In Paradise, I tried to stay offline but I couldn’t

Log off and enjoy the scenery.” Those were my friend Alex’s last words before he succumbed to an alcohol-induced sleep. It was 5 a.m., and his back had just hit the bed after a night of partying in Boracay. I, meanwhile, was at the NAIA 3 about to fly off to a swanky resort in Coron, Palawan. I was going there with people I’d never met: bleary-eyed newspaper journalists, chipper PR pros, and the marketing team of Club Paradise Palawan (clubparadisepalawan.com), which, according to another friend, is one of the most beautiful places he has ever laid eyes on. His exact words were, “Maiisip mo talaga na merong God.” (Way to raise my expectations.)

I quickly typed, “Okay, good night,” hit send, and logged off. My Huckleberry friend’s advice made sense: Going offline would be good for my ADHD-addled brain. Not constantly looking down at my smartphone would force me to look up and around and drink in all the sights of Coron. This trip was a chance to relearn how to be in the moment, how to focus. Who knows? I might even finish the Murakami book I brought with me with no Twitter/Instagram to compete for my attention. Aboard SkyJet’s plane, the plan was off to a good start. I successfully resisted my Melissa Mendez urge to Instagram the clouds and slept instead, only waking up to eat the marble cake the flight attendants were doling out. (I saw the itinerary and there was an afternoon hike in the cards. To haul my sedentary carcass up a hill, I needed lots of stored energy.) Less than an hour later, we safely landed at the Francisco B. Reyes Airport in Busuanga, gateway to the beguiling Club Paradise Palawan.

Rock The Boat

As with the world’s most fascinating places, it takes commitment to reach Club Paradise Palawan. From the airport, it took a 20-minute van ride, followed by a 30-minute boat ride, to reach Dimakya Island where the ritzy resort is. Aboard the sleek speedboat were friendly staffers proffering cold towels and hot sandwiches. I accepted the former and said pass to the latter because our next agenda, “Picnic Lunch at Hidden Beach,” sounded like a food coma situation.

The boat began to glide through the placid brackish water, with eerie mangrove trees standing sentry on both sides. Soon, we were in open sea. I sat by the bow for an unobstructed view of the mountain ranges and the Big Blue. It was a pretty special moment for me. Having spent a great deal of 2015 writing about the lives of celebrities, it felt refreshing to be assigned a story that required me to live and chronicle my own experiences. But midway, violent waves rudely interrupted my feeling #blessed moment. The chances of falling into the water quickly escalated to level 10, but I stubbornly remained planted on my dangerous spot. (Behind me, I could feel team Club Paradise holding a vigil for my safety. I could also feel them mentally filing me under: Crazy Tourist.)

Click! Click! My right hand shakily captured pictures of the gorgeous vista, while my clammy left clung to the steel handrail. If I let go even for a second, my epitaph — if my body were ever found — would read: “She never reached Paradise.” Mercifully, we started to slow down. And even from afar, I knew that my self-imposed social media moratorium would go straight to hell. The resort looked like a beautiful mirage.

Blue Crush

The thing that struck me most about Club Paradise Palawan was how blue everything was. The water is a gradient work of art, ranging from pale turquoise to Miss-U-Pia-Wurtzbach royal blue. The sand is soft and white, the breeze fresh and salt-tinged. All the elements of a warm welcome were there upon our arrival: a quartet singing the luxe resort’s theme song (they composed it themselves!), icy cucumber-calamansi welcome drinks, and complimentary puka shell bracelets to complement our beach wear. My eyes did a broad sweep of the area. There were very few (mostly foreign) guests lounging around and the neighboring islands were far away. It reminded me of Boracay before the invasion. I felt time — and my heartbeat — slow down. It felt good to be detached from the insanity that is Manila.

The resort has 55 rooms, and mine happened to be the same beachfront cottage Queen of All Media Kris Aquino stayed at while they were filming the underrated MMFF entry All You Need Is Pag Ibig. In the film, Aquino’s character, Love, a famous love guru who dishes out advice on TV, escaped to this secluded nirvana following a public meltdown. The thatched-roof casita is intimate and rustic but has all the trappings of modern accommodations — except a television. It makes sense, though: The last thing a disgraced public figure wants to do is watch TV. “Some like it, some hate it,” said Joeg Escobar, the resort’s affable manager, “but it’s a way to encourage guests to leave their rooms, to enjoy the amenities, and reconnect with nature.”

