Our trip to Siquijor started at 5am. We waited in the darkness as Dyl had overslept. We were last on the plane, tearing down the runway with babies in tow. After a tricycle ride through durmagetee city on the island of negros (named after the indigenous inhabitants of the Philippines, who are much darker skinned than most Filipinos), we were last on the boat, making another mad dash across the port; a dishevelled caravan of kids, toys, blankets, pushchairs and, as always, loads and loads of badly packed little bags.
The ferry to Siquijor was a packed floating airless box and we all fought the onset of nausea as it pitched and rolled over the waves.
After a tricycle ride from the port in Siquijor we finally arrived at our cabins in the danish lagoon resort. The accommodation is based on scenes and characters from the folk tales of Hans Christian Anderson. Perched on the edge of a small cliff overlooking the ocean, each cabin has a huge relief of Anderson on the wall, charming round windows and beds that hang from the ceiling. A golden mermaid sits atop the rocks on the small beach below. It is an inspired concept in a perfect setting.
The fairytale spell was only slightly broken by the realisation that the resort had seen better days, and was a little tired and weather worn, which undoubtedly reflected the condition of the hosts.
The owners, 2 danish couples, were rather miserable and very haggard.
Watching them hit the booze hard each evening as an ineffectual release from the monotony of island life, Dyl and I speculated about how well suited westerners were to living on a remote Filipino island. They came to live out their dreams in a tropical paradise, but seemed despondent and lonely.
Siquijor is one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited, untouched and lush, with a gentle pace of life and gorgeous villages nestled amongst palms and banana trees or on the edge of delicately tiered and tended rice paddies. Even the simplest shack is surrounded by a neat and well-kept garden, with tropical roses and brightly leaved bushes in abundance. Yet while this earthly paradise is a feast for the eyes, I imagine life here could be challenging for foreigners. The few Europeans we met who living here seemed worn and rude. Brash and commanding to the people around them, their presence jarred strangely with their surroundings. Perhaps unable to ajust to the rhythm of the place, or too insensitive to understand its complex cultural nuances, they seemed ill at ease with their decisions.
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