The Way Back

I felt like I was awake the whole time. I envy my hunter friends sleeping soundly across me, almost hugging the fire. I hate it when everyone sleeps so easily while I’m the only one left awake.  It happens all the time. The heat of the fire didn't reach me though, so I went inside my tent in hopes of subsiding the feeling of coldness in my body. But it didn't do any good. The cold wind almost blew my whole shelter away. So I lay there, listening to the wind, waiting for the sunrise. I abandoned any hope of sleep.

Morning came so fast. I got out of my tent to let the fresh light of dawn shine upon me, and as usual everyone’s up and running. So I hurriedly packed my stuff, it was time to go home.

The problem was we didn't have any food left for the day, and my guides were asking me if I can endure walking for long hours without eating. I didn't have any choice, and I didn't want to let them starve as well. We all headed off early following a different route this time.

I had several blisters around my feet. This has always been a trip killer. It was neither the sleeplessness nor the hunger that was bothering me at this point, it was the pain I felt every step I took. I endured the silent torture as I walked very slowly. I glanced at my guides who were way too ahead of me, and then I thought I could walk like them and be like them, but my skin was telling me otherwise. It was too late to save it, and I knew that I would suffer the consequences when I get back to Manila. The lack of proper clothing and preparation lead to pain and suffering, I guess I underestimated everything again.

We stopped by to check out some campers, some relatives of Benny who left a freshly killed monitor lizard or “bayawak” and some of their stuff. And so we waited, in high hopes of having something to eat from them. Benny made some rice coffee for us, and it somehow energized my tired body. And that was all what we had for the whole 8 hours.

We left the camp as we could not wait any longer, we didn't have that much time. Avoiding the lahar dessert this time, we crossed the top of the mountain, passing through the narrow path hiding underneath the tall slippery grasses in between two different landscapes. One wrong step and I would be slipping to either side, back to square one. It was a little difficult to determine which way to go. I felt stupid for not being able to quickly analyze the path, and so I had to let one of my guides lead the way. We did this for the next couple of hours under the heat of the sun.

“One truck of bread”, I was imagining things . . . food, hunger was slowly creeping out like venomous snake.  I felt disoriented, but I didn't want to be such a pain in the ass. I endured the pain, hunger and exhaustion just to get back to Ibad before it gets dark. They had promised me that they would take me to this hidden lake somewhere along the way, but it would take hours again to get there. So they had let me decide, but from the looks of everyone, we knew that we might not enjoy it any longer as we didn't have that much strength for another long walk. We continued straight home.

Marching triumphantly to Ibad, we were greeted by curious villagers. Everyone wanted to know what happened, they talked in language I couldn't understand. Then I sat down in exhaustion as people gathered around, looking at me pitifully as they saw the bruises around my arms.

It was late in the afternoon. I would have to stay here until the next day as no one could drive me back to the town anymore. I stayed with Katamtaman and his family. The exhaustion, silence and the early welcoming of the night brought me into a deep uninterrupted slumber.

The days flew like a fast train, my aching body and my blistered feet marked the end of my journey. And I carried back with me the vivid imagery of nature, lessons from simple living and collections of late night conversations printed in my head. And with me are memories with people to whom it is easy to do good, who are not used to have it done to them, who only have little and who will help you out the most. The ones I would be willing to spend my time with.

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An Epic Journey to Mt. Pinatubo

I was swaying from side to side like a lost drunkard, gripping the grass for support feeling dizzy and weak. And for the first time that day, I begged for a rest. One final climb, they said, and we would rest there in the shade between the mountain walls. When we had reached this narrow pathway, I fell to my knees. I had been walking and climbing for 6 hours straight with an empty stomach. The ascent was consuming too much of my energy. I couldn't remember taking breakfast or lunch as I was too excited that morning, that I had even forgotten to bring enough food for us. I was only asked to buy a half kilo of rice, and that was all what we had. I sat heavily on the ground with my back against the rocky wall, still catching my breath. Like a desperate survivor, I distributed my 4 nut bars. I was so hungry I could eat a wild boar alive.

