Absolution & Disenchanted Shrines

At last! After seven weeks, 5000 kilometres and over 30 islands, the wind gods grant me absolution. The wind is here! On the beach at seven without breakfast, set up and out immediately. The wind is blowing from the north-east side onshore at 14 knots. 50 other kiters are out at low tide. There are numerous rocks in the water, some just below the surface. If you’re travelling south, you can’t see any of them thanks to the sun in the morning.

Because of the numerous sea urchins, hardly anyone goes out without gaiters. I gave mine to Uli to take home three weeks ago. Now I’m buying new ones. Kitesurfing is strictly regulated at Bulabog Beach on Boracay. You need a flag on your kite. You can get one at any kite school for a deposit of 250 pesos – nobody wants to see a licence.

There are a lot of Russians here and they like to drink communist Cuba Libre. I see one of them downing at least four of them during a break. He can still walk, but is already slurring his words. Now he wants to go kitesurfing – with the obligatory Russian start five metres from the palm trees, of course. Ah, beloved prejudices…

I start the second round around midday. The wind is now blowing at 13 perfect 15 to 20 knots for my red and black Bumsbomber. There are now a total of 197 kiters and 29 surfers out in an area measuring 2000 by 400 metres. That’s more than enough for a survivor of the Neusiedler kite wars. Even at jousting tournaments there was more safety distance.

I work my way through the students’ danger zone – the kites are now popping onto the water every 10 seconds. It’s getting a bit better out there and thanks to the incoming tide, the water level is now higher: not every mistake lands on a rock. I’m promptly thrown violently a few times after botched jumps and when heating up. Neptune accepts my first pair of sunglasses as an offering.

I have to change hotels in the afternoon, as each one is only free for one or two days over New Year’s Eve – despite the steep prices. Pack my things, trike down to the city centre and check in. At least Fat Jimmy’s is close to the Bulabog. Straight back to the beach. The wind is weaker, but still okay. Out for another two hours until my arms fall off. I don’t get ashore until sunset.

Having just marvelled at the stupidity of others, I now stupidly let the untied lines swing in the surf for a minute. It takes just under an hour to untie the nest of fishing nets, plastic and seaweed. I crawl home to my bed. Despite seven weeks of pre-tanning and SPF 50, my legs are bright red, my face sunglasses koala in red and white. Over five hours in the water without warming up was probably a bit much.

Kitesurfing on Boracay. I revoke your sanctity. Yes, it’s quite nice. But honestly: rocks and sea urchins in the water, crowded, quite a few kite ravos ignoring all the rules on the water, three metres of beach at high tide, no nice bars and everything to drink and eat is just so expensive. That’s not enough to make it a sanctuary. It’s always the same with this glorified rabble. Sit down! Three.