Coron, Philippines: Many Reasons To Go (and A Few To Not)

Limbo is so much worse than hell because at least in hell, there's something to do.  This characterizes my stay at the beautiful island of Coron, Philippines. It is a tropical paradise of azure and blinding whiteness. The cloudless blue sky stretches for miles and there are craggy, tar black stones erupting from water that is by turns periwinkle blue, lapis lazuli, and dark turquoise. It’s the airport that’s the problem. Dingy and dilapidated, with only a ramshackle lean to serving as the restaurant, the airport (Busuanga) is so small that there are no lights installed on the runway. This means that if you don't take off before the sunsets, then you won't be taking off that day. If you are unlucky enough to have your flight cancelled, which is not as rare as you’d hope, you are likely trapped for at least a day. I once had to spend an eternity in the airport, about three days, with only one book and “Slum Dog Millionaire” playing on repeat. As a creative means of torture, the sadistic staff always stopped the movie right before it reached the end. To this day, I have not seen the end of “Slum Dog Millionaire.”

I went to Coron in May 2009 with my dad since we are both avid divers and my mother is not. Coron is known for being littered with sunken Japanese World War II ships. While you have to be a certified diver for a few of these ships, there is at least one that you can snorkel. Coron is also known for Mangroves, giant lakes for swimming (Kayangan Lake is especially beautiful), and the Twin Lagoons, which becomes very important to my story.

Our adorable little plane

Banka to take us to our resort

View from the dining room

 Being stuck in the airport was actually the third strike of bad luck to mark my journey.  People always say that bad things come in threes, and in compensation for the overdose of beauty, I was subjected to a string of suffering. It all began on the first day. I had decided to go for a swim at the convenient beach located right outside the ant-ridden shack that served as my shelter. In and of itself, this mini-beach barely deserved the designation. Rocky, spread out about four feet by four feet, it wasn’t impressive. Little was I to know that this barrenness masked horrors that lurked beneath the seemingly docile waves. As I stepped into the cool, crystal clear water, I luxuriated in the silky and crisp feel of the sea. As I gingerly stepped further from the shore, avoiding all manner of sharp objects, I squished into something. It wasn’t until a roaring, burning, inferno of pain rushed through my foot that I realized I had stepped right onto a jelly fish. Needless to say, I had a foot that looked like a lobster body part version of Frankenstein’s Monster. I wasn't about to pee on myself (ammonia is supposed to stop the pain) and when I went to ask the hotel staff for help, they gave me sea salt to rub on. I can't tell if it helped since the pain was already subsiding by that point.

Can you see where its tentacles wrapped around me?

This might not have been the end of the world, had I not been scheduled for three deep water wreck dives. Now, from personal experience, there is only one thing that will make a person forget the incessant nagging irritation of a jellyfish sting, and that is to see the corrugated shell of a World War II battleship emerging from the depths to greet you. 

I actually wrote a description of my experience for a writing competition. I didn't win but here it is for those who want to read. Sunk in Coron

The first two dives are around 100 feet and the third was around 10-20 feet.You could choose to dive that last one or just snorkel! Watch out if you swim too far from this area since there are jellyfish close to the shore that is nearby. I put a picture of it as seen from the surface in my Sunk in Coron post but here it is again along with a few others:

Sorry about the quality. It is a picture of a picture.

While my foot had begun to shrink after a day of the jellyfish's poison slowly disappearing, the dives aggravated my foot and it swelled up again. But, it was a price I willingly paid! If you have never gone wreck diving, do it. It is by far and away one of the most amazing experiences I have ever had.

Compare this to the photo above. Do you notice a difference?

Looking spiffy!

Sunset

 That just about wrapped up the first day. The next we spent island hopping and doing the whole tour with a rented banka (boat). We went to a hot spring which is surrounded by mangrove trees. Then we did a little light snorkeling before heading to Kayangan Lake. To get to the path that leads to it, we had to cross a bridge of bankas since it is such a major tourist attraction. After walking up some stairs, there is a cave at the top and a little plateau that allows for the most beautiful views of the lagoon. The lake itself is extremely sizable and also worth snorkeling for the rock formations on the bottom.

Mangroves!

Heading to the path of bankas

We walked through like five or six

View from the plateau. The cave is right behind

The cave! It doesn't go very far...

