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Sagada
Guest Traveler: Petite Gaces
I fell in love with Sagada on the second day of our trip, somewhere between my near-death experience involving an elastic rope in a cave, and watching stars while lying down on dew-tipped grass in the chilly night air.
That is saying a lot, because I went to Sagada not expecting much. Some fresh air, sunshine, and a couple of sunrises savored in complete silence would have been more than enough. I did not expect to be impressed, so I was not prepared for the delight at discovering some of Sagada's little secrets and surprises.
The bus that took us to our mountain destination dumped 7 tired and dusty but excited travelers from Manila among its passengers. Thirteen hours before, we had taken an air-conditioned bus from Cubao to Baguio, and from Baguio, we took another bus that would take us up to the heart of Mountain Province.
This is definitely getting away from it all, I thought to myself, as we made our way to the rest house up a hill where we would stay for the next 4 days. Right there and then, nothing would have convinced me to get back on the bus and take the rocky, one-lane road that zigzagged back to Baguio.
Checking in at the rest house proved to be a pleasant surprise: for P 75 per person per night, we had comfortable accommodations, dormitory style, in a 6-bed room. Of course, somebody had to sleep on a mattress on the floor, but he took it good-naturedly as part of the adventure.
That afternoon, we just lazed around and visited the nearby Anglican Church. At the back of the church, a narrow trail leads up to the local cemetery, where, we were told, the residents light bonfires on each and every tomb during All Souls Day, so that from afar, it seems that the whole area is on fire. The priest and some lay people, it is said, would read the names of all the people buried there, and the ceremony would take up to four hours! The locals sure know a thing or two about remembering the dead.
Not that Sagada has an obsession with the dead. But it seems that souls - whether of the dead or the living - find some kind of sanctuary in this small village tucked away in the pine-clad mountains of northwestern Luzon. Aside from being home to centuries-old burial grounds, which we were to visit on the following days, Sagada has also attracted its share of soulful people - painters, poets, writers - who pay a visit to this rustic town year after year.
Later during our stay, we would come across the work of talented locally based artists, and overhear a conversation about Sufi poetry in a small café. That first afternoon, however, we were content to simply gather around a deserted bonfire area fronting a dilapidated stone house (haunted, we hoped), and succumb to the inspiration of making up our own tall tales.
The next day, we woke up early to visit Sumaging Cave, a 20-minute walk from the town proper. The weather had gotten very cold while we were asleep, and it was a daunting proposition for most of us to take a shower in the almost-freezing water.
We had breakfast at a tiny café where the proprietor served us generous portions of pancakes, which we smothered with homemade strawberry jam, a fried rice dish with fresh vegetables and tuna bits, homemade yogurt, and steaming hot drinks. Some of my companions tried the popular "mountain tea", which, one said, tasted like "tea with vegetables". I couldn't vouch for it though; my palate wasn't very adventurous that morning.
Aside from the food, the main attraction of that cafe was a carved chair whose arms and hind legs were that of a native man, and whose back was the man's sinewy belly, which rose up to form into his chest, neck, and a mischievously grinning face. In short, it was a man-chair. We had seen it the night before, and this morning it had a towel draped across its arms. I wouldn't doubt that even he felt cold, I was already shivering even beneath my jacket.
After paying our environmental fees (P10 each) and getting a guide at the Tourist Information Counter (at the Municipal Hall), we started off towards the caves. Tots (pronounced "Toots"), our guide, was a long-haired guy who couldn't have been much older than most of us. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his English had the distinctive "American" accent of most of the locals. Tots also proved to be quite a character, and he entertained us not so much with the scripted story that he was supposed to narrate (but didn't), as with his casual comments and unexpected humor.
INTO THE CAVE
I can handle caves, I thought to myself, as we went down the narrow stone steps leading to the entrance of Sumaging Cave. Later I realized that this smug thought came from the mistaken notion that all caves were simply larger, rockier versions of the tunnels that crisscrossed city streets.
The first few minutes were tame enough. We went down, lower and lower into the cave, until the daylight faded and we had to squint to see the way. Tots brought along a kerosene lamp, and some of us brought flashlights. Still, all around us there was only darkness, and the distant echo of some birdcalls. Bats, Tots informed us casually. Bats!, I almost screeched myself. Nobody else seemed to be concerned though, so I didn't make a big fuss. A little bit later, we passed through mounds of dark brown earth that looked like marshmallows. While we slid along, Tots told us it was guano - bat dung! By this time, I was getting the hang of being "surprised".
The rest of the way deeper into the caves, we alternately slid along large sandstone and marble boulders, or clambered on all fours up and down all kinds of rock formations. Water continually flowed from the walls and rocks from somewhere above, and I learned that an underground river flows through the whole area.
We slipped, climbed, and clawed our way in and around the subterranean maze. In some areas, Tots had to offer his arms, legs and ankles in lieu of stepping-stones. In one place, we learned to scale a 9-foot vertical sandstone wall by holding on to an outstretched hand and climbing our way up.
For me, the highlight of the cave experience was in almost not making it out alive. Or with all my bones intact, at least. Towards the end of the 2-hour exploration, we had to scale a slippery 25-feet sandstone boulder. Tots went up ahead to tie an elastic rope on a rock. The instructions were simple: we were to pull our whole body up using the rope and "walk" up that slippery slope. Midway, we were to shift the rope from our left side to the right side, using both hands. This acrobatic stunt would be performed without a safety harness, and falling would have meant crashing into the rocks down below.
One of my companions went first, and he made it look easy. I decided to go next. But in the process of getting my feet to coordinate with my hands, my brain short-circuited and I shifted the rope the wrong way -- using only one hand! Of course I slipped. I don't exactly know how I made it to the top, just that it was mostly an act of sheer willpower.
I was shaking when I made it to the top. I was still shaking when Tots showed us the fossils of seashells afterwards, and even when we saw daylight again at the cave's entrance.
But shaken or not, there was something I could not deny: the caving experience had tugged at something basic - even primitive - inside me. Climbing up and down those rocks, I forgot about being an urban "career girl" with deadlines to meet and problems to solve - I was simply human. My concerns were not looking good or being better than my companions, but scaling the next height, meeting the next challenge, confronting my own fears. And faced with nature's grandeur, I could not help but be awed.
Down in that dark earthen womb, I wondered if the people of old, who were animists (nature-worshippers), felt this thing, this energy. Did my companions feel it too? There was a certain glow in their faces when we finally made it out of the cave, but I couldn't really tell if it was simply from the elation of having gone through a difficult adventure unscathed, or from something else.
All I can really be certain of is that there was a power there - be it of nature or of a Greater Being - and, even for just the briefest moment, I came close enough to feel it
Whenever she has free time (rarely now), Petite Gaces, reads books and practices aikido. These diversions, she says, keep her sane while working with a team of New Media people whose sense of humor border on the strange and the surreal.
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