Garry, Benny and Pag-o had been doing some wild foraging as we passed through the wilderness. I was awed by the hunting prowess of my guides, when one of them would suddenly run fast in attempt to kill a low flying wild chicken with their sling, or when they would look underneath the boulders for some ”bayawak” or monitor lizard. They were telling me that if we get lucky, we could even catch a wild boar. I wished that they had caught either a wild boar or a bayawak. I was prepared to eat anything that time. 

I felt ashamed that I could no longer push myself up the vertical face of the mountain, and that I had to grab their hands to let them pull me up further. When I was totally depending on their strength, they realized how heavy I am. I was still able to put more weight on my legs with my feet against the wall during the first part of the climb. However this time, I almost wished they had let me go, and I would let myself be hurled down to the bottom. 

The abundance of water was keeping me revitalized. Whenever we passed by some rocky stream, we would all stop, and I would happily drink the clean flowing water like there’s no tomorrow. It was an instant joy to a thirsty soul.

My arms were once again full of cuts and scratches due to the stems and thorns of some random plants in the mountains. I guess my skin is really thin. This is the same dilemma I had in Pico de Loro, but this time it didn't bother me anymore. It was quite disturbing to look at, with all the short and long red cuts intersecting each other, like those lines and patterns you solve in logic tests. The cuts still looked fresh and swollen, and I wished I could retain it this way when I get back to Manila. It is perfectly okay to get hurt naturally, this is the time when pain becomes sweet.

Going up and down the slopes, back to dessert-walk, then up and down again, the varying conditions made this a truly remarkable adventure. It wasn't boring at all. If I hadn't been hungry, I could have enjoyed the whole journey more. 

And at last we had reached the foot of Mt. Pinatubo after 8 hours of traversing the surrounding mountain range. Disguising as small and innocent, with the alternating green carpet of grass and jagged gray slopes, I thought it was an easy climb up. Though it was stripped down to 1,145 meters after its eruption in 1991, the volcano is still high and mighty, and that it would take another half day to reach the crater lake.  I was a bit sad as this was my whole point of going here. I was hoping to swim in the lake after the long tiresome trek. There was quite a misunderstanding though, as my guides thought that I would just camp at the foot of the volcano, just like the others they had lead here in the past. In spite of my pleas, climbing up would be impossible at this point. They must have thought I was going crazy. We didn't have enough food.

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The Dessert Flower

Someone was calling me . . . It wasn't a dream. I woke up to the sound of someone's voice calling my name. It was Jessica, trying to wake me up. It was a bit late and I felt ashamed. Everyone seemed to be up and running, while I was the only one locked in the bed at this point. I had slept a bit late, and I felt like I lay awake for a long time last night.

I hurriedly got up. I remembered that I have to wake up early so I could travel with Marie and Katamtaman to Ibad. They were going back to their village, and we agreed yesterday that I would join them in the boat ride. And there they would help me find my guides to Mt. Pinatubo. 

I was curious as to what’s ahead but my mind paid more attention to the beauty that surrounds me. If there’s one thing I like the most every waking hour, I guess that would be the surreal feeling of early morning. Everyone was quiet as we rode the small wooden boat to Ibad. Everyone seemed to be savoring the cool morning scent and the pure freshness. I was born again. It was like traveling to another space and time. As the sun gradually exposed itself, the fog above the waters faded slowly, and the lake became alive with all the birds flying above and the ducks all lined up slightly visible from a far distance. I couldn't explain that moment in mere words. It’s not every day I get to experience something like this, it seemed all unreal.

After a 20 minute trek from the lake, we arrived in Ibad, a small village in the middle of the mountains. I worship its primitive setting, unspoiled and preserved. There were traditional Nipa huts of varying sizes around, and farm animals roaming freely in each backyard. The village also flaunted a diverse and undivided bloodline, with a few “Ilocanos” and “Pampangeños” living here with the Aetas. There is a whole new world around here.

The curious spectators gathered around me, wondering what I was up to. And then I was introduced to my three Aeta guides - Garry, Benny and Pag-o, all looking tough and powerful, carrying a handmade gun and the good ol' sling used for hunting. This was perfect, I thought. How about learning how to hunt animals for food? The idea seems all natural for me. And that’s the way it should be.

