In Palawan’s Bacuit Bay, a pioneering Philippine resort has emerged from an extensive transformation that places it once again among the country’s top island escapes.

Photographs by Christopher P. Hill

*Left to right:* Lagen, El Nido’s Sunset Bar; a cocktail at the Boathouse.

The morning sun comes late to Lagen, El Nido. Rising unseen behind high limestone cliffs, it casts its first light onto the western edge of the resort’s lagoon around 9 a.m., illuminating the thatched roofs of overwater villas one by one, like dancers in a corps de ballet emerging from the wings. Lingering over a late breakfast in the open-air restaurant, I watch the shade recede from the beachfront as workers rake the sand. Soon enough, guests begin to lay claim to the dusky-red sun loungers flanking the pool, its infinity edge spilling toward the now-bright lagoon.

It’s a new day for Lagen in a broader sense as well. Set around a shallow horseshoe cove protected by a breakwater, the resort first opened in 1998 as the sole occupant of its namesake island in Bacuit Bay, off the northeast coast of mainland Palawan in the western Philippines. It was conceived as a higher-end alternative to its older sister resort on nearby Miniloc Island, originally established by Japanese dive enthusiasts who happened upon the bay in the late 1970s. What became known as El Nido Resorts (named for the town that serves as a jumping-off point for boat trips into the bay) was taken over by the Asian Conservation Company in 2001 and developed into a showcase for sustainable tourism. A third, even more exclusive private-island property, Pangulasian, joined the fold in 2013—the same year that Ayala Land, one of the country’s largest property developers, assumed ownership of the group.

“We really believed in their vision of using hospitality to drive conservation and preservation,” says Paloma Urquijo Zobel de Ayala, an eighth-generation scion of the Ayala family and creative director of the company’s hospitality arm. “But in recent years, we also recognized the need to start elevating the El Nido properties, giving them more identity, more personality.”

Lagen, which closed for renovations in late 2024, marks the first major overhaul of what Urquijo calls a “new era” for the group. We meet just weeks after the resort’s December reopening at the Boathouse, a brand-new arrival pavilion set at the end of a cliff-hugging walkway on the edge of the lagoon. It’s a striking structure, with timber beams supporting a canted thatched roof shaped like the upturned hull of a pangko, the traditional sailing craft of Palawan’s Cuyonon people. A boatload of guests arrives as we talk. Staff, attired in uniforms embroidered by T’boli weavers in the southern Philippine island of Mindanao, strike up a welcome song as they climb the jetty stairs, spritzed by spray from waves dashing against the breakwater.

Overwater villas on the south side of Lagen’s lagoon.

*Left to right:* A do-not-disturb sign; inside one of the villas.

The Boathouse, which contains a bar-lounge and craft-filled gift shop, provides a dramatic introduction to Lagen’s latest incarnation. Executed by WATG and Wimberly Interiors, the thoughtfully revitalized resort has amped up its sense of place, paying particular attention to the weaving, woodcarving, and ceramics traditions of Palawan’s tribal communities. My villa, one of 18 stilted above either side of the lagoon, manages to pair contemporary restraint with rootsy details, like the Tagbanua woodcarving motifs etched into a sliding wall partition, and the zigzag giyanggangan pattern of Batak basketry reinterpreted in the handmade clay spindles that decorate balcony railings and screens. Gone is the black-and-white palette of the previous design; villa interiors now feel lighter and airier, with peaked ceilings, pale woods, creamy woven wallpaper, and balconies that have been stepped down—and fitted with built-in sofas—to allow unobstructed views through the wall-to-wall glass doors and bring guests closer to the water. In-room tech has also received a major upgrade, from bedside charging ports and motion-activated night lights to smart toilets in double-vanity bathrooms. Sliding open the closet doors reveals a Dyson hair dryer, stretch ropes, straw sun hats, and yoga balls; on the balcony, a sungka set with bijou cowrie shells invites a round of the popular Filipino board game.

The same aesthetic and amenities extend to the resort’s 24 forest-backed rooms and suites, which occupy a pair of low-slung buildings set back from the water. Nearby, a tiered-roof wedding chapel now sits below a sheer cliff, while the revamped dive center offers an expanded stash of aquatic toys, from Seabobs to water bikes.

But perhaps the biggest change at Lagen is the beach—there is one. Nine villas that once stood along the shore were demolished during the renovation, paving the way for an unbroken sweep of sand running the full length of the waterfront. The move also allowed the resort to add a wellness center and the beachside Sunset Bar without increasing its built footprint.

Lagen’s new pool terrace and wellness center.

*Left to right:* Staff uniforms were dyed, woven, and embroidered by T’boli weavers in Mindanao; one of the resort’s guest wings.

I spend the next few days exploring Lagen’s enhanced offerings. At the spa, a serene two-level affair with therapeutic pools and sea-view treatment rooms, options range from traditonal hilot massages and coconut milk–infused baths to ESPA facials and healing sessions that draw on the rituals of the babaylan, the spirit mediums of pre-colonial Philippines. I opt for a 90-minute treatment with visiting practitioner Luis Rodríguez, a Mexican-born holistic healer. He quickly dispels my lifelong preference for female therapists with a deft combination of shiatsu, trigger-point work, and deep-tissue massage that melts away what feels like years of accumulated tension.

