Romblon, queen of unspoilt

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It’s not one of the first places that come to mind when you think of summer destinations. Considered the marble capital, Romblon is the RO in MIMAROPA, which I’m now convinced is the better looking sister of CALABARZON. I mean, who beats Palawan here, right? Our friend Rob invited us to take this trip. Cebu Pacific just opened flights this year to this archipelago. See, that it was an archipelago in itself was a pleasant surprise!

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Elisa and the salvation of Batad

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

My first hello world

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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.

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The 13-hour bus ride to Sagada

The year was 2006. I finished a 3-day luggage in a blink producing two mid-sized duffel bags bulging and loaded. Packing the night before a trip can be exhilarating, if you ask me. The anticipation is like a juggernaut of adrenaline, crushing everything in its path including sleep.

In the bus

The Cable Tours bus, stationed across St. Luke’s hospital on E. Rodriguez Avenue in Quezon City, left for Bontoc at 8:30PM. Be sure to bring your own zoning out tools as they come in very handy for unbelievably long trips: a book (with a reading lamp since they turn the lights off soon), MP3 player, PSP, or even your trusty old brick game.

There were two stopovers I remember: one, in Bulacan and two, in Nueva Vizcaya. Bring your bottle of water, fine, but don’t gulp a mouthful every after 5 seconds if you don’t want a bursting bladder waiting for the next stop. You don’t want to be twisting and curling for hours on end. You can have a midnight snack or very early breakfast serving in one of the highway diners but you can always bring your favorite kutkutins to silence the little gremlins in your stomach.

The best way, however, to stop you from going hungry or getting bored is to sleep. So really, forget about brick games and snacks and just sleep.

Grand, but falling apart

When dawn broke, we were in Ifugao. I woke up to zigzags zooming in on us without end. Mountains lay from your foot to the farthest horizons. The guy behind me was right: the sun rose just in time for us to see the famed Banaue Rice Terraces.

We were silently stoked admiring its grandeur under our breaths as the bus passed by this miles-long view. It was beautiful and what a grand masterpiece of cosmic proportions. That’s stating the obvious, but you see, you don’t really understand what they were talking about until you see it yourself and form your own opinion about it. I thought it was beginning to look a little desolated though. Commercialism is a two-faced coin.

Big, big world

The travel from Ifugao to Mountain Province was, very – well – mountainous. It was amazing to realize how everything has a name—every place, every person, every tree, rock, insect or soil. Everything runs in a little localized system zooming out into a galaxy and then you look in and see—I am in this, part of this. At the turn of the bend, we were greeted by this enormous lush mountain and I was stumped at the enormousness of the world. It’s wonderful to see how little the bus I’m on is and essentially how smaller I am.

My thoughts and sense of wonder turn to be my best companions when traveling. I think that’s one of the reasons people go on trips. As they look out the world, they look inside and they find pieces of themselves along the way.

Jeepney tops

At about 8 AM, we reached the town of Bontoc. The group grabbed their bags from the overhead compartment and went down the bus. Then the bus sped off on its way to the next stop. From there, it was only one jeepney ride away to Sagada.

The jeepney drive from Bontoc to Sagada was the same as the last 30 minutes we had on the bus: cliffy and rugged roads, breathtaking views and, unfortunately, suffocating dusts wafting through any open spaces on your face. The tires looked like just a foot away from slipping down the cliff. I can’t imagine how it felt like for those guys sitting atop the jeepney. It surprised me that they were rushing to secure their spots on the roof even if there were more seats inside.

Market Day in Sagada

After almost an hour from Bontoc, we arrived in Sagada. The sun was generous that day. But since we were squeezed around mountains, it was cooler than expected.It was a Saturday and it was Market Day. There were makeshift stores on the road selling toys, home decors and other knickknacks. Down the pavement was a basketball court. Across the court was St. Mary Episcopal Church and it was surrounded by pinetrees. Hundreds of pinetrees were scattered every where your eyes land. Children play under the shades of trees. The town overlooks a magnificent stretch of rice terraces.

Suddenly, somebody pushed the slow-motion button. It was lovely.