Eat, Pray, Backpack – Bantayan Island

Day 2 – Dear Mom & Dad, I’m still alive and kicking here in the beach. Love you!

When I told them I wanted to go on a seaside vacation alone, they did not understand.

When I told them I sought certain answers about myself, they did not understand all the more.

So I stopped telling people of my plan to go on a four-day backpack retreat to Bantayan Island, because I figured that I did not need (any more) people thinking I was bordering on mental.

A bit of a background story first: Earlier this year, I entered a phase in my life that could only be roughly described as a spiritual quarter life crisis. I began a serious vocational discernment. On top of a pile of spiritual readings, I added Elizabeth Gilbert’s autobiographical, search-for-God, journey-to-self-discovery novel, Eat, Pray, Love. I was pleasantly surprised by my ability to relate to a 30-something-year-old divorcee (you know, what with me being 22 and perpetually single), but most of all, I thought that it made perfect sense to seek answers by traveling alone.

But tell that to most people, and they’ll just as soon start knitting you a straitjacket.

I genuinely sought answers that would define the rest of my life, whereas most people, including my parents, marked the whole thing off as a typical case of youthful wanderlust – partly induced by post-teenage insanity.

I then went underground with my plan, only surfacing back when I had firmly secured a PHP 250.00/night accommodation in Sacred Heart Apartelle. I was faced with the dim prospect of a non-airconditioned, no-WiFi single bedroom and communal bathroom for 4 days and 3 nights, but what mattered most was that I leave everything familiar behind and find solitude in the unfamiliar.

Of course, I won’t romanticize the entire plan as simply a search-for-God-and-self kind of thing; it was also your run-of-the-mill summer vacation for myself. It was a spiritual retreat and leisure adventure all rolled into one, and my backpack could only hold so much.

I left home on Tuesday morning in the not so ungodly hour of 6:00 a.m. My dad drove me to the North Bus Terminal (Quick side note: Dad’s the best send-off person ever. He’s not sentimental. He doesn’t fuss. He only tells you to be good and watch over your stuff and then he leaves. He’s totally the best.) I made one quick detour to the restroom before hopping on a bus for Hagnaya, San Remigio. The entire land trip cost me PHP 160.00, which wasn’t bad at all considering I had air condition and WiFi, oh, and Jack Black’s Gulliver’s Travels and Will Smith’s Hancock. The bus left at 7:00 a.m. I downloaded a map of Northern Cebu and tracked the route from Mandaue City to San Remigio via Consolacion, Liloan, Compostela, Danao, Carmen (and a 15-minute stopover in the cleverly-nicknamed “Bastap”), Catmon, Sogod, Borbon, Tabogon, Bogo, and finally, Hagnaya. It was roughly a 3½-hour bus ride. I bought my ticket at 10:30 a.m. and waited another full hour for my ferry ride. The 1-hour sea trip cost me PHP 170.00. I reached Sta. Fe, Bantayan at 12:30 p.m. and stumbled into a tiny multicab that took me to my 20-minute away hostel in Bantayan proper (Standard fare from Sta. Fe to Bantayan by multicab or tricycle is PHP 25.00). I checked into my room and exchanged very little niceties with the elderly lady owner for the obvious reason of lunch deprivation.

Before I proceed, here’s a quick recap of the times and costs of public transportation traveling to Bantayan Island from the North Bus Terminal:

Cebu to Hagnaya bus – 3½ hours; PHP 160.00

Hagnaya to Sta. Fe ferry – 1 hour, PHP 170.00

Sta. Fe to Bantayan multicab/tricycle – 15-20 minutes, PHP 25.00

The first place I visited on the island was the Church of Sts. Peter and Paul (a 5-minute walk from where I was staying). It is, in itself, around 400 years old, but the present structure is only about 200 years old, rebuilt after a fire in the 1600s.

