Back to Balesin
Those were halcyon days and enchanted nights. Swimming in sparkling waters, lying on powder-white sand protected from the sun shining in a brilliant blue sky by the shade of the overhanging branches of a tree, music by your side, a book in your lap, and a cool drink in your hand, while children built sand castles or frolicked in the sea — their laughter and noisy horseplay echoing up and down the beach. Or joining the more adventurous on sailfishes, or taking a banca and snorkeling where tropical fish, coral and undersea life provided a kaleidoscope of colors to rival any artist’s pad. Or waiting for weekend fishermen to return — sometimes with their catch but more often with imaginative stories of the fish that got away and the million and one excuses of why they did. After dinner there was Canasta and Blackjack — the winnings simply laughter and the chance to do some good-natured crowing. Or a game called “Oh Hell” which is the idiot’s version of Bridge. And always the 1,000-piece puzzle that had to be finished that weekend with everyone trying to get a piece in.
There was something about the island that turned respectable businessmen and government officials into beach bums, stand-up comics, fireside entertainers and even thieves willing to brave the dangers of a hazardous midnight bicycle ride down a bumpy forest lane, lit only by fireflies and the moon, to steal a couple of bottles of champagne from the resorts’ kitchen larder with the amused permission of the host (and owner) who was perfectly willing to sit back and enjoy the results of their labor.
Swimming in this sea for 20 years: Cesar Virata (second from left) and his family In the early days of the island there was one guesthouse with four rooms, a bunkhouse, two cottages and a sauna. The rooms were for the Guy Scholeys, (mining old-timers) the Bill Mitchells (Goodrich chief), the Tony Ayalas, and the Armand Fabellas. The cottages were for the Cesar Viratas and “The Jefe” (Ed Tordesillas) and his wife Josie. With the exception of infants, all the children were relegated to the bunkhouse with older ones commissioned to take care of the younger ones. Meals were always al fresco (actually everything was al fresco because there were no air conditioners) with every family contributing favorite dishes to the menu. Food was deemed more important then clothes when planning for the trip.
Later on The Jefe built more cottages and a big lanai and we became more “civilized” with cooks and waiters but the Balesin staples were ever-present: the Balesin Breakfast which was sort of a beef salpicao with onions and green peppers; cassava chips; kiiawen made from freshly caught cuttle fish; binacol made with freshly caught fish; and the Balesin Brownie which was a chunky, chewy, brownie laced with cheese. (Many people have tried to copy this brownie but somehow it never comes out right unless it is baked in Balesin.)
Dinner on the beach, 1975: Ed and Josie Tordesilas with Cesar Virata That was 30 years ago but changes happen — as they must. Life changes, circumstances change, and it was 10 years after our last visit to the island that we finally were able to return. Changes certainly had happened!
The plane that ferried us there was not the rickety, vintage DC 3 that sometimes smelled of fish, but a brand new Cessna Caravan that our seat literature assured us had the best safety record. It was not the dirt runway (that used to make landing and takeoff a hit-or-miss proposition after a heavy rain) on which we landed after the 25-minute flight, but a wide, cement runway. It was not the small open shack that used to serve as the departure-arrival lounge that we saw, but a big, architect-designed building into which we were ushered by uniformed ladies with white umbrellas. I missed Frank, the manager, and Eddie, the bartender, who used to do the welcoming. Those two old-time islanders had been assigned bigger roles, we were told. The old lanai was gone and in its place was a huge, magnificent clubhouse with wide verandas and high ceilings from which big fans, gently moving the air, were suspended. The little swimming pool, in which our children used to splash and play and had to be dragged out of long past sunset, was replaced by a huge infinity pool that gently flowed around the front of the clubhouse. Later I would sit in the Jacuzzi and then in the shallow end of the pool that was outfitted with lounging chairs in the water, to watch the sunset. The landscaping gave a sense of coolness to the island despite the heat. The aura of the island had been preserved with native island plants carefully transplanted to strategic places for beauty, shade and privacy. The beach, which had always been magnificent, was immaculate and no longer strewn with seaweed and bits of flotsam. It was kept clean with daily sweeping by a huge machine. I did, however, miss the sand crabs that used to scurry across the sand whenever I took walks in the early morning. They must have found somewhere on the island less dangerous to their health and home.
The villas The biggest change, however, was in the cottages — now called villas. Instead of the little cottages that depended on cross ventilation and a ceiling fan for cooling, the villas could comfortably sleep four with a king-sized bed, a day bed and space for a roll-in bed and, of course, air conditioning. Each villa had its own sundeck equipped with another king-sized bed, deck chairs and whirlpool. Each had a huge bathroom with two showers — one indoors and the other outdoors. I finally fulfilled a life-long ambition to take a shower outdoors in complete privacy. Each villa had a flat-screen DTH satellite TV. My husband kept up with the news, Josie T. followed her telenovala, and my daughter watched a Lakers’ game (in different villas). I could not bear to stay indoors except to sleep a couple of hours for siesta. At night I fell into a deep sleep five minutes after my head touched the pillow. I had no time for TV. As an added convenience, every villa had its own golf cart as a means of getting around the island.
Balesin had certainly changed and a tour around the island showed us how much it still would change. There would be six (or is it seven?) “Villages” — each with a different theme on different parts of the island. There would be a sports center, a luxurious spa, and different kinds of restaurants.
The sunsets are still the same. Yet some things had remained the same. The water was just as clear and cool. The sand was just as white and powdery. The forest still provided an aura of mystery and adventure. There were still places left untouched where the sea was rough, and the coral jagged, and where it was possible to wade across to different little islands. The night sky still showed millions of stars. The air, the wind, the coconut trees, the waves, the clouds lazily drifting across the sky, the mountains in the distance and the magnificent sunset — those had remained the same.
The week we returned to the island the Tordesillas family was there and it was good to see the second and third generations of our families once again playing, talking, and enjoying the island together. Sadly we remembered those who were missing. The Scholeys and the Mitchells had left the Philippines years ago. And then there were those who had been taken: Tony Ayala had gone first, then Bill Mitchell, then Ed (The Jefe himself), then Armand Fabella, and then most recently, Anthony, Ed and Josie’s eldest son.
Change happens. But I think the spirit of love and family left on the island by its “pioneers” will always remain there. Those “pioneers” have memories of the island that can never be erased. Now it’s time for others to create their own memories in a new Balesin — memories that, hopefully, will be just as unforgettable and happy.
The swimming pool today
