It’s lovely to be here in Palawan, but we’re underwhelmed by Coron town. We’re surrounded by islands harbouring secret lagoons and coral reefs, but the town is hot and dusty and noisy. We’re frazzled from dragging Elliot on and off planes, in and out of vans, up and down stairs. Our view from the Coron Gateway Hotel is of the jeepney station, a dusty square littered with metal destination signs, dogs rutting and a huge Christmas tree. It shimmers with heat. The next day, our perspective changes. Skimming over the waters, the bothers of our travel days slough off. We’ve got a boat called Katrina Dea. Our captain, Lar, has ‘sailor’ tattooed on his left bicep. Boatman-cum-babysitter, Ern, has a body is roped with sinew and tight bulges of muscle, skin dark and lined from the
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