Batanes - A taste of Scottish landscape right in the Philippines

 

Travelife Magazine lists the best things about Batanes. Cut off from the rest of the country, and shrouded by storms, it’s a place of deep mystery and curiosity.

First-timers to Batanes need to know one thing: The weather rules all. “Bring enough clothes for five days, at least,” advised a friend when she learned I was going there for three days. There’s good reason for the warning. Until recently, travel to and from the island has been limited, with storms cutting off access for days at a time. So much so that you’ll find people here have a fatalistic attitude toward life.

On the day we left, Manila was gloomy and there was every chance of rain. I envisioned Basco, the capital city on Batan island, in gloomy gray weather, but it was sweltering when we arrived. In the un-airconditioned arrivals area, which looked like a long barangay hall, people were taking off jackets and coats, no doubt feeling misled about the sunny day that greeted us.

Meanwhile, Basco may still be the size of a small sleepy town, but the city has also marched with the times. A few years back, tourists would be hard-pressed to find decent accommodations here. Today, although you still won’t find a Shangri-La hotel on the island, there are a good number of hotels and pension houses to choose from.

Surprisingly, “…we get a lot of local tourists,” says newly elected mayor, Demy Narag, when we talked to him. “These are the ones who would like to see untouched or unusual places.” And Batanes has these in spades. Again, blame—or maybe credit—the weather and even the province’s inaccessibility from the rest of the country. It makes people curious about life here. And while I don’t think Batanes will get hoards of tourists like Boracay because it’s simply too far away, Mayor Narag hopes that tourism will be one of the province’s major earners.

Being away from it all is part of Batanes’ allure. Jaded city-dwellers who want to recharge would do well to come here. The islands that comprise Batanes have a different topography from the rest of the country. By some geographical quirk, the province feels more like the Orkneys in Northern Scotland, with its craggy cliffs and rolling hills, than the Philippines. Batan, the biggest and most populous, and Sabtang islands have gentle rolling hills and slopes and friendly beaches. Meanwhile Itbayat, the most remote, has no natural shoreline and is full of craggy cliffs, prompting someone in our group to quip, “It’s not a good idea to go to Itbayat when you’re depressed. You just might jump off one of the cliffs!” The island is the least populated of the three, and we were told the sea is much more ferocious there. Batanes also has seasons different from the rest of the country. Batanes has a winter (yes, winter!) and a summer season. Winters here can be quite cold, say the locals, with the cold winds from Siberia and Taiwan making their way into the islands. Taiwan is a near neighbor, separated only by the Bashi Channel. In fact, the Ivatans are close kin to the Tao people of Orchid Island, Taiwan’s southernmost territory.

Batanes' geographical quirks makes it feel more like the Orkneys in Scotland than the Philippines.

The second day, we crossed over to Sabtang Island on a fallowa, an outriggerless boat common in Batanes. While most of us were accustomed to riding outriggers in our travels around the country, it was a bit daunting to be in a small craft in what can be considered the open sea without the slim protection of, well, the actual outriggers to balance our weight. But our guides say fallowas need to ride the waves and outriggers are not ideal for the waters around the island. An hour later, a bit deaf from the loud engine and more than little nauseous from the engine fumes and the swaying of the boat, we hit land. Immediately, cameras were taken out as we spy a picturesque lighthouse on a craggy cliff, one of several such structures dotting the province.

The famous Ivatan stone houses were out first stop. Young kids and teenagers ran alongside our jeep, shouting cheerful greetings. Barangay Savidu, with its rows of Ivatan stone houses, felt like a place time forgot. Except for occasional reminders of modern living—a sari-sari store sign, and radios in some houses—this must be what the village looked like a century ago. Our guides would later tell us that these limestone houses have at least three variations. One thing they all have in common though is the low-sloped roofs and the meter-thick walls, which provide insulation during the cold season and keeps the coolness in during summer.

Even the locals’ demeanor is old-fashioned. Us urban-dwellers are so used to being suspicious of strangers that it comes as a shock to be told we could just go into any of the houses and be made welcome.

“Are you sure we can do that?” we ask our guide. Such behavior is just not done in the city.

“Yes, they won’t mind. People here don’t lock doors,” says our guide. And thus assured, we’d wander into living rooms and kitchens at will, sometimes surprising homeowners with our presence. No one stopped us, the locals’ sense of ownership being totally different from ours. In one, an old woman sits on her wooden floor and weaves a vakul, the funky-looking traditional headgear Ivatans wear as protection against rain. In another, we examine a local still, with clay jars full of taru, sugarcane vinegar, and a big contraption in the middle of the courtyard for grinding sugarcane to extract its juice for palek, the local wine.

