A few steps from my Ogtong Caves Resort beachfront villa was a lush garden of towering kamachili and kulo trees, a variety of flowering shrubs, patches of sand with mounds of fossilized corals, beautifully landscaped with dramatic driftwoods and antiquated all-weather artifacts. Reigning over all this was a silent brigade of smiling and silent people equipped with sturdy dust pans and newly put-together tingtings made into walis, leaving behind nothing but a spotless, green carpet of grass in their wake.
Prominent signs glared: "Keep off the grass" or "This area is a bird sanctuary. Hunting is prohibited" or a bigger one that warned "Gathering of corals is prohibited."
I noticed the vastness where the inviting blue sea stood some hours ago, now looking like a barren piece of earth. Not to panic. The tide was low – extremely low and the entire barangay had gone nanginhas, the act of casually turning upside down big stones and wrestling with little rocks, all in search of buried shell fish, octopus, crabs, shrimps, fish – all edible gifts from the sea.
Birds provided musical background. Eventually I spotted two pairs of galanciangs on a dwarf kalachuchi tree and a flock of tamsis perched on the balcony railings of an if-only-it-could-talk romantic treehouse, undoubtedly the site of heavenly moments and hellish sighs. From the distance came the faint sound of a motor engine. Then a blur vision of a solitary pumpboat appeared on the horizon.
"Stop. Freeze," I said to myself. "Hold it right there." I looked around, liking what I saw. It was a magical moment to write a poem, compose a melody, paint a picture. All I could do was smile and happily return to my villa – not before I retrieved a beautifully-wrapped gift from Dawnie Roa, the regional director of the Department of Tourism in this part of the islands, waiting for me by my door.
To think it was Good Friday, a day when according to the tales of old, nothing good, absolutely nothing nice happens.
What can I say?
7:15 A.M.
A baroto (banca) complete with katigs (bamboo outriggers serving as stabilizers) was carried on the shoulders of four men with not an ounce of fat on their bodies, sporting shades of tan that holidaymakers could only pray for. As if on cue, several resort staffers began to work on the area. It called to mind how an empty stage comes to life with people arranging a multitude of items – banana leaves for manteles and fishing nets for decor – and then finally settling in their designated places. Soon after, the parade began all under the watchful supervision of Jessica Avila, Jenny Franco and Mary Holaysan. Wooden bowls of plain and garlic rice, porcelain bandehados of fried and scrambled eggs, ceramic trays of chorizos, longanizas, tapas, tocinos and Chinese ham, platters of danggit and labtingaw, baskets of bread, rolls and pastries, plates of puto and puto maya, more plates of suman, budbud and bibingka, and even cut-up banana trunks bursting with banana, pineapple and mangoes. On a round table, I discovered pitchers of juices, pots of brewed coffee and tea, batirols of sikwate – a prepared cocoa beverage.
I had to remind myself that it was Good Friday. Fast and abstinence. I carefully picked my choices and declared this was to be my full meal of the day. Or so I hoped.
10:30 A.M.
We boarded our vans and eagerly headed to a resort inspection tour. "Bantayan," announced the knowledgeable guide Vince Escario, island-born and a PR practitioner in Cebu, "offers loads of surprises and a unique brand of fun, revelry and camaraderie that fuse local laughter with toned-down western wildness. To the soul searchers, the island offers languid tranquility, a hideaway from the cares of the world and a boost to either sagging eyebags or a sagging spirit."
10:50 A.M.
Our first stop was the pioneer resort of the island, which has remained the favorite of many after all these years – the Santa Fe Beach Club. Coincidentally our last look-see stopover was the Marlin Beach Resort, the newest one, which obviously has corrected the mistakes of the other previously built properties. Other destinations along the route on the morning excursion included the St. Bernard Beach Resort with an original charm of its own; the Budyong Beach Resort, which seemed to be a magnet for activities popular with the hip crowd; and the Sugar Beach Resort, though with only all-too-basic spartan accommodations, brags that it sits on the "widest, longest, whitest and finest stretch of sand."
Word reached us that our hosts were waiting for us and lunch was being served at the Kota Beach Resort. You know how everything seems to revolve around food in this country, so to Kota Beach Resort we went!
1:15 P.M.