Exterior of the Church of Sts. Peter and Paul

Interior of the Church of Sts. Peter and Paul

Convent at the Church of Sts. Peter and Paul

Right across the Church was the town plaza, complete with a playground, a couple of basketball courts, public restrooms, and a whole lot of benches. Lined outside the plaza were kiosks for elderly and ambulant vendors which I inwardly applauded the local government for.

The romantic walkway in the town plaza

Justice on Wheels — Parked just outside of the Bantayan Municipal Hall

The sign post at the town center

I asked around for a decent restaurant to take my lunch in and was directed to Abuhan, leaning towards the classier side as far as carenderias go, but a carenderia nonetheless. For a serving of eggplant torta, stir fried veggies, fried fish fillet, and bottled water, I paid a staggering PHP 125.00 (but hey, at least I got free soup, right? RIGHT?) First lesson in Bantayan: Food don’t come in cheap.

It was already around 2:30 p.m. when I finished my late lunch. I did not have a lot of sunlight left to see the rest of the island. I decided to stick mainly to the town square. After half an hour of prayer in the Church of Sts. Peter and Paul, I checked out the public market which had everything from ukay-ukay merch to dried fish (Mental note then: Buy danggit for pasalubong).

From there, it was a leisurely stroll to the defunct municipal wharf. I don’t know how long it had been since it last saw operation, but it had fallen into a charming disrepair used mainly by lovers and friends. I went there with a messenger bag filled with books and essentials which I dragged with me everywhere in the island. I was a solid hour too early for the sunset, so I read a book by the sea, being the cheeseball that I am. Seeing the sun go down on my first day in Bantayan, I belatedly remembered that it was, after all, my first sunset ever. I saw my first sunrise on Mt. Kiltepan in the Mountain Province of Sagada, but never a sunset until then. It made me feel really warm and fuzzy inside. I felt like traipsing on clouds the whole way home – er, hostel.

Abandoned Bantayan Municipal Wharf

Sunset view from the Bantayan Wharf

I was bored out of my mind in my bedroom. I had 2 single beds (one, I decided, for sleeping, and the other for airing out dirty laundry – who needs a stinky bag home?), a mirror, a dresser, and a wall electric fan. I had a window without much of a view outside. I busied myself by taking a shower and prepping my bag for beach bumming the next day but was left with nothing to do by 8 p.m. I couldn’t go out of the apartelle. A young defenseless female traveling alone was risky enough. A young defenseless female traveling alone at night would just be tempting fate. None of the other guests used the upstairs common room, so there was absolutely no one to socialize with… other than the characters in my books. I was asleep by 9 p.m. and woke several times in the night because of the stifling heat.

The next day, I attended an early morning Cebuano mass at 5:30 in the Church of Sts. Peter and Paul – something so uncharacteristic of me that I surprised even myself. The altar and chandelier lights reminded me of a scene straight out of my childhood, Simbang Gabi leading up to Christmas. The coral stone structure echoed with the sounds of a hundred birds that had nested in the Church’s nooks and crannies for generations. The mass songs were the same ones I heard in the town fiestas of my grandmother’s southern hometown.

The small town had already started to buzz with morning life by the time I stepped out of the Church. I walked back to my place and had a light breakfast in my bedroom while plotting my schedule for the day. One of the best things about traveling alone was that I could do absolutely anything I wanted whenever I wanted, and the sudden realization exhilarated me. I showered and sunblocked and tricycled my way to Sta. Fe. Bantayan proper did not have much to offer in terms of beaches and restaurants; Sta. Fe did – it was the island’s beach town and hosted most, if not all, of the local must-see places. Sta. Fe was alive with pedicab drivers who were more proactive than their Bantayan counterparts. They were wonderful conversationalists who piped up tourist tips without additional costs.

