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.

By the time we arrived and were fetched by Lihim El Nido’s speedboat for a ten-minute cruise from town, I felt thankful to have finally caught sight of it.

In a corner of El Nido, Palawan, where jade waters meet emerald forest and limestone cliffs rise like mythological guards, lies Lihim Resorts, a property that turns secrecy into an art form. Lihim means “secret” in Filipino, and from the moment you glimpse its hidden villas placed between rocky and forested slopes surrounded by sweeping sea views, you understand why this is a place that doesn’t broadcast itself but rather reveals its features slowly, beautifully, and calculatedly.

The villas at Lihim are architectural poems to understated elegance: low-profile structures woven into the landscape, with thoughtful use of natural materials and expansive glass that frames views of the forest or the bay’s horizon. Each villa dishes a sense of own secret hideaway; spacious, meticulously appointed, and made for lingering moments of contemplation.

One of the defining features you’ll notice when roaming around Lihim whether it’s a during sunrise, morning, sunny afternoon or sunset, the views can be framed beautifully under tropical foliage or a dusk setting shot from the infinity pool. All around you is how the natural palette of Palawan shapes the visual identity of the property. Sunlit greens, deep ocean blues, and warm wood textures aren’t merely aesthetic choices; they tell a story of a resort that integrates design with environment.

At Lihim, luxury isn’t flashy; it’s thoughtfully crafted. Personal butler service greets you from the start, ensuring every need is met with Filipino warmth and precision. A Viber group chat set up by the staff gives the impression that you have a circle of friends ready to answer anything, just a message away. From private check-ins that whisk you straight to your villa to curated island tours and bespoke dining experiences, every interaction is carefully tailored and considerate.

Dining here is a journey in itself. Spots like Gana and Henri’s offer refined Filipino and international fare accompanied by panoramic views, especially from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of Henri’s, whether it’s breakfast bathed in dawn light or evening drinks on a breezy terrace.

I particularly enjoyed our dining experience at Henri’s, a bit removed from the main property, perched atop a hill. A 4x4 ride from Lihim takes you on a seven-minute drive upward. Henri’s, a multi-story structure, frames sweeping ocean views of El Nido, which perfectly complement a refined dining experience.

Since opening in March 2023, it has earned acclaim in Philippine gastronomy, with a menu curated by Lihim’s culinary team, led by Chef RJ Garcia, showcasing expertly crafted dishes made from Palawan’s freshest seafood and locally sourced ingredients.

Wellness is another pillar of the Lihim experience. Panari Spa, hidden among the greenery, promises restorative treatments that blend traditional techniques with modern massage therapy. Whether you indulge in a massage overlooking the forest or practice sunrise yoga with the bay at your feet, the sense of calm here is physical, mental, and visceral.

But perhaps the secret of Lihim lies in the way it feels: a place that doesn’t shout for attention but invites reflection, connection, and delight in the small, moving details. It’s where world-class hospitality meets untouched natural beauty. It is definitely a sanctuary for travelers who understand that the finest getaway experiences often begin in well thought-out places.

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.

It turns out that not all impressions exaggerated by movies and headlines accurately reflect the communities that exist along these old PNR tracks.

Over time, many of these neighborhoods have settled into ordinary, stable communities. In the town of Lopez in Quezon Province, the old railway corridor now reveals something else entirely: a hub of local craftsmanship. Homes that once stood beside the tracks have become small manufacturing spaces, producing woven pamaypay made from buri or anahaw leaves, coconut-shell crafts, baskets and even blacksmith-made tools.

Beyond that, it is also a place where ingenuity is patching a band-aid to an ongoing problem: a novelty ride that offers visitors a unique experience while serving as a daily lifeline for local commuters navigating the country’s neglected transportation system.

