Banaue's Ancient Rice Terraces
Philippines
- North Luzon – Trekking
Ornamented with breathtaking natural beauty, accompanying mint trekking and sensational physical activity offerings, the Philippines North Luzon region is a must see in the lifetime of those physically inclined outdoor nature and culture lovers.
Arriving late on a Saturday night at an entirely new destination (normally the country’s capital) is never an optimal choice due to limited opportunity to get your bearings and venture out and experience the local nightlife but overdue work on the Saturday morning before China shut down for the Spring Festival made it impossible to plan otherwise.
As soon as we collected our luggage from Manila’s international airport and drew some local currency from the ATM we set off for Malate sharing a taxi (P200) with two friends from Beijing intent on seeing what the Philippines had to offer for travel, adventure and hopefully some excitement. Meandering through the narrow streets of Malate (a budget traveller friendly district located along Manila’s shore line) it became evident that despite the late hour Malate was only starting to wake up with young people swarming the streets and feasting in the humidity induced damp buildings. The warm air, the buzz on the streets and the familiar party music blasted out of street corner speakers, I wished I was already checked into my hotel and was a street participant not mere witness. Sooner than I expected we were at the reception desk of Malate Pensionne, a budget accommodation (P750 for a twin room) premise on Adriatico street, and even sooner we were climbing the noticeably clean old wooden staircase and onto passages under high ceilings all covered in the most pleasing old wooden panels. Have these marvellous wooden floors carried great men of history before me I wondered?
Snaking our way through the streets it was time to submit to the urge of an ice cold San Miguel beer in plain view almost every meter since exiting the pensionne. We selected a very modest establishment packed with jovial locals entertaining themselves with humorous stories and the karaoke shrine on the far end of the room. The beer was good, but not good enough to consider another and participate in the singing allured to by the waitress dropping a file of song lists accompanied by pen and paper. Next stop a lively looking place called LA Café’, only we realised only too late why it was bustling with so much energy. Let’s put it this way, with such a skewed proportion of local women to foreign men with skirt lengths that would surely provoke the ire of Ms. van der Walt in high school, although clearly pleasing the men present, even the serious Kamal Ataturk looking guy, I don’t think too many of these men are going empty handed tonight, perhaps empty pocketed a more accurate depiction. We ended our first taste of Manila with barbequed chicken wings a stones throw away from the pensionne, and passed Starbucks before calling a night, still full of patrons sipping away at iced mochachino’s at three in the morning.
After breakfast early Sunday morning we walked along Roxas Boulevard which hugs the shore line, and followed it to Rizal Park. After living for years in China with its prohibition of walking on the grass in most public areas, it was so refreshing to see multitudes of families enjoying the Sunday morning picnicking on the grass in Manila. In addition to a memorial to Philippine national hero Jose’ Rizal, the site of his ultimate execution is also enclosed in the park. From Rizal Park one finally enters the old colonial era walled city of Intramuros complete with cobble stone streets, colonial era mansions (some serving as a window on the past by being open to the public as museums, e.g. Casa Manila) and Fort Santiago that served as both protector of the occupying forces and oppressor for local inhabitants (Jose Rizal was imprisoned in the fort prior to being executed). The Rizal shrine is definitely worth a visit if you are interested in the country’s history while the cathedrals are also impressive. With the sun beating down on us, we escaped to Ilustrado Restaurant, housed in a restored 19th century house, on General Luna street for the best fresh juices (P80) tried thus far. Strolling through Ermita District back to Malate in the late afternoon it became evident that restaurateurs take their Sunday siesta seriously as we struggled to find an open place to eat. By the evening we were famished and dined at Silya, a modest Filipino restaurant with extra seating on the street. As our knowledge of the local cuisine was limited we relied 100% of the waiter’s recommendations which had mixed results (around P350 for two persons, 4 dishes and drinks). Due to the following day’s Chinese New Year a trip to Manila’s Chinatown in Binondo (under P100 taxi fare) was undertaken but other than familiar organised crowds it was not a particularly memorable trip.
