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We've had a lovely week finishing our tour of
Northern Luzon. On Monday morning our friend and protector, Ronard,
accompanied us to the bus station and saw us off at 6:00 a.m. Most
of the time, the "road" was a rocky track with stony cliffs on one
side and a plunging drop off that disappeared into misty forests on
the other. The road is being paved in random sections, one side at a
time, so the rocky parts were interspersed with paved sections that
inspired our driver to make up whatever speed he had lost on the
rougher parts of the road. Tony soon began feeling quesy and went to
sit in the front of the bus and snap photos of the cliffs, while Axa
settled peacefully to sleep, rocked by what the locals wryly call "the
cordillera massage," and Sarah was left to morbid speculation on the
specifics of the trajectory of the dive the bus seemed always about to
take off the side of the narrow road. We had only one stop, where a
part of the road had washed out and a backhoe was up on a cliff high
above, dumping down dirt to rebuild the road.
At around 1:00 p.m. we reached Sagada, a charming little town nestled
high in the mountains. We stayed at a lovely little convent-turned inn
called St. Joseph's, with beautiful gardens and a relaxed atmosphere
(so relaxed, in fact, that Archie, the receptionist, was always drunk
before noon). After lunch we started out for Echo Valley, no more than
a 20 minute walk from where we were staying. A little boy began
walking beside us and asked where we were going. When we told him, he
announced that he was our guide. He led us down a well-marked trail to
see the famous hanging coffins, occupied by the important dead of the
Igorot natives. We also visited a burial cave filled with little
coffins of people not important enough to be hung outside. Jonathan,
our guide, told us that he would have to charge us three times the
going rate for guides, because there were two of us and a baby. That
night, we put up our mosquito netting for the first time after a few
close encounters with unsavory creatures.
While eating delicious homemade yoghurt in Sagada, we met Jason and
Catherine, two young Canadians who had spent the last five weeks
surfing on a little island called Siargao. We found that we were
headed for the same place the next day, to see the amazing rice
terraces of the Ifugao. Arising early, we packed up and carried our
bags to the jeepney, with Axa in her new favorite post, "riding the
bag." It was a lovely bus/jeepney ride to Banauae, through misty, wild
mountains. We were greeted there by processions of Ifugao tribesmen
beating together sticks and dancing in the streets. One of their
people had died, and they were doing a ritual mourning. The rice
terraces at Banauae were beautiful, but we wanted to go somewhere a
little less touristy, so we took an hour-long trip in a tricycle
(motorcycle with a sidecar) and hiked in 15 kilometers on a mossy,
jungle trail with stone steps in the mountain, to the isolated
valley-village of Batad.
Just a few moments before we reached the valley, the rain started
pouring down, so we reached the village soaking wet and first saw the
gorgeous green natural amphitheatre of Batad through mist and
raindrops. All of Axa's clothes got wet in the rain except the ones
she was wearing, so after we gave her a bucket bath and took her down
to dinner wrapped in a blanket, the owner of the lodge lent her some
clothes We paid $2.00 a night to stay at a rough little lodge
overlooking a more awe-inspiring view than most 5-star hotels. For
twenty centuries the Ifugao people have farmed their rice on terraces
built into the mountains, combining ingenious practicality with
breathtaking beauty. Like so many ancient practices, this one is dying
out. They now produce less than a third of their rice needs, and many
terraces are overtaken by weeds.
The Ifugao people also carry their children wrapped in cloths tied to
their bodies, but they laughed and laughed at the number of times we
wrapped ours around ourselves. they just wrap it once and tie it on.
When we met our guide, Maribel, she was wearing her baby. She took us
to Tappia Waterfall, where we did not swim, because Sarah had a nasty
cold. We hiked back out the main road and caught another tricycle to
Banauae to take the night bus back to Manila. We've decided to
christen that ride "Voyage of the Ice Cube." It was cold and rainy in
Banauae, but when we boarded the bus we felt the temperature drop
several degrees. We put on another layer of clothes, and watched the
other passengers take out blankets, scarves, hats, and anything else
they could to warm themselves. People had told us the bus to Manila
was cold, but we assumed they were just talking about air conditioning
in a tropical world. This bus driver was a sadist. Despite repeated
requests to turn down the A.C. (one group of four sent one of their
number up separately at intervals), he kept the bus an ice box. We
wrapped the baby up in two layers of clothes and blankets, and she was
probably the only warm person on the bus (and the only one who got any
sleep that night). There were people wrapping themselves in curtains,
covering the vents with towels, and moving from seat to seat to find
the warmest place. It was truly bizarre. Tony says he will buy a car
in Banauae and sell it in Manila before he takes that bus again.
In spite of the bus, we are here safely, and staying with Gary, a
friend from Tony's mission here five years ago. Today we tried
halo-halo, a delightful dessert with almost everything in it-two kinds
of ice cream, various colors of jello, several varieties of beans,
flan, crushed ice, milk, and some other unidentified objects. Quite
possibly the best dessert I've ever had! Well, our little baby
traveler is saying we've been at this internet cafe for long enough.
We hope you're all well.
Love,
Tony, Sarah and Axa
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The botanical gardens in Baguio. |
St. Joseph's Convent |
hanging coffins in Sagada |
hiking into batad |
bathtime! (no running water) |
Breakfast in Batad, two friendly Canadians, sleeping under mosquito/cockroach nets. |
Diaper change at another exotic locale, pattycake with the natives, Tappia waterfall. |
looking back on Batad |
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