Banwa Private Island: A Paradise Yonder

We snorkel, we throw back endlessly refilled watermelon juice and we forget to reapply sunscreen at Banwa Private Island, which, for what it’s worth, isn’t a terrible place to do all three.

It’s something of an unexplainable North Star, the way sea turtles return to nest on the very shores they once shuffled over as brand-new sand-strewn hatchlings on their way out to sea. This short jaunt, riddled with anxieties, is the maiden obstacle that will invariably define whether their lives extend to an impressive 50 years or an abbreviated 50 seconds, as unfortunate foodstuff for predators much higher up on the food chain. And once flipper hits frothy wave, there’s nowhere to go but out. And under. And through. And, fast-moving currents asunder, down … down … into the deep.

It’s Mother Nature’s missive to go with the flow, which I, admittedly, lack the joie de vivre to accomplish with any kind of ease.

And still, it’s this image of a waddling baby sea turtle, all soft and sinewy and not yet fully formed, that I’ve thus committed to memory from Banwa Private Island’s glossy bank
of press photography as our Transformer of a speedboat – an Iguana amphibious yacht that, yes, also rolls on to land – soared through the Sulu Sea off Palawan in the Philippines. As our destination drifted into sight and, in doing so, casting Banwa’s staff, who all stood aligned in uniformity and waved, and smiled, and sung, under the picture-perfect glow of an incoming sunset … well, going with the flow doesn’t seem a task too arduous under these circumstances.

“Wait till you meet George,” Banwa’s commercial director Pamela Balce teases, as we’re handed still-warm hand towels and hand-made leis, strung around each of our necks in welcome.

George … Clooney?

To preface, Banwa Private Island, once marketed as the world’s most expensive resort – no longer; it’s now available on a per-villa booking taking up to 36 guests at a time, as opposed to its foregone island charter – is 6 hectares of lush island living; a secluded slice of indulgent paradise nestled in the Phillipines’ “last ecological frontier”.

Promptly whisked away with my “Who’s George?” query left unanswered, I’m led to the North Two villa – one of just six beachfront properties on the island  – by my villa host, Josa, through a maze of pebbled pathways past the Latitude Restaurant where we’ll have our fine-dine meals made of farm-fresh ingredients from Banwa’s own Tumarbong Organic Farm nearby; past Coconut Grove, where tomorrow morning’s yoga session is scheduled to be held; past
a miniature golf course; past what I’d realise, a few days later, to be home to the island’s colony of bees, industriously producing honey for the island’s special teas; past an unassuming white door that holds behind it an artesian well, where water – still and sparkling – are drawn and bottled on-site … all festooned by swaying palm fronds and nature’s Spotify playlist of waves insistently slapping on to shore.

Thoroughly distracted from my George-thoughts (Boy George? Prince George?), I’m suddenly met with a mammoth swinging door the square-footage of a mid-sized wall and, swung open, a glistening private infinity plunge pool. “Home,” Josa gestures. I guess that’ll do.

As I’m marched through a room much too big to be my own, complete with a gargantuan bed headboarded with a sculptural installation of twine meant to resemble coral, complete with an entirely separate entertainment room, complete with an open-air jacuzzi, complete with an outdoor shower alongside my own entrance on to a stretch of silky sand that’s mine for the duration of my stay, you can imagine how wonderstruck I’m feeling …

… And how utterly convinced I am to most definitely, most undoubtedly, most assuredly be meeting George Clooney in mere moments. (This is how the Clooneys vacation. It must be.)

Over sundowners and eco-golf (where balls that dissolve into fish food are unceremoniously whacked into the ocean), Balce breaks the news. While the commercial director is appropriately mum about the Everest-profile clientele that’s been able to dig toes deep into the sandy shores of Banwa since its quiet opening three years ago, there’s one celebrity – and he certainly is, with the decibels of fanfare that accompany every fly-by sighting – with permanent residency. Not Clooney (boo), nor Princeling, but George, the Mantanani scops owl with his very own mononym and, handsome as he is, his very own “Mrs George” that’s already laid clutches of downy owlets that have all since flown the nest. (We’re able to get some paparazzi snaps of the Georges next morning. Adorable.)

Because, underpinning all the creature comforts and otherworldly facilities and unreserved hospitality Banwa, like any other ultra-luxury resort, would otherwise possess, what’s markedly different about this sliver of paradise is this seemingly preternatural excitement the staff – all 80-strong of them – have for cultivating the island’s biodiversity.

