For years, Manila has functioned as a layover - a city travelers pass through on their way to the country’s more photogenic islands. Independent tour guides hope to change that. Following the launch of the Intramuros Administration’s “Don’t Skip Manila” campaign, various historical walking tours that aims to reintroduce the capital as a destination rather than a pit-stop are now being offered to tourists and residents alike. The overall message is simple: the nation’s stories abound here.

One of the main reasons no one should miss Manila is its roster of well-curated museums. Within a walkable radius situates Intramuros and Fort Santiago, Luneta Park, the old commercial corridors of Binondo and Escolta, and the National Museum complex; a quartet of institutions devoted to fine arts, anthropology, natural history and astronomy.

For tourists inclined toward history, Manila’s museum scene expands: the San Agustin Church Museum, Casa Manila, Museo de Intramuros, the Metropolitan Museum of Manila, Museo Pambata. And that tally accounts only for Manila proper, not the wider collection of museums across Metro Manila. Just steps from Luneta Park, the National Library’s Permanent Gallery offers another surprise revelation, a reminder that the capital still hides stories waiting to be uncovered.

I had long wanted to visit the National Library, and on that Tuesday morning, I finally did. Securing a library ID was surprisingly smooth: a quick registration, posing for an ID photograph, and within five minutes, my ID card came out hot from the printer, giving me the freedom to return anytime I want.

But that morning held another objective. The night before, our friend Stephen Pamorada, heritage advocate and Manila tour guide, had stirred our excitement with a message in our group chat: “Be ready to lay eyes on Rizal’s original manuscripts of Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo.” reading it sent a thrill through me. And then came his follow-up: “That’s not all.”

Stephen’s “That’s not all” meant an impressive list of documents pertaining to Philippine history: De Molucis Insulis, the earliest written account of our archipelago following Magellan and Elcano’s first circumnavigation of the world, published in 1523; handwritten notes by Jose Rizal, Apolinario Mabini, and Emilio Aguinaldo; the 1743 Murillo Velarde Map, the first detailed map of the Philippines.

There were printed issues of La Solidaridad, the trial records of Andres Bonifacio and his brother Procopio, Pedro Paterno’s Ninay, the first novel written by a Filipino author published in 1885, the Treaty of Biak-na-Bato, and one of the first copies of the Philippine national anthem, the Marcha Nacional Filipina. Even pieces of furniture such as Manuel L. Quezon’s presidential desk and chair.

The list extended further: Antonio de Morga’s Sucesos de las Islas Filipinas, annotated by Rizal, and the original 1898 Declaration of Philippine Independence itself. This to me is one of the most important documents housed inside the Permanent Gallery. These documents, their pages yellowed and ink faded, bear the weight of that historic afternoon: 4:20 P.M., June 12, 1898, when General Emilio Aguinaldo proclaimed independence in Kawit, Cavite.

I saved my last wide-eyed stare for the final display in the Permanent Gallery, what I considered the collection’s most important: the original manuscripts of Jose Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo, alongside the original copy of Mi Último Adiós. Standing before them, I felt goosebumps. To see them in person, inked letters that had survived the passage of time, was like witnessing history itself in a way no classroom lesson could ever replicate.

A decade ago, the mere mention of “Maguindanao” is enough to strike fear, its name inseparable from the grim headlines of 2009. But as justice has taken its course and the political climate has begun to settle, the province is emerging from the long shadow of its past. Today, a shift is underway: toward its culture, its stories, and the landscapes that have remained largely unseen. Maguindanao may not appear on the usual tourist itinerary, but it is a place that rewards those willing to look beyond reputation and toward discovery.

This is not a reference to a Brooke Shields movie, but to my second visit to this remarkable natural site, seemingly carved out of a random patch of land just a stone’s throw from a local community and the main road thus making it both highly accessible and yet, still carefully maintained by the locals.

In the town of Datu Sinsuat, nature presents one of its more peculiar wonders: a circular lagoon, locally known simply as the “Blue Lagoon.” Measuring roughly 70 to 80 feet across, its waters gleam the electric-blue hue of a Gatorade drink. Surrounded by centuries-old trees, the pool radiates beautifully under the seeping sunlight and appears inviting for a dip or a plunge. On my return here, we were able to share a breakfast platter of local delicacies with some community members affording me a wonderful experience of the place and its friendly people.

