Siquijor

After twenty years of traveling the Philippines, we thought we’d seen the best of what the islands had to offer. Then we started reading about Siquijor — white sand beaches with almost nobody on them, a 72-kilometer ring road with no traffic, and a laid-back vibe that sounded like what Boracay and Siargao used to be before the crowds found them. That’s what put it on our list. Uncrowded beauty. Simple as that.

What we didn’t fully appreciate was the other side of Siquijor — the side that makes every Filipino we’ve ever mentioned it to lower their voice and glance sideways. “Mag-ingat ka doon,” they’d say. Be careful there. Not with a smile. Not like a joke. Jenice’s own family back in Pampanga would just shake their heads when the island came up.

In 2024, we were planning a Visayas island-hopping trip — Clark to Cebu, ferry to Bohol, then onward — and Siquijor was right there on the map, a short crossing from Bohol’s southern coast. Jenice’s sister and her fiancé came along to explore new destinations and help out with our two-year-old, which gave us the freedom to actually experience the island properly.

We found exactly what we came for — the beaches, the quiet, the pace of life. But we also found something we weren’t prepared for. An island with a history so layered and strange that it gets under your skin and stays there.

We came expecting a beach island. What hit us first was the stillness.

The ferry engine cuts, you glide toward the pier, and something shifts. The air gets heavier. Not humid-heavy — old heavy. Like the island has been holding its breath for a very long time. You can feel, immediately, that this place has a longer memory than most.

Siquijor port has a small-island energy that’s immediately obvious. Collecting our luggage off the ferry was a bit of an adventure — bags coming off in no particular order, everyone sorting through the pile on the pier — but it was all good fun. We’d arranged a van pickup through The Bruce Resort, and the driver found us within minutes. That kind of organization set the tone for the whole stay.

We’d taken a morning ferry and arrived before our rooms were ready, but The Bruce had a customer lounge right next to the office — secure, air-conditioned, and perfect for storing bags. That gave us the freedom to explore the area immediately instead of standing around waiting. We grabbed coffee across the street, and I went down to Monkey Business — a bar and restaurant right next door to the resort — for a Filipino food sampler that was surprisingly good for a first meal on a tiny island.

This doesn’t feel like my Philippines. — Jenice, standing at the Siquijor port

She was right. The language here is Bisaya. The spiritual traditions make devout Kapampangans uneasy. The whole energy of the place runs on a different frequency than anything we’d felt in twenty years of crisscrossing this country.

And then you get past the port, find your way to the coast, and the beaches deliver everything you came for. But that initial feeling — the weight, the stillness, the sense of something older than you watching — it never quite leaves.

If you want the manicured luxury of Boracay or the Instagram limestone of El Nido, you’re in the wrong place. But if you want to know what Boracay felt like twenty years ago — before the resorts, before the crowds, before someone decided to pave over the magic — Siquijor is the closest thing left.

That’s not just nostalgia talking — the numbers are almost identical. When I first visited Boracay in the early 2000s, the island was drawing around 300,000 visitors a year. Siquijor hit 273,000 in 2025. Same scale, same vibe, same mix of backpackers and small guesthouses with no international chains in sight. Agoda just named Siquijor the fastest-growing travel destination in the Philippines. An airport is in the works. Nearly 500 new hotel rooms are planned. Those are the exact same signals that preceded Boracay’s explosion from 300,000 visitors to over two million — the explosion that eventually got the island shut down by the president and called a cesspool in 2018.

While Bohol — where we’d just come from — and Siargao have surrendered to mass tourism, Siquijor remains raw. The vibe is backpacker-beach in the best possible sense: unhurried, a little scruffy, completely unconcerned with whether you’re impressed.

And then there’s the size. You can circle the entire province on a scooter in a single morning — 72 kilometers of coastal road winding through sleepy Spanish-era towns and empty white-sand coves without a single traffic jam. After the crowds at Alona Beach, it felt like someone had turned the volume all the way down.

To understand why Filipinos whisper about Siquijor, you have to go back centuries.

The first layer is the name itself. When Spanish galleons sailed through the dark Sulu Sea in the 1600s, sailors looked toward the hills of this small island and saw them flickering with an eerie, pulsing light. They called it Isla del Fuego — the Island of Fire — and assumed the glow was volcanic. It wasn’t. It was millions of fireflies congregating in the canopy of giant molave trees, breathing in unison like one enormous living thing. Beautiful, yes — but to exhausted sailors on a black ocean, it must have looked like the island itself was alive.

