Friends, I’m just passing through.
The views are beautiful.
Maginhawa, UP Village, September 6, 2017
Friends, I’m just passing through.
The views are beautiful.
Maginhawa, UP Village, September 6, 2017
I knew that at 2926 meters above sea level (the signage might no longer be accurate, says a senior ranger), Mount Pulag was the highest mountain in Northern Luzon. I also knew that a long time ago, she was the mountain that replaced me.
It was at that point that I lost all desire to write. And I mean really write. Serious literature, not the hanapbuhay essays that I continue to do for a living to this day. Serious writing is about recording beauty all around us. But what was the point of doing this kind of writing when I was hating and being jealous of anything that was beautiful in any way, much more recording it for posterity with my fingers?
I’m telling you this in hindsight, because I didn’t know how deep the cut was until this year, when I got accepted to the Workshop.
I’d attended several writing workshops before, but this was the one that awakened all sorts of dormant memories. The sessions were intense. One in particular reduced us to tear-stained rags. Our mentor, Ricky Lee, calls the culprit “bubog.” Shards of glass inside ourselves, their sharp edges like arrows, giving direction to our character, our destiny.
And the arrow of destiny pointed me ever upwards, at 2926 above sea level, to a place where clouds were king. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find out why this mountain was so paking special.
Some of my climbing companions would later share that at the peak of their suffering, they started asking why they were climbing the goddamned mountain in the first place. For someone like me who’d just recovered from a major illness and wasn’t really in top physical shape, my negative “why” was a source of energy, pushing me forward, making me accomplish the impossible.
But really, the mountain could just as well be accomplished with a much lesser drama. My husband #Robert, our 16-year old son #Alon, and three more dear friends #Jeff #Kat and #Regina were all first-timers doing the climb purely for fun, and they all reached the summit anyway like I did, only I had more “baggage” – literally and metaphorically.
In my backpack I had a pair of sandals, a change of clothes, binoculars and even toll receipts (which I’d forgotten to transfer to my other bag). Later, when the climb was over and we weren’t snappy anymore from the absolute fatigue, we would all laugh about my bag, which Jef called “the refrigerator.”
Our mountain guide, Angie, was a dusky, freckled, rosy-cheeked 15-year old who couldn’t have been more than four feet tall. She was an excellent navigator but not so much a motivator. When the going got very tough several times along the way, all she could do was stop and watch with a kind of bemused concern as we all struggled to catch our breaths in the ever-thinning air. We missed our expert mountaineer friend #Neil at these crucial times. As Robert remarked: climbing a mountain at this level of difficulty is not just about physical stamina; it’s also about the mental conditioning. We remembered how Neil had confidently directed and set the pace for our previous climbs in Batulao and Pico De Loro.
Mount Pulag (the Ambangeg trail we were on, at least) was a Level 3 in terms of difficulty. What made it really challenging, however, was the altitude. You had to provide a medical certificate at the Ranger Station to prove your fitness.
You can read all the available literature online about the mountain, about high-altitude climbing, about temperatures dropping down to eight degrees or lower even in the summer, about the rains that muddied the trails and ruined rubber shoes, to help prepare yourself. You can do 42-kilometer marathons or 300-kilometer Audax bike rides to get yourself in tip-top shape. You can jog or swim everyday. But all of that wouldn’t be enough to prepare you for Mount Pulag.
She was stormy, feisty, difficult. She was four seasons in one day. Everyone wanted to be with her.
Her wedding trail was long and beaded with many footsteps.
Now, it had mine.
It was cold and foggy when we started our ascent from Ranger Station in Babalak, Benguet Province at one in the morning of May 14, fueled by cinnamon bread, noodles and instant coffee bought at a sari-sari store a few minutes down from our homestay at Baban’s.
