Real Quezon:
An Adventure
Waiting to Happen
By: Ian Martinez
Photographs by Author
█ By the light of the silvery moon, the shoals along Real-Mauban Coastal Road.
Real, Quezon, it is an adventure waiting to happen at your
doorstep.
I wouldn’t have suspected that I could simply catch a bus
near my house and get off at a fishing village where falls,
skin diving sites and endless beaches are mere walking dis-
tance from each other. I couldn’t have known that in three
hours, I would have been transported into a place where the
pace of life was much slower yet overflowing with honest
and down to earth smiles.
No Plans, No Idea
There is something appealing about having a backpack and
not having a plan. I left home with only the knowledge that
I was suppose to go to Quezon Province. Even that was
indefinite until I got off the bus and found my foot planted
firmly in Quezon soil.
From the bus station at Pasay, everything went by in a semi-
conscious blur - I didn’t even notice my home town Antipolo
whiz by as we made our way through the province of Rizal.
Next thing I know, I was getting off the bus still half-asleep
and groggy. There to greet me was a brilliant sun dazzling
my sleepiness away and a breeze coming from the shore
blowing away the remnants of a dream from my eyes and
replacing it with something much better. I knew it was go-
ing to be an interesting long weekend when I saw two men
fixing a 12 meter pontoon at the side of the highway.
Soon enough, my traveling companion and I were greeted
by our host at Imperial Beach Resort. When travel agencies
pitch the Philippines to the world, they always made men-
tion the hospitality of the Filipino. As locals, such a thing is
a non-feature because a friendly smile and genuine concern
for a traveler’s welfare are common place - like chocolate
in a chocolate factory. If it is not like that for the rest of the
world then it must be such an unfriendly place outside these
shores.
A Swig of Beer for Stories
Hospitality equals beer. The moment my rear end touched
the bench of a beach hut, a bottle of beer grande size was
shoved right at my face. From there, the late morning was
spent listening to tales from the ocean from fishermen stop-
ping by our hut to take a swig of ice cold beer. For the price
of a short glass, you will hear fishing tales from the vast
 traveling all the way to Palawan. The fishing
boats meant for the open waters of the Pa-
cific were larger and generally fish for Yellow
Fin Tuna, Marlin and other large catch using
fishing lines. There are other boats that are
equipped with compressors and these are the
interesting ones as they are for spear fisher-
men.

It was hard for me to imagine how spear fish-

Pacific, of shoals in the middle of the ocean where lobsters
abound, of particular spots in the open ocean where every
hour was spent battling with fishing lines, of 60kg yellow fin
tuna and Marlins that can lurch boats. For another glass, you
might hear of sad tragedies and still for another glass, you
might be able to coerce funny tales about village characters
and hilarious antics of locals from neighboring islands.
We were joined by a fisherman who walked with a limp
- which I later learned was called diver’s stagger. His story
was that he was rushed to shore unconscious, having suf-
fered from the bends - a condition where dissolved nitrogen
in the blood comes out of solution and forms air bubbles in
the bloodstream due to quick ascents or depressurization.
He was liberal in making
known his displeasure of
his numb leg. Midway
his short glass of beer, he
slapped his lazy leg and
said it was holding him
back and that if it gets in
the way any further then
he might consider chop-
ping it off.
ing in the ocean was done until we swam out
to one of these specialized outriggers and
with our own eyes saw the equipment that
they carry. The compressor sat below deck
mid ship. From it radiated four thin and clear
hoses that are about as thick as an average
person’s pinky. It would be a fair guess to
say that unraveled, each hose would extend
50 meters. At their ends was a stiff tube se-
cured with rubber strips. We were careful
not to kink, step on or even touch these neatly spun hoses
for one look and we immediately knew what depended on
them.
Spear fishermen would go down depths with these tubes
as lifelines. They would bite at the stiff tube at the ends to
secure their lifeline in their mouths to breathe as they go
about hunting for fish with their harpoons way below the
water’s surface. If you think the activity is risky, you’re
not mistaken. The fisherman who had the diver’s stagger
was and still is a spear fisherman. Tragic stories abound
but out of respect and perhaps to distance themselves from
the same fate, fishermen are hesitant to speak of them.
█ Outriggers
rest at the beach
of Lahuliana
Beach.

