Three Weeks in Pagudpud: A Quiet Reset in Northern Luzon

 

In November 2025, I spent about three weeks in Pagudpud—a quiet coastal town in northern Luzon.

It came during a transitional period in my work. I had just come off a client engagement as a virtual assistant, and I decided to take a short break before fully stepping into the next phase of applications and opportunities.

It wasn’t planned as a long escape. It became one.

I stayed at Apo Idon Beach Hotel, a place I immediately liked for its rustic, slightly European feel—the exterior, the interiors, and even the room design had a quiet charm that matched the slower pace of the town.

 

A slower daily rhythm

Life in Pagudpud settled into a simple routine.

Mornings often began with breakfast at Villa Manuela Beach Resort, followed by light swimming and time near the shore.

The days were not structured around activity, but around rest and recovery. I was in between work engagements at the time, so I continued sending applications and quietly preparing for my next VA role whenever I had the energy.

Afternoons were usually slow—walks, quiet time, or just staying near the beach. The pace of everything felt naturally reduced compared to city life.

Evenings were my favorite part of the day. Sunset watching became a daily habit—the sky shifting slowly over the water, with nothing urgent pulling attention away from it.

The feeling of the place

Pagudpud felt different from more commercial beach destinations.

There was space. Not just physical space, but mental space. Fewer distractions. Fewer demands. A sense that things could simply pause without consequence.

It didn’t feel like escape as much as it felt like recalibration.

A final day at the falls

On our last day, we went inland to visit Kabigan Falls.

The walk toward the falls was quiet and green, a contrast to the coastline we had been staying near. The water was cool and steady, and the environment felt untouched in a way that made the visit feel unhurried and grounding.

It was a fitting close to the stay—moving from open sea to enclosed nature, from stillness to flow.


The entire stay carried a sense of reset and recalibration.

There was uncertainty about work, but also a quiet commitment to move forward. It wasn’t a break from life—it was a pause inside it, where I could recover enough clarity to continue.


My time in Pagudpud wasn’t about escape.

It was about giving myself space after stepping away from a client role, while slowly preparing for what came next.

In that space between work and uncertainty, I found something simple but important:

Stillness doesn’t stop progress. Sometimes, it makes it possible.

Turning 50 in Boracay: A Three-Week Stay

  


In May 2025, I finally set foot in Boracay Island—one of the Philippines’ most celebrated beaches.

It was a trip that marked not only my 50th birthday but also several firsts. My first time flying with Cebu Pacific, and by a bit of luck, I got a window seat. As the plane lifted off, I watched the world shrink beneath the clouds—a quiet, breathtaking reminder that dreams can take flight.

Touchdown was in Caticlan, and from there, I took a tricycle to the port that would bring me to the island. The air was warm, alive with engines, voices, and salt in the breeze. When the boat finally approached Boracay, I saw the famous shoreline for the first time—white sand glowing against turquoise water—and I couldn’t help but smile.

Before arriving, I had called several hotels to find something both available and affordable for a longer stay. Eventually, I chose to stay in Station 2, where access to everything felt balanced—not too crowded, not too quiet.

I checked in at Sulu Hotel Boracay, which wasn’t cheap, but offered a beachfront view that made the cost feel secondary. From my room, I could see the waves rolling in and hear the rhythm of the island just beyond the glass.

What began as a birthday trip on May 27, 2025, slowly unfolded into a three-week stay—slow, reflective, and unexpectedly grounding.

A simple rhythm by the sea

My days moved at an unhurried pace.

Mornings often began with a swim—soft water, gentle light, no urgency. After that came breakfast, then time to ease into the rest of the day.

Afternoons were slower. I would walk around Station 2, explore nearby areas, or simply sit and observe the movement of people and tide.

Evenings usually ended with buffet dinners, followed by long walks along the shore. At night, I sometimes stopped to watch fire dancers perform—light, movement, and rhythm against the dark sky.

The journey itself

This trip also marked several firsts.

It was my first time on an airplane. I flew with Cebu Pacific, sitting by the window as I watched the world from above for the very first time.

