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Or to be more accurate, a 14-hour stay (bus rides NOT included) in Ifugao.

Oh yes, this is another addition to my growing list of quickie vacations. Remember the 23-hour stay in Boracay and the unbelievable 6-hour comeback? How about the 24-hour stay in Coco Beach in Mindoro during the declaration of PP1017 and another 24-hour drop by for my birthday celebration (performances by Advent Call and Tropical Depression hahahaha) there last year? Hmmm I can sense a pattern here. Should I come back to Ifugao, which is highly likely to happen, I would glue my ass my next to Bulul’s and pretend that time stood still.

As always, my adventure started with the feeling of guilt in my gut. I deliberately failed to inform The Unbloggable™ that I’d be off for a solo sembreak-within-the-sem in the Mountain Province. Before you judge me as completely suicidal, allow me to say I was aware of the potential risk. I was scared for myself, too.

My last trek was in Batad and Sagada 2 years ago. I had the company of good friends Fris, Ina and Mark who were happy - no, ecstatic - to stop for a break when I needed one. Either that or they just can’t say no to the birthday girl. That time, I was with hiking enthusiasts whom I doubt would be willing to slow down for a poor, flat-footed nuisance like me. Worse, I didn’t even bother to work out in preparation for this! All I cared about was my enormous need for escape from the metro and anticipated enjoyment of the mountain air. I was blinded with positivity that I will obtain the serenity and experience adventure that I badly deserve. Worst, there was a parade of typhoons visiting the country during the time of my trip. So yeah, good thing I was far from suicidal.

ARE WE THERE YET? ARE WE THERE YET? ARE WE THERE YET?!

The bus ride to Kiangan, Ifugao took 10 dragging hours. I saved my drowsiness all day for this trip. Little did I know that Autobus happens to have the most uncomfortable seats and frustratingly limited legroom ever! I had no choice since no other bus company offers trip to Kiangan.

Before boarding, I met up with Cricket, the Manila-based Save The Ifugao Terraces Movement (SITMo) volunteer who bought my bus tickets. He introduced me to the other women who would be joining the harvest tour namely, Jenna, Melai and somebody else whose name I can no longer recall. I sat next to Melai since the others were seated together. She was not shocked to hear I was all by myself since she had her share of solo travels. In fact, she recently treated herself to a solo trip to Batanes. She was in disbelief that I’d be crawling back to Manila the following night and ensued with the lecture I was quite welcoming to hear then. I managed steer the talk back to my dream Batanes. But my excitement turned to envy as her narration progressed. Eventually, without my permission, she left me for dreamland.

The sight of fellow passengers with their eyelids squeezed shut reminded me I need all the strength that I can get for the hike. Thus, I struggled to sleep. But I kept on waking up as if I were a baby with no diapers. To top it off, I realized I was not as tolerant to the freezing cold anymore. I was this close to snatch somebody else’s blanket. Where had the sleeveless-in-Sagada spirit gone? Needless to say, I didn’t get satisfactory snooze which, by the way, happens all the time, and I bet I must be the first passenger to wake up at 2 hours before we even get to reach the destination. How it sucks to be Morpheus’s least favorite!

REACHING KIANGAN

SITMo volunteers Jonathan and Nilo were already wating when we bounced off the bus. Considering they have met the other women before, they welcomed me with equal warmth. We were escorted to the jeepney that took us to their office.

It was initially fascinating to hear them recall tales from their erstwhile journeys. As they went on, it became apparent they were on the move every single weekend. Much to their annoyance! I bit my tongue for a bitter retort. I would kill to achieve that kind of lifestyle!

Soon enough, my highly-trained nostrils realized that breakfast was ready. I went down with Cricket and the girls, selected food from the array of meals on the long table and found myself seated with the other tourists. I was next to a fellow solo traveler Ivana (born in USA, raised in Canada, attended school in Scotland), an Anthropology student who went there for research. I congratulated her for making it in spite of the heavy rains she endured and subsequently informed her I imagine my own thesis to have an anthropological approach. Her study was about utilizing anthropology for community development. She went on with the details but I was easily distracted by the piercing on her lipweb. (I initially mistook it as her gums.) It was my first time to see such. I was reminded of my aim to have my tongue pierced. I managed to suppress myself from staring at it and reserve my questions for later.