Hundreds of other people were also doing the hike, racing against time to catch the famed sunrise with sea of clouds at the summit. We all had to make the 8 kilometers in four hours. There were many foreigners. Some parties were really loud, which was both an annoyance and a relief all at once, as one could actually fall asleep while hiking. We found this all too true with Jef, who, on our way down the mountain later, was constantly asking if we were on the right path as he couldn’t remember anymore.
It was amazing how, despite having to wear three layers of tops (dry-fit, fleece and waterproof), two layers of leggings, and two layers of socks due to the intense cold, I was in fact sweating. I had to concentrate as I had poor balance and feared twisting my ankle on some rock. Only the path in front of me was illuminated by my dim headlamp – everything else was dark. I could barely look up the sky as I was so focused on the path ahead: stony one moment, muddy and slippery the next; gently sloping one moment, spiking at 45 degrees the next. As the night wore away and light creeped in, I could see outlines of mountains and trees in the distance. Three or so hours into the climb, I could also see the path narrowing until it was only the mountain face on your right and the valley of death on your left. Everybody tugged for dear life at the cogon grass on their right. I had already worn my gloves at this point and glanced back at the view. It was magnificent. A beeline of headlamps was making its way up the mountain as the fog and light rain swirled all around us.
But even more marvelous was the sight of Alon in front of me, carrying his heavy backpack. He’s always had allergies and respiratory ailments but there he was, climbing strongly in the thin air, never losing his footing. Occasionally he would let out a grunt to express his frustration, but that was it. He stopped walking only when we did. He was so slim but so strong and flexible as bamboo. Also, he looked like a very handsome llama with his long neck, nose, curly hair, and ability to carry a heavy load. What a beauty he was turning out to be.
The sky was a curtain of dirty white when we neared the summit. In the beginning, only Reg and I bothered to walk the rest of the way to where the signage was. Photos or it didn’t happen, says the Instagram generation. Everybody else had the same thought as they patiently waited for their turn to do the requisite hallelujah-I-survived-Mount-Pulag jumpshots at the signage. Eventually, the rest of our party came to their senses and moved our rest spot further up at the summit and also had their photos taken at the signage.
The summit is always cold
The warmth is had in the trying
You climb and reach the sky
Because it is there
And then, like magic, the curtain of dirty white fog and cloud parted to reveal the sun. People gasped in awe and furiously whipped out their cameras. Then the sun hid again.
I had an inner knowing that the view would come back; I only had to wait. True enough, it came back. The fog disappeared, the sun showed up and the clouds rolled underneath the sun like massive waterfalls without sound.
After the furious picture-taking, we hunkered down to our military-grade, ready-to-eat meals. I quickly made heat by pouring a bit of water into a plastic bag of gunpowder solution. It boiled quickly and I warmed my frozen hands on the fumes. Actually, we were all too tired and cold to eat and raring to get down the mountain already. Also, it was getting quite windy at the top.
Without another word, we started our descent. And in the daylight, we finally saw how breathtaking our path had been. Rolling hills everywhere, winding paths of broken stone, flowers that looked like moths, great tree trunks stretching out onto the valley like arms, mossy trees straight out of Little Red Riding Hood.
Two things about the mountain in particular made me stop and live in the moment for a while. First was the spring water gushing from a black plastic tube. I cupped the water on my palm and drank. It was clean but not sweet. Second was the edible berry from the shrubs. I remember being so focused on looking for the blue ones and not the red. I remember eating a few and relishing the sourness.
Then the light bulb moment came.
The mountain is generous. The mountain is kind.
I have felt something happening over the years in my own life. As I matured, I became more needed and as I became more needed, I felt more compelled to give. And as I gave more of myself, I found myself wanting to stay more often at home to be with my loved ones. I traveled rarely, and even then, it was always with the people I loved. For the most part, I simply became more and more rooted, irreplaceable…
Just like the very mountain that once replaced me.
May 20, 2017
Kochi Prefecture in Shikoku Island is almost 800 kilometers away from Tokyo. That’s like traveling from Manila to Benguet and back, THEN up again! But since we were coming from Osaka, it took only about an hour of travel by bullet train.
