The Philippines on two wheels - part nine

I've just reread the last posting. My facetious 'nine lives' conclusion involved a 108cc scooter, not the most powerful storm on the planet. I, we, millions of Filipinos, are ending a week of apprehension and, for many, much suffering. 

The November fifth satellite photo above is of Typhoon 31W, now known to history as 'Haiyan' (Chinese for petrel) or, in the Philippines, 'Yolanda.' This will be debated by climatologists for sometime to come, but I've been sideswiped by a super typhoon that may be for the record books. 

Just five days ago I idly glanced at the front page of the Philippines Daily Inquirer (fortunately, I kept the clipping). One tropical storm had passed and another was on the way. Ho hum ... the Philippines gets an average twenty a year.

You can read facts and figures elsewhere. I'm writing, so clearly survived. Even though we were bracing here on Negros for an Armageddon of a storm, something happened out in the Pacific that meant others died and I didn't. A few molecules bouncing one way or the other dictated I only had a wet and blustery day, couldn't watch satellite TV and went without wifi. Unaccountable nature - a weather system's zig here, a zag there - meant that I had a good dinner and lay down in a comfortable bed. All while millions not many miles north were tossed about in a capricious fury. 

Filipinos are notoriously fatalistic. A popular saying sums it up: Bahala na ang Dios namo! (God will take care of us!). 

Most have basic accommodation hardly fit for a typhoon, much less a super typhoon.

A flimsy hut with bamboo walls.

But for a prayer spike in an already religious country, preparations in our immediate area were minimal. The storm was far out in the Pacific; the Philippines is a thousand miles from north to south, so Haiyan had a lot of landfalls to choose from (only after did I learn the typhoon's extent, placed on a map of North America, would cover from the Canadian border to Florida); with any luck, some other poor sods would get hit. There was desultory sandbagging on our stretch of beach. 

The sandbags were being washed away even before Haiyan arrived. 

The day before, Gord and I walked a largely empty beach. Larger boats had been moved to supposedly safer anchorage and a fisherman or two debated what to do with buoys and nets.

All the while, Haiyan got bigger and predictions more apocalyptic, i.e., ‘Extremely catastrophic super typhoon'. The American National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) said, '[The] system has developed to almost max intensity for a cyclone'.

Gord checked water and food supplies; we both gassed up as blackouts would put pumps out of action; I got extra, small denomination pesos, put my travel flashlight and emergency cereal bars in a kitbag, charged electronics and moved belongings from my lower accommodation to Gord's third floor apartment. 

Storm surge predictions were, it turns out, accurate (later: the surge in Tacloban was five metres). As we're on the shore, we discussed higher ground, but landslides are common. Common sense suggested we'd be best on the upper level of a concrete building, not necessarily, as we'd seen, in an earthquake, but perhaps in a typhoon. We decided to ride it out at Gord's.

The night before the typhoon, the track had veered. Our area was a 'Signal 3', meaning winds could be between 100 and 185 kph. Further up the island was at 'Signal 4'. I lay in bed listening. 

Typhoon morning we had no satellite TV and intermittent wifi. For the first time in years, I'd forgotten to bring my shortwave radio, so uncertain about what was happening elsewhere. Still, we knew whatever was happening would be bad. 

Shortly before six, a lone fisherman headed for shelter. By now, it seemed we'd be spared a direct hit, but were still expecting damaging winds. My main concern became a magnificent - and, as you can see, huge - acacia tree right next to Gord's. 

The electricity company had refused to trim the tree because of its spirit, a common Filipino belief. But if the acacia came down, it could very well rip out the foundations and level a considerable part of the resort. As well, passage from Gord's requires walking under that bloody, beautiful tree. I gloomily inspected the trunk.

Everybody waited, watching the sea and sullen sky. Then the rain came.

Bar a downpour, fierce wind gusts and curious change in offshore current (caused, locals say, by the typhoon's pull), our day turned out to be uneventful. By afternoon, a soggy dog was exploring the beach ... 

... and when I went for a late afternoon shower, a drooping palm leaf was the only the sign a super typhoon had passed.

This morning, as I inspect the beach, ships delayed by Haiyan head north on the calm Bohol Sea. 

And that bloody, beautiful tree is still upright.