In the quiet city of Fukuoka, Japan, a modest inn called Asahi Ryokan has gained worldwide attention for its extraordinary offer, a room for just one U.S. dollar per night.
What sounds like an incredible bargain comes with one unusual condition, your stay will be livestreamed on YouTube.
The Idea Behind the Livestream
Photo grab from Google Maps
The concept was introduced by the inn’s owner, who wanted to attract more visitors while generating income through online views and advertising. The rule is simple yet bold, guests can stay in the room for a single dollar if they agree to be filmed throughout their visit. To protect privacy, the bathroom area remains strictly off-camera.
From Experiment to Internet Sensation
Photo gran from Google Maps
What started as a small experiment quickly turned into a viral attraction. Word spread through social media, drawing attention from vloggers, backpackers, and curious travelers across the globe. The hotel’s YouTube channel began to gain followers who tuned in just to see what guests were doing in real time.
Why Travelers Love the Experience
Photo grab from Google Maps
For some visitors, it’s an unbeatable deal for budget travel. For others, it’s a chance to take part in one of Japan’s most unusual and talked-about experiences. Many guests use the opportunity to connect with viewers, share stories, or simply embrace the novelty of being part of a global livestream
A Modern Twist on Japanese Hospitality
Photo grab from Google Maps
Beyond the entertainment factor, Asahi Ryokan’s $1 room reflects Japan’s blend of innovation, creativity, and tradition. It shows how even a small local inn can capture international attention by reimagining the meaning of hospitality in the digital age, one livestream at a time.
Health officials at Vicente Sotto Memorial Medical Center (VSMMC) are sounding the alarm: a surgency of HIV cases in Cebu rose up to 300 percent over the past five years, with the sharpest increase hitting the youth population—particularly those below 15 years old and ages 15 to 24. This isn’t just about numbers on a dashboard. Behind every statistic is a young person facing a life-altering diagnosis, often with little understanding of how they got there or what comes next.
The Reality Check We All Need
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Dr. Kathleen Joyce “KitKat” del Carmen, a pediatrician and member of the HIV/AIDS Core Team at VSMMC’s Kaambag Clinic, revealed during a recent health program that most newly diagnosed patients are between 15 and 34 years old. “This tells us that our youth are getting infected younger and faster,” she emphasized.
In early 2025, the Department of Health officially declared HIV a public health emergency after seeing a 500 percent increase in new infections and AIDS-related deaths nationwide over the past decade. In 2023 alone, the country recorded 26,700 new infections—roughly 50 new cases every single day. By June 2025, total HIV cases in the country reached 153,798. Globally, HIV infections are decreasing. Here, they continue to rise,” Dr. Del Carmen shared.
Cebu’s Alarming Position
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Central Visayas, where Cebu belongs, now ranks among the top five regions in the Philippines with 11,347 diagnosed cases as of June 2025. Region 7 ranked sixth in new infections during the first quarter of 2025 but climbed to fourth place by the second quarter, recording 367 new cases between April and June—a significant jump from the 225 cases recorded in earlier months.
From January to September 2025, the Kaambag Clinic, a DOH-accredited confirmatory testing center for the Visayas region, tested 1,210 individuals. Among those tested, 31 received positive results and were promptly referred for treatment. As of September 2025, the clinic is providing antiretroviral treatment (ART) to 1,373 people. The majority of these patients (87%) are men, with the largest proportion falling within the 25 to 49 age bracket.
The Youth Crisis No One Wants to Talk About
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What’s truly alarming is how young the patients are becoming. A 15-year-old is the youngest confirmed case from a sexually transmitted HIV case in Cebu. Even more disturbing, health workers report that first sexual experiences can start as early as 12 years old. Some babies are being born with the virus, infected during birth.
The alarming truth is undeniable. HIV cases among individuals under 15 and those aged 15-24 have skyrocketed by over 300 percent in the last five years. This indicates that our youth—your classmates, nieces, nephews, and friends—are increasingly affected by a public health crisis that many are still unwilling to openly address.
Treatment Is Available, But Stigma Is the Real Killer
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There are some great news! HIV is now a manageable condition thanks to effective medication. The standard treatment, a single daily tablet called the LTD regimen (Lamivudine, Tenofovir, Dolutegravir), has minimal side effects. Furthermore, the 2018 HIV Law permits minors aged 15 and above to access Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis (PrEP) and Post-Exposure Prophylaxis (PEP) without needing parental consent.
