Pantalan: Biyahe, Bagyo ug Mga Memories, Chong!

Before the walkways were paved and the guards posted, Pantalan in Hilongos was nothing more than a stretch of piled boulders — uneven, risky, and slippery when wet. But to us, it was the starting point of so many stories.

We’d carefully step across those rocks to board the M/V Ms. Leyte or M/V Ms. Hilongos, bound for Cebu. Some of us were headed for school, others for check-ups, work, or errands. But for many, it was the first taste of travel — our first real step away from home.

On the shore, Ma & Pa stood waving. Sometimes with handkerchiefs, sometimes with food bags. Around them were maninda of biko, moron, saging, lagutmon — calling out to last-minute passengers. It was always a noisy, emotional send-off.

And when we came back, Pantalan was there again — our landing place, our first welcome. It marked the end of absence, the start of reunion. I still remembered niadtong na-istambay ko sa pag-eskuyla, we made it habit for fellow standbys - Boy Fulache, Lino Alcuino, Bebong Flores — to jog to the pantalan every 3am to meet fellow friends and students coming from Cebu, just for the heck of it. Maybe, deep inside, just to make them feel welcome!

Panahon sa Kalipay

On high tide days, Pantalan turned into a playground. We would run there after lunch, especially during school breaks, bringing nothing but pails and laughter. Some of us climbed to the roofs of docked boats, jumping into the deep, clear water. No life vests, just guts and giggles.

We remember Totong, with his wild ideas on how to catch fish — string, bottles, and some electronic stuff — inventions that rarely worked, er, it did work at times. Most days we came home wet, sunburnt, and fishless. But we didn’t mind.

Lugar sa Gugma ug Gimikan

In our teenage years, Pantalan became something else. It was a place to bring a crush, or to pretend you just happened to be there. We’d sit on the edge, watching boats, or each other. Words came slower. Time moved easier.

Later in the evening, barkadahan took over. It was our gimikan, where we sat for hours talking nonsense, making plans, or simply enjoying the sea breeze. Even the darkness felt familiar. Safe.

Gi-atubang ang mga Bagyo

But Pantalan did not stay untouched. Through the years, it faced many storms — literal and otherwise. Heavy rains, high tides, strong winds — they tore through it, cracked cement, bent steel, and swept parts of it away.

Still, Pantalan stood. Rebuilt again and again. Weathered, yes, but never erased.

Karong Panahona

Today, Pantalan has changed. There's order, security, and routine. IDs are checked. Cargo is logged. Travelers line up in silence. It is more port than playground now.

Yet from its sides grew something new — the baywalks. On one side, and then the other. These have become the new gathering places. Here, people walk, jog, or sit quietly by the sea. Some talk. Some pray. Some just stare into the waves like they’re reading old stories written on water.

Paghandum

Pantalan is no longer what it was. But it holds every version of itself — and of us — in memory.

It was where we said goodbye. Where we came back. Where we jumped. Where we failed to catch fish. Where we whispered first crushes. Where we stayed up late doing nothing. Where we saw things change.

It was — and still is — a place of biyahe, bagyo, ug fond memories.

What’s your Pantalan story?