Exploring Puerto Princesa, Palawan For The First Time!

The plane descended, and as the clouds parted, I caught my first glimpse of Puerto Princesa, Palawan—an island I had heard about in passing, yet never visited. I had traveled far and wide, from bustling cities in Europe, Australia, and North America, to tranquil temples in Japan and Korea, yet somehow, I had never set foot in this part of my homeland. The irony wasn’t lost on me as the plane landed; this was my first time in Palawan, despite having been to places half a world away.

Stepping off the plane, the humid, tropical air greeted me, thick with the scent of sea salt and adventure. Puerto Princesa, the city named after a Spanish princess, carried a charm both familiar and new. It felt like returning to a place I should have known all along, but instead, it was a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

My first taste of the island came in the form of its local delicacies. At a small, unassuming eatery by the bay, I savored tamilok—the famous woodworm delicacy that I had hesitated to try. Slimy, yes, but there was a briny sweetness to it that spoke of the sea and mangroves where it was harvested. I had tried dishes from far-flung countries, but this—this was a flavor rooted deep in the Philippines.

With each bite, I felt more connected to this land, as though the very essence of Palawan seeped into my being. How strange to think I had overlooked this, yet traveled thousands of miles for flavors far less unique.

The following day, I ventured to Honda Bay, its waters so clear they mirrored the skies above. Island hopping was a delight—a mosaic of vibrant corals, curious fish, and soft, powdery sands beneath my feet. Every moment in the water was a celebration of nature’s beauty, the kind of beauty that, again, had always been within reach. Yet it had taken me years of exploring foreign beaches to find this one.

As dusk approached, I made my way to the Kito-kito Firefly Sanctuary. The sanctuary seemed like a world apart, where the quiet of the mangroves wrapped around me like a protective embrace. The boat glided gently over the dark waters as I looked up at the canopy. Then, one by one, the fireflies appeared, blinking softly until the trees around me were lit with thousands of glowing orbs. It was as if the stars had descended from the heavens, shimmering all around me, in a silent, sacred dance.

I found myself drawn into Puerto Princesa’s rich and sometimes somber history. I stood in front of a modest memorial that honored the sacrifices made during World War II—the Palawan Massacre. The quiet of the place was palpable. Here, brave souls had faced unimaginable horrors, defending their country against invaders. The city’s resilience echoed in the stories of those who survived, and those who didn’t. History, I realized, was more than the grand narratives I learned in textbooks or foreign museums—it was alive in these places, in these people. And for once, I wasn’t a distant observer in another country; this history was my own.

I sat in awe, the stillness of the moment filling me with a sense of peace and belonging. For the first time, I wasn’t just a traveler. I wasn’t a stranger wandering foreign lands. I was home.

In Puerto Princesa, I had rediscovered something I didn’t even know I had lost—a connection to my homeland, to its stories, its flavors, its beauty. The world is vast, yes, and there are wonders everywhere, but sometimes, the greatest treasures lie in places we’ve overlooked, places that have always been ours.

As I packed my bags to leave, I realized that the journey hadn’t just been about exploring Puerto Princesa. It had been about exploring myself, and learning that no matter how far I travel, there will always be more to discover right here—on the islands I call home.