A Funny Misadventure

On the ferry we met a French couple, and, between my patchy French and their tentative English, we discussed accommodation in Siquijor.  Karen & Stefan were heading to a specific resort & since Aron & I only had loose plans I thought we could be spontaneous.  I told them “Sure, what the heck!” and then, seeing the furrowed brows I had to back-pedal, clarifying: “oui, on va aller avec vous.”


Coming out of the ferry terminal the four of us and our backpacks were piled into a jeepney.  We headed into the darkness for “Princesa Bulakna Resort“ on the southeast coast, a 45 minute drive.  Five minutes in, the driver picked up his son, who joined him in the front of the jeepney.  Five minutes after that, we stopped at a roadside shack.  Lined up on a table were 1 litre Coke bottles, some filled with yellow liquid, others with blue. The driver had 3 of these funneled into the gas tank.  Aron figures some were plain gas, and others were a gas/oil mix, just like for chainsaws.

Upon arrival at the resort, the gate was closed.  We waited for a security guard to come around & notice us.  Eventually the driver honked the horn.  Karen got the phone number out of her Lonely Planet but we only reached voice mail.  We called out, whistled, honked some more.  The resort itself was through the gate and down a great big hill.  There was no way that anyone would hear us.  Plus, we weren’t even sure if they were open in the off-season…

We all decided plan B would be to head to Kiwi Dive Resort near Sandugan, where Aron & I had initially thought we’d stay.  By the time we got there, it was 11:00 pm and eerily quiet.  We made the same din that we’d made back at Princesa Bulakna.  Nothing.  We couldn’t see much, but Aron found a path & took off into the darkness, heading down the hill.  Once our eyes were adjusted, we followed.

We found some beach huts & the ruckus we were making woke a tourist who was staying at the resort next door.  He told Aron that their boat had arrived at 1 in the morning and they had no problem getting a room.  We sat around brainstorming for a few minutes, occasionally commenting about how truly bizarre it was that no one was awake in Siquijor when the night-life was just getting started in Bohol.  Our driver was encouraging us to get back into the jeepney and head to San Juan, where he was certain there were lots of tourists & plenty of accommodation.  Karen was resolved that she would not go to San Juan; the Lonely Planet guide said it was no good.  She would sleep right here, on the ground.  Her only concern were the mosquitoes.  Meanwhile the guys were peeking into windows at the office/restaurant adjoined to a small hut.  Stefan had located a guy sleeping.  But nothing we did would wake this guy; we wondered if he was drunk.  In our desperation, we resorted to shining a flashlight in his face, which worked!  Thankfully, he turned out to be a good-natured fellow, and he gave us keys to two of the cottages.  We tumbled into bed, chuckling to ourselves.