In all seriousness, though, my motivation for posting on this blog went through a period of waning. Here we go with a new entry!
In my last post I ended with a cliff-hanger about climbing stairs. Here's the story. Around Batad are the most striking rice terraces in the world. They form a sort of huge amphitheater, making a person imagine a crowd of giants filing in to see a rock concert or something. In order to travel up and down the rice terraces concrete staircases have been put in place. However, the staircases do not meet any sort of building code, standard regulation, and certainly are not ADA compliant. The size of the "surface" of each step (the part where you step onto) varies from a generous 12 inches to a hazardous three inches. The "rise" of each step varies from a comfortable six inches to a terrifying two feet! The challenge of the stairs wouldn't be nearly as bad if there were not thousands of them. Seriously. Thousands. The mountainside that the terraces were carved into is steep and gargantuan. In short, climbing the stairs around Batad finds a person muttering curse words under their breath about how the damn waterfall better be amazing or how the view better be f***ing awesome. Batad and the surrounding valley truly were amazing, though. I wish I could have stayed longer, but I was traveling with two Israelis at the time and, unfortunately, one of them came down with an awful illness. This required us to abandon plans for subsequent hikes and beat a retreat back to Banaue.
Two anecdotes about transportation in the Philippines: First, the ride from Batad back to Banaue was in typical Filipino style. Dotan, Noa, and I were piled into/onto a tricycle while the driver shifted and throttled the little engine while wrestling the handlebars of the motorcycle like a cowboy breaking a mustang. Imagine a tiny two-stroke motorcycle putting, sputtering, and spewing with me and three other average-sized people weighing it down. Add to that a landslide (which are common) at which we had to halt while an excavator with only one working track dug away the mountain-side that had slid down and blocked our way. It was interesting to say the least. The second story is more tragic, and involves a 9-hour over-night bus ride on a very cramped bus, with an overweight inebriated local man for a seat mate who kept talking to me in slurred Tagolog and antagonizing the driver by shouting at him whenever the bus got stuck in traffic (this produced angry looks towards the chubby drunk from other passengers), and finally a back-window malfunction that caused the rain to cascade into the back of the bus, thereby providing passengers who were seated in that section with a refreshing cold-water shower. I sure hope the bus company didn't charge them for the shower. Anyway, I can confidently say that it was the most unenjoyable bus ride of my life. But, as they say in Mexico, que sera, sera. Or is it c'est la vie? Wait, that last one's French. Never mind.
Christmas was fun. We spent it in Baguio with a local family eating local Filipino food, the main course of which was a sacrificed pig. I got to see the actual sacrifice, which involved a wooden steak through the heart (no joke) and once again made me realize where the phrase "squeal like a pig" came from. Jema was ill during this time so we didn't do anything really exciting except for movies and eating. After Baguio we bussed to Manila and took a flight to Cebu City in the heart of the Visayas, the island-dotted center of the country. After engaging in a night of karaoke in a college town we took a ferry to Siquijor, a small island said to be inhabited by mystical spirits. Let me pause here and say (yet again) something I thought I'd never say: thank goodness for second-hand smoke. You see, as frequently happens on vessels that move in jerky motions and undulate with erratic waves, some passengers experienced sickness de motion. And, in simple terms, their lunch came up. The offensive smell of regurgitated lunch was, thankfully, masked by the stench of a Frenchman chain smoking nearby.
When Jema and I arrived on the island of Siquijor we boarded a jeepney to take us to our hotel destination. When we arrived at the place, upon disembarking the jeepney, Jema had an accident and suffered a serious sprain of the ankle. So, our remaining time in the Philippines was spent relaxing at the hotel, me taking solo walks around town, Jema resting, and taking her to the local hospital where an x-ray tech took pictures of her injury and may or may not have given us both radiation poisoning.
We traveled back to Cebu city (once again being grateful for cigarette smoke) and celebrated Jema's bday with massages and sushi. Then we boarded a plane and landed in Bangkok, Thailand
That's it for this time. Once again I apologize for the hiatus I took between posts. I hope everyone is doing well in other parts of the world.
Pat
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