Siquijor island part 1

Siquijor island part 1

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.

Pricey hospital tag

Manila II

Manila II

Manila is made up of a network of cities; a huge congested mass of humanity many of whom appear to exist in extreme poverty, in makeshift shacks which fill vast swathes of the metropolis, whilst the privileged navigate across the choked city space from one air conditioned artificial environment to another; high rise flat, big American car, super mall. There is a place called 'high street'; even this is a mall built to resemble an american high street. In the worst light, this place could be described as the ultimate postmodern dystopia, a shrine to simulacra and testimony to the potential failure of mass capitalism and the corruption of consumerist greed. In a better light, it a bustling, exciting metropolis pumping money into the Philippines, the great pulsating heart and life blood of the islands.

Education, even at primary level, and basic healthcare come at a cost. There are only 2 main state hospitals serving the entire city. When Theo developed an eye infection on new years day, we went to the private hospital and we were seen almost immediately. The hospital was immaculate, a shining white medical haven. They correctly diagnosed him with an allergy, gave him a shot of anti- histamine and prescribed various medicines. An effortless experience, highly organised and efficient. Dylan enjoys this amazing standard of care, but it comes at a price. Even Theo's name tag, the cotton wool and sticky tape were billed. We paid up, and it was goodbye to the smiling doctors and back into the sticky confusion outside.

Every destination in this city seems an incredible mission to reach. To procure basic things, like bread or milk, requires a car trip outside the 'fort' ( Dylan's gated community is called fort bonifacio), a security check, a drive through traffic jams, another security check to park and a trip through the enormous mall, and often a long queue. Not a place for pedestrians, there is no 'popping' out on foot. Some roads are seemingly impossible to cross - even the forms entertainment available are manufactured, with family holidays based in theme parks and resorts.

One does not have to be super-rich to have a luxury lifestyle, especially if your money has been made abroad. A school teacher in a private school could enjoy a fleet of staff, with a chauffeur, nanny, maid and gardener. It is also not so unusual to travel with bodygards - the children of important foreign diplomats are taken to school by their body guards, who also partake in any school outings, bringing the pistol and pack lunch.

Manila market

Driving in Manila

Lala's lovely family