Days In Guinobatan…..This Is Dry Season?!?

Having chosen this time of year because all of the guide books and websites call it the dry season, the continuing downpours have surprised us a bit – we expected tropical showers but what happened in Guinobatan was something else. First came rain, then some sunshine, and then…..wow. Picture those TV images of monsoon rains, then imagine 48 hours without the smallest pause. Our tiny river became a torrent, streets became flooded…..all ending with crazy scenes at an airport. It unfolded like this….

The heavy rain which blighted Banaue has followed us here, hammering down through the firsr night and into Tuesday morning, swelling the river and delaying our start to the day. True to tropical form though, once it clears it clears and the afternoon is a searing combination of upper 30s and rampant humidity. Unfortunately though, this won’t by any means be the last time we see the rain here, not by a long chalk. Something seems to be brewing. But before then we continue our explorations of areas around Guinobatan.

Daraga church, an enjoyable half hour drive from “home”, is testament to the battle between mankind and the elements in this volatile natural environment. Like so much of the surrounding area, the original church was destroyed by one of mighty Mayon’s bad moods – although it was also bombed by the Americans in WW2 – but now stands proud once again, having been reconstructed entirely from the lava which destroyed it in the first place. Is that neat or what?

A few miles from Daraga in the direction of Legazpi, the slightly unusual “agritourism” destination of Farmplate is home to, amongst other things, the smallest chapel in the whole of the Philippines, seating a maximum congregation of just 12. It’s cute, but Farmplate is an eclectic mixture of oddities, with, as well as the diddy chapel, a handful of cafes, a campsite, lanterns strung from trees and an American cowboy theme. And perhaps most bizarre of all, a pet cemetery where as we walk through to the cafe gravediggers are busy creating a new pit for somebody’s recently lost companion.

But a third destination awaits, and today we have saved the best till last. Having noticed on our first two days that the clearest view of mighty Mayon comes when the clouds clear at around 4pm, we head for a vantage point which is in itself a remarkable natural setting known as the Quitinday Green Hills. This strange landscape with its oddly isolated rounded hills, caused by tectonic movement millennia ago, is not just a beautiful and peaceful place in its own right but quite possibly the best vantage point for gazing at Mayon that we’ve come across so far. Once again we are mesmerised. 

We climb each of the two accessible green hills in turn. Will the clouds disperse? Will Mayon show itself?….

Up here we’re above the humidity, up where instead of the cloying heat a hot yet refreshing breeze blows across the hilltop. There’s just the two of us here, not another soul around. Palm trees, coconut and banana, fill the whole scene with lush greenery stretching as far as the eye can see, yet our eyes are continually drawn to the might of Mayon, towering above the verdant terrain with its proud, perfect shape. As the clouds move away, the now familiar wisp of vapour drifts from the peak on the prevailing wind, and Mayon is once again clear in all its majestic glory. Between our transfixed eyes and the volcano, the peculiar green hills of Quitinday dot the land like oversized burial mounds. We can’t tear ourselves away from this amazing view, as unique as it is beautiful. I motion to speak, but when I catch Michaela’s eye, she’s clearly thinking the same, and there’s no need for words. This is magical. Moments, and places, like this…. are precious.

It’s been a highly stimulating day in a place we are fast coming to love. As we drift off to sleep, images of Mayon float in and out of our minds. We don’t know yet that tomorrow will be just as good, if not even a little bit better….

“It’s a beautiful disaster”, he says, gazing upwards. A beautiful disaster. What an extraordinary phrase. The young lad is gazing upwards at Mayon, the volcano which dominates every view and dictates every life here, with a look in his eye that only those who live close to natural extremes can carry. By “beautiful disaster” he means, of course, Mayon’s eruptions. Beautiful to watch, devastating in their effect. How can those of us who live cosseted, safe lives possibly understand what it is really like to live with a constant threat to our very existence?

We’re standing on the black chunks of the 2006 eruption, looking at the dark pathway down Mayon’s right flank which is its most recent creation, the lava flow of 2023. Pitched a few yards away is an unassuming blue post: unassuming but significant, marking as it does the edge of the six kilometre exclusion zone around the giant volcano. We, like everybody else, can venture no closer to the beast which rules. 