It was also my first time traveling home by sea, aboard a Starlite Ferry ship. Air and sea—two very different journeys, but both part of the same transition.
Small moments that stayed with me


What stayed with me were not just the planned experiences, but the quiet, unexpected ones.

I explored parts of the island, discovering small shops and wandering through Station 2 at an unhurried pace.

I bought shell anklets and a necklace—simple souvenirs from the experience.

I also had a meal at a Japanese restaurant in Station 3, Nagisa Coffee Shop. It was one of those unplanned stops while exploring beyond my usual area.

While there, I noticed Miriam Quiambao dining with her family and friends. I recognized her immediately and had a brief moment of excitement, but I chose not to interrupt and simply let the moment pass naturally.

At another point, someone complimented my dress while walking along the shore.

I also took a photo near a sandcastle on the beach marked with my birthday—a quiet reminder of time passing while I was fully present in it.

Living and observing Boracay

Boracay is often imagined as a place of constant energy and nightlife, but during my stay, I experienced something slightly different.

Contrary to its popular image as a nonstop party destination, the island at the time felt relatively tame—especially in the areas I stayed in. There was activity, yes, but also a noticeable sense of balance and calm in everyday life.

It wasn’t overwhelming. It was livable.

Food options were diverse, ranging from casual local spots to international cuisine scattered across Station 2. I didn’t always dine at high-end restaurants, but instead explored more accessible places—Mexican, Korean, and simple eateries that felt more grounded.

At times, I became more aware of spending and contrast, especially in a place associated with luxury. There were moments of restraint and reflection, particularly around budget choices. But over time, it became less about limitation and more about balance—learning to enjoy the experience without excess.

I also appreciated how practical living was still possible. The wet market allowed access to simple ingredients, and I brought basic cooking tools that let me prepare simple meals when I didn’t feel like going out.

It reminded me that even in a destination known for indulgence, simplicity still has its place.

The stay carried a sense of quiet celebration and reflection.

It wasn’t about intensity or constant activity. It was about space—space to slow down, observe, and adjust to a new phase of life.

There was joy in it, but also awareness. A subtle recognition of time, change, and independence.

If I had to choose one moment that defines the entire trip, it would be this:

Standing by the shore of Boracay Island, watching the water move gently in front of me, and realizing that some experiences don’t feel like arrival.

They feel like alignment.


My time in Boracay wasn’t just a birthday trip that began on May 24, 2025.

It became a three-week experience of movement, stillness, and transition—one that marked not just a milestone in age, but a shift in how I experience travel, time, and presence.

Turning 50 felt less like an ending, and more like a beginning—an invitation to keep experiencing life, even in its simplest forms, and even in your own company.

Three Weeks in Santa Cruz: Living, Working, and Slowing Down

My time in Santa Cruz was one of those rare stretches where work and life quietly blended into each other.

At the time, I was working night shift as a calendar manager for a life coach based in California, USA. My role was fully remote, but time-zone driven—my workdays started when most of the world was winding down.

That rhythm made it possible for me to spend three weeks in a quiet home called Mango Tree, which became my temporary base for both work and slow living.

The rhythm of night shift life

My schedule flipped the usual structure of the day.

Evenings were for preparing, and nights were for work—managing calendars, coordinating appointments, and keeping everything aligned for a client operating on Pacific Time.

Remote work doesn’t remove responsibility—it just relocates it. In my case, it meant working while the rest of the household was asleep, and resting while the province was fully awake.

What made the experience different wasn’t the workload, but the environment surrounding it.

Birds replaced alarms in the morning. The air felt lighter during the day. And the hours outside work became slower, quieter, and more intentional.

Living close to the sea

One of the most enjoyable parts of the stay was how close I was to the shoreline at Sta. Cruz beach shoreline.

I really appreciated having the freedom to start my mornings with a swim, get some sun, and naturally build a bit of a tan without even trying. It became part of the rhythm of the day—simple, unplanned, and grounding.

In the late afternoons, I often spent an hour or two by the water again, just watching the sunset while having a quiet dip in the rocky, sandy beach. The waves were gentle most days, and the light would shift slowly as the day ended.