From Okayama Station, we boarded the Nanpu train heading into the hinterlands of Kochi at around 3pm. We almost missed it because we were waiting for the 3.05pm train to arrive. Take note: the times indicated on the schedule are the departure times! So board a train at least five minutes before the indicated time on the schedule!
We were in for quite a pleasant shock, as the Nanpu traveled an extremely scenic route that took our breaths away. The train whizzed along on a great bridge over an inland sea, going into tunnels, overlooking pretty little towns at the foot of mountains dotted with sakura trees in bloom. Several stops along the way gave us a stationary view of these quaint little towns. As we got nearer and nearer to Kochi, a clear river came up alongside us, as though in greeting. Mika would later tell us that Kochi was home to two of the cleanest rivers in all of Japan, the Shimanto and Niyodo.
At around 5.30 in the afternoon, the Nanpu pulled up at Kochi Station in Shikoku Island.
Kochi city was quiet. The buildings were all low – no skyscraper anywhere. The great expanse of sky was the first thing you noticed, and the Kochi Station was built as though to greet that sky for all time.
My friend Mika collected us at a little past 6. We gave each other warm hugs.
We had come a very loooong way from home!
We then piled into Mika’s car and set out for the first event of the night: the cultural night at Kochi Castle, one of several in Japan still in their centuries-old original state.
On the way, we searched for some parking space, avoiding the already-packed castle grounds. We ended up parking some 10 minutes away, at a mechanized parking tower along the main road. It amazed me no end. Thanks to some superior mechanical engineering, your car was hauled up to the tower, and then brought down when needed. Mika was amused by my amazement.
Yes, I’m that kind of person. I never take any kind of marvelous for granted.
We witnessed many families picnicking under the sakura trees. The practice was called “hanami,” and it would go on all over Japan as long as the revered trees were in bloom.
Then we went to a place called Habotan to have our dinner. It was packed with locals and didn’t seem very tourist-friendly – no English language posters in sight. We felt very privileged to have Mika with us to translate all exchanges she was having in English. The highlight of the dinner was the serving of whale. Yes, in Kochi, whale hunting is allowed. It is part of the culture.
Then after a quick stop to a drugstore, we set out for Mika’s home. We had no idea where she was taking us. From the city, she went on a winding road going up the mountains. It was pretty dark along the way.
After about half an hour of travel, we reached a hilly village with very narrow paths. Houses lined either side of the roads. You’d think they were all unoccupied because of the deep quiet.
Then, we pulled up in front of what looked like a traditional house. It was dark and drizzling and cold, and there was fog all over, so I could only glean the outlines of her home. You could hear the sound of a river flowing at the foot of the hill. It felt magical.
With the aid of a cellphone torch, we found our way towards the front door. We removed our shoes and wore house slippers that Mika had readied by the door.
Finally, we had arrived at Mika’s home.
Mika enlisted the help of her friend and neighbor Masa, a professional photographer, to take some shots of the trip. The ones he shot are watermarked “mk.”
Our next stop was the Yokogurayama Natural Forest Museum, hidden away in the mountains of Ochi. We were the only visitors that day. The rain didn’t let up, perhaps for good reason. The weather showcased the fine points of Tadao Ando’s world-class minimalist architecture. Infinity pools outside the building collected the rain and we could see this phenomenon from the inside via a great floor-to-ceiling glass window. We could see the droplets on the window, and feel the beautiful, fragile sadness all around us. There were trees all around – it was a natural museum after all. I remembered all the Murakami and Mishima novels I’d ever read – not the specific storylines, but the strange, sad way they made me feel. An exiled, outcast, edge-of-the-world kind of emotion. Much like the way the museum itself probably felt, tucked away in these quiet mountains.
After dropping off Masa at his home, Mika was back again on the wheel. We dropped by a supermarket downtown to purchase ingredients for dinner. Robert had volunteered to cook some sinigang and chicken adobo. Everyone was excited to sit down and eat!