Getting to this point, this edge of the safe area, has been by some considerable distance our best and most challenging ATV (or quad bike) drive ever, over rough black bouldered terrain, across dry river beds, through waterways and even through a quarry. From beginning to end our drive is close to three hours, including a short hike to the lava field, and is exhilarating beyond words. Adrenaline flows, the heart, at times, races. All the time, above us, mighty Mayon looks down, goading us that quad biking isn’t dangerous, not compared to “his” power. But wow this has been beyond terrific, a fabulously exciting experience. Best of its type. So far.

Walking from our digs into town this evening, we feel as if we’re walking like cowboys: three hours in the ATV saddle has taken its toll and our legs just won’t bend like they’re supposed to, but there’s some housekeeping to do, meaning calls at the pharmacy and the 7-Eleven. I need to sit down, my legs have had enough. Hiding behind the market and the tricycles and the mopeds and the jeepneys is a red neon sign reading “Top View”, perched quietly above a scruffy store. After three hours in the saddle, the plastic chair and the San Mig beer are both little pieces of heaven – plus, no surprise, the name of the bar is appropriate, this is the one place in Guinobatan where you can drink beer, listen to music, and gaze at mighty Mayon looming over the town.

Four San Migs in, dinner back at the ranch suddenly seems like it would be a cop out, so it’s street food tonight, plastic chairs, rustic food, free soup, and all. Nothing is too much trouble for the cafe owners who make us feel like honoured guests as they attend to our every need, beaming huge smiles of joy when it becomes obvious that we like their food. We are in this moment reminded of something somebody said to us, way back in our early days in the Philippines….

“It’s not a real Philippines restaurant if they don’t give you free soup”. 

Well. This is real then. Free soup, plastic chairs in the street, good food for not many pesos. If we didn’t already love Guinobatan, this would have sealed the deal. As it happens, we do already love it. It’s got “Phil & Michaela” written all over it. 

Free soup and everything

Apart, that is, from this bloody rain. We got lucky on our ATV day, the rains holding off until literally ten minutes after we’d finished, then coming down in torrents as we supped iced tea. It stopped again before we ventured out for our evening. Through the night and into Thursday it’s a different story and this time it really means business: heavy, heavy rain and talk of flood warnings in the coming hours. 

Trying to pretend it’s going to clear up soon, we at last get to do a jeepney ride – well two jeepney rides in truth – back and forth from Guinobatan to Legazpi City, though the day, and the rain, turn out to have a different plan, one which definitely does not involve clearing up soon. By the time we’ve reached Legazpi, it’s become completely unreal, so much so that we’re beginning to debate whether we have ever seen rain like it – as heavy as this for as long as this, with no pause? – we think possibly not.

We take refuge in a coffee bar, watching the streets flood and the city disappear under the deluge, and then, with no realistic option, wait under a shelter for a jeepney back. So much for exploring Legazpi. By the time we get home to Guinobatan everything is flooded: streets, plazas, our own courtyard, all under water. The river out back is at least twice the size it was when we arrived and is flowing at least twice as fast. It’s just unbelievable, an incredible quantity of rain simply emptying from the skies. Non stop torrential rain for about 17 hours now. As it turns out, 17 hours isn’t even the half of it.

This is not normal.

Throughout the night the roar of the river is relentless, by morning it’s raging through, filling the channel from bank to bank, totally unrecognisable from the narrow flow which was ambling past when we arrived. Even loading the backpacks into the car is an exercise in disaster avoidance. We’re moving on now, not just from Guinobatan but from Luzon island completely. As we drive to the airport visibility is down to a few yards, so heavy is the rain – I gratefully and slowly follow a large truck for most of the drive.

As flight time approaches we are surprised that there is no talk of delay, and in fact we actually commence boarding early…and then come the unique scenes. You can’t help but laugh when things get this extreme. We’ve all got to walk across the tarmac to the little prop plane – but the rain and the wind are as intense as ever, giving us deep puddles to trudge through and horizontal lashing rain to battle with. As if everything is normal, the airline, Cebu Pacific, has an umbrella system – as we leave the cover of the walkway we are each handed a bright yellow umbrella which we then hand back as we mount the steps the aircraft. Well, that’s a first!

In truth the brolly is of limited use. Every passenger is soaked, the aisle is awash with rainwater dripping from clothing. There is, of course, a communal sense of amusement. Humour in adversity is alive and well!

And we’re off, up into the storm in our little prop plane. Next stop Cebu island.