The province’s cultural traditions surface most colorfully in the Inaul, a handwoven textile whose intricate patterns and vibrant palette reflect the heritage of Maguindanao’s Muslim communities. On wooden looms, weavers combine dozens of threads to create cloth that carries both beauty and meaning. Colors are symbolic, red for bravery, yellow and orange for royalty, black for dignity, green for peace, and white for either purity or grief. An annual Inaul Festival celebrates this enduring craft, filling the streets with dancers draped in luminous fabric.

In the town of General Salipada K. Pendatun, mothers cultivate an additional livelihood by transforming the region’s prolific water hyacinths into baskets, mats, and household goods.

Training programs have allowed Inaul weavers to incorporate basketry into their skill set, reinforcing an economy rooted in craft and community. The municipality itself honors a pioneering figure: Salipada Khalid Pendatun, the first Filipino Muslim to become a lawyer, brigadier general, and later, a senator and governor.

Higher in the province, on the slopes of Upi, a network of gentle trails leads visitors to modest but striking waterfalls, including Ranao Pilayan Falls. Reaching the cascade requires only a short walk, a brisk 10 minutes from the trailhead and offers a peek into the upland landscape of the province.

Symbols of unity also rise from Maguindanao’s plains. In Datu Saudi Ampatuan, the Masjid Dimaukom, known as the Pink Mosque, stands as an emblem of interfaith cooperation. Built in 2013 by both Christian and Muslim workers, its bubblegum-colored façade is as notable as the message it was intended to convey.

In the town of Datu Odin Sinsuat, another mosque worth visiting is the White Mosque, or Masjid Al-Nasser Abpi, which stands out beautifully, especially against the backdrop of the dusk sky.

Deeper into the province, in Barangay Limpongo in Datu Hoffer Ampatuan, the Teduray, one of the indigenous groups of Mindanao, known to live between Maguindanao del Norte and del Sur, whose name derives from tew, meaning 'people,' and duray, a 'tiny bamboo hook' symbolizing their skill in fishing, welcomes visitors with warm smiles and a display of finely crafted rattan and bamboo goods. The women of the Limpongo Women and Youth Association preserve techniques passed down through generations, their enterprise providing both income and a means of sustaining cultural heritage.

Such encounters hint at the layers of tradition that flourish across Mindanao. In this small barangay alone, the crafts embody stories of ancestry, resilience, and the patient work of passing knowledge from one generation to the next.

These moments represent only a fraction of what we have discovered on our journey through Maguindanao, a province within the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao that is steadily redefining itself beyond the headlines. I hope you find time to return, as we still have a lot of beautiful nature and fascinating cultural sites to show you,” one of our guides and a staff member at the provincial tourism office told us in Tagalog.

Here in Maguindanao and away from its past reputation, an interesting culture still exists among communities committed to keeping their heritage alive, complemented by natural attractions that continue to reveal themselves to those willing to look.

Tourism Promotions Board of the Philippines (TPB) Community-Based Program

Several local communities in the province has been pinpointed by the Tourism Promotions Board of the Philippines or TPB – the marketing arm of the Department of Tourism, as important sites to develop community-based tourism by conducting training sessions, workshops, and providing materials and consistent support.

A month after visiting Ba Na Hills in Vietnam, where a replica French village piqued me with newfound interest about French designs, I found myself longing for a more faithful experience. The village, though spectacular, felt theatrical, a careful imitation of a culture I wanted to experience in its truest form.

Fast forward to one morning in Baguio, I learned that breakfast would take place at a spot called Le Coq Bleu Homestay, owned by Chantal Michaut-Pangilinan, a Frenchwoman who has lived in the city for over 30 years and is married to a Kapampangan. I expected to see a typical French motif: rich textures, bold patterns, and intricate details reminiscent of something you would see in a movies set in France like let’s say Chocolat, Before Sunset, A Good Year, or Moulin Rouge to name a few.

