THEY say that the white sands of Boracay are as fine as the men who ride their bikes on the beach at sunset.
What they did not tell me about was that the women were equally toned, tanned and able to down 13 tequilas in quick succession.
Boracay's story started when German backpackers, in their quest for the elusive puka shells, discovered this wide and endless stretch of beach. An answer to a white man's dream - paradise discovered.
So, for the next few years a succession of Germans pitched their tents, downed gallons of tuba (coconut wine), and snorkeled in the clear blue waters around the island.
The locals did not mind. In fact, they preferred the Kano (Caucasians) over the Manila elite (who thought their secret hideaway was still undiscovered) since the Kano’s did not look for tony accommodations, were comfortable in barely laundered clothes and ate everything they offered.
But word got out. Pretty soon, Lonely Planet's Jens Peters found his way there, and when Boracay got listed in the backpacking bible, Europeans arrived in droves.
For the coconut farming and fishing community, life was forever changed.
Today, the island is marketed all over the world as a hedonistic paradise. Foreign and domestic tourists either arrive alone, or in threes. The better to strike up conversations with strangers.
Honeymooners mostly head for the south where cliffs hide villas from prying eyes and the sea is just a few steps away.
Although there are 10 beaches, the main stretch is 3.6km long and called White Beach. It is here where all the action happens.
Boracay is a tourist trap and White Beach the quintessential tourist "street." Instead of ostentatious buildings lit up by neon, you see establishments in bamboo chic. Eat-all-you-can restos stand tongue-in-cheek with souvenir shops where artsy types holler their wares.
In Boracay, breakfast is at 5 p.m., just in time for the dazzling sunset that has found its way to countless travel brochures.
Parties begin at 11 p.m., and this is what tourists come for.