One such driver suggested I check out Marlin Beach Resort over the more popular choice (at least, in terms of the reviews I read online) of Sugar Beach, because it had a great location, being just a stone’s throw away from the international restaurants and bars strip. I quickly took up the offer. Although I liked chatting with the locals from time to time, I never warmed to the idea of being driven around by a pedicab. For one thing, I felt too exposed just sitting there with all the bumps of the unpaved road; for another, it called to mind abused Manchurian Chinese rickshaw drivers carting heavy loads slaving under the sun for dehumanizing 5-peso fares. I didn’t have bound feet and was perfectly capable of walking great distances (thank you very much), but I had to endure one or two pedicab rides just to make a mental map per town. Also, small talks with the locals quickly took a turn for the awkward the precise moment they asked me the inevitable question of the whereabouts of my companions and I answered with the honest-to-goodness, “I don’t have any. I’m traveling alone.” I guess it was too much to expect the rural Bantayanons to understand my Eat-Pray-Backpack adventure when my urban friends and family couldn’t either.

For a reasonable PHP 50.00 entrance fee, I had a whole day’s access to Marlin Beach Resort. It was pretty picturesque, and I sneaked in some selfies when I was sure no one was around to judge me. Because I wasn’t an overnight resort guest, I was not allowed to use the sunbeds, so I spread out my oversized hoodie (something I got below bargain price from Old Navy Serendra) in a nice shady spot underneath the shade of the unmanned life guard post. I switched to my rash guard before giddily dipping into the crystal blue sea, all the while keeping a close watch of my messenger bag. The thing about Marlin Beach Resort was that there weren’t a whole lot of people around, which meant I could jump in and out of the waters without worrying much about losing my stuff. Not being much of a swimmer, I spent most of the time on shore reading. I had 5 paperbacks with me (and about 50+ others in my tablet just in case): 3 spiritual books (St. Josemaria Escriva’s Friends of God, Federico Suarez’s Mary of Nazareth, and Joseph de Torre’s Sexuality and Sanctity) and 2 leisure books (Grady Hendrix’s Horrorstor and George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones – books I thoroughly enjoyed the first and second time around). It wasn’t even 9:30 a.m. I had books on a beach which meant that I was in paradise.

Marlin Beach Resort at Sta. Fe

Marlin Beach Resort, Sta. Fe

A note on the few cons of Marlin Beach Resort: There were pesky pearl peddlers and child beggars around who seemed to make it their life’s goal (for 5 solid minutes) to break your inner solitude. To the former, I found that I needed to raise my voice just a tiny bit just to get the point across that neither I nor any of my female relatives (mother, sisters, grandmothers, aunts – those pearl peddlers made it a point to enumerate just about everybody in the family) were interested in their wares. There was one such man who approached me twice within a quarter of an hour, and I had to tell him real nice, firm, and in my best straight Bisaya that he had already tested my patience more than once that day. I gauged my success by the sulky looks he threw at me right after. To the latter, I begrudgingly gave 20-peso bill. Child beggars would always prove to be slippery little people to deal with in just about any situation. That little girl in particular demanded no less than PHP 20.00, and even after I committed the punishable crime of mendicancy, she asked for another PHP 20.00. That was the last straw. I had to shoo the ungrateful little girl away before she got me in more trouble.

But don’t get me wrong. The pros easily outweighed the aforementioned cons. Like I said, there weren’t a lot of people around, so I basically had the whole beach to myself for reading, journaling, meditating, and yes, even praying. The resort also had a very clean public bathroom – that alone convinced me that I wasn’t going to beach hop anywhere else in Sta. Fe. I was putting up my little seaside hermitage in Marlin the whole day.

By 11:30, I lost my nice shaded spot to the noontime sun. I decided to check out the restaurants and bars strip for lunch. All of them promised local and international dishes and WiFi connection, and each of them promised a twist. There was a Reggae bar, a Portuguese restaurant, and even a French bakery, but I decided on the quaint-looking Italian Café del Mare. Again, food didn’t come in cheap. My grilled squid with salad on the side and whole wheat French bread cost me PHP 310.00, but I was happily stuffed. The squid tasted as gorgeous as it looked, sealing in all the seafood freshness I had been craving for months. The bread was so soft and lightly toasted that I could only imagine what their pizza tasted like with dough that good (I never got a chance to find out because of this damned diet program I’m in). I was glad I had the whole ristorante to myself just then. I wolfed down everything like, well, a wolf.

