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.

If you want to make the most of every peso you spend during your stay in Puerto Princesa, and just to be sure, I recommend The Dome Hotel – Puerto Princesa. Located along Hartman Beach on Wescom Road, a short drive from the city center, the property faces a fringe of mangroves where birds gather at first light. At sunrise, the sky opens over the water in golden hues, bringing a reminder that, in Puerto Princesa, location can be its own form of luxury.

But with Dome Hotels and Resorts, location is only the beginning; a strength echoed in its other thoughtfully placed properties, including those fronting Caylabne Bay in Cavite, as well as in El Nido and Boracay. Each is situated where scenery and nature blend seamlessly, making the setting as much a part of the experience as the stay itself.

Unlike many beach resorts that encourage you to retreat behind closed doors, the Dome Hotel makes a convincing case for chilling outdoors. Yes, the property’s 10 dome villas are cocoon-like and cozy, the kind of spaces that tempt you to stay past checkout time, but the real “dome” experience happens outside.

Mornings drift relaxingly into afternoons if you just chill beside the beachfront pool, where you can witness daily fisherman activities. At the in-house restaurant the Regada Café + Beach Bar, having a cup of coffee may stretch into socialization with the other few guests in the intimacy of a small, design-forward hideaway.

Beneath a canopy of towering coconut trees, with the sea just steps away, the experience feels less like a hotel stay and more like slipping into the rhythm of Puerto Princesa itself; relaxed, sun-soaked, and free. It’s the kind of beachfront spot that invites you to savor every hour of your time on the island.

With only 10 dome villas arranged across the property, the hotel creates a sense of separation that feels increasingly rare in popular beach destinations. I was struck by how wise the domes are spaced apart with each one designed for two guests yet afforded enough breathing room outside to sit in stillness, meditate at sunrise, or unroll a yoga mat beneath the palms without feeling observed.

The layout allows for privacy without isolation, a careful balance that suits couples seeking retreat as much as travelers in need of pause.

Architecturally, each villa nods to the vernacular Bahay Kubo, though here the native inspiration is rendered in smooth curves and polished finishes. The result is less imitation but more of sound reinterpretation: local heritage translated into clean lines, cool interiors and the small luxuries that modern travelers now expect.

The warmth of the staff lends the property its most memorable dimension. Tintay, the night desk manager, greets returning guests with the familiarity of a longtime host, Kharla, the resort manager, appears motherly to all guests dishing out attentiveness to each guests’ needs without intrusion.

Mornings begin with a breakfast included in the published room rate. The Filipino silog plates arrive elevated in generous servings and Instagrammable plating, alongside American and Western options for those who prefer them. It is the sort of breakfast that anchors the day, turning what could have been a simple inclusion into one of the Dome’s special offerings.

You might think I was just lucky during my stay at the Dome, stumbling in on great service by chance. But I doubt it, having stayed here twice last year, both visits were equally memorable. One night, a beach party lit up the small outdoor space by the pool, a reggae Friday if I recall correctly. The venue doubles as a stage for live music, featuring local talent and even well-known musicians from beyond Puerto Princesa.

That evening, fire dancers wove through the small crowd, their flames flickering against the night sky, completing the entertainment. Marketed as the city’s “first beach club,” the Dome Hotels - Puerto Princesa doesn’t need a label since like most who had stayed here before, this property is fast becoming a favorite place to stay in Puerto Princesa.

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.

I’ll admit, I once scoffed at the island’s fast-paced transformation. I kept hearing stories of land grabbing, of wealthy outsiders and, as some locals whispered, politicians from all over the country, who ended up buying undeveloped lots in a form of land banking that took advantage of local landowners selling far below value.

My unease was heightened by the island’s lack of proper infrastructure: an airport struggling to keep up, healthcare so limited that when a friend’s brother was badly injured in a motorcycle accident, he had to be medevacked to Davao City. Add to that the rotating brownouts, questionable local government policies, the tiresome bureaucracy and it was hard to see the promise of development without also seeing its cracks.

