I use the word regulars, because most of them have been here for quite some time. Some of them long enough to eventually get the local version of what in Taiwan is called alien resident certificate and even bought themselves a bike. In the afternoon few of them usually hang out in the yacht club to share a beer or two, simultaneously browsing on the internet using their smart phones. Quite a funny view, apparently it’s not only the teenagers! With the exception of Klaus, most of the regulars are single and as such they cruise singlehandedly the waters of South East Asia, though one of them sails with his son, who is currently in Australia earning some more money for their cruising kitty before they depart through southern Indian Ocean heading towards South Africa. Interestingly, they cross oceans on a smart racing boat and maybe it’s not entirely a coincidence that their slim vessel with quite a long mast bears the name Why Do I Do It? including the question mark at the end!

We are real comfortable here, indeed. Puerto Princesa is but a small town and thanks to our folding bicycles we can easily get wherever the whim and sometimes quite jammed roads take us. Last week we took our bikes and cycled out of town to visit the famous butterfly farm. Unfortunately it was closed (same as the museum in town) and so we pedaled some more to see the crocodiles instead. The visit in the Palawan Wildlife Rescue & Reservation Center came as quite a shock! We weren’t so much horrified because of the crocodiles, after all the fences and barriers didn’t allow us to approach the crocs close enough to get scared, what terrified us was the style of the tour and the touristy atmosphere of the whole place that first jumped out at us right in the parking lot that was surrounded by numerous stall selling souvenirs and other kitsch. For every living croc in the center there are at least five stuffed croc toys and on every corner you bump into one of those wooden boards that have infantile croc pictures painted on them and large hole to stick your head in to take some memorable pictures.

“Hello! Would you like to try the exciting experience of our zipline?” Before we even parked our bikes, we were immediately surrounded by a group of young Filipinos in green T-shirts.

“Thanks! We came just for the crocs,” replied Petr with a smile.

With certain doubts we bought our tickets and sat down in a small gazebo nearby to wait for our “intensive tour”. At least that’s what it said on our tickets. Tired and sweaty after the trip, we almost started dosing. After couple of minutes we were startled back to life by a piercing voice coming from the loudspeakers announcing that the next tour will start in five minutes. We headed towards the main building and suddenly were surrounded with flocks of other tourists. A few minutes back we were amazed that we were the only people in the gazebo, also the parking lot seemed quite deserted. Now the place was bristling with people. Obviously the tourist buses brought herds just in time for the tours.

“Do you remember the last time we took part in something touristy like this?” asked Petr, while we nervously squirmed amongst mostly Filipino tourists.

The intensive tour was basically a two minute speech by a young female guide, during which she told us something about the center and the crocs. Unfortunately her speech was so intensive that all we remember is that one by one the old crocs die because of too much stress. After that she lead us to the hatchery where she reminded us several times to “keep our hands away”. That was the end of the intensive guided tour. Several steps took us to a platform over the concrete pens where crocs of different sizes and shapes that would no longer fit in the hatchery are kept. Most of them looked like stone fossils or they were just stiff because of all the stress…

We quickly threaded our way through the crowds, declined another offer to take a picture with a croc, this time a real living crocodile baby, and headed towards a park where about a dozen of other animal species, most of them endemic to Palawan, were kept in cages and aviaries. The overall atmosphere was kind of dismal so we quickly passed through and went back to our bikes.

The landscape along the road to Puerto Princesa was quite spectacular though and so we tried to admire the local natural beauty, traditional architecture as well as the cows grazing on the lash green pastures while at the same time keep out of the way of trucks and tricycles that constantly dashed by.

The next day we had the pleasure to host Dave and Jackie of Brigadoon who came to have dinner with us on Janna. Dave and Jackie are from New Zealand but lived in Hong Kong for quite a while, where Dave taught English and Jackie ran photography courses and tours. After searching for their dream boat for some time, they finally became owners of the beautiful 45′ Van der Stadt “Pimpernel” steel yawl Brigadoon, quite infamous in the local waters, we hear. Apparently, it was once owned by some mafioso, who used her to smuggle drugs. There is even a whole book written about it, that Dave proudly showed us the other day in their saloon while Jackie served us a delicious spinach chili and tortillas. They sail together with a teenager named Fergus, not their grandson, mind you, but a loyal dog companion, whom they brought to Hong Kong from New Zealand but who is not allowed to return to his homeland after staying for some time in Asia. And so they are heading home, but they take it slowly, because Fergus is still quite fit and apparently enjoys life aboard. And since they have so keenly observed how nice people we are, we can’t but repay by the same. We will miss you, guys!

Before they headed further south, we invited them to have a meal with us on Janna and shared another pleasant evening in the yacht club just before their departure. The next morning we waved our good-byes, us eyeing them rather enviously as Brigadoon slowly sailed towards the horizon.

