So far there’s no witchdoctors in sight or people with caved in noses or crumbling faces; although on the ferry we do spot a man with a very flat nose that kind of joins his forehead with no visible bridge. Poor guy- perhaps he’s going to Siquijor to get the problem resolved with a healer- who knows.
We want to head to Larena when we get off the ferry but somehow we’re convinced by a trike driver to go in the complete opposite direction. He takes us miles away; it’s all very scenic and lovely, but we cannot help but feel we’re on a wild goose chase.
We pass many beautiful beaches along the way and a small town which boasts a natural spring which is free for public use. Good stuff.
Eventually we find a reasonable place to lay our heads- The Royal Cliff. It pongs a bit of damp, but the resort is very idyllic- with hammocks overlooking the water and quaint little stairs leading into carved out coves and shoreline. Apparently the water’s good to snorkel in- perfect.
The menu’s not bad either, if a tad overpriced.
We stay here for a couple of nights to recharge and assess where to go next.
When we go out for a snorkel, the tide is very low and much of the shoreline is exposed to reveal countless weird wriggly things peeking through all the cracks and crevasses. They look like evil hairy starfish; dark and skinny. Things you certainly don’t want to touch. If we want to go out, we have to cross them; there’s no choice.
We climb over the alien critters like fractured old men; bow legged and jittery.
Eventually we get into deeper water and begin our snorkel. The visibility is not so good and there doesn’t seem to be any coral or reef as such. We see some fish but overall it’s a pretty deflating experience compared to the abundant, diverse beauty of Panagsama’s reef. Only, we don’t want to get out for fear of those ugly hairy wriggly things on the shore.
Once again we hobble over the strange writhing creatures and gladly clamber ashore. Not such a royal cliff now, more a peasant rock.
Panagsama’s reef has obviously turned us into quite the snorkeling snobs.
That night we get hideously drunk - taking our speakers to the hammocks, loafing about and generally rambling in a drunken fashion. Despite our intoxication, we still manage to spot a few constellations and appreciate the many fire flies lighting up our little den. Stef also manages to break his glasses, although we don’t find this out till the morning, when they just seem to fall off his face. Very strange. He has no recollection of dropping them, but there you go.
We spend the next day, yet again with our friends the hammocks- enjoy the overpriced menu and vow never to drink again…
The morning we decide to leave for Sandugan beach (there’s supposed to be some nice chilled out resorts there) we end up waiting for ages for a trike to appear- sweating in the noon sun, backpacks an all, like a couple of morons.
The road is long and seemingly deserted, with only a few motorbikes passing by. We start to wonder if we’ll be trapped at the Royal Cliff indefinitely. I retreat back to the main reception and ask the girl there about transportation. It seems ridiculously pricey; I head back up to the road, fully prepared to walk to the nearest town, even if it kills me.
Soon however, a trike appears. We eagerly thumb him down, perhaps a little too eager, as he quotes us an even more extortionate rate. He also lies blatantly into our sweaty white faces; apparently there are no jeepneys running today.
Whatever.
We smile through gritted teeth and tell him to go on his merry way. He assures us we’ll be stuck there unless we go with him.
I give him my sweetest smile (remembering not to piss off Siquijor’s locals and find myself hexed).
“It’s fine. We’ll walk.”
Suddenly, something catches his eye; he hastily turns his wheel and scoots off, leaving a trail of thick exhaust smoke in his wake.
In the near distance and as red as a berry, a shiny new jeepney comes into view.
It seems that we are saved.
Our bags are thrown on top and we happily climb aboard. Next stop Sandugan.
