⌛ A Window On Time In Sabtang, Part 3

Two days later we ourselves crossed over for the fiesta of Ivana, the feast of San Jose el Obrero. It was then when I really felt like I had been through a time warp. Despite having a Spanish parish priest, Ivana’s fiesta did not seem as time and tradition bound. At the home of Roland Cabitac, the food was decidedly non-traditional. There was kare-kare, fruit salad, lumpia, and hotdogs. A concession to tradition was the use of kabaya (breadfruit) leaves: the disposable and earth-friendly plates used in Batanes during fiestas and special occasions.

Usually, Ivatans carry the fiesta spirit over into the succeeding days with the feasting of leftovers, euphemistically called “balance.” Without refrigeration, this may have been their way of minimizing wastage. In Sabtang we had spent a lazy day on hammocks beneath coconut trees eating uved, steamed tendons, barbecue, made-over beef and the ubiquitous uvi (a root crop). As the day lengthened, Susie’s mother introduced me to the art of finding abong, tiny mussels gathered at low tide. Having them by a fire at dinner reminded everyone that we had not had any seafood at all. This got Susie and her brother-in-law primed to go fishing that night. They woke me up at 1:30 am to show-off their catch of jacks, snappers and groupers. Susie, of all girls I knew!

We had no time to partake of the “balance” in Ivana. We ate the goodies Roland’s wife had thoughtfully wrapped for us as our last meal before boarding the plane. The rush that accompanied our departure left me with the feeling of not having had my fill of Batanes. Before even getting on the plane, I was already mapping out an itinerary for my next visit: hiking to visit the Savidug idjiang, a fortress like structure believed to have been a refuge during wars in ancient times, a walk among the boat-shaped graves on Ivuhos and a taste of palek (sugarcane wine) and tatus (coconut crab).

So, where did that leave me after a five-day Batanes break? . . . the feeling that one can certainly get a feel of and for Batanes. But, not get a fill of it. Much like those who had gone before me, I’ve fallen under its spell and I hear an incessant siren’s call to go back . . . in Ivatan at that! Mirupirua kamu!

The flight to Manila was uneventful. I long to go back to Sabtang and I vowed to myself to return.