The Philippines’ Lagen Island Resort has reopened its doors following a sweeping redesign that feels unusually sensitive for a luxury resort in 2026. The private island resort, tucked into the limestone cliffs of El Nido in Palawan, already had one of the most extraordinary settings in Southeast Asia. The renovation simply gives it more room to breathe.
That alone feels refreshing.
Sex across six hectares, the re-imagined property now unfolds through 42 redesigned accommodations going from Water Villas to Forest Rooms, with a new arrival pavilion, clubhouse, spa, dive center, sunset bar, and chapel woven into the landscape. The renovation work was led by WATG and Wimberly Interiors in collaboration with Ayala Land Hospitality, though the most impressive part of the project might be what they chose not to do.
Most of the original resort structures remain intact.
That’s surprisingly rare now, especially in luxury hospitality, where developers tend to flatten perfectly good buildings the second the word “repositioning” enters the conversation. Here, the existing structures became the foundation for the redesign. Old nara wood flooring was repurposed into wall paneling. Architectural elements were adapted rather than replaced. The island itself still feels familiar somehow, even after the overhaul.
New resorts frequently resemble immaculate film sets in the beginning – visually perfect, yet still searching for the rhythm of everyday life. Lagen, El Nido already carries a sense of age and softness. The humidity has settled into the wood. The pathways disappear into greenery. Nothing feels overly staged.
The setting does a lot of work, of course. Massive limestone cliffs rise almost vertically from turquoise water, while dense rainforest wraps around the resort from every direction. Boats drift slowly through the bay, adding to the sense that everything here moves at a different speed. In the early morning, the island becomes nearly silent save for birdsong and the gentle break of waves against the shoreline.
The redesigned arrival hall opens directly toward those views. Its architecture references traditional Filipino Paraw boats through curved forms and carved detailing, though thankfully without leaning too hard into the theme. Resorts sometimes become oddly theatrical when they start interpreting local culture too literally. This feels more relaxed than that.
Traditional weaving and carving techniques from the Philippines appear throughout the interiors in quieter ways. Woven textures show up in furniture, lighting, and wall panels. Handcrafted wood details frame corridors and guest rooms. Some references come from Tagbanua, Tausug, and Maranao traditions, though you don’t need to recognize every influence to appreciate the atmosphere they create.
The Water Villas push guests as close to the sea as possible. Large openings frame uninterrupted ocean views, while sunken lounge seating and subtle screening create privacy without cutting off the connection to the water.
The interiors stay fairly minimal, which was probably the right move. With colors outside like these, adding too much inside the room would’ve been a mistake.
The Forest Rooms feel entirely different.
Hidden among mature trees with glimpses of the shoreline beyond, they lean into darker timber tones and deep green accents that blur nicely into the surrounding landscape. There are references to traditional bahay kubo architecture throughout the rooms, especially in some of the wall treatments and partitions, though none of it feels forced. You notice details gradually here.
The Clubhouse now serves as one of the social centers of the resort, with a moodier palette inspired by local pottery traditions and handcrafted materials. The bar counter incorporates woven detailing that catches the light differently throughout the evening, especially around sunset when the entire space starts glowing amber for about twenty minutes before everything fades blue again.
Nearby, the beachfront Sunset Bar takes cues from traditional Pangko boats, with curved rooflines and low seating positioned directly toward the horizon. Which, admittedly, sounds like exactly the sort of thing every tropical resort claims to have. But El Nido sunsets are irritatingly beautiful in person. There’s no real way around describing them.
What makes the redesign work is its balance. The resort doesn’t constantly remind guests how luxurious or sustainable or culturally immersive it is. Nobody seems desperate to prove anything here. The architecture opens toward the landscape, the interiors rely heavily on local craftsmanship, and the island remains the focal point almost everywhere you go.
Even the pathways through the property feel intentionally understated. Some are barely lit at night except for small pools of warm light filtering through the trees. You hear insects, wind, distant waves. Then suddenly the jungle opens up and there’s the sea again.
