Some Rain Must Fall
/When I can, however, I run away from the harsh winter and go where there’s natural sunlight and natural warmth, meticulously planning for bright, sunny days, never factoring in the chance of foul weather. But Mother Nature will thwart your best-laid plans. You don’t need to be running away from winter, either. At other times of the year, even if, when booking your trip, you check out the weather forecast and see clear skies, into some of your actual travel days some rain will fall.
Southeast Asia in the Dry Season
Earlier this year, I was in the Philippines and took a few days to visit Vietnam and Cambodia with my sisters. In those parts, it’s generally dry during that time of year. But of all the days we were in Vietnam, it had to rain on the one day we visited Ha Long Bay. The trail to the top of Titop Island – which affords the most stunning views of the bay – was closed because of the weather; so, whether or not we wanted to climb its 400 slick steps was moot. Some activities were still open to us, however, but for safety’s sake, we opted to stay on the boat and just gorge on coffee, skipping a seven-kilometer speedboat ride on the chilly and choppy sea and a two-kilometer steep and slippery walk to see Sung Sot Cave.
Rain fell on Baguio as well, when my friends and I checked out Mount Camisong Forest Park, one of the newest attractions in town, featuring a glass walkway. As well on Hundred Islands in Alaminos, Pangasinan a few days later. When Mother Nature decided to send rain and wind one late afternoon, we were on a motorboat whose rudder was acting up, causing the engine to die a few times, leaving us floating there for several moments while the dark crept in. So much for chasing stunning sea sunsets; please bring me to shore!
A few years ago, my siblings and I visited Batanes in January, when weather experts say it should be cool and dry. It was cool alright, but even before we landed, it was raining. Our pilot took several attempts to approach Basco Airport’s runway before finally succeeding at landing. A little nail-biter, that one. We toured Basco Island amid some drizzles and downpours, which was no big deal. But it was raining hard when we got on a motorboat for Sabtang Island – where the waves are big even in good weather – and it was quite the ride, making me ask my sister, “Can you tell me again me why we’re doing this?”
Oh, but Batanes was beautiful, all of it – the rough sea, the gentle people, the sweeping scenery, the culture, the food…
Southeast Asia in the Dry Season
Top row: Rural Vietnam between Hanoi and Ha Long Bay; view of Ha Long Bay from a boat
Middle row: another scene from Ha Long Bay; scene from a boat on a stormy Lingayen Gulf at Hundred Islands, Alaminos, Pangasinan
Bottom row: the glass walkway of Mount Camisong Forest Park in Itogon, Benguet and the view it opens to
(Photos by Odette Foronda, January-February 2025)
Batanes in January
Top row, from left: Tayid Lighthouse at Mahatao on Basco Island; Vayang Rolling Hills with a partly-shrouded Mount Iraya on Basco Island
Middle row: View of the sea and sky from a bumpy boat ride from Basco to Sabtang Island; the type of boat we took to Sabtang Island; a school on Sabtang Island
Bottom row: A natural arch at Sabtang’s Nakabuang Beach; Maydangeb Beach at Mahatao on Basco Island
(Photos by Odette Foronda, January 2020)
Tropical Beach Towns
It’s mesmerizing to watch angry waves slap on the shore, but I do not travel to a beach town with the intent of watching angry waves. I go to such places to bask in the sun and sand and sea. Cuba has some of the most gorgeous, swimmable beaches I’ve been to. In the summer months, when it gets oppressively hot, sudden thunderstorms, though annoying, serve to give the scorched place a quick, refreshing washdown. Same thing with the Dominican Republic and many other places in the Caribbean. The good thing about these downpours is that the water is warm, so you can get wet without shivering to the bone. And you can almost be sure that within an hour or two of a thunderstorm, you’ll have a good chance at seeing a spectacular sunrise or sunset.
Tropical Beach Towns
Clockwise, from top left: The sun rises behind the rain at Lanikai Beach in O’ahu, Hawai’i in December 2012; a sudden thunderstorm in Havana, Cuba in June 2016; (next two photos) my granddaughter Chrysandra poses by a drenched Homeless Jesus sculpture at the Church and Convent of the Dominican Fathers in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic in May 2024; Plaza Central of Cozumel, Mexico in March 2017; dark clouds briefly part around sunset at Cabo San Lucas, Mexico in May 2024
(Photos by Odette Foronda)
When I visited Guanacaste in Costa Rica three years ago, it was November, the tail-end of the wet season. It rained most days of the week my friends and I were there, but it rained the hardest on the day we’d booked a private river boat tour to see wildlife. In the morning, our guide arrived to say the authorities had closed the river to boats because it had swollen beyond what was safe. He said not to worry, however, because we could go on a forest hike where we could also spot wildlife. What else would we do, mope the day away at the resort? We had all packed some rain gear, so we all went and did have a great time. Except for how I made myself quite sick from the tamarind juice that I couldn’t resist at the jungle restaurant, but that’s another story.
Costa Rica in November
Top row, from left: First two photos at Playa del Coco; a cloud forest smothers the mountain village of Bijagua de Upala
The rest of the photos were taken from a hike deep into the rainforest at Bijagua de Upala.
