Palau is renowned for its Jellyfish Lake, where tourists can swim with legions of moon and golden jellyfish.

To fall away from one’s piece of earth into the blue and green rapture of Palau is not so much an act of escape as one of immersion. At a time of acute environmental reckoning, this South Pacific paradise’s much-lauded conservation policies—preserving its biodiversity to an immaculate degree--should be a model for enlightened ecotourism, not least of all by our very own government planners. Indeed, my first impression of Palau recalls the frontier piety of Palawan, which has retained its emerald-isle felicities largely through commercial and urban isolation, not by any strategic effort. Palau, if you will, is Palawan writ larger, and managed better, to great spiritual effect. Here, amidst the deliriously turquoise waters, the moist canopies of green, and the stunning marine life, one does feel that mystical communion and respiration with nature to one’s very core, and the summons to respect and protect Gaia’s ecological balance.

Two hours by plane from Manila, the nexus of islands within a barrier reef comprising the republic of Palau enlarges the Filipino traveler’s imagination of tropical nirvana, paradise-inured as we are. The difference is one of degree, not of kind, to be sure, but nevertheless resonant. Although Palau has a unique geography (as highlighted by the rarefied Jellyfish Lake), it is actually less biodiverse than the Philippines, Indonesia, and Papua New Guinea. Palau only has 1,500 species of reef fish to the latter three’s 3,000, and just over half of the corals. But Palau’s exemplary stewardship of its resources, in contrast to the systematic depredation of the others’ endowments, has made it the big winner in the environmental sweeps. The measure is quite simple: drop a piece of bread even near shore and watch fish of every stripe, dot, and color teem to one’s direction. Teem, in thick, dense, fevered droves. It is truly an amazing sight.

So, Palau is the Big Bond with Nature, an ecology lesson in real time and dimension. Diving into world-renowned sites such as the Blue Corner (a slope in the coral reef with a sharp drop-off), one marvels at large groups of butterfly fish, which shoal (or school) in strong currents, to maximize plankton feeding as well as to protect against nearby predators. Snorkeling off Ngermeaus, the islet lunch stop on the must-do Rock Islands tour, one encounters pacific white-tip and gray reef sharks, which graze past swimmers without trepidation, their horizontally oval eyes intent on their own lunch in the hovering rainbow netting of exotic fish. (Small and slender, these sharks wear a curious, “disgusted” expression, set off by a prominent brow ridge and a down-slanted mouth. At least in Palau, they have never been known to attack humans). As the eye trawls the sea bottom for those fantastical soft-coral mosaics and giant-clam colonies, one appreciates the symbiotic relationships that animate the universe below, like the “mutualism” between the Yellow Watchman Goby and the Tiger Pistol Shrimp, which rely on each other for food and protection. (The blind shrimp burrows tunnels in the sandy sediments surrounding the reefs, which likewise offer protection from predators for the small goby. The goby, in turn, stands guard at the burrow’s entrance to alert against danger, darting off intermittently to look for food.)  Even while sampling ngduul, mangrove clams, blanched in hot water and eaten with a twist of native lemon, one is never far from closing a biological circle, the dewdrop slickness of the meat a tongue-tingling caress from the nutrient-rich mangrove forests that nurture much marine life in Palau.

In the prize site of Ongeim’l Tketau, or Jellyfish Lake, where millions of “stingless” golden and moon jellyfish perform their undulating dance toward sunlight, the mysteries of creation and the delicate balance of life can actually be cupped in the palm of one’s hand. Cradling a fist-sized jelly, pulsing and amorphous, a snorkeler contemplates the divine forces that brought such a creature where it is, the rare happenstance of saltwater lakes forming out of seawater seepage into porous, landlocked depressions, taking jellyfish larvae with it, and evolution creating a mild-stinging subspecies that feeds on algae detritus instead of nettling zooplankton. Swimming in the tawny waters deepened by the shadows of the surrounding foliage-covered ridges, looking through the golden, gelatinous, throbbing haze, one apprehends the sublime orchestration that made this awesome beauty possible.

