travel

INCENDIARY: Central Visayas in the eyes of a wonderstruck drifter

With a postman bag, a borrowed Canon 350D, and a rising meander-fever, I set out with some friends for mystic Siquijor where great adventures by the sea, by the hills and by the road awaited.

Little did I know that en route, I would get to experience the magic of the whole of Central Visayas.

Indeed, it was incendiary.

Knowing little of our travel itinerary, I was surprised to know that we were taking the long Catagbacan, Loon - Argao, Cebu - San Jose, Negros Oriental - Larena, Siquijor route, tracing highways in the four provinces of Central Visayas in a Toyota Revo. It turned out to be a beautiful surprise.

At the port in Catagbacan, Loon, awaited the barge that would bring us and our Revo to Argao, Cebu. The morning sun hovered by our ferry, as we sailed towards this less-trodden port in southern Cebu. Thereafter, we rode by the highway of Southern Cebu, which reminded me of the Eastern path of Bohol, again crossing sea towards the welcoming embrace of San Jose, Negros Oriental to Bais City.

With its captivating highways and enticing sceneries, Negros Oriental is entrancing.

Not even the sun’s rays distracted my attraction to the island as I was cradled by the mother ocean, its waves, shining shimmering.

Picture this: vast greeneries, golden rice fields, palpitating sugarcane plantations, easy highways, old wooden and stone-walled houses.

In Bais City, with the sea at low-tide, it was so easy to trace textures and surfaces we usually don’t see when the water’s high.

So walk, I did, by the sand filled with small shells, by the mangroves and seaweeds hung on small bamboo huts, towards the people who were at that time busy with their pagpanginhas at the shore. The best part of a trip would always be with meaningful interactions with the locals, which we did with gusto.

It was near dusk when we arrived in the capital city of Negros Oriental. At night time, Dumaguete is a pregnant womb. With the streetlights, bars, restaurants full of people and the boulevard that buys and sells literally everything (no pun intended), you’d wonder how one can give birth to these. There’s always something about the air of this university town, that’s warm and hospitable, yet, at the same time, eerie and intriguing. It could be its acacia-lined streets. Or the charming little watering holes by the famed boulevard where at one of such we spent much of the early hours of the night listening to live acoustic music while sipping our favored drink.

Five thirty, the early, early morning after, we departed for Siquijor.

Ah, Siquijor. What can I say? I was wonderstruck. This little island was anything but little with its beaches, waterfalls and beautiful structures like the Lazi Church and Convent.

Coconuts, cornfields, huge old trees on the mountain and hill tops that escort travelers towards sunset or just after sunrise and this backdrop gives you the feeling you are actually walking through the forests not just on the road. I will never forget, too, the mountains that encircle the province. Massive and magnificent become staggering understatements with the beauty of their mountain ranges not to mention the mystique as we went around the province, only, occasionally stopping for our camera shutters to go *click*, *click*, *click* and more *clicks*. Add to that, the stop-overs to springs and waterfalls along the highway.

No joke. I felt I was being hypnotized by the giant rocks and trees along the road. The rather bumpy and rough roads fit perfectly for real road trip junkies. There was this aura of being in another dimension, I felt like everything suddenly was ethereal. I was mesmerized.

Naturally, I had to ask locals about this “little thing” Siquijor is mostly known for.  I did. And the answer I got was that they have not actually witnessed a mambabarang performing barang although they are sure they exist. They are more sure, however, that these are healers using native herbs and other local medicinal components that cure almost everything. Yes, almost everything, they swear.

Come semana santa, there will be a showcase of herbal medicine cooking which is, accordingly, a main attraction.

The Siquijornons who accompanied us, volunteered other equally interesting stuff.

There is, they say, a saint dressed in black with tears in black, believed to be the saint of lost causes. No, not saint Jude, a female saint, I just couldn’t remember how she’s called. There is also a healer whose powers are so strong he can bring back to life a fermented fish. Some say snakes are afraid with the mere mention of his name.

Finally, the sun from the western sea had to set. We had to leave the island. We had to move back to Dumaguete City.

Of course, this part of every trip, is the most unwelcome. Goodbyes had to be said, to the new places and stories discovered, new acquaintances, new experiences that’s all been weaved inside you.

It was even sadder in Dumaguete. Our little traveling team was breaking up. My companions were going back to Cebu, I would be sailing back to Bohol.

At Café Memento, our highways parted. Our little region is parted by a lovely sea, but not even that could separate our islands entirely. We proved that in our two-day Central Visayas journey. And it was magical.

Bohol is special, hands down. But it is good to know that our neighboring islands, too, have their own charm.

Right after coffee, I headed towards the inner streets of Dumaguete, took parting shots of the silent, even introvert roads and old buildings before I finally walked towards the port, towards my new destination: home. Back to Bohol, where my heart is.

Tags: bohol, ceb, central visayas, dumaguete, island hopping, negros oriental, siquijor, travel