Back in Tosayama, Mika and Robert got to work in the kitchen. Robert was impressed with Mika’s cookware. Her knife had a vein on it, a sign of excellent high-grade steel. Kochi has a fine tradition of making knives and cutlery, said Mika. Schedule permitting, she would try to bring us to a traditional smith.
Mika put some upbeat Japanese music on as we drove on the highway and up Mt. Godaisan, where an observatory and a temple were located. I looked all around. The countryside was planted to many cedar, maple and bamboo trees, with the ever-present sakura trees here and there. A creek flowed beneath the road, clear and blue-green. Mika sang on the wheel. It was going to be an awesome day.
By the time we were done touring Godaisan, it was already past 12 noon and we were going hungry. After getting some tawid-gutom ice cream at a souvenir shop near the parking lot, Mika decided to bring us to her favorite clam and meat restaurant for lunch.
Along the way, we passed by a small cemetery located beside…a grocery. WTF. Mika explained that in Japanese cosmology, the living and the dead co-existed side by side – in most cases, quite literally.
Then, we found ourselves on a hairpin turn, a steep elbow that led to Usa (pronounced Woo-sa) beach. The view was breathtaking.
We pulled up at a restaurant near this beach. It was called Hagi No Chaya. We were greeted by all types of sea creatures in an area at the entrance.
Then we were on the road again, to yet another temple called the Seiryu-ji or Blue Dragon Temple. Once in a while, we would see a pilgrim or two walking along the road, in requisite white garb, cane and backpack on hand. The whole of Shikoku Island is an important pilgrimage site, home to 88 temples that draw thousands of tourists every year.
Again, we hopped on the car and traveled up another mountain to spend the sunset at a whale sighting viewdeck located along the Yokonami Kuro-Shio Skyline road. Two feral cats kept Alon and Sofie entertained, while low-flying kites kept Robert furiously clicking on his camera. Meanwhile, Mika and I took selfies by the windswept sea and soaked in the peaceful sights.
Mika then got a text from Masa inviting all of us to come over to his home. We agreed, but not before doing a most important stopover: a bath at a traditional onsen (natural hot spring).
We couldn’t take a decent photo of the place due to the low-light, so do check out the name Auberge Tosayama online instead! This is actually a hotel. According to Mika, the onsen in the hotel was built by hand by members of the Tosayama community. It’s an amazing, warmly-lit place designed in a log cabin style.
Refreshed and feeling a little sleepy from the bath, we all got on the car and made for home. Masa lived just a few minutes away from Mika. He and his wife Tomoko owned two houses; the one he received us in was actually an airbnb, the only airbnb in the whole of Tosayama (Masa calls it the Sakura House – your guess why will be a correct one!) They had three beautiful sons, one of whom was intently working on his science assignment when we arrived.
Kokoro kara sou omotta, Kochi!
Me and my family will never forget you! Arigato gozaimashita for everything.
WOW. You’ve made it THIS far. Congratulations! You are amazing!
If you’re just like us and still can’t get over Japan’s amazing railway system, here’s some more reading for you:
Osaka was massive. Personally, I found it typical of a bustling Japanese city. It was all lit up and busy. The comfort rooms were always of special interest to me and my little girl. There were two kinds of toilets, the sit or the squat. My little girl didn’t like the squat toilet too much.
After having dinner at a mall there, we promptly took the train back to our airbnb at Morishoji. We were disoriented for a while since it appeared to be going the opposite direction, but another friendly Japanese commuter assured us that we were on the right track.
Let me churn on this some more, to testify to the awesomeness of the Japanese railway system: we were disoriented because the train was going in one direction when some hours before, another train had gone in the opposite direction… ON THE SAME TRACK.
Back in my country, we couldn’t even properly connect one MRT station to another, let alone plan for bi-directional trains that use the same track!
We were back at our airbnb around 10pm. We let ourselves into the house with a key that our host had casually left in the mailbox. Not exactly akyat-bahay proof, but hey, this was Japan, where crime was a rarity.