The truth is that although we are comfortably settled here, both of us have been fidgety these couple of days. More and more often we catch ourselves longingly staring towards the horizon. On the other side of the bay the view of the green hills beckons us, especially in the morning and late afternoon when the hills partially disappear clouded by the dense, snow-white blanket of fog. Janna also seems to be tugging at the chain more eagerly, almost as if she was trying to free herself from the shackles that bond her with the anchor and the ground below her keel. Or are we just imagining things? Most likely we’re suffering from yet another fit of travel-fever and the time is coming to heave the anchor once again and leave for another anchorage…

You wouldn’t find happier people when we make port. We drop the hook, exhale — yay, we made it again — explore and enjoy the delights of land like fresh veggies, cold beer and, yes, the company of landlubbers (in small doses).
But after few days the shore keeps creeping towards us, even closer, the karaoke from the nearby bar become so annoying, never mind the roosters showing off in the morning — finally, you got up, we’ve already had our breakfast — and squealing pigs being tortured and butchered in the village (remind me if I ever have cravings for some pork).
So we loaded our little boat with water and fresh produce, cranked the windlass and we sailed away.
This time of year in the Philippines is rather funny. You get a little breeze, sometimes, then it dies, you start the engine, so that you can turn it off again in about half an hour when a big fat black cloud starts approaching and the first tropical bullet-like rain drops hit you in the eye. That’s because you are staring at the windex at the top of your mast all the time, instead of feeling the wind on your face as the true mariners of the past did. Not to mention the pain in the neck. The wind in the Philippines is simply a big pain in the neck.

And that’s what we got when we sailed north around El Nido. But at least you get moving. The squall mind blind you for bit, so you head offshore, but these squalls have a short life. Before you get too far from your rhumbline, they die and you get to sail straight into your intended anchorage with a beautiful breeze on the beam. It might drizzle the rest of the day, but you are snug in the cabin, anchor dug deep in the mud, because you just found one of the few anchorages with a good holding ground.
You sleep well and get up in the morning full of life and the breeze gives a promise to kindly blow you out of the anchorage once you heave the hook. There’s no indication that the breeze should die when you are just passing that rock in the mouth of the bay that provided such comfortable lodging.
You keep fighting. You sail/drift wing-and-wing, pass the rock, avoid the fishnets set by the fishermen and you hypnotize the horizon looking for any signs of wind. But you are looking in a wrong direction. In the meantime a big mean squall just crept behind you. You are sailing hard at it’s edge, hoping for the wind to last without getting stronger. May be it could shift to the west just a little bit, so you can pass the little island in front of you. And it does, yes it does. Even though only for couple of minutes before it start dying off. You shake off the reefs, hoist a larger jib. You want the get the most of the wind that you have.

You’ve been paying too much attention to the sail and suddenly you find yourself blocked off by a field of buoys — a pearl farm. You don’t want to entangled in that! The guards don’t mess around. But you clear them, even if only by few feet.
A bay full of reefs and submerged rocks opens up in front of your eyes. All you see, however, is water. You know what the chart says. There are rocks that can tear a hole in the belly of you floating home. The sun is tired, it’s falling towards the west horizon. There’s not much time to linger. When you left your last anchorage you expected the wind to be from the south-west, but here the conditions are different. The anchorage you have chosen is exposed. Quick look at the chart. The options are few. The best one is soon discarded. Pearl farm all around.
Finally you drop the hook in 7m above corals right next to a beautiful coral head surrounded by colourful fish and underwater vegetation.

This is the east side of Palawan. Two days away from Puerto Princesa.
Morning breeze takes you out to sea. You are still in the protection of a group of small islands connected by a reef. Once out of the hiding, the sea swells up, the wind picks up. This might finally be the monsoon. And another squalls approaches. It misses you just right to give you a lift and then you continue, first in fluky winds, but you stand your ground and the monsoon kicks in again, it’s on the nose, mind you, but the heading you are able to keep is not too bad. Not too bad at all.
The night falls and it’s going to be an interesting one. Squid fishing boats rim the horizon, nowhere to hide. The moon is still week, but the bright lights from the boats light up the night, you are not alone, not tonight. Surprisingly, you pass right between them, no need to change your heading, no need to mess with the trim.
Another watch change takes you down into your bunk, little tossing and turning and soon you slip into another world until the other grabs your shoulder and mercilessly drags you back.

The sunrise is quite ordinary. It’s cloudy, drizzling from time to time and you are just couple of miles away from your goal. You ran out of wind and with the wind you patience has gone as well. The engine has to be turned on from time to time, basic maintenance, you tell yourself as you are streaming toward the comfort of another anchorage. But this one is unlike the other before. This one you know. You’ve been there before. The name brings out good memories, people you’ve met, the atmosphere of those days.
You’re almost there. A worry creeps up. What if you have too many expectations, what if you’ll be disappointed. But you already know a remedy for that problem. There’s nothing simpler than lifting your hook and sailing to a place down the road…

We left Coron the next day. We’ve spent two days sailing slowly towards the Bacuit Bay near the town of El Nido anchoring in nice coves, exploring the islands, dodging squalls and just simply enjoying ourselves. The sailing conditions were variable, sometimes we had to use the iron jib, then got a nice push by the nearby squalls, just regular cruising.
When we rounded the north tip of the Palawan Island it was becoming clear that we are entering a different realm. The scenery changed a bit first, then a lot. Half barren and brown, half green and lush hills were replaced by steep cliffs, ragged rocks and bonsai-like greenery clawing the cracks and crevices carved out by the time. We were jaw-dropping the whole day, i.e. until we saw a thick squall heading our way. We shut out mouths with the first bullets of rain and started to pull the sail down and tugging a reef in the mainsail. Then another one. We were almost at our destination, but we didn’t want to get any closer to the rocks in those wind gusts and poor visibility. We hove to about 2 miles from our intended anchorage and started collected water from the tropical downpour that drowned us. These rain squall don’t last long and in about an hour or so, the sun came out again and we soon anchored by a beautiful island, which was supposed to be our base camp for exploring the neighborhood. About a mile away from our anchorage was the Ubugun Bay, a small cove enclosed by rocky cliffs, with very shallow water. It was worth the one mile row.