On Monday night at 22h00 we departed on an Autobus from Manila bound for Banaue (P450) in North Luzon. While I have become somewhat accustomed to busses in SE Asia pumping up the air-con to uncomfortable levels it is without doubt that this was the most painful bus trip in living memory due to the artificial Siberian climate created on that particular bus. Half way through the trip we bit the bullet and purchased a blanket at one of the roadside stops, perhaps exactly the result the bus driver sought after. The overnight trip takes roughly 9 hours.
Immediately after arriving in Banaue at least 10 of us Siberian escapees took a mini van (P200 each) up to the saddle drop-off point before hiking down muddy and slippery trails to the small town of Batad. From the beginning we were led by the capable local guide Windy at a cost of P500, who in addition to proving his patience, was also our first encounter of a local chewing local leaves or seeds that give off the incorrect perception of mouth bleeding. While making your way downwards (Batad has no roads leading directly to the town, purposefully to keep bad elements out of the good town I was told) one slowly starts to see sections of the epic rice terraces that North Luzon is famous for.
One of the most exhilarating places to swim on earth.
After catching our breath following the hour hike down our group pushed on to the local waterfalls cutting through the thousand year (anthropologists believe the terraces to be 1-2 thousand years old, the locals have no idea. The terraces were in place before Windy’s grandfather’s grandfather) old rice terraces. The terraces offer interesting alternatives when losing your footing, one can either fall into the muddy rice patty or 2-3 meters down onto potential rocks or the lower rice paddy, thankfully our group made it through intact. The roaring waterfall crashing into the emerald waters serve as the ultimate reward for trekking through momentary adrenalin high trails in the thick of nature. The speed of the current and the sense of mystery rising with the mist in no way distracts from the inviting mountain pool to enter and swim and once in the water, you experience a strange sense of power/energy generated, I believe, by the force of the crashing H2O cascade. On return to the village we booked-in and settled down at Rita’s Place (P150 p/person), a recommended clean and comfortable local guesthouse. Other than the delicious food and cold beer on the porch overlooking the breathtaking terraces, one of Rita’s Place greatest attractions is the older and compelling proprietor who shares fascinating stories about the region from her childhood conveyed through an enviable level of English.
After a breakfast of omelettes and tea we set out on a 4 hour trek with Windy at 7am through the rice terraces in an opposite direction towards the neighbouring village, Bangaan. The first half hour of the trail is by far the most challenging. Navigating down extremely steep and slippery terraces it is with complete wonder that you reflect on little children passing you with ease on their way to school. As you have made it down the valley and crossed the mountain river it is with confusion and momentary despair that the path leads straight into 3-4 meter solid rock wall. Only after changing your line of sight do you observe the individual stones jetting out of the wall to form a disguised yet perfect staircase that carries you up the opposite side. Upon reaching Bangaan we immediately jumped onto Jeepney (local jeep transport) headed for Banaue. I mistakenly judged the distance to Banaue as short and accordingly stood hanging on the back of the Jeepney to get a better, freer view of the surrounding area but as the journey persisted on and on I started to regret not taking a seat inside. Then we stopped where another Jeepney had broken down, and all its passengers clambered for ours. I conservatively estimate that 30 people sat inside while 15 others sat on top of the Jeepney all the way back to Banuae, add in steep mountain passes, and my faltering arms, it is inconceivable that I will ever forget that journey!
Waiting patiently for the Banaue – Bontok bus (P150) we were inevitably instructed by some locals that the bus would be full, might not come etc., while similarly offering transport directly to Sagada (final destination) at the princely sum of P2500 per vehicle. After declining the offers the bus eventually arrived with plenty of seating for us all. From Bontoc another Jeepney was taken to Sagada where we immediately registered at the tourism office, gathered local trekking information, booked into St. Joseph’s Resthouse (P700, cheaper standard rooms all taken but the hot shower almost made it worth it) and strolled around the night falling village. Down the road I came across the most unlikely of surprises in the form of the Sagada Lemon Pie House offering refreshing local tea, coffee, banana bread, egg pie and naturally lemon pie at ridiculously low prices. After dinner and drinks at St. Joseph’s restaurant (P300) we went for another stroll through the dark streets, stopping again the Lemon Pie House (no surprises there) and finally infused lemon grass and rose tea’s (P25) at Log Cabin (apparently renown for delicious food).
