Anomalous Anawangin

Anawangin Cove is an anomaly. Pine trees grow on the beach. Volcanic white sand from Mt. Pinatubo’s eruption. Mountains that almost meet the sea. A marsh that is strikingly rust in color and clear blue waters. All in one island.

I wish I had seen this cove before the beach cottages were constructed, before the hawkers came to ply souvenirs to boat-loads of tourists and before stalls selling souvenir items were set up, before it became so popular that the cove is like a tent city during the weekends. To find a tent city in a cove tucked away in the West Philippine Sea is another anomaly (sorry for the reference to the tent city, we are Post-Yolanda Taclobanons you know).

It must have been very beautiful in its isolation, without the people, the tents and all. But as much as I don’t like crowds, the dagat more than compensates for it. We were in the water for a long time (and our sun-burned faces and backs show those hours under the sun) and even with all the tourists there, the island is beautiful enough so you can shut every one off, and find your own little place of solitude amidst the boisterous barkadas. And our own little unit (D&P) was just right. Just right. So come to think of it, this cove is “perfect in its imperfections”, so goes the line of P’s current favorite song (hay, it was the soundtrack of our trip, it followed us everywhere!).

The usual itinerary that boatmen in Pundaquit suggest is to go island hopping first and lunch and a swim at Anawangin by noon until late afternoon. But we opted to go to Anawangin first, swim and do the island hopping after. The seas in the afternoon tend to get rough, very rough, so when we were on the way to Capones Island, I was second-guessing our decision to do island hopping in the afternoon. Then we saw a bird swoop down for his fish-merienda, and then everything, everything fell into place.

It was a case of a series of seemingly unfortunate events leading to one perfect moment. If my plane had not been delayed; if P’s dad did not forget his bag in the car then we would not have had to go back to Laguna to return it; and if we had left at 3am as originally planned, then we would have gotten to Anawangin at 6, and we may have left the cove to go island hopping earlier too. Or if the boatman was not double-booked and he had another pick-up at 2pm that’s why he scheduled us for pick-up at 3, or if we had agreed to be picked-up at 1pm instead. Or if D was successful in his first attempt to climb up the hill for a 180 degrees view of the island, or if he did not suddenly decide to try one more time to climb up 15 mins before our scheduled departure, then we would have left earlier. Instead, we left as we did, not one minute before or later or we would have missed the show that was meant only for us.

A few seconds after that bird swooped down, we saw the dolphins. And then the show began. We headed to where they were, the boatman just as excited as we were. And then they were there, beside our boat, the others just a few meters from us, and one even did that twirling thing not only once but thrice. For 5 minutes we were a captive audience of their show. We were in the middle of the rough sea, the only boat in that area at that moment (the only other boat at that time was a few hundred meters away, not close enough to witness what we were privileged to see). That’s why I am claiming this as the show that was exclusively for us. The boatman said that it was only the third time in his career ferrying tourists to and off the coves that he saw these dolphins.

The magic of that moment was not lost on all of us. It was a sign, P said. But for someone who has been feeling disoriented, not knowing where I am, and why I am where I am (oh, so existential!), it suddenly came to me, that ever fleeting moment, of knowing that I am exactly where I should be.

But that was Saturday. And now it’s Sunday and summer is over. We got there just in time. So long Anawangin, till we meet again, maybe next summer.



Saturday could wait, but Sunday’d be too late
-STING