The Feast at Cafe del Mare

I whipped out my Itouch and uploaded a photo of my feet on Facebook, mostly to reassure my parents that I was still alive and “kicking on the beach.” I also Googled more spots to see on the island, because it took me that long to figure out that Bantayanons (at least, those that I talked to) weren’t big on their own tiny geography. For example, I asked for the highly recommended Coucou’s Restaurant in Bantayan proper, but all the pedicabbies just shrugged their shoulders. It turned out that Coucou’s was in Sta. Fe, which was supposed to explain why nobody in Bantayan proper knew where it was.

Bantayan Island geography lesson on the side: The island is composed of 3 main municipalities – Sta. Fe, Bantayan proper, and Madridejos. Sta. Fe being the beach town and tourist favorite, Bantayan proper being the local center of commerce and industry, and Madridejos (I learned on my third day in the island) being the less pronounced and quieter of the other two. If you ever decide to visit Bantayan Island yourself and would like to hit the local scenes, make sure to specify in which town (Sta. Fe or Bantayan or Madridejos) that scene actually is.

While skimming some travel blogs over lunch, I came across the Floating Bar in Yooneek Beach Resort, which was supposed to provide a splendid sunset view right within Sta. Fe. I also found out about the ruins of an old fort in Kota Park in Madridejos; my history geek senses were tingling. I took a screenshot of the addresses of both spots. The Floating Bar later in the afternoon and Kota Park first thing the next day.

After lunch, I walked back to Marlin Beach Resort for more swimming and reading. I saw a few more guests that afternoon. I saw the elderly couple I sat next to in the Hagnaya port the previous day, a German man and his Filipina wife who spoke very good German (very good to someone like me who can’t speak German at all). I also saw a beautiful young foreign couple, who seemed to possess superhuman resistance to blistering heat. There were two toddlers who wandered a bit too far from their parents that the dad had to march right up and scold them back to the family cottage. I had a lot of fun people watching and pleasantly noted that everyone left me to my own devices for the rest of the afternoon.

By 4:30 p.m., I walked back to the main road to catch a pedicab to take me to Yooneek’s Floating Bar for the sunset. I could see a cheeseball habit of chasing the sunset in the making. Sta. Fe’s streets were filled with pedicabbies and their mostly foreign clientele in the late afternoon. I spotted one such hottie (oh hey, no girlfriend this time!) looking like he thoroughly enjoyed his bumpy ride, even though he was forced to cram in his un-Filipino height in a made-for-Filipino pedicab. I found the whole picture so funny that I resisted the urge to snap a photo. I ducked into my own pedicab and, for once, thanked God he only made me a five-footer.

To my utter dismay, Yooneek’s staff informed me that they had long since shut down operations in the Floating Bar. Maybe it was damaged by the recent Typhoon Yolanda which took Western Visayas and Northern Cebu by storm (no pun intended), maybe not. Either way, I was not getting my sunset. On my way back to the main road to catch a ride home to Bantayan proper, I checked out a Catholic church in Sta. Fe undergoing massive restorations. It was located right across an Iglesia Filipina Independiente, and, from what little I know about this Christian sect, it’s said to be all Catholic minus the authority and influence of the Vatican. I also saw public schools still shut down with painted warnings of falling debris – they had Yolanda written all over them.

School’s out — in a bad way

I was so exhausted by the time I reached Sacred Heart in Bantayan proper. I took a quick nap before taking a shower and preparing my bag for the next day’s ruins excursion. Again, bored out of my mind in the people-less common room and my viewless bedroom, I fell asleep by 9:00 p.m., but not before dragging my bed closer to the fan for a disturbance-free sleep.

I started my third day in Bantayan the exact same way I started my second day. I heard mass. I walked back to my apartelle. I had my just-add-hot-water breakfast of oatmeal and coffee. I showered and sunblocked and headed for the general direction of the plaza. A more well-informed tricycle driver informed me that there was a Kota Beach Resort in Sta. Fe and a Kota Park in the last barangay of Madridejos called Lawis. A multicab from the center of Bantayan proper to the center of Madridejos cost me PHP 25.00.