After resting up a bit, we were on our way to Murung Beach for lunch. Most people’s notions about Batanes don’t involve a beach one can actually swim in, but the province has a lot of little white-sand beaches along its coasts. Murung beach is one of them. Most of us didn’t bring swimsuits, but even those who did, didn’t venture into the water. I think just the thought of the rocks underneath those waves was enough to deter even the bravest of us. Along the way on mountain roads, we pass by huge outcrops of rocks in the distance called idjangs, natural stone fortresses common in both Batan and Sabtang islands that Ivatans way back when used as hiding places against invaders.

Later, back in Batan, our guide would tell us that it’s still the practice to leave houses and doors unlocked. And neighbors who need something from an empty house can just go in and borrow it, the owner assured that it will be returned…in time. People here just don’t seem that materialistic. Perhaps confronted with the vagaries of harsh weather, Ivatans just don’t see the sense in holding on to things.

Sugarcane juice is extracted to make Palek, the local wine.What’s important are the intangibles—the people you love, how you treat others, the simple way of life. There’s a lesson here somewhere for all of us. To be sure, maybe I’m romanticizing, a common pitfall for a travel writer to make. But when we were exploring the islands, these are what mattered: pondering the mystery of cloud-capped Mt. Iraya as it looms over the island, the fun of scampering up boulders on TK beach, reflecting on the tragedy of Sossong village, which was wiped out by a tsunami in the 1950s, the shells of its houses a reminder of how savage nature can be, dipping fried dorado fish in vinegar-and-garlic, the simple pleasure of the bend down the road, paying up even when there’s no one to check if you’ve been honest or not, as we all did at The Honesty Coffee Shop—activities that didn’t have anything to do with moving up the corporate ladder, or making (and spending) money. Here, people hewed to a more traditional—and shall we say, more honorable?—way of doing things. Confronted with distance and harsh weather, everything is reduced to basics. And, hell, maybe they know something we don’t or have lost along the way—a stronger faith in people’s sense of decency, maybe, or a gentler way of doing things.

I seem to have gotten into a reflective mood. Batanes has a way of doing that to people. Later after buying up The Honesty Coffee Shop’s share of garlic and onions for pasalubongs, as me and my friends sit on top of a hill in Marlboro Country or Racuha Payaman, Ivatan for “wild pastureland,” I’d reflect on how perfect this day was. Standing on one of the hills, with the magnificent view of the coastline below and Mt. Iraya in the distance, even a confirmed atheist will find religion. Maybe it was the crisp mountain air or the unfettered 360º views, but we all went crazy up there. We jumped, shouted at the top of our lungs (believe me, it was a good place for catharsis), ran, rolled on the grass—a crazy thing to do given the goats and cows grazing nearby—and generally threw our cares to the four winds. Later, on the way back to Basco via a circuitous route along Batan’s hilly mountain roads, we stop for a group of young students walking home from school. The dearth of public transportation on the island means that it’s a courtesy to stop and offer a ride to people on the road. Despite repeated offers of a ride, the kids shyly refuse, preferring to walk the long route home.
Due to the lack of public transportation, cycling is the most preferred mode of travel in Batanes.

That evening, we met a famous resident of Batanes during dinner at Mayor Demy’s house—the fearsome-looking tatus or coconut crab. A live specimen was brought to our dining area where we were all busy cracking shells and stuffing ourselves with the delicious coconut-flavored meat of its more unfortunate cousins. A local delicacy, the coconut crab lives on land among rocks, prompting speculations among us amateur zoologists that it was in fact more a spider than a crustacean. The debate went unresolved as we dipped the crabmeat in vinegar-with-garlic and drank beer and palek. The general consensus was, whatever it is, it’s delicious.

Our last evening was spent talking and drinking. While we laughed and relived our adventures, the houses around us are dark, its occupants settling in for the night. But don’t be fooled, said the mayor, the houses may be dark, but he doubts if they’re asleep. Ivatans do know how to live it up. Socializing is done in backyards, with friends coming over for a simple meal and a drink or two. And that, in essence, is the magic of Batanes. Everything is a postcard, but in the end, what matters are the small things—like good company and lots of laughter over beer and tatus—and this, you have to discover on your own.

Need to Know

The Ivatan stone houses are made of pulverized limestone rock. The limestone is quarried and burned at high temperatures then pulverized. The resulting powder is then mixed with cogon grass and used to plaster the walls of houses.