It never occurred to me
that there were differ-
ent ways to fish. Small
scale fishermen on one-
man outriggers would
trace the shore about a
kilometer out to sea and
cast their nets for smaller
catch. Medium scale fish-
ing boats would go out to
sea for weeks, sometimes
█ Lunok Falls, along the Real-Mauban Coastal Road.

Siesta over; let’s walk exchange pleasantries with a family composed of three gen-
Noontime came and gone like the bottles of beer and plat- erations of fishermen and their overlapping families.
ters of seafood dishes that were brought before us. Though
the stories were entertaining and awe-inspiring, there will If the shore whizzes past as you traverse the coastal road in
come a time when you will feel saturated by expectations a car, how can you chance upon children learning the ways
and think of nothing but grabbing your things and hitting the of the sea and profiting from it with their harpoons?
road to see for yourself.
I walk because I know that the way of life that I crane my
To ensure our safety and to act as guides, four young locals neck out to see behind these curtained windows will soon
accompanied us on our excursion. The only remuneration
that they expected was to share our meals as friends and to
tag along and find an excuse to revisit the palces that they
love.

Walking, it is the only way to travel. To feel the hot pave-

ment on the soles of your feet is to absorb the character of
a place into your soul. Each window that you pass and in-
advertently peek into is a split-second revelation that builds
upon your understanding of a way of life you would never
have known or imagine if you stayed within the confines of
your car.

You must tread past the line of thicket on the side of the road
to be able to tip a hat, ask to pass through their property, and
Walking, it is the only way to travel. To feel the hot pavement
on the soles of your feet is to absorb the character of a place
into your soul.
disappear. I know that the harpoons and goggles that the
children there carry in their hands to play with will soon be
replaced by culturally and socially irrelevant plastic robot
dinosaur toys. Soon the only songs that will be sung will be
irrelevant to their values and way of life.
Lunok Falls
Lunok Falls is five minutes by foot from the side of Real-
Mauban Coastal Road. The short trail is marked by a group
of structures perhaps meant a long time ago as accommo-
dation or amenities for tourists but since then had seemed
largely unused.
We were greeted at the falls by families picnicking and
around 10 children clambering up the sheer and slippery
walls of the falls to dive bomb into the seven-foot deep
pool. Women sat around together at the path of the rushing
water while men of different ages sat at the shore sharing
lambanog - a local distilled spirit derived from the sap of
unopened coconut flowers.
Lunok Falls was beautiful and enticing to look at. Plunging
more than twenty feet, it made a fine and inviting rumble.
The volume of water draining from the mountains and out
into this falls was fairly light allowing swimmers to easily
brave bathing underneath the falling water.
tographs of the flora and perhaps fauna and other sights
along the banks.
Beyond Lunok was a series of lesser falls. To trace the
flow of the stream, I had to hug rock faces and do minor
bouldering to get to the other side of deep pools. Because
of the camera, my progress was very slow. Apart from
taking photographs, I had to be very sure of my handholds
and footing lest I fall into the deep pools. I wouldn’t mind
getting wet but I doubt my digital camera shares the same
sentiment.
It doesn’t seem that people frequent the areas I’ve gone to
because the available handholds had thick layers of spider
webs and the route through the boulder walls were full of
debris. I often daintily slapped and brushed off debris from
my handholds fearing I might squish a fat spider or some
other arthropod and slip from the slime or naked terror that
this might cause.
Soon enough I was faced by cascades with vertical rock
faces on either side, somewhat like a small canyon. The
water exits into a wide and deep pool which barred me
from continuing any further.

Walking past the group of

men, natagayan ako (I was █ Driftwood along the Real-Mauban
Coastal Road.
offered a shot glass full of
lambanog). These gestures
can be likened to a hand-
shake - it will be terribly
rude for a person to reject the
friendly offer. So down the
hatch it went and I returned
the greasy shot glass with a
smile. After a few exchang-
es I bid them farewell and
began clambering up an 18-
foot near-vertical rock wall
with my camera slung across
my chest.

