The Tree House On Magdiwan Beach

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!

We are ready by midday. The anemometer shows 13 to 18 knots. I set up the 13 and want to start. Rarely have I misjudged so much. I can barely hold it. What’s more, a bridle line has got so tangled that there’s even more pull on it. There are already a few Filippinos on the beach, but they don’t seem to take my panic too seriously. Nobody goes ten metres into the water to grab the kite that has made an emergency landing. Only after some time do I manage to pull it to the shore – helpers grab the lines. I should give out more instructions…

The anemometer tells me that I seem to have paid zero attention to the wind. It’s now bucking around between 18 and 25 knots. I chat to the fishermen. They explain the shape of the clouds and the resulting wind. I laugh with children and smoke with workers. Then I set up the nine and go out with the help of the only Filippino who speaks really good English and has now been properly briefed.

The panorama is indescribable. Just five kilometres behind the palm trees on the beach is the 2058m high Mt Guinting-Guinting. Max should be somewhere near the summit by now. It is crowned by clouds. Unfortunately, you can’t see that in all the kitesurfing pictures. The panorama was just for me. The wind lasts just under an hour, then I go ashore again.

A kind of public festival has broken out there in the meantime. Half a school class surrounds my big kite. Fishermen have gathered and are inspecting the lines. My launch assistant wants to know how long it will take me to get to Romblon with the kite. Then he wants everything explained to him. Finally he says: “No one has ever kitesurfed here before.”

We kiters are vain. We have to be forgiven for that. Hey, we fly through the air with colourful shreds, so we’re practically superheroes. Everyone wants to be the first to save the world. And a virgin beach is our “Into the Wild”. And when a large group of strangers comment on every little hop with cheers: fine!