One Step at a Time

The cold soaks into my bones as I inch my way into the mouth of Lumiang Burial Cave. I keep close to the ground, afraid of tumbling down into the darkness. Our guide raises an eyebrow but politely refrains from smirking. Can I blame him? He is doing the six-hour trek barefoot.

He points and says, “You might want to not grip the ground so much."

I follow his gaze, and barely stifle a yell as I pull back sharply. A real human skull stares back at me.

The people of Sagada have preserved their old burial sites for hundreds of years. Moss-covered coffins are piled up near the mouth of the cave so that the light can guide the souls to heaven. Outside, other coffins hang on stakes stuck into the cliffside so that the souls of the dead lie as close to heaven as possible. Chairs, which the dead sat on during their wakes, accompany some of the coffins.

I follow the wall of coffins into the dark. I shiver, as much from the damp cold as from the weight of history. While most of my peers enjoy our beautiful Philippine beaches, or shop in Hong Kong or Singapore, I am in the mountains learning about our indigenous culture. The Philippine Cordilleras boast gorgeous mountains and magnificent rice terraces; their isolation also makes them a bastion of heritage relatively untouched by Spanish and American influences.

I pause as I stare at our next path: a small hole that sits about waist-high. My heart flutters; my greatest fear is being buried alive. I remind myself that I endured a bumpy six-hour van ride and have already spent 800 pesos on guide fees, and that a large group of fifty just passed through without incident. Soon it's my turn; I gawk at our guide's small frame as he tells me to step on his outstretched leg. “I can hold you,” he smiles, though I’m at least 20 pounds heavier. I try to place my feet exactly where he tells me to, and after a tense few minutes I finally make it. "We have at least 5 more like that," he smiles. I'm glad I didn't drink any fruit wine.

After hours of rappelling, crawling and wading through waist-deep water, we finally make it to the connecting Sumaguing Cave. We enter a large chamber full of limestone formations. One is a turtle, another a scoop of ice cream. We sit down and enjoy the wonderland as our guide tells of soldiers hiding here during World War II. I listen intently as another layer of the cave reveals itself, and say a silent thank you to it for helping me appreciate its importance to the people of Sagada.