 The snorkeling was decent enough, but our standards are high, now that we have visited Apo Island. Looks like those reefs are hard to beat. But we will keep looking.

The next day, we dressed Janna in full evening gown and sailed out of the anchorage. The plan was to anchor by the Miniloc Island and explore the lagoon that’s supposed to be quite a sight. The wind dropped, so we dropped the sails and continued under the engine. It was only three miles anyway. Anchoring turned out to be near to impossible. Lots of bangkas, water was too deep water as well. But right by the mouth of the lagoon we spotted a mooring, so we picked it and rowed inside on the dinghy. Again we became a big attraction.

 The lagoon itself (the Big lagoon, there’s also a small one, which we haven’t seen yet) is quite deep, but the entrance is very shallow. Quite impressive, really. You row over a marble white sand in torquoise water for about 50 meters between steep cliffs and then the bottom disappears and the lagoon opens to a wide pool. Pity that the loud bangkas spoil the experience. But we’ve heard that the lagoon is quite magical with a full moon at night. There won’t be any tourists, probably. We can spend the night on the mooring, set the clock and let the moon lead the way.

Next on the program was the Small lagoon, which is just around the corner, but another rain squall appeared over the hills to the east, so we decided to sail through the weather and head for the Corong-Corong anchorage, which offers an easy access to El Nido and do a bit of provisioning, since our stock of veggies and fruit was getting thin.

Nah, I think we’ll be all right. Apart from what we see around, and don’t take me wrong, it is really beautiful out here, we have these inner lives of ours, and that makes the exploration so much more exciting. As if one was living several parallel lives set in different worlds, possible worlds as Lewis Carol called them. You dive into one, get consumed and when you surface again, there’s another one. It’s the transition that can be difficult, especially from a world that’s easy, nice and exciting, to a world that’s uncomfortable, hard work, too cold or too hot, wet when you want to be dry and don’t get me started on the wind conditions.
We’ve spent about 10 days in Puerto Galera. Mostly those were working days, but we’ve snorkeled a lot and explored on our folding bikes. Before leaving the yacht club, we anchored for two days in nearby Boquelle Bay and snorkeled some more. We left about two weeks ago, did a little motoring, which made us unexpectedly happy, since it turns out that we have finally fixed our fuel intake. No more air leaks! We sailed further offshore and got a little push from the squalls that form on land without getting too wet. Our next destination was Apo Reef or more exactly the Apo Island. People suggested that we should head to the Pandan Island, but that sounded a bit too touristy. Also the idea of being out at sea was more compelling, especially after all those days in Puerto Galera.

básnili Švýcaři, které jsme potkali v Kaohsiungu.

We approached the Apo Island late in the afternoon. So did a mean looking squall that blew over us right after we picked up a mooring. Not knowing the size of that thing and having doubts about the state of that mooring, we kept the engine running and prepared a third reef in the mainsail in case we would have to move. But the squall soon blew over, we had a hot dinner and good night sleep. This might sound like something much too ordinary, but I used to have hard time sleeping out on moorings or on the hook, especially after my nerves were excited by an adverse weather. I would dream of lines being chafed through, leaks springing at strange places… I would wake up in a pool of my own sweat — granted that this is all happening in the tropics, so the nightmares might be innocent here. Later I have noticed that all the catasrophes that are happening to our boat and taking place on gear that we don’t really have. The lines being chafes would have different color, the leaking holes would be found in an awkward spots that cannot be found on our boat. A strange thing happened. I would realize this while dreaming and look at the leak or the almost chafed through line, shake my head and tell myself, this is not on our boat, don’t worry about it. Sometimes I would still open my eyes and end the dream, but then I’d known already that it was just a dream.
Well, I am a big boy now and I don’t have yachting nightmares anymore. It makes for so much nicer mornings. You know, those mornings that you know that you slept well even though you should have been more worried. Those mornings that you realize that you trust your boat, because it’s a solid piece of fine engineering, you can trust it because you put so many hours into it and you know all the weak spots, you know the sounds, the right ones, that’s when she expresses the pleasure of being at sea and you know also the sounds that are the signals of a problem.
Anyway, we got up, the morning was gorgeous of course and the coffee made it even more so, jumped into that ridiculously crystalline water and saw the hordes of critters, some swimming lazily below us, some nibbling on the corals, others — the big ones — chasing the small ones, and everything was so huge and peaceful.
First we wanted to see the island and the Apo Island Trail that we’ve seen pictures of. We rowed ashore, pulled the dinghy above the tide line and went to one of the houses there. A ranger dressed only in shorts, cigarette hanging from his lower lip — picture a half naked bum from your favorite train station — greeted us. We inquired about the a path, the trail. This puzzled the ranger.
“A path? You can try to go to the lighthouse, maybe there is a path there. But I don’t know where it leads.”
His smile was stained with half rotten yellow teeth. Now we were the puzzled ones. We thanked him and turned around.
“Also you have to pay an entrance fee.” Unlike the requests at many other places in the Philippines this fee is official. And it goes back to the park (Apo Reef is a national park). We said that we din’t bring any money and that we will come later.
The lighthouse was just few minutes away. No sign of no path, though. But the fence around the lighthouse, which was embellished by a barbed wire, so popular in the Philippines, was open.
“I don’t think we should go there.” But the open door was just so inviting. Soon we were climbing the steep stair and stood on the platform in the middle of the lighthouse. The view was magnificent and it was immediately obvious that our dear ranger has never been here. Most of the island consists of sharp rocks and mangrove swamp. There’s a nice looking lagoon between the mangroves. South and east of the island is rimmed by a beach.
We climbed down and decided to go back around an old ranger station. That’s where we found the Trail. The trail is no more then maybe fifty meters of a passage above the mangrove swamp made out of bamboo. Quite nice actually and it ends by the lagoon. It’s definitely worth the trip to the island if you head there for diving. Don’t mind the mosquitos, they are just doing what’s in their nature and as we have found out, they do it with passion. But then, would it be marsh if there were no mosquitos?

