A trip that goes perfectly is often forgotten faster than one that throws you off script—and I realized that after our recent escape to the Philippines. Unlike our usual well-planned vacations, this one was entirely unplanned, thanks to a hectic schedule and sheer exhaustion. Ironically, it turned out to be one of our most unforgettable journeys.
It all started when a Cebu flash sale popped up for the long Eid weekend. Without much thought, we booked it. A couple of budget-friendly local guides—one for Bohol and another for Moalboal—were all we managed to arrange. Beyond that, we just took off, hoping the rest would figure itself out.
We landed in Cebu at an ungodly hour, with Bohol as our first destination. A quick ferry ride later, we arrived at this newly designated UNESCO Global Geopark, greeted by our guide and a neatly planned itinerary.
The famed Chocolate Hills were our first stop—over 1,200 grassy mounds formed by tectonic uplift. In the dry season, they turn brown and resemble oversized Hershey’s Kisses. It was surreal to finally witness something I had only seen on postcards.
From there, we visited the Tarsier Sanctuary in Loboc. These big-eyed, tiny primates—among the oldest species on Earth—were a bit peculiar but hilariously cute, blinking like camera apertures. It was my first encounter with a primate.
We ended the day with a peaceful riverside lunch before heading back to Cebu. Bohol was scenic, structured, and “correct” in every way. But the chaos that came next? That’s where the magic began.
The next morning, after a four-hour drive, we reached Moalboal. That’s where Eric came in—or rather, rolled in on a bike. When he called saying, “I’m outside,” I expected a car and maybe a formal-looking guide. Instead, a cheerful guy in flip-flops waved at me like we were long-lost friends.
I froze. Was this Eric? Why did he have a bike? Where was the car?
Turns out, I had unknowingly booked a bike tour. He assured us that a car would ruin the experience—we might doze off and miss the beauty. After some frantic negotiation, he brought along another biker friend. At least we wouldn’t all ride on one bike up the hills.
But honestly? Thank God for Eric.
Zooming through the countryside on the back of a bike felt like a Studio Ghibli scene in motion. Eric led us to a hidden waterfall where locals bathed under the roaring cascade. We were the only tourists there. The air was fresh, the trails untouched. No Google search would’ve shown us this place.
Next, we wound our way up misty mountain roads. The ride through clouds, with birdsong in the air and limestone hills all around, felt like sensory therapy. The views were far more immersive than anything a car window could offer.
At Casino Peak, Eric took our phone and dashed up the trail. “Let me shoot you from the top! Like a drone!” Before we could argue, he disappeared. As we hiked through floating clouds and a silent vista, it felt like walking through a dream. The final climb was tough, but the reward—a sunset-pink panorama of limestone hills melting into the sea—was sublime.
The next day wasn’t supposed to involve Eric. But when in doubt, follow the local with the most enthusiasm. He took us to Cancalanog Falls—easily the most magical spot on the trip. A quiet blue pool surrounded by ferns and moss-covered canyon walls. It looked like it had leapt out of a children’s storybook.
The water was drinkable—Eric proved that by taking a dramatic gulp. We swam in the pool, walked along the stream, and felt like kids again. The ride back through tropical valleys and along the coastline made me feel like I was on the set of Journey 2.
On our final morning, we saved the best for last: the Sardine Run. Moalboal is one of the only places on Earth where you can swim with millions of sardines—just a few feet from the shore.
But when we entered the sea, my confidence evaporated. The shallow coral floor suddenly dropped into a deep, blue infinity. Panic time. I nearly turned back—until the fearless fellow further pulled me into the sea.
“Ma’am, look down now,” said Eric.
I did. And the fear turned into awe. Below me was a shimmering galaxy of sardines—millions of them swirling like liquid silver. The bait ball seemed to have no beginning or end. Sunlight pierced the sparkling water and danced across the school. I forgot I was scared. I forgot I was tired. I just floated, amazed.
Later, we even swam to Turtle Cove and met a gentle green sea turtle. It stared at the sardines with the same wonder I did. I swear we shared a moment.
When you over-prepare, you sometimes rob yourself of the raw joy of discovery. I didn’t come back with hundreds of reels or photos. But I did return with something rarer: the thrill of many firsts.
First bike tour abroad.
First time swimming with sardines.
First time visiting a primate and a sea turtle.
First time doubting a guide—and then trusting him completely.
So, if your guide shows up in slippers with no car in sight, don’t panic. You might just be one motorcycle ride away from a memory you’ll never forget.