Stepping into Le Coq Bleu, which primarily functions as an Airbnb for just a couple of guests, the world around me shifted. A blend of the Cordillera and the French countryside unfolded within this chateau-inspired space. Victorianesque furniture, quirky art pieces including sketches by Baguio artist Leonardo Aguinaldo, and colors and styling that were undeniably French created a charming, immersive environment.

“Nothing here is new,” Chantal explained. “Either heirloom pieces like the knives and utensils from my parents, this couch from my husband’s parents’ home, salvaged wood from a fallen tree, or trinkets from ukay-ukay, dining chairs from my time in Paris. I wanted to offer my guests Filipino hospitality with a French flair.”

The dining table, seating six, was set with croissants, sweet apple compote, slices of pears, ube-flavored yogurt, Benguet coffee, French toast, fresh fruit salad, and an omelet infused with Cordilleran kiniing. While Europeans, especially the French, are known for storytelling, literature, and intellectual discussion, our conversation stayed casual, touching on football (with trivia about France’s Les Bleus goalie, Alphonse Areola, who is of Filipino descent), food, Chantal’s love for the Cordillera, and art. She even showed us a portrait of herself painted by the late actor Johnny Delgado. “I didn’t pose for him; he painted based on his imagination of me,” she said.

Chantal herself felt like a character from a film (she did appeared in the 2004 Judy Ann Santos movie Sabel), someone whose every line carried a story you didn’t want to miss. By the end of our visit, despite all the French details from Victorian furniture to French-inspired decor, you easily felt at home.

Chantal’s story is one of displacement, adaptation, and cultural synthesis. Raised in Vietnam during the American war, she and her family left the country at age 12, escaping Saigon before its fall. “My mother hosted parties for American generals and Ambassador Cabot-Lodge, however we, as a family felt and witnessed the suffering of the locals on a daily basis,” she recalled. Adjusting to life in France proved challenging, and a few years later, the family moved to Hong Kong.

A third culture child, she described the experience of being “at home in any culture and yet never truly belonging anywhere, a wandering soul searching for its niche.” Her journey eventually brought her to the Philippines, first Manila for 17 years, then Baguio, where she found a home amid the Cordillera’s rich culture.

In 2012, Chantal purchased a 130-square-meter lot from a friend to build her dream house. Inspired by her paternal grandparents’ cottage in the French Basque country and her husband’s memories of John Hay bungalows, she designed a simple 6-by-10-meter rectangle with a loft, emphasizing sustainability and recycled materials.

“I became the architect, decorator, and contractor of this vision,” she said. Friends rallied to help, supplying doors, windows, furniture, and décor. Every item tells a story of friendship, love, and care; Chantal calls them “blessings from angels.”

A year later, she added a guest suite, and five years after that, she purchased a neighboring property to build a tiny house with a Provence theme, recalling summers spent with her maternal grandparents. Nestled among trees, it offers privacy and tranquility, with birdsong, frogs, and rustling leaves as the soundtrack. The garden is intentionally wild, inviting local wildlife and creating a natural, serene environment for guests.

Homestays, Chantal believes, are the truest form of hospitality, allowing travelers to experience authentic homes, cuisine, and culture. Guests at Le Coq Bleu enjoy continental breakfasts by the bay window overlooking the mountains, lounge in the sunroom, read, write, or sit by the fireplace with a glass of wine. Some come for quiet reflection; others linger for a month, leaving feeling restored and recharged.

“Come as guests, leave as friends,” Chantal says. Many return annually, forging bonds that extend beyond the stay, proving that hospitality at its best is not just a service, but an exchange of warmth, culture, and trust.

Since Le Coq Bleu offers single room in a loft-within-a-house and a garden cottage (it has an antique narra bed), most of its guests are couples. 'Le Coq has been a favorite among LGBT couples,' Chantal tells us. 'They often say they don’t feel judged here and truly feel at home.'

Le Coq Bleu is more than a homestay, it is the sum of Chantal’s life experiences: Vietnam, France, Hong Kong, Thailand, Manila, and finally, Baguio. The exterior echoes John Hay’s green-and-white bungalows, the interior reflects her French heritage in blue and white, and the rooster: the coq, symbolizes the shared culture between France and the Philippines.