While my climbing buddy

and our guides prepared late
lunch, I intended to explore
upstream to take some pho-
█ Dawn among the Shoals along the Real-Mauban Coastal Road.
Shoal Soul Searching
Back at camp, squids the size of a grown man’s upper arm
were roasting above a fire and the fish stew was steaming
and spreading its delectable aroma all throughout the camp-
site. By then we had the campsite to ourselves except for a
large uwak or crow jumping from one tree branch to another
curiously observing us, and a cat sitting across the stream
with an intent eye at our pot of fish.
The open area by the pool of the falls looked like a per-
fect place to set camp during the night, but our companions
thought otherwise. According to them, nikniks - nasty biting
insects with an insatiable appetite for blood, congregate at
the banks of the Falls in the evening.
After swimming, dive bombing and eating, we gathered our
things and made our way back to the Coastal Road, crossed
to the other side and sauntered down the shore. The shoreline
in these parts were covered with pebbles of different shades
of gray and blue with some displaying streaks of green and
red. The pebbles were large and looked like - for lack of
anything better to compare it with - dinosaur eggs.
In the dying light, we made camp on a clump of pine trees
growing on a flattened coral bed. Our campsite resembles
in texture, color and smell, the rough outside of an oyster
shell. A light colored material formed a crisscross relief on
the blackish surface. Though the surface is even, it is sharp
and walking barefoot was a difficult undertaking.

After setting up my tent, I went about stringing a hammock
between two pine trees. With my feet off the ground and my
face staring at the darkening sky through the bristly needles
of pine trees, I came to thinking about the stories being told
by our companions who had lived all their lives by the sea.
The sea was their universe. They may speak of politics and
things going on in Manila but all these things were spoken
with indifference. What lit their eyes up and gave a smile to
their voices was talk of the sea, of her bounty, of far away
islands with brilliant white sandy beaches, of leaving shore
before dawn and spear fishing with only the light of the
moon as bait.
It was difficult for me to see the world through their eyes. It
█ A lesson on firebuilding
using coconut husks and
dried pine needles.
was difficult for me to shake off the immediacy and demands
of urban living and the superficial, transient and personally
irrelevant concerns that define it. It was hard for me to see
the sea the way they do but I tried nonetheless and found that
I might almost be able to grasp it between the undulation that
the darkened world made while I lay still in my hammock.
In the easy cool humming of the sea, with our sleepy faces
lit like ghosts by the bluish moon, I chanced upon a feeling
of oneness with everything around me. It is at that instance
when I let myself go at the edge of sleep that I felt the vast-
ness of the universe embrace my fragile body. It is then that
I lost all desire.
It was an eerie lesson in succumbing to fate, of succumbing
to a form of soft death. For that brief moment before my
consciousness fell into darkness, I saw the brilliance of the
blackened sea and yet I didn’t desire to own her or know
more of her. Curiosity had left me and I stared out know-
ingly into the horizon like a child does to his mother’s eyes.
At that brief moment, I understood everything that needed
to be understood and cared not for what I didn’t understand.

Dawn
I woke up in a place that was briefly unrecognizable. Most
of the shoreline features I had taken note of at dusk became
submerged at dawn. The vantage points where I planned to
catch the early rays of the sun were no longer there.

It was tricky to walk around the submerged sections of the

shoal at dawn’s muted light. Knee deep areas would abrupt-
ly end in 12-meter drop offs into the ocean floor. Seemingly
secured knobs of rocks would turn out to be pillars of corals
with a base submerged more than 5 meters underwater.

Peering into the dark deep blue, I can make out silver specks
hovering then streaking into the darkness below. Fishes!
They’d dart in and out of the dark bodies of coral underneath
with some getting swept into the shallows where they’d skim
across the thin water and plop right back into the ocean.

Dawn was a spectacular show of pink and yellow streaks in a

foreground of deep blue and muted green. It was at the edge
of the shoal that I sat witness to how nature could paint in her
canvass the passing of time.
Fluid Dynamics
After a quick breakfast, we donned on our skimpy-dip-
ping gear and with our sandals dove feet first into the warm
morning water. Starting from the pebble-strewn shallows,
we slowly but systematically swam out towards the heads of
corals sticking out of the surface of the water. The sandals
were such a good idea because everything that we can step
on or hold was sharp. I came out of the water with a few
deep cuts on my fingers from simply holding on a coral and
then being nudged by a gentle wave. That was all it took to
draw blood.

Though peppered with coral heads sticking out of the wa-

ter, the ocean beneath us was deep - deep enough that even
our young fishermen companions couldn’t dive to touch the
bottom. Perhaps to excuse himself, one of them said it was
possible to reach the bottom but there were too many sharp
obstructions below. It would be pretty risky to go that deep
without a breathing apparatus and no idea on the currents. It
will be easy to get swept into the maze of coral columns and
get wedged underneath.

