Boracay Island

Helmet diving at Boracay's Coral Gardens is essentially aquatic tourism for the cautiously adventurous; think Buzz Aldrin meets Jacques Cousteau, except with fewer existential crises and more clownfish photobombing your selfies. Originating from ingenious early-20th-century divers who used cumbersome metal helmets to explore ocean depths-this quirky activity has since evolved into the perfect underwater stroll for those who can't dive or won't snorkel (perhaps due to vanity or an understandable distrust of oxygen tanks). Arrive early in the morning, around 8 AM, when the marine life is at its most sociable and the hordes of hungover tourists haven't yet emerged from their beachfront bungalows. Planning just a day ahead usually suffices, but budget approximately 1,000 to 1,500 Philippine Pesos ($20-30 USD) for about half an hour underwater, and bring along a waterproof camera, a bathing suit you're not ashamed to be photographed in, and an open mind about looking gloriously goofy. Sure, there's something blatantly absurd about posing for pictures beneath the waves with an oversized helmet perched upon your shoulders, but trust me-being mobbed by over-friendly, snack-hungry tropical fish while trudging clumsily along Boracay's seabed is an experience that makes for unbeatable bragging rights and hilarious storytelling fodder back home.

If you've dismissed shell-hunting as something reserved for overly enthusiastic retirees in teal visors, you've clearly never spent a morning sifting through the pristine sands of Boracay's Yapak neighborhood. Here lies Puka Shell Beach, a gloriously serene counterpart to Boracay's touristy hotspots, quietly boasting shells so prized that they once adorned the necks of disco-era surfers, pop-idol heartthrobs, and anyone else who ever proudly sported the curious fashion phenomenon known as the Puka necklace in the '70s and '80s. Come early-just after sunrise if you can manage-to beat the crowds, armed shamelessly with sunscreen, a straw hat, and something sturdier than your bare pockets for your salty treasures. Set aside two leisurely hours and maybe $5-$10 for an ice-cold coconut or two from local vendors who watch tourists wander, brows furrowed, in contemplative, determined silence. Sure, you might feel slightly silly hunched over like a hungry shorebird, picking shells from the sand, but trust me-it's oddly therapeutic, impressively picturesque, and utterly worth it. Plus, if nothing else, you'll leave with an entertaining tidbit for your next cocktail-hour anecdote: "Did I ever tell you about the morning I scoured a Philippine beach for vintage jewelry ingredients?"

If you're weary of glossy, sanitized tourist attractions and crave something as bizarrely fascinating as it is mildly disgusting, wandering into Yapak's bat caves might just rekindle your inner explorer-by way of Indiana Jones meets Fear Factor. Nestled away from Boracay's pristine beaches and serenely swaying hammocks, these shadowy limestone caverns shelter thousands of winged mammals that spend daylight hours snoozing upside-down, producing copious quantities of guano (that's bat poop-yes, it's slippery, smelly, and historically valuable enough to spark wars and fertilize crops). Go in the late afternoon-just before sunset swirls the horizon-giving you front-row seats to the incredible, eerie spectacle of bats pouring from the caves in a black, fluttering cloud. Book your guide a day ahead; spending around 500-1000 pesos ($10-$20 USD) ensures safe footing, local stories, and maybe a hard hat or flashlight (both strongly advised unless you fancy returning covered in something unpleasantly organic). Trust me, even if you emerge fragrant, exhausted, and mildly perturbed, you'll proudly recount this subterranean sojourn for ages, guaranteed to earn you street cred at cocktail parties and family reunions alike.

If the thought of elbowing your way through Boracay's selfie-stick-toting throngs fills you with existential dread, consider playing Robinson Crusoe for a night-or at least a mildly tipsy pirate-on Carabao Island. A mere half hour from bustling Boracay yet blissfully overlooked by the Instagram masses, Carabao (named quite literally after the water buffalo once found moseying around its shores) is the Philippines as your granddad would nostalgically embellish it: quiet beaches, local fishermen swapping tall tales, and postcard-worthy reefs free of resort-branded snorkeling queues. Plan several days ahead, secure yourself a modest guesthouse or thatched hut for around $25-$40 (which is less than your overpriced airport sandwich), and catch the early morning boat from Boracay to beat the waves (and the competition). Bring cash-there are virtually no ATMs, but plenty of ice-cold San Miguel-and pack ample sunscreen, bug spray, and snorkel gear, lest you pay premium prices for budget equipment cobbled together by entrepreneurial locals. In return you'll get the sort of sunset that reduces jaded travelers to quivering poets and a story worth telling at every subsequent dinner party, punctuated with the casually smug declaration, "Oh, you haven't heard of Carabao Island?"