Bohol has the Chocolate Hills, tropical beaches, jungle roads and enough beautiful scenery to keep a travel photographer occupied for days.
But nobody gives a shit about any of that once they see a tarsier.
These tiny, bug-eyed furballs have basically become the unofficial mascot of Bohol, appearing on signs, souvenirs, T-shirts and every other tourist-related object someone could reasonably slap an adorable primate onto.
And after seeing one up close, I understand why.
They are ridiculously fucking cute.
They look like someone combined a monkey, a mouse, a gremlin and approximately 14% Pokémon, then gave the resulting creature enormous eyeballs and tiny little fingers for hanging onto trees.
Every kid who visits will immediately want one.
Most adults will immediately want one.
I wanted one.
Unfortunately, tarsiers are not interested in becoming your adorable Southeast Asian house pet.
More on that buzzkill later.
DESTINATION: TARSIER SANCTUARY
GPS COORDINATES
9.6912, 123.9530
CLOSEST AIRPORT
CURRENT WEATHER
few clouds (28 C / 82 F)
AIR QUALITY INDEX (AQI)
Moderate (53)
WELCOME TO THE REAL-LIFE POKÉDEX
The Philippine tarsier is one of the smallest primates on Earth, with a body roughly the size of your hand.
But nobody notices their size first.
It’s the fucking eyes.
Their enormous eyes evolved for hunting at night, giving them the appearance of permanently witnessing something absolutely horrifying happening directly behind you.
They can also rotate their heads nearly 180 degrees, cling vertically to branches and launch themselves between trees using ridiculously powerful hind legs.
Basically, they’re tiny jungle ninjas with night-vision goggles permanently attached to their faces.
And the forests of Bohol are one of the best places in the Philippines to see them.
So naturally, tourists arrive with cameras ready like they’ve just been handed a Pokédex.
Tarsier spotted. Click.
Another tarsier. Click.
HOLY SHIT, THAT ONE IS LOOKING THIS WAY. CLICK CLICK CLICK.
Gotta catch ’em all.
Except please don’t actually catch them.
THE TARSIER SANCTUARY IS ADORABLE AS HELL
Walking through the sanctuary feels less like visiting a zoo and more like participating in the world’s cutest scavenger hunt.
The tarsiers aren’t lined up behind glass waiting for tourists.
They’re scattered throughout the vegetation, usually perched quietly on branches while guides point them out.
And you’ll probably need the guides.
These things are tiny.
You can stare directly at a tree for thirty seconds wondering what everyone is photographing before suddenly realizing there is an entire primate approximately six feet from your face.
Then you see the eyes.
Holy shit.
The sanctuary may have plenty of tarsiers living throughout the surrounding habitat, but you’re probably only going to see a handful during your visit.
Which is perfectly fine.
Because here’s the slightly inconvenient truth nobody putting together a twelve-hour Bohol sightseeing itinerary wants to admit:
Once you’ve seen a few tarsiers, you’ve pretty much seen the tarsiers.
First tarsier? Amazing.
Second tarsier? Still amazing.
Third tarsier? Look at his tiny little fingers!
Fourth tarsier? Yep. Definitely another tarsier.
Fifth tarsier? Ctrl+C. Ctrl+V.
They’re all adorable. They’re all worth photographing. And eventually your camera roll starts looking like someone accidentally duplicated the same Pokémon twenty-seven times.
That doesn’t make the sanctuary disappointing.
It makes it refreshingly efficient.
You don’t need three hours here.
Walk the trails. See the furballs. Take entirely too many pictures. Learn a little about them. Resist the overwhelming urge to put one in your backpack.
Then continue exploring Bohol.
GET THERE BEFORE THE TOUR-BUS APOCALYPSE
Tarsiers are nocturnal, which means daytime is basically their equivalent of you being awakened at 3:17 AM because someone wants a selfie.
So go early.
The sanctuary opens in the morning, and getting there near opening gives you a better chance of avoiding the large tour groups that eventually descend upon the place.
It also gives you a slightly better chance of seeing a tarsier that hasn’t completely committed itself to sleeping through another day of humans whispering: “OH MY GOD LOOK AT HIM.”
Bohol is tropical, so expect heat.
And humidity.
Lots of humidity.
The kind of humidity where your camera equipment fogs up, your shirt immediately attaches itself to your back and you begin questioning why humans ever left air-conditioned buildings.
Fortunately, you’re walking through shaded jungle instead of standing on an exposed hillside slowly being cooked alive.
And again, this isn’t an all-day expedition.
The tarsiers respect your vacation schedule.
PLEASE DON’T BLIND THE POKÉMON
Photographing tarsiers is surprisingly challenging.
First and most importantly: NO FLASH.
They’re nocturnal animals with enormous light-sensitive eyes, and blasting one with a camera flash because Instagram desperately needs another tarsier photo is a dick move.
Don’t be that tourist.
The guides also keep visitors a reasonable distance away from the animals, which means your phone’s normal camera may struggle.
Tarsiers have another annoying photography strategy working in their favor: They live in fucking trees.
Leaves, branches and vegetation constantly sit between you and your subject, giving autofocus systems approximately seventeen better things to focus on than the tiny primate you’re actually trying to photograph.
Phone cameras can work, particularly with optical zoom, but this is one of those places where bringing an actual camera pays off.
A DSLR or mirrorless camera with a modest telephoto lens makes getting a clean shot significantly easier.
Just remember you’re photographing wildlife, not conducting a Vogue photoshoot.
Take the picture and move along.
There are other people waiting to photograph the exact same furball.
SO YOU WANT A TARSIER NOW
Of course you do.
Look at the fucking thing.
Unfortunately, this is where your dreams of owning the world’s cutest shoulder-mounted travel companion come crashing into reality.
Tarsiers do extremely poorly in captivity.
They’re highly sensitive animals that depend on specific habitat, darkness, territory and environmental conditions. Captivity can cause extreme stress, and there are documented cases of tarsiers seriously injuring or killing themselves when confined.
So no.
You cannot have the Pokémon.
And that’s one of the reasons legitimate conservation areas matter.
Protecting tarsiers means protecting the forests where they actually belong instead of turning them into exotic pets or tourist props.
Your entrance fee also helps support conservation, habitat protection, education and the people working to keep these tiny weirdos alive.
Which seems like a pretty reasonable transaction.
You give them some money.
They let you stare at tiny monkeys.
Everybody wins.
WORTH THE STOP? ABSOLUTELY.
The Tarsier Sanctuary isn’t something you need to build an entire day around.
And that’s actually part of what makes it great.
It’s a relatively quick stop where you get to walk through the jungle, see one of the strangest and most adorable primates on Earth and come home with a memory card containing approximately 400 photographs of what appears to be the same fucking tarsier.
They’re bizarre.
They’re tiny.
They’re impossibly cute.
And every shitty little kid who walks through the sanctuary is going to spend the rest of the day asking their parents: “CAN WE GET ONE?”
No.
You cannot.
But you can take another picture.
Gotta catch ’em all.