After breakfast, we all gathered to be introduced to one another and be informed about the activities waiting for us. I swallowed hard upon hearing the word "hiking" as the first activity of the day. Being surrounded by muscled and trigger happy souls made my tension mount, making me cross my fingers that my weekly panting spree to reach the fourth floor of Palma Hall and the consistently out-of-order escalator in MRT-Ayala station prepared me enough for this.

In spite of my intimidation, I raced towards the jeep after the talk and distribution of IDs and nearly followed Ivana to topload when I realized I forgot to bring my sunblock lotion. Please don’t squeal to my dermatologist.

AND THE HIKING BEGINS

The jeepney finally came into a screeching halt upon the view of male natives pounding rice in their giant mortar and female counterparts preparing ricecakes. Fellow tourists sampled on the mentioned sweets and took turns in pounding along with the natives. Nilo told me that during harvest season they are not worried about rice spilling from the mortar. Everyone is feeling generous.

Before we commenced the hike, I noticed the writing on the baranggay hall’s (I assume) blackboard. It read the womenfolk proposed a liquor ban. Considering the amount of consumption and the cultural significance of rice wine, the image of sober gatherings made me scratch my scalp. Or they have a different definition of liquor ban? Must be so.

To my relief, the walk was mostly downhill. I was more able to enjoy the view of the rice terraces and the rejuvenating air. The river glistened under the sunlight. The sound it made as it caressed the grey stones made me want to stop over, run my fingers through it and wash my face.

I suddenly missed my good friends. I bet they’d love this. Although it was fun and fulfilling to be on a trip alone, nothing beats the experience of sharing your thrill real-time with the people that matter. For now, I’d have to keep it to myself. Soon, I’d gush about my brag-worthy tales next time we meet.

   

Something unexpected took place. I was taking my sweet time in crossing the lush greens and just allowed a fellow participant overtake on me when I suddenly slipped and fell flat on my butt. Jenna and the mentioned overtaker turned around to see what was going on. Jenna displayed concern, the latter was blank. Guess what I did? I stood up nearly a millisecond after my fall, dusted off the stain on my behind and flashed Jenna a thumbs up and a triumphant grin. All that before I could even say, "Ouch!". I was astounded with my own action! Typically, I would verbally acknowledge the pain, blush myself to death and ask for help. In any order. All of a sudden, my mind played a montage of all the sources of resentment and disappointment I had been suffering from during that time. The fall - and the speedy rise - made my self-respect resurface and made my heart surge with hope. Things had been pretty shitty but, just as Bob Marley’s immortal song said, every little thing is gonna be all right. I was so proud of myself.

The hike went on. The first stopover was to meet and greet the 100-year-old woman who was married to a US veteran. Her countenance looked younger than I expected. The next was for a quick repose and gulp of rice wine. I obliged. On the third, we were welcomed to witness an old man play an ethnic guitar and the rituals of rice wine making. We were treated to camote (dubbed as their "pan de sal") and more rice wine for refreshments. Reluctance registered in the faces of most tourists. One native explained (or at least to me) that it is not as potent if the intake includes solid food. Call me gullible or typically thirsty for such, I drank and ate away. I even took home 3 "goblets" made out of bamboo. How could I possibly turn down something free and bottomless?

The final stop was in the town of Nagacadan where throngs of natives prepared a program for us. I did not get to watch all their performances as Nilo took me to his friend’s home for early lunch. Unlike the other participants of the tour, I had to leave by noon for Mongayong to experience the river wild. The others would stay together for another jeep ride to Uhaj (pronounced as Uha) for tree-planting and, possibly, bonfire and slumber party.

As soon I was bloated from the solo feast, I retraced my steps to the venue of the program. I was just in time to witness the newly-elected Governor Ted Baguilat express his gratitude for the tourists for coming over and plea to help them spread the word about Ifugao’s heritage tourism. I was fortunate to interview him when he was in vacation in Quezon City about Ifugao and its tourism. He encouraged me to join the harvest tour and try river rafting in Chico River. Imagine my surprise when he came up to me and thanked me for pushing through. Shortly after, I was waving goodbyes to the fellow participants. Time to go for some water adventure!