The lake

More views from the top

 From here we went to the Twin Lagoons. Here is where the second misfortune I suffered occurred. The Twin Lagoons is exactly what it is called. Literally two beautiful lagoons with crystal clear water separated by a tar-black craggy mini-mountain. However, there is an underwater path through the mini-mountain which connects these two areas. You only really have to hold your breath for about 10 seconds before you are through to the other side. What you should be VERY careful about is how furiously you are kicking and how far you are from the top of the tunnel. I was not given this warning and I ended up slicing off a corner of my heel when it connected with the surprisingly sharp tunnel surface. Luckily it wasn't terrible but it still hurt a lot. I was able to bandage it up in the boat and the salt water cleaned the wound. I am very glad there are no sharks around that area...

Heading to the Twin Lagoons!

That is where the underwater tunnel is

Finally we ended up at Banol beach. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Sunset the next night!

During our time in Coron, my father and I also went night diving. We brought flashlights along and even turned them off at one point to see the phosphorescent plankton in the water. Just wave your hands and watch the fireworks right in front of your face. If you haven't been night diving, do it. It is just like wreck-diving in that it is a very unique experience that you will never forget.

Thus concludes the end of my trip to Coron. Again, before we were able to leave, we were trapped in the airport. While we were given a free place to stay, I woke up with bedbug bites. And, as amazing as the rest of the island(s) is/are, the airport leaves a lot to be desired. In spite of the negative experiences I had, I definitely recommend going. It will spoil you for other beaches.

Sunk in Coron

This was a recount of what I experienced in Coron, diving sunken Japanese World War II ships. I wrote this for a travel competition that I did not win. I have also submitted this to a couple of other companies but since I haven't heard anything, I might as well put it up for everyone!

There comes a certain depth when direction loses meaning. On all sides, a vague, muted blue fills with swirling white flakes. The lifeline is a rusted metal rope that stretches into nothingness on both ends. Heightening the isolation is the restricted vision of the facemask. The gurgling regulator rhythmically interrupts the distant roaring that fills my ears. An enveloping seclusion always accompanies dives and creates intimacy among the divers. Penetrating deeper, the indistinct outlines of a monstrous being emerge. The pooled darkness forms into the metal rails of the deck of a ship. Gigantic, blurred towers erupt from the surface of the deck and the hull curves into obscure shadow.

Bulbous anemones with squiggly tentacles sprout from every surface. Schools of shimmering fish stream by, indifferent to my presence. Multi-faceted fish like jewels coyly hide behind arching fans of blood red coral. There is a dark opening, a beckoning gap in the side of the hull. I enter a caged space that constricts into a narrow tunnel filled with jutting metallic edges, punctuated with hard swirls of coral. Mindful of the oxygen tank, I navigate through a vertical obstacle course. Weaving from side to side and threading through grate openings, I work my way deeper into the ship. Only a little light creeps in from behind me, providing just enough illumination to make out the various spongy, riotous strings of yellow and red tendrils reaching out to touch me.

Encroaching grates looming from above feel like a video game. Unless you take care to avoid them, they will temporarily trap your dull silver air tank. Use your hands to back away from the grate, move lower to dislodge the tank, and continue onwards. After what feels like an interminable length of time, a wide opening appears, beyond which is pure black. I plunge forward and am immediately swept into a stream of light that filters through a massive hole in the side of the ship. The edges of the hole are warped and contorted into craggy points blown inward.

The light provided from this cyclopean opening illuminates the giant boilers in front of me. The room extends so far down that for the first time since entering the ship, I feel dwarfed by its size.  So much unobstructed space is exhilarating. All of the squat tubes, and what look to be the blades of very large fans, are encrusted with a green, writhing mass of life. I see a striped scorpion fish drift by with its tell-tale poisonous spines aloft and extended, rather like an elaborate headdress. Reveling in this spectacular view, I reluctantly make my way back to the lifeline. Grasping gently onto the rusted cable, I ascend, watching as the preserved ship disappears again into the haze of deep blue. After I break the surface, I am assaulted with the sounds of the ocean crashing against our boat. Removing the regulator and breathing in the salty tang of the sea, I paddle my way toward the dropped ladder. Having come from below, it is strange to think that unseen through the wall of water lays the Olympia Maru, a Japanese ship sunk in the Philippines during World War II.              

The hull of the ship that you can snorkel