Such romantic education does come with a flotilla of practical instruction, or caution; in Palau, the traveler quickly learns that paradise carries a stiff premium and a rigid code of engagement. Strict conservancy laws are vital to the nation’s economic survival, tourism being the main industry for a population of 20,000, and the gentle but firm admonitions of the Department of Conservation and Law Enforcement whistle through the tropical breeze like an insistent susurration; no building of open fires, no cutting of vegetation, no touching of corals, no disturbing or harassment of marine life, no feeding of sharks, no littering anywhere. There are sites where fishing is prohibited, where motorized seacraft are off-limits, where there is absolutely no entry (such as the Ngerukewid Islands Wildlife Preserve, or Seventy Islands, a critical nesting site for the endangered hawksbill turtle). Visiting Jellyfish Lake, tourists are asked to put on sunscreen 30 minutes prior, as the effects of its chemistry on the lake are uncertain, and to swim gently and keep a horizontal surface so as not to disturb the jellyfish. Pets, such as cats, dogs, and monkeys, may not be taken to the Rock Islands, and it is unlawful for any person to take or collect shells within the capital of Koror without obtaining a written permit from the mayor. The Rock Island Management and Conservation Act requires tourists to obtain a US$35 permit to enter Jellyfish Lake (valid for 10 days and applicable to other Rock Islands sites) and US$25 for the use of the Rock Islands, the 200-plus, jungle-clad, limestone islets surrounded by emerald-green, shallow lagoons, where most snorkeling and diving activities are allowed. There is a raft of fishing regulations, including monthly fees for speargun, line or hook fishing, harvesting of land crabs, lobsters, and other crustasceans, harvesting of sea cucumbers, kelp, seaweed, and clams, trochus harvesting, and reef fishing with net. (It is, however, encouraged to scoop up the white limestone mud at the bottom of a cove in the Rock Islands called the Milky Way and slather all over one’s body for an impromptu, skin-softening treatment. It may be one’s only license with Palau’s natural resources). Police rangers patrol the waters to ensure compliance, although they are, at least during our visit, a discreet presence.

To understand why Palau is as pristine as it is, one has to look into what can be called the first principles of island life. Apart from being small and tourism-dependent, Palau is a lively community of clans and kinship systems, where tribal chiefs retain advisory roles in the US-style democratic government, and where clans come to the aid of unfortunate members, effectively providing a social safety net. The strong tribal traditions, despite the islands’ history of foreign domination (by the Spanish, Germans, Japanese, and most recently prior to independence in 1994, by the Americans under UN trusteeship) have resonated through the ages, with ancient beliefs such as oneness with the soil and the sea, cutting a well-worn groove in the Palauan psyche. Conservation of the natural heritage, in other words, is in the blood. “Conservation is part of our tradition,” says Aimeliik State governor Leilani Reklai. “Government merely incorporated traditional conservation areas into law.”

That Palauans remain rooted to their culture is an island charm that is palpable and immediate to any traveler. Even without the potted tourism of cultural shows and tribal displays, the authenticity of their particular outlook on life impresses. Woodcarvers carry on the tradition of ekeing out “storyboards” of Palauan legends on mahogany, fantastic and intricate handwork telling ancient tales of creation and the unity of man and nature (an interesting sidelight: the woodcarving industry got a boost when one of the master carvers served time in prison and taught inmates the craft, which has thrived with their participation), kinship ties remain sacred (one member of the 7,000-strong OFW community quips, “You make an enemy of one, you make an enemy of all”), as do a deep reverence for authority and tribal elders (at the downtown Penthouse Hotel, where eminent locals congregate, the crowd parts to let pass two men, big and burly, and in casual buttondowns; they turn out to be two of the highest chiefs of the land). In fact, Reklai, a former tourism planner, points out that Palau needs to diversify its tourism products from marine to cultural, complementing the “mainstream” diving customers with other types of travelers. “Customers want to see a complete picture of Palau, its people and culture, arts and crafts,” she says. “There should be more efforts toward creating events and activities and cultural attractions.”

But even if one never gets past the razzle dazzle of its marine bounty, a visit to Palau is well worth the rather steep cost of travel there. One can only imagine how its eco mindfulness can benefit our own tropical treasures, progressively despoiled through neglect and poor environmental planning. 

By Palauan example, conservation need not follow a strictly top-down dynamic. While close government oversight is crucial, public awareness of preservation is key. “If you inform people, they will comply,” says Ilebrang Olkeriil, director of the Koror State Government Department of Conservation and Law Enforcement. “Our task includes how to manage groups of people in small areas and how visitors are informed about the way they should dive, etcetera, through tour guides, who all operate with certificates and licenses.”

Underlining educational awareness is a respect for the local culture, she asserts. “Visitors must always remember to leave their ecological footprints behind, do not take anything but pictures and take everything you brought back with you, and all that. But there is more to these sites than just fish and corals, Palauans use them everyday.”

Indeed, one comes away from Palau with a renewed respect for the environment and a deeper consciousness of our unity with Mother Earth. It’s a lesson we fellow islanders should take to heart.