How to Get There

Asian Spirit flies to Basco four times a week on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays. The boat ride from Batan island to Sabtang costs P80/roundtrip.

When to Go

After winter but before the monsoon season hits, around April-June.

What to Bring

• Enough clothes for two extra days. The weather is unpredictable so this is the one place where overpacking is actually sensible. Include a jacket, shorts, swimming gear

• Sturdy footgear—sandals and hiking shoes. You’ll be doing a lot of walking.

• A camera, batteries, charger, several memory cards/sticks. Almost every nook and cranny is worth taking a picture

• Cash. I don’t remember seeing ATM machines in the capital.

• A first-aid kit, stocked with anti-dizziness tablets. Boat rides and even jeepney rides along winding roads may leave you reeling

• A hat

• A mountain bike. Batanes’ rolling hills and winding roads are perfect for mountain-biking. In fact, the province’s terrain is perfect for aficionados of extreme sports, be it mountain biking, spelunking, or mountain-climbing.

What to Do

1. Take lots of pictures. Either on your own or join photographer Mandy Navasero’s
Photo Safari. mandynavasero.com

2. Get interested in history and archeology. There’s an ongoing joint archeological dig by the University of the Philippines, the National Museum, and Australian National University on Sabtang island. While this isn’t really part of the island’s attractions, the archeologists are more than happy to chat with passing travelers about their findings into early Ivatan culture, if you happen upon them during breaks. Visit the remains of the village of Songsong, which was wiped out by a tsunami in the 1950s.

3. Bone up on local art and architecture. Visit the Ivatan houses on Sabtang island. Check out Fundacion Pacita, the late artist Pacita Abad’s residence-turned-museum in barangay Tukon, Batan island. Fundacion Pacita has reproductions of the artist’s works on display and the house itself is interesting. In fact, we thought it would be a good idea to establish a writers/artists’ colony on the property. Maybe a foundation can set it up? A few meters away on the next hill amid lush gardens is the residence of former education secretary Butch Abad. Caretakers will gladly allow you to tour the gardens and the surrounding property.

4. Go beachcombing. On Batan island, visit Boulders beach, so-called because its beach is strewn with huge boulders said to have rolled down or thrown when Mt. Iraya erupted. On Sabtang island, check out Murung beach, with its white sand, and eat your packed lunch under the naturally formed from limestone Murung arch.

5. Go on a road trip. The winding roads and nearly empty roads makes this the perfect place to drive around. You won’t be making quick time though as every corner is a perfect excuse to stop and take pictures or simply take in the view.

6. Make like Maria von Trapp. Batanes’ rolling hills, most especially the spectacular Marlboro Country will make you want to belt out The Sound of Music’s classic theme song. Guaranteed.

7. Contribute to the local economy—shop! The locally grown garlic and onions are smaller and more pungent than those sold in Manila. Bring home some palek, and tasty dried flying fish and dorado, and taru (vinegar). The Honesty Coffee Shop in Ivana town, Batan island has provisions to tide you over as you explore the islands. It also sells garlic and onions for pasalubongs.

8. Sample the local delicacies. Some dishes to try: tatus steamed in its own fat and dipped in taru with garlic, venes a vegetable dish made from gabi (yam) leaves. Put your food on kavaya (breadfruit) leaves, which are used as plates, much the same way we use banana leaves. And wash everything down with palek or beer.

Where to Stay

Batanes Seaside Lodge & Restaurant (single regular room, P450/night to P2,200/night for suites). National Road, Kaychanarianan, Basco. Tel: (+63921) 229-0120, (+63915) 940-4823; e-mail: lroberto_seaside@yahoo.com

Pension Ivatan (From P980/night for a matrimonial to P2,500/night for a family suite). National Road, Kayvaluganan, Basco. Tel: (+63920) 281-1278, (+63921) 442-8841, (+63926) 957-6223. pensionivatan.com

The high school on barangay Sinakan on Sabtang island can also put up tourists for the night at P100/night.

You can also stay at the lighthouse on Batan island. Perfect for honeymooners.

Recommended!

Explore Batanes on your own or get some help from the locals. For tour guides, get in touch with Juliet Catalunya of the Batanes Eco-Cultural Tourism Cooperative. Her tel: (+63919) 455-9015, (+63919) 369-5341; or Chris Catalunya, (+63915) 373-8152

Islands in the Sun

Mon May 24 22:02pm

TRAVELIFE MAGAZINE takes a look at the soon-to-be-hot must-visit Calaguas Islands in Camarines Norte


The great thing about the Philippines is we have so many islands that sooner or later you’re bound to come upon an untouched beach just waiting to be discovered. Of course, it helps if you love going into unknown places and enduring all sorts of inconveniences to get there. As they say, the journey is worth more than the destination.