SCREAM IF YOU WANNA GO FASTER!

Nilo joined me for a bum-flattening, bump-inducing tricycle ride to Mongayan. The river rafting was not a part of their tour package and I was touched that he ensured I would get to the resort safe, sound and in time.

Upon getting there, I was immediately introduced to the doctor-couple who run the river rafting business and the operators Anton and Argel. I dashed to change into my swimwear in excitement. By 14:00, I, along with the doctors, their sons and two colleagues Marissa and Johann, braved the drizzle to get into the jeepney that would take us to the Mongayan Bridge.

Turned out Doc hailed from Cavite City and his family was from Digman (place in Bacoor known for halo halo and, yes, a silent witness of my post-class gimmicks in high school). His wife’s mother was from Aniban (two baranggays away from mine). It was like I was back home. They were very nice to talk with and they treated me as if I were a neighbor back from a long vacation.

By the time we reached the bridge, it was already raining cats and dogs. Anton told us that, thanks to the downpour, the river, typically level 1-2, had become level 2-3. This means more turbulence awaited us. I shrieked in rapture. This is what I came for!

After some crash course how to raft, we were divided into two teams. Doc and his sons went first, followed by our group of 4. We were armed with helmets (mine was in puta red), paddle, lifevests and lots of fighting spirit. The next hour witnessed us paddle our way from the violent waters of Mongayan to Ibulao Bridge. Everything was fast and maddening: the sight of the water making a tall formation before us, the dangerous "curves" ahead and the huge rock that trapped us. Plus the mockery from Doc that, "Hala, di ka na makakauwi ng Bacoor!" There river was tranquil in some points and we, as a team, spent it high-fiving one another through our paddles or imitating Johann’s frightened exterior. It was all laughs and screams. I nearly cried to see the Ibulao River and the band of men waiting to lift the rafts for deflation.

Fun can not begin to describe what I had experienced. I would definitely come back. With 18 brave souls so we can conquer Chico River.

Soundtrack:

1. Let Me Take You To The Mountain - Krush

2. Sound of Settling - Death Cab for Cutie

3. Midnight Eyes - Daydream Cycle

THE SEM THAT WAS

Work hard, play harder. After that harrowing semester, my gal pals at UP and I deserve some mind-blowing fun.

In
my case, I, along with group mates Ayi and Jhen, faced data gathering
in Nueva Ecija and Antipolo, numerous revisions and post-semester
contact with NGOs for our program evaluation. For my elective, I
drained my cranium dry for that perfect topic and bullied so many
people to make them contribute in my research paper, sacrificed my mad
Saturdays for sober and uneventful afternoons in the library, begged
for schedule swaps at work which resulted to erroneous log records and,
sniff sniff, menial salary. This may sound very stressful to you but
imagine what my other classmates endured simply by enrolling for 9
units. (This kid NEVER took on more than 6 units.) I remember receiving
laments and misdirected death threats around Holy Week whilst I feast
on Rocky Road and ice candies deemed necessary to aid my post-oral
surgery recuperation. I tend to be immensely competitive in terms of
complaining but, in this case, I am willing to admit defeat.

But
then again, this getaway also aimed to revel on the friendship we
developed along the way and, well, to continue our habitual bashing
normally directed to our least favorite classmate. *evil laughter*

LET’S VAULT IN!

After
my last-minute drama (“I regret to inform you I can’t join the trip.
Our salary is not yet credited,”), the girls text barraged me with
assurance that nothing on earth can impede this well-deserved trip.
Besides, food and lodging at Joyce’s rest house is of free charge. I
guess I just refuse to be a plain observer when the main events roll
around. Thankfully, the girls were willing to lend me. I can’t be
absent, they say. And I completely agree with them. After all, it’s
uncharacteristic of me, of all people, to be the party pooper!

We
met up in a coffee shop early Saturday morning. When we were all
present, I felt a sense of happiness to see them all again outside the
four corners of UP. This had happened before, in Serye during Joyce’s
**th birthday dinner, but it was truly refreshing to be with them on a
sembreak. I felt this astounding energy among us. It was my first time
to see Jhen and her little curls (which made her colleagues christen
her as “Goldilocks”) and Chiqui’s braces since the end of sem. I was
tempted to share the removal of my impacted tooth and let them take a
peek but I changed my mind.

