Our second day was spent with even more tours, but on the main Bohol Island this time. Our first stop was the Tarsier Conservation Center on the hills of Loboc. While I was glad to learn that Bohol’s environment officers have prohibited the operation of private tarsier display centers I still do not like tarsiers being subject to close human contact at all. To be fair, the tour guides at the center kept a close eye on the tourists who are dying to touch the fragile animals. But the tarsiers simply are not social creatures, aside from being nocturnal. Their large and sleepy eyes told us they are not too fond of people disturbing their sleep.

For once Jonald was in perfect agreement with me on our second stop for the day: the man made forest. While it is an impressive sight in these denuded islands, the mahogany trees that now provide wonderful shade to motorists were in fact responsible for breaking the biodiversity chain and endangering the tarsiers. Because they are invasive alien species they crowded out local flora and they themselves host no insects that are the staple of small mammals such as our small cousins, the smallest primates.

We skipped the curiously-designed Boat Haus (a boat-shaped house built by a ship captain) as we were anxious to reach our next destination. No trip to Bohol is complete without a visit to the Chocolate Hills. It is indeed an impressive sight, although I think the view in between the mounds are much better than on the hilltop tourist perch. I thought that the local farmers are working in the second most beautiful rice farms in the country after the Banaue Rice Terraces. If only they really own them and they determine farm gate prices. We came at a good time as the rice stalks getting ready to turn golden and the surrounding greenery was eye-soothing.

The Loboc River Cruise is another Bohol must. The river is clean and odourless—an increasing rarity in the Philippines. But the real wonder is how the people of Loboc have made it into a rainmaker. It could have ten thousand tourists on a good day who pay good money for a leisurely ride to Busay Falls while having hearty lunch or dinner and being serenaded by a talented band. Somewhere along the route are bamboo decks full of local folks who dance and sing for “donations”. The boats would dock alongside these decks for five minutes and the tourists would be regaled with folk songs and dances by both young and old performers. It was just our bad luck that we shared boats with a noisy “balikbayan” family who wanted more attention for themselves than the natural attractions. And that was when we discovered that the best spot on the boat cruise is aft where you can really observe the beauty around you and take pictures in peace.

Baclayon Church’s beautiful retableu. (Photo by Raymund Villanueva / bulatlat.com)

We dropped by Baclayon Church, the Philippines’ second oldest church. Like most old churches in Bohol it has an equally impressive convent and parochial school complex beside it. It is old and huge. What is impressive is that it is kept in good condition with a new tin roof as its only concession to modernity. Its original tile roof is too far gone to be safe. But we were kept from taking good pictures of the entire complex by the dozens of buses and vans disgorging hundreds of tourists in front. Power cables are also strung along the façade that could only irritate discerning visitors. Our tour guide then pointed out unusual wear patterns on its walls. One was reportedly of Padre Pio, the stigmatist who once visited the church, and another was of Mary and the child Jesus.

The activist in me saw Karl Marx more than the saint in the first. I wonder what psychiatrists would tell me about my state of mind but I suspect that they would just argue that the image was really of Sigmund Freud than anybody else’s.

My wife and I were too tired to get off the van when we stopped at the Blood Compact Shrine in Bool District in Tagbilaran City. The guide says that the real site was a few meters below the shrine down, at the old well near the beach where Miguel Lopez de Legaspi’s task force reportedly re-supplied with drinking water. I thought, if Legazpi was indeed true to the pact there would not have been a Dagohoy in Bohol’s history.

Padre Pio, Sigmund Freud or Karl Marx? depends on the viewer, i guess. (Photo by Raymund Villanueva / bulatlat.com)

When Jonald let us off back at our hotel we finally did what we wanted to do most in Bohol: swim and have a massage on the beach. Panglao’s Alona Beach may be smaller than expected but it is nice. The beach front was packed with all sorts of al fresco restaurants that offer nice fares at reasonable prices. The bands were good and we heard no karaokes. This is where it trumps Puerto Galera’s White Beach and Subic Bay where off key and very loud singing by both local and foreign tourists could drive you mad. Alona also felt less seedy and touristy and the locals (masseuses, boat operators, restaurant waiters, trinket sellers) are less pushy. This is where it’s better than Boracay.

The water was clean and clear and I had a nice time swimming and floating. My only problem was the short time we had. I would have happily dispensed away with some of the tour stops for more time on the beach. But I refer to the first problem. I really could not complain but there are things that simply must be enjoyed more than others.

Aside from having a different (if not contrary) view of some of the things we’ve visited in Bohol there is one thing I realized in this short vacation. An activist on vacation is still an activist.

A beach masseuse takes a nap in between customers on the find white sands of the famous alona beach. (Photo by Raymund Villanueva / bulatlat.com)

While having a massage with my wife on the beach I could not help but ask about the welfare of the masseuses of Bohol. In between my oohhs and aahhs I asked my masseuse if they have Social Security System and PhilHealth memberships. While my knotted muscles are being kneaded I asked them how much they are earning and if the government is taxing them too much. While I desperately wanted to relax I asked her if their children are going to school and if her husband has a job.

And while my physical aches are being drained away from my sinews by her expert hands I listen to her outpouring of her life’s stories: of seven children who did not finish school, a regularly unemployed husband, and fears of a still impoverished old age when she has no strength left to minister to tourists prone on the fine white sands of Panglao.

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