The Secret Beaches of Negros Oriental

The Secret Beaches of Negros Oriental

Negros Oriental is home to many beautiful beaches. Ian Casocot lists his favorites

Perhaps by some strange alchemy of the currents, the eastern side of Negros, where Dumaguete is, does not boast of the white sandy beaches of its Visayan neighbors. "Where are the white sand beaches?" our visitors always ask the moment they land in town.

"In the other islands," we say--and we're used to this disclaimer, we shrug when we say it. Let the others have that hankering for boring whiteness. What we have is something else. This way, we keep our beaches our not-so-deep secrets.

But they all come to Dumaguete, anyway: this spot, after all, is still the perfect strategic jump-off base for all the usual vacation spots in Bohol, Siquijor, Cebu, or even the undiscovered surfs of southern Negros Occidental. And here in Negros Oriental, the diving is as close to marine paradise as you can have anywhere else in the world.

But I'm not sure, however, if this lack for white sands has always been the case. When students from Silliman University sing their school anthem, for example, the first two lines of the song, composed in 1918 by the American missionary-teacher Dr. Paul Doltz, goes: "Where the white sands and the coral / kiss the dark-blue southern seas..." We did have white sands once. Time, a question of geography, and changes in the currents must have altered all that to the fine brownness that we have, which stretches from the rocky northern beaches of Vallehermoso to the off-white grains of Basay waters in the south.

That brown difference has not stopped Dumaguete and Negros Oriental from being proclaimed by Islands Magazine as being one of the twenty best islands to live on in the world in its July-August 2007 issue--joining the likes of Grand Cayman, Gozo in Malta, Carriacou in Grenada, Vieques in Puerto Rico, Hawkes Bay in New Zealand, Taveuni in Fiji, Long Island in the Bahamas, Honolulu in Hawaii, Cedar Key in Florida, Isla Colon in Panama, Carriacou in Grenada, Union Islands in St. Vincent and the Grenadines, Penang in Malaysia, Utila in Honduras, Pico in Portugal, and others. Not Boracay, not Panglao, not anywhere else-but suprisingly Dumaguete.

Dumaguete is a resort town that seems oblivious to that fact, for some reason. We don't try hard selling ourselves as a destination, and yet... One thing immediately noticeable about it is the sizeable population of expats and the endless influx of tourists--backpackers and what-not--who find in the city something distinct from the rest of the country. The youthful vibe? The academic air? The fact that the mountains are not far off, and the nearest beaches are only twenty minutes away?

Twenty minutes away would be Dauin--a sizeable town south of Dumaguete that plays host to our not-so-secret stretch of beaches that have attracted a considerable number of world-class boutique resorts, among them Bahura, Atmosphere, Pura Vida, Atlantis, El Dorado, and Private Residence. The attraction, for the most part, is the diving, particularly in the waters off Apo Island, which contain sights of marine wonders reputed to be the best in the world.

Further south, in Zamboanguita town, there are two resorts I go to often, to relax, to be in a place where I could see both sunset and sunrise in the same horizon.

First there is Antulang. Going to Antulang is a journey of seemingly endless heartaches, especially for those who want their pleasures immediate, like instant coffee. Or perhaps going there is much like one prolonged expectation, like a promise that takes its time to unfold.

Take a jeepney or a hardy car from Dumaguete City to Siaton, near the edge of Zamboanguita down south of Oriental Negros, and the highway takes you to a swift distance to a bend somewhere along the way that takes you further down a gravel road that knows only the meaning of stretches. Some people estimate the distance from the highway to the limestone cliffs that dot the Siaton seacoast to be roughly thirty minutes or a bit more of riding through harsh but beautiful countryside-a sunny, almost barren, landscape overgrown with strange thorny bushes and the sporadic shock of gumamela (antulanga in old Cebuano). When the journey nears its end, if you are quick enough to notice the unusual from the blur of speed outside, you can also get some glimpses of Tambobo Bay where the yachts, many of them, are bobbing in the blue waters.

