Your September 2018 Postcard from Norm: Breathtaking Batanes

I’d often heard about it, but no one I knew had actually been there. It was spoken of like some secret mystical place, even though it’s still part of the Philippines. 

Batanes.
 
The furthest north of all the Philippines islands, when you stand on the coast of Batanes, every one of the archipelago’s 7,500 islands are at your back!

​It’s also so isolated, mercilessly sitting in the middle of the China Sea where it meets the endless Pacific,that it’s closer to Taiwan than the mainland of its own country. 

The rare photos were nothing short of spectacular, too, revealing rolling green hills that were so bright they were almost neon, and stern blue seas that were less playful than the clear turquoise waters you see in most of the country’s shores, and iconic landmarks like a volcano, a lone lighthouse standing sentry on its shore, and the ruins of a cobblestoned church.
 
Batanes looks like you took the Scottish coast, mixed it with Nova Scotia, and sprinkled in some Lake Tahoe in Northern California – all in the tropical Philippines.

So, I was ecstatic when I found a special on flights there this early September, as plane tickets to get to Batanes’ lone airport are usually ridiculously expensive. (It escaped my attention that I was flying there in the middle of the typhoon season, and that’s why tickets were so cheap!)
 
Flying on a twin prop Bombardier, the aircraft rumbling and shaking as it rambled through the cloud fields as big as small cities on our way true north, I felt like my progress was being tracked on an old map like in an Indiana Jones film.
 
But putting this bird on the ground would prove no easy task, as the pilot had to pass the island, pull a sharp 180 and swoop down and then, drop in quickly once he cleared the dormant green volcano and touch down on a short runway, not unlike landing on an aircraft carrier. But even with the jarring, slam-the-brakes 2G landing, I had to let out a laugh. I was finally in Batanes.

It was brilliant from the moment I descended the stairs from the trusty old Bombardier, with blooming red flowers and the volcanos stern green peek greeting us.
 
I had arranged a stay at the Batanes Seaside Resort – a place I took a gander on based on the photos on the booking site, and a smiling local woman was waiting for me with a single name written on her sign: Sir Norm Schriever.
 
She welcomed me, and we walked outside, where we got in a van and drove the approximately five blocks and two minutes to the hotel. As the driver helped me with my bag, the woman got out quickly and ran inside.
 
When I walked into the lobby, she was slipping behind the front desk just in time to say “Welcome to the Batanes Seaside Resort.”
​She was the hotel’s only employee at the time! 

I was tired from a super early wakeup call and traveling, so all I wanted to do was take a siesta. But the weather was so nice I thought it would be a waste not to take advantage of the afternoon, so I asked them to book a trike (a motorcycle taxi with a sidecar) tour of the north part of the island.
 
It's a good thing that I did because the rest of my stay in Batanes it was rainy and storming!
  
That first afternoon, the underpowered trike chugged up the hills and along the weaving coastline, stopping at several scenic vantage points (I won’t try to describe them – the photos will say it all!)
 
Some of the highlights included the Japanese or Dipnaysupuan Tunnels.

When WWII first broke out in the Asian theater, Japan quickly invaded Batanes to take advantage of its strategic location. The local villagers and fisherman offered no resistance, and the Japanese troops forced men, women, and children to dig a series of tunnels into a hillside overlooking the ocean and countryside. The tunnels were meant to serve as a lookout for invading troops by air or by sea, and also as a bunker for the Emperor's forces to hide out if necessary. There were five exits and entrances in the hill, and several interior chambers including a stone stairway down to a natural water reservoir.

We also visited Cafe du Tukon, which sat nestled in one of the prettiest landscapes I've ever seen, reminiscent of the Italian countryside. But the café and its impeccably manicured gardens and meandering paths are not just for show, as they highlight the cultural heritage of the Ivatan, the indigenous islands that have lived in harmony with the sometimes inhospitable land and sea for centuries. 

Aside from the breathtaking vistas, the café operates as a farm-to-fork local cooperative for farmers and fishermen, as well as artists and other local merchants.

​I would have returned to that café daily, but the local proprietor's daughter, Polly, told me that they were closing down for a few days for team building exercises, a common practice in the Philippines to both reward employees and foster trust and cooperation among them.