After taking a quick bath the next day and then checking out, we headed for the Keisei station (which, lego-like, was conveniently connected to a JR station) and deposited our luggage inside a coin locker. We still had half a day to slay so we took a taxi to Osaka Castle.
The taxi was a really spacious sedan that looked like a Benz. The driver was uniformed, clean, and very helpful. He looked even better than a restaurant manager back home. He came rushing out of the taxi to help the hubby lug our hard case into the trunk.
Along the way, we had seen a station aptly named Sakuranomiya, and indeed there was a park with many sakura trees, lining the river. If we had only had more time, we would have alighted from the train and taken a detour. But we had to keep moving or we would miss the train going to Kochi, which was departing before 2pm.
The park grounds at Osaka Castle were full of people celebrating the sakura trees in bloom. We promptly took a family photo underneath a sakura tree. The sun was out and the people were happily taking photos of the sakura blooms. But they kept a respectable distance from the trees while doing so.
The queue going to Osaka Castle was too long. Striking it off our list of to-dos, we decided to just hang out at the grounds for a while before going back to the station and taking the train that would deliver us to Kochi, and to my dear Mika.
To build an epic vacation around train rides?
And to have your whole family in tow?
Me, my husband and our two kids, aged 14 and 8, were going to crisscross Japan via a series of train rides, to take advantage of one of the most advanced and efficient railway systems in the whole world.
From Tokyo we would go southward on an epic trip that would culminate in Kochi, one of the most remote places in the Land of the Rising Sun.
The trip would coincide with the blooming of the sakura or cherry blossoms in the springtime, so that we could experience this uniquely Japanese event country-wide.
Upon the recommendation of my friend Mika (our host in Kochi), we decided to purchase the so-called JR pass, a ride-all-you-can ticket from Japan Railways available only to foreign tourists to Japan. The only requirement prior to purchase was our passports stamped with the Japanese visa. It’s the cheapest way to travel, because a bullet train ride typically costs around 4000 to 8000 yen, one way (that’s between 2000 to 4000 pesos already).
A seven-day JR pass costs 29,000++ yen, and you can ride out to ANYWHERE in Japan within that period. Anywhere with a JR train station, that is. But no need to worry – the JR company operates all over Japan!
We arrived at Narita Airport on March 30, 2016 at around 8.30 in the evening.
Our first airbnb host who lived in Edogawa told us to take the Keisei train to her place. Keisei is one of several train companies in Japan. So we took the first train that we saw. We didn’t realize that there were two kinds of trains in Japan: the local and the express. Express meant fast; Local meant…well, slower than Express.
What should have taken about an hour of travel took us almost two hours.
But Ei Kimura proved to be an exceptionally patient host. Her place was awesome. It was ultra modern, complete with the ultra high-tech toilet (which even played a recording of whooshing water at the press of a button, ostensibly to help you relieve yourself). Since Ei knew I had kids, she even had kiddie slippers and toys ready. There were snacks on the tabletop, and beer in the fridge. There were even sailor-moon type uniforms, yucatas and kimonos in the closet, and towels in the bathroom. I didn’t have to take out any clothes from my bag. We were staying for only two nights. We wished we were staying for a couple more.
After spending the first night in Edogawa, we set out early morning for the JR ticket office in Shinjuku to have our JR Pass vouchers exchanged for actual train tickets. Not all JR ticket offices offer this service, so do some research beforehand.
Also: keep your phones loaded with a data plan or a pocket wifi connection so that you can go online anytime to check the train timetables and which stations you need to be in to catch a particular train (unless you can afford lots of time to get lost -we certainly couldn’t!)
Aside from the JR trains, there is also the Tokyo Metro, an independent subway line. Much of Roppongi, for instance, is serviced by the Metro. Knowing little facts like this can go a long way in saving you precious time and money on your trip!
This site contains a comprehensive timetable of trains operating in all of Japan at any given time.