The second layer is what happened when those sailors actually landed. The story goes that a Spanish ship’s crew fell ill during a voyage and pulled into Siquijor desperate for help. The locals obliged, using the only medicine they knew — herbal concoctions, chanting, ritual healing passed down through generations. It worked. But the process terrified the Spaniards. What the islanders saw as folk medicine, the colonizers saw as sorcery. They left and branded Siquijor the “Island of Witches” — a label that has clung to it for over four hundred years.

The third layer runs deeper than colonial misunderstanding. Siquijor’s healing traditions are real, ancient, and still very much alive. The island is home to the mananambal — folk healers who have practiced their craft here for generations, long before the Spanish ever arrived. The knowledge passes within families: herbalists in the village of San Antonio learn the craft as young as thirteen, inheriting recipes and rituals from great-great-grandparents. The Association of Siquijor Healers has nearly seventy members across the island, with San Antonio as its spiritual center.

But here’s where it gets complicated. Filipino folk healing exists on a spectrum. On one side are the white healers — practitioners who use herbs, massage, pulse reading, smoke rituals, and the famous bolo-bolo water ceremony to cure ailments. On the other side are the mambabarang — sorcerers said to be capable of inflicting harm through spells and dark rituals. The mananambal of Siquijor are traditionally healers, not sorcerers, but in Filipino culture, the line between the two has always been blurry. The widespread belief is that a healer powerful enough to cure is also powerful enough to harm. That ambiguity is what gives the island its edge.

And then there’s the folklore. Siquijor sits at the heart of the Visayan supernatural tradition — a world populated by aswang (shape-shifting creatures that prey on humans after dark), diwata (nature spirits inhabiting forests and mountains), and mangkukulam (witches who use spells and potions to cause harm). Every province in the Philippines has these stories, but Siquijor is the one place where they feel less like folklore and more like local news.

The culmination of all this is the annual Healing Festival, held during Holy Week in the village of San Antonio. On Black Saturday — the day between Christ’s death and resurrection, when spirits are believed to roam freely — healers from across the Visayas and Mindanao converge on Siquijor. They gather barks, roots, herbs, dirt, insects, and other ingredients from the island’s forests, caves, and cemeteries, then boil everything together in massive cauldrons of coconut oil while chanting incantations. The resulting potions — including the famous “black oil” — are believed to be extraordinarily potent because they’re prepared during the one window of the year when the spirit world and the physical world overlap.

None of this was why we booked our ferry tickets. We came for the white sand and the quiet. But understanding this history changes the way you experience the island. That heaviness in the air when you step off the ferry, the strange stillness under the Balete Tree, the way locals regard the forests and the sea with a respect that feels older than Catholicism — it all makes sense when you know what’s underneath.

Reading about the mananambal is one thing. Sitting in front of one is something else entirely.

The bolo-bolo ceremony is the ritual most visitors encounter. The healer places a glass of water against your body, drops in a black stone, and blows through a bamboo straw. You watch the water turn murky. I’m not going to try to explain what we saw. But I’ll tell you this — Jenice, the most pragmatic Kapampangan woman I know, got very quiet afterward. She didn’t say it was real. She didn’t say it wasn’t. She just said, “Some things you don’t need to explain.”

Coming from her, that’s as close to an endorsement as you’ll get.

The 400-year-old Enchanted Balete Tree shows up on every Siquijor list, and normally that’s enough to make me skeptical. But standing under it, I understood.

The tree is massive — a tangled cathedral of aerial roots dropping into a natural spring where fish swim around your feet. It’s beautiful in a way that photographs completely fail to capture. The air around it feels different. Cooler. Thicker. Our whole group — even the toddler — went quiet for a moment, which almost never happens.

There’s a little compound around the tree worth spending time at. We did the fish spa — tiny fish cleaning your feet in the spring water — which the kids loved. They had pretty good coffee and snacks, and we spotted a tarsier in a small viewing area nearby. If you’ve been to the Tarsier Sanctuary in Bohol, this is a more casual encounter, but still a treat if you haven’t seen one of these tiny, ancient-looking creatures up close.

If you only go to one beach on Siquijor, make it Paliton.

It’s a long, narrow stretch of white sand with old-growth trees leaning out over the water. No resort behind it, no loud bar, no jet skis — just sand, shade, and water so clear it looks like someone adjusted the saturation. On a weekday, you might share it with a handful of other people. The water is shallow and calm near the shore, which makes it ideal if you’re traveling with small kids — our son refused to leave.

We set up at one of the picnic tables in the shaded area near the beach and stayed for hours. There are a few vendors selling food, snacks, water, and beer — nothing fancy, but enough that you don’t need to pack a cooler. I snorkeled off the beach here for a good stretch and the visibility was excellent. Bring your own mask and fins — there’s no rental setup.

This is the Siquijor beach that ruins you for the crowded ones.

The snorkeling at the Tubod Marine Sanctuary, right next to Coco Grove Beach Resort, was the other experience we keep coming back to in conversation.

