Mount Kiltepan, Sagada
The bus terminal in Banaue stood at a cliff with a view of the just-rising sun. Local men huddled outside the terminal, their lips red with nga nga, a mixture of betel nut fruit and leaf and apog, lime powder. A middle-aged man wearing a down dark jacket spat on the sidewalk. Elisa, our guide in Batad later that day, said chewing betel nut is like smoking. The fruit, along with caffeine, alcohol and nicotine, is a stimulating substance. “Pampainit din daw ‘pag malamig,” she was told it can help add warmth to the body when it’s cold. And most days are cold in the mountains.
The morning air was crisp when we stepped out of the bus. Not as cold as I imagined but enough to know you are 5,000 feet above sea level. From the terminal, you will be taken to a restaurant where you will wait for at least 2 hours and while at it, choose your breakfast from the menu quickly waved at you by a staff. “Let’s wait for other passengers to arrive,” someone commanded. I sniffed it: tourist trap.
The place had a veranda with a view of the village and the river below. The town, while still very tranquil in metropolis chaos standards, had woken up. The river flowed flatly for around 200 meters before it turned left near a cluster of boulders, gushing into white water and sending a sound of a murmuring river up in the hills to the houses and up to where we are. The sun was beginning to burst behind the hills in front of us. White pigeons dived towards the boulders in the river then circled back in flight. I took it all in and suddenly, I didn’t mind the business interest behind what led us to this place. Nine hours away from Manila, this was the change of scenery I wanted. My plate of fried rice and longganisa for breakfast also just arrived.
When textbooks and guidebooks talk about the Banaue Rice Terraces, they refer to two terrace clusters that are inscribed in the UNESCO World Heritage List. They are located in the villages of Bangaan and Batad. These heritage sites, Elisa shared, are 2,000 years old, as old as the Christian tradition. This was based on the estimates made by pioneer archaeologists Henry Beyer and Roy Barton on how long they think it took the Ifugaos to build the terraces in their current scale. But newer studies were refuting this theory and dating the world wonder to a more youthful 400-500 years old. Ifugaos were said to be planting taro on smaller terraces before the Spanish arrived. Relics from Kiangan, the oldest village in Ifugao, revealed abundant evidence that people here subsisted on taro, not rice. The new theory suggests that since more people had moved to lowlands due to the impact of the Spanish colonization, the demand for rice had increased. This prompted the Ifugao ancestors to expand the size of the rice terraces to meet the demand.
Our intention was to go to Batad and stay a night at the village. From Banaue, it was a 45 minute jeepney trip to Batad. Here, you will have your first chance to topload a jeepney. Toploading is throwing yourself on top of the roof and sitting and holding onto steel rails for dear life. I promise you, you will have the best seat in the house. No kidding. When they said sometimes it is about the journey, this is what they mean. You can also topload on your jeepney ride from Banaue to Bontoc and Bontoc to Sagada, if you plan to to visit these places after Batad. I tried it from Banaue to Bontoc and I don’t know what other modes of transportation can top that in my book.
Batad is a place to explore slowly. Life is slow here. To reach Batad village, there was a light to moderate 30- to 40-minute trek from the jeepney’s drop off point to the village where the rice terraces are. On your way, you can catch glimpses of what it takes these small businesses in the village to keep their inventories stocked for visitors. They buy their goods—those that can’t be sourced from the village—from Banaue at least once a week, hand-carried, on foot.
A sari-sari store with knives and souvenirs on display signaled our arrival to the village. People were taking photos a few meters past the store where you can see an open view of the famed “amphitheater” rice terraces. But this was not the picture in my head. During the trek Elisa confirmed that the one in school textbooks was the one in Bangaan, not this one. This time of the year, the terraces looked dry and barren. Batad harvests rice in June and December. February is the time for farmers to start planting. April to May and October to November are better months to visit for the lushest green colors. It turns to gold too as harvest season comes closer.
The trek to Tappiya Falls has two routes. The longer route will take you to the summit of the “amphitheater.” You will come down towards the midsection of the rice terraces which takes you on a downhill trek towards the river which then leads you to the falls. The second, shorter route takes you through the midsection straight away. This should cut your trek time by 2 hours. The waterfall was huge, strong and impressive; the waters biting and refreshing. But I think all treks are created equal: all the pain is tolerable on your way to your destination but it’s nearly regretful on your way back. So the key is to take it really slowly. Pause frequently. Admire the grand and the small creations around you. Share stories with your guide.