Madridejos was markedly more low-key than Sta. Fe and even Bantayan proper. And maybe I was just imagining it but I had a difficult time understanding my Madridejos pedicabbie’s accent. He was chewing on his Bisaya like it was his breakfast and charged me 10 pesos (that is, if I heard him right) for a ride from the town center to Kota Park.

The ruins captured my attention immediately. The coral and limestone structure was sunbaked, blackened, and looked just about its nearly 300-year-old age. A short description propped outside of the main entrance informed me that it was:

Built in 1790’s by Gabriel Lazaro Mangubat the first settler and founder of Lawis Government. It has an area of approximately 0.73125 of a hectare. The structure is made of corals, limestone or apog, egg white, red sugar, stone and sand. The Old Kota Fort served as a refuge by the Villagers when Moro pirates arrives to abduct their women and children and sold for slavery. In 1890’s up to 1950’s the whole vicinity was used as cemetery. During Second World War there were some Japanese soldier captured and executed by the Lawisanon guerillas and buried outside the Kota.

Painfully ungrammatical, of course, but hopefully historically accurate. The main entrance, guarded by 2 identical watchtowers on either side, was blocked, so I had to make a roundabout of the structure to gain entry. On the eastern side, the walls gave in, and I picked my way through the hollowed insides of the fort. It was composed of 4 sides (with the northeastern side damaged and serving as the main entrance). The other 3 sides were rounded little damp rooms showcasing old knickknacks without museum-like descriptions. It was unnerving within those rooms, even when they provided respite from the mid-morning heat. Maybe it was because of the fort’s bloody history, but I felt suddenly claustrophobic inside of them (never mind the fact that they weren’t even actually closed). There was a W-shaped walkway connecting all three rounded little damp rooms and a stone stage at the very front. I noted the rusty candle holders and a large shell embedded beside the entrance wall (it could only have held holy water). The historical description made no mention of the structure being used as a church, but then again, maybe it was.

The Fort at Kota Park

The Fort at Kota Park, Madridejos

Outside the fort was the Bontay Bay Walk. Online, it was listed as the ultimate Bantayan Island sunset viewing spot, but it was still 9:30 a.m. Besides, it’s a good 30-minute ride separating Madridejos from Bantayan proper, and there was no way I would undertake that journey alone at night, not with the unpeopled landscape I saw en route. On the other hand, there’s plenty of daylight to spare. I walked the cemented paths of the bay walk designed to look like grey wooden planks with a narrow slit view of the sea underneath. There were 3 marble signs situated in different strategic posts across the long bay walk. For the most part, the supposedly million-peso project felt like a glorification of the local government (one even read “With all my hearts and mission…” HEARTS! What a joke, Mr. Mayor). I ignored the signs and headed straight for the end of the bay walk, a 3-storeyed box-like viewing deck.

Bontay Baywalk, Madridejos

Bontay Baywalk, Madridejos

Bontay Baywalk, Madridejos

When I climbed my way to the top, I stared out into the sea and thought to myself what a great spot I was in for morning prayers and meditation. I laid out my hoodie on the floor again, unpacked my spiritual books, and started reading Mary of Nazareth voraciously. When a particular passage inwardly spoke to me, I would assemble my Gimble Traveler to hold open a page while I copied its contents in my journal. Less than 15 minutes later, a group of Tagalog-speaking tourists barged into my viewing deck and shattered my spontaneous solitude. They brought along with them 4 Lawis children who would probably not have understood a “Do Not Disturb” sign even if it hung above me in mid-air. I ignored them completely at first. I have this typical Oriental face that gets mistaken for being Japanese hundreds of times a day (and being Korean? Thousands). I thought I’d play up the whole Japanese-Korean routine and pretend I did not understand a single word they said. But they got so rowdy and started picking their little sunburnt hands at my messenger bag (which they called “taya-on” – rusty), wearing my flip flops, and fingering the pages of my book. I stayed for another half hour, reading and journaling and hoping they’d eventually go away, but no such luck. I gave up and packed up, made my way down the viewing deck and into the bay walk. Still they followed. Before long, one of the little kids acted as a spokesperson and said that his friend wanted a peso. Ah, I should have known. It turns out that even solitude comes at a price in the island. But because he spoke in Bisaya, and I was playing the part of a stupid tourist, I ignored the kids and brisk walked back into the main road. I was relieved when I looked back and found myself alone again. Children these days…