As an ordinary traveler with zero influence over policy, I can only take in what the island offers on the good side and how it has emerged as one of the Philippines’ major tourism draws, often compared to a more subdued version of Bali. What strikes me most about Siargao is not just the postcard-like destinations featured across brochures and Instagram reels, but the atmosphere it has created. The kind of everyday life that moves slowly that makes visitors stay longer, even after they’ve ticked off the usual sights and activities.

Once an exclusive surfer’s Eden, Siargao has long since outgrown its get-stoked-on-a-surfboard stereotype. These days, the island’s attraction has expanded into something of an interesting mix of people. Wellness devotees arrive with yoga mats in hand, guided by yogis (yoga teacher) who set up yoga classes beneath coconut trees and by the sea. Food enthusiasts, too, have followed suit; chefs from across the globe, local farmers, even botanists bent on studying the island’s native ingredients. Then come the laptop-toting digital nomads, carving out co-working spaces between surf breaks. And, of course, there are the romantics, the travelers who fly in for a week and somehow stay on for months, living out their own version of Eat, Pray, Love.

As with many emerging destinations, Siargao has not been spared from the pitfalls of rapid tourism growth that locals hope will be addressed before it becomes irreversible. Yet the island has also managed something rare: it has cultivated a spirit that feels distinctly inclusive, drawing in a new generation of travelers while bridging cultures, races, and beliefs.

Alex Garland once described Bangkok’s Khao San Road as a “decompression chamber” for travelers, a halfway house between East and West. Siargao, in contrast, feels like the opposite: as it has become a place where visitors either slip away quickly or surrender completely, staying far longer than planned, caught up in the island’s magnetic pull.

For Mary Dizon, a freelance social media manager who first arrived as a tourist and has now lived on Siargao for six years, it was the sense of genuine human connection that convinced her to stay. “I’ve gone through the pandemic, the typhoon, and other struggles here, but I still feel like the island keeps giving—making me feel safe, accepted and cared for,” she said. “So the goal is to also do what we can for the island and the locals.”

For some, it is unique passions that draw them to Siargao. Take Kat Cortez, a food scientist who arrived in the province for a gastronomy residency with a new restaurant called Roots. Almost immediately, the island’s greenery stirred a memory from her childhood in Pampanga: the alagaw tree, its mint-scented leaves once used to wrap family meals.

In her first week, she thought she had found it. “I saw this beautiful tree and thought, this doesn’t look like the alagaw I know,” she recalled. A crushed leaf confirmed her suspicion, the scent was faint, missing the sharp edge of alagaw.

What she found instead was the inyam, or binayuyo in Tagalog, a cousin of the bugnay. Its small fruits ripen from tart green to deep purple sweetness, but its real value lies in how it restores soil after storms and feeds native birds. Once dismissed as children’s playthings, the fruits are now being transformed, through Cortez’s work with Roots, into jams, kombucha and even Japanese-style wine.

The charm of Siargao extends beyond those drawn to its culinary scene, wellness culture, surfing, or natural beauty. It also resonates with people who carry an entrepreneurial spirit but long for an atmosphere that’s anything but ordinary.

For Mayee, co-owner of /WEEK•END/ Café, Siargao was never simply a tourist destination. “Siargao, for me, was the kind of place where ambitions felt at home,” she said. The café itself was born out of an evening of drinks and shared dreams with friends.

“We had a vision for a space that could capture the island’s easygoing pace, where every day feels like the weekend,” Mayee added. Manila, with its rush and constraints, offered no such canvas. “Manila always felt too fast-paced, too boxed in. In contrast, Siargao’s energy—laid-back, welcoming, and full of creativity, perfectly matched the vision we had in mind.”

The café, she says, is their way of giving back: a get-together place where island culture and slow living meet over good food and coffee.

For Flora May Padayao, who lived on Siargao between 2017 and 2018, the island was where she found a safe refuge, a place where walking barefoot felt natural. “I found my own tribe when I lived there, you know, people that don’t judge you, accept you as you are, regardless of your past,” she said.

It was also in Siargao where she met her German husband, a serendipity that keeps her connected to the island until today. Yet returning for good has become harder. Land that once were affordable now sells for as much as ₱30,000 per square meter, a reminder of how fast the island is changing and how that sense of belonging Flora May found on the island can quickly change.

