originally posted last 2017

Some road trips begin with a carefully prepared itinerary, reservations made weeks in advance and at least one person who knows exactly where everyone is going. Ours began with the much more sophisticated question, “Asa man ta?” followed by several suggestions, several rejections and absolutely no final answer. The original plan was Aloguinsan’s Hidden Beach. Then, somewhere between discussing the route and actually leaving, that plan quietly disappeared. The Ranch in Toledo came next, until we remembered that most of us had already been there enough times to recognise the place without Google Maps. So we did what any barkada with free time, access to a car and questionable commitment to planning would do: we started driving.

This is the part where I could pretend we had always intended to head towards Balamban. That would make the story sound much more organised. It would also be completely untrue. We simply kept going, talking, laughing, changing our minds and trusting that eventually the road would produce a destination worthy of all this effort. At first, the lack of a plan felt spontaneous and exciting. Two hours later, it felt slightly less romantic. By the time we were approaching four hours on the road, hunger had joined the group, patience had become noticeably thinner and somebody was probably wondering whether friendship was supposed to involve this much sitting.

The funny thing about barkada road trips is that getting nowhere quickly can still be entertaining when you are with the right people. We rarely saw each other as often as we wanted, so even being stuck together inside a car became part of the reunion. There were stories to catch up on, old jokes that required no explanation and the comfortable kind of silence that only happens with people who have known you long enough. Of course, there were also moments of, “Layo pa?” and “Asa gyud ta padulong?” because friendship may be enduring, but hunger remains a powerful force.

Eventually, the road carried us towards Gaas in Balamban, and West 35 Eco Mountain Resort finally gave our wandering some credibility. Suddenly the four-hour drive looked less like poor planning and more like an adventurous scenic route we had chosen deliberately. I was happy to allow this interpretation.

West 35 sits along the Cebu Transcentral Highway, surrounded by the cooler highland scenery that makes Balamban feel completely different from the heat and congestion of the city. As we moved higher into the mountains, the air changed, the roads curved between greenery and the landscape opened into wide views of hills and distant ridges. It is one of the things I love about Cebu: you can leave a busy urban area and, within a relatively short distance, find yourself surrounded by mountains, mist and enough greenery to make you wonder whether you accidentally crossed into another province.

By the time we arrived, we were tired and hungry enough to be easily impressed, but West 35 genuinely deserved the reaction. The temperature was cooler, the hills rolled across the horizon and the whole place had that refreshing highland atmosphere that immediately made the long drive feel worthwhile. For me, it had a little of that Tagaytay feeling—elevated, breezy and scenic, except this was still Cebu and we had reached it after an impressive demonstration of group indecision.

The resort itself is the kind of place where the view does much of the work. There are landscaped areas, greenery, pathways and plenty of corners where you can stop and take photographs with the mountains stretching behind you. Naturally, we did exactly that. A spontaneous barkada trip is not considered properly documented until everybody has accumulated enough photographs to suggest the outing lasted several days rather than one afternoon.

The mountain setting was the real attraction for me. The cooler air alone felt like a reward after hours inside the car. We walked around, looked over the surrounding hills and gradually forgot how annoyed we had been earlier. This is the remarkable healing power of a good view: four hours of questionable navigation can be forgiven remarkably quickly once everyone has fresh air and something attractive behind them for photographs.

There was no pressure to accomplish anything while we were there. We did not arrive with a checklist of attractions that needed to be completed before a certain time. We had already failed spectacularly at having a schedule, so there was nothing left to protect. Instead, we wandered, talked, took pictures and enjoyed the fact that we had eventually found somewhere worth stopping.

I actually think West 35 suits that kind of visit. It is a place where you can appreciate the setting without needing constant entertainment. The mountain air, landscaped grounds and panoramic scenery are enough reason to stay for a while. If you spend most of your week surrounded by traffic, buildings and responsibilities, there is something very satisfying about standing somewhere high enough that your usual world suddenly looks very far away.

Of course, the photographs make the whole thing look wonderfully peaceful. What they do not show is the journey that happened beforehand. Nobody looking at a nice picture of us against the Balamban mountains would know that our itinerary had changed several times or that we had reached the place after almost four hours of driving around with only a vague idea of what we were doing.

That is precisely why I like the pictures.

They preserve the successful ending without erasing the chaos that made it funny.

Some of the best memories with friends work like that. You remember the destination, but you also remember the nonsense surrounding it: the debate about where to go, the person who rejected one suggestion, the increasingly urgent discussions about food, the jokes repeated inside the car and the moment everyone finally agreed that yes, this place had been worth the drive.

After spending time in the highlands, our next priority required considerably less discussion.

Dinner.

We headed towards Lantaw at SRP, which felt like exactly the sort of ending the day deserved. After mountain roads, cooler air and hours of travelling, sitting around a table with food in front of us restored everybody remarkably quickly. Hunger is capable of making even the strongest friendship temporarily fragile, while a good dinner can repair international relations within minutes.

The atmosphere at Lantaw gave the evening a completely different character from the afternoon. We had gone from the green hills and cool air of Balamban to the sea breeze and city lights of SRP. One day, two very different Cebu views. By then, nobody cared that the original destination had been Aloguinsan or that Toledo had briefly entered the negotiations. Food had arrived, everyone was together and the day had somehow worked itself out.

That dinner may have been the most appropriate finale because eating together has always been one of the easiest ways to continue a friendship. You can go months without seeing one another, but put everyone around the same table and somehow the conversation resumes from where it left off. No formal catching-up agenda is required. Somebody begins telling a story, somebody interrupts, another person remembers something embarrassing from years ago and suddenly you are all laughing like nobody had been busy living separate lives in between.

That is what I appreciate most about friendships like ours. We do not need to see each other constantly to remain comfortable together. Adult life makes regular reunions difficult. There are jobs, schedules, families and responsibilities that rarely cooperate just because friends want the same free day. But when we do manage to meet, the friendship does not require warming up.

We simply continue.

Looking back, I am glad the original plan failed. Had we gone straight to the first destination, the day would probably have been easier and considerably more efficient. But then we would not have had the long, slightly ridiculous drive, the running debate about where we were actually going, the first sight of the Balamban hills or the satisfaction of finally reaching somewhere that made everyone stop complaining.

Efficiency is useful in many parts of life.

Barkada trips are not always one of them.

Sometimes the day becomes memorable precisely because nobody quite knows what is happening. You get into a car with people you trust, change the plan three times, become hungry, question everyone’s decision-making abilities and eventually stumble upon a place that makes the whole mess feel worthwhile.

West 35 was that place for us.

The mountains gave us the view, the cool air restored our patience and dinner at Lantaw made sure nobody went home hungry. Somehow, a trip that began with no clear destination ended up feeling complete.

So if anyone asks for our itinerary, I can now give the polished version: scenic road trip through Cebu, afternoon in the Balamban highlands and dinner overlooking the city.

Much better than saying, “We had absolutely no idea where we were going.”

Although that would be more accurate.

And perhaps that was the best part.

With love,
Anj ❤