There is no stopping the urbanization of Boracay. Work is still being done on what is supposed to be the island’s two-way “circumferential” road. The government is putting in drainage and ample pedestrian sidewalks with textured pavers. It is now faster to reach Puka Beach in the north by an e-trike; whereas before it was only by boat.
McDonald’s and Jollibee have transported their sizzling competition along the main road by just being paces apart. Along the road, too, in neat array, are mini malls with familiar outlets and brands, massage parlors, boutique hotels, low-rise buildings dedicated to all-Korean themes, souvenir shops, bakeries, optical stores with more sunglasses rather than corrective ones.
Checking into Shangri La Hotel, for me, is an aspirational one. One night of stay in a basic room there could pay the salary of an honest barangay captain for two months. Mighty Megaworld with fragments of Fil-Estate management are developing Newcoast, a 150 hectare township with hotels, condos, stand-alone chalets, and more shops. I hope they plant more trees.
Amidst all this buzz is the cluster of kubos of the Elizalde family, on Station 1 of the famous White Beach. It was probably the first “dayo”-owned, exclusive vacation houses in the island. Standing on almost 5000 square meters acquired in the mid-70s, it was the destination for many a celebrity, amigos and amigas. The property used to be triple the size but descendants of the original owners won back a huge chunk of it.
Switzerland’s Mōvenpick, I understand, took over and improved the property of the Club Panoly, where we had beautiful times. It used to be an exclusive club but it opened it facilities to others like us wannabes in time-sharing arrangements. We should have smelled why. It was wobbling.
Our last time in Club Panoly was harrowing. At the tail end of a summer in the mid 2000s, we treated the whole office staff there as a bonus. Unfortunately, a typhoon slammed into the island resulting in a black out. We were stranded; all ferry boats were grounded. Club Panoly, which was convulsing to its death because of mismanagement, had no generator, no water, and no kitchen services. I commend the staff for trying to save our days despite obvious neglect from upstairs.
Boracay is like Batanes. Food supplies, like eggs and pork, are “imported” from other places. With a prolonged isolation, food shortages could be real or strongly be imagined. To stretch our budget, we started buying cooked food where the locals go. One time, after carting nearly all of what were in a carinderia’s trays, with the gaping mouths of workers, the wife and I felt guilty. It was like elbowing out folks from what should rightly be theirs.
In Boracay’s renewed march to economic progress, there will be people surely falling into the cracks. The island is attracting migrants dreaming of opportunities. Most will be serving the tourist industry. Others will be serving those who serve. There is a call for adequate hospitals, schools, water supply, markets, even banks not just for those who come to have fun and go, but especially for those who opt to stay and strive. How can they sustain their livelihood? Will they end up in informal settlements? Will they be the bottom illustration of the inequities in our society?