MANILA Philippines, where "malling" is a common verb used multi generationally and has made it to the list of favorite national past times. What struck me as curious early in this city was that just meters from many of these designer malls lie extreme poverty and hunger. The night ride to our hostel left me suspended in the usual awe struck state I have when we're first exposed to a new county. Everything is fresh to me from the person driving us to the smell of air hitting my face from the open view of my window. Different architecture, streets, locomotives, people crossing streets and walking beside them; different smells, sounds of vehicle-horns and tones coming out of peoples mouths all unique and new to me. But there do exist those few things that remain the same no matter where we are. There are always happy faces and sad ones, children laughing and crying all spread about varying "sections" of town with distinctly subtle lines dividing them. The presence of separation lingers in every culture, country and race though everyone's choices to live with and in them are the same.
So we arrived at our carefully selected and booked hostel (as we usually do for our first few nights in a country), in the hot rain, glad to be greeted by a lovely little Philippina woman close to me in age. After some chat about the online reservation, we were given a little tour of the hostel and shown to our rooms as per normal procedure in most countries' hostels. We were told that in Manila the lines between "safe" and "unsafe" areas were quite fine for a wandering tourist so we tried to keep awareness up and feet on the right side of the streets. We stayed at
One River Central Hostel which was supposedly on a little "line" by the river but being close to a subway made the rest of the city more aces sable.
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| On the balcony of our hotel. |
MANILA to BANAUE
After many hours on a couple of buses we arrived in the quaint mountain village of Banaue famous for the surrounding rice terraces built some say more than 2000 years ago, but debatable. Since we don't plan ahead all that much once the feet are on the ground we had no reservation, so it struck us as a little odd when a young local dude held a sign reading "Demelza and Craig" and a huge smile. All his comrades seemed to know who we were as well and that we were to go with this particular red mouthed young man. He quickly informed us that the 2 British sisters (we had met at our hostel in Manila) asked him to meet us at the bus stop and guide us not only to the hotel where they were sleeping but for our entire time around the area as well. I weren't even sure if we wanted a guide yet. The stopping busses are usually swarmed with mostly young and some occasionally old men to be your "guide" through the mountains and terraces. Many designated trek routes for tourists line the hills to view the stacked green marvels. We laughingly followed him down to the hill-side hotel where the girls were resting after just one strenuous day up and down mountain passes with this same guide. Feeling uniquely welcomed in this paradise we waited for our room to be cleaned and sat overlooking what is the most stunning little jungle valley village I've ever seen. Millions of pictures exist attempting to steal it's detail and grandour but they can't duplicate the way it feels to experience the rhythm of mountainous glory. To top it off there runs a healthy steam that threads this crevice of the world that is the village of Banaue. It's a bustling little hive despite it's remoteness with a town center where the Jeepnies come and go with supplies and people all day and a tiny bus stop just a few stories above on the hill by the main road in. The little markets sell the necessities of a simple life and share a good dose of smiles. Drinks, along with just about everything else up here are more expensive because it all has to take the same long journey we did to get there. This makes buying a beer from the local man across the way not only beneficial for him in business but for our budget as well and the chance to meet another interesting local, rather than just the waitress of a restaurant. The locals in these parts young and old alike continue the tradition of chewing on Areca nuts with betel leaf for their effects as a mild stimulant similar to that of coffee. The remnants of this habit are red stained smiles and sidewalks painted in crimson from decades of tinted saliva spit onto them. I regret not grabbing the opportunity to stain my own lips just once for the experience.
