The Other Kingdom

I survive eight days on Boracay. David, on the other hand, falls seriously ill with Montezuma in Stereo. We leave without him, in search of true kingdoms. Our private Bangka leaves directly from White Beach and is almost on time. Jules from Cardiff arrives an hour late. He had to pay off his Philippine lapdog. Refuelling at the ATM took longer.

Thick rain clouds hang over Panay. With 25 knots of wind, it doesn’t matter whether it rains or not. As soon as we are out of the lee of Boracay with the little five-metre bangka, travelling becomes an adventure again. Waves of over 1.5 metres fly over the deck. The luggage stays dry thanks to David’s rubbish bags. After over an hour with the engine throttled back, we reach the other kingdom soaking wet.

The island of Carabao is just 5 kilometres north of Boracay. I jump onto the beach. The universe. Infinite expanses. Carabao is another galaxy, and Ivy’s Vine Resort is one of the few accommodations in the small village of Lanas. I am irritated. The new Mecklenburg owner has two legs and greets us in my language. As there is no internet, he knew nothing about our booking. The beach is completely empty, we are the only guests. All prices drop instantly by a factor of two to four – with the exception of diving and usurious bikes.

Even the cats here can hardly be compared to their counterparts on Boracay. There, by the 10th day of life at the latest, every cat looks like it has just survived three bunrouts under a Harley – against the grain. And that’s only if they’re lucky. Without it, on the other hand, it is acoustically and visually strikingly similar to the cute little dogs from Resident Evil.

Dragonflies fly in the metal band-free zone. The water is clear and clean. The wind rustles in the palm trees. The owner has stories and is happy to share them. Of stolen laptops and the omnipresent knowledge of who has them in the village. “It always settles after a while,” he says. Stories of hostile kingdoms. Boats from Carabao are only allowed to dock on Boracay’s backside – White Beach is off limits. The people of Carabao have been hoping for an airport for a long time. But the Manilan investor jumped ship years ago under pressure from influential Boracayans.

Now Carabao lies dormant. The king is a mayor on the other side in San Jose. He owns everything, including a couple of sea eagles in a large aviary. He looks just like them. He charges 50 pesos for kiting on the beach in front of his castle – with a bill. Nevertheless, the beach in San Jose is my long and desperately sought-after lost kitesurfing paradise.

Beach: 20 metres wide and a nice safe distance from the palm trees, completely empty apart from numerous children rushing in. Wind 14-18 knots side-onshore, a few sharp corals in the sand, a few rocks in the water. Otherwise everything is perfect. Water: crystal clear and much more odourless than Boracay. Waves: wonderfully soft despite the lack of a fringing reef. In Boracay it chopped almost constantly at short intervals. Here: smoooooooooooth. Good for heating up, edging and perfect for a few good jumps.

After an hour, the wind dies down. I don’t want to spoil my paradise by cranking up the height and go out. Children camp under the kite. It starts to rain. I pack up and take two bikes back to the other side of the island, six kilometres away. Two bikes, because the weight of my bliss tears the rear tyre of the first one.

Dinner. King Jürgen seats us on the beach view gallery above the kitchen. Three chairs in front of three tables in a row. Three plates, three glasses and three ashtrays. The light under the palm canopy switches on. We’re the old gallery sacks from the Muppet show in 3.1. There’s just absolutely nothing to grumble about, so Jules just plays a damn good guitar and we fall silent to the sound of the waves.