I don’t remember everything clearly anymore—only that I was there.

Back in 2011, we explored Anawangin Cove. Like Nagsasa, it was raw and remote, a place where time seemed to slow down. The details have blurred with the years, but what stays is the quiet joy of being disconnected from the world and reconnected with nature. Funny how travel memories do that—fade in form, but never in feeling.

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📸 A Weekend in Nagsasa Cove: Unplugged, Unfiltered, Unforgettable

In 2015, I packed courage, a camera, and a craving for silence. Zambales didn’t just gift me turquoise waters—it taught me what happens when you untether from the noise.

🧭 Touchdown at Pundaquit

It was 9 AM, and already the sun threatened to melt sunscreen into memory. Weekend warriors swarmed the shores, searching for escape. I just wanted quiet—and I found the first clue in the boat’s slow lean toward Camara Island.

I first heard about Nagsasa Cove back in 2011 when we backpacked to Anawangin. Since then, I’ve come to realize that Zambales is a treasure trove of natural beauty—blessed with views you won’t easily find elsewhere.

📝 2025 note: I’ve revisited this same shoreline years later. It’s busier now, more Instagram than introspection—but the tides still hush the world if you listen.

🌞 Where the Signal Fades and Stories Emerge

Nagsasa had always intrigued me. It was said to be quieter, less commercialized, and untouched by modern chaos. No cell signal. No WiFi. No concrete roads. Just sea, sand, and stillness. That alone made my heart race with excitement.

We were on the road by 4 AM, sleepy but thrilled. Our rented van rolled into Pundaquit by 9 AM after stopping by San Antonio town for supplies. By then, weekend warriors had already started filling the beachfront—parking lots packed, people ready for summer fun. We didn’t linger long. Soon, we were called to board our boat.

There were 14 adults, 2 kids, and 4 boatmen. With the sun blazing overhead and the sea calm beneath us, our island-hopping journey officially began.

🏖️ Camara’s Whispered Beauty

This island took my breath away. Turquoise waters. White, powdery sand. Rocky shores that looked almost mythical. I was speechless. With barely any crowds and just the breeze for company, Camara felt like a portal to another world. A perfect start to our adventure.

🔦 Capones: A Love Letter to Ruins

The trek up to Faro de Punta Capones, one of the few remaining Spanish-era lighthouses in the country, was brutal under the heat, but the lighthouse stood like an abandoned poem. Its rust and rot held stories older than all of us.

Though no longer functioning and left weathered by time, the lighthouse stands as a beautiful ruin. Its rusted spiral stairs, crumbling halls, and lonely red bricks whispered stories of the past.

📝 2025 note: I later learned it was once solar-powered. Strange how decay makes history more tactile.

🌄 Nagsasa Cove Reverie

No signal. No crowds. Just the mountain’s shadow stretching across the cove like a curtain for a private show. After island hopping, we finally reached Nagsasa. We set up our tents, prepped for dinner, and some of us dozed off before sunset.

Compared to Anawangin, Nagsasa is quieter and more serene—an outcast, maybe, but in the best way possible. It’s perfect for travelers who crave peace and reflection.

The river that connects to the sea had partially dried up (it was summer, after all), and locals said nearby waterfalls had dried too. Still, the beauty of the place was undeniable

🌄 Good Morning, Nagsasa

I woke early and took a solo stroll along the beach. Sunrise, pine trees, gentle waves, distant mountains—it was divine. That quiet moment taught me one thing: appreciating the simple gifts of nature is one of the best parts of backpacking.

Later, we hiked the nearby hill. The trail was easy, and at the top, the view of the cove took our breath away. Zambales, once again, proved itself a place of quiet wonders.

🌿 What We Did There (2015 Edition)

• Slept under stars in a tent.
• Climbed Capones Lighthouse.
• Hung hammocks between pines.
• Watched the sunrise on solo walks.
• Built a bonfire and listened to silence.

📝 2025 note: I didn’t know it then, but this trip was the prologue to a decade of slow travel—a lesson in being fully present.

💸 Budget Breakdown (as of April 2015—throwback prices!)

₱1,750 per person – includes:

• Tent accommodation
• Round-trip van transport (driver, gas, toll, etc.)
• Food & cooking utensils
• Boat fare for island hopping
• Nagsasa entrance fee
• Cottage rental for dining

Jump-off point: Brgy. Pundaquit, San Antonio, Zambales
Trip duration: 2 days, 1 night

📝 2025 note: And Php1,750? My gosh. That barely gets you a Grab ride today or maybe just a few lattes. 😂 Those were the days.

Travel doesn’t always have to be expensive or far-flung—it’s the adventure, the stories, and the good memories that truly count.

✒️2025 Reflection: Then vs. Now

This blog isn’t just about Nagsasa Cove. It’s about that time in life when ₱1,750 could buy a whole weekend of freedom. When weekends meant escape, and barkadas were your travel agents. Here’s to remembering our early travel days—and giving old blogs the spotlight they deserve. This one was almost forgotten.

We had no itinerary, no signal, and no idea what we were doing half the time. But we had our tents, canned tuna, 3-in-1 coffee, Skyflakes, and each other. It’s the true-blue, low-budget, high-fun, no-frills weekend getaway starter pack! Very typical OG Pinoy barkada adventure vibes!

Those were the days. The kind that didn’t look perfect but felt like they were.

🐚 Unearthed: The Quiet Becoming

This draft waited in silence. I used to wonder why I couldn’t publish this—but maybe I wasn’t ready to meet myself in those pages. Now, years later, I read this entry and feel the pulse of who I used to be: curious but unsure, brave but quiet about it. I’ve kept the original voice—just softened the grain. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’m still wanderlust-filled, only this time it’s steadier.

I can now travel solo, book flights without flinching, and greet new places with calm certainty. Looking back at this trip isn’t just about the sunlit cove or the lighthouse view. It’s about the quiet milestone: the moment I recognized that becoming doesn’t happen overnight—it’s written between the lines we almost forgot to publish.