Speaking of nature, “sustainable” and “eco-friendly” are the catchwords of the management, and the resort was built in a way that has the least impact on Dimakya Island. The monitor lizards and fruit bats and other wildlife that have been presiding over and around the island still preside. (They called dibs on this sliver of paradise first, after all.)

The management’s eco-fastidious efforts paid off. Everywhere you look, nature will blow your socks off. Look to the north and you’ll see a hypnotic seascape; look up and you’ll see delicate pink flowers against a pale blue, cloudless sky; look to the east to see verdant mountains in the distance; to your west, powdery sand as far as the eye can see. The overwhelming feeling was: I have to tell everyone that this sublime island exists. And I did. My Instagram notifications were blowing up with Likes and “where are you???” inquiries from friends, frenemies, and strangers.

I wasn’t posting to brag, for sure. It’s just that some places are too special not to share. Something my editor once said in passing occurred to me while I was there: “Everybody writes their opinions, but few people write about their experiences.” And in a world with a surplus of opinions, what we need is to experience more. I posted unfiltered pictures of the resort in the hopes of moving people to plan their next escapade, where the only agenda is to be. It was not even noon on my first day and I had already broken my no-social-media vow 10 times over.

Call It Magic

The next three days were magic. And know that I’m not just casually throwing that word around. My insomnia, which had worsened in the last quarter of 2015, miraculously went away. (I don’t know what was responsible for my nocturnal healing, but the delicious bed in my casita definitely played a part.) I fell asleep at 10 p.m. on the dot, sans the tossing and turning, and woke up each morning feeling light. I saw magical things from sunup to sundown: from something as simple as a paraw boat moored on the quiet beach, to the sight of screeching fruit bats dotting an indigo sky as the sun set.

The resort arranged a sunset cruise for our little crew and aboard that boat, I nibbled on hors d’oeuvres and saw the sky turn cotton candy pink for the first time in my life. I had one of my most memorable meals in Isla Walang Lang-Aw (Translation: “Island Without Trees”), which Joeg’s team transformed into a romantic oasis. Over a candlelit dinner of grilled pork, seafood and chicken, our group traded stories about demonic possessions and freaky caves as the acoustic trio serenaded us. (Magic is meeting kindred spirits who, just like you, are crazy underneath the civility.)

Food is definitely one of the best things about Club Paradise Palawan, which is ironic, because it takes supreme effort to bring in all the ingredients from Manila — including the seafood. (The simplified explanation is: Coron is a protected area and the management wants to create as minimal an impact as possible.) Despite this impediment, chef Bruce Subia is able to create excellent dishes in the kitchen, my favorite being the inadobong bagnet, which was served on our last night in the island.

Chill-Out Tranquility

While the chill-out tranquility of the resort is addictive, you need to venture out of the island and treat your soul to the beautiful sights of Coron: Feel small and insignificant right smack in the middle of the colossal and ancient limestone rock formations at the Twin Lagoon. Float on your back at Kayangan Lake and think about nothing. Feed the elusive giraffes at Calauit Wildlife Safari and pet the deer endemic to the area. (It’s like something straight out of Taylor Swfit’s Wildest Dreams music video!) Enjoy a delicious boodle fight lunch at the resort’s private Diatoy Island, and then lose your lunch after you go on a banana boat ride on steroids. Afterwards, go snorkeling at Siete Pecados, and remember not to touch anything, even if the iridescent dancing corals are practically calling your name. All of these activities can be arranged by Club Paradise Palawan for you.

“Feed goals,” one of my followers commented, apropos of a Coron photo I posted. Alex, still in Boracay, saw my travel posts, and surprisingly didn’t give me hell for breaking my no-social-media vow. I think, implicitly, he understood the need to share. In fact, we were suddenly competitive, trying to outdo each other’s sunset pictures. (But it was a fight nobody could win. Boracay’s sunset and Palawan’s are equally melancholic and beautiful.)

When we go on trips, we take photos and upload them as fast as WiFi or LTE will allow. At worst, we do it to brag; at best, we do it just to share and inspire. In between, we do it just to feel a sense of togetherness even if we’re apart. Instagram is instantaneous postcarding. And these days, nothing says “I wish you were here” better than a photo tag.

* * *

For inquiries and reservations, visit www.ClubParadisePalawan.com, Like www.Facebook.com/Club.Paradise.Palawan, and follow www.Instagram.com/ClubParadisePalawan. Or  call (02) 719-6971 to 6974.

* * *

Tweet the author at @IrishDDizon