Through this home, Chantal has created a space where travelers can explore identity, culture, and heritage while enjoying quiet reflection, natural beauty, and warm hospitality. For a wandering soul who has finally found her place, Le Coq Bleu is a testament to building a home that welcomes not only guests, but hearts.

“I want to be the kind of host with whom guests can exchange stories, laugh and be carefree,” Chantal Pangilinan told us. Exchanged or more aptly, listened to stories we did, and we left not only with a satisfied appetite but with heaps of new learnings as well.

It surely is, and hands down, Le Coq Bleu is LE perfect homestay.

Traveling across the Philippines has long been my gateway to discovering the country’s vast pool of talents in creating crafts and heritage arts. From the intricate weaves of the Ifugao to the colorful Inaul cloth of Maguindanao and countless others, each piece tells a story of tradition and identity, passed down through generations. I thought I had seen it all—until I stumbled upon something new to my learnings in a laidback town in Iloilo province.

Amid the peaceful small-town vibe of Santa Barbara, I encountered a group of women gathered around, their fingers nimbly maneuvering threads around small spools. They were creating what our tour guide tells us bobbin lace, a delicate, lacework technique that looked almost too fine to be handmade. I had never heard of it before, let alone witnessed its meticulous crafting process. Yet here it was, unfolding in a place with an origin story worth telling about.

Learning about the bobbin lace makers of Santa Barbara was a humbling reminder that in this archipelago of over 7,641 islands, there are always stories yet to be woven, traditions waiting to be discovered, and art forms that still surprises you.

The story of WUHTLE (Women United Through Handcrafted Lace and Embroidery), traces its origins to the 1980s, inside the Western Visayas Sanitarium in Sta. Barbara. It began with a simple gesture: the daughter of a patient handed a delicately embroidered handkerchief to a Belgian missionary, Sister Madeleine Dieryck, then working with people affected by leprosy.

The handiwork amazed Sister Dieryck’s eye immediately. She then began teaching embroidery to the women under her care, only to realize that many patients, their hands altered by the effects of leprosy, struggled to hold a needle. While taking a break back in her hometown in Belgium, Sister Dieryck thought of a solution. There, she sought to learn the craft of bobbin lace, a technique built not on needles but on the manipulation of pins, threads, and wooden bobbins.

When she returned to the sanitarium, Sister Dieryck introduced the craft to her patients. The women took to it with focus and determination. By 1996, their small circle of lace-makers had formally organized into a cooperative, laying the foundation for what would become WUHTLE.

Among those keeping the tradition alive is Lola Delia, 75. Her fingers, deformed by years of illness, move with practiced ease across the threads. She has been crafting bobbin lace for more than three decades. Today, she and her fellow artisans produce intricate lacework and embroidered pieces that have found buyers far beyond the shores of the Philippines, a testament to resilience woven, quite literally, by hand.

“It’s a rare craft, one of the most expensive laces in the world, and its production keeps shrinking as time goes by. To think that a small community of women here in Sta. Barbara are its keepers makes their work extraordinary,” says veteran Iloilo tour guide Erlyn Alunan. “What began as a lifeline for those shunned because of their illness has become a unique heritage of the province.”

Displayed in the small workshop are several of the women’s pieces, their designs ranging from colorful birds to religious symbols. Depending on the complexity, each one takes anywhere from a day and a few days to several weeks to complete.

Beyond providing a livelihood for the roughly 30 bobbin lace makers still practicing the craft, a fraction of its numbers at its peak decades ago, the cooperative now hopes that renewed public interest might inspire a new generation to carry the skills forward.

Beyond its role as a source of income, this profession harnessed by WUHTLE adds another layer to Iloilo province’s cultural and commercial identity. Located on the island of Panay, Iloilo is already celebrated for its indigenous products: from hablon and patadyong weaving to pottery, basketry, and panubok embroidery. Though bobbin lace does not stem from local tradition, it reinforces the region’s reputation for artistry and has the potential to draw visitors and collectors, particularly those with an eye for art and fashion.

“The value the bobbin-lace makers bring to Iloilo’s tourism is immense, operating on three critical levels at once,” said Department of Tourism Region 6 Director Krisma Rodriguez. “It diversifies and deepens our portfolio by moving beyond grand heritage sites toward ‘slow tourism,’ offering immersive cultural experiences that reveal the province’s living artisanal soul”.