Together with members of the Tourism Promotions Board Philippines (TPB), the marketing arm of the Department of Tourism, we set out to scout communities that could be included in the agency’s community-based tourism (CBT) program. Our journey took us along the old Philippine National Railways tracks in the town of Lopez in Quezon Province, and getting the chance to ride the region’s most unconventional form of transport: the so-called “skates.”

My first ride on a skate was a lesson in local initiative. Rather than letting the abandoned tracks fall into decay, residents had repurposed them into a makeshift railway for hand-built trolleys. Constructed from wood, steel, and salvaged materials, these vehicles move along rusted rails, powered by pedals or by hand, their clattering wheels echoing across fields and small villages.

Known locally as skates and sometimes jokingly referred to as “kits” or “bullet trains”, these trolleys carry schoolchildren, passengers, and market goods, following the same route once traversed by PNR trains. In communities long underserved by conventional public transport, the skates have become more than a novelty: they are a practical, grassroots solution, connecting people to schools, markets, and neighboring towns, and sustaining daily life along a railway that has largely been left behind.

Also in the same tracks in Lopez, where the old PNR trails stretch across Quezon, we stumbled upon a handful of backyard industries or, more accurately, garage workshops. Men and women were weaving baskets, another group crafting fans from anahaw leaves, and just a few dozen meters away, a blacksmith forging knives and small swords in front of his home.

Amid these pockets of creativity, one workshop drew us to stay and observe longer than the rest. Its owner, Mang Jessie, was not just crafting objects, he was shaping stories from discarded materials, turning ordinary scraps into something extraordinary.

His name is Jesus Abatayo, known to his neighbors as Mang Jessie.

During the long lockdown, when his small coconut store slowed, Abatayo began experimenting with husks and shells he once discarded. “He just started shaping them into little things,” his wife, Avanceña, recalled. “Before we knew it, there were flowers, animals, even tiny houses”, she tells us in Tagalog.

What began as a lockdown experiment grew into an unexpected livelihood. From shaping coconut husks to smiling faces, animals and other objects, his pieces, sold for a few hundred pesos, have become cherished fixtures in the community.

A stroke survivor for more than a decade, Abatayo has done more than carve out an income. In turning scraps into items of beauty, he has shown his neighbors that reinvention, like art, often grows from the most ordinary materials.

Together, the crafters of Lopez and the skate drivers form a strong network, proving that even amid institutional neglect in basic services like transportation and livelihood, the community finds ways to harness creativity and resourcefulness.

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.

But every time that lingering what if crept in, our next destination, the town of Quezon kind of pulls me back to reality. The promise of a new discovery, an unexpected moment, a place I hadn’t yet seen, seems to work its wonder of snapping me out of my daydream and keeping me locked into the present.

Our next stop presented us with a seamless blend of nature and history, kicking off with a half-hour hike to Tumarbong Falls; a striking, 25-foot-plus cascade that spills into a wide, inviting pool flowing into a river. Tucked beside the falls, a secluded glamping site that draws in a steady stream of foreign visitors, particularly Italians, according to the caretaker.

Looking around, it’s easy to see why. The setting checks all the boxes for Western travelers: a lush tropical backdrop, a near-total digital detox thanks to the absence of network signal, and, of course, a clean body of water begging for a refreshing dip.

We wrapped up our adventure with a slow, scenic ride down the river aboard a small outrigger boat giving us a fitting end to our first day of outdoor pursuits in Quezon.

As if the travel Gods understood our disappointment at not being able to visit Balabac Island, they blessed us with sunny weather and moderate winds the following day, allowing us to embark on an island-hopping tour around the beaches of Quezon.

We visited Tataran Island, an island with a small community that is framed on one end by a long sandbar that stretches during low tide almost a kilometer long. Near it is another island surrounded by powdery white sands, Sidanao Island, which is fringed with coconut trees and a few rustic huts that make picnicking or even an overnight camping trip seem like a wonderful idea.

Bookending our journey to Quezon, Palawan, was a visit to a place deeply ingrained in the collective memory of Filipino childhoods. One that first appeared in our Sibika and Kultura textbooks; the story about the Tabon Man.