We combed the beach for a while, the sand is real fine there, very white with tiny red particles, a ground coral. But the sun got to us and we head back for the dinghy and our snorkeling gear.
I won’t describe the world that opened for us there. Snorkeling in Puerto Galera was very nice, but around the Apo Island, it’s like swimming in an abstract painting. The variety of coral is just amazing. A memorable moment happened the second day. We were snorkeling, heads down looking what’s below us and suddenly Jana grabbed my hand. I looked at her with a grin that was supposed to be romantic (as romantic as it gets when you wearing goggles and plastic tube is sticking out of your mouth). But her eyes were wide open and she was making weird sounds.
“Ghuh guh gooh, ah.”
“Huh?” This one is actually pretty easy even underwater.
She shook her head letting me know how thick I am and jerked her head to make me look in front of us.
I froze. I opened my eyes as wide as a could and then I said:
“Oh hy goh!”
“Hah hoongehul,” said Jana.
Right in front of our eyes floated a large turtle. She winked an eye at us, moved her lower jaw as if she was chewing, then flapped her hands and swamp around us. We followed her for a bit and she didn’t seem disturbed by our presence at all. She dove down and then surfaced again to get some air and then she got tired of us and ditched us.
We spent one more night and then left early in the morning in a nice breeze. From that day on, we decided it’s time for daysailing. There are plenty of places to anchor, we can explore, and besides, sailing in the Philippines at night is ill advised. The small unlit fishermen are everywhere, there are pearl farms and fishing nets, and reefs, too many chances to hit something. We wanted to make it to Tara island, but we had such a good wind that we continued and sailed into Maricaban Bay and picked up a mooring there. The yacht club provides potable water and ice free of charge, which was a great treat. The mooring fee is 200 pesos per night.

We left early in the morning again with two or three ideas where to spend the night on the way to Coron. The anchoring turned out to be a little more troublesome than we thought. We are reluctant to anchor in more than 15 meters, because one has to drop a lot of chain and the morning exercise turns into a heavy lifting. Two anchorages that were suggested were too deep, so we headed to a bay open to the east side of Busuanga where there should be an underwater hill with a large pinnacle at about 10m. After a little searching we found the hill and spend a peaceful night there. The place wasn’t too great to spent much more time there and we were running out of veggies. We were at Coron the very next day at around lunch. We had to motor all the way, but about 2 miles from the anchorage, the wind picked up, so at least we had the honor to sail for an hour or so right through the Coron Passage(cca 2 miles wide passage between Busuanga and Coron Island)and drop the hook next to a Japanese 35′ cutter.

First we took care of Janna. Refilled the battery water, refilled diesel and LPG and took care of a handful of other small maintenance items. This took the whole morning during which Jana managed to re-read 40% of our translation, scanning for few last mistakes… we don’t ask “what page you’re at” anymore, “what percent you’re at” became more common… Long live Kindle and electronic books! What we would do without you on our small boat!
Since we mentioned diesel, we should also disclose the destiny of our fuel intake. We tightened everything up again, particularly the copper tube that exists the fuel tank, which we neglected the first time and same as before, we were able to pump the diesel out of the tank with only hand pump and when started the engine purred like a happy kitten. Seems like the connection gets loose due to the engine vibrations. We will keep a close eye on it and continue exercising a defensive navigation by staying away from danger as if we only had the power of our sails (and we long for an oar, which we will get soon). Anyway, we were happy that we were able to find the problem (fingers crossed) and that we can enjoy Puerto Galera without worrying about stinky matters such as diesel fuel. But now back to the pleasures of leisure times.
In the afternoon, we hauled our folding Dahon bikes from the forepeak and took a ride in the club launch to the shore. Immediately we were swarmed by people. We knew the reason, because our bicycles attract a lot of attention. We would like them to be more hideous or more average looking, but what can we do. We needed something small that would fit into the boat and they make the small things so techno, some would even say cute. Product designers out there, think of a folding bike, that would look ugly and deter rather then attract, will you. When we showed our bikes (with due pride) to our cruising friends from big catamaran Céluan, they smiled and wished us good luck. “Hope you can keep such nice bikes long enough to really enjoy them. This is what your bike should look like to prevent them being stolen,” they showed us their old cheap mountain bikes dripping with rust and dirt. “We keep them in the sail locker, so they are regularly sprayed with sea water. No one will even stop to check them out.” So far the bikes have been of a great value to us and we will miss them if they fall into hands of someone else, but we have prepared ourselves for that eventuality. After all, if we loose the bikes, we will have more space in the boat, we comfort ourselves in advance.

