Keeps Pulling me Back
The Philippines might just be my next Brasil. You know, that place that gets under your skin, sticks in your brain, and refuses to let go. For me, Brasil was that intoxicating first love—the kind that leaves you haunted when you’re apart. Back in my 20s, it hooked me good, reeled me in, and wouldn’t let me go. I kept returning—15, maybe 20 times—until I finally gave up and moved there. It was only a decade later, after countless caipirinhas and samba nights, that I reluctantly branched out, setting my sights on the rest of the world.
We Interrupt This Program…
Fast forward, and somewhere along the mad dash to see all 193 countries, I hit a snag. A good snag. The Philippines. Or, as I’ve come to affectionately call it, “The Peens.” This wasn’t just another stop on the itinerary; this was a place that stood out, carved its own space in my heart. Like Brasil, it’s got that something extra—a vibe, a soul—that separates it from the rest. But let me tell you, it’s the people here that seal the deal.
Filipinos, man. They’re not just friendly—they’re absurdly friendly. The kind of genuine, warm, “how can I help you” nice that feels like a hug for your soul. Hotel staff, mall workers, strangers on the street—it doesn’t matter. They smile like they’ve been waiting for you all day, like you’re the main event in their lives. And they don’t stop there; they’ll go out of their way to make sure you’re good. Why are they so damn nice? Why are they so happy—and happy to see me of all people? Maybe it’s some next-level customer service training. Maybe I’m being played. But if it’s a con, it’s the kind of con I’m more than willing to fall for. I’m back for more, and I’m not complaining.
>>> RELATED: First Philippine Trip – 2017 <<<
Guess Who’s Back…Back Again?
Fourth time’s the charm, right? Or so I thought. This was becoming a thing: a travel conference in Bangkok on the books, and me scheming up ways to squeeze in some quality time in the Philippines. This time, I’d set my sights on Siargao—a little slice of island paradise. Four nights, sand between my toes, salty air, and nothing but time. That was the plan.
So there I was, buckled into seat 2A, the little plane ready to make the hop over from Manila. Door closed, tray table locked. An hour later, still parked on the tarmac. Something was up. Eventually, the word came down: a little “incident” on the runway in Siargao, and the airport was shut down indefinitely. Just like that, the dream of island sunsets and surf breaks evaporated.
No Plane on Sunday
The airline shuffled us off the plane and onto a shuttle bus. The silver lining? They put us up for the night. The downside? Let’s just say the accommodations weren’t exactly the Ritz-Carlton. But here’s the thing: I’m not one to wallow in a hotel room, nursing a grudge against fate. Instead, I took it as a sign. I had some unplanned hours in Manila—specifically, the Pasay City area—a corner of the city I’d yet to wander.
Disco Nights
So, I laced up my shoes and hit the streets. Because when life throws a wrench in your itinerary, you don’t sulk. You explore. Pasay City, a neighborhood that hits you like a shot of high-proof liquor. It’s loud, it’s alive, it’s a lot.
As night fell, the energy didn’t fade; it ramped up. Street corners came alive with women flipping skewers of sizzling meat, kids chasing each other through alleys, men banging tools against metal like percussionists in some industrial symphony. Jeepneys rumbled by in a kaleidoscope of colors, blaring pop tunes that doubled as a soundtrack for the chaos.
I’ll admit, there were moments I thought, “maybe this isn’t my scene, maybe I don’t belong here.” But just when that unease started to creep in, someone would throw me a smile, a nod, a cheerful “hello” as if to say, “relax, you’re good here.”
Even a gang of teenagers—kids who might’ve seemed intimidating in another context—lit up at the sight of me, laughing and waving like I was a rock star. There are plenty of foreigners in Manila, sure, but something told me they don’t wander down these streets. Maybe they should.
We Have Lift-Off
The next morning brought relief and a second chance. Word came down: we were heading back to the airport for another go—a 10:30 flight to Siargao. The runway drama, it seemed, was resolved. Later, I’d learn just how close I’d dodged disaster. The flight before mine? The plane had skidded off the runway and buried itself in the mud. Then, same day, a second incident! Could’ve been me. Hell of a way to start a vacation.
This time, no hiccups. The ride over was smooth, the landing uneventful. I hopped off the plane, straight into the hotel’s pickup van, and we were off. I’m not one for splurging—give me a clean room with air conditioning and hot water, and I’m good. But this time? This time I’d gone big, and damn, was it worth it.
A private villa awaited—a sprawling lodge with hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened to let the ocean breeze in. The bathroom alone was bigger than some of the apartments I’ve lived in. But it wasn’t the inside that made this place sing; it was what lay just outside. My own private infinity pool, perched mere feet from the ocean. The kind of place you see on Instagram and think, Who actually stays there? Well, this time, it was me.
Sure, I was down a night thanks to the Siargao runway drama, but at least I’d made it. The villa wasn’t cheap, and the deposit I’d wired months ago was strictly non-refundable. But as I eased into that pool, staring out at the horizon, every peso spent felt like a bargain.
