As I stood proudly on the deck of BRP Capones—a spanking new Japanese-made Parola-class patrol vessel belonging to the Philippine Coast Guard (PCG)—where we hitched a secure ride going to Tawi-Tawi to cover the Agal-Agal Festival, I quickly surveyed my surroundings. I saw the sacred mountain of Bud Bongao lording it over a picturesque coastal landscape, gently covered by the morning mist.

Yet, I was clearly able to spot the glowing silhouette of the town’s Mosque and the faint outlines of a modest village with fishing boats and passenger ferries that were just starting to stir the day’s activities. And then it finally dawned on me: I had successfully reached the southernmost province of the country. Tawi-Tawi, I have arrived!

“There’s only one country I haven’t been to. Nepal. I don’t know why—I just haven’t had the chance,” Don Ado told us after he overheard me asking my friend Karla, “Can you guess how many countries he has traveled to?” It wasn’t a question concocted out of the blue. I sincerely wondered about it after surveying the massive art, historic, religious, and souvenir collection housed safely inside Don Ado’s private ancestral mansion.

Housing spectacular painting and sculpture masterpieces by world-renowned Filipino artists such as Juan Luna, Guillermo Tolentino, and Felix Resurreccion Hidalgo, the National Museum of Fine Arts effortlessly dishes out plenty of eye candy from every single square inch. Safely kept inside this majestic neoclassical building, first constructed in 1921, is a sheer abundance of historical artworks that rightfully rivals even some of the biggest museums and grandest galleries around the world.

My step count must have numbered in the hundreds when I paused to survey my surroundings. I saw the fisherman who had greeted me earlier as he was fixing his fishing net, appearing like a small dot from far away. I turned my head and saw no one else within yelling distance—except for a couple of dogs who were following me. For a few minutes, I sat on a protruding branch of a fallen tree and just wrapped my mind around the solitary vibe of the spot. I started to wonder how such a stunning place remains uncrowded on an afternoon showered with the riveting golden rays of the sun.

Opening my eyes to a still-dark room had me instantly recalling the eerie creaking of the floorboards I heard the night before. Jolted to consciousness, I half-expected to see a shadowy figure standing at the foot of my bed. I saw nothing but the faint illumination of electric light seeping through the small window. Pacifying my anxious mind, I assured myself that a bunch of scurrying rats were behind what I initially thought were hurried footsteps outside my room. Hearing noises during the previous three nights would have been fine, but on that fourth night in question, I was the only remaining guest staying at the budget hut of Punta Isla Lake Resort—where a dorm bed only cost me one hundred eighty pesos per night. Not bad, even if it comes with a slight fright every evening!

The sky was the color of mud, raindrops pelting us sideways, and the wind growing stronger by the minute. All we could hear was the rambling of the hardly visible river. Our guide told us what we had expected to hear the moment we arrived at the brook’s edge: “Negative, the water is too strong, we cannot ride the boats,” he told us in Tagalog. Nobody protested at the obviously correct call of our guide. While there was an ounce of disappointment, I simply chalked this place up in my ‘see you next time’ list despite the uncertainty of my future travel schedules.

After spending several days in Lake Sebu in South Cotabato, I went back to General Santos for a few nights' stay. Taking full advantage of my time in the Tuna Capital of the Philippines, I met up with July, a friend I first met during my trip with Meaningful Travels PH to Barlig, Mountain Province a few years back.

Influenced by Muslims, Spaniards, Chinese, and settlers from the Visayas and Luzon, Zamboanga City’s cuisine is one big, delicious melting pot of diverse textures and flavors. This underrated food hub, shaped by decades of culinary preservation and fusion, is a highly recommended destination for foodie travelers. To guide you through your food trip around the city, here are must-visit places on where to eat in Zamboanga City.

