When the staff at Travel + Leisure sets out to determine which plot of land, surround by water, is worthy of taking the lead on it’s annual list of islands, I’ve often wondered about the criteria on which these destinations are measured. And of course, who exactly, is doing the measuring. Is it a single person who travels the globe, soaking up the sun, playing in the sand, and drinking exotic cocktails? Is it a panel of high-level executives crowding a conference room, shuffling through slides submitted by independent bloggers, photographers, and travels alike? Or, is it possible, that feet never left the ground? What if some poor unfortunate soul was forced to devote his or her nights and weekends to surfing the internet, compiling data about far off lands, they’ll likely never reach, because they’re far too busy climbing a ladder, only so some schmuck above them can attach their name to the efforts, and claim responsibility for determining it’s readers hopes, dreams, and future family vacations.
Well, in the case of Boracay, T+L’s 2012 pick, I can tell you this… having just spent the afternoon lying on the beach, my toes buried in powdery white sand, listening to the sound of it’s turquoise waters rolling ashore, one thing is certain: whoever you are, wherever you are, and however you reached your conclusion, I just want to say that you were right. Twenty-twelve found a gem — a 7km slice of heaven midst the Visayan Sea. And although having that title bestowed upon the island has surely detracted from it’s original charm and appeal, by spurring a flurry of development, it’s still absolutely lovely, even with swarms of speedo’s, divers, and the occasional disco tech, thumping away at night. Perhaps that in itself should be seen as a winning attribute; a place that still manages to shine, despite those buzzing around you.
When I set my sights on the Philippines, I hadn’t a clue where to go and what to see, much less how to plot a course from A to B, and probably C (why limit yourself?). While doing my homework, one island kept reappearing in various publications and personal travel blogs, as if to say “Come to meeeee.” And, so, I listened. After a long taxi trip, short flight, then ferry ride, followed by windy roads on the back of a motorbike, I arrived on Boracay’s west shore, known as White Beach. The sun had just gone down, and so the landscape was a little unknown until morning.
I unloaded my bags at a cute and cozy place, just steps from the sand, down a tiny dirt path on the South end, known as Station 3. North is home to Station 1, where the majority of high-end accommodations lie. Station 2 is central, with by far the highest concentration of restaurants, shops, and sleazeballs — in other words, don’t stay there unless A) you want to be awake all night B) are male, beer-bellied, range in age from 50-70, in search of a happy ending C) well, there is no C, but I’m sure I could drum one up if I tried. Anyway, you catch my drift. Station 3, however, is a little quieter and houses most of the backpacker types, such as myself.
So far, most of my time has been spent lounging on the beach, book in hand, watching the colorful bangka’s (native double outrigger sailboats) come and go, surrounded by either cute Asian families or really attractive French and Australian divers, playing volleyball. That’s right, ladies — pack your bags.
In other words, life is good. Real good.
