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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

When a tourist city like Puerto Princesa becomes dotted with resorts and hotels from high-end properties to mid-range options and a few decent backpacker-friendly stays, you can still draw the short straw and end up in a dingy, below–value-for-money accommodation.

Siargao’s easy-going vibe proves to be a draw, but unchecked growth threatens its soul. Old-timers speak of a Siargao that once felt raw and unvarnished, similar to what I would imagine what Itbayat, Batanes is today, a far cry from the island visitors encounter today.

One of the earliest batch of surfers to ride the waves at Cloud 9 recalls the stretch now called Tourism Road as ‘puro talahiban’, nothing but tall grass swaying in the wind. Where there were once grassy fields now stand cafés, fusion restaurants, yoga studios and boutique resorts, symbols of the island’s transformation.

Kalinga’s Awichon Cultural Village is an accommodation that defines the very meaning of a homestay stripped of resort amenities yet filled with the comforts of home, and enriched with a heritage character, as it was built by the cultural bearers of Kalinga.

After four extended visits, each lasting nearly a month, it's fair to say that India has carved out a space in my wanderlust. Friends often ask me why. Their curiosity is usually marked with skepticism, sometimes even concern. “What do you like about India?” they ask with bafflement. The question is often followed by a familiar refrain, shaped by viral TikTok clips of dirty street food pantries: “Isn’t it dirty?”

From my experiences traveling the Philippines, I’ve gone on to observe a wide range of tourism practices, with several reaching exemplary levels, while others unfortunately less so. What stands out in memory, however, are those that are done right, particularly those that prioritize the well-being of local communities. After all, it’s the people who live closest to these destinations who should, above all, have a say in how they are managed.

Memes about millennials looking younger than their age ring true. Compared to our parents and older relatives, who seemed to age faster, the difference is obvious. In a recent conversation with a friend, we wondered if the difference lies less in genetics and more in lifestyle.

Motorcycle tourism remains a relatively novel concept in the Philippines, despite the prevalence of two-wheeled transport as a mainstay of daily life. Yet, for many, the notion of long-distance motorcycle touring conjures images of large groups of riders thundering through quiet provincial towns, engines roaring at 1,200cc, leaving disruption in their wake.

Voluntourism, which mixes volunteering and tourism, is rapidly gaining popularity among travelers eager to see the world while doing some good along the way. The concept appeals to those who want to satisfy their wanderlust but also feel the need to make a small difference, whether by teaching in far-flung schools, helping with environmental projects, or assisting in community development efforts.

In the final days of his term, Mayor Al David Uy stood with us beside a shaded column of the Island Garden City of Samal City Hall’s new parking bay, a structure that, under any setting, might appear ordinary. But here, its rooftop holds more than 1,000 solar panels.

After days of bouncing from Puerto Princesa to the southernmost town of Bataraza and everywhere in between, our bodies were reaching exhaustion level. Long drives, rugged trails, and back-to-back adventures had taken their toll.

Fresh from nearly a week traveling from Puerto Princesa to Aborlan and back, we hit the road for more island hopping in the coastal town of El Nido, a place I’ve visited several times but still couldn’t get enough of. Each visit feels increasingly like an exploration of the best places to stay. This time, it did not disappoint: the property that would be our temporary home for a few days offered glimpses of a wonderful escape, something taken from the setting of the White Lotus series, as I had seen on Google.

For much of us, we were made to believe that the communities that lined the aging Philippine National Railways tracks were nothing more than squatter settlements; clusters of improvised homes said to be occupied by people who stole steel from the rails themselves. There was a widely repeated story of a segment of track sawed clean off, halting the Manila-Bicol line years ago, and it became an easy picture for the way many of us viewed those who lived beside the railway: as troublemakers, the batang riles, or drifters, or people who existed beyond the rules that governed everyone else.

I’ll admit it, part of my mind was still wrapped on our missed opportunity of traveling to Balabac Islands. I find myself mentally drifting over its impossibly white sands, the kind travel dreams are made of. They say it’s one of the most beautiful islands in the world, and I was ready to believe it.

On the journey back to Batan Island, I found myself fighting off nausea aboard a small faluwa, the traditional Ivatan boat known for its open deck, deep hull, and absence of outriggers, built to navigate the strong, unpredictable currents between the Batanes islands.

“It’s a no-go.” Words I had hoped not to hear from our tour coordinator as I waited for an update on our planned trip to the Balabac group of islands. “The coast guard still won’t allow boats to leave port,” Ash informed us, moments after speaking with contacts on the ground at Port Buliluyan in Bataraza, the southernmost town of Palawan and the gateway to Balabac.

Despite years spent crisscrossing the Philippine archipelago, a few places have continued to elude me. Chief among them: the mountain village of Buscalan in Kalinga, home to Apo Whang-Od, centenarian, cultural icon, and said to be the oldest traditional mambabatok (Kalinga traditional artist) of her generation. Using a thorn, soot, and indigenous ink, she etches ancestral symbols into skin, each mark a living archive of identity and cultural symbol.

Organized by the Tourism Promotions Board of the Philippines, the workshop focused on destination resiliency, signaling renewed support for sustainable tourism in one of the country’s most secluded islands. Let’s get one thing straight: Batanes isn’t your average beach-and-bar-hopping Philippine getaway. It’s remote, like seriously remote.

Located far in the Philippine Sea, over 160 kilometers north of Luzon, it’s a destination that shrugs off convenience. Ships don’t carry passengers, only cargo. Flights are few, and when the weather decides to be unpredictable, which happens often, cancellations are a given.

Having climbed my fair share of mountains during my college days, I knew well enough that when a guide says, “Just 10 more minutes,” what they really mean is that a good hour or more separates you from the summit. By the time I reached the boulder face of Mount Apo, I was already battling a sea of massive stones. These boulders, remnants of an undocumented ancient eruption, lay scattered like imposing obstacles one has to hurdle with both hands and feet, and an impressive balancing act, before reaching the peak.

Growing up, the game of pabitin was a familiar presence during town fiestas and children's parties. A bamboo rack, laced with small toys, snacks, and other prizes, would be hoisted above a crowd of eager children. As the rack was lowered and raised again, the children would jump, reaching for whatever they could grab.

Of all the towns in Batangas, Bauan was one I knew little about. I had passed through its coastal beaches and heard of its most treasured relic, the Holy Cross of Bauan, a revered wooden cross housed in the Immaculate Conception Parish, central to local devotion and celebrated alongside a neighboring sacred cross in Alitagtag through what the locals refer to as Subli dance-ritual.

Yet until recently, I had never spent more than a day in Bauan. That changed when I stayed for a couple of nights at one of the town’s newest accommodations, the Sotogrande Hotel and Convention Center Batangas.

Over the years, and after many visits to Boracay’s white-sand shores, I’ve stayed in a variety of accommodations: from beachfront luxury to modest guesthouses hidden into inner alleys. But of all these stays, one property has become my island constant: Azalea Hotels & Residences. On my most recent trip, I checked in here for the third time, making it the hotel I’ve returned to more than any other on the island.

In this town in Quezon Province, residents transform their homes into dazzling tributes to faith, harvest, and heritage.

Growing up, the word bayanihan reminded me of a painting of neighbors carrying a wooden house on their shoulders. It was a scene representative of a time when homes were built light enough to carry and communities close enough to do so together. But beyond the literal meaning of bayanihan, the term has since signified something greater, a collective effort, of people coming together to help one another in times of need.

For many Filipino travelers and weekend warriors, the usual stops in Quezon province tend to circle around the well-worn routes of Lucena, Tayabas, Lucban, and Gumaca, places already familiar to motorists en route to Batangas or Bicol.

They say the third time’s the charm. But in Batanes, the northernmost province of the Philippines, each of my three visits has carried its own distinct magic. My first trip, over a decade ago, involved pedaling halfway across Batan Island on a rented bicycle. It happened to coincide with a town fiesta, and my friends and I were warmly welcomed into local homes, where we feasted on traditional Ivatan dishes and experienced generous hospitality.