We were an interesting sight. A group of four men seeming-

ly standing on something big and submerged in the ocean,
crouching with our nose centimeters from the water peering
 into the deep. We stood there at the edge of an underwa-
ter cliff. No one brought goggles and the only way to see
clearly what was beneath the surface was to bring our eyes
as close to the surface of the water as possible. Even with
such crude techniques, we could see the columns where we
were standing on disappear into the deep.
We stared awe-struck at the spanning fans and other large
structures of corals sticking out from the depths. Striped
fishes, yellow flat bodied fishes, long silvery fishes darted in
and out of view underneath. My companion even swore that
█ Driftwood resting by the shallows. A fisherman in
the background paddles by on his small outrigger in the
background.
he saw Nemo (a term used by city dwellers when they see a
striped orange fish) which had all of us peering intently at the
direction he pointed out. No Nemo but there were a number
of Doris look-alike hovering in and around the area.
All morning long, we launched ourselves from the top of one
coral column to another crossing the deep divide with much
exhilaration, stopping every now and then to peer intently
with our noses centimeters from the surface at an interesting
underwater feature.
 Multi-tiered Balagbag
Falls, by the Real-Mauban
Coastal Road, Quezon.

upon entry. The owners had taken the

liberty in converting the lower por-
tion of the falls into a resort of sorts
as well as providing basic amenities
like picnic huts, running tap water and
a pair of toilets. A narrow concrete
path leads to but terminates a good 20
meters from main pool’s edge. I was
appreciative that the developer had
not installed any permanent concrete
structures near the falls as this would
certainly destroy the natural beauty of
the place. Sensibly, the concrete path
and toilets are out of sight from the
main pool area. Often, sites like these
end up being peppered with tacky con-
crete structures like imitation wood
huts, and paths which in turn were of-
ten painted pink or bright green.

The first time I saw the multi-layered

falls, I dropped my gear at the water’s
edge and clumsily brought out my
camera as if what I was photograph-
ing was ephemeral and would be gone
that very second. It was an impulse
grounded on disbelief that such a sight
could be beheld. I’ve been to many
places and many a times was disap-
Leap of Faith pointed by the discrepancy between
We retraced our steps along the Real-Mauban Coastal Road to get to our next the stories told and what was actually
destination. The glassy surface of the sea, the shore and shoals were sparkling there. When locals talk of Balagbag
and shimmering from the intense glare of the noonday sun. If not for these Falls, they’d describe it as maganda or
visual indulgence, I could swear that the five-kilometer march was as close to beautiful and simply brush the topic
torture as it can get. The road was dusty, hot, and blindingly bright and offered aside. Clearly, I had underestimated
no shade to those traversing it. what I thought to be behind the river’s
bend.
A large group of around 80 riders on scooters of varying size and style passed
us by in a swirling cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. It is a popular weekend The manner in which the water fell
activity for Manila scooter enthusiasts and riders to crisscross the Laguna and was poetry. Like a playful but care-
Quezon countryside via Antipolo or Tanay. less child, it hurled itself from the
edge, before breaking apart into thou-
This route is popular to scooter riders because they are prohibited from the sands of white flightless birds filling
North Luzon and South Luzon Expressways leading out to the countryside due cracks and crevices before crashing
to their machines’ small engine displacement. This is probably the reason why into a state of languid abandonment
during long weekends, Laguna, Quezon and Aurora become swamped by rid- as it snaked past self-possessed boul-
ers. ders before once again convening
A small store marked the unassuming turnoff into Balagbag Falls. Unfortu- for a finale - a thundering crescendo!
nately, the falls was within private property and a small fee will be collected The spectacle was concluded with a
 More than a feast for
the eyes, Balagbag Falls
offers visitors the chance to
rekindle their fear of heights.

denouement of faint chatter as the spent

water trickle in a wide lineament towards
the sea.

While being an observer has its advan-

tage, being a participant was definitely
more fulfilling. It didn’t take long before
we all found ourselves hurtling our frag-
ile bodies over the fall’s edge and into
the deep blue green water of the pool be-
low. What added to the thrill was that the
deepest part of the pool was a mere eight
feet deep. After hurtling ourselves over
the edge in reckless abandon a few times,
our arms soon became numb and bruised
from hitting the water to break our fall.

My friend thought it was a good idea to

raise his arms to avoid the impact of the
water. Apparently, that wasn’t such a
wise move because it made his body cut
an arching path through the water caus-
ing him to scrape his back at the pool’s
pebble strewn bottom.

