Boracay Surprises

Boracay has been done to death in travelogues. The island has been rhapsodized in newspapers and magazines to the point that it has gotten difficult for a writer like me to scour for new stories, new experiences, new epiphanies to share to the reader. But I was determined to find something new to add to the Boracay lore. It all may seem pointless especially when one starts recalling the pages and pages of editorial paeans that had been devoted to the island. Trying to find a story (a new one, at that) ensconced somewhere on the beaches of Boracay may seem as difficult as climbing a hill with a boulder on one’s back. Anyway, I was still eager to take on the job: call me Sisyphus with pen and tape recorder, wearing mojos, Mingus shirt and green pool shorts, and always on the lookout for a good angle.

These thoughts meandered in my head – along with the bleak, Kafkaesque prose I was reading – as the plane approached Caticlan airport. My companions and I were getting nearer and nearer our destination: balmy Boracay which is opulent with immaculate white beaches, brilliant blue waters, stretches of hotels, classy resorts as well as bars that offer practically a whole kaleidoscope of entertainment – from the 15-jigger shooter challenge at Cocomangas to the techno-meets-ethno music at the Boom Boom Bar.

We touched ground around half past 4 in the afternoon. After a road trip and a 15-minute ride on an open boat, we finally arrived in Boracay. I found out quickly that the fabulous features, the buzz, the yarn and the hype about the island as approaching near paradise-proportions were all true – well, at least to a landlubber like me.

Pearl of the Pacific

We stayed at the Pearl of the Pacific which is said to possess the longest beachfront among the hotels on the island. The Pearl is a beach and hillside resort established in the mid-90s. According to Albert Tirol, the Pearl’s VP for marketing, the hotel has played host to a bevy of events from bikini competitions to fashion shows to ballets to beach volleyballs to what-have-you.

The establishment has a total of 60 rooms. Guests can take their pick: the Suite, with its awe-inspiring view of the ocean; the De Luxe, from where guests can see the Gaugin-like landscape on one side of the island; and the Standard, a cozy and pocket-friendly alternative.

We were booked in one of the suites: the Maharlika, I think. Of course, it offers the obligatory props of modern life – furniture, bathroom, cable TV, air-conditioning, blah blah blah. But the most striking feature of the room, for me, was its balcony where you can have breakfast, listen to Bob Marley’s Legend antho-logy, while staring at the stunning seascape, which blurs magnificently into the horizon (sometimes blue, sometimes orange, sometimes violet, depending on the time of day).

Even if you’re in paradise, or at least its reasonable facsimile, you still have to eat. The Pearl has the Princesa Rita Restaurant which purveys one of the best fusion cuisine menus in the area. In fact, Pearl won in a recent cookfest with its elaborate lobster dish entry. We were also able to quaff a few bottles of brew at the Prince Albert Bar and indulge in a couple of games of pool.

Well, how about food for the soul, the pious may ask. A short walk into the mangrove area on the other side of the Pearl will take you to the Mary Queen of All Nations Chapel – with its log benches, pyramid-shaped roof, as well as stone-and-wood altar with a Jesus statue hovering over it – ideal for prayers and reflective pauses.

The Pearl also organized a short trek to a sitio called Angol. We rode a tricycle to the other side of the island, walked past a small barrio, and came upon a place which had nothing remarkable about it, at first: gaggles of trees everywhere, the remains of a dam punctuating a piece of land. That is, until we got to the Dead Forest.

The Dead Forest, as its name implies, is an area proliferated by a slew of dead trees jutting out from the swampy waters like tall, slender fingers. They caught the attention of our photographer, Fernan, who clicked away at the cluster of sad gray clumps, stumps and branches that comprise this "forest." I had to admit the place was beautiful, albeit in an eerie sort of way.

The epiphany: I never knew there existed a Boracay apart from its seas, its beaches and its colorful clichés.

Crystal Cove, sailboat rides and attempts at snorkeling

We got to talk to a long-time Boracay boatman, Mang Rudy. The man was so saturated with facts, anecdotes, myths, gossip, rumors, hearsay and tall tales about the island, he was practically spewing them out for our amusement. He told us about barges that came to the island to steal sackfuls of white sand allegedly brought to a mansion in New Manila. He told us about slim foreigners who sunbathe in the nude. He told us about hallucinogenic mushrooms that grow on carabao dung. He told us about a Puca shell museum, underground caves, caves teeming with bats, a craggy island shaped like a crocodile (snout, tail and all), exotic fish and other marine fauna that are nothing short of enthralling, among other things.

Mang Rudy also mentioned the various activities that could be done in the island: snorkeling, banana boat rides, jetskiing, scuba diving, etc. He talked us into riding a sailboat or parao in Boracay boatman lingo. My companions and I sat on the boat’s "balancer" and we sailed around the island. The craft tossed and tumbled over the waters that became deeper and deeper, changing from blue to green to indigo. One passenger – thankfully it wasn’t me – had to crawl from one side of the boat to the other every now and then depending on the waves and the direction of the parao to keep the boat in equilibrium. This maneuver was undertaken while the boat was in mid-whirl. Disturbed by the boat, flying fishes darted out from the waters.

The group went to Crystal Cove with its pair of sphinxes that greet guests at the gate. We toured the area; it’s one of the most popular picnic groves in Boracay. We saw stone carabaos, chairs shaped like hands, and a couple of caves. Circular stairs descend into a dark cavern that is an excellent snorkeling area. All of us climbed down to the craggy bottom and glimpsed the motley-colored fishes swimming in the underground water that had a distinctively emerald sheen to it. It was truly breathtaking.

I went snorkeling, or at least attempted to. We rented goggles, snorkels and the fins. The boat took us to a part of the island conducive to snorkeling: the waves were less tenacious, the fish more gregarious, etc. My companions watched me snorkel (or twist pathetically on a shallow part of the ocean to be exact).

On our last day in Boracay, I visited The Strip or the row of bars and restaurants in Station 2 of the island. I went past Bazurah, Summer Place, Beachcomber and Cocomangas, among other establishments. I wanted to buy myself a few swigs of vodka but ended up purchasing a red, green and yellow Rastafarian bonnet in an arts-and-crafts store beside the Boom Boom Bar. The place sells exotic bags, bangles, bongos, beads, bracelets, which come from faraway places like Banawe, Bontoc and even Bombay. At the bar, some Boracay musicians were banging on native drums while a deejay (Japanese, I think) spun some nasty electronic grooves. It was a fusion of techno and ethno music, and it was something new to the ears of this jaded city slicker.

Walking back to the hotel, I made the conclusion that Boracay, no matter the tomes of clichés written about it, still has some surprises deep in its sandy sleeve.