Our new friend/guide met us the next day with his reddened smile for a day out to a lovely view and hot springs deep in the mountains. His friend and he on the motorbike with us in the tiny little covered side carriage we traversed muddy slopes and sharp paved corners for at least and hr and a half through rice fields and step terraces dotted with sporadic house here and there. Suddenly we stopped and followed him in a soft drizzle through and along rice terraces' narrow beams of cement and stone. After a lovely walk and chat with our young guide who's also a husband and father at the age of 19, or so he says, we arrived at a steaming pool aside a briskly running chilly river. This was what we came for so with no hesitation stripping down to suits and jumping right in. He hose to sit chatting with some guys he apparently knew. The little local kids and a couple of grown men sat scrubbing themselves with rocks from head to toe while we soaked in the sulfury goodness. Our guide who's name I don't recall, suggested we dip in the cold and then the heat for circulation stimulation. I was a little too chilly to do it more than once though it was quite exhilarating to be lying in a rush of cold water on my heated skin. Again a blissful time, surrounded by thick greenery, the sound of running water while soaking in a natural heat pool. The way back was fresh and just as cleansing as the prize we just partook of though not as relaxing down muddy roads in pouring rain in a little motorbike carriage.
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| This is the cold one! |
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| Peaceful mist! |
On our way to Batad without a guide via the top of an overloaded jeepnie, up and through some fairly narrow mountain roads very close to the edge leaving me either not looking down or enjoying the scarce and exhilarating feeling and scene below and before me. I got the edge of the roof facing sideways and had a shock-absorbing tire to sit on making it easy to hold onto the bars but had to look straight down the mountain side. Craig on the other hand was also on the edge but sitting on a board facing forward without much to hold onto or place to put his legs. Sharp corners and tilts of this strange bus like truck made the ride a little uncomfortable but in a moment of novelty like that I tend to forget about the awkwardness quickly replaced by pure awe of the moment. These people do it every day, have worse seats and complain not at all. The passengers are even paid a little to carry extra baggage of whatever has to be hauled to this remote destination. This means little boys holding chickens on laps is everyday business.
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| We eventually moved where craig is there. |
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| Holding on. |
Finally at the top of the Saddle, a lonely mountain top junction and the closest road access to the town of Batad (after the arduous trek down which we knew we would have to climb on the return). You can rent a walking stick out of a basket next to the first step down, buy a banana or young coconut from a little lady who will chop it open for you with the machette tucked into her skirt as she flashes her red toothed smile at you. Once at this elevated destination we pealed from our precarious spots atop and inside this strange carriage and one by one decended down the stairs into a deep valley of pure lush greenery.
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| First step down of many. |
The tedious steps led us to a little wooden shanty at a T-junction representing the Tourist office and entrance to Batad where you pay a donation to the town for your visit. The dirt path leads right, to the more popular guesthouses and small restaurants and to the left, less frequented guesthouses and local's homes. We took our time and literally looked at each one of our option being that they were just a handful. We chose a little place on the road left with a family who's kids played the guitar at night on this quiet hillside. In the early quiet mornings overlooking a cluster of little smoking chimneys at the bottom of the amphitheater-like stone-walled terraces of rice that toured to the top of my view. The electricity is still new and novel to the locals and only works certain hours of the day. There's a serenity there unlike any other i've felt in the world.
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| View into basin of Batad |
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| First new at the junction. we stayed just blow craig to the left in a guesthouse on the hillside. The u-dip in the mountain across the way is the access to waterfall trail. |
Over the next few days we balanced our way along the top ridge of the highest terrance admiring the ancient irrigation system that still works today and the specks of people maintaining stone walls the growing rice on these ancestral steps from a couple millennia ago. Across the amphitheater and down another steep valley flows a heavy waterfall which refreshed us after the day of exploration without a guide. Getting a little lost in the maize of stone paths allowed us to ask some local kids which way to the top, or down again along the other side. To sit as a speck atop this man made phenomenon is inspiring though words cannot fully describe the moments value. Priceless and well worth the effort it took to arrive at this spot in the world. This place is a symbol of dedication and unified effort effort that lies within each of us as human beings. Motivation drives actions to the point of accomplishment on this scale and if they could do something this spectacular to create a food source what's stopping or generations from being even greater? These kids of the hills live in a time far off from our own, no television computer or video games they sit with their thoughts, stories, musical instruments and the hills whose growth relies on their participation.
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| to the right of the picture there's a ridge going down, those are the stairs i'm going down in the picture below. |
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| Ancient irrigation systems still working with constant maintenance. |
More of the Philippines to come...