Photo Credits - Harvey Tapan for Travelife Magazine

Calaguas Islands off Camarines Norte province in the Bicol region is one such place. Now I’m usually not the roughing-it type of vacationer. If I had to choose between pampering myself at a first-class resort and hieing off to an unknown island with no running water, no cable, and no soft bed, I’ll book myself in the nearest resort. However, I love discovering new places and trying out new things and will always jump at the chance to check out an unknown destination. And sometimes, depriving myself of a few creature comforts makes the whole trip even more memorable. I did wonder if I was in over my head this time, though, when I saw the list of things to bring that Edward, one of the organizers, e-mailed me: tent, sleeping bag, garbage bags, and… a small garden spade? “That’s for digging your toilet,” he explained. Hmmm... Obviously, this wasn’t going to be a typical trip for me. As Edward later explained, Calaguas Islands are practically untouched. Untouched—great though that sounds in an eco-friendly sort of way—means no modern conveniences.

We left Manila late in the evening, hoping to get to Daet early the next morning in time for breakfast before heading out to the islands. Our group consisted of media types, artists, a hotel executive, and even some medical people. The key to a successful trip is a lot of gregarious people determined to have a good time. And this group was nothing if not determined. Long stretches of dark highway flew past as we consumed vast amounts of chips, fruit juice, and alcohol. By 2am, everyone had crashed except me—it’s hard to sleep in a bus that’s going 90 kilometers per hour on a twisty, bumpy road called, appropriately enough, “bituka ng manok” (chicken intestines). By early morning we were in Daet, more than ready to get down, stretch our legs, and eat the hearty breakfast of eggs, dried fish, and fried rice. And then it was off to Vinzons town where we boarded a lantsa (a big outrigger) named Lumba-Lumba (local vernacular for whale) for Calaguas Islands. The sun was high when we set out into a vastness of blue—it was 360 degrees of nothing but azure sky and still blue water. In fact, the water was so calm that it looked like we were floating through glass. From time to time, seabirds would alight on the water before flying up, a tiny fish caught in their beaks. Ripples would break the water occasionally; I imagined fish checking us out as we passed by. After almost an hour, we spotted a speck in the distance, the first of a group of islands known as Calaguas.

Photo Credits - Harvey Tapan for Travelife MagazinPrior to the trip, I heard stories about this group of islands said to have beaches beautiful enough to rival Boracay, and I was about to see if the rumor proved true. It did. If development is done right, Calaguas can indeed someday rival Boracay in popularity—its beaches and fine white sand will make sure of that. But it wasn’t Boracay I was thinking of when I gazed at the pure white beaches, the glassy blue water, and the coconut trees swaying in the distance. Calaguas islands reminded me of Maldives. Midmorning, we docked a few meters away from the beach of Pinagcastillohan, one of the islands being slated for development. It was low tide, and our lantsa couldn’t go in any farther. After making sure our gear was protected, we set out to walk the several meters to the island. It was surreal. Being able to set foot on an island that is practically untouched almost counts as a religious experience. Looking down, I was walking on sea grass, which, a few hours from now would be under more than 10 feet of water. Starfishes were exposed to the sun and everywhere, it was blinding white. Sunlight was reflecting on the water and the sand and there was hardly any shade. In the distance I could see more islands. Nearer to us was La Bendita, separated from Pinagcastillohan by a narrow strait, which we could have walked to if we wanted because of the low tide. Walking on wet, squishy sand, with my ankles submerged in warm salt water was a novel experience—and pretty hard going for someone more accustomed to hard concrete. It’s a good thing our organizers also imported in waitstaff to carry our heavy bags and provisions. If you’re looking to commune with nature, this is the place to go. Except for our rowdy group, there was hardly anyone on the island, except for a few fisherfolk.

At last, we reached solid ground. Our island base, Pinagcastillohan, as well as two other islands, are owned by artist Joaquin Palencia and his family. It was his idea to develop them into an ecotourism destination. On one side of the beach were tents already set up for those who, like me, didn’t bring their own. Bedrolls and blankets were distributed. The veteran backpackers among us brought their own tents and beddings. We all set to make our sleeping quarters as comfortable as we could. I chose a tent at the end of one row, figuring I’d get more breeze that way than if I was squeezed between two other tents. After making sure our tents were secure—including putting rocks on the inside corners so “it doesn’t get blown away by the wind,” advised one veteran camper, we inspected our campsite. There was a secluded area designated as the “bathroom,” complete with drums of fresh water, which gave me pause. Pinagcastillohan, I was told, didn’t have a fresh-water source, so those big drums of water had to be transported from the mainland—some two hours away! Though there was enough water for everyone to wash off the sea brine, we were told to be prudent in our water use. Meaning, no long “showers.”

