Hanging in the Rice Fields and Hanging Coffins

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Thanks to everyone and all your wonderful commentary. I appreciate hearing from all of you, and enjoy the feedback as well. Glad I can keep you entertained!

I last left you as I was getting set to leave Hands On and San Isidro behind. All 8 of us left at the project boarded a plane bound for Manila. We collected our baggage from the carousel, hugged farewell, and everyone went their separate ways. A fellow friend from the project, James, and I were setting out that evening on an overnight bus to the northern part of Luzon. We were heading to Banaue, Batad and Sagada, places that meant relatively little to me until I got up there.

This email just wouldn't be right if I didn't start it off with a bit of drama. Heart-stopping drama, that is. When I collected my bags, I noticed that the straps to my backpack were a bit more frayed than I had remembered. I didn't think that much of it, and put it on the cart along with everyone else's bags. Marc, fearless leader to the end, handed out the little paper luggage tags that matched the ones on our bags. All but one bag. Mine. Again, maybe something went amiss back in Legazpi before flying out? After all, we were a bit hurried and ended up checking more luggage than originally anticipated. Again, dummy-me, I didn't think much of anything. It wasn't long before we were all hugging, with promises to see each other at the next disaster (are we all sick puppies or what??), and then James and I walked outside and hailed down an overpriced taxi to take us to the guesthouse, where we were then going to park our large rucksacks and take our small ones for the 4 night venture northward.

I threw the luggage inside the minivan as James paid the scammers at the airport kiosk. Without thinking of the incidences before, I decided to take a peak and make sure my laptop was still in my backpack (I would normally have it with me at all times and not check it as luggage, this one time being the exception). I put my hand in the laptop sleeve only to discover a couple sweat-soaked shirts in its place! "Oh my GOD! Someone stole my laptop," I immediately thought in horror. I looked through the rest of the pack and found adult male athletic shoes and at that point I realized I wasn't looking inside MY pack, rather someone else's! I halted James, told him to wait there and ran inside the building. I found a large-gun toting security guard and tried to explain my dilemma, all the while trying not to hyperventilate. He quickly disappeared, and I was left there, alone, dumbfounded. Did he understand what I was asking? Does he understand the urgency? Did he leave on his lunch break? I hadn't any idea where he had gone, but luckily, he returned moments later with a nice-looking Western guy, about my age. He looked at me, I looked at him, he looked at the pack I was holding, I looked at the pack HE was holding, and we both breathed a sign of relief. Same pack. Except mine was newer-looking. He apologized profusely and said this was all HIS fault; the pack was one of the first to come off the luggage carousel, he grabbed it and nearly left the airport before he realized it wasn't his pack. I don't know how much time had elapsed, maybe 20 minutes or so since I had picked up my pack, er, his pack, which is a long time for anyone to wait around Manila's small domestic terminal. Thankfully we both noticed we had the wrong packs while still in the airport and were able to exchange without incident. At least this happened with an honest person -- did he not realize a laptop is worth much more than sweaty clothes? Maybe he didn't realize I had a laptop in there (I keep it in a waterproof sack)? Maybe he had something in his pack he couldn't live without! I didn't rummage through to find out. All I can say is thank God for honest people. It took awhile before my heart started thumping so hard.

Banaue is just a big, dirty town full of touts, multi-story houses built on the hillsides and, oh, yeah, beautiful rice terraces. We skipped town and headed to Batad. Beautiful Batad. The area is known as the 8th Wonder of the World, and rightfully so. We were surrounded by the greenest and most gorgeous rice paddies I think I have ever laid eyes on. We spent a few days up there in the refreshingly cool high elevation (1500-1800 m high?) hiking amongst the rice terraces, with the most breath-taking views of the little villages down below. We left Batad early one morning and after a three hour rooftop ride on a bus as well as a jeepney, we arrived in Sagada, tucked away amongst pine trees, rushing rivers and even more rice terraces. This is the home of the hanging coffins. We got in too late to see anything so only had the next morning to explore a bit of this wonderland before we had to set out once again. We found some hanging coffins, hanging on the cliff faces, some close enough for us to touch. We found a few caves to explore and even found a few piles of bones. One of the coffins was deteriorating before our very eyes, with ragged clothes spilling out the bottom. It was a bit eerie, but quite a sight to behold!

One night and one morning in Sagada and it was off on a three hour rooftop ride once again back to Banaue. The journey seems a long way to go for such a short time, but all I can say is I loved this part of the Philippines and will definitely head back there someday, sooner rather than later.

The night we had in Manila was spent with local friends we met at the project a few weeks prior. We went out to dinner and drinks and would have stayed out later if we didn't need to get up so early the next day. We both had flights out: James was heading to Palawan and I flew to visit with my friend Candace in Hong Kong.

The concrete jungles of Hong Kong will have to wait until the next installment........

Until then, thanks for reading!!

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