Elisa, my guide, was a mom of four. She would have them one after the other, consecutively. “Mahirap ang family planning,” she said when I asked her if the four children are enough. The walkway along the rice paddies were getting narrower. Elisa’s husband is also a tour guide and had just finished touring his guests a few minutes before we started ours. She can work for at least four hours touring guests now that the kids have grown up a bit. She said most people in the village are now tour guides. There may only be a handful of young people who want to continue farming. Many had moved to the bigger cities around the Cordilleras to work office jobs, like in Baguio. She was unsure, her voice lowered, when she herself wondered what will happen to the rice terraces if no one in the new generations will want to plant rice. She was hoping UNESCO or the government will do something about it. She spoke about UNESCO like a savior.
The village at the base of the amphitheater came back into view. They said UNESCO had given money to preserve that village, Elisa said, pointing to the clusters of both modern and hut houses at the bottom of the mountain. While there are several Ifugao huts that dot the village, distinct in their cogon thatch roof, there are bigger structures that are eyesores. One cannot blame the house owners, she was quick to say. Descendants of the ancestors who built the rice terraces still lived in the village. Their families had grown and require bigger, more private rooms like in the modern houses. The Ifugao hut is not enough as a single-room house: all of entertaining, eating, sleeping and everything else are done in the same room. UNESCO was supposed to provide budget for at least repainting the modern houses with maybe brown. Shrugging, she seemed naive about where the preservation money had possibly gone. I think the modern houses can be relocated in another part of the village. The village at the foot of the mountain can be strictly dedicated for cultural and visual preservation.
Elisa is a relative of the owners of Rita’s Mount View Inn, a 43-year old guesthouse with a restaurant with an unobstructed view of the rice terraces in front and mountain range on the side. Germaine, the inn manager and daughter of the owners, is Elisa’s cousin. They had more money to put up Rita’s Inn, she said, adding those with money are lucky to have small tourist businesses. Elisa’s family lives in a more modest house just beside the inn. Inn’s guests looking to go on a tour are referred to Elisa and her husband. The standard rate for the long route is 800 pesos per tour and 600 pesos for the shorter trek. The challenge is there are generally more guides than visitors and due to the physical and time demands of the trek, a guide can only do one, at most two treks to the Tappiya Falls per day.
She knows everyone in the village. She does. She chatted with almost everyone we came across with—the old farmers planting rice in the paddies, the young mother at a sari-sari store close to the river, her fellow guides at Tappiya, the souvenir shop owner that sells local handicrafts. It’s the case for everyone, she said. Everyone knows everybody in a small village like this. It rained shortly before arriving at the guesthouse. We passed by a small farm and I wanted to cut a big taro leaf to use as an umbrella. What a gift to see the surroundings after a rain. It changed to a moodier personality when the clouds coated the village with rainwater.
We called it a night at 8pm, after a refreshing but mountain water-cold shower. I woke up at 3am, then at 5am, before the alarm buzzed off in the middle of the soundless pre-dawn Batad. Germaine’s dad was already busy burning some woods at the outdoor kitchen.
I waited for the light to break behind the mountains. When it did, it shone the first rays to the amphitheater, signaling the start of a new show. Birds cooed. Motorcycles revved from a distance. Dew sparkled on the foliage.
On our way out of the village to trek back to the jeepney pickup point, I saw Elisa, wearing the same shirt from our trek the day before. But in a different light, in an alternative role in the story of Batad. She was inside a newly constructed sari-sari store near the entrance to the village. She greeted the new visitors who had just arrived and bid goodbye to those who were leaving. We wished her well as we turned towards the trail.
How to get to Batad
From Manila, you can take an Ohayami Trans bus which leaves daily at 9pm and 10pm. You can book online. It will take you approximately 9 hours to get to Banaue from Manila. You can also opt to go to Baguio first, then from Baguio to Banaue.
Where to stay
There are many guesthouses, inns and homestays in Batad. Often, you don’t need to book in advance as cellular service is poor to nonexistent. There are places that offer overnight stays in a traditional Ifugao cogon hut. We stayed at Rita’s Mount View Inn, in a basic room (with a view to boot).
Continue your trip
From Banaue, you may go to Bontoc, Sagada or Baguio.
Updated Feb 23, 2017
I was looking at the Perfection installation when the lights flickered and in a few seconds, the guards streamed in the booth and started announcing that the show was over. It was 9pm and I barely covered half of the 7th and last floor. Not surprising was the audible, collective gasp from the weary and thick Saturday night crowd.
I had not seen that much people in this city so interested in art. The fair features galleries spread across three floors of the The Link parking building across the Ayala Museum. For students of Makati, that’s a massive collection of free art; other students pay P50. For regular folks, that’s P250. One movie ticket, one unusual weekend. Why not.
Two floors down, in the first gallery, I felt like entering a jam-packed train, sliding my body into crevices just to either get in or, for the most part, get out. People were taking selfies. Beautiful people were streaming in, looking so cute in their fashion blogger ensemble.
