fullman*

In Bagasbas, one does not denounce the crowd. One just ogles.

With plans to return to Caramoan cancelled, I got invited by Iona, my officemate, to a surfing trip to Bagasbas. The town is about 15 minutes away from the chaos of Daet, the capital of Camarines Norte. Since I was already in Legaspi City, I decided to go.

Incidentally, the trip to Daet could be described by the building blocks of Pinoy erotic stories – masikip, mainit, minsan may amoy. From one point in the region to another, one has to take GTExpress vans, a proof that sardine cans can indeed be used as instruments of transportation. These vans also uphold Al Gore’s principles on ecological interconnectedness: a case of flatulence inside these vans is a good reminder that indeed we share what we breathe.

From Legaspi, I took the two-hour GTExpress trip to Naga City (P125 fare), then another two-hour trip to Daet with another GTExpress van (P145 fare). No need for entertainment, I assure you that you’re senses will be constantly teased and tested the entire time.

I met up with Iona, JP (her hubby and the ex that I never had), and their daughter, monster Aya, in Daet. Bagasbas was less than 15 minutes away from the city (one may take a tricycle for P50); JP drove, each curse from him an indictment of Daet’s messy streets.

It was my turn to hurl invectives when we reached Bagasbas.

No, not at the boys (Never!). It would be my first time to surf, and the waves were screaming punyeta. They could easily trash a wimp like me.

Once there, I got introduced to the entire group. It was a motley crew – Iona, JP, and the baby; Iona’s brother, RJ, and his friend Rod; and Iona’s cousin Tony, with her friend Jewel. Some of us were Bagasbas newbies, while the others have been there several times, even before the spot became popular.

Bagasbas has its own local surfing community. We stayed in Surf Shack – the name self-descriptive – and it is open to surfers and surfing enthusiasts. It has an old poso (water pump) where one could wash, a toilet, and enough space to accommodate several tents. Surf Shack is comfortable enough if you are used to the outdoors, otherwise dressing up would require a little bit of talent.

The restaurants in the area are worth exploring. Leo’s serves tasty buttered chicken (P125) and other cheap meals, and don’t miss the whale bones on display near its front window. There are cheaper karinderia meals near the beach, and for P10 to P15 one could get a generous, delectable servings of laing (taro leaves in coconut milk) or kinunot (a spicy dish made of shredded sting-ray or shark meat, also in coconut milk). 

My first lesson, courtesy of Iona, was on boogie-boarding (also called body-boarding). It is shorter than a surfing board, and in bodyboarding you ride the waves in a prone position. It looks simple, and you could actually do several tricks with a boogie board. In my case, I discovered that one could get trashed and pounded by the waves with the use of a boogie board. Cool.

Surf gang: me, JP, Iona, Rod, RJ with baby Aya, Tony, and Jewel

There was a surfing festival that weekend – thus the crowd, which can be subdivided into the boys and the chicks and the ogling mob in between. For P500, I enrolled in the surfing clinic (which included a session with a trainor, a free shirt and a pair of sandals). I used a long board, the operative word is long: it is twice my height, and more stable. I managed to stand up a few times (ehem). 

Later, we went to San Jose, a village near Bagasbas. It was less crowded, the waves bigger, and the current so strong it could drag you from one side of the beach to a separate republic.

San Jose, for me, is pretty hardcore. For surfers, though, it is just ‘solid’ or ‘steady’, the equivalent of ‘keri’, ‘kerms’, ‘kerminess’, and ‘keribell’ in surfer slang. For example:

Question 1: “Kamusta ang mango shake?”

Surfer Answer: “Ayos, solid!”

Question 2: “Kamusta naman dito?”

Surfer Answer: “Ok naman, steady lang.” 

Solid or steady, Bagasbas can hit you, and hit you hard. My first surfing experience happened just when the waves were at their furious peak. After the demonstration and armed with an obnoxiously looong long board, I went out into the sea, the water level up to my chin but the waves reaching much higher, screaming “Midget!” as they rush and break into the shore. I was told to get into the board, and I did, and I was told to paddle, and paddle I did until I could feel the board riding the wave. I pushed myself against the board, and for a few glorious seconds I was able to stand up, gliding, riding: the sensation of being carried by a monster.

Suddenly my left foot slipped into the water, and I was under, the liquid air tasting salty, sand and shards of broken corals scraping my body, and my face assaulted by fierce and restless bubbles. Then, finally, the act of initiation: the long board hit my head, the sound of which, I was later told, was so loud it was heard by someone in my group. I got thumped on the head, and like a beast I got branded. Bagasbas has etched itself in my mind, and at that moment all I could think of is that I want more.