But we still have them and this day we were going to give ourselves a good workout. After all that sitting on the passage and then while finalizing the book, we really needed to stretch our legs.
We took a quick look at a map and decided to scout the base camp of diving, Sabang. We knew it’s not far and we expected few hills in our path. It really was quite close, but the hills were steeper than we thought. Our 8 gears were but a joke against those slopes. Not to mention the “tropical heat” forecasted for these days and when they do this in the tropics, they mean only a little less than 40 degrees Celsius.
Fortunately, most of the road is covered by coconut palms and banana trees, so one could say that it was actually quite cool, if it wasn’t so damn hot. There was hardly a thread dry on our clothes.
We ascended the hill heroically, sometimes paddling, sometimes walking, but all the time being watched by Filipinos and tourists as they darted by us. We got all kinds of stares, from entertainingly amused, compassionably grinning, to disproving frowns. True, you won’t see many people on bicycles here.
Finally, after one last but very steep descent we reached Sabang. To our dismay, we were greeted by hordes of Filipinos offering us everything from motorbike rides, to massages, rooms and diving lessons. They kept their distance though and we kept our momentum. We lost both when we reach the final destination, the beach. Or should I say the parking lot. From the muddy parking lot full of those small retro looking buses, tricycles and motorbikes, we watched the parking lot for diving bangkas on water. From time to time one of the boats darted out full of seals clad in black neoprene, snorkels sticking out behind their ears, bottles full of compressed air shining on their backs.

Motor vehicles of all kinds were everywhere and so were the barkers, also of all kinds. They closed in on us and we started to gasp for air. First round was about our bikes, second round about what we are going to buy from them, the third round we started to find an opening through which we could escape, which was followed by suggestions where we should go and guesses where we want to go. Neither was right on spot. We didn’t have the heart to tell them that all we want is to get out of here.
Right before the last slope that lead us to Sabang, we noticed a road sign and a road leading to Coco beach. We went for it. The concrete road soon ended and we ended up on a small steep path going through a jungle. We thought about it for a while and then decided to try another beach, which we have since discovered, called Lalaguna. We wanted to dip in the sea and we chose the path of the least resistance.
Lalaguna is a small village fringed with resorts and diving shops along the beach. Quite peaceful, no hustling, just few guests snorkeling around and few diving bangkas at the other end of the beach.
We were ready to jump into the water, but the fine sand full of red coral pieces turned into a dump full of small broken coral twigs and one had to walk slowly and chose his steps wisely. When we reached water we could walk on larger and smoother coral heads and soon we were in a waist deep water and nothing could stop us from dipping in.
We turned our faces down and watched the life below us, then wallowed in the sand full of small coral grains and then in water again. You know how it works.
Later in the afternoon, we reluctantly recollected our bikes and started to climb the slopes again. Luckily for us, from this side the slopes were really steep, far steeper than we could scale on our bikes, so we have to find excuses to walk our bikes. And since the hills were steep, we soon reached the tops and then it was a downhill ride.
When I say downhill ride, don’t envision a gung ho biker, with sprung axles, free-falling down a face of a hill, cheeks flapping in the wind. You get a better picture if you think of your grandma, squeezing brakes all the way from the top so that her scarf doesn’t fly away and the wind doesn’t mess up her perm.
But to our defense, we have the spirit, but our bikes are not made to withstand three meter jumps over gaping holes in a concrete road.
We made it home safe, spread ourselves in the cockpit and started to plot explorations for the next day…

Puerto Galera is first of all a touristy town. On the east side you will find a fishing village, but other than that you will mostly see tricycles, whose drivers constantly shout “White Beach” and “Sabang”, which are the names of the most famous local attractions.

But people come here for first class diving. Our mission wasn’t tourism, but a hunt for some fresh veggies and fruit.

We found that people here are not as friendly as the people of Olongapo. They keep a certain distance. After all, the typical foreigner they meet is a short term tourist or an expat and both mean quick money.  The younger world population that comes consists mostly of strapping divers and backpackers. Anyway, one feels like a walking wallet. On the other hand, our kind but refusing “thank you, not today” is reciprocated by smiles and not annoyed frown. The people of the Philippines are very endearing indeed.

