Coal and raw meat for grilling: check. Plates, cooler, water gallons: check. Swimsuits and a baby floater: Check. Seven-and-a-half people squeezed in a five-seater car: Check.
Everything was all set for an afternoon of sun-kissed fun except for one small thing: the weather.
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| Jet black sand straight from Mayon. |
It was a sunny April elsewhere in the country but for days, Bicol – particularly Legazpi and Daraga – has been mostly damp and cold, an almost-perennial feature it’s famous for. As we hauled our stuff in the trunk, we received those you-people-are-nuts-to-swim-in-this-ominous-weather look, but we insisted. After all, we didn’t travel 500+ miles to sit on our ass and couch surf.
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| Viento de Mar entrance. |
And there we were, finally, in beautiful Viento de Mar, combing our feet through fine jet black earth birthed by Mayon Volcano itself. It is a ubiquitous sight in Albay, but there in the town of Sogod in Bacacay, it is more fascinating. How often do you encounter a beach whose sand was once molten volcanic lava?
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| San Miguel Island in view. |
A thatched boat sat by the shore, its lone sailor waiting to take someone on a tour to nearby Crab Island. He smiled at me and said the magic words: white sand and snorkel. I agreed to the 15-minute sail to the island only for P600, because P1,500 for an additional island hop to San Miguel Island, only 40 minutes away from shore, was quite lofty though tempting.
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| First she tried to bury her little cousin. Next she made her boobies big with black sand. Kids. |
My mother yelled, a thong on grilled meat in one hand and an umbrella in another, “bring your lola with you. If she wants to.”
She was tumbling with the swells and giggling like a kid. Of course she wants to.
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| Grilling despite the rain. Push mo ‘yan, mother. |
“I don’t know. I’m not sure we should go. You see that?,” my sister said, pointing north of the horizon. San Miguel Island was cloaked with heavy gray clouds. Sometimes the island appeared from behind a frightening rainshower, but most times it didn’t. The waves grew bigger though still manageable, and the rain stronger, though sporadically so.
With conviction, the boatman assured the rain will stop. Just wait, he said.
But within 30 minutes, people were running around like headless chickens. The waves turned monstrous, and light drizzle became monsoon-like. The boat buoyed and bobbed wildly against the current, its canvas roof hanging by a thread.
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| Gloomy weather. And gloomy boatman. Pera na, naging bato pa. LOL. San Miguel Island no longer visible on the horizon. That’s how bonkers it was. |
Inside our open hut, the wind pushed the rain toward all of our stuff. Everything was soaked. Food, clothes, bags, our cameras, us. We shielded them with doggie bags and umbrellas, but even those were stripped away in one swoosh. Lia was flailing and bawling from the cold. Even the dry towels I swaddled her with weren’t spared. Save for us and a family two huts away, everyone else has surrendered. Including the boatman.
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| Odd-looking, super slooow-moving and miniscule rodent on the beach. What the hell kind of nose is that? Definitely not a house rat’s. |
My mother wanted to finish the rest of the meats for grilling (bonkers, I know). Luckily, the oldies convinced her it’s wiser to eat lunch where everything doesn’t turn into soup. We packed our bags and dashed like, well, headless chickens to the car, all dripping wet and shivering.
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| Sole beachcomber. This guy was the only soul left on the beach when the hard rain hit. Looked like he didn’t wanna give up either. |
It could’ve been a nice drizzling afternoon at the beach. But sometimes, nature wins – and whisks you away to somewhere beautiful, though not as crazy.
My mother pressed her hands against the steering wheel and leaned over to the back. “So, who wants to go to Embarcadero?”
She just doesn’t know when to give up.
Read the rest of our Bicol trip series:
