Hundred Islands

Let's get one thing straight right off the bat: nobody really counts the islands at Hundred Islands, so don't stress yourself into a frenzy worrying if they're shortchanging you at 99 or generously tossing in 101. The place isn't just paradise; it's practically geological gossip-124 islands (give or take, tides and mood dependent) carved whimsically by nature's fickle artistry. Since Spanish colonial cartographers first scratched their heads over these limestone outcroppings-emerging from turquoise waters like some drunken deity's unfinished jigsaw puzzle-the Hundred Islands have tempted pirates, adventurers, and selfie-stick-wielding daytrippers alike. Book yourself an outrageously affordable banca (wooden outrigger boat) just after sunrise, when the islands are postcard-perfect and crowds are mercifully slim, and pack sunscreen, water shoes, and cash (around $30-$50 USD covers boat rental and grub). Plan at least a few days ahead, or risk ending up on a rickety vessel aptly named "Unsinkable II." Sure, after island number seven, the smaller ones might blur together, but you'll still have the chance to snorkel, kayak, and picnic under makeshift bamboo shelters, as you decide which coconut palm most resembles your least favorite politician. Even if island hopping sounds cliche, trust me-there's something irresistible about boldly claiming you've conquered a hundred islands in a single day, give or take.

There's an unmistakable absurdity in strolling along the seabed wearing a metal-and-glass helmet that looks borrowed from the Jules Verne clearance rack, but here in the crystalline waters of the Hundred Islands, helmet-diving feels like the most natural eccentricity imaginable. Forget grace-this is clunky charm personified, as cumbersome helmets pumped full of reassuringly breathable air guide you down to a psychedelic marine neighborhood. Parrotfish dart past disdainfully, eyeing your fashion choices; curious clownfish peer out of their coral apartments, perhaps judging your ability to breathe without gills. Go in the morning, ideally around 9 or 10 AM, when visibility is pristine and the fish are more sociable-not yet fed up with a day's worth of fumbling, wide-eyed tourists. Plan a day ahead, carry around 1,000 pesos ($20) to cover your quirky underwater stroll, and don't forget a waterproof camera (or better yet, a sense of humor) to document your surreal encounter. Sure, helmet diving might feel a bit silly, but descending beneath the waves like a Victorian-era aquanaut is worth every peso, if only for the pure bragging rights of saying you've sauntered casually through an aquatic alien world, dressed like someone who missed the memo on evolution.

If you've ever dreamed of living out your desert-island-castaway fantasies without the tedious inconvenience of actually being marooned, spending a night camping on Quezon Island is your chance. Part of Hundred Islands National Park-named, presumably, by an exhaustively thorough but uninspired cartographer-Quezon Island offers picture-perfect beachfront serenity by day and surreal, star-spangled solitude by night. The secret sauce? Arrive late afternoon to snag prime camping real estate, conveniently dodging the relentless midday heat and busloads of selfie-stick waving tourists. Plan at least a few days ahead (a week if you're of the anxiety-ridden persuasion), and budget roughly 800-1000 pesos ($15-$20 USD) for boat transfers and camping fees, plus a bit more for essentials like snacks, bottled water, mosquito repellent, and a flashlight unless you plan on navigating nocturnal bathroom breaks by starlight alone. While the facilities might generously be described as "basic," there's undeniable charm in grilling freshly purchased seafood on open flames, swapping dubious tales with fellow campers over lukewarm local beers, and realizing halfway through the night that sand really does get everywhere. Even if rustic camping isn't your usual cocktail of choice, an overnight on Quezon Island is worth every itchy mosquito bite and grain of sand in your sleeping bag-if only to brag later at dinner parties about surviving a night on an island named after a former Philippine president, beneath constellations whose names you can't begin to pronounce.

Paddling your kayak through the Hundred Islands archipelago to uncover hidden lagoons feels suspiciously like being let into a secret club-minus the awkward handshake and questionable initiation rites. Glide silently into narrow passages, duck beneath mossy limestone overhangs, and emerge, blinking in disbelief, into the kind of idyllic hidden lagoons that pirates would've fought over (and very likely did). Early morning is best, when the dawn mist still lingers, the air feels criminally fresh, and tour groups haven't yet arrived to photobomb your adventure. Book your kayak a couple of days ahead, pack sunscreen, insect repellent, ample water, and gear in waterproof bags, and budget roughly $20-$40 for a half-day rental-depending on your bargaining skills and charm. You'll paddle home weary, wet, and with a story that casually one-ups colleagues bragging about last summer's mediocre cruise-and isn't that reason enough to give it a go?

Forget your standard historical markers or religious shrines tucked politely into city corners; Pilgrimage Island is the real deal-a delightfully bizarre marriage between spiritual serenity and untamed wilderness, scattered with weather-beaten statues that look as if they've had enough of your nonsense for several lifetimes. Arrive in the mellow light of early morning (ideally just after sunrise if you're feeling virtuous, but mid-morning if last night's indulgences refuse to let go) armed with sturdy shoes, a sense of humor, and bug spray strong enough to baptize mosquitoes away. Budget at least half a day and maybe twenty to thirty bucks for ferry fare and snacks, as you'll want ample time to navigate the winding prayer paths, where devout pilgrims once marched reverently-but now mostly Instagrammers wander about, hoping to boost both follower count and enlightenment in equal measure. Quirk alert: rumor has it the island statues occasionally switch positions at night (blame this on mischievous teens, divine intervention, or your cousin Dave's questionable storytelling). Regardless, the slightly surreal charm of paying respects to saints and sages while dodging tree roots, stray wildlife, and selfie sticks makes Pilgrimage Island worth the trek-even if your spiritual awakening comes mostly from realizing you've forgotten your spare underwear at the hotel.