Those moments—unstructured and unhurried—became some of the most memorable parts of the stay.

A slower provincial pace

Living in the province naturally changed how I moved through the day.

Fresh produce was easy to find in local markets. Meals felt simpler, not because they were limited, but because they were closer to the source.

There’s a quiet difference in that kind of living—less noise, less urgency, and more awareness of what’s immediately around you.

 

Moving through town

During my stay, I would occasionally go into town in Santa Cruz to run errands and restock supplies.

Transportation was simple—a dirt road bike suited for the terrain and the rougher provincial roads. The trips weren’t long, but they became part of the weekly rhythm.

A quick stop at the local mall for essentials, then a return to the quieter side of the province. Nothing complicated—just practical movement between work and rest.

 

What this experience taught me

What stood out most wasn’t the place itself, but how quickly life adapts when your environment changes.

I didn’t feel like I was on vacation, and I didn’t feel disconnected from work either. It felt like a temporary shift in lifestyle—where both could exist in the same space without conflict.

It also made one thing clear:

Remote work isn’t just about location. It’s about whether the environment supports the kind of focus and rhythm your work requires.


To conclude, that three-week stay in Santa Cruz wasn’t an escape from work or routine.

It was a reminder that both can exist together more naturally than we often assume—if the environment allows it.

And for a short time, Mango Tree became exactly that kind of space.

A First Taste of Indian Cuisine in Angeles City

I’ve always loved chicken curry, but I had never actually dined in an authentic Indian restaurant—until now. I’m glad I finally did.

My visit to Royal Indian Curry House was more than just a meal—it was a full experience.

The food was rich, aromatic, and deeply flavorful. The spices were bold but still enjoyable, even for someone not used to strong Indian flavors. Everything felt thoughtfully prepared, from the main dishes down to the smallest details.

We ordered the Basmati Rice Biryani, which tasted fresh and well-balanced, and paired it with wine that complemented the meal beautifully.

The restaurant itself leans toward upscale, and the pricing reflects that—but it feels justified. The ambiance is warm, clean, and inviting. It’s the kind of place where you can relax and enjoy your meal without feeling overly formal or out of place.

The layout was comfortable, with tables arranged in small clusters. It wasn’t crowded when we visited, which made the experience even more enjoyable. The staff was attentive and welcoming, greeting us with genuine warmth and giving us time to settle before taking our orders.

Overall, it’s a place I’d gladly return to—not just for the food, but for the entire experience.

The Road Less Taken: Capas to Botolan

I’ll be honest—I don’t really consider myself a savvy traveler. Not the kind who carefully plans itineraries or collects passport stamps, not yet.

But something shifted when I turned 40.

My children are grown, and for the first time in a long while, I’ve started to feel what it’s like to live life on my own terms. These days, I say yes more often—to spontaneous trips, quick food runs, and unexpected invitations to step out of the house.

So when the opportunity came for a road trip from Capas to Botolan, I didn’t hesitate.

The Drive

Our route took us through an ongoing road project that aims to connect Tarlac and Zambales—a development that will eventually make travel between the two provinces much easier.

For now, though, the journey is far from smooth.

It was a long, dusty drive—but absolutely worth it.

Working from home, I don’t get opportunities like this often. Contrary to what many assume, remote work doesn’t always mean freedom to travel anytime. That’s why this trip felt like a rare break from routine.

Finding the Route

We entered through Barangay O'Donnell.

About a kilometer in, we reached a section leading to a missing bridge—still under construction. From there, we drove roughly 17.7 kilometers toward a temporary crossing over lahar terrain.

After passing the damaged bridge, we continued toward Sitio Baag, where the road gradually turned into soft soil. That’s where we had to stop—the vehicle couldn’t safely go any further.

The View from San Jose

Before heading back, we made a stop at the San Jose View Deck.

The view stretches wide across what feels like all of Central Luzon. It’s the kind of place that makes you pause—not because you planned to, but because the moment asks you to.

