Butterflies & Turtles

Equalising

The butterflies here are enormous. The first one I saw was when I was out on the dive boat on Friday. It was so incredibly big that at first I wondered why on earth a bat would be out at sea. And then I worried that my first daft thoughts take longer to figure out than perhaps they should.

There have been butterflies all along this journey. From the yellow and black butterflies at the ashram in India to the hundreds of little white ones in Thailand. The bright orange ones in Laos and Vietnam, and now the beautiful, bat-sized, black and turquoise ones here, in the Philippines. They are not signs. But they are jam-packed with symbolism. And they never fail to make me smile.

I arrived in Port Barton, on Thursday afternoon after spending three hot hours crammed into a van driven by a man who really didn’t seem to care whether we, or he, lived or died. But from what I have gathered, there’s no escaping this kind of experience if you want to get around the islands. You just have to strap yourself in, embrace your fellow passengers, and hope for the best. A very young and very heavy Belgian man fell asleep on my shoulder on one side and a lovely Italian girl named Neomie, kept me company on the other. The feelings of relief were loud and clear when it was over and we all bundled out. Alive.

But Marifi was right. Port Barton is just about perfect. It’s the place I dreamed I would be when I first imagined a year away from London. In a very simple beach-front room with a fan and a mosquito net. And a dive shop next door. It’s a real island village. Service is slow and always with a smile. Locals and visitors gather together in sandy bars and restaurants and most of the people are barefoot most of the time. It’s hot. Sometimes stormy, but always hot. Coconuts fall from the palm trees onto the beach and kids pick them up and run.

I checked into the dive shop right after checking into my room. Aquaholics is a bit of a laidback, ramshackle outfit to say the least, but I’d read the reviews and they were good. And this is island life, afterall. So I confirmed my reservation for a three-dive excursion the following day. A wall dive, a wreck and a reef. I was to be there at 8am. Then off I went to find some food and explore.

I had only gone a hundred yards or so along the beach when I bumped into Xavier and Astrid who I had met a few days earlier, firefly-watching in the mangroves of the Iwahig River. It’s amusing how, amongst travellers, meeting someone again after only having met them once, and maybe only briefly, is like seeing a dear old friend after years of separation. These connections are important when you’re far from home. Then a little further along the beach, I came across Neomie and her gang who had found accommodation after quite the kerfuffle and were settling into some beach beers in celebration. So I stayed with them a while. And we swam and we chatted. And then swam and chatted some more. My huge Philippine doubts from the week before transformed into nothing more than a hiccup.

On Friday morning, after a banana pancake breakfast, half of which was doggy-bagged and stashed for later, I arrived at the dive shop as instructed. And met JP, my guide for the day. JP is 27 years old and had celebrated his birthday just 2 days previously. He’s from Port Barton, has been diving for 8 years, and has never dived anywhere else. When asked about my diving level I don’t like to say I’m Advanced, because I feel anything other than. But JP was sweet and said he’d look after me. He told me we were picking up two couples from an island resort on the way, so they could buddy each other and he’d buddy with me.

But still, as we set off, feelings of caution began to gently rise in me. So I started noting the things that I found concerning. Five divers and one guide seems like a fine idea if everyone is experienced. But at this point, all I knew for sure was that I wasn’t. The holes and rips in JP’s wetsuit bothered me too. It gave the impression that he needed looking after. And I was really hoping it would be the other way around. Then the engine packed up. The Boatman, who had already made it onto my list of concerns because he was surely no more than 13 years old, looked more worried than anyone. But JP came to the rescue and, after half an hour of drifting and a lot of cigarette smoking, cut a length of rope and used it to crank the engine. Perhaps he didn’t need caring for after all.

As we motored on, JP began teasing the Boatman. But they were speaking Tagalog so I wasn’t exactly sure what about. And when I looked quizzically at JP, he responded by asking me to guess the Boatman’s age. Sixteen? I said. Only because I had decided it would be illegal for him to be any younger. The Boatman looked crest-fallen. I’m twenty-one! But he knew he was beaten. By now, JP was doubled over with laughter. And the Boatman had found a new name.

When Twenty-One, JP, and I made it over to pick up our four fellow divers, I discovered that they were even newer to diving than I was. They had completed their Open Water certificates in a freshwater lake in Poland with, by the sounds of it, zero visibility. But what was perhaps more alarming was that one pair were clearly in the middle of a full-blown row. I added all of this to my mental notes of caution. And the note-taking meant I was ready for what was to follow. Afterwards, JP told me he had never known a diving day like it. I thought he was going to cry he looked so exhausted.

The couple managed to row both above and below water. She was the neoprene yo-yo I had been on my first dive although I think her ups and downs had more to do with her mood than with buoyancy control. Or perhaps a horrible combination of the two. And it quickly became obvious that none of the four had ever seen a fish. Which is explained by chilly Polish lakes and zero visibility. With each pair armed with a Go-Pro, they turned into wild and distracted photo-hunters without a second thought for the group. I later explained to JP what it meant to herd cats.

But I did see my first turtle! JP spotted it sitting in amongst the reef and I nearly burst. It was huge and it was beautiful and it looked right at us. We watched it watching us, until slowly, it raised itself, turned, and swam away. And I wondered if it didn’t have a list of caution of its own. I also saw a school of small, darting squid. Which I didn’t even know were something to look out for until we happened upon them.

Altogether, it was a strange day in the water. JP was amazing although he wasn’t really my buddy. But I learned a lot about myself as a diver and I like to think that I was his. And, as much as it pains me to say, one half of the warring couple took some great photos and sent them to me the very next day. They’re my first diving photos and the grinning fool has returned.

I have decided to stay in Port Barton until Thursday. By then, I’ll have been here a week and it will have been some of the best sitting still I have done in my two and a half months away. I’ll head back to Puerto Princesa, and Marifi, so I can go to the Bureau of Immigration and get my visa extended. On Saturday, I’ll fly to Dumaguete in Central Visayas before taking a ferry to the island of Siquijor the following morning. I’ve met some scuba diving fanatics here in Port Barton and they have been incredibly generous with their time and their guidance. Through them, I have found a place to stay in Siquijor and been put in touch with two dive shops and two dive-masters. I’m told I need to prepare myself to have my mind blown.