Day 4-5 - falling down, breaking down, and the police

Hello again! You find me still in Banaue, enjoying yet another San Miguel, except this time I earned it after going on a wee hike this morning. The term hike is used relatively loosely here, since the majority of the inclines and declines involved steps. But the inclusion of rain, narrow ledges, wet moss, and my complete inability to stay upright made it worthy of an upgrade from a simple 'walk'.

My driver picked me up at my hut hotel this morning, and brought me to the beginning of the 'Elvis Trail'. I think it is called the Elvis Trail, because if I had actually done the entire trail, I would have died a fat, pathetic death, facedown in a pile of something brown. Since it had been pouring rain all day and night since I arrived, old Busted-Ankles-Buskell over here was feeling a bit of trepidation about the slipperiness of the trail, particularly after chatting with one of the owners of the hotel, who said she'd never do it in these conditions. My guide, Martin, agreed that if I wasn't sure-footed, it may not be the best idea, and instead brought me to a spot further down the road for us to begin.

The steps down to the rice terraces were slick and steep, and within 2 minutes of us being down there, I slipped off the ledge and into a deep, muddy puddle. Most of the terraces are currently filled with mud and sludge, preparing the soil for planting season, which begins in January. My left foot learned this the hard way, and I had to do the rest of the walk with a sodden foot. Wet feet seems to be something of a trend on this trip so far. I officially don't have a single pair of dry shoes, since, for some reason, my Manila shoes are still damp, even though they've been sitting out for over 24 hours now. And my piece of shit sandals just snapped, literally as I sat down to write this, so that's fucking awesome too. 

Anyway, moving on. Most of the walk took us along the narrow walls and ledges that separate each of the rice terraces. The red plants that grow in between the fields dictate where the boundary of each family's property lies. The terraces themselves are over 2000 years old, and have been protected as a UNESCO heritage site since 1995. Aside from being a stunning feature of the hillsides, they provide both food and work for locals, who plant, harvest, and tend to the land year-round. We walked about 8km along the ledges, most of which were only about a foot wide and had 10-15 foot drop on one side down the retaining wall to the terrace below, and through the hills towards a little hotspring. 

About 2 hours into the walk, after slipping and sliding all over the mossy stones, Barely-Able-To-Stay-Upright-Buskell biffed it again, this time scraping my knee while straddling the ledge above a 10 foot wall, with my right foot planted in the muddy ferns to the other side. At this point, I think Martin was regretting having brought me along on this trip. He sprayed some weird Czech anti-bacterial shit on me, and assured me we'd be at the hotspring soon.

The spring is located right next to a raging river, which looks much more dangerous than I think it must be, since people have done that cool stone piling thing all along the rapids. I soaked my muddy feet and rinsed out my grotty knee in the spring, which smelled like butt, like all hotsprings do, but felt glorious. Martin bandaged me up, and we headed back along the path most people take to the springs, which was far less treacherous (don't ever underestimate Most-Likely-To-Be-Found-On-The-Ground-Michaela, but I did manage to finish the rest of the journey unscathed).

Fast forward now to the next day, because I wrote that part yesterday and today is today! In fact, it might already be tomorrow by the time you read this, because I have no idea when I'm going to post this. Also, I have no idea if anyone is even fucking reading this so, does it really matter what day it is? Nah bish!

I ventured out early this morning to visit Batad, with Martin again, who agreed to put up with me for one more day. At risk of spoiling things for you, I am afraid I have no further injuries to report. However, that isn't to say that the journey wasn't somewhat eventful.

About 10 minutes outside the town area of Banaue, our motorbike broke down. To be honest, I'm a bit surprised it didn't happen earlier, as the thing had been sputtering and shuddering something fierce since yesterday. The breakdown itself was pretty underwhelming. We had just left a view point where I'd taken some pictures, and then the bike wouldn't turn on again. We drifted down the hill a bit, and then the driver pulled over and was like, 'well that bish broke', so we got off.

After kicking it on the side of the road for a bit, another bike, operated by one of Martin's friends, turned up and we hopped in. It was a bit of a tight squeeze in the sidecar, since there was already a dude (who looked like a Filipino Joe Lo Truglio) in the back. But he was nice, and we chatted for a bit, until that bike also broke down a short while later. At this point, I was fairly convinced that I was some sort of motorbike jinx. Most likely it's because I weigh twice as much as the average Filipina, so I was probably fucking things up with that.

Within minutes of our second breakdown, thankfully, a police pick-up truck showed up, and we hopped in the back of that, because, apparently in Banaue, police vehicles also act like a taxi service? The police escort was lovely, and we reached the path leading to Batad viewpoint shortly after. Martin made me hire a walking stick, because he gets me even though we've only known each other 2 days, and we set off down the trail. I am proud to say that I didn't even stumble along the way, thank you very much. 

We reached Batad viewpoint, and hung around there for a little while, sipping on some coffees and creeping on a propery dispute in the building next door, that apparently armed police officers needed to get involved in for some reason. Martin says this isn't uncommon these days in Banaue - families used to resolve property related issues themselves, but now they almost always involve the police. The police here carry big ass guns, so I dunno, but if that was me I'd get my shit sorted without involving those mofos tyvm. Martin told me about Whang Od, the famous Filipina tattoo artist who lives in a village nearby. He knows her, and brings guests to meet her often. She has promised to tattoo him too one day, even though she is nearly 100 years old now, and only does maybe 1 small tattoo a day. I'm sad that I didn't get the chance to go see her myself, but I'll add that to the list of reasons I have to come back here again one day.

The rest of the day was spent walking through the town of Banaue, visiting a few different viewpoints, as well as a shaman's house. Their huts are adorned with the skulls of various animals, including buffalo and crocodiles, which act as protection. The shaman (shamen??) are an important part of the culture here. They are given scarifices and perform rituals before the rice is planted at the beginning of each season, as well as before it is harvested. They are the ones who dictate when the sowing and reaping occurs. They must fast before each ritual is performed, and they are allowed only to eat the sacrifices that are given to them. I think this sounds like the hottest new diet craze to look out for. I'm calling it here, folks - 2018 will be the year of the Shaman Diet. You only eat veggies, rice, and sacrificial chickens, plus you have to fast 1-2 weeks/month, and walk everywhere. I'd try it myself, but I don't eat chicken, so no shamaning for me.

Now I am back at my hut hotel, enjoying yet another San Miguel, and soaking in the last hour of serenity in this magical place before I have to take my return bus to Manila. Oh, here's a picture of my huge lunch. I didn't finish it. OK bye xoxo