the longest weekend

It’s another weekend and I am not about to spend it re-arranging my closet or lazing around a coffee shop. Though still quite fresh from a previous hike with friends, the itch to hit the road again is undeniable. It is time to feed the hungry chlorophylls and get a deeper tan. This time, an overnight pack, a camera, two rolls of film and an ardent balikbayan friend are all I am lugging. It’s Destination Bolinao.

As always, hitting the road at the crack of dawn is a very good idea, until you’re trapped in a trance between trying to stay in bed and fighting to get to the shower at three in the morning. It’s small comfort to be among those poor souls resigned to slavery under the first cup of coffee. Nothing makes sense before the first morning perk and getting up before the sun does is a grave sin. I need only remind myself that for all that dilly-dallying, my companions are going to leave me behind if I don’t meet them on time.

Getting to Bolinao takes about four to five hours’ drive so there’s plenty of time to catch up on sleep or secretly plan your wedding with a faceless soulmate in between waking hours. Three travelling buddies and a bonafide vacationer are my trusty companions. Two others we are to meet halfway, and two more are to join the group at the pit stop.

Bolinao is a small town off the coast of Pangasinan. The place is famed for elusive gold bars and controversial diggings. Abrab Beach in Patar is not a common tourist spot with its somewhat crude facilities and beach huts. But its fine white sand, clear blue waters, and spectacular sunset, is a perfect respite from the usual crowded Saturday night in the city. It’s off season and very few bakasyonistas crash in at the beach. Most of them leave after taking a dip during the day so we have the place all to ourselves during the night. It’s near enough for an on-the-spur weekend whim yet far enough to elude the hounding boss.

Little surprises along the bend make Bolinao a backpacker’s paradise. Just before lunch, my companions and I take a 10-minute hike to a nearby falls. It does not boast of any grand rapids, rather merely a trickle off its stone walls that flow into a small green pond. The water is clear enough for a noontime dip. A lone tree and big rocks surrounding it make for perfect dreamy poses for the shutterbugs.

Off the beaten path of Bolinao lie a hundred-year old lighthouse and an abandoned house beside it. A couple of dead trees in its midst punctuates the scenery, lending an eerie feeling off a recent horror flick. And like kids writhing in curiosity and getting high on adventure, we explore every nook and cranny of the abandoned house, take shots from practically every angle of it and of the lighthouse, and play with our cameras under the high noon. A travelling companion cannot even fight the urge to climb one of the dead trees. Too bad the lighthouse is locked up. It would have been great to see the ocean view from the top.

It is time for lunch so we head for one of our travelling friends’ house. The thing when you’re going on a road trip with veteran travellers to a town tucked away in the province is that one of them is bound to host a meal for you. In this case, it’s Leo, an old-timer who happens to be a local of the place. My companions and I bring in fresh picks bought earlier from the local market for our resident chefs Leo and Noel. Just like any weekend in the countryside, lunch is a sumptuous helping of fresh shrimp, bangus, some seaweeds, and a slew of other ocean produce. It also happens to be the day of the town fiesta so Leo’s house was packed with women busy cooking, men drinking, and karaoke fans monopolizing the microphone. We are all famished and lunch is superb. We leave the place fully recharged, promising to be back the next day after much prodding from Leo’s father.

Shortly, we are headed for Abrab beach. It’s siesta time and as if lunch was not enough, we just could not resist the call of halo-halo along the dusty road. It’s your typical lazy Saturday afternoon and young women from the town set up a small table, a line of stools and a fading beach umbrella along the road. It isn’t summer yet but halo-halo has its way of making any hot afternoon bearable.

By sundown, we have already reached the beach and lined up our mats and cameras for sunset. We have only been going around for one day yet when I slip my feet under the cool white sand, it seems we’ve been on the road for days. The hours drag on slowly in Bolinao. Especially when you’ve got nothing more to do than see its less explored hidden treasures and simply pig out. The place we stayed in was a crude resort but our hostess (another one of Noel’s suki) is very doting – and very high-pitched. She is the ideal hostess, going about our needs, looking after our stuff, but when she speaks, she drains out all your energies. It’s been a while since I have come across someone so high-strung. She boasts of her comfort room as being constantly clean. She does not say, of course, that the comfort room is a latrine, roofless, and covers only midway to your body. If you do your stuff, you do it al fresco. When you stand up after you’re done, you may as well wave to the next user. He can see you.

Night time at the beach is sheer delight. After yet another pig-out session at dinner, it is best to line up your mats near the shore, lay back, breath deep, and simply get lost under the stars. On a lazy night, conversations with your friends range from the mundane to the even more mundane. Songs from the 80s, commercial jingles, and forgettable TV characters keep you up. And then you begin to notice that the Big Dipper and the Small Dipper are now slightly to the right of your line of vision. The world, indeed, revolves. In between slugs of alcohol, you may opt to take a night dip in the sea, that is if you can stand the cold, or get a massage from the local masseuse. After a long day, you will yet again get lost under the stars, slip into a hazy slumber until one by one, your friends retire to their tents – or one of them starts snoring.

Next morning it is low tide, a perfect time to stroll and walk near the boulders by the shore that are otherwise submerged during high tide. The view is awesome. The water is a clear blue and various shades of green and aqua converge at different points. Another photo op and a roll of film is consumed. The waters are very cooperative this time of the day, making it possible for a boat ride to neighbouring Bani beach. The ride is quite consuming, almost dreamy yet real enough for the salty waters to splash around your face. I can see the ocean floor quite clearly, like glass covering a slew of corals. It’s fascinating, almost tempting to dive and touch the ocean floor. The sun burns my face but I do not mind. Being out in the open sea reminds me again of a defunct dream to drop my career in the city and simply retire as a beach bum.

We get to Bani beach and dock by a nice house which happens to be the town mayor’s. I‘ve met him the previous year during my first road trip with Noel. The man and his wife are still as hospitable as before, the rest house is as serene, yet the beachfront has changed quite a bit. Though the shoreline remains rocky, it seems like the whole place shrunk about a fourth of its previous size. Blame it on time and tide. I look at the shore where I sunbathed last year and decided against lounging there this time. There’s just too many boulders now. I look for another place and find some flat rocks near the docked boats to lie on. It doesn’t take long until some unseen sea creatures start biting my legs. I decide to just lie down on the boat and get that tan. The boys are busy snorkelling while my female friend and I bask under the sun.

Pretty soon, we head back to Abrab and pack our stuff. It’s another four hours heading home but this doesn’t worry me a bit. This isn’t your regular hard-core weekend vacation but the rugged beauty of the place restores sanity that was lost somewhere in the urban jungle and refuels your inner fire for life. It’s been a long weekend.

Our trusty van finally gives in by nighttime and we end up taking the public bus home. Doesn’t matter. I’ve gotten my tan lines.