Soon we’ve seen the whole city and also found the wet market. This market lived up to its’ name. It was really well irrigated by puddles of muddy water, blood and slime. Our sandals squelched and our nosed were picking up whiffs of strange smells as well as scents of fresh mangos, bananas, plantains and melons. We picked up one stall in the back, right next to an alley where fishermen of their wives offered the catch of the last night. We were after zucchini and this stall had them, as well as plenty of other produce.

To our dismay the fruit was a little more expensive than in Olongapo. Vegetable had comparable prices, but perhaps, because this is a tourist town and most tourists won’t buy veggies, but only fruit, the offer was adjusted to the demand.  But all the fruit is sweet and refreshing beyond belief, so we have hardly any reason to complain.

We left the market loaded down with fresh produce. The thunder roared couple of times and when the first fat tropical raindrops hit our heads, we disappeared into a small hardware shop. We politely inquired about few spare parts we might use, but we didn’t expect them to be available in a small town like this. Then we lingered by the entrance to the shop and watched the rain come down in buckets.

Suddenly we noticed few people who ran stuck out pots and buckets to catch the rainwater – a sight we haven’t seen for a long time. It’s the end of the dry season and the water is scarce. When we inquired about water at the yacht club earlier that day, we were told that we can get it from them, but sometimes there is simply not enough. It is not surprising that people catch the rainwater.

Our new appreciation of the value of water was caused by the lack of cheap laundry. The yacht club charges 60 pesos per kilo, which we found a little to expensive (we paid 22 in Olongapo). We’ve heard about laundry in town, but couldn’t find and it and besides we wanted to experiment with a new technique, we’ve known about quite some time, but never tried it.

You simply put the cloths into a bucket with detergent and water for couple of hours and use a sink plunger to squash it from time to time.  The results are quite good. The more daring of us claim that it’s even better than the 30min automatic cycle in cold water that you get in Taiwan and most of the South-East Asia. And it doesn’t use that much water.

We started to value the water more than before. Naturally on a passage across a sea, your water supplies are limited and you can’t really depend on a rainfall. But the lack of drinkable water at sea is something to be expected and we go there knowing that we have to spare every drop. On the other hand, we you get to a populated area, where people dwell year in year out, and that is surrounded by a lush greenery, you expect that water is not a problem. The lack of it, somehow makes it even more precious than water at sea, because you expect it to be there.

Then we passed by an optician and got new glasses made, because I broke one pair just few hours off Kaohsiung. We left our laundry at a small shop near the gate to Freeport and went back to the yacht club, where we met a group of mechanics from Broadwater marine. We’ve chatted with them for a bit and revealed our troubles with the engine. Young guy jumped up willing to take a look, but we told him that we are waiting for a mechanic we arranged through the Watercraft venture, but we took his number, just in case.
Than we called Spanky (real name) of Watercraft and asked about the mechanic he promised to provide today.
“Well, he’s busy, he might come tomorrow, or maybe on Monday.”
I hang the phone and called Sandro, the young mechanic from Broadwater. He said he will come at three, so we started to cook lunch. Suddenly Sandro appeared followed by a rain squall.
He asked us where are we from and if we carry vodka. We said we have something much better (home made slivovice). Then we revealed our engine and the inquiry began.

Sandro tried couple of moves we tried ourselves and then started disassembling the hoses and pumping fuel into the system in few stages. This was naturally accompanied by diesel spills, but we were quick enough to catch most of them in time and prevent too much contamination of our bilge. In the end Sandro managed to start to engine from a jerry can and then even from the tank. We were happy and celebrated by a shot of the delicious Moravian spirit.
With engine running, we were free. Except that it was Friday afternoon and we needed customs clearance out, which won’t be available until Monday. So we decided to suck it up and stay till then and do some work on our translations and on the boat.
On Monday we went to the marina office for our check. We were supposed to come at 9am. The guy at the office didn’t know anything about us, so we told him to get someone who knows something and went to port control office for our harbour clearance.
Back in the yacht club we got our customs clearance too and also the check from the marina. When we arrived, we were tied to a T dock and after two days asked to move to a different berth. So since we were at two berths the marina decided to charge us twice for water. It wasn’t much, but I said no. The basic charge is for 1000 liters. We were charged for 4000l at the first berth and then again 1000l at the other.
“You have filled your water tanks, that’s why you have used so much water,” said the clerk. I have asked him (not very politely), how much water does he think that we can carry in the boat. He just gave me a stupid grin.
“And you have washed your boat.”
“With 4000 liters of water?”
Then he gave up, but he still charged us the minimum charge for two berths.
“You were at two berths, weren’t you?” I couldn’t deny that and neither was I willing to spend another minute of my life talking to that sleazy face.

We had a lunch, prepared the boat and started the engine. We were about to cast the lines, when a guy from a yacht next to us approached Jana with some pointers about our route, especially the reef in Puerto Galera.
Then we finally left that annoying place. The wind was fresh and on the nose, so we motored, hoping to get as far from the shore as possible before the night sets in.
Once out of the bay, the wind was getting weaker by the minute and just when we were passing a flock of anchored tankers, the wind died. The engine followed. We were in a safe distance from the ships, we always keep our distance in case we loose the wind or the engine or, like in this case, both. The wind has picked up a bit, so we were able to drift-sail south away from Subic, the ships and the shore.
Oh, well. Sailing ship again. Just to be prepared for any eventualities, we disassembled the fuel lines and rigged a jerry can from which we could run the engine. We started it just to be sure that it runs smoothly and then continued under sail.
Soon we had the mainsail down and gennaker up.