Central Visayas now has 20 HIV treatment hubs, with Kaambag Clinic serving as the confirmatory testing center for the entire Visayas. From January to September 2025, 50 individuals were started on PrEP at Kaambag alone.
But here’s the catch, the stigma remains the number one barrier to getting tested and treated. Dr. Del Carmen put it bluntly “Stigma kills faster than the virus”. Many people refuse to get tested out of fear. Others hide their diagnosis from family members and stop taking their medication to avoid being discovered.
For children born with HIV, the psychological struggle is real. Many grow up believing their daily pills are just vitamins. When they reach adolescence and start asking questions—”Why do I need to take this every day?”—that’s when the truth has to be revealed, often with the help of doctors, social workers, and psychologists.
What Can We Do About It?
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First, get tested. If you’re sexually active, HIV testing should be part of your regular health checkup. Testing is free at government health centers and HIV hubs like Kaambag Clinic.
Second, practice safe sex. Use condoms consistently and correctly. If you’re in a high-risk situation, ask your doctor about PrEP. As this can significantly reduce your risk of HIV infection by up to 92 percent when taken consistently.
Third, talk about it. Break the silence. Have honest conversations with your friends, partners, and family about sexual health. The more we normalize these discussions, the easier it becomes for young people to seek help without shame.
Fourth, educate yourself. Learn the facts about HIV transmission, prevention, and treatment. Organizations like LoveYourself Inc. offer resources, free testing, and support services across the Philippines.
A Call to Action for Sugboanons
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The fight against HIV won’t be won in hospitals alone. It requires early education, open conversation, and dismantling the shame that still surrounds testing and treatment. It means confronting uncomfortable truths about youth sexuality, rejecting outdated stigmas, and prioritizing health over hiya.
So, Sugboanons, let’s be real: HIV is here, it’s affecting our youth, and pretending it doesn’t exist won’t make it go away. Get tested. Stay protected. Talk openly. Because every statistic begins with a person. As every person deserves a chance to live without fear.
The concept shown in National Geographic’s “Aftermath: Population Zero”, a world where nature heals without human interference, comes to life in Colase Marine Sanctuary in Samboan, Cebu. The site features thriving coral reefs and rich marine biodiversity, flourishing in a protected environment.
A Coastal Town in Southern Cebu
Photo from Hanna Menchavez
Samboan is located at the southern tip of Cebu, roughly 140 kilometers from Cebu City. The municipality is known for its coastlines, heritage structures, and marine habitats that remain largely undisturbed compared to other southern destinations.
Gateway to Colase Marine Sanctuary
Photo from Samboan Tourism
Located in Barangay Colase, the sanctuary is approximately 15 minutes from the town center. The shoreline is made up of pebbles, rocks, and washed corals, but the main attraction lies underwater, where expansive coral gardens dominate the seascape.
Protected Coastline and Marine Recovery
Photo from Samboan Tourism
The coastline was declared a protected marine zone nearly 20 years ago, prohibiting fishing activities. The restriction allowed the reef ecosystem to regenerate naturally, resulting in healthier coral formations and increased fish populations.
Coral Gardens and Marine Life
Photo from Samboan Tourism
Snorkelers can observe staghorn, soft, and brain corals in shallow areas that serve as shelter for reef fish, mollusks, and crustaceans. Due to the closeness of corals to the surface, life jackets are recommended to prevent accidental contact and damage.
Ideal Snorkeling Conditions
Photo from Samboan Tourism
The best time for snorkeling is between 7:00 AM and 9:00 AM, when water visibility is at its peak and the seabed remains undisturbed. Coral fields become denser farther from shore, acting as natural buffers against strong waves.
Signs of a Healthy Reef System
Local reports note occasional sightings of sea turtles, small sharks, dolphins, and whales passing through the deeper sections of the sanctuary, indicating a balanced and thriving ecosystem.
Community-Based Environmental Management
The sanctuary is jointly managed by the Municipal Government of Samboan and a local fisherfolk organization, ensuring continuous protection of the area. Colase is one of several coastal barangays, alongside San Sebastian (Bato), Dalahikan, Tangbo, Bonbon, Suba, and Poblacion.
