Slow tourism and self-love could work: Thoughts from my visit to Anda, Bohol

As a Filipino born and raised in the Philippines and currently living in the United States, I cherish every opportunity to come home and celebrate precious moments with my family. Home for me is rooted in the raucous joys of Manila but, more importantly, in the sweet, vibrant provincial life of Bohol, where my family is from.

Growing up in Manila, I would return to Bohol every summer and Christmas, playing with my cousins, hanging out with our aunties and uncles, and being spoiled by our grandparents.

This past Christmas, I was beyond excited to return to our little island that could — to its beautiful beaches, undeniably delicious food, and the legendary warmth of the Bol-anon people and our community. 

But soon after arriving, I discovered a local controversy that’s been brewing for years: that Bohol — like many tourist destinations in the Philippines — has become too expensive, too inefficient, and too difficult to navigate for visitors. 

Some argue that our tourism infrastructure isn’t on par with neighboring countries like Vietnam and Thailand, where travelers can easily see all the sights bundled into one seamless package with transport included. The Philippines just isn’t worth it, they say. 

I call that a bit of botbot. 

Now, don’t get me wrong — our systems clearly need and demand improvement. For too long now, we’ve needed much better infrastructure, more efficient transport, and stronger public services so tourists and Filipinos alike can explore our country with minimal challenges. But believing that we are inherently inferior to our Southeast Asian peers only perpetuates a cycle of shame that holds us back.

These challenges aren’t unique to the Philippines. Every developing country wrestles with huge growing pains, whether it’s building roads, expanding airports, or improving sanitation and waste management. Same goes for much-lauded tourist hotspots like Thailand, Vietnam, and even South Korea back when it was still a developing country. 

Take my recent weekend in eastern Bohol — Anda, a rustic beach town facing Mindanao known for its white‑sand beaches, cave pools, and eco‑cultural and historical sites. It’s an incredible bohemian alternative to the heavily commercialized tourism of Panglao, which, despite its popularity, also struggles with trash, sanitation, and regulatory issues at the expense of visitors seeking a polished “Phuket or Bali” experience.

What struck me most about Anda was how much it still revolves around local life — fishing, farming, families at the shore, and community rhythms tied to the sea. Foreigners are present, yes, but they aren’t the center of life. 

And while the trip from Panglao airport is long and somewhat inconvenient — at least three hours — that same distance preserves something precious and at risk of disappearing in today’s hyper-modernized, AI-prone world: a sense of deep context, culture, and lived-in place.

In Anda, we stayed at a locally-run vacation home — a spacious villa styled like a modern nipa hut — and arranged convenient transport through a baobao (large tricycle) driver connected to the community. That same driver arranged for us to see a local masseuse. And the property caretaker anticipated our needs so thoughtfully that one day he even went out to get supplies so we could cook breakfast ourselves — exceptional service that never felt forced or disingenuous. 

Just down the road was Bitoon White Beach, where local families rang in the New Year with huge, starry spreads of food and swimming in warm, turquoise waters on their salbabidas, with volcanic Mount Hibok‑Hibok in Camiguin looming on the horizon. At Cabagnow Cave Pool, local kids leapt from rocky ledges into cool, blue water, with just a handful of European and Asian visitors scattered among mostly Andahanon families.

I don’t mean to romanticize Anda. It is rugged, and like nearly every destination in the world, it is beginning to accumulate the excesses of modern tourism — single‑use plastics and, at worst, human waste in the water, careless littering, and environmental wear and tear. But with the right regulation, education, and enforcement around waste and sanitation, we can still preserve its natural beauty for locals and visitors alike.

Our country is uniquely shaped by our island geography, a deeply relational way of being, the spirit of bayanihan that emerges from our barangays, and local traditions like the fiesta and Indigenous foodways that center the community and collective. 

And while it is not yet widespread, progress has been happening quietly for a long time in our provinces: slow, intentional tourism that prioritizes local knowledge, integrates Indigenous wisdom and practices, and preserves and cares for our environment. 

I think of the people of Anda organizing to protect their beloved coral reefs (after overfishing and dynamite fishing) and launching popular, community-driven tours of Lamanok Island, a prime archeological site in Bohol known for its precolonial burial traditions and Indigenous babaylan practices. 

The revival of a precolonial salt-making Boholano tradition to produce the exceedingly rare and gourmand asin tibuok in the coastal town of Albur. 

Of nearby Negros Oriental being designated as the Philippines’ first Slow Food Travel destination, where visitors can immerse themselves in local food culture and systems, meet farmers and fishermen, learn traditional ways of cooking, and participate in planting trees and crops. 

Of multiple pioneering eco-tourism initiatives in Palawan like preserving and protecting the iconic Tubbataha Reefs – one of the most remote diving spots in the country that takes at least six hours to access in the middle of the Sulu Sea – but a hard-earned journey rewarded by some of the world’s most incredible marine biodiversity and special bragging rights as divers. 

The issue isn’t that the Philippines can’t modernize — we absolutely should. But modernization must be rooted in our own dignity, intention, and care, rather than driven by shame or the idea that we must mimic other countries to be worthy.

When we believe we are behind by default, we stop imagining creative, Filipino-first solutions that honor our unique geography, history, and culture. We chase Westernized speed and scale without considering who gets displaced or exploited, what gets damaged in our environment, and ultimately, what gets lost and erased.

The Philippines may never be a perfectly oiled, hyper‑efficient travel machine — and maybe that’s okay. Instead, it calls for a different way of traveling and living here: slow, relational, intentional, and respectful of local life and our environment.

We should take pride in that. Not as denial, but as the foundation for modernization and development that is responsible, lasting, and rooted in self‑respect. 

We don’t need to be the next Vietnam or Thailand to define progress. We can modernize our systems and lead our nation forward through the Filipino way — rooted in bayanihan, kapwa, and pagkakaisa — not just discussing or believing in our potential, but taking bold, concrete, strategic action toward our dreams. 

We can build our future on our own terms. And the time to act is now. – Rappler.com

Maki is a community organizer, entrepreneur, and fierce Filipino cultural advocate. Born and raised in the Philippines, she currently lives in the US, where she’s building up her experience and connections to better support the Philippines when she returns.