Rice Rice Baby

Will and I have a huge appreciation for beach bumming. My family has an incredible cabin just over an hour south the Cities. Lake City, MN, is a cute little town situated on Lake Pepin, the widest part of the Mississippi from Itasca all the way to the Gulf, where my mom and her mom and her mom grew up, rich with our family’s history. Not only does it hold a close place in my heart, but Will’s too. We’ve made incredible memories there with friends and family, and I cannot imagine my life without that little waterfront slice of heaven.

Cabin weekends meant beach time. My older brothers rarely joined us, so I was often solo in the water. But that never stopped me. I would play in the water all day, only coming up for air when it was time to eat. As I grew older, I would lie on the beach, studded with rocks and the occasional dead fish, and worship the sun. Over the years, I went through my sunscreen to baby oil back to higher SPF sunscreen phases. An icy cocktail in hand is usual. Lucky for me, Will also loves a nice beverage with his feet in the water, so we spend as much time on the beach and in the lake as we can.

My childhood was training for the Philippines. I am really, REALLY good at lying on a beach. I feel I have the perfect understanding of when to flip, reapply, hydrate, and take a dip. I know how to properly adjust my swimsuit to avoid a nip slip. I can cruise through a book; I’ve ready 20ish thus far-a lovely mix of brainless novels and classics, like the Scarlet Letter, Peter Pan, and Little Women. If there was a gold medal for beach bumming, I would certainly be on the Olympic Team, representing the good ol U S of A in my insert-big-brand-name-here sponsored red, white, and blue gear.

As we planned for the trip, we read article after article of how amazing the beaches were. Some of the best on the planet. Some of the last beautifully undeveloped beaches we may ever see. I was itching to get into my suit. China had been so cold, it was a bit of a morale hit. I needed to warm my spirits and refresh. I had my suit ready to grab the second we got to our guesthouse. I couldn’t wait to ditch my pack, pile my hair on top of my head, and run to the water.

Only one problem: we had a few days of travel and exploration through the Philippines by land before we started our island hopping adventure. I was ALMOST to my beachy dreams, but had a few days left to stay focused and present to get through.

We landed late from Taipei, getting into Manila around 1am. We got in the queue to wait for a legitimate taxi (as anyone with a car seems to sell themselves as taxi drivers it seems), and were off to our hostel. Facebook connected me with a high school friend who was stationed in Manila to report on the fast approaching typhoon, and recommended a few areas to check out. We eventually made it to our hostel, after the driver was a bit lost and confused, and we settled into our bunks in a mixed dorm.

In our search for breakfast, we found the police questioning a couple and the staff. The ladyboy who checked us in late the previous night started scanning through the CCTV video as the 2 guests’ panic and anger grew. Apparently, their bags had been stolen right from their room while they were sleeping, and the CCTV hadn’t been working to capture an image of who did it. How odd… we ate our breakfast-included meal on the rooftop, where they also host karaoke, and decided to leave. We grabbed our bags and waited for a taxi out front.

“You’re taking your bags with you?” one of the staff inquired. We sure as hell aren’t going to keep them at your place I thought as we smiled politely and confirmed.

“Well, ok. If you insist. But be careful.”

A few minutes later, someone else looked at us and asked the same question, concerned with us having our bags. We again confirmed we would be fine.

Manila is not a clean or nice city. I would suggest you avoid it, or place it at the bottom of your travel list. It was the first place we had visited that I felt uneasy. We had read (and had been warned twice within 8 hours of our arrival) to watch our backs and guard our stuff extremely cautiously. We read of a few scams to be cautious of and the dirty conditions of the city. We had a night bus to catch that evening, so we only had a few more hours in the city before we could move on to the better things the Philippines has to offer.

We spent that day roaming the city by foot, first booking our back-to-back night bus tickets and later exploring the recommended Intramuros, the Spanish Quarter. We needed some Wi-Fi to do some planning, and I was feverishly working on holiday cards, so we were excited to see a Starbucks to get some work done. Of course, we bought the cheapest drink we could find (as the prices are practically the same as the States, which is extremely expensive comparatively) and settled in to wrestle with the inconsistent internet. We’re used to this, but Internet speed and spotty connectivity was the greatest reason of stress on me throughout the pre-holiday season, as clients had paid me to design holiday cards with a deadline to get them out before Santa stumbled down their chimney. There was many a meltdown fighting with the Internet.

On this day in particular, I was working on a VERY important card, and had no patience for the Internet connectivity impedance. We eventually ditched Starbucks for a local eatery, with a much more charming décor.