By Car: Drive south via Barili and follow the coastal highway to Samboan (3.5–4 hours). Continue along the highway until reaching the signage for Barangay Colase, which sits directly beside the shoreline.
By Commute: From South Bus Terminal in Cebu City, take a bus bound for Samboan or Bato via Barili (approx. 4 hours). Alight at Samboan Poblacion, then take a tricycle or habal-habal to Barangay Colase / Colase Marine Sanctuary (10–15 minutes).
They say the old campus changes after midnight, its halls no longer echo with laughter or footsteps, only whispers that sound too close to your ear. The air grows colder, the lights dim for no reason, and shadows stretch where no one walks. Some claim it’s just the wind, or the age of the building, but those who’ve seen what moves in the basement know better. Because when the night is at its stillest, you can hear them, the headless ones, dragging their feet through the dark, searching for what was taken from them long ago.
The rain had already drowned the courtyard by the time Iskaela realized she was alone. Everyone else had gone home after their night shoot, but she stayed behind to return the borrowed camera. The equipment room was in the basement, that basement, the one students joked about but never stayed in long enough to test the stories.
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The power flickered as she descended. The hallway lights buzzed, casting sickly yellow light over cracked tiles. It smelled of rust and something older, something like rot trapped beneath wet concrete.
Halfway down, she heard footsteps. Not hers.
They were slow, uneven, dragging.
“Hello?” she called, her voice trembling slightly. “Sir, is that you?”
No answer. Only the faint sound of water dripping and the distant groan of metal chains being pulled somewhere deep within the dark.
Her flashlight flickered once, then caught movement at the end of the hall. A silhouette stood there, motionless, dressed in what looked like a student’s uniform, shirt stained dark at the collar.
She lifted the flashlight higher.
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The beam landed on its shoulders.
And stopped.
There was no head.
Iskaela stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat. The figure twitched, turning slightly toward her. Then she saw another one step out of the shadow behind it. And another.
Four. Maybe five.
All headless. All moving with that sick, puppet-like gait.
They didn’t walk so much as sway, like they were being pulled by strings. Something glistened down their necks, dripping onto the floor—thick, black, and slow.
Her flashlight went out.
She ran.
But the sound followed, footsteps pounding, echoing, closing in. She didn’t dare look back. She burst through the stairwell door, sprinted up the steps, and slammed into the ground floor corridor.
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Then she heard a whisper.
Right beside her ear.
A voice that didn’t come from a mouth.
“You shouldn’t have looked at us.”
Iskaela froze. Her reflection in the glass door stared back at her—and in that reflection, she wasn’t alone.
Behind her, just inches away, stood one of them.
And in its hands, it held something round, dripping.
A head.
Her head.
The world tilted, her vision warping into darkness.
They found Iskaela’s phone the next morning on the basement stairs. The last video she recorded showed her flashlight beam shaking wildly, catching brief glimpses of motion, headless figures closing in, and then a single, whispered word before the camera cut to black:
“Here.”
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Now, students say if you pass by that basement after midnight, you can sometimes hear wet footsteps following behind you.
And if you turn too quickly, you might see a girl standing in the dark, small, barefoot, still holding something cradled in her arms.
On the darkest night of the year, one of America’s most notorious homes will seek a new owner.
The Rhode Island farmhouse that inspired The Conjuring films is going under the hammer this Halloween morning, daring bidders to claim a property steeped in legend, mystery, and whispers from the other side.
Origins of Terror
Photo from The Conjuring Facebook Page
Built in 1736, the Burrillville farmhouse is no ordinary home. In the 1970s, the Perron family reported chilling encounters with unseen forces, events later immortalized in the 2013 film The Conjuring. The sinister tale of possession, curses, and the Warrens’ desperate attempts to save the family propelled the house into horror history, cementing its reputation as one of the most haunted residences in America.
More Than Just a Farmhouse
Photo from The Conjuring Facebook Page
Behind its rustic exterior lies over 3,000 square feet of creaking hallways, shadow-filled corners, and rooms where time seems to stand still. With three bedrooms and two baths, the house may sound like a traditional farmhouse, but those who step inside often speak of an energy that feels anything but ordinary. The home’s lack of modern comforts is overshadowed by its chilling legacy.
