The Farm at San Benito on a P20 budget

I've read about and heard of The Farm at San Benito for years -- its heavenly massages, exotic spas and world-class treatments, to go with its healthy, scrumptious food, close-to-nature ambiance and sublime accommodations, and yes, of course, the expensive price tag that announces what an exclusive experience you've just had. Though I only have P20 on my pocket (my usual baon when I go out on my bike, and never more than P100), I decided on that fateful day that I'm biking all the way to The Farm in San Benito.

Actually, the ride going there is fun, lots of mini-climbs and downhills on mostly winding asphalt roads lined on both sides by tall trees with wide canopies that give the middle of the road such a cozy feel.  It helps as well that only a few motor vehicles buzz by.

You know you're near The Farm when the mountain of Malarayat looms bigger and more imposing.  A sign on the road says, "The Farm, Turn Left, 2.5kms."

So I pointed my bike to the left and continued to pedal;  first, on a stretch of road with a healthy density of houses to the left and right, then to an uphill climb to where large stretches of land are being planted to Barako coffee, then, finally, after a sweeping right turn, to a forest of tall mahogany trees that usher me higher and higher to, hopefully, somewhere.  (Remember, that I am on a bike where perception of the surroundings -- which then had become very silent except for the sound of my bike and my occasional grunts, and dark and primeval because of the sky-to-sky forest cover -- is more daunting than when you are inside the confines of a car.  But it is weirdly exciting, like you know something that others don't.)

After a sharp right turn over a short bridge,  followed by a sudden steep climb, I saw the small sign -- The Farm, fronting a large wooden gate that is at least 12 feet high.  I peered into the half-open gate, like a student late for a class spying if the teacher is in a good mood. To the right is a guard house whose occupant asks, "Ano yun sir?  Check in po kayo?" 

Truth be told, my only goal was to find out where the The Farm was, and that was already achieved.  So anything that would follow will be simply icing on the cake.

"Nope, I am a curious biker, not a sore one."  That's what I answered in my head, but my mouth instead calmly replied, "Sisilip lang Sir, kung puede?"  It was more of a hint than a request for I already knew where The Farm is located.

"Ipapasok niyo bike niyo?"

"Sana," as I watch him dial a line to the reception.  "Ma'am, meron po ditong gustong mag-inquire, naka-bike lang."  A brief pause follows. "Mag-isa lang ma'am."

Photo from The Farm at San Benito website

The guard looked at me and smiled, "Sir, diretso na po kayo sa reception."  I smiled and thanked him.  I congratulated myself for setting my goal that day so low that the reward that was about to follow can be considered a windfall.

The gate opens to large, towering moss-draped trees and gigantic fern plants that reminded of the scene in Jurassic Park 2 when the main characters first entered the newly discovered prehistoric world deep in Central America.  I felt like I was being transported to another world, except that the manicured grasses kept reminding me I'm still in the age of iPhones.

The reception area is a modest-sized building that made perfect use of natural lighting and ventilation.  Across the reception desk are oversized chairs and sofas bordering a wooden center table, with a vat half-filled with water serenely topped with floating petals -- it was as if I stepped into a page of a travel magazine.

Image from The Farm at San Benito website

The pretty receptionist, garbed in sarong, gave me a warm smile as if she knew me, and I also gave her a warm smile as if I haven't seen her in years.  Our reaction to each other's presence -- just like the beauty of the place -- was natural.  She, in fact, knew me, and I really haven't seen her in years -- not after she graduated from the school where I used to teach, where she was my student in two subjects.

I was surprised to see her there, but I suppose not as much as she was, seeing me aboard a bike.  She gave me a guest book which she asked me to sign and provide with some personal information.  As I was doing so, she emerged from a room with a welcome drink of buko juice.  Funny, because I bring twenty pesos with me so that in case I drank all my water, I would use it to buy buko from any stand or farmer that I may pass along the way.  And there I was having a refreshing drink in the middle of a magazine page, my  twenty pesos still intact in my pocket.

She invited me to another magazine page -- an adjacent room , overlooking a lily pond.  It was some kind of a receiving area with equally impressive sets of furniture and Asian-style architecture.  On a side was a buffet table with all sorts of traditional kakanin and western pastries to go with a kettle of hot tea, and an assortment of hot beverage.  My student gave me a plate and invited me to dig in, assuring me that it was complimentary.

Image from The Farm at San Benito website

It is times like these when I really appreciate being a nice and approachable teacher because I can feel that we were really having a well-spirited personal conversation, and not just an exchange of empty sentences meant to avoid awkward silence and meaningless stares.

A Caucasian woman,  in white denim shorts and white sleeveless blouse, passed by.  She had a pleasant smile about her when my student introduced me to her, informing her that I came there by bike.  She asked me how far I biked to reach The Farm, and I said, "around 15 kilometers." After a brief but pleasant exchange about biking, Lipa and The Farm, she bid my student to show me around the place.

When she left, my student informed me that I just talked with the General Manager.  I like her because, just like me, she shows genuine interest in people.

I did not ask my student to show me around because I don't want her to vacate her post.  I simply asked for general directions and what to look for.  She warned me though that the lanes and paths may be too slippery for my bike.  I assured her that my bike, having travelled on all sorts of surfaces, would be fine.

No sooner had I lost sight of my student that I almost slid off the track.  Apparently, my rubber tires cannot have a firm grip on concrete paved with smooth, tiny pebbles.  It did not help either that the lanes undulate and twist and turn. I got off my bike and decided to walk along with it as I continued my tour.

A magazine article I once read claimed that The Farm is one of the best medical spas in Asia, and as I hopped from this real life magazine page to another, I can understand why.  Each nook and cranny of The Farm speak eloquently of opulence, relaxation, serenity, peacefulness -- and just about every related adjective you would find in the thesaurus.

Every detail looked inspired; from the architecture to the landscaping, down to the decors and surprising knick-knacks that litter the surroundings, even the sound of trickling water from a fountain seemed orchestrated and perfectly in tune.  And I'm only trying to describe the place and ambiance, not yet the actual massages and food that have been described, in another article, as heavenly and divine.  My twenty pesos is not even enough to cover .05% the money it would take someone to enjoy a day tour.

As promised, I dropped by the reception office after I satisfied my curiosity.  I thanked my student for the warm welcome, she told me it was nothing and that I could visit any time I please.  After an exchange of digits, I bade her goodbye and said hello again to my bike.  My unexpected adventure is, once again, another testament of how people on bicycles are perceived to be trustworthy and harmless.  I am an Ambassador of Good Wheel.

I was smiling all the way as I made my way back home; I could not wait to surprise my wife where my bike took me on twenty pesos.


Your comment and reaction is highly appreciated.  Please let me know what you think.  Thanks -- the Curious Biker