On our way to lunch, Vince reminded us that Bantayan is an island of and with life. No matter where one is billeted – choices are a-plenty and lest you forget there’s a paradise just waiting for you – a few days on the sand, under the sun and the time spent in exploring the restaurants and bars in Bantayan might just be all you need when you want to escape the humdrum of city life.
1:35 P.M.
We arrived at Kota Beach Resort and were warmly welcomed by the active members, all very much involved in the Association of Bars and Restaurants – mostly expats who now call Bantayan home – and currently headed by Rey Hubahib. Everyone proudly contributed the most requested-for dishes at their own establishments, which more often than not was an old recipe from their own mother country. Finding room in the already no-more-space-for-yet-another plate in this unbelievable display of gastronomic feast was truly a feat.
Glancing over the table, I was tempted. Perhaps just a bite. A picar un poquito. Remembering the lavishly laid out sumptuous breakfast and reminding myself it was a day of fasting, I resisted. I opted instead to have a meal for the mind by having an animated chat with Qantas Airways country manager for the Philippines, Honeybee Hubahib’s mom, Man Eli, a former teacher at the Cebu Normal School, a most articulate woman, and no doubt one of the most learned ladies on the entire island. She was enchanting and I was enchanted. I could have stayed with her for the rest of the afternoon and perhaps even come back sometime for a more enriching conversation. But it was the final boarding call. While busy thanking the hosts, only then did I notice the dramatic coastline and it looked like we were in a cove, which somehow secluded the guests from the crowds. Were we? Was that a sandbar I saw – a lagoon, perhaps?
5:10 P.M.
We arrived at the live-in antique home of Señora Doña Anun Viuda de Escario right in front of the town plaza as expected of grand old homes de familias importantes durante aquellos tiempos. Once I went through the huge door and caught a glimpse of the grand escalera! On top of it all stood la graciosa dama de la casa. The shiny wooden floors were of long, wide tablas in two distinct colors. Everywhere I looked were antique and ornate furniture. A piano, a harp. Vintage mirrors, archaic portraits done in oil, faded photographs in old-fashioned silver frames, porcelain vases, delicate démodé lace curtains. Museums of big pueblos in Spain came to mind. "Have a paseo, enjoy the house," la señora encouraged the house callers – all members of the press, both here and abroad – guests of a media trip organized by Singapore Airlines and Silk Air, the Philippine Department of Tourism and the Philippine Convention and Visitors Corporation. It was like happily snooping around.
6:45 Hours
The Good Friday procession started with the carroza of the repentant Peter complete with a live rooster and closely followed by the movable Stations of the Cross. Each of these carrozas – some dating back to the 16th century – are larger than life and decorated profusely with flowers and greens. The Santo Entierro carroza with "the dead Christ gleaming in pure white with the face of Jesus which is said to be centuries old and being held by a band of diamonds," was the focal point of the well-attended procession of the year. And it attracted the most number of followers singing Stabtat Mater. Watching the devotees is surely a touching experience.
9:30 P.M.
We walked to the Escario ancestral home for a dinner hosted by the lady Mayor Geralyn Escario, who belongs to a huge clan that has served the people since the days of the gobernadorcillos from 1821. We found out that several guests and more guests were going our way and soon felt half the town was invited. There was food everywhere and more coming from the kitchens. I could vouch this residence has at least five additional kitchens – even for just tonight. The piece de resistence was the lechon.
To be in Bantayan on a Good Friday is to be part of its emotional, poignant procession. Well, listen to this. Bantayan is the only place in the world allowed by the Catholic Church to serve meat on this fateful day every year due to a Papal Bull executed by Pope Gregory XV1 issued on the third of February in1843 and, believe it or not has never been revoked. There are numerous explanations behind the why of the matter. But more stories seem to abound with each passing year.
10: 45 P.M.
I was getting ready for bed. A gentle knock at the door. It was the town’s masajista, one that every other Bantayanon I met recommended, one I was expected to see earlier today. While the masseur rubbed, pressed, massed, squeezed and kneaded, he was also softly chanting a hymn, humming at times. This was followed by what seemed like a litany of short oraciones of ora pro nobis and amen and more amens whispered all over me. I slept exceptionally well that night but not without dreaming of tomorrow, Sabado de Gloria! Halleluyah!