Lunch was served under the trees on two low tables, with waitstaff hovering over us, serving food and asking for our drink preferences. Service is something else. Here I am camping on a deserted island and I’m being served by waiters as if I were in the best restaurant in Makati. This was clearly roughing it in the order of having high tea in the middle of an African jungle safari, the way the English did at the height of the British Empire. After lunch, we did more exploring within Pinagcastillohan and its surrounding islands, the largest of which, Mahabang Buhangin, is said to be owned by Japanese investors. We stopped to sunbathe and swim in the blue waters. Dinner that night was a relaxed affair, with everyone gorging on food freshly prepared by the cook we had brought with us. Drinks in hand, groups formed and reformed as people got to know each other. The moon was a big low orb in the sky. We had lucked out on a full moon. “Excuse me, ma’am, would you like a last order? The bar is closing in a few minutes,” one of the waiters informed me. Whoa, we had a bar in the middle of nowhere. How—there’s the word again—surreal. After a few rounds of drinks, we were ready to retire to our tents, having had an uncomfortable ride in the bus the night before.

Photo Credits - Harvey Tapan for Travelife Magazin

I hadn’t slept outdoors in a tent since I was in third grade. I looked out at the dark landscape with all the other tents huddled next to mine. It was so silent that whispered conversations carried. The wind picked up, a blessing since the evening started out humid. I was tempted to open my tent’s net entrance, but I didn’t dare because of the mosquitoes dive-bombing into the tent. The sand underneath was soft and good thing I heeded the advice of the more experienced campers in the group and made a mound for a sleeping area and removed any stones. Yet sleep wouldn’t come. I wasn’t used to the silence and the stillness, with just the waves crashing on the beach for aural companionship. Through my tent’s airhole, the moon was shining down on me, making it even harder to sleep. Funny how in the city I never noticed how bright a full moon actually was, what with all the electric lights competing for its brilliance. A little while later, the wind picked up, sending some welcome breeze into the tents, and the moon hid behind clouds. And then it rained. Hard. Outside I heard Harvey, the photographer, warning everyone to wear their jackets because the tents might not be waterproof enough to withstand the rain. Huh? Nobody said anything about tents not being waterproof! Fool that I was, I didn’t bring a jacket even though I was advised to, thinking my sarongs would suffice. I hadn’t counted on rain, although I was told it was a possibility. The rain pounded on my flimsy tent and the wind grew stronger. I checked my surroundings; so far, I was dry. But when I touched the seams of my tent, sure enough, they were wet. The breathing hole above me was flapping like mad against the strong wind and rain was coming in. There’s nothing like being alone in a tent in the dark with the rain pounding down to make one think of the eternal question: What will I wear tomorrow?

Thirty minutes later, the rain stopped. We all peeked out of our tents to survey the damage. I emerged into a silvery landscape. The moon had hidden behind dark clouds, yet its light was strong enough that everything seemed limned with silver. Even the sky was a silvery gray and the air was suffused by silver moonlight. It was bright enough that we didn’t even need flashlights. Except for a few minor mishaps—one tent had its airhole flap blown off—everyone had weathered the rain unscathed. With the fresh, cool wind on my face, the rain now felt like a blessing. After ensuring that everyone was all right, we all crawled back into our tents and the oblivion of sleep. The sun was already shining when I woke up, as if the freak storm last night was a dream. The first order of the day: breakfast. After which, more island-hopping. You’d think that after the excitement of last night, today would prove to be anti-climactic. But not so. Some swam, others went snorkeling off Balagbag Malaki, another island within the group. The waters there were very clear with jagged rocks and corals. I’m still not an adventure-type traveler, but after Calaguas, I seem to have developed a taste for going the way less traveled. I will definitely go back, given the chance. I find myself hoping, though, that the islands remain undiscovered for yet awhile—a paradise tucked into a country that has more than its share of pocket paradises.

NAVIGATE YOURSELF: CALAGUAS ISLANDS

NEED TO KNOW

Since there are no resorts there at the moment, Calaguas is considered “virgin territory.”

