They're saying it's going to be huge; of course that's scary
Typhoon Bavi, the largest storm to bear down on Taiwan in over three decades, has already taken fifteen lives in the Philippines through landslides on Mindanao, and now turns its winds and rains toward Taiwan and Japan. With a wind field spanning 380 kilometers and the potential to drop nearly a meter of rain, the storm has set in motion one of the region's most extensive emergency responses in recent memory. Beneath the immediate human toll lies a deeper reckoning: warming oceans and returning El Niño conditions are not merely background context but the very engine driving storms of this magnitude, suggesting that what feels historic today may become familiar tomorrow.
- Fifteen people are dead in the Philippines and six remain missing after Bavi's rains triggered two separate landslides on Mindanao before the storm even reached its primary targets.
- Nearly nine thousand residents have been ordered from their homes in Taiwan, with Hualien County's mountainous east under particular scrutiny as authorities monitor two barrier dams against catastrophic failure.
- Residents in Keelung are preparing with an urgency that feels new — sandbags at restaurant doors, taped windows, and fishermen warning one another that this storm demands precautions the last forty years never required.
- More than twenty-eight thousand troops stand ready across Taiwan, hundreds of flights have been cancelled, and waves reaching nine meters are driving people away from shorelines as the typhoon's strongest winds are still hours away.
- Japan's Sakashima islands and Okinawa are simultaneously bracing for impact, with businesses cancelled, schools closed, and hotel workers netting down loose objects against winds that could turn them into projectiles.
- Record ocean temperatures and the return of El Niño are amplifying Bavi's destructive capacity, framing this storm not as an outlier but as a signal of a climate system increasingly capable of producing disasters at historic scale.
Typhoon Bavi reached the doorstep of Taiwan and Japan on Friday carrying the weight of what it had already done. In the Philippines, two landslides triggered by the storm's heavy rains had buried people on the southern island of Mindanao, killing fifteen and leaving six others missing. Now, as its outer bands began lashing the region, nearly nine thousand people were being ordered from their homes across Taiwan — more than half of them in Hualien County, where authorities kept close watch on two barrier dams.
Bavi had weakened since striking Guam and the Northern Marianas as a super typhoon earlier in the week, but what remained was still formidable. Sustained winds held at 155 kilometers per hour, gusts approached 190, and the storm's wind field stretched 380 kilometers — making it the largest typhoon to impact Taiwan in more than thirty years. Forecasters warned that nearly a meter of rain could fall, raising the threat of flooding and further landslides, with the strongest winds expected on Saturday.
In Keelung, the northern port city bracing for some of Bavi's heaviest blows, residents moved through the streets with quiet urgency. A seventy-six-year-old grocery owner stocked shelves and taped his windows, acknowledging plainly that the forecasts were frightening. A restaurant owner noted that this was the first time in forty-eight years she had placed sandbags at her entrance. Fishermen and captains had been circulating the same message: this time, prepare differently.
The response matched the rarity of the threat. More than twenty-eight thousand troops were placed on standby. Hundreds of flights were cancelled. Schools and businesses shuttered across the north and east. President Lai Ching-te called publicly for vigilance in vulnerable areas, and people were ordered away from shorelines as waves climbed to nine meters.
Japan's remote southwestern islands faced the storm as well. On Miyako Island, a hotel worker secured loose objects with nets. In Naha, a water sports operator watched a fully booked weekend disappear entirely. Dozens of flights were scrapped across the Japanese islands.
The storm's arrival also coincided with China already absorbing a week of severe weather — at least thirty-nine dead, rivers overflowing, a reservoir dam burst. Bavi was expected to make landfall on China's eastern coast over the weekend, adding to the toll.
Underneath the immediate crisis ran a longer current. Ocean temperatures hit their highest recorded levels in June, according to the EU's Copernicus Marine Service. El Niño had returned, warming Pacific surface temperatures and loading storms with additional moisture. The conditions that built Bavi were not accidents of weather but symptoms of a climate system in motion — one that seemed increasingly capable of making the historic routine.
Typhoon Bavi arrived at the doorstep of Taiwan and Japan on Friday with the kind of force that empties streets and closes shops. The storm had already claimed fifteen lives in the Philippines, where two separate landslides triggered by Bavi's heavy rains buried people on the southern island of Mindanao. Six others remained missing. Now, as the typhoon's outer bands began to lash the region, nearly nine thousand people were being ordered from their homes across Taiwan, with more than half of them concentrated in Hualien County in the mountainous east, where authorities kept close watch on two barrier dams.
Bavi had weakened slightly as it crossed the Pacific—it had struck Guam and the Northern Marianas on Monday as a super typhoon—but what remained was still formidable. By Friday, sustained winds held at 155 kilometers per hour, with gusts reaching around 190 kilometers per hour. The storm's wind field stretched across 380 kilometers, making it the largest typhoon to impact Taiwan in more than three decades. Forecasters warned that nearly a meter of rain could fall, raising the specter of flooding and additional landslides. The strongest winds were expected on Saturday.
