Tabiog, Abra - January 1st, 2013

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In the early morning hours of December the 21st we vacated our room on the seventh floor of the Eurotel and made for a bus station, somewhere in the sprawls of Manila. We boarded the Philippino equivalent of a Greyhound (quite a luxurious mode of transport for the country) and under the overly-powerful air conditioning set off into the night. Krista and I managed to grab the foremost of the seat and had a large window with which to observe the coming country. However, it was night. The downside of nighttime travel is, of course, that you cannot see anything. So, after an hour, I fell asleep with my hod bobbing helplessly to and fro. The scene I awoke to was quite picturesque and did justice to the preconception I had of what my initial glimpse of an Asian country would be like. The sun, just reaching over the lip of distant mountains, covered everything in faint blue and purple hues. My first sight was a river, catching the early sun's soft light, dotted with the occasional fishermen in rafts. All around, plains (rice fields, as were pointed out to me) stretched off for miles, rising into mountains. Animals running rampant about the streets as we passed by (mostly chickens and goats), with caribou and cows grazing lazily along the road.

In every small village we passed, the bus driver would stop voluntarily to pick up peddlers, peddling assorted foodstuffs. They rode the bus to the other end of town and would get off to await the next one to come along. The buildings and homes all had a ramshackle appearance, even the nicer ones. Most houses, if one can call them that, we made of rippled sheets of metal held with assorted wooden beams. The nicer ones were composed of brick or stone, though the quality of each kind varied greatly. Power lines were horrendously crowded with wires so tangled that I wondered if any man would volunteer to attempt a repair. Surely electrocution must be commonplace for those in that profession. Roads were filled with speeding motorists, the main mode of transportation here being the motorcycle (which were really only dirtbikes, as we'd call them in Canada). As for Philippino driving etiquette, I'm sure they have only one rule: Pass whenever remotely possible, even in obvious or immediate danger. For that is what everyone does here; even the driver of our very long, lumbering bus who passed even when there was not enough space, causing many oncoming vehicles to slow down or drive onto the shoulder of the road. This style of driving is particularly uncomfortable sitting in the front of the bus and on the mountain roads, where not two feet from your window is a steep cliff with no protective rails to stop your probable plunge into an abyss. The jungle-covered mountains were a spectacular sight, regardless of the driving, and as we delved deeper and deeper into their midst I had a strangely elative feeling of being lost in a wonderfully foreign land.

Finally arriving in the moderately-sized city of Bangued, Krista and I hopped into a strange thing called a tricycle. These are motorcycles with cabs attached and, along with re-fashioned, once-American military jeeps called Jeepnis, act as the publics main transportation. Along the way to Tabiog, the village in which Devora, Krista's mother, was raised, we passed over the river Abra and a bridge that is apparently the 3rd-largest in all the Philippines (evidently a source of pride, being pointed out to me each time we crossed, each time by somebody different). I could not help but notice that on the way to Tabiog, there was not one roadsign that acknowledged its existence. It is that small. From what I have seen, I cannot imagine there being more than 250 people living in the entire village. Turning left from a Sari-Sari store, a few houses down at the top of a hill, we arrived at our destination: Krista's grandmother's (Lula, as they call her) home. It is a quaint little house, made of stone, with white trimmed windows and a porch filled with bamboo furniture. Situated beside an apparently very-new Sari-Sari store and another house of equal, if not greater, quality (owned by an Uncle Ben), it was honestly nicer than I had expected it to be after all I had been told from Krista and Devy. Later I was to be told that their descriptions had been accurate, but that money from the family and particularly Devora herself had allowed the semi-modernization of the buildings (hurray for bucket-flushed toilets, for at least there are toilets at all).

On our first day we were taken by Krista's cousins to the nearby river Abra, which was only a short trek through rice-terraces and grazing field (with cows and caribou wandering everywhere, every field is a grazing field). The river was incredibly clear and the panoramic across it was stunning. We dipped into the cool mountain water although, surprised to find the current so strong, we generally stayed near the edge. Jay Jay, a cousin, and I did swim across the river once, but once was enough. By the time we reached the other shore, we had drifted aways downstream and walked even further back along the riverbed so that when we swam back, we would end up in the correct spot. But this was not before I peeked into a little 6x6 foot shack made of bamboo that some nameless fisherman uses for protection and rest during long days fishing in the sun. I only wish I had gotten a picture. Other days have been filled with conversation, reading, writing and being asked to eat (which is a constant here, where eating is a general passtime). Karaoke and alcohol flowed freely and excessively on Christmas Eve. Carollers both old and young appeared at the gate, singing Christmas songs, something I enjoyed thoroughly. Everyone else loved it as well, and they even got me dancing to one such group singing Feliz Navidad. Karaoke is an almost constant presence, if not nearby, than somewhere else in the village with the music floating over to your ears. I have heard enough love songs in the past week to last me a lifetime, and all of them at least four times over.