At one point, our trike stuttered, coughed and quit - right on the steepest part of the hill. I got out and tried to help by pushing, but it wasn't just a matter of our underpowered motorcycle but also the fact that my driver had forgotten to fill up his gas tank. Oops.

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​Towards the end of the afternoon, as the sun dropped to the vast horizon and the shadows grew long on the hills of Batanes, turning them from emerald green to black, our last stop was the Light House of Basco, one of three such guideposts for seafarers crossing the endless Pacific or stormy South China Sea.

​ I climbed the 66-foot circular staircases to the top, where I had a magnificent view of the surrounding Naidi Hills, the town of Basco, a few preserved Ivatan stone dwellings, and, of course, the sea.

So, I jogged up the incline in flip flops, arriving at the top panting, sweaty, dirty, and thoroughly happy. Luckily, all of the drivers know each other and help one another, and he transferred some fuel from another trike into a Coke bottle, and then we walked it back down to our stranded motorcycle and were soon on our way.

My second day there, I woke up to starkly different weather, with gray skies, stinging winds and rain. I took the day to catch up on work but also managed to venture out and explore the town of Basco, strolling with no particular destination in mind, turning down smaller and smaller side streets, and smiling and saying hello to the enthusiastic locals while snapping photos of the mundane elements of their daily lives, which were remarkable to me.

For instance, I learned that Basco (which is home to 8,000 of the island’s total 18,000 residents!) has the only gas station on the entire island of Batanes, a Petron with two pumps. That gas station is such a famous landmark that it's also home to the best restaurant in town (in my humble and limited opinion). There, I could dine on freshly caught seafood and even lobster for strangely low prices, while all other foodstuffs that had to be imported from the mainland were more pricey.
 
Some of Basco's infrastructure was uncharacteristically pristine, like the park and municipal buildings in the center of the town proper, or the Science High School, which was decorated with all the pomp and circumstance you'd expect at a top-flight Philippines university.

There was also very little litter (a big problem across the country and anywhere in Southeast Asia), clearly marked and organized recycling centers spread about, colorful public service announcements painted on rocks or signs hung on trees, and a trim, fit police force that carried no guns.
 
I stopped to snap a photo of a yellow and black marker that read simply “K 0000 BO,” as Bosco was the exact latitudinal starting point of the entire Philippines.

But there was also evidence of a more rustic existence, like the fact that there was no Wi-Fi. Like, on the whole island. Incredibly, the entire population communicates with the mainland and the outside world only through their cell phones. 

At first, I panicked when they told me that since I have to work daily online. But my worst fears of being fired unilaterally were assuaged when they helped me buy a local SIM card and sign up for cell service, which functioned slowly but adequately as a hotspot for my computer – as long as the weather was good.

​A few of the homes were extraordinary, in so much as you can take sturdy concrete shells designed to withstand the harshest weather and erosion and dress them up to like an English country manor. But most of the inhabitants of Bosco lived in simple and useful little abodes, with wooden or even metal shutters ready to be drawn against the elements. However, the starkness of their purpose didn't stop the residents from decorating and painting them whimsically, with colorful murals, flowering vines or gardens, and sunny décor.

The church in town was adorned with blue and white bunting that flapped in the breeze, and most people bought their goods from sari-sari stores (sort of like tiny neighborhood bodegas) that were so small and tightly packed that I had to squeeze through sideways so not to knock over a rack of eggs or shelf of rum bottles.
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While the yard dogs barked fiercely as I approached, the people of Bosco were almost universally smiling, loved to chit-chat, and even invited me over to try some of their food.

The only one who wasn't agreeable when I walked by were two fisherman's' sons, who chopped massive dorado, amberjack, and flying fish on a wooden stand by the road, pulled so recently from the ocean that the fish’s eyes still looked startled by their newfound predicament.

​No, this two fisherman kin never broke their stern frown and squinting eyes when I walked by, and only nodded disapprovingly when I said hi.

​Maybe they knew something the rest of us didn’t and, like the fish that were now headless, they knew the stakes. A storm was coming. 
 
And it was a big one.

-Norm :-)

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Stay tuned for part two of this postcard about Batanes next month.

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