Boracry

Seven years ago, Borawhy won the race as the best island nickname for New Year’s Eve. Today Boracry wins. I could cry when I see what we are doing to this beautiful little island. I have lost all hope that this can ever be changed. My only option after seven visits: Bye bye Boracay! Please stay away from this island!

Yes, Boracay is beautiful, the White Beach is unique. The palm trees are tropical, the jungle in the north is dense and the water at Ilig-Iligan Beach is a crystal-clear aquarium full of colourful fish. The selection of restaurants and bars is gigantic and the wind at Bulabog is usually very good for kitesurfing. But that’s about it. There is a lot that is extremely poor.

Caticlan harbour. As we don’t book an overpriced transfer on the island, we are loaded onto a giant boat instead of a small banca. An hour’s wait with lots of forms, the equivalent of seven euros per person for the last three kilometres of ferry and transfer. For the same price, you can travel 12 hours by ferry with a berth in the Phlippines. Masses of Chinese ignore every queue and push loudly to the front.

Even more than a year after the reopening, Boracay is still one huge, noisy building site. After two visits within a year, I assume that it will remain like this for at least another two to three years. Excavators are ploughing through the water on floating pontoons. Jackhammers are tearing “illegal” houses in half. The beds are still in half the rooms.

Yes, something had to be done. Everything was built up to the last metre, especially the main road was far too narrow. The three kilometres from the ferry to White Beach could easily take an hour in traffic jams and smog. Today, e-trikes and roadworks reign supreme. It still takes a long time to get north to Puka Beach in particular.

At Bulabog Beach, President Duterte wanted a new road directly between the hotels and the beach. To achieve this, a huge amount of land (with now invalid building permits not only for foreign investors) has been and is being cut in half. Even the fairly new and luxurious 7 Stones is being cut ten metres. Widening the main road was definitely necessary. The reason for a road directly between the beach and the hotels remains completely incomprehensible to me. Yes, there must always be a path between the tide line and private property. This was not the case in some places. Wouldn’t a footpath have sufficed?

The choice of what to demolish and what to leave standing seems completely arbitrary to me after many walks around the island. At Diniwid Beach north of White Beach, the dice were rolled: demolish, leave standing, demolish. Some plots of land and buildings were apparently allocated to old tribes of Boracay. They rot unused. On the hill north of Bulabog, there seems to be a radical crackdown, with a demolition sign hanging on every house. I can only recognise one clear direction: everything that was quaint, small and cheap is being torn down, and all that is being built are white, classy concrete blocks with up to five storeys. In front of them are mostly overweight Chinese men in full body coverings, sipping cocktails.

The sewage system in the centre is largely complete. At Bulabog, we no longer kite between poo and condoms after every downpour. The sewage pipe now goes further out over the reef. What comes out of there remains open. Smoking and littering are heavily penalised. Rubbish bins are still in short supply except for White Beach. Unlike on other islands, there is rubbish everywhere in the poor residential areas. There is a lot of poverty in the Philippines. Hopelessness on Boracay.

My biggest criticism is the number of visitors. Even away from peak season, the island is completely packed, and at Christmas, New Year’s Eve and Chinese New Year it’s simply madness. You feel like you’re in Ikea on a rainy Saturday afternoon for long stretches – to jingle bells at a sweltering 35 degrees. My girlfriend is not only shocked but really sad. Is it really necessary to advertise this small island so heavily around the world?

Chinese, Taiwanese and Koreans make up half of the travellers. In January, the proportion rises slightly to over 75%. We only see their nouveau riche. Those who get rich quick behave the same way worldwide. The Chinese in particular are incredibly loud and ignorant, they push and shove and see nothing. They have no interest in local culture or food and almost without exception go to Chinese restaurants. There are far more of them on Boracay than Filipino restaurants.

There they organise unbelievable feasts, usually with more than four main meals per person. In a country that is often starving, they still leave a lot of food in keeping with tradition. Let’s call it the social streak of new gentlemen. They don’t drink, but rather drink until they drop. Can be admired live every evening, for example at JC’s Music Station, Road 1a.

We have fun blocking as many pictures as possible of the Chinese, who are always running around in burkinis and full war paint. I wonder if there aren’t also Chinese restaurants in Kamchatka. In any case, they wouldn’t have any problems with the complexion. We measure distances in pushers: 100 metres on White Beach is exactly 20 pushers in the evening. “No Thanks” plays in a perma-loop.

We sneak onto the empty Ilig-Iligan Beach. A helicopter from the nearby heliport rattles overhead every ten minutes. There are a few “island-hopping” bankas in the crystal-clear aquarium bay. The snorkellers traipse over any coral that doesn’t dive deep enough. Arriving at Boracay’s last paradise beach, they turn up their speakers. Then a large catamaran arrives with a five-kilowatt sound system and a bunch of roaring young bohemians. We leave.

The girlfriend travels home after three magical weeks despite the typhoon, rain and hardly any wind. I realise how easy it is to set off alone and how difficult it is to continue travelling without your best friend. I lie on the roof terrace, watch the madness below and work quietly with a tear in my eye.

Two days later, the water and electricity fail throughout Road 1a. After a day without a shower, we realise in the evening that this situation will last for at least a week. The WHostel is evacuated. I move into the Frendz and look forward to travelling on to the really beautiful islands a day earlier. But unfortunately this doesn’t materialise. My laundry was on the same street. I’m looking forward to travelling to the good places again soon, like Kitesurf-Mindoro.com…