I rose early on a Saturday morning, the previous night’s beer still swilling in my stomach and slowing my rational thinking. I mumbled and fumbled clattering my things together into a suitable bag, cursing the early hour, while the rest of the house lay still. We hitched a ride to the main road, leaving behind any creature comforts and ready for a weekend in the mountains. We waited at the side of the road the sun creeping up behind us, bag slung over my shoulder, eyelids heavy. Ate Des was her usual bouncy self. I, It’s safe to say was not. I had not been awake long enough to join in her energy for life and all hour hyperactivity. Which normally, would have me ready to scream murder, but she carries this same sweetness and maternal instinct that makes it impossible to be mad with her. She ushered me into the back of a jeepny that had pulled over in front of us. It had a few spaces left to squeeze into, after bumping past knees and narrowly avoiding concussion. Early morning jeeps bring sleepy heads propped up on weary arms, all hoping the traffic is slow, so as to enjoy the shade and flit into light slumber. Before making their way to whatever low paid job requires them to get up so hellishly early. We jumped out at Talisay, welcomed by two of the ladies from the fishing village I stayed in the most; one of which, Indang, had taken me in to her family whether I liked it or not. She mothered me and fed me within an inch of my life. It did not bother me; she had a heart of gold and always had me in stitches. I couldn’t think of a better lady to have as a temporary modra. The other; Ate Bebeth, who I had major respect for, her constant hard work for the community but with a very humble and by all means bold manner. She had invited me to stay in her house the house she grew up in as a child way up in the mountains. We disappeared to behind the market, meeting sisters of Bebeth, her husband and children. All of which welcomed me in that warm hospitable way even though I had met them a thousand times before. The journey was as ever, a lot of waiting around, there was only one jeepny a day that made the trek up to the top of the mountain and it wouldn’t leave until it was near full. So for the three hours we had spare I wandered into small bakeries, indulging in fresh bread and glass bottles of mountain dew, occasionally heading back to the jeep to shelter from the growing heat of the morning, sharing jokes and stories. Entertaining Indang’s boys, as they clambered over my legs and told me funny little stories, without trying I kept them laughing in a way I never knew I could.
The jeep finally made way, disappearing away from familiar territory and into the wilderness. We were soon off the beaten track and being thrown about all over the place but it was worth it. Out of the low side windows was lush green rainforest for miles, the sun making everything glisten. I felt like the luckiest man alive just to witness its growing beauty. The higher we got, occasionally we would hit tiny villages. The bamboo houses batched together but so significant to my year. Four or five of these houses would pass the window and then the view would return to rolling green hills. We arrived close to the top and this was it we were here. “Where?” I exclaimed, convinced there was nothing around and we had stopped in the middle of nowhere. “Just a little walk na.” Was the response, I clutched my bag and followed until we came upon a beaten muddy basketball court and a volley ball net. From there led a long path lined with the same bamboo houses so indigenous to the province but so perfect in their simplicity. Some with windows filled with brightly wrapped sweets and snacks. The small sari-sari stores always reliable for drinks and single serve everything. One side of the road was lined with houses the other a sugar cane field taller than me and ready to be harvested. We reached Bebeth’s house and were greeted by a large family. They all piled out of this wonderful small wooden creation they called home. I remember thinking “where are they all coming from?” It was like seeing the clown car at the circus but smiled it off. This was the norm I fully expected it. The house was incredible. It was entirely bamboo, had only two light bulbs and an old 1960’s black and white TV. The whole houses energy needs came from two charged car batteries and that was that, that was life up in the mountain. It felt like a million miles from anywhere. It was perfect.
