Dyl, Theo and I took the bangka boat to the hot volcanic springs. You approach them by swimming through a mangrove. Theo delighted by the swim through the dark leafy tunnel, flanked by enormous mangrove roots. Even more excited on the discovery of the 'outside bath', a rock pool of translucent thermally heated water under the trees.
I chatted to friendly filipino family from Manila. When I told them we were of the the island of Siquijor on our next trip they looked very worried. They warned Dyl about the vampires and dangerous spirits that roam the island.
Siquijor is populated by many mediums and is believed to be a very spiritual place. Many Filipinos practice their indigenous religion alongside Catholicism, and belief in good and bad spirits, dangerous dwarves and vampires (which can leave half of themselves at home while the other half seeks to satisfy its bloodlust) is not uncommon. Apparently the tabloid papers have many stories of this kind, reported as fact. It makes Siquijor all the more alluring. As darkness falls at 6 or 6.30pm all year round, in the pitch black night with all the noises of the tropics, its doesn't take a great leap of the imagination to envisage a mischievous spirit lurking in the shadows of the thicket.
The wreck dive was incredible, clown fish, angel fish, luminescent sea slugs. It's clear why diving is so addictive - some people here spend every moment of their holidays diving, up to 3 dives a day. But the total immersion into an underwater world which forces you to forget the problems on the land is so alluring. You feel an incredible sense of serenity and a wonderful tranquility. On surfacing, the spell is broken, so little wonder that they spend thousands on making that intoxicating pleasure of escape last and last.
It was a strange visit to Cullion island. Until a cure was discovered in the 1980s, all the lepers of the philippines were herded up and sent to the island, forcibly. They formed a close knit and well organised community together, with their own schools and police force. They were looked after by a team of medical staff and nuns, who lived in a separate, segregated community. Many tests were carried out on the sick, and it was on the island that some of the major development were made towards finding a cure.
If any of the lepers gave birth, they were separated from their children at birth. Whisked off to the orphanage, parents were only allowed to see their children once a week through a glass screen.
Met, a young lady who works at Majikas, showed us round. Her grandfather had leprosy , her father separated from him at birth. The islands tragic past pervaded the present - the atmosphere here is forlorn and heavy. The hospital buildings, testing labs and orphanage still stand. Being there with Met, so closely linked to the islands history, made the visit powerfully poignant. It is also Met who cannot afford to see her son more than once a month. She was thrilled to get a chance to see him during our visit to Cullion and brought him a big gift. He had a very serious little face and hated to be parted from her once again as we headed back on the boat to Majikas cottages.
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