After ten minutes of being tossed around inside the bowels of a small rickety boat by waves that swelled up to ten feet I started to question why I wanted to visit Siquijor in the first place. The ferry that took us from Dumaguete was small and cramped; the crew had to place plastic bunks in order to accomodate more passengers and for some reason the cabin reeked of gasoline. It also didn’t help that the boat, while relatively free of litter, had the certain aura of being generally grimy – like it’s been ages since it’s been given a proper scrub down. The fast craft’s only bathroom was also located by the entrance to our section and for a good chunk of the journey, I feared that the smell would somehow permeate the airconditioned section (it didn’t, thank goodness).

There were no “gentle waves” that rocked our boat as a baby about to sleep, only torrential tides that (in my sea-unexperienced ignorance) seemed determined as hell to tip our boat over. I’d like to think of myself as an seasoned traveler, and although my memories of boat rides are indeed limited to island hopping trips, I can count on one hand the times I actually got sick, be it from land, sea or air travel.

The nausea-inducing boat ride was surely not for the faint of heart, but I guess it was to be expected since not only were we braving the seas during the monsoon season (October, what were we thinking?), we were also catching the whiffs of a typhoon crossing over the middle part of the Philippines.

Siquijor, being the country’s third smallest island, its sheer size only allows for an airport big enough for private planes to fly in. Unless one is really, really rich, the only other way to reach this province is through a boat. Unfortunately, the bigger type (RORO) that I would’ve preferred takes twice as long to get there and only has very few scheduled trips.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I hurled. I tried my damndest to keep it in for the short one hour ride trip but my stomach refused to help me keep my dignity right around the forty-five minute mark. Good thing I was seated beside two experience nurses who knew, just by glancing at me, that I was about to blow. My seat mates and adventure buddies, Frederick and Chenyl, readily handed me a small plastic bag, tissues and wet wipes. Because we wanted to catch the earliest trip from Dumaguete, we skipped breakfast at the hostel and I only had a chocolate sans rival that was sold at the port. This is a fact that I am thankful for because there were no chunks in the bag, mostly just brown colored acid.

Be thankful that I didn’t snap a picture of what it looked like the second time it passed my mouth.

Although I felt infinitely better afterwards, I still must’ve looked sick enough for one of the crewmen to approach me and offer me a baggie. I declined the bag but asked if I could go top deck to catch a bit of fresh air. I think it was because of the waves that they didn’t allow me to go up; it wasn’t that cramped but I guess they couldn’t risk any body being thrown around by the waves.

At the one hour mark we finally docked at the Siquijor port. While the fresh air did wonders for my shaky legs, I was still seriously questioning if this side trip was even worth it. Quickly we met our guide, Kuya __ , who whisked us away to a restaurant on a cliff for lunch, where we got to feast with the cool breeze playing with our hair and this gorgeous view in front of us.

So yes, a thousand times yes, it was totally worth it.

**The waves really so wild that I got sick again on the ferry ride back to Dumaguete. We were a little bit better prepared though; I had my own bag and tissue.