Middle row, from left: A wet sloth, hanging bridge, a toucan.
Bottom row, from left: a howler monkey, an elusive red-eyed, green tree frog, a hummingbird
(Photos by Odette Foronda, November 2022)
Iguazú Falls
The timing for visiting waterfalls is tricky. In the dry season, you’ll get photos with vivid colors – blue sky, blue-white water. The wet season makes for more copious, thunderous water plunges, brown water, and gray skies. But when your sons are treating you to a trip to see the magnificent falls, you don’t choose when. You just go. We went in November, which is late spring in Argentina and Brazil, meaning we packed expecting some rain.
In the case of Niagara, the Canadian side’s Horseshoe Falls is hands-down more spectacular than the sedate American Falls. Over at Iguazú, while Argentina has a longer stretch of big and small falls, some in step-ladder fashion, all of those taken together don’t match the wow from Brazil’s Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat). That is, if you’re simply looking at the falls from a distance. The game changes when you get up close and personal, so to speak, in which case it becomes a harder choice between Brazil and Argentina. At either side, you get an unbelievable load of endorphins from being at the level where the water hits the bottom of the chasm – on the lower river. Sheer, ticklish joy.
Iguazú Falls Argentine Side in the Spring
Scenes from the Gran Aventura tour which we took on a rainy afternoon. Rain or shine, you will get soaked.
Top row, from left: The Gran Aventura starts with a five-kilometer ride through the jungle on an open-top truck. You get off the truck at Puerto Macuco to board a boat. Right: My granddaughter Charlene and her mom Farah on the boat, with their things in a dry bag provided by the tour operator.
The rest of the photos are scenes from the six-kilometer boat ride up the Lower Iguazú River all the way to the base of the San Martin Waterfall from where the Garganta del Diablo is visible.
(Photos by Odette Foronda, November 2022)
A video I took from a Gran Aventura boat on the Lower Iguazú River as it made its way upstream to the bottom of San Martin Waterfall.
(Photos by Odette Foronda, November 2022)
Iguazú Falls Brazilian Side in the Spring
Top two rows: Various views of Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat). A walkway allows you to get into the heart of the thunderous, misty roar. You can go as far and as drenched as you please.
Bottom right: A view from the walkway; my son Karl and me all wet and giggly on the walkway.
(Photos by Odette Foronda, November 2022)
Europe in the Shoulder Season
For me, September is one of the best times to go to Europe, considering both cost and weather. Because it’s when the seasons turn, I usually go expecting some rain but without packing for it, planning to deal with it when it does happen. Last September, I went on a three-week trip that included the former Yugoslavia. Beautiful weather most of the time. If I hadn’t been following the news, I’d not have known that Storm Boris had poured a month’s worth of rain in twenty-four hours on many parts of Europe and that we had missed a big Dubrovnik flood by a day.
We got more rain than I had wanted, but thankfully no floods. Too much rain can hamper plans, and I most regret missing some things in Sarajevo, like a good view of Sniper Alley (through which we drove in the evening in pouring rain) and visiting the Genocide Museum and several other sites in the area that pertain to the Yugoslav Wars in the 1990s. I’d love to go back and learn much more.
Ex-Yugoslavia in the Fall
Top row, from left (Sarajevo): The Dinaric Alps around the city, barely visible in the mist; Mayor’s Bridge from Ottoman times on the Milijaca River; Jajce Barracks showing damage from the Bosnian War in the 1990s; metal footprints mark the spot where 19-year-old Gavrilo Princip stood in 1914 as he fired the shots that killed Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie, sparking World War I.
Middle row, from left (Sarajevo): Sacred Heart Cathedral with some Bosnian War damage on its walls; street scenes, one showing a poster for the Srebrenica Genocide Memorial; one of the many mosques in the city.
Bottom row, left: After-the-rain view of houses up a Sarajevo hill from my hotel window. The rest of the photos were taken in Ohrid, North Macedonia, where it also rained hard. The spring is one of thirty that make up Saint Naum Springs where, according to our guide, the mythological Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection. Far right: After the rain, a second-fiddle view of Saint John at Kaneo Church. The best view would be from up the cliff, but only the bravest souls took the slippery route to get there (Photos by Odette Foronda, September 2024)
Germany and London in the Fall
Top row (Nuremberg, September 2018): Zeppelin Field – where Hitler held his pompous parades and huge rallies, screaming lies amid the cheers of his fans. Foul weather enhances your experience of such a historical site, compelling you harder to never forget.
Middle row (September 2018): My friend Navie and I hide our cameras under Ziploc bags (photo by Cadad Buenavides) as we visit the pretty German town of Rothenburg in the rain.
Bottom row (London, November 2018): Rain was expected, as is usual for London, but my son Yuri was treating me, so we went anyway. From left: View of Saint Paul’s Cathedral from across the Thames and Millenium Bridge; a hazy view of Westminster Bridge, the Palace of Westminster (Parliament) and a scaffolded Big Ben from the London Eye; Saint Paul’s Cathedral.
