Bohol In My Reverie

Were this world an endless pain, and by sailing eastward we could forever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in the voyage. Herman Melville (Moby Dick)


IT IS a place one doesn’t really dream of visiting; the way one perhaps obsesses about Venice, Athens, Paris or Prague. After all, it is just one island among 7,100 others that litter the archipelago. Could one be different from the rest? More so since it is just a hop and a skip away from the isle of one’s childhood -- the same mountain and sea, rivers and streams, caves and waterfalls, beaches and corals, trees and forests, the works. Or so one thinks, albeit with naiveté.

But this being a land of smiling contradictions, even an un-sentimental tourist is bound to get a pleasant surprise or two Bohol is charming in its simplicity, amazing in its inimitability, comforting in its laid-back way of life. It is endowed with a certain quality all its own; a distinctive character that transcends stereotype, bordering on legend but walking on sunshine, as it were.

And there lies the difference between Bohol and my island, bless the latter’s simple unadulterated soul. While the country’s third largest land mass wallows in abject poverty despite its richness, Bohol basks in the glory of its uniqueness and the attention that everyone showers on it - perhaps rightly so. For in a nutshell, the visitor doesn’t get the feeling of being lost in the middle of nowhere; neither do they have to wait long to exhale the putrid smell of decay whence they came.

One sets foot on it, and everything is there for the taking. Fresh air, paved roads, swaying palms, green fields, blue sea, white beach, good food, warm bed -- all the perks of modern living are draped in an abundance of Nature’s bounty. On a clear day, one can definitely see forever --- mountains looming in the horizon, clouds dancing in the sky, starry nights painting palettes of silver streaks and golden moonshine, marine creatures huge and tiny cavorting in the blue yonder. The promise of a one-of-a-kind adventure is at once inviting, at best exhilarating, inspiring giddiness and childlike glee.

The beaches? Any beachcomber worth his seashells will tell you he’s frolicked on more powdery grains and waded in more luminous waters. Panglao Island is no great shakes, actually, blessed as the country is with an infinite coastline that oozes white sand and crystal sea. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all; more so if one grew up caressed by the breeze and nurtured by the sun.

Then again, it’s all about seizing the moment. You look out to the ocean from your balcony, and you feel the impulse to jump into one of the hammocks cradled between rows of coconut trees, put your feet up and disappear into blissful slumber. Or, you walk barefoot on the seaside, and an odd sensation shrouds your being, something that not all the foot spas in the world can measure up. You walk farther towards where sea and sand meet, and the sound of tiny waves kissing the shore is music to your ears. All at once, lazing in the outdoors never looked so tantalizing, and it truly doesn’t matter whether some beaches are whiter than others.

Loboc River is a whole different story, however. You behold it and you wish Pasig River was not dead. Bohol’s quintessential crown jewel absolutely makes your heart skip a beat with its sheer magnificence. At first blush, words fail you until the river’s spell grows on you. Then something tugs at your sentimental cords and a similar waterway from your past haunts you like the mythic sprites that inhabit the realm. Salug, suba, karayan, ilog – whatever name one calls it, it would evoke the same rustic splendor and inspire the same maudlin yearning.

But only if it is as pristine and as healthy and as picture-pretty. It is a testament to the Boholano’s sense of heritage and reverence for Nature that Loboc has preserved its immaculate state, where other tributaries have succumbed to decadence and grime. The river hums its siren call, and its denizens take heed. They guard it with their lives, literally keeping vigil around its embankments; to care for, not destroy; to preserve, not annihilate; to enhance its beauty for all the world to see.

And what beauty there is to see. The river snakes its way amid verdant landscape, sunbeams peering through thick foliage, its emerald waters so tranquil and soothing to the senses. On its edges, people go about their daily lives, oblivious to strangers traversing their celebrated waterway. Overhead, children happily romp on a huge coconut tree that juts out across its breadth – a perfect diving board, if ever there was one. The wooden bridge that hangs from one end of the river to the other lends a more bucolic aura to the picturesque vista.

Not far away one hears a droning sound, that of a rhythmic splash that can only emanate from a waterfall. Busay Falls is no more than two meters high, but it is stunning just the same and the city dweller wishes for an urban oasis as rejuvenating. And if one gets lucky, the accidental day-tripper might even get to listen to the voice of angels. When the renowned Loboc Boys’ Choir rehearses, the whole town is swathed in an almost celestial atmosphere, adding a spiritual dimension to the passage. No, the Three Tenors on DVD can’t even come close to the surreal experience.

What of the postcard-perfect Chocolate Hills? Astounding, to say the least; confounding, when one comes to think of it; mystifying, to the highest degree. One could not help but marvel once more at the mysteries of Creation. Mounds of earth covered with patches of green that turn to brown at the height of summer. All 1,268 or so of them bosom-like peaks lying side by side on that piece of God’s solemn handiwork.

You used to just see them on postcards, learned about them in elementary school, and shrugged them off as no big deal. But after you’ve climbed 214 steps to stand on top of one of the biggest hill, you drink in the panorama laid out before your eyes, lift your head up to The One behind the clouds and mutter to yourself, what a wonderful world this is indeed.

Then there’s the tarsier. Is it a bird? Is it a rodent? No, it is a primate. Reputedly the smallest monkey on earth. Found mostly on the island’s forests, and a few in neighboring islands. Ohh, they’re simply adorable. They stare at you with their wide open eyes; long thin naked tail hanging from their minute frame no bigger than a man’s hand; arms and legs clinging tightly to barks and branches of trees and shrubs. When they’re as much as startled or excited, they turn their heads half a circle, their smooth furry bodies curled up even more snugly.

Six kilometers from Tagbilaran, one finds the oldest stone church in the country. Built in 1596, Baclayon Church still retains its original granite structure, its massive appearance symbolizing the inhabitants’ strength and resilience. Inside the church are artifacts and relics as old as the building itself: crystal chandeliers, silver tabernacle, altar with carvings inlaid with gold, stained-glass windows, life-size statues, religious paintings on the ceiling, and a 600-pound antique bell up in the belfry.

Bohol offers all these and much more -- dolphin and whale spotting at Pamilacan Island, spelunking at Hinagdanan and Bingag Caves, scuba diving at Balicasag Island, bird-watching at Rajah Sikatuna National Park, a string of ancient churches, landmarks depicting historical events (Blood Compact, anyone?), Spanish-era watch towers, mangrove-intertwined coasts, rows and rows of mahogany trees lined up majestically in the countryside, fresh seafood, cheerful people … and a boat ride down the river that sticks to one’s reverie like an old romance that refuses to go away.