We spent most of that first day, enjoying the cool of the mountain and getting hyperactive off massive amounts of fruit the kids kept brining into the house. It was an endless supply of fresh pineapple, mangoes, coconut and jack fruit. It became one of those afternoons where, we laughed so hard over the tiniest things, Indang’s wild laughter setting me off even more until I was reduced to tears. I felt so close with everyone, I was truly a part of lives and they didn’t even have to think twice about it anymore. As the sun set, the sky ablaze in orange, we stood at the point where the mountain began to cut away. We looked down on the city we had escaped, as the tiny lights of home flicked on one by one. When the sun was fully settled, I looked up to a sky of thousands of stars. I had never even known it was possible to see so many, I counted myself lucky on each and every one. When it came time, we retired back to get some sleep. The next day would be a long and exciting one. They had prepared one of the three small bedrooms for me. A curtain partitioning and a solid wooden bed with bamboo slats; The water bed they called it. I just thought this was some personal ironic family joke, as it was nothing like sleeping on a bed of water. Unfortunately, it was more than just irony. The water bed so aptly got its name as every time there is a monsoon (which at this time was very regular) the person sleeping in the water bed got very very wet. Barely asleep, I awoke to the splashing on my face and couldn’t help but laugh finally fully understanding the joke but still praying the rain died down soon.
The Morning came too soon. My hips were bruised from sleeping on the wood but it was a feeling I was accustomed too. Indang came and started shaking me in large comical movements. She was the only person who could wake me up in such a way and be able to make me laugh it off. Her wild laughter and knowing smile instantly calmed any morning grumpiness I carried within my nature. All I was told was, to bring clothes for swimming and my coffee was getting cold. I took it down in one and collected my things. I was then told to leave my slippers (flip flops) behind and that we would be going hiking. This seemed all the more reason to bring some kind of foot protection, even if it was only half an inch of worn rubber. It’s safe to say I was no natural at native barefoot hiking. Not even pretending to be a hobbit gave me any extra skills as I had hoped it might. I slipped and fell on various occasions, much to everyone’s amusement but I kept up. It was a hard trek over a path barely ever walked. I followed the 5 and 6 year old kids scramble over rocks and tried to follow making it look far more difficult. We wandered through dazzling rainforest that came alive with the sound of thousands of bugs and wild creatures. As we neared the destination I took a sharp intake of breath, as I found myself in a place I thought could only ever exist in books. This incredible valley of rock and vegation, I felt like we were the only people to have ever been here and that we were great explorers. It was an overwhelming feeling I hadn’t felt since childhood but one, it became apparent I missed quite dearly. There was a river of fresh spring water that stopped at a small pool perfectly big enough to swim a length in. With no time to stop and sit down, we jumped into the cold water and there we stayed until the sun began to set, swimming, laughing, being free. The boys wandered off and came back with banana trunks, lashed them together and set them afloat in the water for the little kids. If and when we got a look in, the rest of us would float around on them and absorb the clean air fresh water and heat of the afternoon sun. Lunch was a stew of different wild fruits and shrimp that everyone expertly found around the valley. I watched them go to work and sat in amazement of these skills I had never even thought twice about, knowing exactly what was good and the best way to get it down. We ate the stew and rice with a coconut full of fresh coco milk on the side, framed by mountains and shaded under banana leaves. It was the closest to heaven I have ever come.
Safely back at the house, after short naps, we wandered down to play volleyball. Soon I had attracted the whole village. As they stood on by staring at me in amazement (it’s safe to say not for my volleyball skills, as there are none.) The girlish giggles, the male banter and welcoming uneasy smiles, it is incredibly humbling to be treated as a celebrity purely for the colour of your skin. The fact was, I was the first white foreigner to ever come up this far into the mountain, let alone stay in the village for two nights. It’s a feeling I have never quite been able to get used too. I’m not a big fan of massive amounts of attention and I seem to get it everywhere I go but this was different. This was far more innocent. Most retreated in shyness, but some of the bolder kids came and spoke to me in little English they knew. I was more than happy to oblige them. As the sun faded behind the surrounding hills, and it became too dark to play, we settled back at the house. That last night was like nothing else. We drank local rum with slices of pineapple while Bebeth’s father plucked Spanish riffs and sang old native songs with everyone singing along, for hours and hours that felt like mere minutes. The kids in a long row, as the black and white TV flicked and lit up their innocent faces. It was not an easy life but certainly a peaceful one. I was a million miles from home but felt as if I belonged. I had found my peace and right when I needed it the most.
