Solitude in the Mountains

“Ticket for one, please!”

On a whim, I packed my bag and bought a ticket to a quaint little mountain town in the northern part of the Philippines. Alone on a 12-hour bus trip, I am thrilled to be in a place I fell in love with two years ago -- Sagada.

As the dawn cracks, clouds lifted themselves slowly to reveal the countless steps of the rice terraces, carved by the hands of our ancestors creating a bed for their bounty produce. As the morning sun casts its rays on the mountain folds, it staged the perfect lighting for a soul-soothing green landscape. Ah, here I am again, on top of Kiltepan Peak. Elusive as it is, sunrise here is a game of hide and seek. Today, it rose majestically. I am humbled by the blast of vibrant colors, of bright hues that woke up the sky -- shades of orange, yellow and red, proudly breaking behind the ridges.

Two groups of people came and left. For three hours, I did nothing but stare at this marvel. But this is my only lucky day. On the next instances that I hiked to the peak, I am greeted by a sea of thick clouds, covering everything except the tip of the mountain ranges. Carpeted by a gloomy shade of blue, it was nonetheless a magical sight, filling my soul with serenity and atonement. If only I can take this home -- this view, this peak, this beauty. But that is a selfish thought, no matter how great it sounds.

I left the peak when I knew it’s time to embrace more of Sagada. Carrying my backpack, I trekked down to chat with Aling Katrina, the owner of Lemon Pie House. Sipping mountain tea on a chilly day, we merrily talked about their rich heritage. Kankana-ey people (Sagada locals) share hospitality and warmth with all their guests. Which you probably wouldn’t expect, if you knew that they have a history of headhunting back in the day! But that was during the tribal wars. Nowadays, they are busy preserving their culture and traditions the way it should be -- untainted by commercialism, devoid of city influences.

Filled with lemon pie, mountain tea and colorful stories, I followed the road to Lumiang Cave -- the final destination of some of the Kankana-ey’s ancestry. Stacked at the cave opening are coffins made of pine trees, preserving what is left of the ancestors from hundreds of years ago. It was eerily quiet, and as I descend towards their version of a cemetery, I uttered a simple prayer while the pines swayed rhythmically in the background.

As it started drizzling, I started making my steps back to the bus. I leave with a heavy heart. If you had to say goodbye to a paradise, you’ll feel the same way, for sure.