I remembered the superstition about one’s puyo as I struggled to steer my ocean kayak into deeper water. The winds kept on pushing me towards Dos Palmas Arreceffi island, and my oar occasionally grazed the sea grass that grew on the ocean floor. We arrived at the resort a day earlier, and much of the time had been spent relaxing. A massage had ironed out all the kinks in my muscles, and I spent a whole afternoon dozing in a beachside cabana, lulled to sleep by waves gently lapping the shore. This did not hinder me from getting a night of sound, undisturbed and dreamless sleep. Now, after a hearty breakfast of fried rice and lamayo, dried salted fish, dipped in delicious chili-tinged vinegar, I had enough energy to kayak around the island. The activity was supposed to take only 40 minutes, but because of the uncooperative wind, it was going to take a bit longer.
I dipped my oar into the water, startling a small silver fish that jumped directly into my kayak. He lay there gasping for breath, and I gingerly scooped him up and threw him overboard. None the worse for wear, he quickly darted for cover among the undulating blades of sea grass. However, the wind took advantage of my momentary lack of concentration and pushed me closer to the mangrove. The base of the kayak scraped against the sandy bottom. The water was too shallow and I was close to being beached.
Pushing against the twisted roots of the trees and occasionally digging into the sand, I rowed towards deeper water. While navigating through the clear but narrow spaces between the mangrove trees, a blue kingfisher darted into a cluster of shrubbery. Was a kingfisher’s nest hidden nearby? It was tempting to investigate, but a flock of egrets suddenly descended not too far away. They pecked at the shallow water for small silver fish, and I hoped that the just-rescued fish had enough sense to swim as far away from the birds as he could get. He already had one close call that day. I watched mesmerized as the egrets fed.
But the wind was pushing against me again, so I dipped my oar into the water to steady the craft. The birds looked up, startled to see me close by. They quickly flew away – a white, frightened cloud. I watched them until they turned into specks of white against blue sky, and then rowed on.
While passing the uninhabited portion of the island, I squinted to get a better view of the shoreline. The staff at the resort said that sea turtles visit the island sometimes to lay their eggs in the warm, white sand. A batch of sea turtle eggs hatched recently and it would have been wonderful to witness the event. There had been sightings of dugongs or sea cows, too. I carefully scrutinized the ocean bottom hoping to come upon one grazing in the sea grass. But perhaps, I would be luckier on another day.
Without realizing it, I was back at starting point near the resort’s receiving area. A sizeable school of jacks lived there. Fishing is not allowed in the resort, and the jacks thrive on bits of bread, thrown into the water by delighted guests. Local fishermen supply Dos Palmas with freshly-caught fish and seafood. Although the resort could easily produce its own supply of dried fish, they choose to support the area’s economy by buying these from local entrepreneurs. There is a congenial relationship between the resort, the fishermen and the local community.
I hauled my kayak to the beach, and after a short rest, it was time to board the boat to Puting Buhangin where lunch was to be served.
Puting Buhangin is a sandbar that alternately gets bigger or smaller as the tides ebb and flow. Shells of various sizes and color litter the white, soft sand, and several huts and trees provide protection from the hot noonday sun. Starfish dig into the moist sand and, on the day of out visit, a huge jellyfish was stranded on the shallows. After ascertaining that it was the harmless variety, we gently pushed it to deeper water.
The Dos Palmas spread at Puting Buhangin is always something to look forward to. There are pork and chicken and beef. However, the fresh and abundant seafood is undoubtedly the highlight of the feast. We had fat, fleshy crabs, lobster, prawns and a huge unicorn fish grilled over smoldering coals. A salad of lato (ararosep or seaweed) and tomatoes was a beautiful contrast of color and flavor. Slightly tart, deep red tomatoes went well with the briny, crunchy sweetness of the tiny, deep green sea grapes. A kilawen or ceviche of marlin was wonderful – neither too sour nor bland, with slivers of sweet white onions lending contrast to the dish. Green mango was served with shrimp bagoong, and, although everyone already had multiple servings from the buffet, the attentive Dos Palmas staff encouraged us to sample an array of sweet tropical fruit for dessert.
Everyone enjoyed the meal. There is certainly something about the sea breeze that whets up the appetite. An added bonus was the scenery, the camaraderie, and the easy, relaxed pace. Definitely, the setting and the company one keeps are important components of a memorable meal. The experience affirmed the contention that the essentials of the "perfect meal" do not comprise just the flavors in your mouth. More importantly, it involves the stimulation, satisfaction and enjoyment of all the senses.
An avid angler named E. Donnall Thomas has this to say about the sport of fishing: "Fish come and go, but it is the memory of the afternoons on the stream that endures." I daresay it is the same for those of us who enjoy eating and food trips. Meals come and go. But likewise, it is the experience and the memory of the meals that endure.