Their Internet didn’t work, either, so our pricey lunch purchase for the sole purpose of accessing their Internet was a waste. Nerves were feeling tender.

We wandered through our unexplored portion of the Spanish Quarter for a bit, stopping at the Cathedral of Manilla in the center. The Philippines is predominantly Roman Catholic, due to 300ish years of Spanish rule. America had control for a bit, and then a little WWII action happened, ultimately resulting in the Philippines recognition as an independent naition. The official currency is the Philippine Peso, and English is the nationally recognized language, along with Tagalog. We’ve learned the basics in every language, but didn’t need to use Tagalog once, as every single person spoke fluent English.

The sun had gone down when we were leaving the Spanish Quarter. It started to rain, then to pour. The streets were flooding and we were soaked. A major storm was moving through, and we were catching some of her fury. After literally hours of failing to flag a cab as we trudged through the sloppy streets, we finally made it to the elevated subway to carry us the remainder of the way back towards the bus stop for our overnight travels.

It was a mess of soaked people and chaos. How we managed to get onto the train is beyond me. Between having our packs searched, lines to purchase tickets and lines to board the trains intermingling, and a very poor system of getting people onto and off of trains, we made it to the platform. The amount of people on the platform was dumbfounding. The amount of people on the train as it pulled up was twice as many. The crowed swayed together as people started to push. I think 2 people we able to actually get onto that train, and the last guy probably lost a limb in the door. I very nervously looked at Will. I have no clue how this is going to work. We prepared to get separated, confirming the name of our stop and planning to meet at the other platform. We psyched ourselves up to push through the crowd and get onto the train like everyone else. None of this Minnesotan Nice crap. We were ready as the next train pulled up.

It was empty. They had sent a new train since so many people were waiting. Unfortunately, this meant everyone in the mob thought they could make it, so we were stilled hurled forward aggressively, barely making it on safely. We were shoved in a corner. Riders laughed and rolled their eyes at the intensity of the situation, and one girl cried over her lost shoe, swept away in the madness. Her boyfriend couldn’t resist laughing.

We hopped off the train, soaked and smelly from all the other bodies rubbing together. I had slipped on the wet streets on our way to the train, and crashed all the way down to the street with the weight of my pack. Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling pleasant.

We ate in silence at some food stand, found a grocery store to get some night bus snacks and breakfast, and walked to wait for our night bus.

Our days in the Philippines were limited, and we wanted to spend as much time as possible on the beaches. Will had learned of some beautiful trekking adventures through the rice paddies of Banaue in the north that we wanted to see, and we opted for a very aggressive 1 day hike bookended by two night buses; we would ride overnight 10 hours, hike through the paddies and up to the waterfall, hike back out, then hop on another night bus back to Manila. We had done back-to-back night rides before, and although we were up to the challenge, we knew this was super aggressive.

Somehow, the bus had strong enough wifi so we could call home and say 'Happy Thanksgiving' to our parents. I can't get a signal at Starbucks, but here works?!

I got off the bus the following morning and immediately dreaded having to get back onto that bus. It was by far the worst ride we’d experienced. The roads were horrible. The seats were cramped. We were seated on the wheel well, which impeded into our already minimal legroom. The bus was so full, people sat in jump seats down the main aisle. A woman slept on Will’s shoulder they were so close. The lights were on all night long. So was some horrendous music, not soft smooth elevator jazz, but loud, screeching music. The worst part was the temperature. The AC was on full blast, as if we were driving through hell. Actually, we did drive though hell, so maybe the AC was necessary. Locals knew better and wore winter hats and scarves. We laughed when we saw them board the bus. Getting off, I envied them. It was miserable, but we made it. The other travelers we met on the bus headed to their respective hostels to freshen up and get some rest before starting their treks. We ditched our packs at the tour guides office, ran to scarf some breakfast and chug coffee, and started our trek.

The copious amounts of caffeine we consumed carried us through the beginning of our journey on the jeepney ride. Jeepney’s are old converted WWII Jeeps that are now used throughout the Philippines like mini buses. Ours carried us about an hour to the start of the trek. It was a bumpy, windy ride, and we shared it with a colorful cast of characters: a dutch couple who we shared good conversation with, a pair of gregarious Filipinas traveling throughout their country, a New Yorker traveling solo over the holidays, a handful of others, and 2 guides. As we descended into the paddies, exhaustion melted away. It was stunning.

We’ve seen many of what locals in every country call the “8th wonder of the world,” as any UNESCO World Heritage site seems to deserve that title, but the Ifugao Rice Terraces might actually deserve the title. The terraces begin at the base of the Ifugao mountain range and extend several thousand feet upwards. Built 2,000 years ago, the rice terraces engineering and construction is bewildering. It's believed they were build mostly by hand. Stretched end to end, the paddies would cover half the globe!