All four of us headed out, passing through the narrow path in the midst of the jungle, making our way out of Ibad. The vast lahar dessert was revealed as we descended from the mountain. It was hot as hell, and from the looks of this merciless landscape, I knew it was going to be a very long hard walk.

We were the only people traversing the bright white dessert-like terrain of lahar, and along the way is a combination of sands, stones, and grayish streams. Benny and Pag-o were leading the way, and they really walked fast, while Garry walked with me as if patiently adjusting to my slow pace. I felt like I was Bear Grylls walking under the scorching heat trying to get out of the dessert to survive. Huge staircases were formed out of lahar, which are quite deceiving, looking like hard concrete steps from a distance. One wrong climb, stepping at the edge, I found myself crashing down with my feet cutting through the gray sand. We were still in the lowland and I had already bruised my knee. What a bummer!

After the first few hours, we had reached this cave we needed to cross. They had expertly analyzed the footholds before we climbed up. It was one unforgettable part of the challenge, one difficult obstacle I surpassed. I felt like everything I hold on to were unstable and that the only thing I depended on were their hands. It was a scary climb up, and I showered with a mixture of sands and water.

Next to the cave, the most difficult part was the climb up this steep anonymous mountain. I couldn't even remember climbing on my own here, as all the rocks I hold on to seemed to be crumbling like an old cookie. And now I realized why I needed more than one guide for this. There were times when I had two different hands as rope while I did the rappelling. Gripping a small tree branch while hanging over the edge, I was asked to patiently wait at this state numerous times . Alternately, my guides cut the tall grass to make way, and at times, they would stomp repeatedly on the loose soil of the steep mountain surface to create a stable trail. When the designed path was ready, we would all continue the climb up. 

This was indeed a long way round to Mt. Pinatubo, and the ruthless path we traversed tested my endurance, almost putting me on the verge of my limits. We would all stop whenever my guides felt like I needed to take a rest. I seldom request for a break as I wanted to get to the finish line in no time, however my strength was quickly diminishing at this point. It was the longest day of my life.

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Life in Aglao

It was a peaceful afternoon, and I felt well-rested after waking up from a short nap. I camped by the lake where there’s a nice surrounding view in front of me. Jessica had toured me around before I slept. I had taken a dip in the nice calm waters of the lake. And that moment, I felt myself growing pure again, with the soothing power of the water plus the breathtaking view of the mountains around me. The sun is shining the weather is sweet . . . I heard myself singing Bob Marley’s Song.

After the Mt. Pinatubo eruption, Lake Mapanuepe was born. In front of Jessica’s place was once a farm, and at the far end was a plaza. But the surrounding areas were blocked and the water was contained inside. To contribute to the local livelihood, the town government spread some fish in this new found freshwater resource.

Just like anywhere else, this lake bears some urban legend. It is known that there’s a mysterious huge fish, the size of a Carabao (water buffalo) lurking underneath.

Despite its calm waters, accidents still happen. I was told of the group of soldiers who drowned to their death when their boat had sunk. I was a little confused as to why they were not able to swim back to safety. And so it is said that the lake has claimed lives every year, and fortunately this time no one has died yet. Maybe that is why Jessica kept on telling me not to swim too far. She didn't want me to be the next one.

It is believed that Luzon is the richest part of the Philippines, where treasures such as gold are hidden deep within its mountains. The local people could not benefit solely from it, as much as they want to, as they do not have the money or the materials to do the mining themselves. Fly-by-night companies and some rich-ass foreigners took over, paying the local people to do the hard work. This whole thing is quite evident on the eastern side, where the mountain was mined madly, with its surface looking like a peeled bark tree from a distance. It was once a gold mine, but now it was stopped as the water had risen from below, and the impossible depth could not be reached anymore.

Jessica and her nephew – Sonny, built a campfire. I sat there in front, listening attentively as they shared their life in Aglao. It is simple, it is almost perfect. She has some chickens and goats wandering freely in her backyard, and a little pet pig named piggy that attempted to bite my leg. She gave me some basic tips, should I decide to take her offer of settling down there and having my own livestock.

