My short stay on Limasawa Island
Limasawa, the smallest municipality in Southern Leyte, is popularly known as the site of the Easter Mass celebrated by the Magellan expedition in 1521. But I visited Limasawa not because of its storied past, but for its lived space as an island.
I boarded the M/V Evershine 2, the largest passenger boat en route to this tadpole-shaped island town. A gangway was used as a makeshift dock since Typhoon “Odette” had destroyed the existing port in 2021. With no room reservation, I had expected the worst. Fortunately, several private houses have been converted for homestays.
My first stop was Dakdak Resort in Barangay Lugsongan which would be the first attraction seen by tourists, given its distance from the población or town center. It’s the well-kept garden that makes the resort even more inviting, with its pathway bordered by gumamela and bougainvillea. Just above the resort is a road running alongside a jungle of wild vines. I imagined myself night swimming on the beach, feasting on the tranquility broken only by crashing waves and the sporadic sound of crickets.
The resort is one of two spots that have become staples on Facebook and TikTok reels. The other is the Island Lagoon on Limasawa’s northernmost part. The lagoon itself lies below a cliff, accessible by going down very steep stairs. The natural pool is dotted with huge rocks where tourists could jump off to absorb the restorative properties of turquoise, glass-clear waters. Locals have connected the boulders with bamboo bridges so tourists can choose where to dive.
Because it was almost sunset, I went back to the población and climbed uphill to Totoy-totoy peak, so named because they resemble a woman’s bosom. From here, the town hall towers above all the structures below. Leyte-based historian Rolando Borrinaga has examined the site and reckoned that the planting of the cross on March 31, 1521, was done in the vicinity.
On my first evening, I scouted for a dining place and found a barbecue stall within spitting distance. I was quizzed—cordially—by an old woman, maybe a relative of the stall owner, about my relationship status, if I had come alone, and if I already have a room for the night. The former public-school teacher offered me a room at her house for P300 a night, but cautioned that it was not fully furnished. This is the perk of going to a new place: meeting friendly natives.
By 8 p.m., the entire island was cloaked in silence, broken only by the hum of eight generators that provide electricity to the island. Most people were already indoors, except for those using the Piso Wi-Fi machine. The night life here is different: neighbors sharing a late dinner of freshly caught squid; men having a drinking spree; fishermen pulling in their boats for the night.
The following morning, I fulfilled my promise to myself to sail around the island. I rented a boat for P1000. I did not haggle; being alone, I’d have the boat to myself. But the moment the boatman started the engine, I felt vulnerable. Not knowing how to swim, I realized that my life now depended on him. But I decided to trust him, as he must have known the sea since his boyhood. And I was right.
The sea seemed different when viewed from the boat, more alluring and even mysterious. I was half-expecting dolphins or turtles to greet us, but it must have been those videos posted on social media that created such harmless anticipation.
Along the way were rock formations just below tall cliffs that tourists have yet to turn into diving boards. After an hour on the boat, I decided to visit the national shrine. My initial plan was only to take a photo of the structure, but there was a woman at the doorway, scrolling on her phone. An employee of the local government, she entertains questions from visitors and feeds them with historical tidbits.
Borrinaga has theorized that the first Mass likely took place in Barangay Triana on the western side, not the barangay that this woman was telling me about. I wanted to correct her but did not press the point. I was drawn in by her passion as she shared familiar information that I suspect she had memorized. I left soon after and headed to my homestay.
Jeric T. Olay is a teacher, poet, and opinion writer from Macrohon town in Southern Leyte.