We were blown away by the Shinagawa station, a major transportation hub. It was huge and imposing. There was a special section for the bullet trains (called “shinkansen” in Japanese). The human traffic and the Japanese walking briskly left a solid impression on us. My kids learned how to walk fast too, and to always move to the right side of the escalator so that the Japanese could run or brisk-walk over to the left side. They were quickly learning great traveler etiquette all around.
An important note about the shinkansen: they are not available at all the JR stations. They have a very particular route. For instance, the one we took had stops at Shin-Osaka, Osaka, Nagoya, Kyoto…and terminated in Okayama.
The weather seemed fine early in the day – but as we moved from Tokyo towards Kyoto, the weather started to turn. By the time we reached Kyoto Station (after around three hours’ travel), the whole world, including the Japanese, was drained of color, dressed in nothing but shades of black and white. Jackets, umbrellas, boots. It was so cold and so gloomy…
Next time, Kyoto. Next time!
Photos by Robert Quebral
Anawangin Cove is a 25-minute boat ride from Pundaquit beach in Zambales, a province some 4 hours’ car drive from Manila. It is naturally protected from rough waters by gently-sloping hills on both sides. Because of this, the waters are warm and relatively gentle; the salt does not sting as much here. It is a kid-friendly beach in that it is not biglang-lalim. Go for an early morning swim with your toddler before the tide comes in.
The shoreline is in my estimation about one and a half kilometers long from end to end; there are lanky pine trees close to the shore. One wonders how the pine trees got here. According to our bangkero, the area started teeming with pine trees after nearby Mount Pinatubo erupted in 1991. Prior to that time, the beach was just sand all the way.
So – a naturally-protected beach; with naturally-occurring pine trees along its shores. Amazing isn’t it? A fascinating Natural Wonder that needs to be protected for all time.
Anawangin Cove is still relatively clean and peaceful. Thankfully there are no karaokes in sight, and no cemented monstrosities like malls and resorts there as of yet. If one wishes to stay in Anawangin, one only need bring a tent and set up camp among the pine trees. There is a public toilet in the area, and nipa huts selling food, beverage and camping essentials like portable stoves and lights. There are sundry fees to be paid by daytrippers and overnighters alike, so do check online before heading out here. Boat ride fare right now is at P200 per head.
We hope that the local government in Zambales and its citizens will continue to protect this beach. My husband and I are proposing that the beach be off limits to everyone for a certain period every year, to give it time to heal and renew itself. During our visit here, we saw some litter along the beach, but I am guessing this is flotsam from commercial beaches nearby. Still, we hope that Zambales will save this beautiful place from all types of garbage, human or otherwise.
ANAWANGIN COVE, ZAMBALES (as of May 2016)
Affordability: √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ (8/10 checks)
Convenience: √ √ √ √ √ √ (6/10 checks)
Cleanliness: √ √ √ √ √ √ (6/10 checks)
Kid-friendliness: √ √ √ √ √ √ (6/10 checks)
Peacefulness: √ √ √ √ √ √ √ (7/10 checks)
rebuild, rebuild, rebuild!
Have a nice day Philippines!
Photo taken at SM Marikina during happier climes (heard Ondoy didn’t spare the mall), of this bizarre-looking robot attached to a rickshaw – one of the new kiddie attractions in the malls.
The robot is not very intelligent. A kuya charges it with a key to turn it on, like a bump car, and it needs assistance in steering away from walls, other rickshaws, and oncoming human traffic.
Que horror, if you ask me.
Maybe in the future, there’ll be a labor law protecting kid robots. Or maybe not. Still a scary thought.
The serial number appears to be just a bit smudged with red ink. This was withdrawn from an ATM sometime last year. Tinderas wouldn’t accept this and told us it was “tampered.”
So…what to do? Any suggestions?
Meanwhile, I am taking longer now at the ATM so I’m sorry for the others waiting in line behind me. Oh tender, please be really tender!