RAMBLIN’ TIP: You can book this villa HERE.
Island Time
That first afternoon, I did what any sane person would do—I stayed put. Villa, pool, ocean breeze. Paradise doesn’t need embellishment. Sometimes, you just soak it in and let the world spin on without you.
Dinner that night was right across the street, at this little Japanese fusion spot tucked into a garden. It was unassuming, the kind of place you could easily miss if you weren’t paying attention. The sushi? Solid. Fresh, clean, satisfying. But the real star of the show? A mango shake that could bring grown men to tears. Sweet, ripe, perfectly chilled—like they’d bottled up the essence of the island and handed it to me in a glass. Simple pleasures, man. Sometimes, they’re all you need.
That first night? Slept like a baby. Woke up early, feeling like a king, and wandered out to enjoy breakfast poolside. Let me tell you—breakfast hits different when you’re eating it next to your very own infinity pool. I still couldn’t quite believe it. And the lodge? These people have their game dialed in. They leave you with an iPad loaded with the menu. You tap in your order, hit send, and minutes later, breakfast is hand-delivered by smiling staff. If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
By 9 a.m., it was time to trade villa luxury for the open water. I’d booked the “Tri-Island” tour, and the first stop was Guyam Island. Picture this: an island the size of a city block, no roads, no cars—just powdery sand, swaying palms, a volleyball court, and a few shacks selling cold drinks and snacks.
My activities on Guyam? Nothing you’d call productive. Just floating in water so clear it felt like swimming in liquid glass, letting my mind drift to nowhere in particular. No plans, no schedule—just the sound of the waves and the feel of the sun on my skin. Sometimes, that’s the best kind of day.
>>> RELATED: Philippines Contrast and Compare – Manila, Cebu and Davao <<<
Clothing (not) Optional
Next up: Naked Island. And yeah, I know what you’re thinking—don’t worry, I thought the same thing. But no, this isn’t some free-spirited, clothing-optional escape. Naked Island is named for the island itself. Bare, stripped down. No trees, no bushes, not a scrap of shade. Just sand.
It’s basically a giant sandbar in the middle of paradise, and honestly? It’s perfect. Another chance to float aimlessly in impossibly clear water, doing absolutely nothing but soaking it all in. Sometimes, “nothing” is the whole point.
Table Service
The last stop: Daku Island. The biggest of the three, but let me be honest—it wasn’t the island that blew me away. It was the lunch.
I’m lounging in a palapa, taking in the ocean breeze, when out of nowhere, two young guys appear, balancing a tray so massive it looked like a prop from a feast scene in a medieval movie. And it was all for me.
This wasn’t just a meal—it was an event. Pancit, chicken adobo, a giant whole fish staring back at me, pork liempo, saang (those spiky sea snails that make you feel like an adventurous eater), and enough rice to sculpt a love letter to Siargao—literally. They’d spelled it out right there on the plate.
The whole thing was almost too pretty to eat. Almost. It was like the Filipino take on a charcuterie board—but cranked up to 11. A feast fit for a king, served in the middle of paradise.
Dinner Plans
Back at the villa, it was another sunset ritual—lounging in my pool, watching the sky turn every shade of orange and pink, letting the day wind down on island time. Dinner plans? A tuk-tuk into town.
The day before, I’d clocked a spot that made arepas. Arepas. In Siargao. Wrap your head around that. I thought seeing a Venezuelan joint in Prague was wild, but here? On this tiny surf island in the Philippines? Unbelievable. Naturally, I had to check it out.
Except when I got there, they were closed—9 p.m., shutters down. Just my luck. So I settled for Plan B: a little shack slinging pizzas called Trattoria Altrove. No expectations, but wow. The pie was perfection—crispy crust, fresh toppings, everything just right. Who knew Filipinos could turn out a pizza that good? Sometimes, the best discoveries are the ones you never see coming.
Tuk-Tuk Tour-Tour
The next day started the same way: breakfast by the pool, the kind of morning ritual I could get used to for, oh, the rest of my life. By 8 a.m., I was off for another adventure—this time, a land-and-lagoon excursion that promised to show off Siargao’s finest.
The day was spent bouncing around in a tuk-tuk, chauffeured through the island’s hidden gems. First stop: a simple overlook with a jaw-dropping view of coconut fields stretching out below. Picture-perfect, almost too beautiful to believe.
Secret Garden
Then it was on to Secret Beach. A quiet, secluded stretch of sand where I killed some time watching a couple of guys valiantly attempt—and fail—at paddleboarding. Not that I could do any better, but hey, at least I wasn’t the one wiping out.
Next up, Massin River. Here’s where things got interesting. A wooden diving board jutted out over a pool of cool, turquoise water. Naturally, I took the plunge. Refreshing, exhilarating, everything you want from a mid-island swim—until my mind decided to ruin it.