The days after Christmas, Krista, Devora and I journeyed to a quaint town only two hours away called Vigan. Once an old Spanish colonial town, it's city centre was still filled with old stone buildings, brick walls and cobbled streets. There were authentic, Spanish horse-drawn carriages everywhere, called Calessas and those, along with the crumbling, decaying, time-worn architecture added to the nostalgia of the place. And all of that, mixed with Philippino culture gave the place a definingly unique characteristic. Our first night was spent in an exquisitely antique hotel, called the Grandpa's Inn. Complete with wall decorations of old instruments, spoon collections, old clocks, old phones, paintings and a classical wooden staircase, it was my favourite accomodation of my entire journey so far. The room was incredible as well. Spacious, set with 2 queen-sized beds, a large flat-screen television, wi-fi and a recently renovated bathroom with a tiled shower, for only 2,650 pesos (the equivalent of about $65 Canadian), I would say it was a good deal.

During the days, we strolled through the surrounding streets, particularly one where the old colonial buildings were marginally better cared for and where there were bustling with shops filled with souvenirs, hand-made crafts and antiques. There I did some Christmas shopping (for whom, I will not give away) and managed to spend less than $25 on a handful of items. Needless to say, I was in good spirits. We also made a trip to the local zoo, filled with tropical birds, Indonesian deer that resembled reindeer, enormous ostriches, tigers who seemed incredibly unhappy lying on concrete floors and a very disappointing butterfly cage. It was intriguing, particularly the tigers and the ostriches, but after our excursion at the Australia Zoo it was hard to be impressed. Our first supper was in a restaurant right inside of the Grandpa's Inn, and was very tasty. I have never had such a delicious mango shake. We there had the idea of a getting a massage, which, for an hour, was only $10. The most incredible massage of my life, though I've only had one professional massage before. After long rides and walking constantly every day for 3 months, it was as if every muscle oozed pleasure as her skilled hands worked me over. I had no idea to what extent "full body" would be applied, but even my hair was massaged.

On our last evening in Vigan, at a restaurant just across from the first, there was a mischievous little kitten running around under the tables, that couldn't have been more than 6-8 weeks old. White and orange, and more intent on playing with our toes than actually eating anything he was the focal point for quite a few people in the restaurant, including those that complained about him. And so, a waiter came over, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and, to our complete surprise and slight horror, threw him 20 feet in the air into an alleyway. Devora was outraged, as were Krista and I, and we decided to save this kitten knowing that Lula would love to have a kitten (the cat lover that she is). So, after a very disconcerting wash in cold water, a long, cozy sleep between Krista and I, and a couple hour ride back to the village this alleycat found himself in a loving, new home. Far, far away from those who would only abuse him, and from a life of scavenging, disease and premature death. He is enjoying his new surroundings very much and is out and about exploring here and there.

The last thing of note was last night: Basketball Championship and New Year's Eve. Team Canada came in 3rd place, and the champions were Palaquio, with Krista handing out the 1st place trophy, although she had no voice with which to congratulate them. I am happy to report that nobody died in the flurry of fireworks released on the street directly in front of the house, but rather, the night was a success. There was a raffle and games played, with the whole village gathered in attendance. Unfortunately, Krista and I have come down with a cold, or infection of some sort (it seems we cannot escape Canadian winter no matter where we are) and so our night was cut short. We barely made it until 1 a.m., but the party went on until about 6 a.m. When I woke up, I found the place unusually deserted, for everyone had gone to sleep only a couple hours before.

And so, I end my long blog post, hoping to recover from illness before we leave Tabiog on the 3rd to meet Darcy. I apologize for the long-windedness of my entry, but what is the experience if not for the details?

Jord::

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