And
so we vamoosed. The road trip to Pagsanjan involved insufferable
traffic but we managed to push back any “Are we there yet?!”. As
expected, we were too busy recalling someone’s long list of verbal
booboos (which made me miss Rei) and sharing celebrity gossips or, at
the risk of sounding employing euphemisms, a delightful review of pop
culture. We’re Communication students, fer gawd’s sake!

FOOD TRIP

Upon reaching Joyce’s home, her equally charming mom served us a parade of suman, bibingka, espasol and
other sweets. Served best with the view of the river below us and the
feel of calming wind! A couple of chillax moments ensued then we found
ourselves feasting on lumpia, torta, sinigang na isda, watermelon for lunch. For dinner, we had stuffed squid and beef. Then we had a bottle of tequila rose for nightcap.

 

 

In preparation for shooting the rapids, our power breakfast involved pan de sal, fried rice, itlog na pula, tomatoes, fried fish, torta (which Chiqui hogged to herself) and the best-tasting coffee I had in weeks. Lunch was held in the rambutan farm. We indulged on fried tilapia, roasted itik, sinigang soup, pork chops, buttered shrimps, huge crabs, ripe mangoes and melon. Kamayan mode had never been that exciting. Before we left for Manila via the mountain highways route, we enjoyed a tall glass of mais con yelo which tastes too good to be true. The sweetness is just fine and there were white strips which I imagine to be kesong puti. Ayi, bless her heart, managed to stop me from asking for one more.

During these meals, we can not help but ask Joyce, “Pwedeng magpa-ampon?”.
Her folks need not to ask if we enjoyed the food, we were
enthusiastically exclaiming our compliments in between mouthfuls. To
quote someone, “Mapapapikit ka sa sarap!” How sweet it is to be spoiled rotten!

SOLE SEARCHING

There’s
an Imelda in all of us. Sometimes, this imeldific mindset consumes some
people who, in reality, do not have the slightest inkling they have bad
taste for shoes. Oh, please stop me from openly name-dropping such
individuals!

GOING
BACK: Our traipse to Liliw in search for the perfect pairs to prettify
our abused feet was one of the main events. In my case, my history of
purchasing too many sneakers last year rendered my flat feet in need
for some revelation. In preparation for my businesswoman days, I hoped
to locate cheap yet powerful puta red pumps (the one I saw in Zarah amounted to P3,400+. Que horror!) and other feminine pairs.

When
we arrived in Liliw, we were amazed to realize they were holding the
town fiesta. Joyce was under the impression the feast was already
celebrated the previous weekend. Lucky us, we got to enjoy discounts
and witnessed performances from children adorned in colorful costumes.

Shopping
for shoes with equally shoe-hungry friends was supposed to be
thrilling. Little did I know that Chiqui was on the Amazing Race
mindset. As soon as her itch for new shoes got appeased, she dashed for
the next stores and left her quite indecisive friends behind. Luckily,
the other girls were happy to take a slow pace and willing to share
their thoughts when I solicited them.

When
we decided to come to a halt, we learned we can’t leave the place yet.
The influx of people and the other parked vehicles had blocked our way
to freedom from temptation. We were initially contented in killing time
by exchanging stories, people-watching and making fun of them when
Chiqui announced she needed to retrace her steps to buy her mom a pair
of sandals. I needed to take a pee, too, so we all agreed to escort her
back. It was unforgettable how she uttered she brought only the
sufficient amount and how Jhen seconded her that she would leave her
bag behind to avoid disgorging more bills. Of course, we contradicted
ourselves. Chiqui bought another pair. Jhen was lured but ignored the
urge. And I, convinced that “I would stop at 2 pairs,” and watch them
suppress any attraction to available shoes, fell prey to the beauty of
a pair of flats and bought it. Joyce ended up buying a similar pair as
well.

As
expected, Chiqui took home the most number of shoes with 7 pairs for
less than P1,000. Followed by Jhen with 5. However, the shoes she left
behind haunted her until bedtime. What a torture. As a result, she
insisted to pass by Steprite before leaving for the urban hell.