Mirra Reyes, the founder of the bus-ticketing start-up Biyaheroes, resists the idea that her repeated returns to Siargao fall under what locals call the island’s “curse.” She prefers another word: hiwaga, or mystery.

“The island captures the best of what it means to be Filipino,” she said. “From its landscapes — whether explored by boat or on foot — to its surf breaks, its diverse and inclusive food scene, and above all, the warmth and generosity of its communities, Siargao has everything I could ever hope for.”

Rising land prices have pushed living costs sharply upward. When videographer and content creator Joshua Chua first settled on the island just a couple of years ago, he rented an apartment for php 3,000 a month. By the time he left, the rate had crept higher. Today, he said, that same space goes for php 20,000.

For Sasa Steck, a journalist who first visited Siargao a decade ago, the island’s rapid transformation is bittersweet. She worries that development increasingly caters to the wealthy, leaving behind the character that once made the place so appealing. “I’m not sure what Siargao is like now,” Steck said, noting the influx of affluent residents and the addition of direct flights. “I feel like everything must be expensive.”

When she arrived years earlier, Siargao struck her as a haven for budget travelers and digital nomads. “If you stayed in a decent hotel, it was only 500 to 800 pesos a night,” she recalled. “Restaurants were accessible, nightlife was cheap, and getting drunk was easy. Siargao was like Koh Pangan in Thailand, except five times better.”

Yet one problem then, as now, stood out: the lack of healthcare. Steck cut short her stay after falling ill. “There was no hospital, not even a town clinic,” she said. “I drove miles looking for a pharmacy and found only a plywood shack with limited medicine.”

While facilities have improved, concerns linger. Earlier this year, a popular American vlogger known as Barbie suffered a motorcycle accident and had to travel to Butuan, just to undergo an MRI.

Such gaps in basic infrastructure—health care, housing, and services—are colliding with the island’s rising cost of living. Many fear that unless Siargao balances growth with essential services, the island could become unsustainable, a bubble bound to burst.

For visitors and longtime admirers alike, that is a future no one wants to see. As someone already smitten by the Siargao curse and planning a longer return, I certainly don’t want that to happen.

The island has the potential to harness its popularity not only to boost the local economy but also to raise the standard of living for its residents. Yet as development accelerates, the challenge lies in addressing infrastructure, services, and community needs in a way that preserves the character that draws people here in the first place and ensures that Siargao’s appeal last well into the far future.

This writer, together with a few members of the media, flew to Siargao from Clark International Airport aboard a Philippine Airlines flight. The route is one of the many new connectivity expansions aimed at bringing more visitors to the island. Beginning this October, 2GO will launch a once-a-week sea voyage from Manila to Siargao, expected to bring an additional 1,800 passengers to the island.

With Philippine Airlines offering travelers from Central and Northern Luzon another option to fly directly to Siargao, along with other routes such as PAL’s Manila–Cebu–Siargao connection, the steady wave of arrivals to the surfing island is set to continue.

For a hassle-free exploration around Siargao, we used the Guide to the Philippines app, available on Google Play, to book essentials such as accommodations, restaurant reservations, motorcycle rentals, surfing lessons, and more.

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.

While the famed tattoo artist Apo Whang-Od remains in strong consideration for the prestigious Gawad sa Manlilikha ng Bayan (GAMABA), Kalinga already holds the distinction through Alonzo Saclag, a master of traditional dance and performing arts who received the award in 2000.

Saclag and his wife, Rebecca, established Awichon Cultural Village in Brgy. Upper Uma, Lubuagan, as more than just a heritage site. It is a living space where traditions are sustained through tribal houses, ceremonies, and immersive experiences.

Rebecca shares that her husband, Alonzo, was captivated by the traditional dances and music of Kalinga from an early age, a fascination that later shaped his life as a cultural practitioner of the province’s heritage. With the founding of Awichon Cultural Village, the couple sought to share that heritage more widely, offering visitors a chance to witness performances that bring Kalinga’s traditions to life.

Showcasing traditional Kalinga architecture, with guest houses constructed from wood and roofed with cogon grass. These design elements stand as testaments to indigenous craftsmanship. Each structure embodies an architecture rooted in symbolism, with interiors that reflect centuries-old practices such as clay pots boiling over clay stoves, and small fireplaces that once served as the heart of family life, drawing everyone together during the cold season.