A Troubled Ownership
Photo from The Conjuring Facebook Page
The farmhouse has passed through many hands, its ownership often marked by misfortune. Purchased in 2022 for $1.5 million, it soon became the center of controversy after its most recent owner faced legal troubles. Now, the Halloween auction not only offers a chance to claim a piece of horror history but also signals a new chapter in the property’s eerie story.
A Fitting Finale
Photo from The Conjuring Facebook Page
As the clock strikes Halloween morning, bidders will gather to compete for a farmhouse unlike any other. For the winner, the prize is more than just a home, it is an invitation into a story of shadows, spirits, and superstition. Whether the new owner views it as an investment or a haunted inheritance, the Perron family farmhouse will forever be a place where history and horror intertwine.
I studied in one of the oldest universities in Cebu, the one near the capitol, famous for its cream-colored buildings and strict uniforms. Everyone knew it had history, but no one talked about how old the land really was.
When I was in my second year, our class was assigned to a “temporary” room while renovations were going on upstairs. The new classroom was located underground, down a narrow flight of stairs that smelled like wet cement and metal. The air was so heavy it made you feel like you were trespassing.
We called it the dungeon.
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On our first week there, we noticed weird things. Footsteps that echoed even after everyone had stopped walking. Chains clinking against the floor when no one was moving. The janitor joked that the room used to be part of a war tunnel, that prisoners were once kept there when the area was a military camp. We laughed, but deep down, none of us really believed it was a joke.
One afternoon, our professor was writing on the board when the lights flickered. A faint dragging sound came from the back of the room, like metal scraping against stone. Everyone turned around. There was nothing there. When the lights steadied, one of my classmates, Carla, had gone pale.
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“There was someone sitting behind me,” she whispered.
We tried to calm her down, saying she must’ve imagined it. But after that, she refused to attend classes in that room.
Weeks later, during our finals, I felt someone brush past me. I thought it was my seatmate until I realized he wasn’t there that day. Then I heard it, heavy boots, marching slowly behind us. Our professor froze mid-sentence. She looked toward the door, eyes wide, and said quietly, “Everyone, pack your things. We’re moving the class upstairs.”
She never used that room again.
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Before graduation, one of the maintenance workers told me that during the war, the tunnel beneath our campus was a prison. They found rusted shackles embedded in the walls when they first converted it.
Every now and then, people still claim to hear soldiers marching in the hallways at night, boots hitting the ground in perfect rhythm. Some even say that if you listen closely near the stairwell, you can hear someone whispering your name from the dark below.
The tunnel has been sealed for years now. But sometimes, when I walk past that part of the campus… I still hear the chains.
In one of Cebu’s oldest universities stands a nursing building that few dare to enter after dark. By day, it’s filled with students in pristine white uniforms, practicing CPR and emergency care on life-sized mannequins. But when the last light flickers off and the corridors fall silent, something else takes over.
The story begins with Norman, a security guard known for his discipline and skepticism. He was assigned the graveyard shift, responsible for checking every classroom and lab on the upper floors. Most guards disliked that task. There were too many rooms, too many shadows, and those pale mannequins that always seemed to stare.
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It was past midnight when Norman began his rounds. The air was still, thick with the sterile smell of alcohol and latex. His flashlight beam slid along the tiled floor, then caught the faint outlines of the mannequins inside the simulation room. They stood in neat rows, their blank faces turned toward the door, lifeless and still.
He counted them, six, just as always. Then he turned away to check the window locks. When he looked back, he froze.
There were seven.
The seventh mannequin stood near the wall, its head tilted downward, its hands slightly apart as if ready to move. Norman’s chest tightened. He blinked hard, thinking his tired eyes were playing tricks on him. But when he took a step forward, he heard it, a faint creak of plastic, followed by the slow drag of a foot across the floor.
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The light above him flickered once, then again. The air grew colder, heavy enough that he could see his breath fogging in front of him. The mannequin’s head jerked slightly to the side. Then, all at once, the lights went out.
Norman’s flashlight snapped back on after a few seconds, and every mannequin in the room was now facing him. Their heads were tilted, their pale eyes reflecting the weak glow of his light. Some had their arms raised. Others leaned forward as if listening.
He tried to back away, but something was blocking the exit. His hand met only the flat, frozen surface of the wall where the door had been. Panic set in. He turned, desperate for any way out, and felt a cold grip clamp around his wrist.