We hiked for a few hours through the mountains and made it to our lunch spot, where we ate our brown-bag lunch while others enjoyed a hot, home cooked meal. I was ok with my makeshift sandwich of dried white bread and a packet of tuna, as Filipino food is mostly a combination of just meat and rice. Fairly fatty and greasy meat with unflavored, plain, white rice. Breakfast had been rice, fatty meat, and an egg. I had my fill of animal for the day.

The families have been farming rice for generations, and these paddies, although magnificent in size, only feed this town. They simply produce enough to support their local economy. Which is baffling when I stop to think about how many paddies we marched through. Where is there enough land to farm all the rice in Asia?!

The hike was not easy, and we lost a few along the way. An older couple broke off and headed back to the jeepney before hiking down into the waterfall. The dutch woman slipped on a rock and took a hard hit to her tailbone. Another couple started feeling hot and faint, and stayed back a bit, hiking at a very slow pace. And the tour guides pranced around the mountain like it was nothing. He was extremely lean, with sun-scorched skin from years of suncreenless days in the fields. He was born and raised in Banuae. Like most Filipino men, he sucked on beetle nuts, leaving every walking path a minefield splattered with menthol-fragranced red spit. The nuts have a little upper to them, leaving a nice buzz. They also leave red rings around mouths and demolished, disgusting teeth. I am so grateful that dental care was of high importance to our forefathers, and wooden teeth quickly become an unacceptable amendment to proper dental hygiene.

The hike back was just as hard and exhausting, but the sun had broken through the clouds, making the already incredible views even more spectacular and picturesque. Although we took some great shots, photos just don’t do it any justice.

We waited for our scattered group to reconvene where the jeepney was to pick us up, and I coaxed Will to ride on the roof. We had seen many locals on the top of these old WWII vehicles… When in Rome! I thought. And by “coaxed” I mean I shimmied up to the roof before Will could tell me I was crazy.

As we cruised down the steep, windy mountain road, through construction and over broken roads, whipping around pin turns and curves, I mentally plotted my abandonment of the vehicle if (more like when) it were to tip. I apologized to Will for making him ride his last car ride ever, smooched him, and just enjoyed the ride. There was nothing I could do to stop it from hurling off the cliff, so I figured I’d just let my anxiety go and enjoy the ride.

Spoiler alert: we made it! It was fun and insane. I was happy to be back in the little town where the night bus would pick us up, and we returned to our breakfast joint for some dinner. I grabbed my pack and took a make-shift “shower” in the bathroom, rinsing the stink and sweat from not only the long, muddy hike through the blasting sunshine, but also the grossness leftover from the night bus. We ate a tasty meal with a beautiful view, got bundled up, and headed back to the tour office to wait for the bus.

There was a bonfire blazing out front, which I snuggled up to in an effort to overheat and make the icy bus temperature feel relieving, even if for just my first few minutes on the bus. We chatted with a young geologist from the States traveling solo, who also thought we were crazy for taking back to back night buses. As the fire died down, a Filipino marched over to tend to it. I recognized his hat:

“I like your hat!”

He stared at me blankly. I pointed to Will.

“My husband and I went to ASU!”

He had no clue what I was saying. He also didn’t have a clue who Sparky was, or what the letters A-S-U on his hat meant. All he knew is he had a hat and I was crazy.

We boarded the bus, attempted to get comfortable, and endured another sleepless night with pitchy music and frigid air swirling around us.

We made it to Manila a little worse for wear, sore from our hike and two nights of upright, cramped-leg sleeping. At this point, we had been stuck in a rainstorm, I had fallen in the disgusting flooded streets of Manila, crammed into a packed train, been on a frigid night bus, hiked a mountain, and ridden another night bus without a real shower. We were tired. We found the geologist as we got off the bus and together negotiated a reasonable fare for a ride to the airport, where we had a few hours to kill before hopping on a flight to our first beach.

To say we were anxious is an understatement. Time seemed to stand still as the cramps and exhaustion settled in. Rumors of the storm grounding flights hummed through the airport. Will succumbed to the sleep deprivation on the floor of the terminal, as I siphoned power, charging the phone and laptop while working on holiday cards, waiting to hear our fate. Fortunately, our flight wasn’t delayed, and we hopped onto the puddle-jumper from Manila to Boracay.

My suit was ready to go.

From Manila, with Love,

Sara + Will

#philippines #manilla #banuae #travel #worldtour #asia #southeastasia #seasia #riceterrace #hike