Beyond the architecture, the village features a collection of native instruments, from the reverberating gongs to tiny bamboo flutes, each carrying the rhythms of Kalinga heritage. Guests are invited not only to observe but to immerse themselves in the culture by trying out handwoven garments, joining performers in traditional dances, and partaking in activities that offer a glimpse into the daily lives of Kalinga’s past.

On our first evening, dinner was not merely a meal but an immersion into Kalinga tradition. As we sat under a starlit sky, guests were served native dishes as students from the local high school performed dances that once marked community gatherings.

The steady beat of gongs guided their steps, echoing a rhythm long performed by their elders. Between dances came the Salidumay, an indigenous folk chant passed down through generations. For visitors, the evening unfolded as more than entertainment, it was a glimpse into a cultural gift that the people of Kalinga continue to preserve and share.

For Mary Khrystelle Luha, a content creator whose work demands constant connection to devices and social platforms, a short stay at Awichon Cultural Village gave her a much-needed social media detox. “In experiencing how a true Cordilleran used to live, especially in this part of Kalinga, I was reminded of how simple life really is—and how often we’re the ones who make it complicated,” she said.

The pause from Wi-Fi, she added, felt almost essential. “It turns out you can sleep on a simple bed and still wake up fully energized. And without Wi-Fi connection, you discover more chances for genuine conversations.”

I have yet to fulfill the dream of sitting before Apo Whang-Od for one of her signature dotted tattoos. But receiving my first tattoo in Kalinga, where the tradition runs deep, gave me another memorable experience.

At Awichon, three women trained in the province’s traditional tattooing came to visit. Soon, a line had formed, almost everyone from our group eager for a turn. There seemed no better way than through Kalinga's traditional "batok", the ancient hand-tapped method that uses a thorn, or gisi, fastened to a bamboo stick and rhythmically struck with another piece of wood.

Each tap carried the sting of ritual, a steady six out of ten on the pain scale, but also the weight of a promise I had long made to myself. For my first body ink, I chose the local symbol for “prayer.”

Since our trip earlier with the Tourism Promotions Board of the Philippines aims to highlight Kalinga’s idyllic setting for wellness enthusiasts, we were joined by wellness advocates including writer and entrepreneur Stephanie Zubiri of Soulful Feasts. Set amid thick greenery and open fields, the village offered a fitting backdrop for grounding rituals and mindful connection.

In one earthing session, Ophelia, a local cultural bearer, led a chant to Kabunian, the supreme deity in Kalinga belief. “We were told that sitting on their local weaves connects Kalinga people to their ancestors,” Zubiri later shared on Instagram. “At that moment, she said, the spirits were with us, grateful for our presence.”

Another participant, model and wellness advocate Kelly Misa, reflected on the experience: “From fire ceremonies to cacao rituals at sunrise, ancient dances to intricate weaves, our time in Kalinga reconnected us to land, spirit, and self.”

Awichon is not only defined by its landscape as represented by pockets of rice terraces carved into the hillsides, the sharp ridges that turns golden by sunset, and lush trees inhabited by different bird species, but by the way it slows time itself.

Visitors speak of losing themselves in the moment while embracing every second, as if the land asks you to be ever present. Here, a connection to nature happens alongside a deeper understanding of Kalinga traditions, offering travelers not only an unforgettable stay but also a glimpse into the history and culture of the province.

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?”

I’ve answered the question so many times, I might as well be reciting from a script, of an improvised monologue repeated over the years, with all the usual reasons: the food, the history, the sound and color of the bazaars, the warmth of the people, and yes, even the dizzying disarray of the streets, which to some may seem like chaos, but to me feels like choreography.

Maybe it’s time I moved beyond the rehearsed reply. It’s about time, perhaps, to unpack the whys and how’s, and finally give fuller voice to my likeness for India, to offer a counterpoint to those who see the country only through viral clips and offhand jokes that hover dangerously close to racism. India to me is all these and more.

Few places, if any, rival India in its ability to serve as a crossroads of continents and cultures. A living, decompression chamber where East meets West, and North touches the South. For the curious traveler, India is less a destination and more a sensory journey: a place where the unfamiliar feels curiously new, and the familiar are spruced up dressed in colorful garbs, sound, and spice.