It was another 30-minute, 25-peso ride back to Bantayan proper. On the way, I decided to spend the rest of my afternoon in Ogtong Cave Resort in Sta. Fe. It was where I stayed with my friends the first time I visited Bantayan last March. I remembered that it was as exclusive as Bantayan beach resorts could get, and after a morning of juvenile harassment, I was willing to pay any amount to be left alone.

That amount turned out to be PHP 100.00, a fair enough entrance fee that gained me access to the resort’s beach, pool, and cave. I was at the point of eating people by the time I reached the resort restaurant at 1:30. I shoveled in fish tinola soup, stir fried vegetables, and iced mocha latte without batting an eyelash until my PHP 365.00 bill arrived. Over lunch, I noted that the pool was infested with children and the cave with teenage vacationers, so I made it a point to avoid those areas. I headed straight for the beach, ignoring the one-hour-after-meal rule before swimming and jumped right ahead.

The waves were a lot calmer in Ogtong than in Marlin, so I was able to do what I best liked to do in the sea: I wore sunglasses instead of goggles, floated on my back, and stared into the great blue sky. When I tired of the water, I walked barefoot to shore and found a nice whitewashed wooden sunbed to read and listen music on.

Ogtong Beach Resort, Sta. Fe

Ogtong Beach Resort, Sta. Fe

It was my last beach day in Bantayan Island, and though I knew I would miss it all, my soul was set to return home, having found the answers which I came and sought for: I was where God wanted me to be. I was looking for a vocation label when what was truly necessary was a vocation, plain and simple. And with there only being one true vocation – to love God and the world over – what more was there to look for? The label would come eventually, whether I be for marriage or for single blessedness. It would come to me in a matter of time and in a matter of faith.

It was past 5:00 p.m. by the time I could pry myself off of the sunbed. I chattered socially with my pedicabbie who drove me to the main road where I was to catch a tricycle ride home. He was a nice fellow who charged me 2/3 less than the first pedicabbie who approached me at the gate of the resort. I stirred the conversation as far away from the “inevitable question” as possible. He asked me about my trip so far, suggested a cheap PHP 800.00/night hotel to stay in, and looked genuinely impressed when I told him I already found one at PHP 250.00/night. Instead of looking at me funny when I finally told him that I was traveling alone, he parked by a spot where he could hail for me a tricycle for Bantayan proper. What a remarkable fellow. Finally, a forward-thinking renaissance man! I thanked him heartily and got in my trike home.

I spent my last night in Bantayan wrestling with my clothes to make them fit once more in my backpack. I wanted to take the 9:45 a.m. one-stop bus ride home. The Ceres Bus Company had 3 or 4 bus trips every day leaving from the Bantayan proper town plaza and arriving in the North Bus Terminal in Cebu. By the time I arrived at 9:15 a.m., there was but one seat left. I paid PHP 50.00 more for the bus trip going back home (priced at PHP 210.00), but considering the ease at not having to go down the Sta. Fe pier to buy a ferry ticket (with the ticket master collecting the money from inside the bus instead) and not having to wait long lines for a bus in the San Remigio terminal, I thought PHP 50.00 was a real steal.

By 3:30 p.m., I was thrust back into the hustle and bustle of the city. The barking of jeepney drivers was the first sound of my homecoming. I had returned to the familiar world, having come from, sought, and conquered the unfamiliar.