Sticking my neck out of our tuktuk, I could already see the outline of the Jal Mahal Palace as it appeared to float calmly over the glass-like waters of Man Sagar Lake. It was an impressive architectural wonder—seemingly fluctuating or plummeting deep into the stoic blue waters. As I stood from a distance, I immediately recognized it as a thing of beauty stuck out of place. Nonetheless, I felt it eliciting a probing element calling to answer how it ended up in its historical state; abandoned, fascinating, yet left to the mercy of the tranquil lake.

The idea of walking over the pretty pink sands of Sta. Cruz Island in Zamboanga City had me LSS-ing on a classic Psychedelic Furs song and recounting a young Molly Ringwald. After a couple of cancelled Zamboanga trips in the past, I finally found myself blissfully seated on a small boat heading to the island of Sta. Cruz—otherwise known as “The Pink Island.” With my eyes staring ahead at the spread-out patches of glistening shoreline, I was quickly arrested by the enveloping hues of green flora in the not-so-distant background. Wide-eyed with wonder, everything felt so right that even the engine's revving sounded as if it were a custom soundtrack to a must-watch travel film.

From a traveler’s perspective, Bataan is an underrated tourist spot that consistently surprises visitors with both natural and man-made attractions. But from a foodie’s perspective, it’s a destination rich in both culinary history and a thriving modern food culture. If you want to discover Bataan through a comprehensive gastronomic tour, here are ten of the best "Where to Eat in Bataan" places you shouldn’t miss out on!

After becoming the first female to visit all the countries on our planet, Cassie De Pecol decided to share her 7 favorite destinations. Cez and Agness from eTramping.com—an adventure travel blog that provides unique travel tips and interesting facts about destinations across the globe—were particularly inspired by the story of Cassie De Pecol, a young woman who has been to every country in the world. Since both of them are experienced travelers, it only makes sense that they take advice from other seasoned adventurers like Cassie.

A few months ago, I landed a 900-word article writing gig that paid me a decent sum on top of a full-board three-night stay at the luxurious Shangri-La Hotel at the Fort in Taguig. Of course, I did nothing but completely relax, get a soothing massage, and try out the premium restaurants located inside the towering property. Where I happily had dinner on my first night was the highly acclaimed Raging Bull Chophouse and Bar.

Many times I am asked by friends about my favorite place in India, and each time I invariably answer with Rajasthan. Usually, I would be met with a surprised reply: “What about the Taj Mahal in Agra? Or New Delhi?”

While my month-long initial trip to India took me to many breathtaking places that genuinely provided me with incredible cultural and spiritual widening experiences—such as Varanasi, Agra, Cochin, Mumbai, and Kolkata—the specific places I visited in the state of Rajasthan truly left a collection of fascinating images permanently etched in my mind: stunning desert landscapes, grandiose forts and palaces, colorful bazaars, friendly people, and absolutely delicious food.

“Yohooooo, Kuya be kind to us!” she shouted at the driver of the 4x4 truck as we made sure our hands were gripped onto the handlebar like glue. We were just about to go over the first mound of sand, almost 30 feet high, when she issued that reminder. Not that kuya had a habit of giving a flying eff about slowing down—it’s just that he follows to heart the unwritten rule of the dunes: the faster, the better.

He then accelerated the truck into a dizzying speed, shaking the four of us huddled at the back. The engine struggled a little going to the apex of the hill, but once gravity took over, hellacious yells from my female companions almost busted my eardrums. As we slid through the downhill path like one of those post-apocalyptic vehicles driven by looneys in Mad Max films, I felt a different kind of rush.

Under a canopy of dark midnight sky dotted with a few observable stars, and a wary moon hiding beneath thick clouds, we started our hike over a narrow trail speckled with loose rocks. As scorching as the wind was when we arrived in Saint Catherine—after a couple of hours wheeling along the long highway of the Israeli and Egyptian border—the wee-hour breeze drifted by a little colder for comfort. Guided only by the small flashlight of our Bedouin guide, we trod the shadowy trail, slowly lost in the silence of the hush sounds of our huffing and puffing alongside the rhythmic breathing of a trio of camels.