Enchanting Siquijor

The next island destination was Siquijor, an island charmed by rumors of with-craft and a reputation for black magic. The mayor has apparently made every effort to stamp out this mysticism, since the domestic tourism market, driven by the upper-class Catholic Filipino population, doesn’t really appreciate it as much as the foreign tourists who come seeking any sign of it. Shamans that can cure tobacco addictions and cleanse a sinful past are hidden somewhere among the trees, but we couldn’t figure out how to find them. We decided to seek out the less-spooky beaches instead, and ended up at JJ’s backpackers, a lonely planet top-choice hotel that we accidentally stumbled upon because it had a campground. I hung my hammock between two coconut trees and slept like a baby for 2 nights suspended under the stars.

the mystical island of Siquijor

the mystical island of Siquijor

I almost got killed by a coconut on my morning jaunt along the beach, so since then I’ve become a lot more aware of the coconuts hanging above my hammock. Otherwise, there have been no safety issues, especially considering the fact that I’m probably bigger and stronger than most of the women and men here. The side streets and countryside villages are usually filled with an equal number of playful children, puppies and kittens, but few adults. The women are really friendly and smiley, and the men, jovial, and you can’t help but smile back when they’ve tucked their tshirt under their armpits or over their pot-bellies, exposing a hairless stomach the way most men do to keep cool. The only people you really encounter on the beach are harmless stray dogs and bottom-feeder fishermen taking advantage of low tide.

my bed at the campground

my bed at the campground

The locals don’t really approach us unless they’re a tri-cycle driver, and Im not sure if that’s disinterestedness or shyness. English is an official language here, but in practice, it exists mainly in print – from big billboards to traffic signs and advertising and menus, English is legible everywhere, but rarely spoken. That might be why the local tourism workers aren’t so aggressive, and barely bother to argue or bargain, but “ma’am,” “yes,” and “okay” are words commonly repeated, no matter what the question or if they’ve even understood you at all. People can usually understand the basics of your question, but not enough to answer correctly the first time, and sometimes they’ll answer in tagalog or their native tongue with a few Spanish numbers or English words interspersed. Conversations are hard to keep, but fun to have, and thank god for the signs and written English to fill in the gaps.

That being said, Filipino people often speak more than 2 local languages already, and literacy is nearly 100%. Schools are everywhere, even in the tiniest, remote settlements, and always look well built and meticulously maintained. Its nice when a school looks like an inviting place to learn, and all the uniformed school kids look so professional in their neatly pressed outfits.

Island hopping to the Visayas

Leaving Paniman was a bit less blissful than our arrival. Instead of taking a boat from the beach, we took the much longer, more tedious overland route back to Naga city, our travel hub for the day. To get a head start on our long day of travel, we had stayed in the land-locked village of Caramoan the night before, with the family of a toothless man whose irresistible smile didn’t allow us to look for other options. From there, we peeter-pattered down south, towards Cebu and the rest of the Visayan islands, but each painstaking kilometer went much slower than we thought, so we got stuck in the hotel-less port town of Pio Duran without a ferry onward til the next morning.

a tri-cycle, aka the Philippino taxi

a tri-cycle, aka the Philippino taxi

We made a friend on our way to Pio who invited us to stay with him, but he hadn’t been home in 5 years and didn’t have the key to his house. There was a padlock he didn’t know the code to, but some distant relative in the next town did. We waited for an hour as he tried to sort it out, only to learn there’d be no water or electricity when we got in. After amusing the neighbourhood children with our observing, foreigner eyes (they played really good basketball and danced lines of cuckaracha for us), we wandered back down to the port where a security guard pointed us in the direction of some covered, wooden benches to sleep on. The ferry left at 4:30 so we decided napping on a bench wouldn’t exactly be the same as sleeping on the street for a night… but basically we were homeless traveling bums for a minute.

one of the smaller ferry boats

one of the smaller ferry boats

The food we’d been eating had all been paired with rice, different assortments of meat and veggies with curry or adobo sauces. They always tasted good after a day of sweating and traveling, and the local San Miguel beer quenches your thirst even when it’s luke-warm. We had a couple, plus some locally made sugar-cane alcohol, to lull ourselves into sleepy mode. We boarded the ferry at 3, then curled up on some less-comfortable benches on deck to snooze a bit longer.

busride at sunrise

busride at sunrise

At daybreak we arrived in Masbate city, then needed to take a series of tricycles, vans and yet another ferry to reach Cebu. We pulled into the city at 10pm, after 2 exhausting days of travel, but by then the hotel across from the bus terminal was closed (or maybe its been shut down already but nobody knows). We wandered the surrounding streets, only to figure out we were smack-dab in the middle of Cebu-city’s sex-district. We chose the one out of three hotels we checked out based on the fact that it was the only one not available to rent per hour. I think it still had a “No Minors” sign, but I chose not to remember those minor details in lieu of an undisturbed night’s sleep.

Bienvenidos a Manila

Manila at dusk

Manila at dusk

The Spanish were here until the turn of the 20th century, giving the Filipino people Catholicism and a lot of Spanish people and place names, and the Americans came in world war II giving them English and Hollywood pop-culture – two invaluable contributions they have connecting them to the western world. I don’t know why or how to put it in words, but I expected something else from Manila. I arrived to an Asian mega-city metropolis, full of the pollution and traffic that goes along with similar concrete-jungles. The city was crowded but organized, shiny but dirty, and both new and old, crumbling and developing. Nearly half the highrises in Makati, the shopping district I stayed in, were still topped with building cranes. I stayed at a roof-top hostel with views over Bonifacio Global city, a neighborhood that rivals even downtown Vancouver for cleanliness, safety and dining options.

The place gave me tastes of Tokyo and Bangkok, where first-world orderliness meets oriental cultural flare. It seemed wealthier and more westernized than other south-east Asian cities, but kept that same humid smoggy stickiness and cramped buildings-on-top-of-buildings/fit-them-everywhere-you-can urban planning. But Manila was noticeably liberal in its fashion and sexuality, with little gender-inequality or homophobicness.

There was a typhoon just days before I arrived, but none of its havoc was noticeable in this neighbourhood. Distant thunder and lightning threatened occasionally, but only a few showers camee over Makati. Other areas were still dealing with flooded streets and homes, but the rainy season is supposed to be coming to a slow stop right about now. After perching in my hostel for 2 days and 1 night recovering from a cold that Philippines customs thought was Ebola (note to self: never show flu symptoms when flying in and out of asia), I was ready to leave in search of cleaner air and brighter skies.

paradise in Paniman

paradise in Paniman

After traveling less than 10 km in more than one hour, through rush-hour traffic and a purple haze, we got on an overnight bus to Caramoan and finally reached a little slice of paradise nearby called Paniman. Paniman is a tiny fishing village on the mainland, speckled with shacks, shops and a handful of ‘resorts’ (which are also just slightly fancier shacks called bungalows with shops called ‘resto-bars’). From their beach, you can go island hopping between a series of pre-historic looking islands and pristinely white beaches, and waste your abundant wealth of time cracking open coconuts and snorkeling among the corals and sea-grass. They filmed one of the Survivor series here, and all I can say is no one would have to pay me a million dollars to get deserted on one of these islands; but, I also didn’t mind paying the mere $22 it cost to rent our own boat for 4 hours and splash around our own private beaches for each of those hours.