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Surfing in Siargao (but not for me)

Published: 14.09.2026

Johanna says with a smile. In fact, I could be her grandfather, but that’s not what matters: She will be traveling for at least 18 months, I ad infinitum, and accordingly, we have countless stories to share that are now all bubbling up. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>In General Luna, resorts line up one after another, with restaurants for every taste and budget interspersed, along with the usual street bustle. I've settled in at 'Puyo Suites', a simple guesthouse where the 'suites' are more a marketing idea than reality; however, the rooms are fine, and the staff is great. My anchor will be the 'Siargao Book Café', which is open 24/7; in the evenings, I switch between 'La Mesa' and 'My Greek Tavern', which serves a souvlaki that's almost as good as the one I usually prepare myself in Switzerland.</p>

<p style='text-align:justify'><b>The Beach of the Dead</b></p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>I walk along the beach of General Luna, which, to be honest, is nothing special – after three months in Indonesia, you become picky. Then I come to a spot called 'Cemetery Beach', and that's exactly what it is: a cemetery with concrete graves, signs, and posters displaying the names, photos, and life dates of the deceased, separated from the sand by a low wall; in front of it, children are wrestling over a soccer ball. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>I wonder what Perly Espejon died of, only 23 years old, on October 25, 2025. A crumpled poster reminds me of her. As a father, I think of her parents; I can hardly imagine a more painful experience than the death of one’s own child. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'><b>Hopping from Island to Island</b></p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>From the beaches around General Luna, you can see small islands shimmering on the horizon, and so it seems natural to book a boat trip for island-hopping the next day. In the morning, a tuk-tuk picks us up from the guesthouse, consisting of me, Nina, a tourist from Manila, and Ken and Lordy, a Filipino couple. Our boat is filled with twelve tourists – most of whom are Filipinos and Filipinas.</p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>We chug out to Guyam Island, a circular islet that you can walk around in five minutes, with a forest in the middle. Next to the small sandy beach, there are shores with sharp-edged black rocks where swimming is prohibited – and even the sandy beach is mostly off-limits because tourist boats dock here one after another. A woman with a megaphone gives unintelligible but echoing instructions throughout the island. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>At Naked Island, the next stop, you hardly want to climb off the boat: The island is indeed completely naked, just a long sandbank. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>At the last stop, Daku, countless outrigger boats lie like dead insects on the beach; under canopies waits a picturesque lunch buffet of pork, fish, and fruits on banana leaves, which is quickly devoured. Between the islands, we make stops for snorkeling. The disappointment is great: The corals are dead both in front of Guyam and Naked Island.</p>

<p style='text-align:justify'><b>Exploring the Island by Scooter</b></p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>Of course, I want to explore what exists outside the tourist hotspot of General Luna. For that, I rent a scooter and first have to reprogram my reflexes: After almost five months in Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia, where you drive on the left, I must get used to right-hand traffic again in the Philippines. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>The first stop in the south is Secret Beach, actually Guiwan Beach; the last stretch is walked through a palm grove, but the march is worth it: just a few surfers, white, fine sand, and an almost perfect palm backdrop. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>I continue to Del Carmen on the west coast, where a man proudly talks to me about the age of the nearly four-hundred-year-old parish church. The giant Madonna statue backlit and a collection of statues depicting the Stations of the Cross are striking – popular art, but it touches even me as a non-religious person. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>On the way north, I come across fishing villages on stilts over the water, which seem to belong to another world than the holiday hotspots and touch tourism only to the extent that they become backdrops for cell phone photos, a role they certainly were not built for.</p>

<p style='text-align:justify'><b>Fighting Roosters and Shouting Men</b></p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>On the main road, outside the villages, suddenly a spot appears where dozens of tricycles and scooters are parked haphazardly. From afar, I hear loud shouting and follow the noise, driven by curiosity. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>In a large wooden shed, I realize what it’s about: cockfighting. Men stand around, holding their animals in their arms; crowing comes from wooden enclosures. You pay 250 pesos to enter and climb a makeshift arena with a kind of small boxing ring in the middle – photography is strictly prohibited. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>The wooden arena is packed with men; only a few stalls for mineral water and snacks in the background are manned by women. It smells strongly of sweat, cigarette smoke, and a hint of chicken manure. A guy in the ring takes bets from the men, who yell at him, waving banknotes. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>Then two excited, fluttering animals are brought in, both with metal spurs on their feet, which they try to tear off nervously. The fights are short, almost disappointingly short for the noise that accompanies them. The two roosters, one white and one golden, go at each other, pecking away; feathers burst out, a tangled mass moving violently, and then the white bird lies limply on the ground. The owner picks it up and carries it out with its head hanging, while the winner in the ring waits for the next challenger.</p>

