Bittersweet traveling in the Philippines
Traveling around the Philippines used to feel like freedom. Fifteen years ago, airports were manageable, traffic was tolerable, and a spontaneous bus ride to Sagada felt like an adventure rather than a logistical challenge.
I used to drive alone for hours, back when gas was affordable, and I did not think about carbon footprints. The road was my refuge, a place for deep thought and quiet. Speeding down the highway felt like a possibility, and sometimes even clarity. Now it feels more like an endurance test.
I still love traveling, but lately, I have been surprised by how exhausting it can be to travel around our own country. It is not the early flights or the long queues. What drains me is the sensory overload, the visual noise, and the constant reminders of how beautiful this country is and how poorly we sometimes take care of it.
The Southern Luzon wall of dynasties
On a recent trip to a small town in Southern Luzon, I encountered something I can only describe as a wall. Not ancient, not historical, but political.
A long property fence along the highway was plastered with post-campaign posters of a local political dynasty: A mother and son smiling in identical poses, thanking the people for their “trust.” New tarpaulins were layered over old ones and replaced every few months, it seems, to maintain visibility. As our van sped along the provincial road, the repetition became hypnotic and slightly nauseating.
Some of the older tarpaulins had found second lives as tricycle rain shields and sari-sari store awnings. Because Filipinos are nothing if not resourceful. The scene was creative, absurd, and tragic all at once.
Behind that absurdity lies a more serious problem. A 2025 EcoWaste Coalition study reported that more than 64.5 tons of discarded campaign tarpaulins were collected in Metro Manila alone after the elections. That does not even include the provinces. Plastic clogs drains, contributes to flooding, and resurfaces every typhoon season.
In the middle of this wasteful display of fake gratitude for being reelected, I met a man who understood something very simple. If you take care of the place, the place will take care of your business.
The resort owner we visited, a Filipino Chinese businessman based in Manila, spoke about the community with honesty. Without a garbage collection system, he noticed that locals would clean their yards, pack trash into sacks, sew them shut, and bury them underground, often near rivers or by the beach.
“What are they supposed to do?” he says, matter-of-factly. “When the monsoon comes, the trash comes back like zombies,” he says, almost joking. He laughed, but his eyes did not.
Western Mindanao: beauty and delayed progress
Western Mindanao felt different from Luzon. What strikes you first is the land and the people’s love for their place. The land is vast, green, and abundant, and communities feel close-knit and grounded. Christians, Muslims, and Subanen communities coexist here with genuine acceptance. There is less of the performative politeness of big cities and more sincerity in how people talk, host, and welcome visitors.
But alongside that beauty is the visible reality of delayed development. You see unfinished projects, roads that suddenly narrow, bridges and ripraps that look stuck in the middle of construction. The contrast is striking.
Ironically, the reason I was there and the activities that filled our days felt different from this idyllic environment.
Somewhere between the welcome dinners and the site visits, I found myself wondering where constructive feedback goes in government projects. Is success measured by turnout and tarpaulins, or by whether communities actually earn more and live better?
Tourism revenue in the Philippines reached around P480 billion in 2025—respectable but still a relatively small portion of the economy. If tourism is meant to improve local livelihoods, why do so many small operators still struggle?
I started thinking about this more seriously when I met Kuya Nonoy, our driver for most of the trip.
Kuya Nonoy and the cost of progress
Kuya Nonoy owns a small transport service in Dipolog and tries to get bookings from tourists and agencies whenever he can. He told me that he often loses clients to operators affiliated with tourism offices or official programs. He says it without anger, just acceptance. “Basta may trabaho, okay na,” he tells me.
He shares that the contracts he sometimes gets are priced well below industry rates in places like Davao City or Cebu City, but he accepts them anyway.
For small operators like him, tourism brings opportunities, but it also brings competition, accreditation requirements, and systems that are easier for bigger companies to navigate.
Behind the smile was the reality of someone trying to keep a small business alive in an industry that is supposed to help local livelihoods. Tourism is often described as inclusive growth, but on the ground, inclusion sometimes depends on who can access contracts, financing, and networks.
At another stop, a local tourism officer mentions casually that their family home was demolished years ago for an airport expansion project. They were relocated and eventually settled into a new house, but you could hear the unfinished sentence in his story. Not bitterness, just a lingering question about progress and who it is really for.
Because some still care
Traveling in the Philippines can be emotionally exhausting. The landscapes are breathtaking, the people are kind, and the culture is rich, but everything often feels wrapped in layers of bureaucracy, ribbon cuttings, and infrastructure that looks good in photos but fails during heavy rain.
Filipino engineers helped build cities like Dubai, and yet we still see provincial roads without drainage and public school compounds submerged in stagnant water after a storm. The problem is not talent or even money. More often, it is management.
The country is beautiful. The people are good. But the systems are exhausting.
And so, traveling here becomes bittersweet. You fall in love with the place, but you also see how much easier life could be for everyone if things were simply run a little better.
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