“It also champions sustainable, community-based tourism, as every purchase provides a direct, dignified livelihood for the artisans, empowering the community and sustaining the enterprise from the ground up. Finally, it creates a cycle of heritage preservation, where visitor interest validates this patient, exquisite craft, ensuring these invaluable skills are passed on and safeguarded for future generations,” Rodriguez added.

As our visit drew to a close, marked by a group photo with the dozen or so bobbin lace makers, all smiling for the camera, I found myself reflecting on a lesson often overlooked in travel. Beyond the picturesque sights and postcard moments, there are opportunities to witness creativity and craft, lessons these women had shared with me.

“One of the great things about travel is that you find out how many good, kind people there are,” Edith Wharton once wrote. The first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for fiction, for The Age of Innocence, Wharton’s words remain true today. Travel not only reveals kindness in strangers; it also uncovers the outstanding stories people carry, tales of struggle, of creativity, and of quiet contributions to their communities that deserve to be told.

Like many travelers, I began by focusing on the sights, the landmarks, the landscapes, the postcard views. But over time, as I met more people along the road, my attention shifted. I found myself drawn to the ordinary men and women whose lives, struggles, and small achievements revealed far more about a place’s Instagrammable spots ever could.

With that in mind, this new series will be devoted to the stories of people I meet along the road. Ordinary individuals whose lives offer fascinating insights. The aim is to share not only how people in far-away places survive, but also how, in always overlooked ways, they contribute to their communities and even preserve their heritage.

On a random stretch of beach in Paracale, Camarines Norte, we met Mang Bernardo, one of the town’s remaining Magkakabud, solo gold panners who practice a centuries-old form of small-scale sand mining. On a good day, he told us, he might collect a single gram of gold enough to sell for about a thousand pesos.

The method he uses, known as gold panning, dates back to ancient times. With little more than sluices (an apparatus where flowing water traps gold), and shallow pans, practitioners sift black sand for particles of gold no larger than a grain of dust. Spending most of his days on the shallow parts of the beach, mang Bernardo has grown accustomed to being told away. Some resort owners, he said, drive the few remaining magkakabud like him away. “We don’t even do this on their property,” he told us in Tagalog. “We do it on the beach, during low tide.”

To outsiders, his trade may appear extractive, even harmful to the shoreline. Yet Bernardo remains protective of his environment. Pointing to a stretch of sea, he spoke of fish and corals he hopes to rally his neighbors to protect. “That part over there,” he said, “should be declared a marine sanctuary.” He mines to survive, but he also watches over the waters that sustain him. “I inherited this job from my father, and he from his father,” he said.

In Batac, no visit feels complete without a stop at the row of empanada stalls lining the street in front of the church. Among them, the oldest still in operation is Glory’s Empanada, founded by Gloria Aduana Cocson, now 82, who began making empanadas at just 15 years old.

Over decades, Cocson refined her recipe until it became the town’s most popular offering, a benchmark of Ilocano street food. Her story, however, is not only about culinary craft. Left to raise seven children on her own, she relied on her empanada business to support her family, eventually transforming her small stall into a local institution. Today, “Lola Gloria,” as she is known, is recognized as one of Ilocos Norte’s most respected culinary figures.

In the wheels of the tourism industry, it is often the overlooked figures who keep moving the circular economy it produces. Among them is Buenvenido Dela Cruz Jr., a 71-year-old river guide in Roxas City, Capiz. For more than 17 years, Dela Cruz has been a Department of Tourism–accredited guide along the Cadimahan River, where visitors drift through mangrove-lined waters on lunch cruises.

His current life stands in complete contrast to his past. A fisherman since the age of 16, he once roamed as far as Palawan and Masbate, chasing bigger catches and, by his own admission, resorting at times to illegal methods such as dynamite fishing. “Fishing was all I ever knew,” he has said. But by his mid-50s, his body could no longer endure the punishing work. When the local government began developing Cadimahan River as an eco-tourism site in 2008, he grabbed the chance to begin a new chapter.

Maria “Oyog” Todi, a T’boli cultural ambassador and indigenous artist, founded the Lake Sebu School of Living Traditions in the 1990s with a singular purpose: to preserve her people’s heritage. “When our culture dies, our existence dies,” she has said.