We met very few fishermen or ships, only around midnight a big fat black cloud started to approach. The wind picked up and we hoisted reefed main and small jib. We rode the along the squall till the morning, when the wind died again and we knew that we won’t be at Puerto Galera before dark. The light wind conditions followed us the whole day. We run the engine for a while in the afternoon, but soon we noticed that the fuel consumption is quite high. We didn’t realize that the engine pump is actually pumping more fuel that is actually consumed and we had the return from the engine directed to the main tank. So out went the wrenches and rubber hoses and finally we had a system that worked. Except that most of our fuel was now in the main fuel tank, which is usually a good thing. Fortunately we still had about 7l in one jerry can and another one full. We decided to keep sailing and see how far we can get.
When the darkness fell we already had the jerry can rigged in the cockpit, we rewarded ourselves with a hearty dinner, this night might be quite long.
Then the seas lit up. We’ve noticed the small fishing banghas leaving the shores and filling the seascape around us. Small light were flashing yellow, green, red, blue, anything that the fishermen could buy. No idea which lights are from boats, which are crab pots and which are the terminals of a half submerged net.

Immediately we decided that we are not going for Puerto Galera. It was still about 20 miles away and we were still battling against a current. The engine was happily humming. We headed east towards the Maricaban Island and a small cove on its western tip. We will have to approach it at night, there won’t be any lights, but the skies were quite clear and the moon will soon come up. At least, once we go in the lee of the Malicaban Island the current got weaker and we were making a good speed.
We reached the cove at around midnight. I’ve prepared the anchor and Jana slowly entered the cove announcing the depth. When we reach below 6 meters we dropped little over 20 meters of chain, our beloved Rocna bit immediately and we were soon snug in the cockpit, watching the stars and the big rock cliff the loomed above us.

The morning was just… clear water, lush tropical island with a white beach sand… After a slow breakfast, the wind picked up, we sailed off the anchor and started to dream about a lunch in Puerto Galera. We decided to sail as much as possible, but our speed was below 2 knots and we still had to cover about 15 miles.
We hand steered and at about 2pm we were about 4 miles away from our goal. The wind had dies of course. We could have drifted and waited, but we chose not to, started the engine and in an hour tied to a club mooring in one of the most beautiful bays in the world.

Most important reason for getting out of Kaohsiung is that we are starting to forget what silence sounds like. We do live in the Chinese society, so there it shouldn’t be surprising that there’s a bit more noise. The Chinese are by nature playfully noisy, which is cute and most people are just unbelievably friendly, but we grew up on the Bohemian meadows, groves and peripheries of small Czech towns, we simply need a good helping of silence and quiet.

We have also received the worst Christmas present ever. In December, they closed the public toilets just next to the marina, where we stay, so we had to go to the public toilets at the ferry station across the bridge.

The walk, we didn’t mind. The eyes (and mouths) wide open stares of the local bums and their taxi driver friends, the same guys every morning, we soon started to detest. Especially Jana. I tried to walk with my chin high up, making a strenuous effort to show that I don’t care.

One day we said enough. We wanted to leave on Friday, but our departure was delayed by troubles with LPG. We were expecting to burn the rest of the gas in our last cylinder any day now, but it just wouldn’t oblige. For almost ten days we were waiting for the gas to run out, baking breads and pizzas, frying, brewing tea and coffee. Nothing seemed to be enough to deplete the gas.

Finally, Friday evening, the gas ran out. What a relief! Naturally, it was in the middle of cooking a well-deserved dinner.

We recanted the gas from a Taiwanese bottle into our American cylinders. Gravitation rocks! It usually takes us about three hours to fill our five kilo cylinders. In the meantime, we have re-sewn the cover for our roller-furling genoa, finished lazy-jacks and baggywrinkles. We had also chance to practice our machine sewing skills on a new cover for the LPG cylinders. We still need a bit of practice to get the stitches even, but the result is functional.

In the end, we’ve spent another weekend being monitored by the hysterically curious mainland Chinese tourists.

Monday morning, we have stocked up some fresh produce, packed some stuff that we stored under the dinghy on the pontoon and set out to sea to test not only our downsized propeller but most importantly our new mainsail.

We’ve complained about the problems with our propeller before. After the latest adjustment we were almost certain that it’s fine, but just to be sure we asked Volvo Penta people from Kaohsiung to come and have a look. We are hopeless amateurs after all. On the phone we first inquired, how much they charge for an hour. Well, if there is nothing wrong with your engine and we don’t have to repair anything, we can’t charge you, can we? You just got to love Taiwan! Last time engineers from Volvo Penta touched our engine was in Singapore and their negligence lead to a broken engine mount and big repair. But this time it was different. The engineers were really helpful.

