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A Batanes pastoral
Source: Inquirer
Author: Elizabeth Lolarga
Date: 1999-05-23
 
IF actress Claire Danes had gone to

Batanes, she would have come away

with the scent of the pounding sea in

her nostrils and the memory of a folk, whole in body and soul,

who do not fail to nod hello as they pass by you on their bikes,

scooters or motorcycles.



Perhaps the brouhaha over her candid comments about life in

Manila wouldn't have occurred, and instead the good news

about one spot of paradise would have reached the world.



She wouldn't have minded staying an extra day because of the

erratic nature of the air transport service--Laoag International

Airlines (LIA)--and would have found reasons to linger in this

northernmost island province where one must ''be ready for

whatever blows your way,'' in the gently couched warning of

Trek Batanes writer Liz Reyes.



And if she had bothered to traverse the length of Batan and

cross the Ivana Channel to reach the magical isle of Sabtang

with a companion named R, her diary would be chockful of

impressions, and it would read this way.

Day One (Friday)



Left Baguio for Laoag at

8:45 p.m. last night on

Partas Transit, taking two

bags of clothes, some

toiletries and a litro-size

Coke bottle filled with

distilled water. Slept

through much of the 5-hour

trip.



R nudges me awake when we reach the Partas terminal at 1:20

a.m. We stay at the waiting area where there is a TV set tuned to

the Pinoy Blockbuster Channel. He watches three Tagalog

movies in a row.



I stretch out on one of the long benches for waiting commuters,

using his luggage as my pillow, and manage to steal some

shut-eye. Up again at 5 a.m. for a 10-minute tricycle ride to the

Laoag International Airport. The streets are deserted but well-lit

and the morning chill whips our faces.



When we arrive the airport is dark, except for a light in the

departure area. I can't possibly grope my way to the ladies' room

so I go behind a tree to pee in the darkness, but not before

saying ''Tabi, tabi po'' to the invisible spirits. Eugene's Store

opens, and we each have a cup of coffee. While R goes off to

inquire about our tickets, a man comes up to me to ask if I am an

Ivatan. No, I say, I'm a first-time visitor to Batanes. He smiles.



The airport is a brick-and-glass structure with graceful arches.

All it lacks is a chimney and temperate mornings. Actually, it

looks like a church so I must correct myself. All it lacks is a huge

crucifix on top of it. Cocks crowing all over. Morning comes.



Delay! The expected 40-seat Fokker plane doesn't arrive. No

definite word from the LIA ticketing office, though, to explain

why we can't fly out. Only a 9-seat plane, RP-C678, is available,

and it has hauled out the first nine passengers. We have to wait

for it to return at 10 a.m.



We get a chance to chat with some Ivatan travellers who have

grown accustomed to these delays, to promises of planes that

are a no-show. One is toting two brown puppies in a carton box

with round holes. He lets the puppies loose on the grounds

while we wait. There are more than a dozen of us expecting the

next two flights.



I pray we can get on the second plane as already a wealth of

time has been wasted just by waiting for the 19-seater to arrive

from Manila. There is time to order breakfast for two at

Eugene's. We have steamed rice, chopped tomatoes, two pieces

each of longganisa and scrambled eggs. Our food bill comes up

to P61, and the proprietress knocks off P1.



I shouldn't have taken my Bonamine so early, mistakenly

thinking that I'd get on the 7 a.m. plane. I have to take the pill

again right before our flight is confirmed. R fears we might be on

the third and last batch. I would've wanted to visit the Laoag

church just to fill up the time.



At 11 a.m. Eugene's rings out with the sound of Chinese being

spoken loudly by Taiwanese stewardesses and a steward from

Trans Asia Airways. They disembark from their plane to buy

dried mangoes, Magnolia ice cream packed in styropor

containers and fresh buko juice poured into white plastic bottles

at P80 per jug. Even flight attendants must have their share of

pasalubong from the Philippines.



A woman bound for Basco hears that there are 15 confirmed

Batanes-bound passengers from Manila leaving in the 19-seat

plane, so that leaves only four seats when it taxies into the

Laoag airport. I wonder if we'll be given priority.



1:45 p.m. Airborne at last in a chartered plane, Seair RP-C748. It

is R's calling card that finally facilitates our being issued tickets

at P2,000 each for this flight. While waiting for the plane to

arrive, we have time for a leisurely lunch--rice and pinakbet for

him, rice and a soothing fish sinigang with lots of tomatoes for

me. There is even time for me to brush my teeth.



Arrive at Basco airport at 2:45 p.m. to a drizzle. R and I turn to

each other, and I voice what's on our minds: ''Where to now?'' A

tricycle ferries us to Ivatan Lodge on the National Road. We get

a P400-a-night room just for tonight. Tomorrow we move to a

lower room rate (P100 for a single bed). Tonight we might enjoy

the matrimonial bed, if R is not too exhausted. He has had very

little sleep.



We learn from the lady who welcomes us to the inn and who

opens the room for us that R's University of the Philippines

College Baguio (UPCB) colleagues are occupying Rooms 4 and

5 across from our Room 7. I leave a note for Del Tolentino, who

is part of the teaching staff of the training workshop on

''Historical Methodologies Toward a Grassroots Reconstruction

of Local History,'' but when we get to the Philippine Information

Agency, we learn he and the other teachers are at the provincial

capitol.



Before we go there we have a merienda of delicious, freshly

made sugar-raised doughnuts and ice-cold Coke at the St.

Dominic's College canteen. While on our way to the PIA office,

a little boy suddenly darts from across the street, gets hold of

my right hand and raises it to his forehead in the traditional

greeting to the elderly. How sweet! R says the boy must think

I'm his fat ninang.



Del and Ben Tapang come out of the capitol's human resources

development room to greet us. Del takes us to Mama Lily's Inn

nearby so we can make a reservation for dinner.



Dinner is a huge cracked lobster, fried ogmo (a cousin of the

lapu-lapu), another ogmo dish, this time a stew with malunggay

leaves, a whole llanera of leche flan, and unlimited rice. Our bill

for the virtual feast: a reasonable P300. We walk back to the

lodge in the dark (no streetlamps), Ben lighting the way with his

flashlight.
 

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