Foggy lenses and purple scooters: a photographer's Puerto Princesa chronicle

i landed in puerto princesa after a three-hour delay that had me chewing on my own anxiety like it was gum. the airport was a shed with more fans than sense, and the humidity hit me like a wet blanket the moment i stepped outside. i checked my phone-weather app said 21.4°C, feels like 21.8, humidity 86%-basically, the air was a warm, damp towel that never quite left my skin. perfect for sweat, not so much for camera sensors.

i’d come to chase the legendary golden hour that photographers on instagram never shut up about, but i also wanted to escape the crowds that swarm the underground river like bees on honey. i’m a freelance shooter, which means i’m always hunting for that untamed frame that hasn’t been Instagrammed to death. i’m also perpetually sleep-deprived, which makes everything look a little more dreamy, or maybe that’s just the humidity fogging my viewfinder.

i rented a scooter-actually a beat-up purple motorcycle that looked like it survived the vietnam war-and i asked the landlord, “where’s a spot that’s not on every tourist map?” he scratched his head, muttered something about “the coordinates that will make your heart race,” and scribbled 10.3197,119.3408 on a napkin. i’m not one for numerology, but i typed it into google maps and a little dot appeared deep in the jungle, far from the paved roads. i thought, why not? i packed an extra silica gel pack, my kit (a Sony a7R IV with a 24-70mm f/2.8, a polarizer, and a cleaning cloth that’s seen better days), and hit the road.

the ride out of town was a blur of tricycles, stray dogs, and mango stands spilling onto the pavement. soon the asphalt gave way to gravel, then to a barely-there path that wound through rice paddies and thick foliage. i saw monkeys watching me from the trees like they knew i was out of my depth. after about an hour of jostling over potholes that could swallow a tire, i reached the end of the road and had to trek on foot. the air grew cooler under the canopy, but the humidity clung like a second skin.

i finally arrived at a waterfall that locals call “dampig” (or something that sounds like “damned big”). it cascaded down a limestone cliff into a crystal pool, surrounded by ferns that looked like they’d been Photoshopped. i set up my tripod, tried to adjust my aperture, but my fingers were slick with sweat. i took a few shots, wiped the lens, took more, and hoped the salt in the air wouldn’t corrode my gear. i’d love to say the light was perfect, but the clouds kept playing hide-and-seek, giving me a lesson in patience.

A purple motorcycle stands in front of a building.

i sat on a rock, catching my breath, when an old fisherman-type guy with a toothless grin approached. “someone told me that waterfall gets angry after heavy rain,” he warned in broken english. “flash water can come quick. you watch for the sky, not just the water.” i nodded, tucked that advice into my mental backpack. later i read on a TripAdvisor thread that the trek is “intense but worth it, just don’t go alone.” i’d already bonded with the fisherman, so i felt less alone.

the next day i headed to the famous underground river, but i took a different route, past the town of sabang. the river there is a broad, slow-moving vein of brown water flanked by mangroves. the image below doesn’t do it justice, but it’s a glimpse of that lonely beauty.

i stopped at a roadside eatery called “kuya j’s” and ordered adobo and rice. the lady sweating over the grill gave me a smile that said she’d seen a thousand hungry travelers. the meal cost 80 pesos, and it was the best thing i’d ever eaten after a morning of sweating buckets. i later found a Yelp review that called it “a hidden gem with flavors that slap your taste buds awake.” i’d agree.

i also wandered through the town market, where stalls overflow with dried fish, mangoes, and bundles of herbs i couldn’t name. i bought a pack of “boto” seeds that a botanist friend would probably go nuts over. the market was a maze of shouts and colors, but i kept my camera close-pickpocketing is a real concern, even in sleepy towns.

i read a bit on a local expat forum about “the best hidden beaches in Palawan.” one thread said if you get bored of the jungle, the white sand of el nido is just a few hours by boat, and the cliffs there look like they’re from a movie set. i made a mental note: next trip, i’ll bring a waterproof housing.

i also read a tip on a Palawan travel blog that suggested storing lenses in ziploc bags with rice when not in use-apparently it absorbs moisture like a champ. i’ve been doing that and so far, no fungus.

i took a short trip to a nearby island where i found this view: a town built along a river, houses on stilts, kids diving off a bamboo platform. it felt like stepping into a postcard that hadn’t been printed yet.

i’m writing this from a hostel dorm where the fan sounds like a helicopter and someone’s snoring like a chainsaw. i’ve edited the waterfall photos and they came out okay-some grain, some blur, but they feel honest, like the place itself. i might upload them to my site and see if any clients bite. until then, i’m sleeping with my camera strap around my wrist, paranoid about theft and also just attached to the thing after all we’ve been through.

if you ever find yourself in puerto princesa, rent a scooter, get lost, and talk to the locals. they’ll point you to spots that don’t appear on any map. just bring extra batteries (the heat drains them), a rain cover (the sky opens without warning), and an open heart. and if you happen to see a scrappy purple bike with a guy covered in sweat pointing a lens at everything, say hi-i’ll probably be there, chasing the light, slightly sleep-deprived but happy.

Foggy lenses and purple scooters: a photographer's Puerto Princesa chronicle

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