I was advised that it is best to invest on a Carabao, as it is a pretty tough farm animal that can do some all-around work. It can both pull a plow and the cart used to transport the produce and the people. During World War II, the Japanese were indifferent to the basics of the Philippine economy. Known for mass slaughter of animals (dolphins and whales), the Japanese soldiers massacred hundreds of Carabaos for meat. This prevented the farmers from producing more rice to feed the population, and thus, stopping the whole economy.

A Carabao can cost as much as P15000. Having no knowledge of animal husbandry or what not, I couldn't believe that a Carabao can be this expensive. Though it has been a normal thing to use this animal in farm work, I still couldn't quite imagine myself assigning the entire burden to the poor thing. So I guess I might pass on this one.

The goat on the other hand costs P1200, which you can either sell or eat. Cows and goats are probably my choice as they only eat grass. Who knows, I might have my own farm animals in the future. And I can only eat animals coming from the farm or from my own backyard.

I had learned so much about the life around here, and all our meaningful conversation has been imprinted in my mind. I had lost track of time. I couldn't help but notice the romantic setting. The night sky lit up with thousands of brilliant stars, with the glowing fire in the midst of the cold grassy earth, and there I was, sitting outside in the company of good people on a peaceful night. Life is good.

Despite my pleas, Jessica did not allow me to sleep outside, as she’s being an overprotective mother. This was quite understandable as I was told of the criminal cases that happened recently around Aglao, and one of it was this girl from the outside of the village, who was raped and murdered. And unfortunately, the suspect is still on the loose.

While Jessica prepared our dinner, I sat there in her backyard until the moon finally showed itself, hanging there full and hazy beneath a cap of dark clouds.

Jessica had given me this extra room where I could sleep. It felt cold as I lay in an unfamiliar bed, but it didn't bother me at all. I’m comfortable in its strangeness. I almost wished I sleep here every night.

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The Path Less Traveled - Mt. Pinatubo via Lake Mapanuepe

It is not always a good idea to join the holiday rush, and I found myself making last minute decisions. I still had time to change plans. It may seem odd for some that I’m all packed and ready, but still I haven’t made up my mind as to where to go. But whatever, I hopped on a bus going to Olongapo, then I took it from there. I’m allergic to tourist trails, so I took the path less traveled. And it made all the difference. While everyone was visiting the dead, I decided to visit what’s alive - Mt. Pinatubo - the long way round.

I arrived in San Marcelino, Zambales after another 30 minute bus ride from Olongapo. And here, I wasted 2 hours waiting for the jeepney to Aglao to get full. Though I had gotten used to waiting like this, but still it brought out the impatient monster in me. When the jeepney finally started to move, I sat on the roof and watched the unique scenery around under the blazing sun.

I was still in 1st grade when this notorious volcano erupted, and I remembered how Manila was covered with ashfall. The sky was dull and gray, and the ground was covered with white powder. It was like that scene in “Silent Hill”.

Nature can be really unforgiving. The Mt. Pinatubo catastrophe was the 2nd largest terrestrial eruption in the history, claiming hundreds of lives and destroying the surrounding areas that were once forests, farms and towns. The evidence of the volcano’s destructive force can be seen along the way, however devastating, the lahar (mobile volcanic mud) surprisingly transformed the surroundings into a scenic vast white plains between arrays of jagged mountains. It felt like I’m in another place and time. I was amazed with the distinctive landscape of contrasting colors - the bright white dessert-like ground, the blue mountains, the dark green pine trees, the endless blue sky and the fluffy white clouds. Seeing all of these from the jeepney roof is better than watching on hdtv.

It was late noon when I arrived in Aglao, not knowing where to go. The guy from the jeepney who collects fares guessed that I was going to climb Mt. Pinatubo and he insistently offered to be my guide. And later on I found out that he even overcharged me for the fare. From his looks, I knew that he couldn't be trusted. I deliberately ignored him as I preferred to have the “Aeta” people guide me there. 

I went down the hill, the panoramic Mapanuepe lake in the middle of the blue mountains quickly uncovered right before me. I was once again mesmerized with the whole backdrop, and that moment was like an epic discovery of an unspoiled beauty hidden deep within Zambales. 