He ended up with ghastly but amusing

half-bleeding scratches along his back
With newfound knowledge on what not
to do, we continued hurtling ourselves
over the edge, challenging gravity and the
shallow bottom of the pool. As for our
half-bleeding friend, he decided to cook
the day’s meal instead.

Soon enough, we all lay flaccid by the

shore of the pool savoring the moment
and allowing the throbbing pain in our
arms to ease. A group of youngsters from
the area decided to show us a thing or
two on how to catch some really mean
airs. I watched them in utter amazement
as they snubbed the place where we have
launched ourselves and made their way
towards a large tree with upper branches
hanging directly over the center of the
pool. To get to the upper branches, the
boys would have to crawl up and along
the narrow trunk, past sharp rocks and

█ Upper tiers of
Balagbag Falls
boulders around three stories below them.
Even as a spectator, I could sense the caution and hesita-
tion in the boys’ measured movements. As they cautiously
crouched and secured themselves on the top most branches,
I could see that they were about to jump a height that was
double what my companions and I had jumped. When I real-
ized this, blood drained from my face.
Two and a half seconds of deafening silence followed when
a boy dropped from the branches. Time stood still. What-
ever thought you might have in that span of time would be
blown away by the loud deep crack that the diver’s slippers
made when it hit the surface of the water.
Bayanihan and a Slice of Fish
There are many places that I have been to which I didn’t
want to leave at first. To put things in perspective though, I
always keep in mind that leaving is a good thing because it
provided endless opportunities to arrive. So, with a smile on
my face and a light heart to boot, I turned by back on Balag-
bag Falls, grateful for being an audience to her poetry and a
dive-bomber to her rough edges.
Back at Imperial Beach Resort, the usual bottle of beer
grande size greeted us, as well as a multitude of riders and
cyclists looking for accommodations before nightfall.
Soon enough, the length of beach was enlivened by drunken
singing and all sorts of merriment while rain clouds gather
just offshore. It was a fine night to string up a hammock and
sleep facing the sea. The merry ruckus seem to be holding
the rain back, but not enough to hold back the wind from
disheveling our hair and stirring up sand.
Morning had an aftertaste of normalcy as the festive aura of
the long weekend left with the departing riders and cyclist.
People had begun to revert to their daily chores and respon-
sibilities. As I hauled a big fat tire interior towards the water,
I watched men doing maintenance work on the haul of their
outriggers while others coiled ropes, lines and arranged line
sinkers and other supplies on smaller outriggers to ferry on
their waiting vessels anchored just offshore.
...leaving is a good thing because
it provided endless opportunities to
arrive.
The water was very warm; the kind of temperature you’d
expect from a spa. Further out, the water became a confused
layering of warm and cold currents. The large difference in
temperature enabled you to distinctly feel and sense the cur-
rents. Never had I used my skin to consciously objectify my
surroundings. It felt like being given a new sense - some-
thing to know my surroundings by. And what a way to enjoy
such a newfound sense: lying on an outrigger’s pontoon,
feeling the bands of warm and cold currents on my thighs
and calf while riding the rise and dips of a peaceful ocean,
soaking in the sun, sound and sights.
As I bobbed a fair distance from the shore, I took in the sight
of the village as it lay sprawled along the beach while low
mountain ridges backed the shimmering scene. It got me
thinking about events earlier that morning when an outrigger
returned after two weeks out at sea. The community came
out in force to welcome it. You’d think that after seeing a
thousand and one of these arrivals everyone would have got-
ten used to it; but not here. When people greet the arrival of
a boat, their intentions run deeper than curiosity.
The crew and their onshore counterparts laid out wood as
thick and round as a grown man’s calf in a rail crosstie pat-
tern up the beach. The outrigger aligned itself near the shore
and powered itself up onto the wooden rail to beach itself.
Young and old, women and men, took up their positions at
the lateral framework supporting the boats pontoons. With