See, there were houses perched along the riverbanks upstream. And all I could think about was what might be flowing into the water from those houses. Once the thought took hold, it refused to let go. Nothing like a little existential dread to spice up an otherwise perfect swim.
Lagoonies
Pulling into the port of Del Carmen, we swapped our tuk-tuk for a little wooden boat. Right then, I knew I was in for something special. Twenty minutes later, we glided into Sugba Lagoon—a scene straight out of a postcard.
For the next hour, I climbed up and down a tall wooden diving platform. Let’s be honest, it was probably one safety inspection away from collapsing, but that didn’t stop me. I’m no Olympic diver—I know one move, and that’s jumping off feet first with zero finesse. Headfirst dives? Not in my repertoire.
When I wasn’t perfecting my splash, I was floating in the blue-green waters, letting the world drift away. They had kayaks and paddleboards on offer, but come on—I didn’t trek all the way to paradise to break a sweat. Sometimes, you just need to let the water carry you, no effort required.
Pot Luck
Back at the port, I found myself in a little spot run by a woman named Sulima. Her place wasn’t a restaurant—it was an auntie’s kitchen disguised as one. No menus, no fuss. Just a big table loaded with ceramic dishes, each one filled with something homemade and undeniably local. It felt more like crashing a family potluck than dining out.
I kept it simple—stuck with the familiar. Calamari, chicken adobo, and the ever-present rice. Nothing fancy, but it hit all the right notes. A meal that fills your stomach and warms your heart—sometimes that’s all you need.
The Tide is High
Our last stop was Magpupungko Tidepools, but the tide was high, so there wasn’t much to do but look around. Beautiful place, no doubt, but the real highlight? A fresh buko juice in one hand and three scruffy, overly affectionate mutts vying for my attention. They didn’t care about the view; they just wanted love—and I was happy to provide. I’ll probably head home with fleas, but you know what? Worth it.
It’s a Small World
Another day, another sunset in the villa pool. Groundhog Day, Siargao-style. Lazy late afternoons with nowhere to be and nothing on the agenda but dinner.
Apparently, though, even here, I can’t quite fly under the radar. A DM pops up on my Instagram from a follower, Hazel—a fellow traveler who happened to be on the island too. She invited me to dinner with her crew of digital nomads, and why not?
We met at WILD, an open-air spot that felt like a mash-up of a jungle hideout and an Indiana Jones set. Dim lights, earthy vibes, and the hum of the ocean just beyond. The food? Solid. But the company? Even better.
Hazel and her crew of five were full-on global nomads—working their gigs from laptops as they drifted from one corner of the world to the next. No offices, no 9-to-5 grind, just Wi-Fi and a passport. They’ve cracked the code.
If I didn’t need my bulky broadcast studio to do my job, I’d be tempted to join them. But for now, I’ll just stick to trading stories and soaking up their freedom-by-design lifestyle. Sometimes, meeting people like that reminds you that the world really is as big—or as small—as you want it to be.
>>> RELATED: Philippines Contrast and Compare – Manila, Cebu and Davao <<<
Every Vacation Has Its Last Day
The next morning, it was another poolside breakfast—a simple spread of eggs, veggies, toast, and fresh fruit. The mango was perfect, a reminder that sometimes the best things in life are the simplest. I lingered over every bite, knowing I’d miss this when I left. By noon, I was back in the air, Manila-bound, with a quick layover in Hong Kong before heading home.
RAMBLIN’ TIP: You can book the same villa HERE.
Refreshed, relaxed, reset—this trip was exactly what I needed. It wasn’t the frenetic chaos of chasing 193, those breakneck itineraries where I’d blitz through three, sometimes five countries in a week, stumbling home more wrecked than when I’d left.
No, this was different. I wasn’t chasing anything anymore. Siargao was the reward, the kind of place you can let breathe, where there’s no rush. The kind of trip I’d been looking forward to after finishing the mad dash. And now that the race is over, I’m hoping for a lot more like this one.
Would I recommend Siargao? Absolutely. It’s that sweet spot—a remote island with just enough polish to keep you comfortable but never crossing the line into overdone. Small resorts, boutique hotels, and a handful of surprisingly good little restaurants. No Marriotts, no Outback Steakhouses, thank God. Just enough to let you sink into island life without pining for the conveniences of home. Too little, and you’d feel stranded; too much, and you’re edging into Waikiki territory. Siargao gets it just right.
That said, you won’t have the place to yourself. The secret’s out—backpackers have staked their claim, though this isn’t your standard crowd. Think fewer grimy hostels, more eco-chic lodges. A higher echelon of wanderer. Let’s just say you’ll see plenty of Birkenstocks, tribal tattoos, and the occasional man-bun. It’s a scene, sure—but one that still leaves room to breathe.
Nice to meet you, Randy! Hopefully we get to visit you one day on Slowjamastan!
You as well, my friend! Thanks for being so welcoming. I hope to see you soon!