In Keelung, the northern port city expected to absorb some of Bavi's heaviest blows, residents moved through the streets with the deliberate focus of people preparing for siege. Chang Shih-huo, a seventy-six-year-old grocery store owner, stocked shelves with instant noodles and bread, taped his windows, and spoke matter-of-factly about the coming closure. "They're saying it's going to be huge; of course that's scary, right?" he told a reporter. Across the city, shopkeepers secured their stands, vendors sandbagged their storefronts, and a temple crew tied down an outdoor statue. Penny Pan, who ran a restaurant with her husband, noted that this storm had prompted precautions—particularly sandbags at the entrance—that had never seemed necessary in her forty-eight years. "In the past we never used sandbags to prepare for typhoons," she said. "But this time they're forecasting Force 10 gusts, so the captains and fishermen have all been saying we need to be better prepared."
The scale of the response reflected the rarity and severity of what was coming. More than twenty-eight thousand troops were placed on standby with machinery and equipment ready to deploy. Hundreds of flights were cancelled. Schools and businesses shuttered across the northern and eastern portions of the island. President Lai Ching-te issued a public call for residents in vulnerable areas to remain vigilant. People were ordered away from shorelines as the typhoon churned up waves reaching nine meters high.
Japan's remote southwestern islands, particularly the Sakashima chain and Okinawa, braced for impact as well. Schools and offices closed in some areas. On Miyako Island, a hotel worker named Masaru Nakamura secured objects with nets to prevent them from becoming airborne. In Naha, Koki Ohama watched his water sports and barbecue business evaporate—a weekend that had been fully booked was now entirely cancelled. Dozens of flights across the Japanese islands were scrapped, affecting thousands of passengers.
The timing of Bavi's arrival came as China was already reeling from a week of severe storms. At least thirty-nine people had died in southern and central regions, with numerous rivers overflowing and a reservoir dam bursting. Bavi was expected to make landfall in eastern China over the weekend, adding to the accumulated damage.
Beneath the immediate crisis lay a longer pattern. Ocean temperatures had reached their highest levels on record in June, according to the European Union's Copernicus Marine Service, with projections suggesting further warming in the months ahead. Warmer water intensifies tropical storms and loads them with additional moisture that falls as rain. This year, El Niño—the natural climate phenomenon that warms Pacific surface temperatures and typically emerges every two to seven years—had returned, compounding the effect. The conditions that had shaped Bavi were not anomalies but symptoms of a shifting climate system, one that seemed increasingly capable of producing storms of historic scale.
Citas Notables
In the past we never used sandbags to prepare for typhoons. But this time they're forecasting Force 10 gusts, so we need to be better prepared.— Penny Pan, restaurant owner in Keelung
From tonight through daytime tomorrow will be the period when the typhoon is closest to Taiwan and its impact will be the most significant.— Liao Chwen-huey, Central Weather Administration forecaster
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does a typhoon hitting Taiwan matter to people who don't live there?
Because what happens in the Pacific shapes global weather patterns, and because the scale of this storm—the largest in thirty years—tells us something about how the ocean itself is changing. When nearly nine thousand people are evacuated and thousands of flights cancel, that ripples through supply chains, economies, insurance markets. But more directly: this is a test case for how societies prepare for extreme weather that's becoming less extreme and more normal.
The source mentions El Niño and warmer oceans. Are those connected to Bavi specifically, or just background?
Both. Warmer oceans don't cause typhoons—they've always existed in the tropics. But they fuel them. A warmer ocean is like adding gasoline to a fire. El Niño amplifies that effect by warming the Pacific surface temperatures. So Bavi didn't happen because of climate change, but it likely intensified because of it, and it carried more moisture than it might have decades ago.
The story mentions people like Chang and Penny by name and age. Why does that matter?
Because it makes the preparation real. A seventy-six-year-old stocking instant noodles isn't a statistic—it's a person who has lived through decades of typhoons and is saying this one feels different. Penny noting that they've never used sandbags before, that the fishermen are insisting on better preparation—that's not opinion, that's lived experience telling you the baseline has shifted.
What about the fifteen people who died in the Philippines? They seem almost secondary to the Taiwan story.
They are secondary in the news cycle, which is its own kind of injustice. Fifteen people are dead from landslides on Mindanao, six are missing, and the story moves quickly to the evacuations and preparations in Taiwan and Japan. The Philippines got hit first and hardest, but the narrative focus follows wealth and infrastructure—Taiwan's port city, Japan's tourism industry. The deaths are real; the attention is unequal.
Is there a sense in the reporting of what comes next?
Yes, but it's muted. The storm will hit, it will pass, and then the accounting begins—damage assessments, recovery efforts, insurance claims. But the deeper question the story hints at is whether this becomes the new normal. If oceans keep warming and El Niño returns regularly, do we keep evacuating nine thousand people every few years? Do we keep closing businesses and cancelling flights? At what point does preparation become relocation?