A hand. Smooth, plastic, and impossibly strong.
The flashlight fell to the floor. The beam rolled across the room and caught glimpses of movement, stiff, jerking limbs, twisting necks, and hollow faces bending toward him. The sound that followed was unmistakable: the hollow thud of dozens of feet stepping closer.
When morning came, Norman was gone. Only his flashlight remained near the entrance, its beam faintly flickering. The logbook he carried was open to a half-written line, smudged and uneven, as if written in shaking hands.
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It read only three words.
“They followed me.”
Since that night, the nursing building has remained eerily quiet after dark. The janitors refuse to clean the upper floor past sundown. The guards never volunteer for the midnight rounds.
But sometimes, when someone passes by the building late at night, they swear they see a figure standing just behind the glass, not one of the mannequins, but something wearing a guard’s uniform, head bowed, as if waiting for another round.
And if you look too long, you might see the mannequins slowly turning toward the door.
China has rolled out stricter regulations for social media influencers, requiring anyone who discusses professional topics like medicine, finance, law, or education to provide proof of their qualifications before posting content.
Under the new rules issued by the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC), “influencers” must show evidence of formal training, a university degree, or verified professional expertise before they can share advice in these sensitive fields. The move is part of Beijing’s ongoing effort to tighten oversight of online content and curb the spread of misinformation.
No More “Trust Me, Bro” Medical Advice
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Beginning this October 2025, content creators will have a two-month grace period to provide certifications, degrees, or other verified credentials. This is to prove they have the required expertise to publish accurate scientific and academic content. Social media platforms like Douyin (China’s TikTok), Weibo, and Bilibili are now tasked with verifying these creator credentials.
Which means that every influencer claiming “professional advice” by providing tips in skin care routines in “secret cure to acne”, financial gurus promising “get-rich-quick” schemes without any actual finance degree are out. The days of unverified “medical advice” from influencers who learned everything from Google are officially over in China.
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To boost transparency and security, the new regulations mandate that all content must clearly reference its sources. Additionally, it must be specified whether the content contains dramatizations or elements generated by artificial intelligence, thereby preventing the misrepresentation of AI-generated responses as legitimate expert opinions.
The Stakes Are High
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Influencers who fail to comply with these regulations face severe penalties, including account suspension or permanent closure, and fines of up to 100,000 yuan (approximately $14,000). To put this into perspective, 100,000 yuan is roughly equivalent to ₱800,000 in Philippine pesos—a substantial amount that should deter any aspiring online guru from sharing unverified health advice.
To combat misinformation and standardize expert content online, China introduced regulations in phases starting in 2022, with further tightening expected in late 2025. The Chinese authorities state that this policy aims to protect users from misleading or inaccurate information by ensuring that online professional advice originates from credible sources.
Which Topics Are Monitored?
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The CAC has specifically targeted four main areas where misinformation can cause serious harm: such as for Medicine & Health, Finance, Law and Education. Beyond professional topics, the CAC has also ordered the removal of accounts that use educational formats to promote products or those impersonating professional identities. Additionally, platforms must train their algorithms to identify and block sexualized content disguised as “education” towards their audience.
What This Means for Filipino Content Creators
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While these regulations are specific to China, they raise important questions about the global influencer economy. In the Philippines, where social media culture is massive and influencers hold significant sway over public opinion, there are no similar laws requiring credentials for professional advice.
How many times have you seen a local influencer recommend a “miracle cure” for skin problems or give investment tips without any medical or financial background? How many “life coaches” are actually certified professionals versus people who just read a few self-help books?
China’s recent policy underscores a worldwide unease regarding the accountability associated with influence. Individuals with substantial online followings—hundreds of thousands or millions—wield significant sway. When their pronouncements concern critical areas like health, finance, or legal issues, the dissemination of inaccurate information can lead to severe repercussions.
The Future of Influencer Regulation
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China’s new rules represent a significant shift in how governments are thinking about social media influence and expertise. Especially with these new regulations shifting the pendulum once more in the social media space. Whether other countries follow suit remains to be seen, but one thing is clear: the era of completely unregulated influencer content may be coming to an end.
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Filipino content creators should prioritize building credibility through transparency and expertise, rather than solely focusing on follower counts. The emphasis should be on producing valuable and accurate content, as opposed to simply chasing viral trends. When discussing specialized topics, collaboration with verified professionals is advisable. Ultimately, the well-being of the audience should always take precedence over engagement metrics.
