The windiest spot in Asia is located in the very north-west of the Philippine main island of Luzon. Pagudpud is a completely different world again. In the 70s, the Markos regime sent many people here to Hawaii to obtain foreign currency. Today, they are a good deal richer than the rest of the Philippines. The houses are solidly built, some of them real castles, and many of them are fronted by really big cars.

I put up in a cheap homestay. Seas of green rice fields stretch from the village to the high mountains in the south. Saud Beach is pretty much the most idyllic tropical beach I’ve ever seen. Unfortunately, Amihan is fully covered by the wind from the coastline. (more…)

I had already put Lakawon on my list of spots at home. A rather luxurious resort occupies a small paradise island full of palm trees surrounded by turquoise shallow water. The banka takes me from Sicogon to Estancia, by minivan to Concepción and then two more large bankas two hours over to the next kiteboarding paradise five kilometres north of Negros.

The Philippine Kitesurfing Championships in Airstyle, Hangtime and Race will take place here over the next four days. More than 50 kiters from all over the world will be competing for the throne. The imported beer, which is actually banned, and several bottles of rum are professionally distributed to the rooms by tractor. Howard Hughes from the Philippines throws one funny round of “Who’s afraid of Duterte?” after another. (more…)

A few weeks ago, the good people at Hangin Kite on Boracay suggested that I visit the Philippine Kitesurfing Championship on Sicogon. Thanks to a delay of just eight hours on the ferry from Cuyo back to Antique, the plan worked out. Together with a Spanish instructor and a competitor from Hamburg, I race two and a half hours from Iloilo to Estancia in the Speedvan.

The next afternoon, a banka full of competitors takes me three quarters of an hour over to Sicogon. The venue is the classy Huni Resort. The infinity pool flows directly into the endless white-blue horizon above the spot. Thanks to rooms beyond the €100 mark, we stay at the slightly cheaper Balay Kogon. The path there is currently still so narrow that only motorbikes can get you there over two kilometres. (more…)

Sometimes it seems as if the harder goals are to achieve, the more valuable they become. Cuyo fully belongs in this category. Located just 100 kilometres as the crow flies from my second kitespot Malalison in the Palawan Sea, the journey takes a good 27 hours. Banka to the mainland, trike, six hours by backfish bus without air conditioning through numerous landslides behind San Jose to Iloilo that have not yet been repaired by the last rainy season.

As nobody could reliably say when the ferry to Cuyo would leave, I arrive six hours early as a precaution. It departs almost on time and, thanks to enough paint on 40-year-old steel, arrives in Cuyo in one piece after 14 hours, even through three metres of swell. Compared to the 29 hours of seasickness caused by a storm from two Swedes for the trip from the other side, which actually took eight hours, my ship was the purest speedboat. (more…)

After nine days, I’ve had enough of the overcrowded Chinese mall of Boracay. The magic of the Philippines lies elsewhere. It’s a two-hour bus journey south through the windswept green seas of rice paddies and crops drying by the roadside. In Culasi, I take a banka to the small fishing island of Malalison near the coast of Antique.

The satellite images promised waves in front of and shallow water behind a small sandbank directly in front of my Nipa hut on the beach. The receptionist at my accommodation Casa Preta provided me with good information over the days via Facebook. On arrival, he turned out to be the warm pole of the village community, which is apparently a legal requirement in the Philippines. (more…)

Boracay is hardly recognisable since my last visit seven years ago. The only thing that remains is the density of the buildings and the crowds – although around 25% of all buildings have been declared illegal and demolished. Just three months after reopening, Boracay is still nowhere near its previous booking figures.

When Philippine President Duterte visited Boracay in 2018, he called the island a “cesspool”. He wasn’t far wrong. in 2012, we kitesurfed the Bulabog slalom between floating poo and condoms after every medium downpour. Large parts of the island smelled like dung heaps. With the six-month complete closure and general renovation, at least that is now a thing of the past. (more…)

We wake up quite groggy. A bucket of water. Awake. We have grilled tuna with fried eggs for breakfast. The lovely Tucke takes good care of us – even though she’s well stricken herself. The wind hasn’t arrived yet. But the forecast on Windguru has almost always been right so far. For Bulalacao, it has been predicting choppy winds for today and the next few days for a week now.

I lose a game of chess against Max. A small rain shower passes through. Then the wind picks up. At Felipa Lodge II, you hardly feel a thing. I walk a little to the north. A deserted pier. The water in the two by four kilometre bay of Bulalacao is low – but crowned by white waves. The wind is now chopping at a brutal 10-30 knots. (more…)

Good always grows out of bad. Firstly, biting texts about stupid people, followed immediately by something good. At first I doubt this rule. I had to have Soder-Schedl’s bike repaired yesterday. But: an Australian Filippina overheard me complaining to the landlord. She offers me the tree house of her summer residence, right on the beach in Magdiwan.

Her staff are nice to a fault. The tree house is a dream and costs next to nothing. The shower is outdoors on the north-facing beach. As I had to cross or cycle along a few rivers in heavy downpours on my return journey from Sa Agoho that morning, it’s clear what’s coming next, isn’t it? After rain always comes good wind here! (more…)

It rains briefly during the night, then the wind picks up. Gusts sweep through the open window. The alarm clock rings at seven. I look out to sea. The tide has reached its lowest point. Together with the phase of the moon, the water level in the bay is now far too low. It’s not acceptable until ten o’clock. I set up the nine and go out.

Even in the bay, the waves are now up to 1.5 metres high. The wind is brutally gusty and very strong. Around midday I measure low 15 knots, mid 20s, gusts of 30 – dream conditions for any kiter – but there’s no more safety. After just 50 minutes on the water with gigantic jumps and a violent wave rodeo, I crawl ashore, ready to go. (more…)

The drunken Portuguese foreman of 5000 men on a building site in Hong Kong brings us free drinks on the last evening in Charlh’s bar. Apparently the keeper doesn’t want to let him steal the singer’s microphone like he did two nights before. We don’t find out whether his plan works. Three weeks on Boracay were simply enough. We end up in bed reasonably early.

We set off for Tablas early in the morning. Even leaving Boracay is subject to a hefty eco-tax. Letting poo rot in the sea is simply super eco. We drive past the Bulabog one last time. It looks even fuller from outside. I’m infinitely glad to finally get away. I sit on my kite bag in two metres of swell on the sun deck and keep an eye out. (more…)