Step just a few hundred meters beyond your place of accommodation, and you're instantly swept into a mix of color and contrast from centuries-old temples and palaces to the everyday scene of the street. As the oft-repeated phrase goes, 'India assaults all your senses', but in my experiences, it’s not only true, it also has seduced me in. And in that combination of noise, smell, texture, and taste, it also has satisfied my own wanderlust.

In India, history isn’t tucked away in museums or written only in books, it pulses through the streets, temples, forts, and daily rituals. Mughal palaces rise beside colonial-era buildings; ancient Hindu shrines stand amid modern chaos. Even the smallest alleyways often lead you to landmarks and museums keeping stories of past kingdoms, wars and revolutions.

India’s history is embedded in the everyday lives of its people. Some are hidden in plain sight like a palace in Jaipur that quietly takes visitors into winding lanes and scenes of daily life, while others, such as the iconic Taj Mahal, and the citadels scattered across the state of Rajasthan stands out more.

To sum it up, just by exploring the streets of India will always take you to unpredictable paths, where the country’s history awaits to be told. For history junkies, it is important to know that there are 43 UNESCO World Heritage Sites in the whole of India, with 35 of which are considered cultural sites and 7 nature sites.

To describe India in just a few words based on its topography much like calling New Zealand hilly, the Philippines an exotic island paradise, Switzerland a land of snowy mountains, or many African nations a mix of forest and desert plains, India would be a combination of all.

There are the golden sand dunes of Rajasthan, the art-deco architectural hub of downtown Mumbai, the snow-capped Himalayas, the tropical vibe of Kerala’s backwaters and Goa’s beaches, the rugged slopes of the 1,600-kilometer-long Western Ghats mountainside, the high-altitude plains of Ladakh, and the coastal lowlands off the coast of the Arabian Sea and the Bay of Bengal. Each time you hop on an inter-state train, expect to disembark into an entirely new landscape.

A friend of mine, Monette, once told me she knew she had found the right man to marry after they spent over a month traveling around India together. This is because the country, known for diversity and experience, can also test your patience. Alongside the warmth and friendliness of its people, you’ll certainly encounter the less pleasant ones: countless so-called “touts” who will get in-your-face instantly.

The train system, while impressively vast and essential in moving millions daily, can be chaotic to navigate. Then there’s the street scene, a torpedo of noise, motion, and sensory overload that can trigger immediate culture shock.

But for someone like me, who started out roughing it as a solo backpacker, traveling to India four times has prepared me for all kinds of eventualities. More importantly, it has made me a better traveler, one who embraces what one fellow traveler described to me as “bedlam in the streets of India” and turns each challenge into an awakening, a lesson, and eventually, a story.

During my first trip to India more than a decade ago, I experienced what I can only describe as an in-your-face awakening. In Varanasi, I found myself stunned by open-air cremations along the ghats. Though I had read about these Hindu rites, witnessing them unfold with such a short distance away took me by surprise.

As I often say, once you have absorbed Varanasi, everywhere else in India seems to taper off in intensity. Throughout the year, India’s calendar is adorned with festivals: Holi, Diwali, and the Kumbh Mela, a massive Hindu pilgrimage considered as the world’s largest peaceful gathering.

I often tell my friends that I could easily transition to a vegan lifestyle in India. Their cuisine is so flavorful, thanks to centuries-old traditions that masterfully employ spices, curry sauces, chutneys, and assorted dips.

I always order a thali, a meal whose name means “plate.” It typically consists of vegetable curries, dal, chapati, rice, papad, and curd. Don’t let viral street food videos scare you off; you’ll find plenty of spots serving delicious food in clean settings.

To sum it up, India is not merely a destination to tick off a bucket list. It is a country that demands to be understood in all its contradictions, beauty, and chaos. Across my four journeys there, each visit has added another layer to my understanding of its history, culture, and people.

For me, India will always be a place of rediscovery, of the world and of myself. It fills the mind with new learnings and spirituality, forever reminding me, in the words of Gustave Flaubert, of “how tiny a place I occupy in this world.”