Hundreds of rock islands suspended on the water, overflowing seabed of corals, salted lakes inhabited by golden jellyfish, caves explored in kayak.
To enter, it is necessary to hurry up a quick, unusual bureaucracy: no visa is needed, but it is asked to sign the stamp imposed on the arrival on the passport.
He has no legal value, just what he attributes to him the consciousness of each traveler. It is a solemn commitment with the local children, the adults of tomorrow who will remain to supervise one of the last paradises of the planet. It contains the promise to “proceed with lightness, act kindly and explore with respect”. Do not damage what does not cause damage.
Because Palau, part of Micronesia, one of the most remote archipelagos in the Pacific, further on the Philippines and Indonesia, north of Australia, is a fragile and sublime residual residue. A overflowing ecosystem of nature, which requires a cautious approach so as not to hurt its almost total virginity.
It imposes an exhausting journey from Italy (at least a whole day between flights and transitions), repays with an incredulament, moved vision of infinity since the landing. The dominant landscape is not the usual cerulean ocean that embraces sparuti atolls, but a labyrinth of hundreds of rock islands on which, climbing and unruly grows, wild vegetation.
The islands have volcanic origin, are a UNESCO heritage and, as a whole, resemble a forest of strange green mushrooms that emerge from a liquid blue carpet. Indeed, they recall a gathering of eccentric hairstyles of variable density, perpetually dismissed by the analysis of the waves.
Palau denies stubbornness of any commonplace of the tropical holiday with stubbornness: there are no sumptuous resorts with villas-planted in the water, nor long strips of sand, but rare beaches of palm trees that can be reached via motorboat, where the premises gather for an afternoon picnic waiting for intense fire red sunsets.
This small ancestral world than ancient, at the western end of Micronesia, is an immense deception. It deludes with the apparent placidity on the surface, while hiding a feverish submerged liveliness. It holds back of vertigo, a delight both for the divers and for those who limit themselves to wearing the mask and fins.
You swim together with hypercinetic shark puppies before finding yourself hypnotized by the slow knife of a turtle; Banks of fish intent on hiding, going into and piluccia are encountered between almost 400 species of corals. An exaggerated rainbow, at the antipodes of the sky.
This land is deciphering it by living it from the sea, plowing one of the rare hotels in motion such as the Four Seasons Explorer (FourseSons.com/explorerpalau), a well -known name of the high hospitality, which here declines the luxury in line with the context: net of a spacious suite with the same horizon of the captain, the few cabins of the boat are simple, albeit with all the comforts, And a bed on which it seems to continue floating.
The kitchen is abundant and tasty, an outdoor massage with the caresses of the savory breeze brings relaxation to an unpublished summit.
The main attraction are daily excursions: towards the lagoon of the Milky Way, where you can go to sprinkle a miraculous mud for the skin, a little stinking but which was washed immediately; In the salty lake that acts as a habitat to golden jellyfish: they are found only in these waters, they are large and harmless to the touch, but it is better to trust the words of biologists and do not verify.
And then, dives that never tire and adventurous kayak trips: around and in the middle of the arch, the national symbol excavated by the erosion of the sea and the wind; Inside caves with a total darkness, between stalactites who sweat icy drops and flourishing bats at minimal altitude. Yes, it is scary as it seems, but what satisfaction to feel for a moment the illegitimate heir of Indiana Jones.
Palau is a young state: independent since 1994, already occupied by the Japanese and administered by the Americans. He has not always lived in peace: the fuels for military seaplanes used during the Second World War were remained in a cave, while a Japanese ship has sunk little off an islet.
But the fate of frontier places is also their geopolitical marginality: corals and war battles have grown on the wreck have spared the “homes of spirits”, with the frescoed walls of animal figures. Nothing esoteric: they are the constructions where the heads of the villages meet, the guarantees of the values of tradition.
Here the momentum of the contemporary has not dissolved the memory of the ancient: the elderly are buried in the courtyards, to remain close to their loved ones; Before going out, young people will remember that their actions will fall on the entire family, so present and solid is the role of the community.
The cities are ports with many locals and only a shopping center, but without any of the large global signs. Just in the capital, Ngerulmud, they made themselves take their hand: they built a huge Campidoglio model White House or rather Cuba, surrounded by a long colonnade. Impatched that the solemn falls into the grotesque: knocking on it, it turns out that the columns are empty, fake as on an old set of Cinecittà. Maybe there wasn’t enough money or, more likely, they didn’t really believe it.
Understate, the kind balance, the desire for simplicity remains imprinted: the tanks that collect rainwater to quench the inhabitants; The ocean to act as generous nourishment. There is no reason to exaggerate or deface.
It takes off with the melancholy of the end of a dream, but respecting the commitment to be responsible. Keeping the promise of ink that will remain stamped between the pages of the passport: “The only imprints that I will leave will be those washed away by the sea”.