TRAVELER’S CHECKLIST

Phone area code: 54

Commonly spoken languages: Bicolano (native dialect), Tagalog, Cebuano, English

Travel time from Manila: By road, 8-10 hours; by air, 30-45 minutes

HOW TO GET THERE

By road: Many bus lines ply the provincial route between Manila and Daet, the capital of Camarines Norte. It’s a long trip, so choose a bus with comfortable seats. From the bus station in Daet, take a tricycle to the city center. From there, take a jeep or FX to Vinzons town, where you take a tricycle to the port. Tricycle fares cost around P50 each way.

By air: Seair (flyseair.com) just started its Manila-Daet route. From Vinzons port, you can rent a boat to go to Mahabang Buhangin for P6,000. There are no boats plying a regular route from Vinzons to the Calaguas Islands. Locals will usually wait for a boat to be filled before journeying there. The wait can take several days.

WHEN TO GO

May to August when the waters are calm.

WHAT TO BRING

• Beach and resort wear
• Footgear: rubber slippers, beach sandals, water socks
• Wide-brim hat
• Sunglasses
• Tent and sleeping bag
• Insect repellant and/or soap with citronella to ward off mosquitoes
• Sunscreen or sunblock
• Flashlight
• First-aid kit and medicine
• Your camera and enough batteries and memory cards to last the length of stay
• Cell phone and a fully charged or extra battery. Warning: Signal can still be patchy at times
• A waterproof pouch and bag to store your valuables in
• Moist towelettes
• Tissue paper
• Huge garbage bags to protect your gear while on the boat
• A waterproof jacket or raincoat

WHAT TO DO

Commune with nature: Island-hop, swim, snorkel, watch the stars, go beach-combing, fish…

WE SUGGEST

At present, it’s almost impossible to go on a tour of Calaguas without knowledgeable guides who will arrange everything for you. Calaguas Eco Tours organizes “luxe safari”-type tours—complete with butler and waitstaff, tents with fresh beddings everyday, toilet and shower amenities, and full-service kitchen. Choose from several packages. Calaguas Eco Tours, 3/f OLLH Building, Vinzons Ave., Daet, Camarines Norte, tel (+63928) 363-5490; e-mail calaguasecotours@gmail.com

Surfing Zen in Siargao

It’s when jumping off cliffs or being drenched by a downpour at sea that you become at peace with yourself.

Quick impressions of Siargao from the ferry: It’s small and still provincial. The dock is like all the other provincial harbors I’ve seen—busy and noisy, big bundles and cargoes being transported to or from all kinds of floating vessels. Off to one stretch of the coastline, as our ferry got ready to dock, coconut trees swayed while wiry brown kids enjoyed diving into the dock’s deep waters. As we disembarked, I observed that my fellow passengers included backpacking foreigners toting longboards. What surprised me, though, was that many of the surfers on the boat with us were travelling alone. Since then, I learned that surfing is a solitary sport. For dedicated surfers, it’s a case of me against the waves— so it doesn’t matter if they’re alone or with a group.



Siargao is the Philippines’ surfing capital. From its popularity as a surfing destination, I thought it would be bigger and busier. But it has still retained its provincial soul -- perhaps because it’s a surfers’ haven and the group’s distinctly bohemian vibe has permeated the place. Nevertheless, locals complain that the town isn’t what it was ten years ago, presumably when it was harder to reach and few had discovered its attractions.

However, lack of easy access has never deterred dedicated surfers, and Siargao is proof of this. For one thing, traveling around the Philippines is not easy. Going around the islands requires vast amounts of patience, level-headedness, and cool that would put a Zen master to shame. First, one has to fly into Manila and contend with the chaos in the airport. Once out of the airport, you have to go through horrible traffic, bad infrastructure, and confusing road rules to get to your hotel (it’s doubtful that you’ll be able to get a connecting flight to Surigao on the same day). And then there’s the heat, and so many other inconveniences. By the time you get to Surigao del Norte, it’s a wonder you have any strength left to carry your surfboard, let alone your luggage. Yet, upon reaching Surigao del Norte, Siargao town is still two hours away by ferry.



In Siargao, accommodations can range from the most basic—boarding houses with bed and an electric fan—to very lavish. Yet for most surfer visitors, where you lay your head at night matters less than the waves.

Although I love swimming in the ocean, I’m not a surfer, so I can’t relate much to the enthusiasm surfers have for riding the waves. I must admit, though, that the first view of the famous surf break Cloud 9 impressed me. Even how the area itself got its name has attained some sort of mythic status. Common lore has it that Cloud 9 was named by famous American photographer John S. Callahan who first photographed the waves while munching on a local candy bar named -- you guessed it -- “Cloud 9.” Various permutations of the story exist and, whether you believe it or not, the name stuck and one of the most famous surfing sites in the world found itself named after a candy bar. Stranger things have happened.

