Destinations » Philippins Island

Thanks to the power and unpredictability of the elements, these 10 islands are amongst the most isolated spots in the Philippines’. Together they form the coun­try’s smallest province in area and popu­lation, and lie about 200km north of the Luzon main land, and separated from Tai­wan by the surging waters of the Bashi Channel. Due to local meteorological con­ditions, flights to the Batanes are the most frequently cancelled of any air services in the Philippines. No commercial shipping company dares establish a regular serv­ice to the islands. Most travellers visit be­tween March and May, when a break in the weather allows the majority of flights and the occasional ship to arrive. Other­wise, apart from calm weather during a brief Indian summer in September, the is­lands are cut off from the mainland for weeks on end.

Typhoons born in the vast emptiness of the Pacific expend their anger on the Batanes as they blast through on their way to the Asian land mass: on average, eight major typhoons lash the islands every year. Nobody bothers to count the number of other brutal storms that also descend with frightening regularity. Add to this intimidat­ing mix the treacherous currents and un­predictable tides that are created in the narrow channels between the islands — where the waters of the Pacific clash with those of the South China Sea — and it’s easy to understand why access has always been difficult.

The islands’ topography contributes to the sense of remoteness and inaccessi­bility: beneath dark, brooding skies, pre­cipitous cliffs rear up from a rocky coast­line, encircled by a giant moat —the cruel, relentless sea. The colours and textures of the landscape have more in common with Scotland or Ireland’s wild Atlantic coast than the lushly tropical Philippines.

Not surprisingly, isolation and a con­stant struggle against the elements have made their mark on the inhabitants of the Batanes. In the process of adapting their lifestyle to meet the challenges of their environment, they have created a distinct culture. English buccaneer William Dampier first drew attention to the islands when he visited in 1687. Spanish Domini­can priests struggled for 100 years to es­tablish a permanent presence, finally suc­ceeding in 1783 (more than two centuries after the first colonies on the Philippines mainland). In the late 19th century, one priest spoke of the islands as "a veritable exile on account of the physical conditions of their climate, the lack of communications with the rest of the world and of the almost complete isolation with which the mission­aries have to cope ".

The inhabitants of Batanes are known as Ivatans and some 15,000 of them live on the islands of Batan, Sabtang and far-flung Itbayat (the remaining seven islands are too inhospitable to be permanently set­tled). Their tiny towns and small villages, located on narrow strips of land between the steep hills and rugged coastline, pro­vide a unique opportunity to see how an isolated community has evolved with little interference from the outside world. There are no visible signs of wealth or ostenta­tious status symbols, an almost complete absence of motor transport and outside Basco, the capital, on Batan little or no electricity. Most of the inhabitants are fish­ermen or farmers, employing techniques and using tools which have changed little in the past two centuries.

Dr Florentino Hornedo, a leading Philippine historian and an Ivatan himself, notes: "Life on the islands is close to the earth and remains generally isolated from both the vices and the virtues of the rest of the country."

Outsiders notice the universal friendliness: everybody bids you good day with a broad grin, happy that you have visited their homeland. Monsignor Mario Baltazar, aged 67, who arrived from Manila in the 1950s, describes his congregation as tough, stoical folk with an acceptance of routine danger and a special ability to co­operate with one another "a trait vital for their survival in this harsh environment". Crime is almost non-existent and there is only one inmate in the provincial jail.

The omnipotence of the weather dic­tates every facet of Ivatan life. The most fascinating example is the unique local housing. The Spaniards, eager to gather the people together in villages to facilitate their pacification, taught them how to build solid structures using the locally abundant lime. Thus the houses are made from large, impenetrable limestone or basalt blocks bound together with a lime cement. Heavy lintels and posts frame low door­ways, set in metre thick walls, which typi­cally open on to grassy patios adorned with flowers and ferns. The thatched roofs, made from several layers of cogon grass and secured within by reeds, vines and bamboo poles, can withstand even the fiercest typhoons. When strong winds blow, everyone quickly takes shelter in­doors, and all the windows are quickly shuttered with thick hardwood and fas­tened by sticks.

The environment also prescribes the lvatans’ choice of livelihood. They are skilled fishermen and the surrounding ocean offers a rich harvest. They feast regularly on lobster, thick steaks of dorado (similar to tuna), flying fish and the tatus, or coconut crab (a crustacean which climbs trees to satisfy its taste for coconuts and which fetches a king’s ransom in Manila’s best restaurants).

The Ivatans are expert boat-builders and use vessels with a specially crafted hull. This allows the boat to ride the backs of huge ocean rollers; the traditional Filipino outrigger would never survive in these kinds of seas. Smaller craft, known as tataya, stay close inshore, while the larger talowa often equipped with modern engines can venture further out and are often used as inter-island ferries. Fisher­men without boats have developed a spe­cial technique. They venture out to the edge of the reefs and with great dexter­ity and balancing very carefully cast large nets suspended between two poles.

The sea is notoriously volatile even in summer months. The confluence of competing currents and tides can turn the wa­ters into a veritable maelstrom in a short time. Vicious squalls can blow up in min­utes, whipping the waves into a frenzy. The fishermen rely on traditional warning signs for these storms meteorological fore­casters still can’t predict them.

Generoso Castillejos, an old sea dog with 40 years’ experience, explains how he and the other fishermen of Batanes have learned to watch nature’s warning signs: "Tidal currents will be strongest dur­ing a new and full moon. If I see cirrus clouds on the skyline, I know strong winds will be arriving in three weeks. When the sea eagles screech, it indicates a wind change to the north —the wind fishermen fear most. Pilots will not sail if they dream of tall fences as it signifies their boat will not get over the waves. A dream of ashes and dust foresees death."

To sustain the population in months when fishermen dare not put to sea, the Ivatans turn to their fields, but this too has its constraints. "The frequency of typhoons means that only ground crops can be grown for profit and sometimes the storms are so strong that the farms get swept clean of crops," explains Dr Homedo.

Working long hours, the Ivatans pro­duce kamote (sweet potatoes), garlic, on­ions and other hardy root crops. Sugar cane and bananas are also grown but at the mercy of the winds.

At dusk you can see ancient women plodding home, bent double under baskets full of kamote. Many wear the suot, an out­landish, but practical, cape woven from dried palm or banana leaves that reaches right down the back, and which is remark­ably effective in protecting them from the rain. No matter how heavy the load, they never fail to greet a stranger with a smile.