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.

Rugged cliffs dominate the breathtaking landscape of Itbayat

Far from the tattoo trails of Buscalan, a richer portrait of Kalinga unfolds in sacred rituals, heirloom recipes, and the coldness of mountain villages.

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.

Sunrise over the mountains of Lubuagan, Kalinga is a great reason to wake up early

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.

The workshop participants, media with members of the Tourism Promotions Board of the Philippine (TPB)

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.

A clearing and a sea of clouds

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.

Farm and garden produce are all displayed in colorful Baluartes during the Festival

 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.

Tagay sa Tagumpay

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.

Top view of Balagbag Falls in Real, Quezon

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.

Postcard-images at every turn of the head

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.

Posing with members of the Bagobo-Tagabawa community in Sta Cruz, Davao del Sur