The Tabon Cave Complex, located in the treacherous cliffs of Lipuun Point, is not merely a relic of the past but a window into the earliest chapters of human history in the Philippines. To finally step into its chambers, a long source of fascination of mine since childhood, was nothing short of surreal.

Between 1962 and 1965, a team led by American archaeologist Dr. Robert Fox conducted excavations in these caves, unearthing burial jars, stone tools, and human remains. Among the discoveries was a tibia fragment, dated to approximately 47,000 years before present—the oldest known Homo sapiens sapiens fossil in the Philippines, later known as "Tabon Man."

Yet the story of the Tabon Caves does not end there. A 31,000-year-old right mandible, identified as belonging to a young female, and a 16,500-year-old frontal bone further cemented this site as a critical piece of the puzzle of early human migration in Southeast Asia. Beyond skeletal remains, archaeologists uncovered a trove of artifacts, including the intricately crafted Manunggul Jar, a burial vessel now housed in the National Museum of Anthropology.

With over 200 identified caves, the Tabon Caves remain an archaeological treasure trove, yielding discoveries well into the present day. Adjacent to the complex, a newly inaugurated branch of the National Museum of the Philippines offers further insight into Palawan’s storied past. Its four galleries weave a narrative of human survival and ingenuity.

The first, "Palawan: Cradle of Heritage," presents the Tabon Cave Complex and its most iconic finds, including replicas of the Manunggul Jar and the Tabon skull cap. "Surviving Heritage," the second gallery, highlights the island’s ecological richness, showcasing endemic species that have thrived in its limestone forests for millennia.

"Bituun," the third gallery, explores the knowledge systems of Palawan’s diverse ethnolinguistic groups, linking the past to the present. Finally, "Stories of Origins" retraces the steps of the pioneering archaeologists who, in 1962, first peeled back the layers of time to reveal the thousands of years human presence in these caves.

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.

As the Philippine Sea rolled its giant waves beneath us, the boat pitched and leapt, and I gripped the rails tightly, trying to steady both my balance and my stomach. The thought of throwing up beside the other passengers felt increasingly real and deeply embarrassing. To stave it off, I let my thoughts drift to the days just passed, memories still vivid, still clinging to me like a loyal, long-lost dog.

Where to begin? I wondered, as a rapid sequence of images played in my mind like scenes from a film, each one carefully framed, reminiscent of filmmaker Terrence Malick’s reflective approach to nature. The island unfolded with a silent power and left a strong effect on me. I had heard stories from friends who had been before, and I thought I had a sense of what to expect. But Itbayat still surprised me with its immense, cinematic landscapes and unbothered beauty.

Just getting off the faluwa on arrival was an experience. “You’re lucky the waves weren’t that high today,” said a local fellow passenger. If that was a lucky crossing, I could only imagine the worse days, as already four members of our group had gotten seasick mid-crossing.

Inland and finally away from the giant swells of the Philippine Sea, we laced up our hiking shoes and explored the countryside of Itbayat. What greeted us was a landscape that showcased Batanes’ iconic terrain, rolling hills rising steadily toward jagged limestone peaks and dramatic cliffs. The scenery stretched wide and open, dotted with pockets of lush grassland where cows and goats roamed freely, as if the island belonged entirely to them.

Rapang Cliff felt like a fantasy come to life. Its flat ridges and sea-facing table-top like ridges called to mind Game of Thrones’ mythical Wall, only this one was carved by nature. Getting there took a two-hour hike over a five-kilometer trail. But between the steady climb and irresistible views, the trek stretched longer. We stopped often to breathe, to snap photos, to soak in the gifts of the island.

At Mauyen Cliff, the scene looked tailor-made for the finale of GMA’s Widows’ War, if only they had chosen a location shoot over a green screen. Here, cliff drops offer both breathtaking beauty and edge-of-your-seat suspense. We found ourselves exchanging nervous reminders: don’t get too close, or else, it’s sayonara, world.

