Sunday, February 10, 2013

ILOCOS: Taking Cues from MGMT


We've got the vision, now let's have some fun.

Who would refuse a P3,000 round trip plane ticket to Laoag? I would-- I've been there before.
But it would still take me 400 kilometers away from my work desk. Now that I find impossible to refuse.

So I booked, along with Isa and Kara. Two advertising executives and a budding entrepreneur who spend 50 hours a week, making plans, fighting tooth and nail for things to happen a certain way, their way, but found themselves 24 hours before the flight without a plan.

Kara and I decided to blog hop. Googling "Where to go in Ilocos?" as our attempt to plan.
"Let's go to the rock formation thingies-- in Purorok!" she said.
"I tried to Google what you're trying to say but even Google is confused </3" I said.
We were, after all, looking for Kapurpurawan-- which was two syllables more than what Kara thought it was, and an entire word that did not even come close to Purorok.

I didn't know how we were going to go around in Ilocos, when the mere names of the places confused us. But I had a gut feel it was going to be memorable. So I ditched the need to be ready, I was willing to jump right into the unknown.

I'm feelin' rough, I'm feelin' raw. I'm in the prime of my life.

We arrived right in time when the sun was setting in Laoag.
The breeze was surprisingly cold and the winds extremely strong it had Kara holding on to her skirt like a boss. We didn't think Laoag would be ready for a free show, in case.

The first night went by slow, with us finding ourselves inside a cozy 20-seater restaurant called "Saramsam". After indulging on Pinakbet pizza, we started walking around dimly lit places, passing through the plaza, their public market, and eventually along a dark road-- all while Kara was still holding on tight to her skirt. It was cold and windy.

We decided to get a trike. And decided to go to the perya we noticed on the way to Saramsam.

The provincial perya did not excite. But the name was such a novelty, it was hard to resist.
"Ang Sayasaya Carnival". Simple joys at night for anyone who would find happiness aboard a rickety and fast turning ferris wheel.

The next morning, we headed for the bus station that would take us to Pagudpud.
It was called "Bus Rowena". A bus not fit for queens.
But for the wanderer, it was perfect.
Pagudpud gave us a gloomy welcome. There was overcast, it looked quite sad. 
But we would walk along the shore, making silent prayers that the sun would reveal itself, all while taking photos in rocks covered with slippery moss.
For a few hours, we were stuck inside nipa huts, tossing and turning, alternating between silence and Twitter updates. 

The weather was a downer.
But our feet were itching. We had to go somewhere. So we trekked Kabigan Falls instead.

Manang Remedios, our tour guide, said a 1.5k trek awaits us. And that it would take us 30 minutes (but really, it took us 45). On our way, a vast rice farm greeted us, keeping our eyes busy as we trailed a slippery and muddy road under the pouring rain.
I slipped and almost fell a bajillion times.
Successfully landed on my butt once.
But never had I been happier to find dirt all over me. By not washing the mud off my hands and shorts, I knew it was my way of celebrating them.
But the surreal-ness of the Kabigan Falls made the trek worth it. As we were a few minutes away from it, we could hear the raging mad sound of the water making an 80-feet drop to the ground.
It felt like raising my hands high up in the air while shouting "Woohoo!" was appropriate.

And there we were. In front of Kabigan Falls.
I hurriedly climbed up the highest peak despite the slippery mud and steep make-shift staircase. The mist alone drenched us and our cameras, taking away any chance of taking a clear photo.
But it was magical. It was fit for a J.R.R. Tolkien story.

We trekked back before before the sun started to set. 
And on our way back to the beach, we chanced upon a neon pink sky.
The night ended with a bottle of mud shake and hefty stories on life, love, and horror stories (don't ask).

By 12MN, we were beat and fell right asleep. Until Isa started screaming in her sleep, almost kicking me out of sheer panic. In my calmest tone I demanded her to remain calm-- only to find out a baby cockroach found her thick false eyelashes a comfy place to chill. 
Kara, acting heroic, tried to kill the cockroach... with Isa's soiled slipper fresh from our muddy trek, of course. 

Even during our sleep, we were making unforgettable memories.

The next day, we woke up to a still-gloomy-Pagudpud. We gave up the chance to wear our surprisingly matching swimsuits.
So right after breakfast, we packed once more, ready to move to another town, but not without a final stroll along the beach.

With our luggages in tow, we took the trike to take us to sites before making our way all the way down south to Vigan.

So there we were.
Bangui Windmills, which was a sight to behold.
Where the longer I stared up the windmill, the more unbelievable the experience became.
And where the winds were strong and the waves crashed wildly, almost reaching the skies.
And Kapurpurawan, where we stayed for almost an hour, reeling in the unbelievable beauty of natural white rock formations.
Where every picture made me feel like a small girl in a big world.
And realized that I didn't have to go far to be overwhelmed with nature's beauty.

Also, a bohemian photo, made possible by our versatile printed scarves and the manong who sold bottled drinks, seemed appropriate.
By 5PM, we found ourselves in a deserted highway, ready to leave the North.