(Photos by Odette Foronda)
France in the Spring
Top row: Paris’ Notre Dame Cathedral is finally open, and a rain-soaked crowd waits to be allowed inside; a packed Sunday Mass and a view of the newly-restored interior
Middle row: Umbrellas help these folks do their business; the Louvre
Bottom row: The Canadian Cemetery at Juno Beach and Les Braves Memorial at Omaha Beach. Just like when I visited Zeppelin Field seven years earlier (above image), Mother Nature sent the right kind of weather for me at the Normandy World War II Beaches last month. Come to think of it, how about the downpour at Sarajevo? Uncanny, eh?
(Photos by Odette Foronda, March 2025)
Iceland in the Early Spring
Although the Aurora Borealis and Australis phenomena happen year-round, the months of long and dark nights provide the best chances of viewing the lights. The Northern Lights are most visible from September to April, which period coincides with when precipitation and cloud cover are highest. You want long, dark nights, clear skies, and the right amount of solar activity. Plus, you want to stay long enough, preferably a week, because the lights are never guaranteed to appear every night. When you only have so much money, what are your chances? (Some friends wonder why I don’t just go to some northern part of Canada. I tell them it’s much cheaper for me to fly to Iceland than to, say, the Yukon or Yellowknife where they almost guarantee you’ll see the lights.)
A couple of years ago in the early spring, I went to Iceland with some friends on a four-day Northern Lights tour. When we made the bookings weeks earlier, the forecast indicated a good chance at clear skies. So, we kept our fingers crossed, packed for rain as was advised, and flew there giddy with excitement.
What do you know? When we got there, Mother Nature gave us long, cold nights plus not only thick cloud cover, but rain, rain, and more rain. Sleet even, on top of howling winds. We did see the other sights on our itinerary, all delightful, but no Aurora.
Thank God for good friends like Sonia who, having just seen the Aurora in Norway, suggested I pick a plane seat by a north-facing window. Which I did. I stayed up during my night flight, not watching movies to help my eyes see better in the dark, although I didn’t hope for much because the moon was full. What a thrill it was when I sighted a faint green smear below the moon, which smear grew into a huge arch that danced in the sky before me for some thirty minutes. The pilot said nothing, maybe because it was 3:00 a.m., and I don’t know if anyone else on the plane saw it. I tell myself that Lady Aurora put on that glorious show only for me.
Iceland in the Early Spring
Top row, from left: The Sun Voyager sculpture in Reykjavik; the fissure between the American and Eurasian plates at Thingvellir National Park, Strokkur geyser; the muddy, icy path to Sólheimajökull Glacier where I quit partway, afraid to slip
Middle row, from left: the magnificent Skogafoss (foss means waterfall); my friends Peddy and Alma and I brave the wind and sleet at Reynisfjara Black Beach; Urriðafoss
Bottom row, from left: Icelandic horses graze on a slushy field; countryside scene; the Aurora Borealis showing off outside my plane window
(Middle photo by Navie Saliendra; the rest of the photos by Odette Foronda, March 2023)
The Rain in Spain
No, the rain in Spain doesn’t fall mainly on the plain. That phrase was invented as a mere elocution exercise. In many parts of the country, it’s normal to expect rain during the spring and fall, but it can also rain in the dead of a summer heat wave.
Just go. If you hang tough, the rewards could be astonishing. Who needs a Happy Light?
The Rain in Spain
Top row, from left (September 2019): Praza do Obradoiro in Santiago de Compostela, the rugged Costa da Morte (Coast of Death) on Spain’s Atlantic coast; whiteout at Cape Finisterre (end of the earth), also on Spain’s Atlantic Coast
Middle row, from left (August 2022): I had wanted to walk all the way up to the chapel atop the island of Gaztelugatxe on the Bay of Biscay, but because rain clouds had crept in, our guide instead took us up a path for an overhead view. I was just snapping the photo of the island (on the left) when the sudden downpour came. The next photo, of my friends and me and a faint outline of Gaztelugatxe in the background, was taken three minutes later by our guide Andoni Urkia. The rightmost photo was taken by my friend Aimee Alcantara - of me in a poncho and holding an umbrella while trying to photograph the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao during a rainy sunset cruise on the Nervión River. Only Aimee and I chose to stay on the boat’s upper deck during the tour.
Bottom row, from left (Madrid, March 2025): mid-afternoon at Gran Via; Chocolatería San Ginés beckons on a damp and rainy evening (but alas, it’s packed); Puerta del Sol almost never sleeps but the crowds do thin when it rains
(Photos by Odette Foronda)
What do you know? When we got there, Mother Nature gave us long, cold nights plus not only thick cloud cover, but rain, rain, and more rain.
Bilbao’s Guggenheim Museum at sunset after a summer storm ran out of rain
(Photo by Odette Foronda, August 2022)
Madrid’s Plaza Mayor one rainy evening
(Photos by Odette Foronda, March 2025)
Odette Foronda is a mother of four and grandma of four. Based in Toronto and now retired from years of working in the numbers field, she’ll travel as far as her Ilocano purse will allow. She publishes books of her travel photos and stories (https://www.blurb.com/user/odettef).
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