Even from a safe distance, the place gets your attention. That high-altitude mix of adrenaline and awe, outlined by a 360-degree panorama of sea and sky, felt like a movielike mic drop, an exclamation point to end our first day on the island.

Among the natural attractions we managed to visit during our brief three-day stay on the island, several offered not only stunning views but also unexpected insights. One such site was Cavaywan Lake.

At first glance, it’s still waters projected a sense of calmness typical of many nature spots. However, it was the land surrounding the lake that captured our attention. Our local guide explained that the reddish soil may be due to high concentrations of iron and protein, giving the area another earthy character that sets it apart from more typical lake environments.

Of all the places we visited, Torongan Cliff offered me the most meaningful learning experience of the trip, providing me with a newfound insight into the prehistoric past of the Philippines. Within Torongan Cave, now inaccessible after a typhoon destroyed its mouth a few years ago and once believed by archaeologists to have housed the country’s earliest known human settlements, lies the Axurud: a spherical stone tomb now stamped with archaeological significance.

Shaped like a boat and pointed toward the sea, the tomb is thought to contain the remains of an entire Austronesian family that lived on the island between 2,000 and 4,000 years ago. Its design is no coincidence. For the Austronesians, the sea was more than a passage—it was both a path and a final destination. In death, they believed that the spirit was to return to the ocean, completing a journey back to its origin.

Archaeological evidence traces these early settlers to Formosa (modern-day Taiwan), from where they embarked on a vast maritime migration around 4,000 B.C., eventually spreading through the Pacific and Southeast Asia. Their influence remains evident in our languages, rituals, and even the physical traits of many ethnolinguistic groups across the Philippines.

Learning this raised had me raising a question: who truly came first? The Negritos long believed to have crossed a land bridge from Borneo tens of thousands of years ago? Or the Austronesians, whose presence has been strengthened with recent discoveries in caves across Batanes and as far south as Cagayan’s Callao Cave? It’s a debate that continues to drive archaeological inquiry and it’s what makes places like Torongan essential not just for tourism, but for identity.

A few more nature spots, each deserving of a lengthy article on its own, rounded out our glimpse into the island of Itbayat. As a travel writer and someone who takes every chance to explore during time off from work, I sometimes find that travel can begin to feel routine. But Itbayat shattered that illusion.

It reminded me how fortunate I am simply to stand, walk, hop, and even leap for a photograph across its swelling hills, high-rise cliffs, and boulder peaks—all sculpted by thousands of years of crashing waves and nature’s craftsmanship. The landscapes here weren’t just remote; they felt otherworldly or like a setting of a period movie. Think Braveheart. And for that, I felt nothing but gratitude.

After over a decade of toying with the idea, imagining the wild faluwa boat ride, I finally made the leap. Or more accurately, I finally crossed the water from Batan to this long-teased, mysterious island of Itbayat that I skipped during my first visit to Batanes. Now that I’m here, I get it.

The island delivers the goods: vast, rolling hills carpeted in grass where goats and cows freely roam, and a sweeping terrain that would make you want to run and sing a tune from the classic “Sound of Music” even if you don’t know the lyrics.

Yes, I stepped in cow dung, more than once, but if anything, it only confirmed Itbayat’s rawness. Here, there’s no filters nor tourist trappings, just full-on island realism.

The real story, however? It’s the people. Morning walks turn into scenes of spontaneous warmth: cheerful greetings from strangers like they’ve been waiting years to say hello, tour guides who double as natural storytellers with a flair for the dramatic and a refreshing sense of humor, and visual delights that feel like they’ve been lifted straight out of a Wes Anderson film. Yes, put them all together Mallick, Anderson, Braveheart, and as the Martin Scorsese meme says, Itbayat is 'Absolute Cinema'.