Taking a breather

After slogging through 6 months of 7-day workweeks (occasionally punctuated by 1-day breaks) and vainly wishing for a long vacation, I finally got a downsized version of my wish -- a weekend jaunt to the island resort of Boracay (some 200 miles south of Manila).

With some deft plotting, I managed to wrest a weekend off from work with no pressing deadline hanging on my coattails. Despite some snags (less than 10 hours to get my stuff packed, July is generally rainy, and some pals canceled at the last minute), we eventually set foot on boracay's famed white beaches tired, slightly wet, and parched.

Like most city dwellers, I hadn't counted on making so many stops before reaching our destination [taxi ride to the airport, a 50-minute plane ride to kalibo, a 15-minute tricycle (no taxis around these parts folks) dash to the bus terminal, followed by a 1-hour plus bus trip to caticlan, a 20-minute boat hop to the island itself, then another 20 minutes spent on a noisy tricycle ride to Boat station 1]. By the time we arrived at the beachfront, we were pretty much worse for the wear. After walking a good distance lugging our heavy backpacks and hoping the rain wouldn't break any minute (it didn't, luckily), my friends and I finally decided on this quaint inn roughly 25 meters away from the water. Since it was off-peak season, we managed to negotiate a better deal for our 3-day stay (if you hadn't booked on advance, it's always better to scout and compare your options before you decide on a place to stay).

We staggered to our rooms, pushed off our heavy loads, and plopped on our beds groaning and making wisecracks about the sorry state of our spine. Unpacking didn't take long; a few minutes later, we were out hunting for a good place to eat.

Sights and Sounds of Bora

Dining in boracay is as easy as falling off a horse, even for the most timid of explorers, because restaurants, bars, cafes, grill houses, turo-turo, you name it -- they're all over the place. in fact, there's no direction you can turn to (except maybe the beach) without stumbling over one of them. And the array of culinary styles being offered is as eclectic as the island's visitors and long-term dwellers: native, French, continental, seafood, Chinese, Korean, etc.

And of course, there's the ubiquitous presence of boutiques and souvenir peddlers, as well as various items and services being sold or rented -- boat trips, massage (courtesy of blind masseuses), funky tattoos, internet and online gaming, biking/diving/surfing gears, baked goods, electronic gadgets and components, labrador puppies, etc. It's like the whole beachfront has become this sprawling, hodge-podge marketplace where tourists clad in casual wear and various swimming gears rub shoulders with laidback locals and busy shop owners, each one intent on doing his/her own thing.

[If somebody asked me to come up with a fitting mantra for this place (if ever it needs one), it would have to be: Anything Goes in Boracay]

It is also noteworthy that there are a couple of shops here that sell or exchange second-hand books (presumably left behind by tourists) in various languages. I saw four huge bookcases of them, mostly in English, French, German and Spanish, at the inn where we were staying. They included standard bestsellers, romance novels, diet guides, business text, self-help/spiritual titles, technical manuals, even children's books -- if nothing else, they served as a testimonial to the demographics of the island's visitors: families, expats, business types, techie types, yuppies, vacationers, etc.

What i find most interesting though is the mix of languages that virtually transformed the place into something like a global village. Walking along the beach, you'll soon hear somebody rattling off in the local dialect, or maybe in Tagalog, Ilonggo, or Cebuano (three of the Philippines' major dialects). English, of course, is spoken practically everywhere: it's the accent you need to watch out for if you wish to distinguish the Brits from the Yanks, Canadians, Kiwis, or Aussies. Occasionally, you'll hear somebody utter something in Korean, German, French or Dutch. And it's not unusual to find multilingual innkeepers and shop attendants here. I suppose they need to be, in order to thrive in this culturally diverse setting.

Music is continually played here -- reggae, adult contemporary, jazz, hip-hop, R&B, soul, alternative, OPM. It all depends on where you are and what type of scene you prefer.

The beach, of course, has been and continues to be a subject of countless articles and features (print, TV, news, blogs, etc.), so i won't add to the clutter by stating the obvious, except to say that while you're here your holiday won't be worth what you paid for it until you've tested the waters. Go figure.

My Take

Visiting Boracay in July is a bit like arriving at a party when all the VIPs have gone. The food, drinks, music and everything else are still there but you know that no matter what happens next (barring some spectacular disaster, knock on wood), chances are it won't get featured in the next day's papers. Still that was fine with me, because it's hard to relax when you're being hemmed in by sunburned, sweaty and tipsy bathers, who seem to sprout everywhere during peak season. Plus, prices are a bit more wallet-friendly this time of the year, and you have more time to explore and less distraction when you're trying to meditate.

The next two days flew by like a blur. The occasional drizzles were a pain, but we didn't let them spoil our fun (swimming, eating, sightseeing, rambling, buying stuff). Oddly enough, i didn't really swim all that much. I was content to bask in the ambience of the place, and welcomed the chance to slack off for a bit. The island's leisurely pace was a form of seduction, and the easy camaraderie among vacationers who came here to relax and unwind was a marvel to see. It's like we were sharing this unspoken bond (regardless of our background, race or age) of putting our busy lives on hold to snatch this delicious moment of inactivity while the rest of world hurtled to its destination... somehow their presence feels like a kind of validation.

A Journey's End

The temptation to stay longer was strong, but reality (not to mention the cost of living) is a powerful taskmaster. Before we knew it, it was time to leave. *sigh*

After packing off our things and the requisite jumble of souvenirs, we went for a last swim, then snapped gazillions of pictures and checked out some more shops. To my delight, i found his charming LOTR-inspired English pub (The Hobbit House) among a gaggle of pricey boutiques. Somehow, it provided a rousing finale to my all-too-brief holiday.