I was out on the beach a little earlier than the previous days, but I didn’t feel like going in the water. I just sat down, sifted handfuls of sand through my fingers, and rubbed my sunburned shoulders while looking at the kind of people who’d be around at 5am. Workmen were raking the sand for rubbish and cigarette butts. Policemen riding on 4-wheelers were out on patrol. Some people lolling about in the sand looked like they’d been up all night sitting on the beach. On the waterline, mommy and daddy types were taking a morning hike with each other.

We were leaving Boracay before 9am, so Marielle, David, and I went to Jonah’s Fruitshakes at 6am. We had a great breakfast (with milkshakes!), then savored our walk back to the cottage.

And then it was time for the family to hustle. After making sure we hadn’t left anything (or anyone) behind, we took a short walk away from the beachfront to reach a two-lane road that ran the length of the island. Motorized tricycles, multicabs, and motorcycles used the road to transport goods and people, and the road branched off into smaller paths that led deeper into the island. We were taking a tricycle to get to the island’s jetty port.

I have this old postcard of Boracay that shows a vast expanse of virgin rainforest blanketing the interior of the island. I once stuck the postcard onto my dresser mirror and said that one day I’d get to go to the place in the picture. As our tricycle hauled us away from the place we’d called home for three days and three nights, I remembered my old postcard. I could finally say I’d been to the place in the picture, but the place didn’t look like the picture anymore.

From the Boracay port, we reached Caticlan in 20 minutes, then got into our rented van for the four-hour ride back to Iloilo. The long drive seemed shorter, probably because we weren’t looking forward to anything in that city other than our plane ride home. We had lunch in the town of Pototan at a roadside carinderia, where the menu options were tapsilog (tapa, rice, and egg), longsilog (longganisa, rice, and egg), and porksilog (porkchop, rice, and egg) — but they were all the options we hungry travelers needed. And at 35 pesos per person, the price was right, too.

We were in Iloilo City by 2:30pm, but our flight was scheduled for 7:20pm. In the interim, Aunt Gel’s friend entertained us at her house, where they served us La Paz batchoy from Ted’s as an afternoon snack (!!!).

We landed in Manila at 8:20. Marielle and I met our parents at the airport gates, then drove home with them, away from sun, surf, and sand toward the city’s metal, dust, and concrete.

I can’t wait to go back, and I don’t want to wait to go back, either. Some say that with the rate of damage being done to Boracay, in ten years it could be totally ruined. My dad says that the ruination of the Pasig River began when algae started multiplying and killing off the microorganisms that were the base of the river’s food chain. The algae fed on waste products that were dumped into the Pasig River, and this is what’s happening to Boracay, among other distressing developments.

There was a PCIJ report in 2003 on the ecological destruction of Boracay, and it seems greed and booming, reckless tourism are the main culprits. Something has to be done, or else Boracay will become Burak-ay.

Rome Jorge in a column on Holy Week tourism suggested some practices that tourists can adopt:

• Pick up trash found along trails, beaches and rivers even when it is not yours. Bring a sack if you have to. Dispose of it properly in urban areas.
• Patronize local products and cuisines. Pay a fair prize. For tourism businesses, employ locals and promote local themes.
• Chat with the locals. Learn their culture and history.
• Do not buy seashell lamps, tapang usa, or other wildlife products. Do not even bottle white sand. Do not light bonfires unless for emergencies. If everyone did the same thing, there would be nothing left.
• Report illegal logging or wildlife poaching. Do not stop until proper action is taken. Alert the media.
• Patronize eco-tourism programs and regional art center events.

So, to those who are looking into taking a vacation on Boracay, I would say go now but leave Boracay a better place than when you found it. Once a paradise is lost, it could be lost forever.

Tags: Boracay, Summer vacation

“Pau? Pau? Sige na Pau, punta ka na rito! Pau! PAAAAAU!!! (Come on, Pau, you’ve gotta come here already!)”

Imagine waking up to a teenage girl’s voice bellowing these words at 5 in the morning. Our cottage is actually a two-floor set of separate rooms each with their own toilet, and a group of adolescents had rented one of the four rooms on the second floor where our room was situated. The walls between our rooms were concrete, but they weren’t thick enough to shield my ears. Besides, this girl was standing right outside our door, slightly(?) drunk, yelling into her cellphone. It made me wish I’d spent the night sleeping on the beach instead.

I got up and staggered out onto the balcony, peered out over the edge, and immediately stepped back. An open-roof garbage truck had stopped right there and the truck driver was changing a flat tire.

My parents were leaving Boracay early that morning, but Marielle and I were staying on with Aunt Gel and Uncle Rene’s families for one more day. After seeing the parents off, Marielle and I went in search of breakfast. It being only 6am, we found ourselves at d*Mall looking for a place that was open early. While there was the ever-present Andok’s Chicken, the previous day we had breakfast there and the servings had been small and slow to come. So, Marielle and I sat down at Jammers, a 24-hour burger joint semi-decorated in 1950’s soda shop style. We were served good omelettes and foul-tasting mineral water by a woman who barely smiled, but she was pregnant so we left her a tip anyway.

