Journey in the Ifugao territory

(Banaue is a municipality in the province of Ifugao. It is internationally known as the site of the famous Banaue Rice Terraces. - source:Wikipedia)

As we enter the Ifugao territory, there is a change in the depth of the air, as if their ancestors' souls were in peace. 

I have traveled by bus during the last 3 days, from Vigan to Baguio, then to Bontoc, and now in Banaue. I have traveled part of the way standing up in a crowded bus, another part I slept through, but most of the trip I was checking out the landscape, soaking in the ambiances. I had the impression of being a fortuneteller who, from a Polaroid, could retrace the entire line of the history. I saw houses surrounded by flowers and noisy kids playing, others, quieter, had a dark cloud above. When we traversed zones that were recently ravaged by the tropical storm, I felt the great feverishness. Everything was in place to rebuild quickly, to erase the wound inflicted by an outrageous nature. Normal life was returning at a fast pace.

I have used all kinds of transports, from the motorized 110cc tricycle with a roofed side-car for 4 persons, to a freezing air conditioned bus, to another super modern bus, and finally to two old busses from a different era.

The bus from Baguio to Bontoc made a funny noise rolling. It seemed like small chickens cackling (coooot, ploc, ploc, ploc). It was in fact the sound of tortured metal on a wounding road. The road comes from two eras; a portion is recent and made of cement, and 60 % is made of earth, rock or mud. Some bridges are made of wood planks, through which we can see the river down below. When the bus travels on gravel roads, it makes a deep growl. 

When we traverse the Igorot territory, a millennium people, proud and tall, we are reminded that they have never folded under the onslaught of attackers (the Spaniards, the Americans, or the Japanese). This land seems to require of us to leave our weaknesses behind, otherwise it could show its might, for which this deep growl is just a warning.

The road is so twisted and in bad shape that I must firmly hold on to avoid being shaken like a rag doll. My arms are certainly going to hurt tonight… We have just completed 11 km in one hour… This gives you an idea of the number of 180 degree turns a minute we traveled. A small boy just vomited. So now I understand what this bucket of water is for.

For the last two weeks the weather has not spared the region. The tropical storms and serious rainfall have battered the roads. Landslides assaulted them and portions also vanished down the hill. Workers everywhere are repairing the two-way roads, which very often narrow down to only one-way. We then have to yield, waiting for our turn to go.

The diversity of the landscape is enormous. We go from very warm valleys, though zigzagging mountain roads, toward the summit where all of a sudden temperatures drop. We then feel the fresh air, and pines forests.

Certain villages are hamlets of a few houses, sometimes they are shacks, and other times we cross lovely villages. Dogs sleep on the road, and couldn't be bothered by our passage. Some places reveal the harshness of survival. Others are simply magnificent.

All those human realities are overwhelming and bring about a sense of humility.

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