We got to Cloud 9 late in the afternoon. It wasn’t surfing season so the waves weren’t that high, and it was mostly local kids out there with a few foreigners. From the shore, there’s a long boardwalk that connects to a three-story viewing deck made of wood.

“We’ve had to fix and shore up the structure many times,” said Governor Ace Barbers, who was in town at the same time. “Typhoons will come and just destroy either part of the boardwalk or the structure.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if there’s nothing much one can do against forces of nature. Peering over the boardwalk, I saw sharp corals undulating underneath. This was not a beach meant for swimming or just floating in the warm water. The waves, even during official non-surfing season, were huge. I could just imagine surfers wiping out and being dragged amid the corals.

Nature-tripping or island-hopping—you can do all that in Siargao. If you can tear yourself away from the waves (or convince your surfing-mad companions that a few hours away from the waves can also be fun), explore the islands surrounding Siargao. We went to Guyam and Dako Islands for a bit of swimming in the white-sand beaches. Going around the islands was an eye-opener. Many of the islands and beaches we visited had few or no people at all -- which meant we had a whole paradise to ourselves. It also brought home the fact that the Philippines is so blessed with natural resources, that sometimes we take our land for granted. Floating in the warm sea, I was a bit selfish in wishing that progress is delayed to these islands, if only to preserve this ecological paradise for a while longer.



But worldly concerns mean little when you’re floating in a blue sea or lying on a deserted white sand beach, enjoying a bottle of cold beer -- which is what we ended up doing during the tour.

After several island stops, we headed out for Sohoton Caves and Lagoon, touted by one hotelier as “Siargao’s best kept secret.” It’s not exactly a secret, as most people who come to Siargao end up trekking to this magical place. The Sohoton leg of the journey proved to be the most memorable part of our whole trip.

To start with, it wasn’t the best weather to be island-hopping, even in a big outrigger used to rough seas. The day vacillated between overcast and sunny and I worried about being caught in the middle of a downpour out in the open sea. I didn’t relish being tossed about and getting soaking wet, not to mention worrying about whether we would end up capsizing or not.

But we were on a schedule, so off we went. The boatman wanted us to hurry because the only way to reach Sohoton Cove was via a natural limestone arch that gets submerged in high tide. We needed to be there in low tide for the outriggers to pass through. Halfway through our island hopping, the rain opened up and we were drenched in the downpour. It took us almost two hours to get to Sohoton Cove under heavy rain.

Imagine this: It was windy, the waves were high, and we were tossed about in the boat. The rain was pouring in torrents, cutting visibility in half because of the sea spray and mist. We were thoroughly soaked, but we were having the time of our lives. It was a thrilling boat ride, and it got even better when we reached Sohoton Cove.



The rain had dropped to a drizzle by the time we reached the entrance to the cove. Sohoton Cove is one of those majestic places words cannot describe. One just had to be there to engage in the experience.

After passing through the limestone arch, islands of lush greenery suddenly rose all around us, including tall trees and a jungle that looked unexplored. Awed by it all, we proceeded in total silence. We passed by the Horseshoe, a huge stalactite that hung to just above water level, and said to be the only way local guides can distinguish Sohoton Cove from the many beautiful coves and inlets in the area.

Here’s what I’ve observed about moments like this. When confronted with nature at its most primal, man -- no matter how modern we have become -- instinctively shuts up. It’s the atavistic fear of the unknown kicking in and the awe at a force we still haven’t contained renders us speechless. Besides, it was just so goddamn beautiful! And so it was with us, when we visited Sohoton Cove.

Sohoton Cove is one of the 10 protected areas in the country that’s part of the government’s priority list. Located in the Bukas Grande group of islands, north of Siargao, Sohoton Cove was included in the list because it has rare flora, fauna, and marine life in the area.

After a few turns around the inlets, we reach the first cave called Hagukan Cave. “Hagok” in Cebuano means “to snore” and if one listens close enough, the sound of the wind through the cave does indeed resemble the sound of snoring. The guides allowed us to swim around for a bit and even enter the dark cave. Inside, the cave and the rock formations glowed due to bioluminescence. It was an experience to be swimming in a dark cave while everything inside it emitted a faint glow. With only a head’s breadth between the caves’ ceiling and the water, swimming inside felt like being in a womb.