It might be a familiar misconception that, simply because a slice of land is left diminutively untouched by the ever-searching hands of humanity – as Banwa appears to be – it must already be lush, must already be overgrown, must already be thriving. Not so. Just as geographic boundaries – mere intangible marks on a map, really – aren’t indicative of ecological boundaries that might affect the ins and outs of what makes an ecosystem thrive, over-fishing and dynamite fishing and cyanide fishing in waters close by have had their unfortunate effects, too.

“In 2018, we tried to work with the local government unit for us to reactivate the Marine Protected Area Management Board,” says Bernard Bonares, whose LinkedIn profile bears a “human resources manager” title that doesn’t even begin to encapsulate the many, many hats he wears, most crucial of which involves acting as guardian for the Aquos Foundation set up to nurture the delicate ecosystems on and surrounding Banwa Private Island. (Bonares, a veritable Renaissance man, is also my diving instructor during my stay.)

“We’ve elected new people, and they’re the ones who are our partners now in protecting the area,” he says. “So before [Banwa and its immediate vicinity] was the only protected area, and the [nearby islands] are multiple-use zones, meaning people could go fishing, could take home seashells or marine life.”

Banwa’s island manager, Janet Oquendo, chimes in: “When we were starting out, four years ago, the first thing we had to do was work with the local community. So we were going to different islands, speaking to the local fishermen, advocating for the island.”

“It wasn’t easy,” she says, with a sigh. “In the beginning, you feel you’re hardly welcome. It took us a while to get [the local fishermen] into the fact that we don’t need to do anything more. Meaning, please leave the area alone. And that us here on the island, we’re not taking any of the fish, either. We’ve made it clear to them. We’re not fishing. Our guests aren’t fishing. We buy fish from local fishermen; we support the community.”

“And we’ve expanded [the protected areas],” Bonares says, proudly. “People now understand that they can’t go beyond 200-metre line where the buoys are installed. So, we’ve managed to now have schools of fishes, thriving. We’ve installed reef balls that have become an immediate habitat for them, which also has a rough surface that encourages coral growth.

“You might also spot some cuttlefish in the area. Black tip reef sharks. There are sightings of a juvenile Napoleon wrasse – those are critically endangered species. There have also been sightings of a coral cat-shark in the area. And I’m proud to say, with collaboration with the local government unit, we’ve planted 52 juvenile gigas Tridacna, the largest species of giant clams,
in the house reef for us to protect.

“We’re also a nesting habitat for the critically endangered Hawksbill turtle,” he adds, smiling. “Since 2016, we’ve had 76 records of nesting turtle. It’s not that much, but it’s a wonderful start.”

Yet, while progress has undoubtedly been made, Bonares insists that Banwa is a work-in-progress. “We won’t compare ourselves with other diving sites,” the Aquos Foundation guardian admits, “but what we’re trying to promote is that we’re doing something.”

The words “private” and “island”, when tacked alongside each other vowel-to-vowel, prompt even the most cursory of mediations on what exactly it is luxury entails. And yes, there are the most obvious at Banwa. Endless spa appointments that end with warm tea and mango sticky rice. Diving instructors on-call. The island’s Unscripted Adventure programme, with waterfall-chasing and sandback picnics entirely feasible anytime-you-wish activities. Some kind of magical technology that, somehow, ensures the island is mosquito-free. A helicopter landing pad precisely manicured into the island’s geometric logo, a tribute to the iconography of the Tagbanua tribe that inspired its name.

But what’s become clear to me, through however short the time I’ve spent in the cradle of what was once the most expensive resort in the world, is that the moments that feel the most luxurious are also the moments that feel closest to the most honest displays of nature.

It’s the ability to sprawl in shavasana under an endless open sky, then, moments later, find yourself squeezed into a dive suit exploring a budding house reef, helmed by people so infectiously passionate about the cause. It’s fresh watermelon juice, endlessly and wordlessly refilled. It’s where an owl with a name might fly by dinner, set against a night sky painted with shooting stars and meteorites. It’s where the only reason that very same blanket of stars isn’t immediately visible is due to the oh-so lamentable reason that the moon is, simply, much too bright.

It’s where you know, a fair few feet from where your toes are tucked into sun-baked sand, a nest of critically endangered sea turtles might – any minute now – emerge, hurriedly racing away from a shore they’d, with luck, one day return to.

It’s knowing you might, too, one day return to the island and find it not quite as you left it. Because it’s better. It’s thriving. It’s been lovingly built up by years and years of conservation; the toiling work of heroes like Bonares and Oquendo – and many more who’ll undoubtedly come after – whose existence prove humanity’s touch can be good, can be healing.

And if that isn’t the ultimate measure of ultra, über, mega luxury, perhaps nothing can ever be.