The prolonged journey inland is part of the charm of Antulang, because once you are inside its sprawling compound, you are immediately made aware that the protracted journey was worth it: this is where heaven and sea make their love nest. The blueness of sea and sky together becomes unequalled comfort. Tranquility is another name for it.

I have never seen this generosity in the expanse of sea and sky before, not until I came to Antulang. Because the place occupies the rounded bottom of boot-shaped Negros island and is situated right at the very edges of limestone cliffs, Antulang juts out into the Mindanao Sea facing Zamboanga, and from some vantage point, the place seems to float into the blue. "Sometimes," Annabelle Lee Adriano, the owner of Antulang, told me while we sipped the home-made caiprinha with lychee, "we see the moon rising in the east just as the sun is setting in the west-and all these, of course, occur in the same horizon," like a beautiful accident of alignment in the heavens.

Antulang, the resort, has vastly improved from its start in the late 1990s when it grew from a ragtag bunch of rooms and a restaurant to something approximating subdued modishness. Today, you see that it now has the trappings of a modern resort-the restaurant has food that may be one of the best in Oriental Negros (their puso or banana heart salad has a creaminess and crunch that make it a must from the menu), the ground staff tends horses for guests to ride, the salt-water infinity pool is expansive and elegant, and the accommodations range from midsized minimalist comfort to private villas that have their own cliffside view and pool.

But Antulang is more than just its popular resort, which is the site of countless commercial photo shoots (retailer Bench has made the place one of its favorite locations, and the infamous Alfred Vargas sexy coffee table book was shot in many of its nooks and crannies by photographer Ronnie Salvacion). It is, in the long run, the cumulative experience of being in Siaton town, in the beach or atop the lime rocks with the sight of sea and sky, and the possibilities of myriad marine encounters. Venture down the stone path that leads from the resort to the pebble beach below, and you find yourself in the rush of surf and the calm blue-green of Mindanao Sea. Go further, and there are caves and nooks in the limestone walls to examine like an intrepid geologist.

One secret corner of the Antulang stretch of coast is a little resort somewhere in the pockets of huge beach rocks that hide lagoons and sandy sound. Kokoo's Nest, reachable only by a considerable hike down a steep, winding incline of limestone steps, is owned by a British couple who spends half the year in London and the other half in this tropical getaway that is a little bit more than an elaborate hut with two or three cottages nearby for letting. The cottages, however, are appointed in what can be said to be Bali aesthetics with a lot of Siaton sensibilities thrown in. The result is an eclectic style that soothes and amuses at the same time. A perfect day in Kokoo's Nest is simply sitting down on one of those rocks that litter the white sand beach, watching the tide come in.

There is always the opportunity, however, of boarding one of the yachts or little skips that trawl the area and explore the curve of water that embrace the coast. Ms. Adriano owns a boat named after her--or, if you are the literary type, the famous character from the poem by Edgar Allan Poe--and aboard the Annabelle Lee, we cruised through the area, hoping to beat the sunset. The pilot took us to Tambobo Bay, an area that surprises with its population of boats of various kinds flying international colors. On one spot, there is the British man with the brown yacht. On another, an Italian who owns a Chinese junk. There are boats of all shapes and sizes, and the men flying them are the colors of the rainbow. The small community that embraces the beach that shape the bay is a ragtag affair of architecture, approximating an eyesore but could be really embraced as nicely peculiar. In this setting, aboard the Annabelle Lee, we watched the sun go down, and delighted in the smell of salt on our skin.

When we went back to the resort for dinner and song, the blue sky has become a thick blanket of stars, something you do not readily see in the city drowning in false light. Having had my fill of dinner, I sat back and relaxed in the ambient glow of the pool lights and the soft incandescence of lamps sprouting from the ground everywhere. I thought of taking a midnight dip in the pool. I thought of strolling the grounds among the dwarf tigpud trees. I thought of sleeping to the sound of surf. From the railing that separated me from the void where the sky was and where the sea was below, I strained my eyes to try to catch the horizon from the darkness, and it dawned on me that there was none at all, that everything was a comfortable wall, or a blanket.

In the quiet, I breathed deeply like I have never breathed before.