Turns out, our engine was OK, the good men only suggested we ask the company to make our propeller even smaller. So back into the water (luckily the Kaohsiung harbour was quite clean those days), take the prop off, jump on the ferry to Qijin and cross our fingers hoping the grinder gets it right. He did.

Monday morning we woke up to a nice breeze and just about the time when we got everything packed, the wind died. We strolled to the breakwater where a lovely breeze slapped us on our cheeks and lifter our spirits. We ran back to the boat, too excited to walk, cast off and finally got out of the polluted harbour.

Once we passed the coast guard station, we revved the engine up and looked at each other totally amazed. Do you hear what I hear? The engine is much quieter than before. No vibrations, no nothing. The new prop worked perfectly. Also the fuel consumption should drop, we have to test it someday.

Excited about the engine we hoisted our brand new mainsail. We saw her up few times in the harbour to test the boom hardware and our lazy-jacks.

Jana was steering as usual and once the sail was up, she pushed the tiller slightly to one side, the sail filled up with air and the camber bellied out. We gasped for breath. We were completely exultant over it and we remained in the state of total joy for the next few hours, days in fact. We rolled out our genoa and struggled slowly in a light air. We allowed the engine to help us for about an hour and take us out of the shadow of the Firewood hill, which was obviously ruining the nice breeze that was blowing further out. The hill likes to do it every time. Then we began to glide over the almost flat surface of the sea, speed above three knots, north by west, towards our new abode in a small fishing harbour Xingda, about fifteen miles north.

We didn’t have to touch the sails for the next few hours. We were conveniently following the west coast of Taiwan, only once or twice we gave way to a fishing boat, mostly by slowing down.

Right before our destination there is a huge gas loading structure, which extends more than a mile to the sea, where the big tankers tie up.

We were getting closer and closer and started to discuss whether we are going to make it. We played with Janna at the borderline of the no-go zone, but soon it became apparent that we won’t be able to head high enough and will be blown down on to the structure. Quick tack and ten minutes of heading away from the coast. Suddenly the wind moved more to west. Seems like we would have made it around that gas tanker after all.

We tacked back and following a slow curve while easing the sail, we passed behind the breakwater.

From the breakwater it’s about another mile to the inner harbour. We were told that the coastguard might come to check upon us when we get there, but being a foreign boat, we watched the coast guard station and surely enough, two guys in orange overalls ran out waving and watching us in the binoculars. We responded by the same — binoculars and waving. But the guys on the other side didn’t seem to be satisfied with our waving and signaled that we should go to them. We started the engine and rolled the genoa, because the station is in a narrow passage and it was time for fishing boats to get out through there. We drifted in front of the station for a while. We refused to tie up to a nasty looking wall, about three meters high, coated with truck tires tied with thick chain.

There is rather sophisticated system for foreign yachts to register their coastal passages. But the problem is that the coast guard stations don’t have access to that system. So these guys knew nothing about us, were asking for a form that you are supposed to leave with the coast guard station at the harbour you are leaving from. In the end we persuaded them that they could call Kaohsiung and check that we really came from there.

Just a little hassle. Nothing major. We let the engine revolve slowly and sailed in a beautiful breeze into the inner harbour basin where the floating pontoon and our new base camp is.

We were greeted by our old Taiwanese friends, who own a lovely sailboat S2 9.2. They were so kind to take us for a dinner (nice Korean restaurant in Tainan) and show us around a little. The Taiwanese are extremely lovely and helpful, but don’t trust their judgment of distances. “Very far” can turn into an easy 15 minute bike ride. But these distance warnings are definitely a great way to a pleasant surprise!

We finished the day by a lovely pu-er tea on a Lagoon cat in the new Tainan An-ping marina. Thank you Brian from Lucky Grass.

The next days were like a dream come true. No people. Complete silence. During the day we revised our translation of the novel Magic garden by Taiwanese author Li Ang, at about four o’clock we would finish and set out to explore the country around on our folding bicycles. There is a wonderful fish market nearby, which sells fresh and deep fried delicacies of the sea. You walk through a narrow street, stalls on both sides. At every stall you are attacked by outstretched hand offering a taste of fish tiny and small, sushi, shrimps, small crabs, squid and what not. At the end of the street you turn around and walk along the other side. When you get back from where you started, you are stuffed!

Two days ago we returned to Kaohsiung, to give a talk at the center of the Buddhist humanitarian organization Tzu Chi. Their theme for this year is “living simple life”, so our way of life seemed quite appropriate there. The talk went quite well, apparently. Before the talk we were treated with a delicious lunch by our other Taiwanese friends Jessica and her lovely family. Another thank you!

We also wanted to meet Swiss cruisers on a cat Celuann that arrived to Kaohsiung just when we left. They came from the Philippines were they spent two years, so we were eager to get some information from them, and possibly help them arrange any repairs they might need to have done here in Taiwan.

It is national holidays because of the Chinese New Year, so we are once again living in public, this is with capital P. And capital A. In fact, it’s a big ass PUBLIC and I feel like a little startled kitten, eyes wide open, gasping for air and wishing I was somewhere far far away.

Fortunately the date of our departure and return to the quiet Xingda harbour has been set for tomorrow!