 

In
Steprite, Jhen got to satisfy her urge for another pair. Needless to
say, Chiqui bagged home 2 more. I found a pair of wedge that the girls
considered to be very me. I loved it as well but I put it down. Chiqui
said it was also available in Steprite-BF Homes. I decided to buy it by
next payday instead.

SHOOTING THE RAPIDS

In
great anticipation for this, Chiqui watched ”Ang Cute ng Ina Mo,” in
full. I remember Joyce saying the trailer is enough to show how it is
like. She countered it was actually a funny flick. As long as you don’t
watch it again.

Since
Joyce had experienced shooting the rapids countless of times already,
we first-timers paired up based on swimming ability and agreed under
all circumstances not to jump to possibly point of no return.

The boat ride to the falls involved exposure to Tabing Ilog’s
shooting place, Louie Ignacio’s rest house where some music videos were
also shot and, most importantly, the majestic mountains and greeneries
that would remind you of the Amazon River. Going to the falls took an
hour while going back took approximately less than that.

As we went on, we faced rock formations and rapid waters. The boatmen would padjak their
way against the slippery rocks without any aqua shoes and lift the boat
to pass through these. Watching them was really impressive. Seeing them
slip really made me worry.

 

I loved the part when we took a dip in the little falls and swam our way
under the falls. The feel of the cold shower it produced was truly
good. I looked up and saw the enthralling beauty as if in slow motion
as the drop of water kissed the waterlilies before they fell to the
moving water beneath it. We must be enjoying ourselves too much that
the boatmen reminded us the actual falls is not that far away anymore.
We climbed back in great excitement.

The
Pagsanjan Falls, also called Magdapio Falls, turned out to be smaller
than how we all imagined. A raft took us below its raging drops and
braced ourselves for the massage we waited all week. The flow of the
water against our body felt like being stoned to death, we had to bow
down and offer our upper backs instead. Ayi and I jumped out of the
raft to swim near the “eye of the typhoon”. Being always willing for
masochistic fun, I aimed to get closer and, at times, attempted to face
the white water. It was a pointless task as I can’t open my eyes wide
and only feel the droplets slap me in fury. Beyond lies a close-ended
cave where Jhen and Chiqui stayed while their pain-hungry friends yell
in rapture.

Tourists
can stay under the falls or the cave for as long as they want. However,
you need to be alert if new batch of tourists are fast approaching. The
raft might hit you and render you headless while you were whooping
senseless. Nearly happened to us. Good thing I heard the guy (yes, I actually heard him) say to make way for the incoming raft. Mind you, it can accommodate up to 25 people.

Before
we left the waterfalls, we were asked to lie down on our stomachs on
the raft. The heavy water landed on our lower limbs, making us feel as
if we were in hazing. It was supposed to be a short beating but it felt
like eternity. Then I realized the raft was stationary. I screamed my
pain away.

On our way back, we asked to stop by the small falls again. Then we swam by the Tabing Ilog
location. The slippery stones below us made it quite hard, making me
wish they were selling aqua shoes in Liliw. Swimming in this part can
be risky as boats come and go. If you don’t watch it, you might be on
an oncoming collision with one. There was one time when we were being
sandwiched by two boats. My proximity to Chiqui’s and Jhen’s yelling
mouths nearly damaged my eardrums.

We
were breathless until we reached Joyce’s home. She sounded worried that
we took longer than the usual. It only goes to show we enjoyed
ourselves a lot. Who wouldn’t take her time underneath both falls? We
loved the experience and we can proudly say that it was no longer
uncharted waters.

Just when you least expect it, it happens.

A few weeks back, I decided to start chasing local lighthouses NEXT year. It would be a cool adventure for me and equally fascinating to those who can view my photos. Then the team decided to go to Calatagan for a weekend of merriment. We had no specific beach on mind. Imagine my joy when we found ourselves driving to Nano Beach. The sight of the tall sentinel made my hand jump to my mouth in amazement. Serendipity!

I told Mitch that it looked similar to the one my old workmates and I found when we were on our way to Lobo, Batangas. She argued Lobo is from the opposite route.

   

It was locked and I suspect nobody was allowed to come inside. I have no idea how it is called. But the sign above the gate reads CAMINO CANALES PUERTOS.

And so it begins…