We did some more sunbathing (sunburning?), then hid in the shade at Jonah’s Fruitshakes where I had a melon milkshake and moped about my pink bikini. I had bought it at Robinson’s Galleria right before we left Manila and had never swum in it until that morning at the beach. To my dismay, I found it was prone to Janet Jackson-type wardrobe malfunctions. I resolved to hunt for a replacement.

Marielle and I walked down the length of the beach after a heavy Italian lunch at Aria, where the cheese pizza is excellent. We got as far as Station 3 before our feet started telling us it was time to head back. I found a great chocolate-colored bikini by the side of the footpath, but it was priced at 1,250 pesos. My eyes bulged out at the price, but I decided to splurge on it for my own peace of mind. (Fashion tip: well-endowed women will benefit from halter-type swimsuits, which provide both support and coverage.)

The rest of the afternoon was devoted to food. Aunt Gel brought us to Real Coffee, a little place right around the corner from our cottage. When the television series Globe Trekker featured Boracay, they showed their host patronizing the shop. I avoided a clump of dog poo on the path, but as I sniffed for odor, my nose was instead filled with the aroma of freshly baked goods. “It smells good here, so that’s a good sign,” I quipped as we entered.

The American lady behind the counter said her calamansi cakes were just about ready to come out of the oven, so we couldn’t resist trying them. She was the owner of the place and seemed like she was enjoying the laid-back lifestyle such a business gave her. As she served us and the other customers, she bopped to music playing on the small transistor radio. “I love this song,” she announced as the Square Heads’ single “Happy” started playing. She dispensed with electric coffee makers by brewing coffee using only a pot, a paper coffee filter, and a coffee machine’s funnel. We left Real Coffee feeling like we’d experienced something of the old Boracay.

Marielle and I headed back to the beach to bake — er, I mean chill out. The previous day, the owner of the Glimmer body art stall had introduced himself and one of his friends, and as we sat there waiting for sunset he, his friend, and another guy sat down with us. All three of them were businessmen, but two were based in Manila and had only come for a vacation. The owner of Glimmer had settled on Boracay and ran both his stall and an Ice Monster franchise.

We left the guys to have dinner at Hawaiian Barbecue, which was also near our cottage. (I don’t think we got out much during our stay on Boracay.) The restaurant was run by the same people who owned the Singing Cooks and Waiters Atbp. restaurants in Manila, and if they weren’t so concerned about providing fast fuss-free food service in Boracay, our waiters would have gladly displayed their vocal chops.

After stuffing myself and feeling like I didn’t belong in a bikini anymore, Marielle and I had coffee at Cafe del Sol, where the three guys joined us. We gabbed until midnight, when our internal Cinderella decided to go home. I had decided to wake up extra early. After all, we were leaving Boracay at 8am and I didn’t want to waste every last second I had on the island.

To be continued…

Tags: Boracay, Summer vacation

(Note: Sorry for the suspense. I like my weekends tech-free these days. Ü)

I woke up disoriented and wondering where I was. Then I realized I still had sand between my toes. I got out of bed while the rest of my family was still sleeping. It was 5:30am, but the sun had already crept up behind us. The sky was grey, the beach was deserted, and nobody was around except for the delivery truck that passed under our private cottage balcony as I emerged from its sliding doors.

I went off for a walk up the beach and managed to see a few of the more famous sights on Station 1: Cocomangas, Fridays (with the best-kept sand on Boracay), and some private property owned by the Elizalde family. Okay, so I only saw their beachfronts and fences, but it was a great walk anyway. On my way back, however, I also saw the more infamous sights of an overpopulated beach: green algae clouding the clear water (their enthusiasm for growth is encouraged by island sewage seeping into the ocean), and human refuse poking out of the sand and floating in the water. Boracay is no unspoiled paradise, and I walked back to the cottage with a heavy heart.

Aunt Gel had booked an island-hopping tour for our three families, so we all got into a small motor-driven roofed boat with skids on the sides and made our way out to sea. We went to this island but didn’t disembark because of the huge waves crashing on its beach. Then we came to a supposed snorkeling area, where I got into the water. The coral wasn’t very well kept and the colors weren’t even vibrant, and the only fish there were fingerlings. I was charged twenty pesos as a snorkeling fee, but the fee was collected by this man paddling a canoe. I don’t really know where that money goes because the place wasn’t even impressive. (In other words, I really mean to cry “Corruption!”)

The best part of the island-hopping deal was landing on Puka Beach. It was actually back on Boracay, but on the other side of the island. Though the sand wasn’t as fine, the spit of beach was short, and the waves were stronger, it was a tranquil escape from the main beach’s commercialization and green algae. The off-season for the main beach lasts from July to September, since that side of the island is lashed by the seasonal winds known as Habagat. Puka Beach, however, is perfect at that time of year.