The sanctuary extends out quite a distance from shore and gets fairly deep — this isn’t a wade-in-and-look-down situation. What makes Tubod accessible is that you can hire a local guide — and you should, especially if you’re not the most confident swimmer. Jenice and her sister both hired guides for a minimal fee, and each guide brought a safety ring that they used to pull them through the water. It took all the anxiety out of it. Jenice isn’t a strong swimmer and she had one of the best experiences of the trip. The guides know exactly where to go, keep you safe, and point out things you’d swim right past — giant clams, sea turtles, coral formations that look like underwater architecture. She went in hesitant and came out already talking about doing it again.

Non-guests can access the sanctuary for a small fee — around ₱50–₱100 — and it’s the best money you’ll spend on the island. The beach at Coco Grove itself is beautiful and honestly worth a stay just for the proximity to the sanctuary. Siquijor is one of the top spots on our best snorkeling in the Philippines guide — and Tubod is the reason why.

Where to Eat in Siquijor

Here’s something we didn’t expect: Jenice loved the food. If you know anything about Pampanga, you know it’s the culinary capital of the Philippines. She is not easy to impress. So when she started ordering seconds of the kinilaw — raw fish cured in vinegar and calamansi — we knew Siquijor was doing something right.

The food scene is small but charming — seafood-forward, light, built around whatever came out of the water that morning. The San Juan strip has a surprisingly solid circuit. Explore more regional dishes in our Philippine cuisine guide.

Baha Bar — San Juan staple. Filipino fusion in a gorgeous wooden structure right on the beach. Great cocktails at sunset happy hour and solid food to match the views. ₱300–600 ($5.40–11 USD).

L’s Cafe — Walk across the bridge from the main San Juan strip. Live acoustic band, great food, good drinks, and genuinely attentive service. This was our best sit-down dinner on the island. ₱250–500 ($4.50–9 USD).

Salamandas — Wood-fired pizza in a relaxed garden setting. The best pizza on the island and a welcome change of pace when you need a break from seafood. ₱250–450 ($4.50–8 USD).

Coco Grove Beach Resort restaurant — Open to non-guests and worth the visit. Seafood-heavy menu with sunset views over the water. Pair it with a snorkel session at the adjacent Tubod Marine Sanctuary. ₱300–700 ($5.40–12.60 USD).

Siquijor port carinderias and market stalls — Cheap local food right off the ferry. Rice and viand combos for under $3 — this is how locals eat. The seafood grill stalls near the port serve the day’s catch charcoal-grilled with vinegar dipping sauce. ₱80–150 ($1.45–2.70 USD).

Monkey Business — Right next to The Bruce Resort. Great bar-restaurant with solid Filipino food and more personality than you’d expect from a tiny island. Order the kinilaw — raw fish cured in vinegar and calamansi — anywhere you see it on a menu. ₱200–400 ($3.60–7.20 USD).

One note on the walk: there’s no sidewalk on the main road through San Juan. We managed fine with a stroller, but be careful, especially after dark. Stick to the shoulder and keep an eye out for motorcycles.

We did the full island tour loop in a single day using The Bruce Resort’s van service, and for a group of four or five people, renting the van is the move. It made everything easy — stop wherever we wanted, eat when we wanted, keep our own schedule. With a toddler, that flexibility was everything.

Salagdoong Beach was our first stop and a highlight for the whole family. The water is incredibly clear and shallow close to shore — perfect for kids. We didn’t do the cliff jumping, but watched plenty of people take the leap from the platforms. There’s a minimal entrance fee and basic facilities. If you want the postcard Siquijor beach experience with actual swimming, this is it.

Cambugahay Falls was on our list, but it was closed due to runoff when we visited — a reminder that even the best-known attractions are subject to weather and seasonal conditions. The photos look amazing, and it’s clearly a must-see when it’s open. Pro tip: Check with your hotel about current conditions before making it the centerpiece of your day. If it’s been raining heavily, have a backup plan.

Paliton Beach was where we spent the most time (see the beach section above).

Tubod Marine Sanctuary closed out the tour and was the standout (see the snorkeling section above).

Mount Bandilaan National Park had truly amazing views of the island and surrounding sea. Worth the short detour even if you don’t hike — the viewpoint is accessible from the road.

Lazi Church, one of the oldest in the Philippines, was just closing when we arrived — and that’s the one timing lesson from our day. The church and convent keep limited hours, so hit it early or mid-afternoon rather than saving it for the end of your loop.

One thing we didn’t feel the need to do: island hopping. Unlike Bohol or Cebu, where hopping to offshore islands is practically required for good snorkeling, Siquijor’s beaches and marine sanctuaries are all accessible from shore. The snorkeling at Tubod and Paliton was as good as anything we’ve done from a boat elsewhere in the Visayas. Save your money and your seasick stomach.

