Saturday, July 2, 2016
What a blessing that it wasn’t raining this morning at Batad. Woke up at 5 and by 5:30 ran with an overcast sunrise for a half hour near Bogah Homestay. Bogah is the local word for bigas, or rice. It is cooler here than in the lowlands and feels good. I feel a bit leaden nowadays, like my body is full of rice. I think I need to cut back on it as my system is not used to so much carbs. And this humidity.
Started off our Batad adventure picked up by Irene, our tour guide, in a jeepney with a roof rail. I’d heard of Irene, on Trip Advisor but pictured her to be older. Mang Bernie our driver explained that out of respect to the tribal norms, we should hire a guide and pay for a special jeepney.
Irene looked to be in her 30s, with a nice smile. We climbed on the back of ladder of this jeepney that didn’t have any other passengers than us. “Keep one hand on the rail, and another hand on the camera,” she said. And then we were off.
“No flinging this back to Mom and saying I should allow something dangerous because I let you ride on the top of a jeepney, okay?” I told the kids.
We sat on cushions on top of the jeepney and held on to the rail, giggling. The roads were narrow and there was debris from rocks and dirt that had fallen from the mountains, and there we were, sitting on top of this jeepney.
“This does not look safe,” I thought, to quote Sam the Eagle in a Muppets movie.
But it was fun, and we passed several jeepneys bearing a full load of passengers and riders on the roof, too, like us. Our driver stopped the jeepney at a store, then moved on. Irene explained, “He’s looking for betel nuts.”
“What’s a betel nut?” Wesley asked.
I recalled the palm-like tree near our house when I was a kid, and old women would chew on the red nuts, causing their gums and lips to turn rosy.. “It’s a hallucinogenic,” I said. “Or maybe it’s an opiate.”
Wesley made a funny face. “Um, our driver? That’s sketchy.”
Irene said it was like cigarettes. It keeps someone awake. Crossing our fingers that is all it does.
Epilogue: Our driver did find betel nuts, and we made it fine to Batad. 🙂
= = =
Batad is beautiful. The rice terraces have bright green seedlings, full of life and vitality. Mist kisses the very tops of the mountains. Thick jungle and lush trees cover the steep sides. Thin ribbons of smoke curled up from a few tucked away places.
Our hike into Batad was three-fold: to see the rice terraces up close, to learn about this planting tradition, and to hike down to Tappiya Falls. As we hiked an hour and a half one way, I understood why Batad isn’t as visited as other places up north even though one hears so much about it. Batad is hard to reach via conventional transportation means, and the hike is grueling. My initial relief to see my children do well at a constant pace eventually gave way to a rueful regret that they didn’t even want to take any breaks.
Irene was chatty, sharing bits and pieces of her culture in intervals. The knots in the cogon grass that they use for their thatched roofs meant danger, or don’t touch, don’t take. Rice terraces are passed down to the oldest descendant regardless of gender, so long as they are married with children. Headhunting used to be practiced with the belief that taking a head from another tribe would bring that person’s good luck to theirs; unfortunately, tribes took exception and wreaked vengeance upon each other in an endless cycle.
At Irene’s uncle’s Homestay and restaurant, we pre-ordered lunch, then trekked the rest of the way down. She had warned that running shoes would be slick. They weren’t too bad and they were sure a heck of a whole lot better than flip flops.
The hardest part of the hike were the steps carved into the trail. There were simply a lot of them. They were up down, and just when you thought one set was done, turns out there are more. A dog followed us down the trail, pushing his way through. Biscuit aka Rambo belonged to Irene.
The rice terraces look different up close; it almost seems drier, not as green. And the areas not yet harvested are laden with palay stalks bursting with golden grains. The terraces are built up with stone walls and have standing water a few inches deep. Irene said the people use the terraces in multiple ways, for fish, pea trees, and gabi (taro).
Animals and people need to be careful walking around here. There are rough-hewn steps everywhere, but one stumble can be lethal. They had a water buffalo plowing the terraces but it fell to its death a couple of weeks ago. As we trekked down, a girl toddler wrapped her legs around a rail, beyond which were steps leading to more steps.
Finally reached Tappiya Falls. Two falls in one week, how cool is that? It is cold, but wonderful once we were swimming, after all that hard work trekking. Afterwards, I was hungry so I bought garlic and vinegar Chippy chips…not a good idea when you are hiking back. When we made it back to the restaurant for lunch, I had chicken curry. A group from Paranaque arrived. They were told the rates and proceeded to bargain. The restaurant employees said the rates were set. Haggling is fast becoming a lost art here.
At four, we left the restaurant for the remainder of the hike out. I will not lie, the hike was a killer. With each step, my thighs burned and I thought for sure my legs were going to collapse. But thanks to the inspiring example of my children, Irene, and the fear of being left behind, I made it back out.
“You’re blessed,” Mang Bernie said, of the oddity that it did not rain today whereas it had been raining on and off all week. Yes, we are blessed, I agreed.
= = =
Glorious day! This evening, we stopped to get fruit at the palengke at Solano, Nueva Vizcaya…and found lanzones!
They looked like little round bruised fruit, not even really very visible in the twilight, and I thought to ask what they were. When the store girl said lanzones, I squealed, making my family duck in embarrassment. But seriously, if they knew how much like gold this fruit is, they would squeal, too. I picked out a few to make up a fourth of a kilo, and she traded some for better. They are from Laguna. How amazing is that, that I would find lanzones in a market like today when everyone has been telling me that it is available only in January. I had the kids take my photo opening one, then put a slice in my mouth. I almost cried – it is like how I remembered! Sweet and juicy and slightly sour and perfect even if the outside was a bit lamog, or bruised. I have three in a bag right now – I should have bought another fourth of a kilo! And I wish I could take some home to my parents. But at least I had this experience and had my kids try it. * happy sigh *
On our way back to Angeles (our stop for the night so we can go to church tomorrow there), we stopped for buko pie and mango pie, and almost got cassava cake, at Bambang. The pies were so yummy, gooey and flavorful. Later in the night, during a pit stop, we bought pastillas de leche for pasalubong to my parents.
= = =
Arrived in Angeles at 1:00 a.m and are staying at Diamond Springs Hotel. It is on the main thoroughfare in Angeles, but not quite as near to the Clark Air Force Base hotel strip, which we were trying to avoid. It seemed less seedy than this other hotel at the end of an alley. But now that we are in the room, I can now see why the reception clerk asked if a room along the street with the noise is fine.
It is 1:44 a.m and the night life is still going strong: trikes, horns honking, engines revving, a guy singing 80s karaoke songs with heartfelt conviction across the street. Our family is getting ready for bed, for church tomorrow at nine, in the church building which Sierra attended as a missionary. Then after church at noon, we will make our way to Ortigas and meet up with Jayne and Lance for dinner.
2:01 a.m. and Mr. Rockstar has stopped singing. Maybe a moratorium on 80s music at two? At any rate, I am glad for the kids, as their room faces the street and picks up the noise the most. And for Drew, who attended high school in the 80s but preferred 70s rock music over it.
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