 

What to Know Before You Go

This isn’t your typical easy drive. Conditions are unpredictable, and the area is still largely undeveloped.

If you’re planning to go:

Bring enough drinking water and snacks
Don’t expect stores or rest stops along the way
Travel with companions—this is not a solo-friendly route (yet)
Be prepared for rough terrain, especially near lahar crossings

 

Looking Back

It was a long and tiring trip—but one I’d gladly take again.

There’s something grounding about places like this—raw, unfinished, and quiet. It reminds you that not everything has to be polished to be meaningful. Sometimes, the journey itself—dust, detours, and all—is the point.

A Birthday Freediving Experience in Pangasinan

 

At the time of writing this, I’m nursing a fever and sore muscles—and yet, I couldn’t be happier.

The experience was worth every bit of discomfort. If anything, I just wish I had prepared better so I could’ve enjoyed it even more.

It all started with a simple birthday offer from one of my favorite people:

“Anything you’d like for your birthday.”

I didn’t hesitate. I already knew what I wanted.

Freediving had been sitting on my bucket list for years. So before my sponsor flew to France, I was told to book it right away—no overthinking. I signed up for a two-day course and even pre-ordered some of my gear (fins… I told myself I’d figure those out later).
Booking the Course

I chose Aquaholics Freediving, based in Pangasinan—a convenient choice since I’m from the North.

The course fee was ₱2,500 per person, which is reasonable considering freediving isn’t exactly a cheap hobby.

They require a 50% down payment via GCash or bank transfer, with the remaining balance paid on-site. After sending proof of payment through Messenger, your schedule gets confirmed.

Also—small confession—I booked it before my actual birthday. My grandmother always said not to take risks on your birthday… and honestly, I wasn’t about to test that by potentially drowning. 😂
Getting There: Sitio Olanen, Bani

The trip to Sitio Olanen was an adventure in itself.

I was late. It was raining. And I nearly got scammed by a tricycle driver who almost got me lost. At one point, I thought, this better be worth it.

It was.

When I arrived, my Batch 53 group welcomed me warmly—they even sang me a birthday song. One of my batchmates, Thea, lent me a brand-new tent because I arrived too late to get one. That small act stayed with me. Sometimes, you’re reminded that people can be unexpectedly kind.

Directions & Fares

Dau to Alaminos (Victory Liner): ₱328 (~4 hours)
Alaminos to Brgy. Tiep (Bolinao bus): ₱40 (~30 minutes)
Tiep to Sitio Olanen (tricycle): 30+ minutes (rough roads)

Day 1: Learning to Breathe (and Panic Less)

We were guided by instructors Pao and Milo, founders of Aquaholics—patient, skilled, and very hands-on.

We covered:

Breathing techniques
Safety protocols
Equalization (the most important skill)

We were diving around 9–10 meters deep—exciting, but intimidating.

I struggled with equalization. Every time I couldn’t adjust the pressure properly, I felt pain in my ear and had to resurface.

What I learned:

Don’t rush equalization
Pain is your signal to stop
Your body will tell you when something’s wrong—listen to it
That Night: Reality Check

This is where things got real.

It rained hard. Even with a borrowed tent, my things got soaked. I spent the night damp, cold, and uncomfortable.

That’s when it hit me: I was not prepared for this kind of trip.

Still, I didn’t quit.

Lying there, shivering, I found myself scrolling through Lazada, mentally listing everything I should’ve brought.

What I Should’ve Prepared

Camping essentials:

Proper tent (with rain cover)
Sleeping mat or air mattress
Food: bananas, bread, tuna, crackers
Plenty of water

Freediving essentials:
Rash guard or wetsuit
Aqua shoes
Mask & snorkel
Fins
Sunblock & aloe vera
Hair ties (visibility matters underwater)
Basic meds
Towel (non-negotiable 😂)

Day 2: Pushing Through

We started at 8:30 AM with stretching and breathing drills.

Day 2 focused on:
Duck dives
Finning techniques

Both were harder than they looked.

I also made the mistake of not eating properly beforehand—my energy dropped, and I started cramping mid-dive.

