My Boracay Year-Starter, Part 1: Starters and Throwbacks

chuckiechavez

January 3

It was a little past sunrise and I was running on a shallow nap. I couldn't remember the last time I was surrounded by that many foreigners. All I know was, it was the first in a while. A few rows away, a child kept making obvious commentaries. "I see the city", he said, followed by "I see clouds" minutes later, as our altitude increased.

Behind me was another kid, an Australian, judging from the dad's accent and bore a vague resemblance to Barry Koeghan. "Maybe that is Barry Koeghan. Doesn't he look like a child?", a friend quipped when I shared the story an hour later. Of course, our imaginations ran wild in stretching the scenario. Back in the plane, the kid kept kicking the rear of my seat. In another instance, my displeasure would have been tenfold. Fortunately, Barry Koeghan Doppelganger was too diminutive to kick with enough force.

Then came "the most awaited part of the flight", as that airline endearingly calls its in-flight games. The mechanics required identifying a greeting's country of origin. "Hola!", the flight attendant began, after which he followed with "The correct answer is Spain". "What's to stop passengers from answering Honduras or Equatorial Guinea", I wondered. Would that still entitle them to giveaways? No wonder that question was only a sampler.

My pre-pandemic self would have considered those things a mild ordeal. This time, however, they felt like a return to normal, like picking up from where I left off. It's been four years since I last left the country, which is quite a stretch, given how travel-fixated I was over the past decade. But, at least, I've started venturing out of Luzon again, and it's my third flight since early 2023. Besides, my excitement prevailed during those 40 minutes. In 20 more, we were set to disembark.

See, I have this habit. Whenever I spot a hint of land before a plane's descent, I try to make out the shape, check if the destination really looks like how it's drawn on maps. I never really did well in that simple game, but, if that glimpse did serve me correctly, then Boracay really is bone-shaped. And there I was, about to mark my return.

This is my second shortest interval between visits. My last was April 2023, when my US-based cousins invited me to tag along. By August, I already knew I was bound to return, by way of JC and Myka's wedding invite – a welcome surprise, I must say, which will be explained later. Still, nothing beats my previous record, with only two months separating my first two visits in 2008. In terms of overall tally, this is now my eighth visit overall and second since the island (and the world) re-opened. Though, somehow, I know this particular trip would make a mark. For starters, it's the first weekend of 2024.

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It's the closest I've ever been stationed to D'Mall, the island's de facto activity hub. For years, its existence was always subject to debate. To many, it's the symbol of the island's over-development, with its labyrinth of concrete stores, air-conditioned establishments, and crowded food chains. So, when the island was closed for rehabilitation in 2018, it was an easy candidate for demolition.

Luckily, the strip managed to survive the six-month shutdown, thanks in part to proof it wasn't built on wetlands (only near). So, for the thousands employed by the situating establishments, it came as huge relief. Because, in that respect, the place still provides more boon than bane. So, it's business as usual for Station Two's most bustling area and here it stays for now.

This is where I kicked off this trip. Having arrived three hours before check-in, lunch became the first order of business. After leaving my bags in the depository, I looked for some of my fellow wedding guests checked in the area. I caught up with Karla and Timmy over Surf and Turf and mango ice cream. Audrey, on the other hand, was still in Tides, enjoying her siesta. My friend Tess, the groom's sister, briefly joined us, together with her Romanian colleague Mihail. We spent the next hour or so, roaming the alleyways.

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Piccolo was only a year old when the island was closed and three when the pandemic struck. Given those birth pains, it's a relief to see the hotel this busy. Now, I don't usually care about pools at the beach – for obvious reasons, the sea is already right there. Yet having one outside my room provided an amusing level of convenience. It's like a holiday within a holiday, "delivered" at my doorstep – like room service. Inevitably, I took a dip after freshening up. It was impossible not to.

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With the wedding set the next day and the next one likely devoted to rest; it was my best shot at seaside me-time. The afternoon was pleasantly balmy, despite the sporadic drizzles and the rather sizable January crowd. And much as I never had issues with the April algal bloom, it was refreshing to wade through just sand and saltwater.

I reconvened with the girls after their early dinner (Or late lunch? I couldn't tell. Our hunger had yet to synchronize). As evening beckoned, I accompanied them to the shore, choco-peanut shake on one hand, umbrella on the other. Nestled on a rented banig, we exchanged long overdue life updates, before reaching a consensual sentiment: It's sweet of the couple to make us part of this, given how we're primarily friends of the groom's sister. Come to think of it, such is the warmth and inclusiveness of that circle, considering how I only see them when Tess is in town.

Mild downpours crashed our chatter throughout. Fortunately, the rainclouds cleared by sunset, and, in mere split seconds, the sky instantly switched from glum gray to flaming orange. It's a ravishing view, as you'd expect, and one my camera never tires of capturing.

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I knew it was wise to avail of a massage on Day One. It was my sole chance, really, because the next two days were bound to be jam-packed. And with waking hours and energy to spare, I headed out for a stroll with the girls.

It's a pleasant surprise to see my friend, Barny, in the island. I was with him when he first set foot here in 2010. And, similar to my first visit, it was during our former employer's summer events. Seeing him here felt like coming full circle.

After meeting at the crowded Exit Bar, we headed to Epic, the former site of Hey Jude, where all those events were held. Our nostalgia peaked when the DJ started spinning hits from that era, starting with the Black Eyed Peas' I Gotta Feeling. Naturally, we looked back at our laughable, blackmail-worthy antics and marveled at how far we've come.

I only had three rounds that night. Given the following day's schedule, inebriation was absolutely no option and I obviously no longer recover as quickly as I did at 25. I had to wake up early, hangover-free. So, we parted past 2:00AM, relatively sober. And while our nightcap no longer contained alcohol, it kept with the Boracay spirit just the same: a chori-burger.

I ended Day One feeling fulfilled.