Typhoon Tisoy / Kamuri over Mindoro

The PCA rightly fled early from the next typhoon. Although Typhoon Tisoy/Kamuri initially had much lower wind speeds than our last typhoon on Palawan at the beginning of November, it will cause much more damage. Its eye is currently crossing northern Mindoro with elemental forces.

Typhoon Tisoy / Kamuri gained quite a bit of energy before it made landfall in the eastern Philippines near Bicol on Sunday night with peak winds of almost 200 kilometres per hour. 70.000 people were evacuated before the typhoon arrived. Manila Airport and many other airports were completely closed for several days and all shipping traffic was suspended.

On Facebook, people who should never have left their loo at home are asking stupid questions like “How do I get to which beautiful beach now?”. Two days ago, I went to the west side of Mindoro, which is facing away from the wind. But even here the world is coming to an end.

Power, internet and mobile phone services are completely cut off. Trees are collapsing in downpours and gusts of over 130 km/h. Empty streets are under water. Power lines flash overhead. Corrugated iron sheets fly around.

It was already clear yesterday that the only boat travelling in my direction was stranded on Coron before Typhoon Tisoy. The earliest departure from San Jose would be in a week. Approximately. Maybe. A Dutchman jokes “you always need a plan B here”. But I’m slowly running out of letters. I stop counting how many times I’ve been stranded and drowned in downpours on this trip.

San Jose generates a moist “Mad Max” charm in the typhoon. It’s a poor big city. The only endearing thing is a gigantic Christmas tree made from several thousand green “Mountain Dew” plastic bottles. But even that makes me kind of sad because of the supra-regional sugar shock it requires.

Far fewer Filipinos speak English than in the rest of the country. Significantly more beg in front of the banks. Nobody has a clue about anything. I get a menu at the best restaurant in San Jose. Then I wait in vain for half an hour for one of the five waitresses typing on their mobile phones to do their job.

The only guest sneaks off to the second best restaurant. It’s called McDonalds. It remains the only open food bowl for two days. Outside the leaking windows, trees burst in a typhoon. The loudspeakers play “Wonderful Christmas Holiday”. Only Mel Gibson in a dirndl could add to the bizarreness – if he were at the counter reciting “Osterhasi” and throwing a round of cold apple tarts.

Even without the typhoon, the Mindoro Plaza Hotel is the purest shining of wretchedness. The owner’s little pedigree puppy barks its heart out in a cage that is too small for it in front of the entrance. I am the only guest for days in a creepy, dark – but apparently safe because of the concrete – bunker.

Its best years, if they ever existed, were eons ago. My clogged shower floods the whole room with brittle electrical cables. I flee naked into the corridor. A joker writes “redrum” in dark red letters on the door of the neighbouring room…