the heavy beams resting on their shoulders, they heaved in
unison at the egging of a crew member.
“Isa...dalawa...tatlo!” (One...two...three!). On three, every-
one heaved and the outrigger slid up a few feet up the wood-
en crossties. The woods left behind are brought up front
hurriedly. After allowing everyone to catch their breaths, the
crew begins again, “Isa...dalawa...tatlo! Tulak!” The boat
was heavy and we struggled as our feet dug into the sand the
moment we heaved. Sand stung our eyes and rubbed pain-
fully between our exposed shoulders and the wooden beams
of the boat.
The power of the community working together was awe-
some. We could feel it as the heavy outrigger made its way
up the beach. The collective elation in fulfilling a communal
task was overpowering. Everyone was smiling and laughing
at the effort and a job well done.
Immediately, a crew member signaled everyone to gather
near the boat and they handed out sliced tuna about the size
of an open palm. There were many to go around and the
█ A storm approaches the beaches
of Tignoan, Real, Quezon. Outriggers
anchored just offshore undulates with
the ebb and rise of a restless sea.
children had a field day. My friend and I were a bit at a lost
at this turn of events and we gingerly stepped back and out
of the way of everyone. Our hesitation was felt by a crew
member and he walked up to us with two slices of fish and
motioned us to take them. Everyone was telling us to get the
fish and the learned reaction of first refusing any offer seem
so wrong at that moment that we felt we had no choice but
to accept.
After giving away fish, the crew started work in hauling out
their catch. From below deck emerged fishes the length of a
grown person. Children filled the deck and clung to beams
and post trying to catch a glimpse of shimmering giant sea
creatures.
Tout sinewy men took the giant fishes on their shoulders with
their fingers on the fishes’ eye sockets for grip. With much
heaving, they brought the catch to a waiting vehicle that will
take them to Navotas - a central port in Metro Manila where
fishes are auctioned off or sold wholesale.
Though our minds were already engrossed It was odd to feel like a
stranger to this place all
with future tasks and schedules, I think we
of a sudden. The mere act
left our souls straddling the bow of an out- of preparing to leave had
rigger, riding the ebb and rise of the gentle eroded that strong sense
ocean of Real, Quezon... of community that we felt
while we shared beer with
fishermen, when we helped
I don’ wanna go home! to haul that outrigger onto
The rest of the day was spent soaking in the sun, sights and shore, while we looked out
smell of the place, in anticipation of our departure later in for children playing in the
the evening. We swam out from one anchored boat to an- water.
other, taking in the details of these crafts to deduce the boats
function and imagine the activities that would have gone on Without that commitment in
above deck when they were out at sea. being depended upon by the
community to work, share
We also helped in pushing an outrigger back into the water - and care about the welfare
though obviously that didn’t yield any fish for us but it gave of everyone, you become
us a strong and powerful sense of belonging. just like the countless face-
less nameless persons who
It was an idyllic end to a long weekend, loafing along the pass by the highway cutting
shore, lying on a hammock not minding the sand covering through their village.
most of my thighs and torso, watching children play and
adults do their tasks, listening to outriggers chug along to- The anomic existence of
wards the bright horizon. urban life has drawn our
consciousness away from
Evening came and it was time for us to depart. To return to this place the moment we
the hustle and bustle, all one had to do was step onto the side began to worry about our offices and deadlines. Before we
of the road and wait for the next bus. even lay our foot on the first metal step of the bus, we had

Details of
an outrigger that
was found resting
on the shore of
Lahuliana Beach.
Mostly made of
sealed plywood
and bamboo,
these crafts are
propelled by
powerful marine
engines.
already arrived in the city.

Though our minds were already engrossed

with future tasks and schedules, I think we
left our souls straddling the bow of an out-
rigger, riding the ebb and rise of the gentle
ocean of Real, Quezon.

How to get there and what will it take?

All it takes is a bus ride.

Meet at Pureza Station of the Light Rail

Transit 2. Alternatively, ask to be dropped
off underneath the Nagtahan Bridge at the
side going to Recto. Find your way towards
Raymond Bus Line station. Depending on
your preferred schedule, you may opt to wait
for the next trip to Real, Quezon, or catch
a ride on the vans for hire that are parked
along the side of the road.

Ask to be dropped off at Imperial Beach

Resort, Tignoan, Real, Quezon. Drivers
and conductors are mostly familiar with the
names of the private beaches along the vil-
lage and it is common for people to request
to be informed of their stop. Of course,
there are other beaches with adequate facili-
ties along the Mahaba Highway. Some re-
sorts will allow you to pitch your tents at the
beach or string your hammock at the open
air cottages so long as you rent at least one
cottage.

The cost of a long weekend trip will vary

depending on your appetite for seafood and
preference in sleeping arrangements. At a
minimum, around Php 1,500.00 per person
will go a long way to cover most everything
you need for an exciting and eventful long
weekend. If you happen to be a beer or lam-
banog guzzler, or someone with a biblical
appetite for seafood, then you may have to
bring more cash. █