Drop the place ‘Bohol’ and immediately Chocolate Hills comes to mind. They pretty much go hand in hand, together with tarsiers and calamay — those brown sticky sweetness that comes in halved coconut shells.

For all my talk about summering in Bohol, I had never been.

I know there’s a word for it but you know when you stop being a tourist and everything that place has to offer as an attraction become a common backyard scenery for you that you don’t even bother to check them out because you’re too busy living like a local?

It’s kind of like that.

Don’t get me wrong. The curiosity was there. I wanted to see what the Chocolate Hills postcards were all about.

“Why go all the way to Carmen when we own a Chocolate Hill right here?!” my dad said that time we drove up to the family farm in Sagbayan, pointing to a little mound that was within the boundaries of the property. I don’t know if he was bluffing or not but I took his word for it and that was that.

The postcards weren’t wrong. The view from the top looked exactly how they were portrayed on cardboard stocks — a thousand mounds rising up from the ground like little boobies reaching for the sky. It was beautiful. And green. Very green. A vibrant kind of green that smells like new beginnings after the rain. The kind you breathe in slowly and deeply; sipping it like tea.

I’m starting to think every country has their own shade of green. I noticed it at first when I visited New Zealand. The paddocks there were a brighter green whereas Australia’s tend to be a bit on the dull side. Both very subdued. Very organised, as if the grass blades themselves were taxed to oblivion and one erroneous move incurs a fine.

Philippines’ green is wild and careless and free. You fall in love with it the same way you fall in love with a bad boy who reads books. In spite all the chaos, you just can’t help yourself.

Getting to the top of the viewing deck isn’t for the faint of heart. Like, literally. Because 200 steps is definitely an exercise of willpower, if not pride as you see some of the visitors pass you by with their breathing still intact.

It was definitely a workout and a half, alright.

It’s probably not as bad as I’m making it seem but that’s coming from somebody who barely exercises so… take it as you will. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.

Just as we weren’t warned of the huge thunderstorm looming above us while we were there. A bright sunny day suddenly gone rogue with grey skies and, later, pouring rain. Flooded rice fields and stranded motorists outside our rental van windows.

Fortunately, Chocolate Hills was the last stop of our day tour. The main — and most important — thing was that we got our pictures.

Because isn’t that what tourist-ing is all about?

*Raven at 9 years old