Field notes: Snippets from my sojourn in Sagada
It was January 2018 when I finally set foot in Sagada, Mt. Province for the first time. It was far from everything I’d grown accustomed to in Metro Manila—I lived atop a hill, cleaned toilets, laundered strangers’ clothes, and handled people from different parts of the world, but every waking day was an opportunity to learn the ways of the mountain and the wisdom of its people, so much so that my three-month stay turned into nine.
Five years later, I still haven’t gone back to Sagada; only through my memory—and my illustrations—where it is meant to be visited over and over again.
Day 1
With numb legs after a 10-hour bus ride, I alighted at the Eduardo Gaudan Longid Centrum building at 7 a.m. It was freezing cold at 14 degrees Celsius, and local men in front of the building were busy amassing their momma or a gum made of betel nuts to keep themselves warm.
Day 9
- My first jeepney experience in Sagada occurred on Feb. 7, 2018. I was tempted to top-load but I didn’t because the interesting stories and movements were found inside.
- Locals always pep talk each other, especially when waiting for the empty seats to be filled. They start by playing with a baby across the seat, checking on each other's market bags, or asking where the other is going.
- They are also fluent English speakers.
- Door seats are automatically reserved for the elders. This is an impressive act for someone like me who grew up in Manila.
- They don't say "para" or stop to alight from the jeepney because the driver knows when and where to drop them off!
- They pay as they go.
- Jeepney schedules are student-friendly: 6-8 a.m., 12-2 p.m., and 5 p.m. (last trip).
- Whenever we missed any of the jeepney schedules, we either hitchhiked or walked.
- There are some narrow roads with blind curves, but drivers are skilled enough not to bump and kill each other.
- Every establishment is homegrown, all thanks to their age-old spoken rule that outsiders are prohibited from buying lands and properties in Sagada.
Day 23
These windows served as my television. I watched the world from here, and I saw nothing but good news.
Day 71
It was my first time seeing a full-arc rainbow. To answer our childhood question, there are no pots of gold on both ends. What I saw were green rice fields, gracefully dancing to the beat of the wind. In life up north, this is more precious than gold.
Day 86
Siomai with a spoonful of fiery chilli paste. Balut. A kilo of potatoes. A bunch of bananas. Green mangoes. Bread loaf. Cinnamon buns. Cookies and cream ice cream. Chips and biscuits.
These are the things I trekked for in Bangaan from where I lived. The trail to Bangaan entails sightings of pine forest, distant houses, a series of stairs, occasional mad dogs, and a stream, where I believed my imaginary anaconda lives.
I could have met another person at another time and place, but we all found each other in Sagada.
Also found here is the jump-off point to Bomod-ok Falls, a jeepney going to the town proper, sidewalks bursting with flowering plants, elementary students I love waving at, and Saint Matthew’s Church with a generous yard for parking, games and gatherings.
After stuffing myself and replenishing my stocks, I’d just sit by the window in a store while losing myself in the mountain view. Other times, I’d sit in front of another store to watch people.
Day 249
While we resorted to music apps to kill the deafening silence, I still found joy in listening to the echo of the children’s laughter as they ran, picked oranges, climbed a huge tree, and slid downhill using their flattened cardboards; birds chirping any time of the day; Molly’s bark from Auntie Paloma’s yard; Gab’s grass cutter; a chainsaw from a distance; screeching car engines from Barangay Madongo; the rustling of leaves; Paco’s crow at the break of dawn; cows wailing in the woods, and acoustic jams over bottles of 4x4 gin.
Day 256
The Israeli woman I first brought to my getaway bench. The Japanese woman who left origami cranes. The two jetsetter Filipina grannies. All the locals who saved me from mad dogs. The Slovenian woman I met on my way to the pottery and shared a plate of chop suey, a lemon pie and wheat bread with. The boy who called me “mama” despite our language barrier. The broken-hearted Manila girl who tried to find answers in Sagada. The Filipino family who gave me a ride from Lake Danum to town. The local driver who delivers the best jars of homemade peanut butter and shared tribal war stories with me. The know-it-all local tour guide. The Indian man who said, “Religion is for humans, but humans are not for religion,” when I was studying a book on religions.
I wonder how they are now. Do they still remember me? Were they able to reach their destinations after Sagada? Did they also change their plans? Did they notice when I left the town? Will I ever see them again?
I could have met another person at another time and place, but we all found each other in Sagada.
Thank you for stopping by. Ipeyas nan gawis (Share what is good).
