there are two schools of thought when it comes to lobster rolls in Maine. The first kind, which you’ll find at Five Islands, is a lobster salad coated with a gossamer-thin gloss of mayonnaise, salt, and pepper. The other kind of lobster roll, which they do best at Red’s in Wiscasset, is simply a warm lobster plucked from his shell and put into a toasted bun and drizzled with melted butter. Most Mainers will argue at length about which version is the authentic Maine lobster roll, but frankly the point is moot. They both rock.
Just like lobster rolls in Maine, every country, state, or city has its own hidden gems if you know where to look. It’s the same in the Philippines. In a country with more than 100 million inhabitants, it’s mind-boggling to realize that few locals have ever traveled to the southern island state of Palawan. With its sky blue water, fresh produce, and incredible seafood, Palawan seems like heaven on earth—yet this picturesque locale is without a doubt the island less traveled. Simply put, people don’t know it exists. Sitting to thenorth and east of Puerto Princessa, Boracay is the siren of the Philippine islands, luring in tourists with its famous diving, snorkeling, and beautiful beaches. Puerto Princessa is just a quick stopover on the way to someplace better. And I get it. It’s not the most charming town. But it’s the gateway to the rest of the island, which, simply put, is absolutely perfect if you prefer real, working beach towns to the all-inclusive, resort-lined streets of what used to be a working village, but now relies 100 percent on a tourism-driven regional economy.
Boracay may have great underwater activities, but you’re not going to find a lot in the way of honest and authentic culture there, especially when compared to Palawan. For me, going to the last stop on the subway means actually going where the locals go, eating what the locals eat, and doing it in a place that still maintains its sense of local relevance. In a world that is becoming flatter every day, where globalization has killed so much indigenous food culture, these end-of-the-line locales are the last unspoiled destinations for travelers craving a real experience.
Puerto Princessa houses a few decent restaurants, and I did eat some superb meals at Kinabuchs. But if you crave a one-of-a-kind experience, you have to head into the most remote section of the surrounding mangrove forests on the outskirts of the city and find the Badjao Seafront Restaurant. Mangroves are like nature’s take on the medieval walled city. These weedlike trees grow very quickly and become almost impenetrable within a few years. They densely populate Southeast Asia’s coastal wetlands, inhibiting businesses there from doing much besides aquaculture. The mangrove forests are a haven for many species of all types and provide unique coastal protection from environmental disasters of both the natural and man-made varieties.
Ask any local or tricycle driver (lingo for a bicycle or motorbike with a sidecar) and they’ll happily point you in the right direction. You turn off Abueg Road and park in a rather large field, make your way from your car to the little sign that says
Restaurant This
Way
. The Badjao Seafront Restaurant owners cut a half-mile-long wooden walkway into the jungle from the mainland side, which leads to a long, narrow teak deck. You realize about halfway down that you are walking along a wooden pathway built on stilts, and beneath you is the swampy waters off the Sulu Sea. At the end of this walkway, sitting like a glowing fireplace on a cold winter’s day, is a gorgeous teak-and-mahogany restaurant, built on top of a floating raft on stilts, poking out into the bay.
Our local tourism department contacts and I sit down at Badjao and soak up the 270-degree view of the bay, dotted with small sanpans, little fishing and shrimping boats, gliding along one of the pristine inner bays of the Sulu Sea, framed by a horizon of
Just like lobster rolls in Maine, every country, state, or city has its own hidden gems if you know where to look. It’s the same in the Philippines. In a country with more than 100 million inhabitants, it’s mind-boggling to realize that few locals have ever traveled to the southern island state of Palawan. With its sky blue water, fresh produce, and incredible seafood, Palawan seems like heaven on earth—yet this picturesque locale is without a doubt the island less traveled. Simply put, people don’t know it exists. Sitting to thenorth and east of Puerto Princessa, Boracay is the siren of the Philippine islands, luring in tourists with its famous diving, snorkeling, and beautiful beaches. Puerto Princessa is just a quick stopover on the way to someplace better. And I get it. It’s not the most charming town. But it’s the gateway to the rest of the island, which, simply put, is absolutely perfect if you prefer real, working beach towns to the all-inclusive, resort-lined streets of what used to be a working village, but now relies 100 percent on a tourism-driven regional economy.
Boracay may have great underwater activities, but you’re not going to find a lot in the way of honest and authentic culture there, especially when compared to Palawan. For me, going to the last stop on the subway means actually going where the locals go, eating what the locals eat, and doing it in a place that still maintains its sense of local relevance. In a world that is becoming flatter every day, where globalization has killed so much indigenous food culture, these end-of-the-line locales are the last unspoiled destinations for travelers craving a real experience.
Puerto Princessa houses a few decent restaurants, and I did eat some superb meals at Kinabuchs. But if you crave a one-of-a-kind experience, you have to head into the most remote section of the surrounding mangrove forests on the outskirts of the city and find the Badjao Seafront Restaurant. Mangroves are like nature’s take on the medieval walled city. These weedlike trees grow very quickly and become almost impenetrable within a few years. They densely populate Southeast Asia’s coastal wetlands, inhibiting businesses there from doing much besides aquaculture. The mangrove forests are a haven for many species of all types and provide unique coastal protection from environmental disasters of both the natural and man-made varieties.
Ask any local or tricycle driver (lingo for a bicycle or motorbike with a sidecar) and they’ll happily point you in the right direction. You turn off Abueg Road and park in a rather large field, make your way from your car to the little sign that says
Restaurant This
Way
. The Badjao Seafront Restaurant owners cut a half-mile-long wooden walkway into the jungle from the mainland side, which leads to a long, narrow teak deck. You realize about halfway down that you are walking along a wooden pathway built on stilts, and beneath you is the swampy waters off the Sulu Sea. At the end of this walkway, sitting like a glowing fireplace on a cold winter’s day, is a gorgeous teak-and-mahogany restaurant, built on top of a floating raft on stilts, poking out into the bay.
Our local tourism department contacts and I sit down at Badjao and soak up the 270-degree view of the bay, dotted with small sanpans, little fishing and shrimping boats, gliding along one of the pristine inner bays of the Sulu Sea, framed by a horizon of
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