No signs of tourism out here, no one was offering any guided tours to Mt. Pinatubo or whatsoever. It was “All Saints Day”, and it seemed like a celebration with all the loud videoke singing around. Then I met Jessica, she was hanging out at the lake. I was mistaken for a lost child from a distance. I asked her if she knows any guides who could lead me to Mt. Pinatubo, but she told me that it was already late to travel that time. I was introduced to her cousin – Marie, and Marie’s Aeta husband “Katamtaman”.

“Katamtaman” told me that he could recommend some Aeta guides who know the ways around the mountains. But Jessica and her relatives insisted that I stay for the night and that it would be safer to travel the next day. I learned that the hike could take up to 2 days. Coming here in Aglao straight from work sleepless and tired, I took the offer.

The word “Aeta” is not supposed to be used as an insult, but unfortunately the impact of stereotyping in Manila had caused a different way to address the natives around here. Referring to the hairstyle, the locals of Zambales prefer to call the Aetas “Kulot” (curly) while the rest who do not belong to the clan are called “Unat” (straight). This way of addressing has been widely accepted, and I found myself carefully abiding by the rule as respect to both groups. Nevertheless, those were just labels. A “Kulot” can marry an “Unat”, no signs of divisions or whatsoever. Everyone was treated equally and fairly around here.

I appreciate the kind hospitality that Jessica and her family have shown. The news of  someone staying at her place quickly spread like a virus among her neighbors and relatives. And one by one, different faces visited her place, curious of as to what a stranger was doing here. It was kind of hard to explain in simpler terms what I was doing, and they couldn't seem to fathom why a lady was venturing alone in an unfamiliar place.

It is simply just a never ending thirst for adventure. Like a junkie who would go crazy if not supplied with daily dose of heroine, I have developed a severe case of addiction.

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Potipot Island, Little Paradise Within Reach

Potipot Island is your best bet if you really want some nice beach that is just within your reach. It’s a tantalizing small piece of land surrounded by white sand and calm waters, off the shore of Candelaria, Zambales. Within 4 to 5 hours from Manila, you can reach this little paradise dominated by locals and unspoiled by foreign tourists.  And one good thing about this place is that there are no touts or cheaters around. Prices are all the same and cheap in the area.

Getting There:

This is way faster to reach by car but of course for the budget wanderers, commuting is not really that of a hassle. If you want to get to Potipot by noon then try to catch the early morning bus (4am and 5am) going to Sta. Cruz in Caloocan Victory Liner Station (at the back of the last LRT station). Ask the bus conductor to drop you off in Dawal Beach in Candelaria Zambales. There’s a small alley from the main road going to Sunbloom Resort, skip the entrance fee and tell the boat driver that you want to go directly to the island. And from the mainland beach, take a 10 minute boat ride to Potipot Island.

Notable Things:

The small island itself

Starfish and small crabs

Gentle and clear waters, fine white sand

A Huge dead tree and some rocky parts

Budget Matters:

There are no hotels or restaurants in the island, but there’s one in the mainland resort where you can eat or stay. The entrance fee in the island is P100 for a day trip, and P500 for overnight stay. You can rent some available cottages for P500 overnight. People who visit here usually bring tents with them as this island is better for camping, so you’ll be saving more if you pack some food with you before going here.

For the transportation cost:
(Prices are subject to change)

Bus to Sta. Cruz - around P450

Boat Ride to Potipot Island (2way good for 6 people) - P400

Nuisances and Joykillers:

This once virgin island is becoming more and more popular nowadays among weekend road trippers, yuppies and couples. If you settle near some group campers, expect to hear their laughter and endless storytelling. If you want to get away from them, you can still find some nice peaceful spot around the beach to camp.

Though not many, you’ll still see some piece of trash here and there - cigarette butts buried in the sand, plastic bottle and junk food wrapper swimming with you in the beach. It’s just painful to see how this beautiful beach is being messed up by some inconsiderate beach-goers or locals. Well even if these are just some trash carried by the waters from somewhere, then the local people in-charge should still clean this up and maintain the beach. Besides, what’s the entrance fee for anyway?

Posted by MissForlorn, Photos by Peregrine

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