One of the things I liked a lot was The Crucible Gallery particularly the geometric, abstract and minimalist work of Junyee and Gus Albor. Big, contemplative murals of Elmer Borlongan and Ferdie Montemayor of Pinto Art Museum were also definite highlights. The glass sculptures of Ramon Orlina takes you in a reflective dimension too alluring to pull away from.
What I didn’t expect and perhaps my most favorite piece owing to its humor was the rather empty, pencil-lined boxes on the wall of Lyra Garcellano. It had captions like “A Particular Red Painting That Complements the Leather Coach” and “A Beautiful But Fake Caravaggio Made in China.” Baka hindi pa naikakabit, remarked someone behind me, maybe they were yet to put these up. Nope, that’s it.
The Binondo district turns into an exhilarating cultural destination on Chinese New Year’s Day, even for locals. It was likely the best day to visit for a full Chinatown effect. The crowd was thick and the lines were long at popular spots . It took us more than two hours at Dong Bei just to sample their dimsum. It was very good, yes.
Binondo, established in 1594, is the oldest Chinatown in the world. Unlike actual cities in Asia that celebrate the lunar new year by visiting loved ones in the countryside, people flock towards Binondo for the festivities and business likely booms better than any other day of the year. Strolling down the bustling Ongpin was a sensory overload; the name of the street alone evokes scenes from Rizal’s Noli me Tangere. The Filipino saint, Lorenzo Ruiz, was a Binondo local.
The district is a super foodie destination which sparked many a Instagrammable food crawls. Located towards the end of Yuchengco street, get a filling of Dong Bei‘s freshly prepared pork and kuchay dumplings and xiao long bao. The most delicious lumpia at New Po-Heng, on Quintin Paredes, works very well as either an appetizer or dessert (because of the sweet sauce).
Koming, our host at Ketut’s Place, was explaining the ornamental door that featured Rama and Sita, the protagonists in the Indian legend Ramayana. “Do you know Ramayana? Yes, that is Rama… Sita. Just like Julia… Roberts.”
He meant Romeo… and Juliet.
He was giving us a little tour of the different parts of a typical Balinese household. There is the ceremony building, where cremation and weddings happen. There is the parent’s home, the room that featured Rama and Sita, said to be reserved for copulating. If you see your folks sneaking out of the main house to go to the honeymoon room, you know they’re gonna do the dirty.
There’s the temple. The temple is the most interesting, mystical, ethereal part of the compound. Koming said most Balinese traditional houses have temples or shrines. It is where the spirits of their ancestors are believed to be staying while waiting for reincarnation to kick in. Owners of the family land are also not supposed to sell their properties as the spirits of their ancestors will be “confused” when they reincarnate to a different set of people around. It is believed to bring bad luck to the family.
The little tour was followed by a sumptuous traditional Balinese dinner.
The chartered car from Denpasar took me on an hour and a half ride to Ubud. Closing in, we passed by strings of shops, restaurants, yoga studios and t-shirt places. Streets were getting filled with travelers and locals out for a late lunch or on their way back to their hotels or homes. A beautiful temple on the left, a charming gilded shrine on the right, and a few more in the next 500 meters.
The car pulled over on the side of the road, just right across the central market and Ubud Palace. I slid out of the car and the scent of incense from the nearby fountain shrine did it for me. I’ve arrived in my spirit town.
I started traveling – at least my earliest recollection of getting from point A to point B – when I was around 7 to 9 years old. My mom’s family was originally from Mindoro, an island province off the southwestern coast of mainland Luzon. During summer and when school’s out, the family, with my aunts and uncles and cousins would spend a good week or two in Mindoro.
Unmissable on the beach front of Diniwid beach was this all-white apartment. I loved the minimalism, the ceiling-to-floor glass doors and windows, the white flowy curtains, the bamboo balcony – all that and being away from the famed Boracay crowd but still just few steps away from the shore and the sea salt breeze. Add a good book and a mug of coffee and you have exactly all that you need.
Outside the Microtel Hotel in the secluded beach of Diniwid, I met two kids who were likely skipping siesta and enjoying themselves in the swing. They were both super friendly, especially the boy, who speaks English. He asked me to push him on a swing really hard. And I did. He said his father’s Italian. His father owns, he said, a local Italian restaurant in Boracay. He talked a lot.
I met his mom that night beside the pool and she confirmed everything the little boy said. He was really madaldal, she said. She invited me to their restaurant but had to say no because I was flying back to Manila the next day.
When you say Taal, people almost equate it to Tagaytay. That’s why it was a surprise to find the other side of Taal quite literally when we found this cool treehouse on Airbnb. The treehouse was in Kapusod Lake Conservation area in Mataasnakahoy, Batangas, opposite the hills of Tagaytay if you cross the lake. The location featured one of most gorgeous and longest running sunsets we’ve seen.