Next, it was off to the thrilling Magkukuob Cave. We were warned that there was only one entrance in and out of the cave, and getting out meant having to jump from a ledge some 15 feet above the lagoon. Being too chicken-hearted, I opted to stay in the boat and provide moral support to the others who were brave—or foolhardy—enough to try it. Even watching from the outrigger, it was exciting to see the jumpers on the ledge getting ready to plunge into the turquoise waters of the cove. What was even more suspenseful was that there were huge rocks jutting from the base of the cliff, and the jumpers had to jump way into the cove so they would miss the rocks. One had to be talked into taking the plunge, much like a professional negotiator would talk down a suicide attempt from jumping. Some were in tears and prayers, while a few screamed. But all eventually jumped.



One friend who bravely took the plunge summed up the experience: “You would think it’s an easy thing to just let go and jump. But when you’re on the ledge and looking at the expanse of water and the strange beautiful islands, it’s hard to just let go and trust in the infinite. Everything’s just so vast.”

I didn’t jump then, and I regret that now. Given the chance, I would return, deal with my fear and attempt the plunge. This lesson has stayed with me. A few months after my trip to Siargao, I was given another chance to leave my comfort zone and jump. It was not an actual cliff, but it nevertheless involved a plunge into the unknown. My Siargao experience helped prepare me for this day.

NAVIGATE YOURSELF: SIARGAO

As part of the island of Mindanao, Surigao del Norte and its network of islands, including Siargao island, share a diverse and rich ecosystem just waiting to be explored by the brave. Siargao is about 800 kilometers southeast of Manila, with a coastline marked by various reefs and islets.

TRAVELER’S CHECKLIST

Travel time from Manila: About 45 minutes to an hour by plane

Languages spoken: Surigaonon, Chavacano (a version of Spanish and Cebuano, quite different from Cavite Chavacano), English, Filipino, Cebuano

Local phone exchange: 86

HOW TO GET THERE

There are direct flights from Manila to Surigao City (capital of Surigao del Norte) via PAL Express. Other airlines such as Cebu Pacific or Philippine Airlines offer routes that fly first to either Cebu City or Butuan City before taking another flight to Surigao City. Once in Surigao City, take a pumpboat to Siargao Island, a trip which is roughly four hours.

WHEN TO GO

Prime surfing season is from July to November, when waves can reach from 10-15 feet high.

WHAT TO BRING

• Swimwear/beachwear
• For first-time surfers in Siargao, bring rubber surfing boots because you will need to walk on some rocky reefs to get to the waves
• First-aid kit
• Lots of sunblock and sunscreen
• Cash. There are no ATMs on the island
• A waterproof camera. You’ll be spending your time near large bodies of water so it makes sense to have a waterproof camera or one with a waterproof case
• A sense of daring.

WHERE TO STAY

Siargao doesn’t have that wide a range of accommodations. A lot are pension houses and hostels targeted for the backpacker/surfer crowd. Most are comfortable enough and provide a range of services, from guides to suggested itinerary.

Some recommendations:

Patrick’s on the Beach or Patrick’s on Cloud 9. One of the more established resorts in the area, accommodations here range from air-conditioned rooms to tents on the beach.

Traveller’s Pension House. Basic room with amenities. You can choose between air-conditioned and non-air-conditioned rooms.

Kalinaw Resort. Siargao’s newest modern resort with individual cottages furnished simply but comfortably.

Pansukian Tropical Resort. If you want to go luxe, this is the place to stay. With first-world amenities and eight villas, Pansukian is the first upscale resort in Siargao. 

WHAT TO DO

Two activities that encompass everything:

Surf. Enough said.

Explore the island and its environs. Most beach resorts will gladly recommend places to see and things to do. The only limit will be your time and stamina. What to see: Cloud 9, Sohoton Cove, and mangrove swamps, among others. Go sports fishing, another sport gaining popularity here.

Prime spots to ride the waves

Tuason Point: Located three kilometers north of the municipality of General Luna and is where the world-famous Cloud 9 is located. Aside from Cloud 9, try Tuason Left, about 400 kilometers south of Cloud 9. For experienced surfers only.

North of Cloud 9: Stimpies, Rock Island, Pacifico, and Burgos

GL and South: You have to hire a boat to reach these waves. Go to Daku island, east of GL for some fun small right-handers, perfect for beginners. Pansukian Reef is for experienced surfers only. Further south, near the islands of La Janoza and Mamon is Mabuntok Reef, which has waves for all levels, situated in some of the best beaches in the region.

TRAVELIFE MAGAZINE is the Philippines’ leading travel & lifestyle publication.