Later, I make my way to the conservation center to meet Gian Lopez, the resort’s sustainability officer. Set below the main restaurant in a building dubbed the Clubhouse, the room is filled with tribal artifacts and displays describing Palawan’s rich biodiversity, which has more in common with nearby Borneo than with the rest of the Philippines. (Local fauna include endemic species of pangolin, bearded pig, hornbill, and the marvelously named stink badger.) There’s also a 30-centimeter telescope that’s wheeled out on clear nights for stargazing.

After outlining the resort’s wide-ranging sustainability and preservation efforts—including a lead role in the El Nido Marine Turtle Conservation Network—Lopez takes me on a birdwatching walk around the grounds. “Sandpipers have come back now that there’s a beach,” he says, before pointing out a green imperial pigeon perched high in the branches of a taluto tree. On the lawn beside the sleek new pool terrace, we pause beneath an impressively buttressed fig. “It’s a tangisang bayawak,” Lopez explains. “The name means ‘where monitor lizards weep,’ because its smooth trunk prevents them from climbing up to the fruit.”

I face no such difficulty eating well during my stay, whether it’s a pizza from the Sunset Bar’s dedicated outdoor oven or something more elaborate at the Clubhouse restaurant, which now sports a glimmering wall mural and panels of nara wood repurposed from original flooring. No buffets here: local-leaning dishes such as braised mud crab cooked with coconut milk and pumpkin share menu space with slipper lobster tagliolini and a succulent wagyu donburi.

*Left to right:* Slipper lobster tagliolini at the Clubhouse restaurant; chef Ric Ramos.

Overseeing it all is executive chef Ric Ramos, whose Hollywood good looks are matched by serious culinary chops and a passion for regional produce. He sources the majority of his ingredients locally, including from a fisherman who brings in hauls of line-caught seafood; guests can even arrange their own crabbing excursions. To best appreciate his modern Filipino cooking, book one of the private dining experiences. Mine takes place one evening in a sandy clearing at the back of the property, where a single table has been set up near the mouth of a small cave. In the crepuscular glow of basket lamps, a wine-paired, multicourse dinner unfolds over the next few hours, a waiter emerging from the shadows every so often to clear plates, top up my glass, or serve the next dish: beef carpaccio marinated in truffle ponzu with leeks and cilantro; tuna and scallop kinilaw (ceviche’s Filipino counterpart); grilled duck breast in lychee- curry sauce; and chao long—a noodle soup introduced to Palawan by Vietnamese refugees in the 1970s—brimming with crab claws, baby octopus, and a scallop on the half shell. By the time dessert arrives—a velvety yuzu cheesecake accompanied by mango-chili ice cream—I’m feeling rather less buoyant about my 6 a.m. wake-up call for tomorrow’s snorkeling trip.

Yet getting out on the water is a must. Bacuit Bay forms part of the El Nido–Taytay Managed Resource Protected Area, one of the Philippines’ largest protected seascapes. Opening onto the South China Sea, its sapphire waters encompass 45 jungle-cloaked islands and towering karst islets that draw comparisons with Vietnam’s Ha Long Bay and Thailand’s Phang Nga Bay, though with fewer crowds.

One of the resort’s boatmen on a ride across Bacuit Bay; a bangka boat off Shimizu Island. — *Left to right:* One of the resort’s boatmen on a ride across Bacuit Bay; a *bangka* boat off Shimizu Island.

*Left to right:* The sunken balcony of an overwater villa; schoolchildren at Sitio Kiminawit pose after performing a folk dance.

In one of Lagen’s small fleet of boats, I venture across to Shimizu Island with a dive-center staffer named Arvin, who grew up in a mainland village on the south side of the bay. His father taught him how to fish in these waters—skills that serve him well in identifying the colorful sea life that thrives off the island’s craggy southern coast. The snorkeling is marvelous. I drift among shoals of electric-blue fish over a living carpet of corals. A giant clam closes its ruffled mouth as I float past. Tapping my shoulder, Arvin points to a green sea turtle paddling off into the blue. Later, we head to a cove at Miniloc Island to visit the enticingly named Secret Lagoon, though the secret is clearly out: boatloads of day-trippers from the mainland are already lined up to squeeze through a small hole in the lagoon’s limestone wall. Coconut hawkers wait languidly on the beach for their reemergence.

Another day, we motor up a river to explore a mangrove forest, then continue on to Sitio Kiminawit, a fishing village tucked into the far side of a cape. This being a Sunday, the air is filled with song from no fewer than four churches—quite the number for a community of just 1,000 people. Regardless, Kiminawit is still recovering (with assistance from El Nido Resorts) from a major typhoon that swept across the region late last year. Yet a troop of kids from the local elementary school are all smiles as they perform a folk dance on the village basketball court.

I’m smiling too on my last evening at Lagen. Dinner this time is on the beach, set to the rhythm of lapping waves. The morning sun may come late to this side of the island, but the sunsets are sensational. Beyond the wave-chiseled outcrop at the entrance to the breakwater, the western skies turn amber-gold as night gathers over Bacuit Bay—a glorious constant amid a season of renewal.

Lagen, El Nido’s Boathouse arrival pavilion is set below a limestone cliff next to a line of overwater villas.

El Nido’s Lio Airport is served by domestic flights from Manila, Cebu, and Bohol; from there, it’s a 30-minute boat ride to Lagen, El Nido. Nightly rates start from US$1,200.

This article originally appeared in the March/May 2026 print issue of DestinAsian magazine (“Lagen, Again”). Buy a single issue or subscribe here.

The New Look of Lagen, El Nido