Perched on a hill overlooking Lake Sebu, the school was built in the style of a traditional T’boli longhouse. Known locally as the SLT, it functions both as an informal cultural center and as a homestay. Visitors can stay overnight and learn directly from Todi about T’nalak weaving, T’boli music, and traditional dances.

On the still waters of the Sabang Mangrove Forest, guide Alfie Tejada greets visitors with easy confidence. Only in his 30s, he has spent 13 years leading tours through this 47-hectare preserve just beyond Palawan’s world-famous Underground River.

Tejada describes the role of mangroves in protecting coastlines and sustaining biodiversity. Palawan, he notes, accounts for nearly one-fifth of the country’s mangrove cover. He points out various flora and fauna as the boat glides along, from fruit-bearing mangroves to the kingfishers and herons overhead.

In Roxas City in Capiz, Jose Arcenas is rewriting tradition through his brand, Lamumu. The dolls, hand-crocheted by single mothers, students, and even inmates, are far from ordinary toys. Each one is mythology in miniature figures drawn from Hinilawod, the epic of the Panay-Bukidnon.

Along the abandoned rails of Lopez, Quezon, Mang Jessie Abatayo turns discarded coconut shells into intricate miniature designs. A stroke survivor for more than a decade, Abatayo began experimenting during the pandemic lockdowns.

In turning scraps into items of beauty, he has shown his neighbors that re-invention, like art, often takes root in the most ordinary materials.

As part of the media team covering the Tourism Promotions Board Philippines’ (TPB) Community-Based Tourism (CBT) Workshop program, I often find myself in the enviable position of exploring the nearby attractions of the chosen communities. While I am given the luxury of seeing landscapes and cultures with fresh eyes, those behind the #CBT initiative do the painstaking work that makes these visits possible.

Their responsibilities go far beyond logistics. They involve the delicate, often slow, process of engaging communities, earning trust, and working in places where culture, livelihood, and local identity are tightly interwoven.

TPB’s Domestic Tourism Promotions department keeps the program in motion by first identifying a community whose traditions or natural environment deserve both protection and support. What follows are days and weeks of relationship-building: listening to local leaders, coordinating with LGU units, conducting repeated site visits, before the long and meticulous task of facilitating the workshop itself can begin.

The chosen communities are typically located in areas where the surrounding environment needs safeguarding, or where long-standing cultural practices remain alive yet vulnerable, often in need of government assistance, training, and renewed visibility.

One such trip that I recall fondly involves members of the Mandaya ethnic group in the ancestral domain of Sitio Sangab, located in the municipality of Caraga, Davao Oriental. They became a partner community of the Tourism Promotions Board Philippines (TPB)'s CBT program.

As one of the 11 major ethnic groups in the Davao Region, the Mandaya people hold a cultural identity steeped in an artistry rooted in land and ancestry. Their iconic Dagmay — a handwoven, mud-dyed textile adorned with traditional motifs — is not merely a fabric. It is a visual narrative of their myths, beliefs, and relationship with the natural world. Complemented by intricate embroidery passed down through generations, these crafts form a cultural identity at risk of being overshadowed by modern creations.

For many younger Mandaya, pursuing traditional weaving competes with the draw of more contemporary livelihood options. To preserve the art form, it has become essential not only to teach the youth about its cultural significance but also to show that heritage and economic sustainability can reinforce each other rather than exist in conflict.

The three-day Marketing Enhancement Program, held in Sitio Sangab, sought precisely this balance. Participants were introduced to the language of modern commerce: product development, branding, social media strategy (they were even asked to create a video reel introducing their creations), and even the nuances of collaborating with fashion designers and importers.

They learned how to position their work in markets that increasingly value authenticity and craftsmanship. More importantly, they were taught how to navigate these opportunities without sacrificing the integrity of their traditions.

In an era when many regional art forms across the Philippines face the threat of fading into memory, these workshops serve as timely reminders: communities can thrive while honoring their heritage. The Mandaya weavers of Caraga are not merely preserving a century-old tradition. They are weaving a future where culture, empowerment, and livelihood can coexist — strong threads bound together by their own hands.