At 7am we met with our new local guide Philip to explore Sagada’s famed caves. Armed with an old-school lantern we pierced the darkness overwhelmed by the stench of bat faeces. The route through the caves is definitely not for older folk with steep and slippery rock formations, hazardous pits and no infrastructural assistance. I was personally becoming quite frustrated by my legs and ‘outdoor sports’ trainers that refused to take grip on any surface but was faced with a massive conflict in faith when Philip poker faced informed me that I had to now remove my shoes and walk barefoot down a declining rock surface covered by streaming water. Having slipped over almost every damp rock on route to this point I seriously questioned how it was humanly possible to keep grip on a surface covered by flowing water and not fall down into the rock pool bellow and thereby ruining our camera and other equipment. I took the leap of faith (actually, convinced I would end up in the deep water pool bellow) and to my utter amazement this different brown coloured surface under the water is everything but slippery, making it easy to walk 45˚ angles with your feet submerged in water. The crowning moment of the cave trek was diving in and swimming around the deep and dark water pool fed by a crystal stream. One exits the cave with an euphoric sensation having passed nature’s trials and conquered personal fears. Before leaving on the 10am bus for Baguio we stopped briefly to view the bizarre, odd, almost disturbing hanging coffin caves of Sagada, where locals where placed in coffins in a fetal position only to be stacked up upon one another inside the cave in days gone by.
The mountain pass trip to Baguio was a rocky one if you will excuse the pun, making it difficult to drift off to sleep with your face slamming against the window from time to time with the bus meandering down the mountain contours. Along the trip, more and more rice terraces with numerous villages but a sense of living in the sky. Bagiuo, famous for its lively and large student population, and traffic congestion, was unfortunately just a transit city for us as we managed to navigate through the pavements flooded with citizens making their way home during rush hour and experienced exceptional luck in catching a bus leaving for San Fernando (P75) at the last minute. With the sun starting to set, the bus wheeling with ease down towards and the view of the emerging sea, one is overcome with a deep contentment at having completed the mountainous Cordillera, and while the time and space exists to reflect on the past few days, you heart begins to speed with thoughts of the next adventure.
Arriving in coastal city of San Fernando at night, with no information about the destination in our guide books, a friendly police officer suggested we lodge at the nearby Mandarin hotel, but after conducting a quick recce of the establishment we determined it to be a bit dodgy. We consequently booked into the nearby Plaza Hotel (P500) on the main road, complete with broken shower and no hot water. Not knowing where to go we walked around the festive city centre and devoured a whole barbequed chicken (P240) and upon finding no obvious drinking holes went to sleep early.
Vodka mango shake at sunset for anyone?
After a scrumptious breakfast at the nation wide fast food chain Jolibee we set off on a tricycle taxi in the direction of San Juan, the popular Philippines surfing spot. San Juan Surf Resort remains an institution in the area but we stayed instead at Lola’s Surf Resort (it was impossible to relocate after falling in love with their P100 fresh mango shakes) owned by the same family. Lola worked in the hospitality industry in Australia for over thirty years making her a great conversationalist, ever eager to boast with good reason about her Philippine surfing champion son. San Juan served as an ideal location to learn how to surf and unwind for a few days. Having not surfed in over 15 years the natural option was to select a long board despite its corresponding inability to duck dive incoming waves. Despite a Manila surfer’s club competition taking place further down the beach, San Juan has a perfect break of no more than three foot for beginner students of the sport to practice. Despite the initial issues of balancing, persistent paddling and lack of confidence, I fell in love with the sport that provides an unparalleled sense of accomplishment when performed correctly. Boards can be rented for P600 per day and P200 p/hour for instructors. Ultimately, what I personally enjoyed most about San Juan was the strong local surfing culture that exists, guys, girls, old and young forming a tribe of wave warriors complete with darkened & tattooed skins and complimentary cool attitudes. The Manila surfers club made much fuss about the looming Saturday night beach party, and despite not wanting to be anywhere else on earth, I kow-towed to exhaustion, passed out and missed the party entirely.
