IF you're the visual type, click Google Image for some aid. This is about an island off Northern Samar, recently gaining cult fanhood for a lot of reasons. It's called Biri Island.
In recent months, I've been scrolling Google Map's image of the Philippine islands, and I was particularly interested in the fringes that segue into the Pacific Ocean. Could be some obsession to get a selfie ala Caspar David Friedrich's “The Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog,” an image of a proud fellow standing on a promontory before a sprawling vista of clouds and summits. Really, just the feeling you want to fall off beaten tracks and brag a little photography on social media. There was the frontier town of Viga in Catanduanes, some hours from Legaspi and Sorsogon City. Further North, off Infanta, Quezon, were the islands of Patnangunan and Jomalig.
But the search ended where a friend's Facebook post began. They were silhouettes of prostrate rock formations, strangely still against an infuriated sea lashing no end at their feet. One of those was called Bel-at, and that topped Viga of the north if you know what I mean. Anyway, I bought two tickets, but ended up flying alone.
One may opt for the slow boat to Calbayog, roughly an eight-hour trip from Cebu City, and from there take a van or bus to Allen Port, and then further to Lavezares jetty where pumpboats can take you to Biri Island.
I wanted to cut time, so I flew to Tacloban City, chartered a car to take me to Lavezares jetty. Long land trip to Northern Samar, but it saved me considerable hours. The way to the island skirts San Bernardino Strait, reputedly a fierce pass fed by the Pacific Ocean. Anyone crossing from Northern Samar to Sorsogon knows pretty well the ferocity of water in these parts. But not on that day I was headed for Biri, there were only the calmest of waters and the fairest of weathers. Most congenial of cosmic designs, lucky me.
There was Doy Aguirre, the habal-habal driver who doubled as tour guide and would soon discover he had the makings of a Nat Geo photographer. And there was RR Rivera of Biri Resort who'd see to it I'd be comfy and get the hefty lobsters for lunch.
There are mainly eight rock formations on the side of Biri Island that faces the Pacific Ocean, each of them brimming with epic tales in its topography. From afar, they look rather diminutive, unassuming despite its place upfront before the big ocean, but closer, you heave your sight to gods that yawned like 10- to 15-story buildings with intricate geologic patterns. At once mysterious, incongruent elements snap from nowhere: circular outgrowths of sand strewn on high steppe; vertical slabs of rocks stick out from flat ground; clear pools in quiet corners; hidden cavities that spew seawater. You walk on a natural dike, and see the best and worst of the sea: raging and still.
I scaled the summit of one of the formations, and was ambushed by a winged photobomber who knocked some sense into my head and fled with a rambunctious laughter into the horizon. Among the rocks, I stood small, mortal and humbled. There was a long runway-like stretch that you think could launch you to Pluto, that planet supposedly with a heart, but really, who would want to be somewhere else.
There was a kind of air in these parts of Biri that at once unfolded loftier things. Or maybe because the city-dweller knew no better. I don't know. There was supposedly no refund for the unused plane ticket, and perhaps an empty seat was nothing short of heartbreaking.
But Biri it was. If the city's noise and forgetfulness tend to break you apart, you may want to tread Biri Island and get a large dose of healing silence. And, yes, you will cry your heart out, but with joy that you finally had the finest of vengeance as you wolf on preposterously huge lobsters for lunch.