<p style='text-align:justify'><b>Like Out of a Brochure</b></p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>After this male entertainment, which takes place every Sunday, I continue to Alegria Beach all the way to the northern tip of the island: a long, almost deserted, palm-fringed beach like out of a holiday brochure. I like it here; I have a fish dish served at 'Platil's Beach Resort Food House' and enjoy a San Miguel – but only one. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>Soon I continue on, through a coconut plantation and past beaches with families spending their Sunday here. In the village of Pilar, Dafina Beach presents itself in almost obligatory splendor, but the simple village of wooden and corrugated iron houses directly borders it, so the family life plays out on the sand. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>At sunset, I stand on the Catagnan Bridge over one of the rivers that traverse the island. Here, they say, you get the most beautiful sunset on the whole island, and around 5:30 PM, hundreds of people gather. A few daredevils jump from the bridge into the water; in the backlight, stand-up paddlers and rowers pass by. </p>

<p style='text-align:justify'>Although clouds obscure the spectacle today, and the promised riot of colors fades. In the upcoming night, I ride my scooter back to General Luna, feeling that in just one day, I have experienced more of Siargao than if I had lounged on one of the beaches for a week.</p> — Johanna says with a smile. In fact, I could be her grandfather, but that’s not what matters: She will be traveling for at least 18 months, I ad infinitum, and accordingly, we have countless stories to share that are now all bubbling up. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>In General Luna, resorts line up one after another, with restaurants for every taste and budget interspersed, along with the usual street bustle. I've settled in at 'Puyo Suites', a simple guesthouse where the 'suites' are more a marketing idea than reality; however, the rooms are fine, and the staff is great. My anchor will be the 'Siargao Book Café', which is open 24/7; in the evenings, I switch between 'La Mesa' and 'My Greek Tavern', which serves a souvlaki that's almost as good as the one I usually prepare myself in Switzerland.</p> <p style='text-align:justify'><b>The Beach of the Dead</b></p> <p style='text-align:justify'>I walk along the beach of General Luna, which, to be honest, is nothing special – after three months in Indonesia, you become picky. Then I come to a spot called 'Cemetery Beach', and that's exactly what it is: a cemetery with concrete graves, signs, and posters displaying the names, photos, and life dates of the deceased, separated from the sand by a low wall; in front of it, children are wrestling over a soccer ball. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>I wonder what Perly Espejon died of, only 23 years old, on October 25, 2025. A crumpled poster reminds me of her. As a father, I think of her parents; I can hardly imagine a more painful experience than the death of one’s own child. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'><b>Hopping from Island to Island</b></p> <p style='text-align:justify'>From the beaches around General Luna, you can see small islands shimmering on the horizon, and so it seems natural to book a boat trip for island-hopping the next day. In the morning, a tuk-tuk picks us up from the guesthouse, consisting of me, Nina, a tourist from Manila, and Ken and Lordy, a Filipino couple. Our boat is filled with twelve tourists – most of whom are Filipinos and Filipinas.</p> <p style='text-align:justify'>We chug out to Guyam Island, a circular islet that you can walk around in five minutes, with a forest in the middle. Next to the small sandy beach, there are shores with sharp-edged black rocks where swimming is prohibited – and even the sandy beach is mostly off-limits because tourist boats dock here one after another. A woman with a megaphone gives unintelligible but echoing instructions throughout the island. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>At Naked Island, the next stop, you hardly want to climb off the boat: The island is indeed completely naked, just a long sandbank. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>At the last stop, Daku, countless outrigger boats lie like dead insects on the beach; under canopies waits a picturesque lunch buffet of pork, fish, and fruits on banana leaves, which is quickly devoured. Between the islands, we make stops for snorkeling. The disappointment is great: The corals are dead both in front of Guyam and Naked Island.</p> <p style='text-align:justify'><b>Exploring the Island by Scooter</b></p> <p style='text-align:justify'>Of course, I want to explore what exists outside the tourist hotspot of General Luna. For that, I rent a scooter and first have to reprogram my reflexes: After almost five months in Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia, where you drive on the left, I must get used to right-hand traffic again in the Philippines. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>The first stop in the south is Secret Beach, actually Guiwan Beach; the last stretch is walked through a palm grove, but the march is worth it: just a few surfers, white, fine sand, and an almost perfect palm backdrop. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>I continue to Del Carmen on the west coast, where a man proudly talks to me about the age of the nearly four-hundred-year-old parish church. The giant Madonna statue backlit and a collection of statues depicting the Stations of the Cross are striking – popular art, but it touches even me as a non-religious person. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>On the way north, I come across fishing villages on stilts over the water, which seem to belong to another world than the holiday hotspots and touch tourism only to the extent that they become backdrops for cell phone photos, a role they certainly were not built for.</p> <p style='text-align:justify'><b>Fighting Roosters and Shouting Men</b></p> <p style='text-align:justify'>On the main road, outside the villages, suddenly a spot appears where dozens of tricycles and scooters are parked haphazardly. From afar, I hear loud shouting and follow the noise, driven by curiosity. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>In a large wooden shed, I realize what it’s about: cockfighting. Men stand around, holding their animals in their arms; crowing comes from wooden enclosures. You pay 250 pesos to enter and climb a makeshift arena with a kind of small boxing ring in the middle – photography is strictly prohibited. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>The wooden arena is packed with men; only a few stalls for mineral water and snacks in the background are manned by women. It smells strongly of sweat, cigarette smoke, and a hint of chicken manure. A guy in the ring takes bets from the men, who yell at him, waving banknotes. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>Then two excited, fluttering animals are brought in, both with metal spurs on their feet, which they try to tear off nervously. The fights are short, almost disappointingly short for the noise that accompanies them. The two roosters, one white and one golden, go at each other, pecking away; feathers burst out, a tangled mass moving violently, and then the white bird lies limply on the ground. The owner picks it up and carries it out with its head hanging, while the winner in the ring waits for the next challenger.</p> <p style='text-align:justify'><b>Like Out of a Brochure</b></p> <p style='text-align:justify'>After this male entertainment, which takes place every Sunday, I continue to Alegria Beach all the way to the northern tip of the island: a long, almost deserted, palm-fringed beach like out of a holiday brochure. I like it here; I have a fish dish served at 'Platil's Beach Resort Food House' and enjoy a San Miguel – but only one. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>Soon I continue on, through a coconut plantation and past beaches with families spending their Sunday here. In the village of Pilar, Dafina Beach presents itself in almost obligatory splendor, but the simple village of wooden and corrugated iron houses directly borders it, so the family life plays out on the sand. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>At sunset, I stand on the Catagnan Bridge over one of the rivers that traverse the island. Here, they say, you get the most beautiful sunset on the whole island, and around 5:30 PM, hundreds of people gather. A few daredevils jump from the bridge into the water; in the backlight, stand-up paddlers and rowers pass by. </p> <p style='text-align:justify'>Although clouds obscure the spectacle today, and the promised riot of colors fades. In the upcoming night, I ride my scooter back to General Luna, feeling that in just one day, I have experienced more of Siargao than if I had lounged on one of the beaches for a week.</p>

