Return to Mindoro

For the last 25 years, my life has been kitesurfing and travelling. I spent between three and seven months travelling every year. Now I’m a father and I’m scared. Do the two go together, or does one always come up short? I am infinitely grateful for the licence to travel solo for a month.

After a good 36 hours on the road via Mecca and Manila, I get off the small propeller plane in San Jose, Mindoro early in the morning. At the bus station, two half-people stand in my way. One half is Russian, the other Ukrainian. Together they talk incessantly and more than two whole people.

Loneliness is the brother of travelling. I know him well. It’s often annoying, whether passively or actively. Today, my jet lag ignores both variants on the hour-long minivan journey to Bulalacao. One last trike over the steep coastal hills and I’m at my favourite Philippine spot at Kitesurf-Mindoro.com.

There is absolutely no sign of the devastating typhoon at Christmas 2021. New trees and a restaurant have grown out of ground zero. The glamping tents have been replaced by much better ventilated round huts. The people here are as good as ever.

This year, the Amihan is blasting like never before. Weeks beforehand, I was warned that I should pack a seven kite for up to 50 knots. But that would have blown up my 23 7kg concept. I always prefer to travel light, so once again only 10 XR6 and 13 Edge.

In my 10 days on Mindoro, I spent seven out of ten days with the 10 kite, always travelling at 25 to 35 knots, in gusts right up to the limit. On the very second day, my worse leg flew me into the WOO Asia Leaderboard with a height of 10.4 metres. A Sibire from Lake Baikal topped that by several metres.

On the first day with less than 25 knots I set up the Edge 13. It immediately loses air from a broken connector from the outer strut to the front tube. After the tube of the outer strut broke twice on my last trip here, this is now the third Ozone damage that was not my fault. This will definitely be my last trip with this expensive brand. I can only have the Ozone repaired in Boracay, if at all. The itinerary will be adjusted.

The wind blows Cape Town-style again over the next few days. In what must have been a total of four weeks travelling here in recent years, I was probably the only one never to come into contact with sea urchins. This year I drastically improve my ranking. Two sea urchins leave nine spines. The local antiserum is to dissolve them in sea urchin soup made from vinegar and kalamansi. That’s enough for the first superficial sting. The other eight are deeper and become inflamed after a few days. Alcohol and a scalpel finish them off.

Once, I flubbed the kite just five metres from the beach. This was the only contact with the ground during the session and it caused a number of stings. It is certainly not possible to keep the whole bay of approx. 250 x 200 metres free of sea urchins. Perhaps there are simply more sea urchins this year. But at least directly at the launch site everything should be clean. This year, there was hardly a day without an inciting experience. There was always one. My arm on the reef was one of them.

When the wind died on the ninth day, I was grateful. My good new travelling buddy Sebastian, myself and, above all, my knee, which was discreetly starting to yodel again, needed a break. We drive one day to the small island of Buyayao, about ten kilometres to the north. I had it on my “potentially kiteable” list for a long time. The small coral-fringed rocky islands in front of the beautiful sandy beach couldn’t possibly cover the Amihan completely. But the steep mountain 100 metres behind it probably ensures a calm up to 50 metres from the beach.

A “short walk” into a bat cave emphasises the topography. On trails, some of which are barely recognisable, we walk steeply uphill and downhill through the jungle at 32° and 90% humidity. Fallen trees, slippery clay soil, sharp karst rocks and nasty tripping hazards send me to the ground several times. After two hours, I crawl back to Bislig Beach on the banka, completely dehydrated. After my first Coke of the trip, I immediately fall asleep by the fishing net.

The farewell to many new friends from all over the world is warm, but fortunately not as dramatic as after surviving typhoons together in agony. The trike takes us to the harbour and the FastCat takes us to the next island in just over four hours.