Our task was to document, photograph and survey an area which could be of interest to provincial tourism thrusts. But the day before, our preparations for the trip had an air of giddy excitement as if we
were
tourists, and not government bureaucrats on a research mission. To make
the point clearer, think of yourself as a doctor with a naked Julia Roberts
on your examining table; it would be hard to be objective right? But in
our case, the moral issues were not so sticky, and in any case, it's a perk
of the job that we were so fortunate to have. And like the tourists that
we became on the morning of the trip, we were typically late, our memories
sketchy from probably having dreamt too long, the long drinks we were going
to mix, or the amount of sun we were going to soak ourselves in. We left Urduja House at half-past-nine and made several stops for water, camera-film, even bagoong at Banyaga in Bugallon. Along Sual's seaside wet-markets, we bought hefty bangus; the kind raised in fishpens on the open sea and tender white squid which were a bargain at P80 a kilo. You can avoid the traffic in Alaminos City by taking a shortcut on the spanking new Don Pedro Braganza road, but we just had to make two last stops; one for barbecue sticks, and the other to make our last connecting SMS messages to the outside world. Going past the abandoned Proton Wira plant in Mabini, all cellular signals stopped as we were greeted by the winding, dry, hilly terrain of these western towns of Mabini and Burgos.
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The way to Tambobong beach is typical of most of Pangasinan's white-sand enclaves; you take a sudden turn while on the highway, and you're suddenly into boondock country. In this case, almost 26 kilometers of one of the roughest, most scenic, most uninhabited
routes
on 4x4 wheels. The government vehicle assigned to us though was only 4x2,
but it handled the road very well; I believe that everything else would
stall. The route was that bad, but we were enjoying it. We were definitely
having a TM (Tourism Moment), the kind that makes you tingly all over in
anticipation of what to find at the end of the road. From some high areas
on the route, exquisite views would unfold and surprise us like the azure
stretch of the South China Sea, or that of Dasol's famous salt-beds, glistening
whitely under the hot noon sun. Prov'l. Tourism Officer Rommel Cardinoza who had been to Tambobong once before,
and
our assigned driver, would make dramatic announcements that we had arrived,
but nothing can really prepare one for the first sight of something much
anticipated. Tambobong didn't disappoint, but I wouldn't use the word fabulous
to describe it. It's a fishing village plain and simple and much of the
boats were docked for lunch on the white-sand shore along the bay's stretch.
Another route would actually be by boat, presumably from the town proper
and taking all of 15 minutes. But we had Coleman ice-chests and huge bags
and having the Fuego pick-up nearby was convenient. Like we've always emphasized
on our tourism website, the best hosts are usually the local officials and
Brgy. Captain Sergio Salanga was solicitous and willing to provide us even
with bed-space for tonight. "A day isn't enough to explore everything in
Tambobong," he told us. In the vicinity of Tambobong are islands worth visiting not only for the seclusion of secret coves, but also for unique geographical wonders. There is Crocodile Island, named aptly for its shape, like that of a croc in repose. Farther away and looking very tempting, like the islands one would find in exotic castaway movies is Colibra, also named Snake Island for having a sizeable population of sea-snakes. But it was already past 12 and the waters choppy, so we decided that the exploration of these other features would be set-aside for another day.
There are no tourist-huts here. Instead, the Barangay Captain offered us the use of a bamboo papag,
on
a family property fronting the beach and the barangay wharf which was just
a long slab of stone jutting out into the blue sea. The research part of
the trip was done over cigarettes and hastily cooked squid kinilaw. According
to Jun Salanga, the Brgy. Captain's son, Tambobong was just waking up to
the possibilities of the tourism trade. At best, only the hardy and the
informed would probably find their way here, and there are a few of those.
The distance over 26 kilometers of rough roads was the prime obstacle (as
in most cases where economic development is the issue). And the second one
would be that if you're the type of tourist who expects food to appear at
the mere flick of a finger, then you're better off in some commercialized
resort with Bob Marley playing in a loop over the sound system. But we were lucky to have a member of the web team who had the coals going in 5 minutes flat and was waxing poetic about the flavor of grilled tahong. As in most picnics, food (pinakbet deluxe, grilled bangus, pork barbecue, kilawin pusit and chilled ripe mangoes) was overflowing and we were raring to go for a swim to aid our digestion.
And the swimming part is what I would call fabulous without any trace of exaggeration. The firm white sand was a bonus, the anti-climax; the water, as most sun-lovers know, makes or breaks a beach, and Tambobong in our books and in our hearts currently ranks first. It was love at first dive. The South China sea has always been salty, and the waters were wonderfully buoyant, lifting our spirits, our mood. The choppy morning sea was a placid, slightly breezy affair at noon, and if it was possible to stay in the water for eternity, we would have done it. Again, this was not an exaggeration.
Along with a few hardy village children, the whole stretch was basically ours for the day and we were delirious at the thought. Exclusivity was built on the premise that one can profit through selfishness, and for while we reveled at the pleasures that was exclusively ours, we weren't a bit guilty. The barriers that prevented a bigger group of tourists from coming to Tambobong was God decreed, in this case, nature. We were proud of ourselves for having made the effort to come, with a little help from our employers of course. The only profit we reaped was mental; here was one more place to cement our faith in Pangasinan and of the attractions it offers.
Much as we hated it, all things had to end. This was basically a job, though a glorious one, it had to wrap up by 5 PM. The group wanted to buy some tuna, but the only catch available was squid. We packed our garbage (a must to do) and bade our good-byes to Brgy. Captain Salanga and his family with promises to return for a longer visit and took the route via Burgos with the assurance that it was faster and on a better surface. Wrong. Even if the views were fantastic, we had already spent our TMs; we were exhausted, sleepy tourists wanting a quick exit back to warm beds and the comforting beeps of our (delayed, on queue) text messages.
When we sped past by the Proton Wira plant, our cellphones coming back to life, civilization seemed so much dreary and lifeless. We comforted ourselves with the thought though, that coming back to where we had come, we would find it exactly as we had left it; at least for now. (More reviews)