Rain started pouring again and darkness slowly creeping in.
We were desperate to get any bus to Vigan.

While waiting, we found some form of comfort in an almost abandoned carinderia with an old lady and her baby goats (who had a great time eating Isa's luggage).

"There! A pink bus! Hail it!" the old lady frantically shouted. We ran across the highway, carrying our luggages while the passengers looked on from the windows.
"Will this pass by Vigan?" I asked the conductor.
"In a town near Vigan, yes." he said.
That was good enough for us.

The next two hours were spent sleeping, staring at the windows, and watching slasher films being played on the bus. By this time, I realized how we've also found homes in transit and how we all seemed to be growing comfortable with the set up.

It was dark and the road signs were hardly visible. I could feel Isa's worry that we might have missed our stop. But before any form of worry prolonged, Kara saw a sign. And the conductor called me to signal our stop was coming soon.

And finally, we were in Vigan. At night, with Calle Crisologo nicely lit.
Vigan is familiar and quite close to the heart-- with our family's abandoned ancestral house sitting right by Calle Crisologo. I knew Vigan and perhaps, Vigan already knew me. But it still showed off its charm like I was new to the place. And it warmed my heart.
Before I could fully unzip my luggage, I found myself zipping it back again. After a little less than 24 hours, we were bound for another bus station. One bottle of cold beer in Cafe Leona and we finally bid Vigan farewell.

By nighttime, we were back in Laoag where we found a trike that could fit us (luggages and all)! In a few minutes, we were in our hotel, a pension house called Balay de Blas. By midnight, Isa retired to the bed while Kara and I went up the balcony. There was no view, only rooftops of houses in the dark. But the breeze was nice. And the peace and quiet were refreshing. The next hour was spent summarizing the past four days of unexpected adventure. "We've outdone ourselves" we thought.

On our last day, we headed for one more adventure-- sand dunes.

"Do you have a heart problem?" they asked us about a million times. When we were finally on the 4x4, we were asked once more about a possible heart problem. They were just "taking precautions", they said. But by this time, I already knew we had no idea what we signed up for (and I was hoping my parents got my insurance locked down).
We screamed our hearts out as the ride started. It was a roller coaster. We went through rocky inclines and zoomed fast as we descended steep hills. We held on to our dear lives leaving our arms in pain and our hips and butts crying out for mercy. But it was amazingly wild and it was fun-- but maybe more in hindsight than in the moment itself.
And then sand surfing. Where I skipped the part where I could surf standing up and instead found myself doing a head drop.

"Hold on, this is less scary than the standing up, right?" I asked, worried.
"Yup!" the guy who was gearing me up answered.
"... or not really." he added as he pushed me down.

As I slid down the slope, my mind went blank. Earnestly hoping the sand board decides to stop soon. Heights and I never did like each other so much, whether I looked at it in the eye or, in the case of my head drop, with eyes closed.
But with every try, I landed fairly well by the foot of the slope, with free crunchy Laoag sand finding its way to my mouth. 

At this point, good photo or not, I was just happy that I faced my fears. 
The sand surfing was also high-larious, with Kara and I bringing to life the infamous ROFL acronym (rolling on the floor laughing) we all love to use.

Along the course of the trip, we managed to visit churches and ancestral homes. Offering short prayers, stumbling upon tiny bits of history.
With it, finding abandoned spaces that remained to be beautiful.
I could only wonder why I haven't seen Ilocos this way before.
Roughly 24 hours in each town, an amount of time that's both short and long.
But I would remember each place, even if they won't.

We were fated to pretend.
Five days, four nights, four hotels.

The five days of unexpected backpacking (minus the backpacks) gave us the right to pat ourselves on the back. It gave us the authority to give off a proud smile and ask, "Can you also do it?"
And even when we didn't talk about it, I knew in our most quiet moments, we were celebrating the body aches, the dirty footwear, and the unruly hair.

MGMT wrote "Time to Pretend" dedicating it to their rock star fantasies, singing:
I'll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world.
I'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog, and my home.

I did miss the familiarity and comfort of Manila but truth is, though buses and trikes served as our homes for most times of the day, I enjoyed more than I missed.
So I guess, even when our luggages, colorful scarves, and poise-less laughters betrayed us, maybe, just maybe, for the last five days of January, we lived like rockstars.

***
Credit: A few of my photos came from the "Existential Blabber" herself, Kara Ortiga <3

(25-29 January 2013)

6 comments:

  1. Your words are beautiful.
    (But your picture with the windmills and that photo of you in Vigan were show-stoppers!)

    KATH YOU MAKE ME WANT TO TRAVEL WITH YOU! <3

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    1. Awww thank you! <3 Both of those photos were from Kara. She took most of my solo photos from the trip because my camera was filled with inanimate objects. Haha!

      LET US. Just waiting for you :)

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  2. The photos are so beautiful, Kath! -Cheska

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  3. I am lucky to have 2 friends who are great writers and story tellers! :p We always have something to look back to! <3

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