This Holy Week, Baguio braced for the annual tourist invasion—130,000 strong, armed with selfie sticks and strawberry taho cravings. The city prepared for gridlocks, snaking queues, and the great SM Mall stampede. But alas, Baguio waited… and waited. Streets were so empty, even the pine trees looked confused. Famous eateries had no lines—waiters stared out windows like forlorn lovers. PUJ drivers wept gently into their steering wheels, their jeeps echoing with emptiness.
Meanwhile, somewhere in La Union Zambales and Batangas, chaos reigned: sunburned tourists crammed into resorts like sardines with Instagram filters. It seems everyone tried to avoid a crowded Baguio by going anywhere but Baguio—only to crowd the same beach. Irony called, and it’s wearing flip-flops and holding a cooler. Perhaps Baguio finally achieved peace… by being too predictably chaotic to actually visit.
Maybe next year, we’ll expect nobody and end up with a hundred thousand again. Reverse psychology is powerful.
In a surprising turn of events, China’s claim over Palawan is shaping up to be the greatest tourism campaign the province has ever seen! With whispers that the island might soon require a visa (or worse, a new Mandarin name), Filipinos are rushing to visit while it’s still officially part of the Philippines. Local businesses are cashing in, offering “Last Chance Philippine Palawan” tours, complete with snorkeling, seafood, and a free crash course in diplomatic disputes.
Even travel agencies are getting creative—offering packages like “Visit Now Before It’s a Disputed Zone” and “South China Sea Staycation.” Meanwhile, real estate prices are soaring, with investors betting on Palawan becoming the next Hong Kong—just with better beaches and fewer extradition laws.
At this rate, the Department of Tourism might even thank China for the economic boost! Who knew that an international territorial conflict could be so profitable?
Ex-Tourism Secretary Wanda Tulfo appears to be riding the well-trodden runway of career portability, as she transforms her former post into a launchpad for political ambitions.
Under the banner of “Tulfo Para sa Turismo,” her campaign reminds us that the Department of Tourism already champions travel, yet apparently the nation still craves another tourism spokesperson—this time, one whose itinerary includes Congress. With a nod to the familiar allure of name recognition, her strategy smacks of a cleverly disguised attempt to weave a Tulfo dynasty into the fabric of Filipino politics.
Picture the spectacle: three Tulfos gracing the Senate and another embellishing the House of Representatives. It seems her vision of representation is less about promoting travel and more about orchestrating a family affair.
In a performance where her former title becomes a luggage tag for political baggage, the Tulfo train chugs steadily toward an inevitable destination—an overcrowded Congress station. Unquestionably.
The Adobo Chronicles 
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