Most festivals in the Philippines zero in on street revelry, and why not? Who wouldn’t want to strut to the sadsad steps of the Ati-Atihan while shouting “Hala Bira!” through the sweltering streets of Kalibo, Aklan? Or stomp to the thunderous drumbeats of Iloilo City’s Dinagyang, where every rhythm pounds the ground like a heartbeat? Both celebrations, this writer’s two most favorite festivals in the Philippines, light up Panay Island with an energy that’s hard to resist.

Davao del Sur was one of the first provinces in Mindanao I visited. In 2009, I flew to Davao City with my then-girlfriend, Marianne. From there, we made our way to Camp Sabros, an outdoor retreat in Kapatagan, Digos City, known at the time for having one of the longest zip lines in the country, an 800-meter ride above the treetops.

Often mentioned last when one converses about the Bicol region, the province of Catanduanes revealed itself with such unexpected surprise that it swiftly secured a place among my top five favorite provinces in the Philippines. Its unassuming surf culture, endless rolling hills unfolding into sweeping Pacific Ocean views, and surreal rock formations create a landscape both rugged and breathtaking. Mornings reveal scenic peaks wrapped in a sea of clouds, while waterfalls, hidden lagoons, and a winding coastline of powdery white sand complete the island’s charm.

Seated on a mat laid over the cool sprawl of lawn of MiraNila, a heritage house and events place in Quezon City which now holds outdoor film showings and a house tour as part of its offerings, I stretched my legs, letting my sock-covered toes press into the softness of the earth. Overhead, the night shifted in slow, deliberate movements, with the nighttime skies parting just enough to unveil a waxing crescent moon. On the huge screen set up on MiraNila’s spacious front yard, Greta Lee’s Nora leads Teo Yoo’s Hae Sung through the bustling streets of New York City in Past Lives—a film driven by the weight of life’s what-ifs.

Beyond its big city vibe and bustling shopping and marketplaces, it hides a wealth of nature spots and soulful activities.

Growing up in an era a couple of decades away from the advent of low-budget airlines, I saw our rich neighbors jet off to Hong Kong for shopping trips. At the start of every school year, I would listen to a couple of classmates telling stories of high-rise buildings and the video games they brought home. Since then, I have come to associate the place as where the affluent Filipinos go for holidays.

When I first started traveling around Southeast Asia, I encountered travelers who had explored tri-cities or even provinces. This was because countries such as Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, Indonesia, Malaysia, and even Laos have established tourism circuits that not only attract travelers to stay in one place but also encourage them to explore nearby regions.

When I first began traveling, I was drawn to the sheer visual spectacle of a destination—the more picturesque, the better. I believed that dramatic landscapes alone could capture the spirit of my journey, with each frame giving me a postcard-worthy memento. But as I pursued the craft of travel writing more seriously, my perspective evolved. I came to realize that a place is more than its scenery; I discovered that a great deal of a destination’s soul rests in the stories of its people. By putting more focus on the locals, I witnessed how their traditions, heritage, and daily rhythms weave a richer narrative, thus transforming every visit into a deeper, more meaningful experience that lingers long after I leave.

Anyone who has entered an old house, especially a well-preserved ancestral home, can compare the experience to visiting a museum. As one observes a piece of furniture, a painting adorning the wall, or an eye-catching design detail, including the very architecture itself, a rich narrative unfolds—one that stretches across decades and, in certain instances, even a century.

Azalea Hotels & Residences Baguio offers more than just accommodation, it crafts experiences. From its expansive suites ideal for families and barkadas, to its thoughtful, locally inspired itineraries, Azalea seamlessly blends comfort and culture. Its prime location and elevated service are not just incidental, they’re integral to the kind of stay that reveals Baguio’s charm beyond the tourist checklist. This was evident during the recent Panagbenga Festival, where media guests were treated to a carefully planned weekend of hospitality, historical, and highland festivity.

Peacefully tucked in the lush highlands of South Cotabato, about a thousand feet above sea level, Lake Sebu, with its calm waters and towering waterfalls, provides guests with more than jaw-dropping natural attractions.

In a country where bus terminals often appear rundown, characterized by sparse benches, a solitary ticket counter, and a parking lot crowded with buses, certain ones, like Victory Liner's in Baguio City, distinguishes it among the rest through ample space and thoughtful design that caters to the needs and comforts of travelers.