In the eye of the storm

by Bernardo Gaivão (Portugal)

Making a local connection Philippines

I had to run fast, my heart pounding with every step. I cursed, wishing I was in better shape. At the top of a small hill, on the water’s edge, stood Amihan, it’s grey cement façade promised safety and a respite from the storm that was raging around me. With a cavernous roar of thunder, Ursula announced her presence. Jumping over the fallen branches of a coconut tree, I finally mounted the stairs. Staggering and out of breath, I begged the waitress to open the door and at last, safety. It was Christmas eve that brought me here. The Italian restaurant would be serving a celebratory tasting menu but they hadn’t counted on Ursula. A couple days earlier, around the time I arrived at this insular paradise, she had become stronger. Perhaps challenged by her older sister Yolanda, who had passed through the Philippines a few years before or maybe, it was just the unfortunate combination of hot air with strong winds. Whatever the reason, Ursula was already regarded as this year’s worst typhoon. The warning had been given, around the many islands in the Visaya region. People were to stay indoors, and the fragile Bangka fleets brought to shore. This made it harder for us tourists to move around. In Malapascua dozens of resorts and dive shops line up on the beach. The roads are either small dirt paths or the beach itself. There are no cars, and now, with all the outriggers tied to the trees, every walk felt like an obstacle race. In spite of that, it was business as usual. Dive centers made plans for early mornings, restaurants announced their holiday specials and the desperate woodcarvers peddled their souvenirs to a handful of tourists. In a way, the consensus seemed to be that the whole thing was an exaggeration. Oh boy, were they wrong… After dinner, I risked a peek outside. Ursula seemed to be losing her strength letting me believe I would be able to cover the short distance back to my hotel. I dashed out but the scene was terrifying! Uprooted trees, roofs caved in, electrical poles on the ground. I attempted to make it along the beach only to be forced back by the wreckage of the fishing ships and dive boats. Then, as I tried desperately to find my way through the maze of small alleys, she came back angrier than before. Her brutality was such that a wall took off right in front of my eyes. Scared and lost, I heard a sound. Lee, the hotel manager and Diego, the dive shop security guard were crying out to me. They opened a door and I was once again safe. For the next five hours, we would stand by the window watching the debris fly past. We watched as Lee dashed out to save a dog’s life. We watched as heavy tables crashed against the walls. And we held our collective breaths when the lighting on the top floor went a-wire. In a bad mood, Lee decided to risk his way home. His bravado was stronger than mine. “The worst is over”, he said. That left Diego and me. Diego looked nervous. Probably sensing the camaraderie that only a disaster of this magnitude can bring, he decided to open up. He told me how his house had been carried away by the storm. He told me that he had lost contact with his family. But he feared most for his newborn son. I urged him to go and look after them. I could keep an eye on the place. But he wouldn’t move. “They have cameras”, he said pensively. “I would be fired.” And so, we stayed. An unlikely duo. Watching, as Ursula destroyed his world. Legend says that on December 25th, 1520, a group of Spanish sailors was stranded on an island. A heavy storm caused them to spend Christmas ashore. They would later name that small piece of land, Malapascua. Bad Christmas. Though we can’t really say that this year the Malapascuans had a bad Christmas, they had no Christmas at all. Ursula robbed them of it. They spent their day rebuilding resorts and restaurants on which their livelihood depends.