Coming from the port of Dumaguete, I saw Siquijor Island as a gray blur that slowly came into view. It was a cloudy morning in July when our Montenegro ferry sailed over placid waters. Welcome back to Siquijor, I told myself as the island emerged with more vivid colors, noise, and activity.
The first time I came here was for a week-long arnis workshop one hot August week in 2019. We stayed in San Juan, and I remember that at low tide, the sea in front of our accommodation pulled so far back that it left a vast tidal flat in its place. You could walk toward the stunning sunset for a while on the soft, gray sand before your feet finally got wet.
This time, our resort, a place called El Pergentina in Tinago, was closer to the town, or poblacion. It was a charming place with a wide and pretty pool that overlooked the Bohol Sea. You couldn’t swim in the sea if you were billeted here because the Pergentina owners locked the gates that led to the beach. “Just enjoy the view and stay alive,” they seemed to say. Like this one, many of Siquijor’s beaches are fringed by coral reefs and sharp sedimentary rocks. Many of them also have a shallow shelf that suddenly plunges where the reef drops into the open water.
But the resort’s star attraction, to me at least, would be Kali, the resort dog. She’s a pure-black Min Pin with a shiny coat, docked tail, and big, erect ears. She’s quicksilver in dog form: here one moment, gone the next. She barks with such confidence that you’d think she owned the place. She’s set loose and loves to weave her way between the tables and the guests’ legs, sometimes sitting in an empty chair for one second before moving on to her next fancied thing.
I asked the cashier-manager if Kali bites, expecting her to say no, of course, since the little devil freely roams around and interacts with the resort guests, including children. To my utter surprise, she said yes, but “it’s just a nip, not painful at all.”
Obviously, Kali is a well-socialized dog, and she’s warm and accepting of almost everyone, except sweaty males like the delivery guys, guards, resort workers, carpenters, and others marked by that same earthy musk. She’s reserved her most piercing, rapid-fire barking for the ordinary working man.
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Almost everyone we’ve asked about Siquijor’s longstanding reputation for sorcery and witchcraft dismissed it as something that existed in the past, but has no place in modern Siquijor. That old reputation once kept visitors away, especially Filipinos, for fear of the mangkukulam and mambabarang. Now the province is being rebranded as a place of healing and restoration, fully embracing the mystique it’s known for.
I read somewhere that the provincial tourism office now runs an annual Folk Healing Festival, Pahi-uli, turning the spotlight on Siquijor’s healers and restorative traditions. The first one was held in 2010 as part of the province’s Holy Week practices. The local government wants to bring in more tourists and remove the “witch island” stigma, focusing instead on wellness rather than witchcraft.
But still popular among visitors are the Hapitanan Broomshot in Lazi and the souvenir shop near the Old Enchanted Balete Tree where you can buy witchy pasalubong like keychain voodoo dolls, amulets, and love potions in tiny bottles. It’s apparent that people don’t want to fully let go of the old Siquijor mythos.
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From Siquijor Island, it was a rough boat ride back to Dumaguete. The slow-moving ferry kept swaying wildly from side to side, buoyed by the heaving waters. As we drove in from the port, I remembered having a nice breakfast at a restaurant along Rizal Boulevard with my arnis group some years ago. This time, we checked in at a boutique hotel a few meters away from Lantaw Native Restaurant. We were going to stay one night just to see some sights and buy pasalubong before flying back to Manila the next afternoon.
I panicked slightly when I realized that there was nothing worth buying from the two shops that we visited. What was I going to give to friends? To my son back home, who I’d left in charge of all the chores and the responsibility of taking care of six pets for four straight days? I picked up two small items (pen holders) as a last resort, and I was done shopping.
There was a baccalaureate mass going on when we stopped by the Church of St. Catherine of Alexandria, more popularly known as Dumaguete Cathedral, the island’s oldest stone church. Some folks from my group had photos taken by the detached campanario, one of the oldest heritage landmarks of Dumaguete.
From there, it was a short drive to the National Museum at the Old Presidencia Building, which sits on the City Hall grounds along Calle Sta. Catalina. We were welcomed by a museum guide dressed in goth style, speaking with a slow and deep drawl. On exhibit at the museum at that time were five diptych artworks by Fine Arts students who took part in a “textured painting workshop.” But as a japa mala maker working with semi-precious stones, I was particularly drawn to the museum’s rocks and minerals display: quartz, spar, andesite, and so on.
Before finishing the tour, we enjoyed some time at the balcony, which offered a great view of Quezon Park, the Cathedral, and Cuernos de Negros (Horns of Dark/Negros), the second-highest mountain on Negros Island after Mt. Kanlaon. We stopped by the #ILoveDumaguete sign by the sea, a popular spot for photo-ops. Island visitors took turns posing in front of the colorful letters; we even poked our faces from behind, in between the letters’ gaps and spaces—it was actually quite funny. A group of Korean nationals, together with their Pinoy guide, asked me to take their picture. That was a brief moment of connection.
Before heading to the airport, almost every visitor stops by Sans Rival Cakes & Pastries first, to pick up their famous—what else—Sans Rival (and Silvanas). I mention this because the lines can be crazy, even though everyone knows the butter in these pastries risks melting somewhere along the long journey from Negros Oriental to wherever they’re flying next. So I ended up not getting the buttery desserts, and simply settled for the less popular, but more stable, cake varieties.
When I think about Dumaguete, I think of the not-so-few people who have told me that, if given a chance, they would choose to retire or settle down here. I can see what they mean. It has earned its title as the “City of Gentle People.” It’s giving that laid-back-as-a-Sunday-afternoon-in-a-rocking-chair vibe, while seamlessly blending city life with provincial charm.
***
There was a man I overheard on the phone, apparently talking to his child. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just sitting nearby and couldn’t help but catch the words. What he said broke my heart:
“Why did you write a letter last night saying I’m a bad daddy?”
He was at work when I heard him. It made me think of all the times I’d left my own kid in someone else’s care just so I could go to work. It’s our reality as parents, wherever we are in the world. So I suppose this short travel account is my love letter, not just to these places, but to that man, to every working parent, and to anyone who can’t be in two places at once, no matter how much they wish they could.
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