After three months in Indonesia, I have traveled to the Philippines and landed on the island of Siargao, a hotspot for surfers.

Siargao, Catagnan Bridge, SUP

Siargao Airport

Dining with Johanna

Cemetery Beach

Grave of Perly Espejon

Nina from Manila en route to Guyam

Guyam Island

Naked Island

Daku Island

Lunch buffet, Daku Island

Secret or Guiwan Beach

Del Carmen, giant Madonna statue

Del Carmen, crucifixion scene

Fishing village

The wooden cockfighting arena

Before the cockfight

Alegria Beach

Pilar, Dafina Beach

Flight

unbekannter Abflughafen → IAO

Cebu Pacific · Economy

Accommodation

Puyo Suites

General Luna, Siargao

Eat

Siargao Book Cafe

$ · Snack

Eat

La Mesa

$ · Dinner

Eat

My Greek Tavern

$$ · Dinner

Attraction

Cemetery Beach

General Luna, Siargao, Philippines

Attraction

Guyam Island

General Luna, Siargao, Philippines

Attraction

Naked Island

General Luna, Siargao, Philippines

Attraction

Daku Island

General Luna, Siargao, Philippines

Taxi

Puyo Suites → … → Daku Island

General Luna, Siargao, Philippines

Drive

General Luna → … → General Luna

Siargao, Philippines

Eat

Platil's Beach Resort Food House

$ · Lunch

Radical change of scenery: I have returned from Bira at the southern tip of the Indonesian island of Sulawesi to Makassar and then flown to Denpasar on Bali. I spent a few days in the tourist resort of Kuta, right next to the airport, confirming my prejudices against the tourist-exhausted 'Island of the Gods'. Now I need to leave; after three months in Indonesia, my visa options are exhausted.

After long deliberations, I am flying from Bali to Cebu, the second largest city in the Philippines, which I know from a visit last year (see my blog 'Beauty, Kitsch, and Misery in Cebu' from May 30, 2025). I have been to the Philippines three times already; although they number 'only' about 7,500 islands compared to more than 17,000 in Indonesia, I have only experienced a fraction of the country.

Hooks with surfboards

From Cebu, on September 1, 2026, I travel in a turboprop ATR 72 from Cebu Pacific to the southern tip of Mindanao, arriving on the island of Siargao at one of the smallest airports I've ever seen. Siargao calls itself the 'surf capital of the Philippines': In the streets of General Luna, the main resort, you see motorbikes with improvised hooks wrapped in black tape on the sides, used to transport surfboards.

Johanna from Aix-en-Provence has also traveled here for a surf course; I met her at 'Pia's Poppies Hotel' in Rantepao, Sulawesi. Siargao is about 1,600 kilometers northeast of there, but we are both here now and go out to eat together several times; two people justify ordering a bottle of wine, which would definitely be excessive for me alone.

Accompaniment

With friends

Mood

AdventurousCultural

Highlights

Ankunft auf Siargao mit einem der kleinsten Flughäfen, die der Autor je erlebt hat
Insel-Hopping mit Guyam, Naked Island und Daku
Sonnenuntergang an der Catagnan-Brücke
Cemetery Beach mit den betonierten Gräbern direkt am Strand
Scooter-Rundfahrt über Siargao bis in den Norden der Insel

Equipment

ScooterBootTuk-TukSchnorchelausrüstung

Topics

BeachTransitEatCultureRoad trip

Cost

Eintritt Hahnenkampf₱250

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