Siquijor’s Against Me

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I was extremely excited to visit Siquijor. It’s not as touristy as the other islands, it has a mystical vibe and lore of voodoo and everyone who had traveled there said only good things about it. It’s significantly smaller than Bohol and my plan was to spend five nights, rent a scooter and drive around the island.

As in all aspects of life, sometimes the un-plannable will occur. For me, it came in the form of a scooter accident, preventing me from doing everything I had planned.

My previous three and a half weeks traveling the Philippines passed by incident-free, but from the moment I stepped onto Siquijor things weren’t going my way. It felt like the island was against me. First, I tried to rent a scooter, but couldn’t because I didn’t have my license. I left my license in my apartment in Korea because I didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t have a problem renting a scooter in Coron, El Nido and Bohol. You might be thinking, “well, Joe it’s your own fault, you were stupid not to bring it” and I’d say, “I don’t think I was, I never needed a license to rent a scooter in any of the countries I’ve visited.” Usually, they accept and hold onto an ID, or take a picture of your passport.
The hostel owner suggested that if I had a picture of my license we could print it and laminate it, something he’s done for previous guests. I had a picture, but only of the front. I didn’t know what to do, seeing the island without renting a scooter would be expensive because you’d need to hire somebody daily and it doesn’t provide the freedom to stop and go where you want when you want. I was resigned to that fate, or hoping another guest yet to arrive would be okay sharing a scooter. However, the hostel owner called a guy, a “friend” he knew and they brought over a scooter. He did it out of the desire to help his guest but didn’t want any part of it. The island is a small island and the town is a small town.

I was relieved to have a scooter and had to accept what he gave me because I didn’t have other options. It wasn’t until I drove away that I realized how unreliable it was. It was a semi-automatic Honda, but not the XRM I was used to. The gear sometimes got stuck between the first and second, the speedometer didn’t work and it could barely make it up some of the hilly roads. At one point I thought I was going to have to get off and walk it up. I didn’t feel safe on it, yet I was hesitant to ask the hostel owner to call his friend. I hadn’t even been there for a day and I felt like I was asking for too much. When I told him about the bike, he agreed that I should get a new one. I said it didn’t matter if I got a scooter, anything would be better than what I had. The following day, “accident day,” they reluctantly brought me a new one. It was a good brand and looked good, but the speedometer was broken too. Siquijor wasn’t making my life easy and because of the circumstances, I didn’t have other options. Now, you may still think this is on me, if I had only brought my license none of this would have happened, but life is made of millions of choices. It’s impossible to say what would have happened.

As I made my way around the island I was getting close to my first destination, Lazi Church. A quick stop there and then I’d make my way to Cambugahay waterfall. Right before the town, there is a downhill, I was going between 40-50 kmph (25-30 mph), two Filipinos a considerable distance ahead of me were on a red scooter, the one in the back was carrying a bunch of large poles or bamboo, they slowed down and pulled onto the side of the road as Filipinos regularly do, but as I was seconds away from overtaking them, they decide to turn left down the road perpendicular without any indication. In a fraction of a second I realized I was going to crash into them, I slammed on my breaks causing my scooter to lose control and slam into the pavement. I didn’t hit them. The next thing I remember was lying on the pavement and thinking, “I can’t believe that happened” I looked to see the Filipinos had stopped a ways down the road they turned, and couldn’t believe they put their signal on now. They stopped to make sure I wasn’t dead and then drove off. I gently crab-walked out of the center of the road and laid down, I checked to make sure nothing was broken. Seemingly from nowhere were ten to fifteen people trying to talk to me at once, Spanish and English, I heard someone ask “what language does he speak?” I think they asked in Spanish because I responded in Spanish and told them what happened. A couple minutes later I was by myself, somebody had moved my bike out of the road to a little “scooter garage.” Luckily a Filipino there offered to take me to the nearby clinic, but I was terrified of getting back on a scooter.

It’s hard for me to paint an accurate description of what the scooter garage looked like because it wasn’t like anything we have in the U.S., it was more like an area of flat ground where someone decided to fix scooters. The clinic was a long hallway and the room wouldn’t have passed a sanitary inspection. In the room was a Filipino who had gotten into a scooter accident and needed a few stitches. Watching the way she stitched him without gloves made me happy for the wounds I had. The nurse who attended to me was emotionless and moved through me like she had a better place to be. I was worried about how much the visit would cost so I asked the guy getting stitches how much he had to pay, his was about $8. When I left, they didn’t ask me to pay.

When we got back to the bike, the Filipino who drove me checked it out and said they couldn’t fix it. It was un-driveable and I was on the other side of the island an hour and a half away from my hostel. I was going through my options and it didn’t seem like I had many, I couldn’t leave the bike, but I also couldn’t drive it. The Filipino drove up the road and found another roadside scooter “garage” who said they could fix it. Two hours and ten dollars later it was driveable. The left mirror was broken, the headlight didn’t work, I didn’t think the turn signals worked and the front bumper scraped against the wheel as I drove. Later that day I had planned to meet the Spanish couple I met in Anda, Bohol for dinner; I couldn’t do that anymore, but I wanted to see friendly faces and I needed to talk to someone, so I drove to them. I needed to get back before sunset so I didn’t stay long. Halfway to the hostel the front bumper fell off directly in front of the bike almost causing me to crash, but at the last second, it skipped to the side of the road.

I didn’t make it back in time, the last twenty minutes I was driving at night with no headlights. I drove with my right turn signal on(it worked) and drove slowly. I wanted to get back, but I also didn’t. I felt as if I was going back home to my parents after having done something stupid. The accident wasn’t my fault, but it was the icing to everything that’d already happened. When I got back, I felt like a dog with its tail between its legs. I was embarrassed. The owner’s wife took one look at my wounds and asked where I had gone, they had done an awful job cleaning them. She suggested going to the clinic nearby and told their son to drive me. The difference between the nurses was night and day. From the moment I stepped in they cared about my condition, they were friendly and talked to me, they gently cleaned my wounds and bandaged me. Over the next five days, as suggested by the wife, I went morning and night. I came to know a lot of the nurses and they were the sweetest and most amazing Filipino’s.

My experience in Siquijor may not have been what I had anticipated, but it was still an experience. The hostel owners were amazing and helped me with anything I needed. Their sons as well, especially Gabriel who drove me around various days to figure out fixing the bike. They made sure I didn’t get taken advantage of by the rental guy. The repairs cost me seventy more dollars. The nurses made the monotony of going to the clinic a new experience each day and my bandages provided random Filipinos an opportunity to speak to me. I wish the accident didn’t happen, but it did and we can’t change what’s already done. In the end, I’m glad I was staying where I was with those people who were around.

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The hostel is Chillout Hostel & Bar in Lanzi, Siquijor.