Knots Landing

Traffic on the sea was a welcome sight. If only to temporarily stash the memory of Manila’s auto bumper-to-bumper and the work deadlines I’d let rot in my mind’s basement. Bulabog Beach, the more evasive and unhurried side of Boracay’s hedonism-hardy White Beach, was the setting for the stuff customary karaoke videos are made of: the fluorescent splendor from neon bikini bottoms that peeped from ripped denim shorts and shore flags that waved rapidly from towering bamboo poles; a balmy beach scenario despite gray skies that summoned a nostalgic summer vibe, especially with tunes like Hendrix’s Castles Made of Sand and the Police’s Walking on the Moon wafting from beachside speakers. Then, cutting through the slack festivity of Guantanamera, a shrill, drawn-out scream echoes across the leisurely panorama.  

“Get oouuuuuut!” shrieks a female voice from the makeshift announcer’s platform. If not for the fuming demand for territorial compliance, you wouldn’t think there was a competition underway — that Bulabog was an aqua arena for the 100-strong kiteboarders and windsurfers trying to slice and swivel their boards across its clear, azure waters while trying to get out of each other’s way at the same time. It’s the third day of the island’s annual International Funboard Cup and Nenette Graf, one of the competition’s founders, is audibly furious at the kitesurfer gliding from the territory reserved for his fellow “kiters” — all hotdogging grabs and handle passes in a freestyle event — and into that of the windsurfers’ area, where the third speed trial of the day is taking place. Despite the presence of coast guards due to the close calls and accidents that have accumulated since Monday, it must have been the nth time a kitesurfer had overstepped his boundaries that afternoon, prompting Chris Awe, an American kitesurfer who, the day before, had suffered trauma to his ribs after being dragged forcefully across the water due to loss of kite control, to take up his new calling as Funboard commentator, constantly reminding the kiters on the other side to give the windsurfers or “sailors” even just a little respect and “clear the area.”

Kites, Sails ‘n’ Gales

Yet more important than the few unruly kiters who’ve tested Nenette’s patience, the real culprit here is the wind. It’s the reason people are even out at sea today; why kiting and windsurfing contestants from 16 countries — from Australia to as far as Austria — made their way to Bulabog on January 7, the first day of the Funboard Cup, to raise their sails and unravel their five-line kites for five days of sun, surf and San Mig. And though Tuesday brought some agreeable wind, this Wednesday afternoon’s 15 knots or so doesn’t quite stack up to the requirements of a full-fledged competition, ‘cause the weaker the wind, the more work a sailor will have to do in order to go places. Which is why several finishing sailors are hanging by the sidelines, discussing the uncooperative conditions and looking out at the sea in frustration. And it doesn’t help that the kiters are repeatedly trying to covet some of the windsurfers’ water real estate.

Still, patience has always been the most enduring trait of those reliant on nature for recreation and Bulabog has always been a free-for-all beach. With the cup’s founders Robbie and Nenette Graf as well as Art Palacios having accommodated the burgeoning sport of kiteboarding since 2003, old-school sailors were given another trial of tolerance apart from a yearning for great wind. Guys who have sailed since the ‘80s now share the Amihan winds that blow from November to March with competitors of a much younger sport; the world-renowned Big Air Challenge and freestyle kiteboarding events having been included in the competition from “expression sessions” exhibited by kiting pioneers such as Normeth Preglo, part-owner of the Hangin’ Kiteboarding Center on Bulabog that stands as the polar opposite to Nenette’s Greenyard Funboard Center.

Walking over to the kiting area of Bulabog, you can’t help but feel like you’ve crossed over from the pleasant, all-day cookout that is the Greenyard side to a recreational backpacker’s haven comprised of a younger lot — a Bora bartender by night and a former tabletop-dancing Mustang girl among its competitors; all chiseled torsos, board shorts hanging low and skin ink made more vivid from the glow of their suntans. The divide is apparent considering most windsurfers are in the above-30 bracket — a chockfull of Manila-based and foreign executives with wives, kids and slight paunches jutting from their rash guards. At Hangin’, the trip-hop track oozing from speakers evokes the atmosphere the kiteboarders have made for themselves: an edgier undercurrent arising from a sport that mixes the high-flying cool of wakeboarding with a keen understanding of nature and which can get as perilous as flying lines slicing ears or a couple of fingers if one underestimates the altitude of a power kite that hovers submissively on the wind.

The Art of Un-WINDing

Both sports have birthed two sub-cultures on Bulabog, but by 4 p.m., kiters and sailors wave white flags, declare conditions are unfavorable and agree that it’s time to call it a day and party. There’s the barbeque tonight, of course — a chance for both sides of the wind sport spectrum to get together, chug brewskis, blaze some bud, and catch up on each other’s lives since last year’s cup. By day, they’re competitors but by night or when the wind proves stubborn, they’re a family that knows when it can’t control the current and chooses to let loose — which persists on the following day, when conditions remain uncooperative and a Carnaval is declared: everyone donning colorful wigs and quirky costumes (an American Indian here and a naughty nurse there) and then heading to the shoreline to participate in a paddling contest pitting kitesurfers against windsurfers, which entails downing a bottle of beer in one go before heading out to sea.

This being the 20th Boracay Funboard Cup means that the community has grown from a small group of windsurfing buddies to a multi-national family of wind-worshippers that’s accommodated many new members, especially since the competition has become an institution that has defined the island apart from its knack for providing the proper 15 shot-induced blackouts and tropical, no-strings-attached hook-ups. There’s this camaraderie from two groups reliant on the same wind and you get the sense that, more than a competition, the main prerogative of these five days of relenting to the power of nature is to just go with the flow of things. 

Although the wind is one thing that kiters and windsurfers have learned to submit to, the unexpected requires the same sort of servility. Two nights before the cup’s awarding ceremony, everyone had gathered at Windpia, a resort known for its “simple” beachside rooms on Bulabog’s Hangin’ side and for its hosting of Korean dinners replete with glass noodles, sushi, and beef stew for competitors. Yet this dinner is different compared to last year’s — certainly more of an exclamation point than the awarding ceremony that would be held two days later — and despite requisite Marley tunes playing in the background or the merriment of kitesurfers clinking bottles of Pale Pilsen with windsurfers, the dinner has an unfortunate alternate purpose: everyone paying homage to Kaya Karaca, a 26-year old kitesurfer who had perished in a car accident on Tuesday, a day after the other competitors had thrown him a going-away party. The revelry is accompanied by remembrance for the kitesurfer — a collage of pictures of the man of the night steadying his kite like a steed under a marker — inscribed “We Miss You Kaya” — while affection drifts across the room like a light breeze. 

After dinner, Normeth takes the microphone and reminds everyone why they’re all gathered there that night. “Wherever Kaya is, the wind is blowing,” she says, delivering her fervent wish with tears welling up in her eyes. You get the sense that this isn’t just a competition anymore; that this family is all about the pursuit of leisure and elation before the inevitable return to a reality — back to work, traffic, family ties and death — a universe away from the seasonal dream that is Boracay. Fun is what the cup is named for, after all, and even if reality awaits reclamation, there’s no reason why one shouldn’t enjoy the temporary escape; or hope for great wind and a smooth ride — especially if it’s through this thing called life. And before the drinks resume their pouring and the night shifts to another day of chasing winds, Eddie-Boy Santos, a middle-aged windsurfer from Manila, asserts what should be the cup’s creed: “Regardless if we have wind out there, the fun always stays!”