit Indiana Jones, minus the CGI.

No trains? Well, lets make one. Like a long-lost cousin of the famous Bamboo train in Cambodia (but without the engine), metre-square pieces of plywood were fixed to steel wheels set at the track’s width and, with the river dropping steeply through the gorge, you have a perfect one-way gravity powered train – perfect that is if you ignore the lack of seats, walls, a roof, safety features, and small details such as brakes.

Our “drivers” had to work hard for the first kilometre or so, punting us along with long poles, then Newton kicked in and, forget Disney, this was the real rollercoaster deal – speeding down the gorge, the river a blur on the left, cliffs and forest whizzing by on the right and the odd glimpse of a fantastically coloured huge butterfly as inflight entertainment. After 20 minutes, one crash – we stopped, the trolley behind didn’t – and a quick repair to a failed wheel (underneath me, skip the fat jokes please), the gradient increased again just as a short but full-on torrential downpour started. Within seconds we were soaked to the skin without caring – six inches off the ground at 30kph one has more immediate priorities – staying on board the ‘train’ for example.

The trolley journey flew by and when we rolled into the riverside collection of houses where our rafts stood waiting everyone had big smiles on their faces – if the trip had ended there it would have been money well spent – a unique and wholly unexpected pleasure. But, this was just the start – a quick watermelon snack and an even faster safety briefing later, we were drifting down the river looking for white water thrills. Rafting guide Amin did his best but we were hopeless. Behind me was Calvin from Hong Kong, who’d put his wife and children on a plane home the day before and was having a bit of a solo adventure – the look on his face when we rescued him after his first rapid was priceless – he was almost in shock.

01TrainMaking

02_So what if the train`s cancelled

03_Getting up to speed

04_Padas River

05_Amin_ river guide

06_Faster than it looks

07_Hang on!

08_RaftCrew

09_Dry is for wimps!

10_Calm bit

11_Calvin from HK front right

12_Me!

14_Ryan and Roger

16_Last train in Borneo

17_All finished___

Compared to the Bhote Khosi in Nepal (my only experience of rafting before this), the Padas was a lot less scary and a lot warmer. On the quiet stretches between rapids it was fun to spin off the side and into the murky depths beneath – trying to remember if those fish that swam you-know-where were Amazon-specific or just generally tropical. But, like all big rivers, the current is deceptive – go with it and life is easy, but turn and try and swim upstream and you’re going nowhere fast.

The aptly named Washing Machine (youtube it, well worth a watch) was the first of several involuntary submersions for me that day. By the time we got to its crux (it did look like a washing machine) we were way short of the power required to push on through and just fell vertically into what looked like a gaping hole. I did the gentlemanly thing and waited for everyone else to regain the raft before me – big mistake – by the time my turn came, the inexorable current had bought us to the head of the next rapid and the rocks were starting to knock my legs around under the water.

And so the day went on – a rapid, then a stretch of swimming or admiring the view, then another rapid, etc, etc. I think we spent a total of 19km on the river that day, with a lunch stop of the obligatory singapore noodles, curry and rice with a welcome bottle of water. Along the river the gorge walls rose into seemingly impenetrable forest punctuated occasionally by a power line or communications tower – visible symbols of progress and development for grateful Sabahans, but each one pushing true wilderness into a smaller and smaller area.

At the end of the rapids we clambered up the bank at a small village and walked together, raft on our heads, straight onto the station platform, then sat down and waited, still soaked to the skin, for the Last Train in Borneo, a scruffy little narrow gauge affair which, with most seats full, was clearly still a vital transport link for the area. As the sun set we trundled down the line to Beaufort and our waiting minivan for the journey back up to KK along the coast road.

So, if you have a day spare in KK, this is pretty much a must-do – the perfect one-day adventure. Any great SEA rafting trips to share? I’m looking for ideas in Cambodia and Laos (next on the list!).

Info

• The Wisma Sabah building at the north end of KK has a whole bunch of places to book adventure trips from. Grid B2 on the map here
• I used Borneo Ultimate Sports Adventure Tours. Nice guys and good service, but not much of a safety briefing and no grab ropes on the boat. Was surprised at the lack of a safety kayaker too.
• For information, a lot of people were using Riverbug for their rafting trip, so maybe also worth a visit (same building!!)

The Third Place – it’s a late 90s, done-to-death concept which still works for me – not home and not work – instead a relaxed and pleasant space to hang out in. I say done-to-death, but mean done-badly-to-death. Assembling the ingredients isn’t difficult – newspapers, wifi, coffee and comfy chairs, but pulling it off is, and one of the few places round my way which does is Birmingham’s Urban Coffee Company.

Back in the day, my 3rd place in Birmingham used to be the Starbucks tucked away at the back of Borders bookshop. You had to walk past a LOT of books to get to it and, since books are to chavs what sunlight is to vampires, coffee here was a pleasure – all tall windows and views out over Selfridges’ iconic curves. But, when Borders UK went into a terminal tailspin last year, it was back to Google for that age-old search – “coffee shop free wifi” and onto the Urban Coffee Company.

The location

A hundred metres North West of the cathedral on Church Street, it’s definitely central Birmingham, but just far enough away from the New Street drag to mean that (on Saturdays anyway) people seek it out rather than just pass by, so you get a clientele which just seems a cut above – I’ve yet to see a truly annoying customer (self excepted, obvs).

The space

They’ve nailed this one. Double doors open into a loft-like space with painted girders, whitewashed brickwork and a floating mezzanine. Solid wooden tables and chairs alternate with leather seats and a handful of jumbo beanbags for the horizontally inclined. I wasn’t sure about the recent off-kilter feng shui realignment of the big, sociable, 10-seater canteen table downstairs, until I realised the new layout put the wall sockets within reach. Quality newspapers, solid wifi and unobtrusive music complete the jigsaw nicely.

The bottom line – the coffee

I hate it. Which is both a complete lie and completely true. Even with my limited palate, the coffee is definitely a cut above. You have to wait for it (bet the business types love that midweek), but the baristas (called Urbanistas at UCC – the only dodgy note in the whole deal) put real pride into their work, and it shows, or should that be “tastes”?  What I hate is how it’s ruined other coffee shops for me. My vote for the best cinema in the East Midlands? The Broadway in Nottingham: class films, class venue, crap coffee. And the list goes on – a fortnightly fix of latte love at UCC has landed me with a frankly annoying benchmark of coffee quality.

Any downsides?

Snacks and cakes aren’t cheap, so the powers that be need to rock some combo deals into the mix at some point please. But again, it is quality gear – a Saturday lunchtime-treat brownie (£2.05) looked a bit dry and far too rectangular for my liking, but turned out creamy-smooth in the middle and pleasantly under-sweet.

Watch this space

With themed events, lots of social media marketing, monthly book club, an iPhone app in the pipeline and seriously friendly staff, this is clearly a tightly focused business with chain ambitions. Will be interesting to see how they develop through the tail end of the current recession and if they can preserve their USP as they expand.

Some details

• £2.50 for a large latte, £2.10 for an Americano.
• Standard loyalty card – one free drink in every ten, with a mystery free gift if you complete 5 cards.
• Urban Coffee Company, 30 Church Street, Birmingham, B3 2NP, 0121 236 0207
• Opening times: M-T, 7:30am – 6:00pm; W-F, 7:30am – 8:00pm; S&S, 10:00am – 5:30pm
• http://www.urbancoffee.co.uk/