We got back to the main beach after lunch. I had my hair done in cornrows, and also got a temporary glitter tattoo at the Glimmer Art booth near our cottage. Marielle and I sunbathed for a while, then watched the sun slip beneath the waves. And then it was time for dinner. A resort called Ban’s also runs an ihaw-ihaw on the beachfront, so we had some broiled fish and pork for dinner. The food was great but the music was loud and terrible.

After dinner, Marielle and I went to explore d*Mall in Station 2. It’s a commercial district populated by restaurants, souvenir shops, and clothing stores with its own plaza. We discovered the Lemon Cafe and had its specialty Belgian chocolate flourless. We wanted to make plans to bring the parents back there, but it wasn’t to be: they were leaving ahead of us early the next morning.

To be continued…

Tags: Boracay, Summer vacation

My sister Marielle, my cousin David, and I decided to walk down the beach to take in the sights. We left the rest of the family — Uncle Rene and his wife and three kids, Aunt Gel and her daughter (David is her son), and our parents — at the cottage.

According to Aunt Gel, who honeymooned on Boracay in the 1980’s, two decades ago there were no commercial establishments on the beachfront itself. There used to be about fifty meters between the shoreline and the first of the rows of private houses and mom-and-pop resorts. Of course, two decades ago there was also no electricity on the island and only gas lamps provided illumination at night.

Twenty years make a big difference. As the night darkened around us, neon and fluorescent lights flicked on. We were walking on the footpath in front of the beachfront buildings, about a car’s width plus two feet on either side. On the beachward side of the footpath some restaurants had marked out their al fresco dining areas under the coconut trees, where strategically-positioned speakers blared out reggae, chillout, and rock music.

Clothing was also for sale, including the obligatory touristy souvenir shirts and caps with “Boracay” printed on them. Small stalls at irregular intervals along the path sold jewelry or hair braiding and henna tattoo services, and one of them sported a sign with a Korean greeting written out in the Latin alphabet. I said it out loud jokingly (I’d heard a Korean friend say it before, so I knew how it should sound) and all of a sudden the girls who were tending the stall got all excited, yelling the greeting at me. “I’m not Korean!” I exclaimed, and scurried away with Marielle and David. Apparently, Koreans make up a big portion of tourists to the island; some of the bigger establishments along the beachfront have signs with Hangeul characters on them.

I was surprised to see three Internet cafes along our route, but I shouldn’t have been because there was cable television back at the cottage. The island has two or three tall spires with satellite dishes providing telecommunications support: cable television, internet access, and cellphone signals.

With a jolt, I remembered that I had registered for the second Philippine blogging summit, to be held on April 18 — the next day — back in Manila. I had forgotten that our Boracay trip was scheduled on the same week. I shook my head and tried to shed a sudden impulse to enter one of the cafes and digitally splash a huge notice on my websites proclaiming “I’M IN BORA! W00T!”

We three seemed to have been walking in a straight line for hours, but when we met with the rest of the family for dinner at Sealovers Restaurant, it was only about 7pm. Time seemed to pass slowly on the island, in stark contrast to Manila’s frenetic pace. As a result, people took their time; unfortunately, the restaurant staff also took their time with our dinner orders. It took them an hour to get everything together, so David, Marielle, and I got bored and hungry and decided to look for someplace that served barbecued street food, like isaw. By the time we got back with twenty sticks of pork barbecue, the orders were on the table and we all proceeded to stuff our faces.

Tired from our long land trip, our evening ended early at 9:30pm when we all returned to the cottage. I barely heard the sound of live music from the bars up the beach as I drifted into sleep.

To be continued…

Tags: Boracay, Summer vacation

I have this calendar with the special days of the year marked as red-letter days. Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, however, were marked off as April 20 and 21 (they’re really supposed to be on the 13th and 14th of April). I think my Uncle Rene had the same misprinted calendar because he was the instigator of the whole Boracay trip. “We’ll arrive there on Monday, April 17, and leave by Thursday when the Holy Week crowd starts coming in,” he told my Aunt Gel after he’d shelled out for expensive PAL tickets. “Holy Week? But Holy Week falls on the previous week!” my Aunt Gel informed him. Too late: earlier flights had been booked up, so we had to stick to the strange schedule.

To save money, my mom and Aunt Gel plotted a way around the inflated PAL ticket prices. We’d take a morning flight out of Manila to Iloilo, where we would rent a private shuttle that would drive us to Caticlan. From there, we’d take a jetty to Boracay Island.

I didn’t think the five-and-a-half hour drive would have us going out of our minds and trying to scratch our way out through the windows of the Nissan Urvan, but we started out late at 12 noon from Iloilo. I pronounced a gloomy outcome by the third hour: “We’ll get to Boracay with the sun setting.” We wanted to catch a few rays and start on our tans, but the sea had already swallowed up the sun by the time we got into our swimsuits and out of our cottage on Station 1.

Then again, they say the fun starts when the sun goes down.

To be continued…

Tags: Boracay, Summer vacation

I’m just writing this to let everyone know I got back safely from the beach trip. I’ll write more in a few days. Ü Meanwhile, the rest of Metro Manila seems to have descended on Boracay over the weekend…