The Metropolitan Theater is stretching its art deco limbs, and Manila’s about to get louder, brighter, and maybe just a little bit craftier. The Creative Tourism Conference is rolling into town, and while everyone’s worrying about what to wear, the better question is: Why are we even here?
(Hint: It’s not for the tote bags.)
The branded lanyards will be there, sure. So will the buzzwords. But creative tourism asks for more than the usual sit-and-smile routine. It invites travelers to engage, to collaborate, to create alongside culture rather than simply observe it.
Traveling to the Philippines means more than checking off sights on an itinerary. It’s about being part of something—tasting, making, moving, listening. It’s an experience that gets under your skin and under your fingernails, in the best possible way.
Wait—What Is Creative Tourism?
Think of it like this: tourism that rolls up its sleeves and gets to work. The concept comes from cultural studies folks Greg Richards and Crispin Raymond, who define it as travel that sparks your own creativity through hands-on, local experiences. Not just standing next to a kulintang for the ‘Gram, but actually learning how to play it—with joy, confusion, and the full-body cringe of cultural humility.
UNESCO backs it too, describing it as travel that’s rooted in place, built on participation, and deeply authentic. The kind where you’re making something with someone’s Lola while talking about coconut vinegar. (Which, by the way, should be its own TED Talk.)
This kind of travel turns tourists into collaborators. You’re no longer just “passing through.” You’re a temporary local. A chocolate-maker-in-training. A willing participant in a story that didn’t come from a guidebook.
Why It Matters—For Everyone
For travelers, creative tourism sticks. You remember weaving with a weaver way more than your third museum tour. These are memory-making moments with flavor and texture—and sometimes actual snacks.
For communities, it’s even better. No need for massive resorts or artificial attractions. Just culture, as it already exists. Knowledge, craft, stories passed down—and people willing to share them. It’s affordable, sustainable, and powered by creativity instead of concrete.
The UNDP even calls it a game-changer for small entrepreneurs. You don’t need millions in funding. You just need your own damn culture.
The Philippines Was Basically Built for This
We already have it all. Handwoven abaca? Check. Tablea made with ancestral drama and wooden tools? Check. Market tours, backyard ulam gardens, and food that is the culture? Double check.
This isn’t a trend we’re trying to catch up with. We’ve been doing creative tourism long before anyone put a label on it. All we need now is to name it, frame it, and turn it into something everyone can be part of.
Where I Come In
I’m April, a writer from Marinduque. Here on my blog RelaxLangMom, I trace recipes back to their roots—because food isn’t just food, it’s a time machine disguised as dinner. In my book Marinduque is in the Heart, I write about how place, memory, and the occasional fish sauce moment show up in everything we create.
So when I hear “creative tourism,” I don’t hear a trend. I hear a story prompt.
Tourism, for me, is an open invitation to co-write something—with flavor, feeling, and a dash of coconut milk.
What’s Happening at the Conference?
Two full days of hands-on fun and deep-dive discussions. Think chocolate-making workshops in Iloilo. Hablon weaving in Western Visayas. Siargao’s farm-to-fabric experiences that are as gorgeous as they are grounding.
Plenary sessions will unpack how storytelling becomes destination branding—without sounding like a toothpaste ad. Breakouts will explore how culture isn’t just preserved, it’s shared, performed, and yes, sold—in ways that are ethical and rooted in place.
This isn’t a sit-still-and-nod affair. This is a collaboration lab. In heels, or tsinelas, your choice.
So What’s the Point of All This?
Creative tourism treats culture as something alive. Not a display case or a checklist, but a living, breathing thing you can engage with—shape, share, maybe even mess up a little—through creativity, respect, and real connection.
If this conference works the way it’s meant to, we won’t just go home with tote bags and notes. We’ll go home with stories that belong to the place and to us.
And if we’re lucky, we’ll keep telling them—long after the buffet has ended.