Because in the end, whether it’s enforced by government regulation or self-imposed ethical standards, accountability matters—and influencers who take that seriously will be the ones who thrive in the long run.
The world is watching how influencers use their platforms, and the standards are changing. Better to get ahead of the curve now than wait for regulations to force your hand later.
It started one stormy night, when the janitor was cleaning the main building downtown—the old one with the red gate and the basketball court that always floods when it rains. The power had gone out, and only the emergency lights hummed faintly in the halls.
He heard dripping. Then tapping.
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He followed the sound toward the court.
When he got there, the rain was coming in through a crack near the far end. The tiles looked warped, swollen with water. When he stepped on one, it sank.
He crouched down and pried it loose.
Underneath was a metal hatch. Rusted shut, like it hadn’t been touched for decades.
He thought it was part of the drainage system.
Until he heard something breathing beneath it.
Slow. Wet. Gasping.
He took his flashlight, wedged the hatch open—and the smell hit him first. Old blood and iron. The beam revealed a set of stairs spiraling into darkness. Water trickled down each step like tears.
He called out, “Hello?”
Something answered.
But not in a voice he knew.
It spoke in fragments of words—half Cebuano, half Chinese—slurred, whispering, and coming from everywhere.
When he reached the bottom, his light swept across what looked like a hallway. Then he realized the walls weren’t walls. They were cells.
Iron bars.
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Chains.
And fingernail marks etched into the stone—so deep they’d left grooves.
There were names, too. Hundreds of them. Carved in a mix of characters and letters. Some still wet, the lines red like open wounds.
He took a step closer. His shoe touched something soft.
He looked down.
A hand. Pale and swollen, reaching out from beneath the water.
Then the faces began to appear—pressed against the bars, eyes clouded, mouths stretched too wide. They whispered over and over in different voices:
“We never left.”
“We never left.”
“You let us out.”
The flashlight flickered and went out.
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He screamed, but no one heard over the thunder. When they found him the next morning, he was lying in the middle of the court, drenched and trembling, his fingernails gone. His pupils were milky white. He hadn’t spoken since.
Photo from Pexels
On the wet floor beside him, scratched into the tiles with what looked like his own nails, were words no one could forget:
“They’re under us.”
Since then, every time it rains, the floor near that same corner of the court turns darker than the rest. You can hear the water dripping underneath… followed by tapping.
Some say if you press your ear to the floor, you’ll hear breathing.
Cebu may be full of famous waterfalls, but Lusno Falls in Argao remains one of the island’s quiet gems. Tucked between Argao and Ronda, this spot offers raw beauty with no entrance fees, no cottages, and no crowds, just pure nature and the peaceful sound of water echoing through farmland and palm trees.
Photo from Carlo Nemil
Why Visit Lusno Falls
Photo from Carlo Nemil
Lusno is perfect for travelers who want a calm, nature-focused escape instead of busy tourist spots. The waterfall features smooth limestone formations and a gentle cascade that resembles Aguinid, minus the noise and tourists. It’s a place where you can relax, breathe, and enjoy an untouched slice of Cebu.
Trail Experience
Photo from Carlo Nemil
The walk to Lusno Falls is short and easy, taking only five to ten minutes through local fields and small homes. There are no signboards, but friendly locals can help with directions. At the end of the trail, the river and falls come into view, creating a cool and refreshing spot to unwind.
What to Expect
Photo from Carlo Nemil
There are no restrooms, no cottages, and no commercial facilities, so pack water and essentials and make sure to take your trash with you. Lusno Falls is best enjoyed as a peaceful stop for photos, quiet moments, and a refreshing dip, not as a cliff-jumping or canyoneering site.
How to Get There?
Location:Brgy, Anajao, Argao, Cebu
By Car: From Cebu City, drive for about two and a half hours toward Anajao Barangay Hall in Argao, which looks like a simple covered court beside a small office. From there, follow the narrow road until you see the Lusno Falls sign. You may park near the local houses and walk a few minutes to reach the falls.
By Commute: From the city, take a Ceres bus bound for Ronda or Bato via Barili and get off at Ronda town. Hire a habal-habal going to Lusno Falls and ask the driver to wait for your return since the area is remote and rides are limited.