Quick lessons:

Hydrate (with electrolytes if possible)
Stretch properly
Eat before diving
Final Thoughts

Despite the rain, the cramps, and the lack of preparation—I would absolutely do it again.

This experience with Aquaholics Freediving pushed me out of my comfort zone in the best way. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real—and that made it unforgettable.

If I could redo it, I’d come better prepared. But I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.

And yes—I’m already thinking about round two.

My first travelogue: Pundakit, San Antonio, Zambales

Pundaquit Beach, San Antonio, Zambales

Traveling to Pundaquit was one of the highlights of my January 2020 — a goal I had set for myself that year. It was my little reward for all the sacrifices I’d made as a single parent and a way to celebrate my personal milestones.

The beach from the Grundlehner's Garden Resort & Restaurant.

It had been a very long time since I stepped out of my comfort zone. When I saw the listing on Airbnb, with a green arrow pointing toward the beach, that breathtaking view instantly captured my attention. It was all the motivation I needed to book my stay and use my two days off in San Antonio, Zambales.

Even when my son tried to talk me out of it because it was far from Masinloc (my original destination), I still went ahead. It was my mini-holiday after all.

As a child, I was often scolded for being “lakwatsera” — always curious and eager to go places beyond school and home. Because of that, I never really got the chance to travel far or explore on my own. Add budget constraints to that, and you can imagine how long I’d been waiting to break free from those limits.

Beef Sinigang. Don't let the picture fool you, this is a huge serving.

Apple-Cinnamon Ring for dessert.

The five-hour trip to Grundlehner’s Garden Resort & Restaurant was just the beginning of a truly rewarding experience. Liza, the host, was warm and accommodating. She immediately eased my anxiety as a first-time solo traveler and introduced me to the other guests.

Her husband, Beat, is also a chef, which meant I didn’t have to go far to enjoy good food. The restaurant offers both international and Filipino dishes, all freshly cooked and generously served.

That first night, I joined the other guests at a local bar for a few drinks. It was a slow Thursday night, and we were the only customers. I even sang a song or two at the videoke (tried not to go off-key — though I did!). We got back to the resort around 11 PM, and I went straight to bed, tired but happy after my shift and the long journey.

Car Wash

Car Wash Bar & Restaurant

My favourite Eggs Benedict.

The five-hour trip to Grundlehner’s Garden Resort & Restaurant was just the beginning of a truly rewarding experience. Liza, the host, was warm and accommodating. She immediately eased my anxiety as a first-time solo traveler and introduced me to the other guests.

Her husband, Beat, is also a chef, which meant I didn’t have to go far to enjoy good food. The restaurant offers both international and Filipino dishes, all freshly cooked and generously served.

That first night, I joined the other guests at a local bar for a few drinks. It was a slow Thursday night, and we were the only customers. I even sang a song or two at the videoke (tried not to go off-key — though I did!). We got back to the resort around 11 PM, and I went straight to bed, tired but happy after my shift and the long journey.

Our view at the Sunset Bar.

My dinner.

Our dinner.

Saturday — my last day — was bittersweet. We had brunch once again at the Car Wash before taking another quick dip at the beach. I checked out at noon and headed home by nightfall, pleasantly exhausted and full of new memories.

That short trip gave me something to look forward to. I realized that life truly begins at forty. My kids were growing into their independence, and I finally had time to rediscover myself.
Becoming a “Transient-er”

My journey toward becoming a traveler actually began at work, when I practically lived at our sleeping quarters during shifts. I’d carry a huge backpack with all my essentials —

● Toiletries (tissue, wipes, hygiene kit)
● Change of clothes
● Versatile bath towel
● Foldable slippers
● Inflatable pillow
● Pairs of multipurpose shoes


That experience prepared me for backpacking — teaching me that with careful planning and resourcefulness, I could handle traveling on a shoestring. My trip to Pundaquit was just the beginning. I can’t wait to see where the next adventure takes me.