We island-hopped the entire Visayas on ferries — Cebu to Bohol, Bohol to Siquijor, Siquijor to Dumaguete — and the single best practical decision we made was booking business class every time.

On OceanJet, the upgrade is almost nothing — maybe ₱200–₱400 more than economy — and the difference is enormous. Air-conditioning that actually works. Assigned seating so you’re not fighting for space with your bags. A genuinely comfortable, relaxing ride where you can enjoy the crossing instead of just enduring it.

Book the earliest morning ferry when you can — calmer water, better light, and you arrive with the whole day ahead of you.

Where to Stay in Siquijor

Coco Grove Beach Resort — The island’s premier property with the best beach, a pool, and direct access to the Tubod Marine Sanctuary next door. The sunset views from the restaurant alone are worth it. ₱4,500–7,000/night ($81–126 USD).

The Bruce Resort — Our pick in San Juan. A-frame cabanas right on the sand with kitchenettes, ice-cold AC, a pool, and a bar with live acoustic music at happy hour. They also run a reliable van service for island tours. ₱2,000–3,500/night ($36–63 USD).

Salamangka Beach & Dive Resort — Quiet, clean, right on the water with a dive shop on-site. A nature-retreat vibe tucked away from the San Juan strip — perfect for those who want peace over nightlife. ₱2,800/night ($50 USD).

JJ’s Backpackers Village — The social hub for backpackers on Siquijor. Pool, bar, beach, and the best sunset views from the cliff. Live music most nights and the kind of easy energy that makes solo travelers feel at home. ₱500–1,500/night ($9–27 USD).

Budget guesthouses near Siquijor port — Simple rooms within walking distance of the ferry terminal for early departures or late arrivals. Basic but clean, and you’re right in Siquijor town with local eateries and ATMs nearby. ₱400–1,000/night ($7–18 USD).

Most travelers base themselves in San Juan, the island’s sunset capital and the center of the restaurant and bar scene. Here’s what we experienced firsthand:

We walked past JJ’s on a Saturday evening and it was already pumping. Came back later that night after putting the little one to bed — the beach bar had great music, friendly bartenders, and solid security. They know how to throw a good party. If you’re under 35 and traveling solo or with friends, this is your spot.

The Bruce Resort was our pick, and the whole experience exceeded expectations. I’d emailed ahead and was impressed from the first exchange — the front desk was responsive, made reservations without requiring a deposit, provided the ferry schedule unprompted, and arranged a van pickup from the port. That level of organization carried through the entire stay.

The resort is named after its founder, Bruce, and his brother — incredibly hospitable — runs the day-to-day. The staff was consistently great. We stayed in their A-frame cabanas right on the sand: two beds each, a kitchenette, ice-cold AC, decent bathrooms, and a nice little porch for drying swimsuits and snorkel gear. There’s a pool, a bar with good drinks, and an acoustic guitarist who plays during happy hour. The beach swings are a nice touch — not the best swimming beach, but very walkable and relaxing.

They also run a reliable van service for island tours, which was a game-changer for our group of five.

Coco Grove is the upscale option, and after snorkeling Tubod Marine Sanctuary right next door, we’d say the proximity alone makes it worth considering.

Siquijor is remote enough that some basics require advance planning. Here’s what caught us off guard — and what we’d tell a friend before they book.

We left by morning ferry to Dumaguete — business class again, calm water, the island shrinking behind us off the upper deck. The crossing is only about 45 minutes. Dumaguete is a lively university city with solid food and cheap flights back to Manila or Cebu, making it the natural exit point from a Visayas loop. We had a great time exploring it too — but that’s another page.

Watching Siquijor disappear, I kept thinking about what surprised me most. It wasn’t the healers or the mysticism — we’d heard about that for years. It was the beaches. The empty, white-sand, no-one-else-around beaches. The pace of life. The fact that you can circle an entire island province in a morning and never once feel rushed. Siquijor delivered exactly what we came looking for — the laid-back, uncrowded island vibe that’s vanishing everywhere else in the Philippines — and then gave us a layer of history and mystery we didn’t know we wanted.

I told Jenice it reminded me of Boracay — the Boracay I visited over twenty years ago, before the resorts swallowed the shoreline and the party boats drowned out the waves. That unhurried, empty-beach, nobody-knows-about-this-place energy that made you want to guard the secret. Siquijor still has it. For how long, I don’t know — the island added 31,000 visitors in a single year, the airport is coming, and the hotel developers are already buying beachfront in San Juan. But right now, today, it’s still the island Boracay used to be. That’s what’s bringing us back.