What is paradise?
It’s a haven for the weary soul, as the soul listens to the gentle waves lapping the shore. And the shore is only seven or eight steps away from your well-equipped cabana masquerading as a modern nipa hut. You walk to the beach and your feet race against the little crabs; but you don’t win. Losing is a silly yet divine grace, in this case.
But you always win at Club Paradise, a paradise of a resort nestled in the untouched and secluded Dimakya Island in Coron, Palawan. Standing the test of time is a characteristic of paradise. And Club Paradise, now owned and managed by Discovery Hospitality, Inc., has been a paradisiacal playground of white-powdery sand, cerulean sea, friendly sun and people’s wanderlust for decades now.
What makes the resort a paradise is it is a sanctuary for the tired spirit, as the spirit ogles the beauty of nature —azure sky with rolling clouds in daytime and pitch-black horizon at night, pierced by the stars winking from afar. But the stars hide in the clouds when rain begins to pour. Raindrops wend down the wooden baluster at the porch. The pitter-patter on the roof of the suite is a hymn, a melody, a verse, a rhyme. A prayer.
God created a paradise on earth because the living ought to experience heaven on earth. It is where relaxation is at its best state. Peace of mind is the order of the day — after all, peace is a currency of the weary mind. Peace is a priceless commodity because it brings stability to one’s mental health. When mental health is at its optimum, everything becomes a breeze. The paradise on earth affords that.
Having said that, Club Paradise is a retreat for the ever-spinning mind, as the mind is lulled by the symphony only nature can create, that only nature can pamper you with. The shy sigh of the blackish-orange heron that perches on the veranda of Firefish restaurant, where diners feast on grilled octopus, grouper, mussels, prawns. kinilaw (ceviche) at Firefish is heaven-sent to those craving raw bite-sized chunks of tanigue. It’s sour and spicy without losing the taste of the sea. The bistek Tagalog has the right amount of fresh onion rings on top of the tender sirloin, so tender the meat does not wrestle with the teeth; it just melts in the mouth, almost. Only, I’m half-wishing the meat is suspended a little bit on the fat. But the paradise must be concerned about my health, so no fats in my bistek Tagalog, which, if my untrained gustatory membrane is correct, has a hint of honey that complements the savory dish. One of the dinner specialties at the restaurant is a boodle-fight style entrée of everything grilled: squid, prawns, crabs, liempo (ooh, with taba), chicken inasal, okra, and eggplant. It comes with chili crabs oozing with aligue. And since it’s a boodle fight, spoons and forks are not present on the table. Sarap!
Oh, if at lunchtime a stout, blackish-orange heron lands on your table, chances are, that is George. George makes dining at the restaurant delightful. Imagine a bird that acts like a human being, breaking bread with you. If it’s not George, maybe a monitor lizard, fat and friendly, becomes an uninvited guest at the dining room, stealing your attention from ogling the calming beach in front. What an experience.
Walking around Club Paradise means making friends with many monitor lizards. It’s almost bizarre yet entertaining at the same time to witness the rickety sneer of monitor lizards as they wobble their way out of human sight, perhaps never wanting to be disturbed. And to the bushes — lush and verdant — they retreat.
There are hundreds of monitor lizards in Club Paradise. Don’t worry, you don’t see them all at once. But you hear them when they make love because they are so passionate they fight and hurt each other in the process. You get comfy with one or two who will walk with you from your cabana to the beachfront. Or one monitor lizard will size you up as you take refuge under a tree, before it lets you be.
The monitor lizards are always showstoppers. They know how to negotiate with guests for some attention. You give in. You follow them. You go in a trance as they wobble here and there. You almost expect them to perform a miracle by talking to you. You get attached to them in time. Until the scaly, four-legged creatures become your friends — in paradise.
Guests of Club Paradise have grown accustomed to seeing fauna at the resort. Just a few meters away from the shore, snorkelers run after pawikans foraging on the ocean floor. A sighting of dugongs is not promised but they inhabit the waters and show up at their own pleasure. Stingrays dance underwater with other denizens of the deep. A shoal of jackfish entertains as they form a big spiral that gets disrupted at the slightest flipping of your fins.
Club Paradise is a paradise because it is a refuge for the body assailed either by time or the time the body did not give itself — for a long, long time. And refuge means finding comfort in the arms of your friends; in my case, with my best friend Christine Dayrit, our dear friend Mel Martinez and our Texas-based “brother” Edwin Santos. Friendship is gold. It shines. Especially in paradise.
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