The Immaculate Conception Parish of Naic

One of the most enduring landmarks in the old town of Naic is the Immaculate Conception Parish Church. Standing at the heart of the community, the church has quietly witnessed the passage of time—from the Spanish colonial period to the Japanese occupation during World War II. According to longtime residents, it once served as a refuge during times of conflict, securing its place not only in local memory but in Philippine history.

Today, the parish continues to impress, particularly with its intricate marble mosaic flooring—considered one of the largest of its kind in Southeast Asia. Beyond its physical beauty, what stands out is how the church has managed to sustain itself over the years. Without relying on special funding, it has grown through the support and devotion of its parishioners, continuing to serve its spiritual purpose for the people of Naic.

The parish is currently led by Fr. Isagani Aviñante, whose leadership over the past four years has brought notable improvements to the church. During a brief conversation with him, what came through clearly was his deep commitment to guiding people back to their faith—not just in form, but in substance. His goal is simple but challenging: to help parishioners move beyond practicing faith in name alone, and toward a more meaningful, lived understanding of it.

One idea he shared stayed with me. Not in his exact words, but in essence: sometimes, the very thing we are searching for is already right beneath us. He told a story about a man who sold his land in search of diamonds, only to later discover that the land he left behind was rich with them. That thought lingered. It made me reflect on how often I’ve looked outward—traveling, searching, questioning—only to realize that some answers were already within reach.

As you may know, I was raised Catholic. I was baptized, confirmed, and received my First Communion. I attended a Catholic school, prayed the novena and the rosary, and even joined the church choir. Over time, I chose to focus more deeply on my Christian faith in a personal way, and that remains my conviction today.

But that shift does not erase where I came from. I still hold my Catholic roots with respect and gratitude. Every now and then, I find myself drawn back—to attend Mass, to sit in stillness, and to reconnect with the traditions that helped shape the foundation of my spiritual life.

The Aguinaldo Shrine

There’s something about old, timeworn structures that draws me in. They carry a quiet nostalgia, as if their walls hold stories waiting to be remembered. That’s why I’m always drawn to historical places like the Aguinaldo Shrine—a place deeply rooted in heritage, where every room and every corner seems to speak for itself.

From the moment you step through the entrance of this grand ancestral home, the intricate architecture immediately captures your attention. It’s both imposing and elegant, reflecting a time when design was intentional and enduring.

As you move through the house, you begin to appreciate just how advanced and luxurious it must have been in its time. Imagine having your own bowling alley within your home—no need to go out for leisure, simply invite friends over and enjoy the space together. The house also features a saloon, a ballroom, and expansive receiving areas—spaces that could easily rival a first-class hotel or private retreat even by today’s standards.

What struck me most, however, wasn’t just the scale or the design—it was the atmosphere. There’s a certain stillness, almost mysterious, that lingers in the air. If these walls could speak, they would tell stories of quiet conversations, important decisions, and the many lives that once passed through its halls.

 

I found myself imagining the rhythm of daily life within these walls—the gentle bustle of mornings, the stillness of the afternoon siesta, the clinking of utensils during shared meals, and finally, the calm of nightfall. In that silence, you can almost hear echoes of the past, carried softly through the corridors.

A First Visit to Intramuros

I’ve always wanted to explore places beyond my usual routine, and one destination that had long been on my list was Intramuros. I finally had the chance to visit when a friend told me about the free entrance offered in celebration of National Women's Month—a small detail, but one that made the trip feel timely.

To be honest, I didn’t go in with high expectations. I thought it would simply be another historical site—old walls, preserved ruins, something to walk through and check off the list. But walking through Intramuros is different. There’s a quiet weight to the place, a sense that history isn’t just displayed—it lingers.

My daughter and I spent the afternoon exploring some of its well-known landmarks:

• Fort Santiago
• Casa Manila Museum
• Baluarte de San Diego
• Manila Cathedral

Each stop offered something different—from preserved architecture to glimpses of how life once was within the walled city.

What I realized, though, is that a single afternoon isn’t enough to truly take it all in. Places like this deserve more time—or at least a clear itinerary and a good sense of direction. Otherwise, you end up wandering without fully appreciating what’s right in front of you.