Our
12-hour ordeal on the "comfortable" bus was finally rewarded.
From our hotel, you could see the peaceful houses nestled within the massive
rice terraces. The air was clear and crisp; the weather breezy and cool.
From a distance we saw villagers walking on the rice terraces carrying
anything from long bamboo pipes, to baskets of rice seedlings. Later we
realized how fast they must have been walking down the rice terraces when
we finally tried it ourselves!
Our adventure for the day was to go to the remote village of Bangaan. Batad, another village, would have been great to visit, too, but another tourist claimed we needed more than just a day to explore. So, we opted for Bangaan, a tiny village which represented the native farming culture in existence for almost two thousand years.
We slept a little late for the town of Banawe and got up to eat breakfast around 7:30 am. We ate at the Las Vegas Restaurant at the Greenview Lodge. The food was a little disappointing and there were some communication problems with the waitress/owner, but she was a nice woman. She took the time to ask us what we wanted to do and arranged transportation for us while we were eating. I imagine she got a healthy kickback out of the deal, but we were well cared for, so we didn't care. The jeepney was waiting for us by the time we were done with breakfast.
The
jeepney climbed out of Banawe on a very narrow single lane dirt road. The
natives wasted little time taking advantage of our presence. Children would
hop on the back bumper of our jeepney and ride for fun. Adults would hop
on and ride as far as they needed to go and hopped off.
We
arrived at the village after a two hour ride. The jeepney was only able
to come within a half mile of the village. We had to hike down to the village
using the same pathway the villagers use. The rice terraces take up a vast
expanse both above and below the village and the path to the village soon
became the walls of the rice terraces themselves. We arrived in the village
which was constructed exclusively of traditional mountain province Ifugao
grass huts. It was Sunday morning and much of the local population was
attending church services. This was interesting because the church was
the only building in the village built of contemporary materials and design.
It was constructed mainly of wood with the steeple made of copper that
had turned green with age.
The village was rather dirty and we had to take care not to step in the droppings of a wide variety of animals. Pigs, chickens, and dogs seemed to be the most prevalent animals. The modern free enterprise system had made it all the way to this small primitive village out in the middle of nowhere: There were three little stands set up to sell handmade crafts to visitors. Traditional Ifugao bolo knives (machetes), hand-made dresses, blankets, and wood carvings were all for sale. We did not purchase anything but wound up talking at length with a 21-year-old pregnant girl who was tending one of the booths. She explained the traditional Ifugao dress. Men wore a G-string with the Bolo knife at the side and a blanket over the shoulder. The women wore skirts of the same design as the men's blankets. There are three accepted styles of design. A simple blue pattern was worn to signify lower class, a simple red design implies middle class, and a more ornate red design signifies the upper class.
As we continued our exploration of the village we came across the chief of the village, Jose Diaz. The first thing Jose wanted was to take us on an hour long hike to the Batad rice terraces in the next valley down the mountain. Although we had heard great things about Batad, we declined his offer because of our jeepney which was waiting for us on the road. Jose then set out to tell us everything there was to know about his village.
The traditional Ifugao grass huts stand off the ground four to five feet and supported on four wood pillars, which traditionally are constructed of tree trunks with the wide roots as the bottom support. I couldn't help but notice that some cement had worked it's way into the construction process. Cement supports were now being used as foundations for the wood pillars. The roof line starts at the top of the pillars and forms a rough pyramid shape. There are no walls or windows as such. All of the internal space is inside the roof area. Entrance to the structure is gained by the use of a small three or four step ladder which can be detached and hung up sideways on the structure when the occupants are not at home.
Jose was eager to show us the inside of the structure. The first thing of note is the darkness. There are no external windows, so the only source of illumination other than the door is a small lantern. The space was confining with barely enough room in the center for a short person to stand erect. The upper section of the roof is used for the storage of rice and other food items.
Sleeping
is done on the floor with the addition of a woven mat. Malaria is a constant
danger in this region so extra precautions are taken at night when mosquitoes
are at their worst. A fire is kept burning all night which helps drive
off mosquitoes. For extra protection the natives sleep under mosquito nets.
The outside of the huts are traditionally adorned with water buffalo or
wild boar skulls. These are considered signs of good harvest. Located outside
the hut was a large mortar stone used for shelling rice. It was constructed
from what appeared to be granite.
The rice is put into the 8"x12"
hole in the top of the stone and a well worn log is used to pound the rice.
Jose was very proud of this particular stone and described it as new. Further
questioning on our part revealed the stone to be 40 years old. This led
us to ask how old the old one was. The old one had been discarded just
a few feet from the hut. It looked much more like a rock than the well
polished new stone. it had been used so much that there was a hole worn
all the way through the bottom of the rock. Jose had no idea how old this
old stone was because it had been here as long as he could remember. The
rice terraces themselves dated back some 2000 plus years so I don't know
why the age of one well polished rock surprised me. We then asked how old
the huts were. Some of the structures, said Jose, have been in place for
well over 200 years. The thatched roofs need to be replaced every twenty
years or so, but outside of that, they were true working antiques. Several
years ago, some archaeologists from a university wanted to remove for scientific
evaluation some of the logs which formed the base of an old hut. Jose has
kept them from doing this because due to the solid construction, the hut
would be destroyed in the process.
We exited the village down another foot trail across the terraces going down into the valley. This worried Jose just a little as it was the path to Batad, which he wanted us to pay him to guide us down. He followed us for a while and when we turned around to start back up the mountain to our jeepney, he told us of a shortcut trail that would get us back faster. This was of course his final ploy to get some money out of us. His trail seemed rather longer to me than the way we came, but it was an interesting hike. We left the terraces and started an assent through the thick mountain jungle foliage. The trail was steep but well traveled by the local people. There were several interesting things along this trail that Jose pointed out. We passed a native boy harvesting wood from deep in the forest and transporting it back to the village for cooking fuel. Once in the village the wood is split into narrow sections and laid out neatly to dry in the sun. We learned that Jose is the elder tribesman of the village and there are very few males besides him left. He is 64 years old but navigated the uphill climb with much greater agility and stamina than myself at half his years. Factor in my sturdy hiking boots to his bare feet and it all adds up to one weak, frail American desk jockey!
The trail led through thick jungle among which we saw bananas, mangoes, and rattan. I stopped to look at a single bush growing eight feet high which had large red berries growing at several leaf sections. Jose tried to tell me it was coffee but between his rough english and my disbelief at finding coffee beans growing in the Philippine jungle it took me a minute to realize what I was looking at. There was little similarity between the berries growing on this bush and the coffee beans I have seen in grocery stores. The red beans were ripe so I harvested all the bush had to offer and got a total of seven beans. Within a day of picking them they turned from their original red to a deep brown. Over the next several days they shrank in size and darkened in color to look like what I would have recognized as a coffee bean.
One of the things that fascinated me the most about the people was their total lack of concern about our intrusion. Our exit led us through several dwellings with people around and Jose was quick to invite us to take their pictures or look in their huts. Perhaps privacy is a Western value not shared by the natives of this mountain culture. The natives also have a very keen awareness of their surroundings. At one point along the mountain trail we came into view of some children working in a rice terrace. We were at a great distance and our view was obstructed by jungle foliage but they stopped what they were doing and started waving and yelling hello.
Jose's shortcut trail came out about half way up the trail we had taken into the village. He put his hand out and we handed him P20 for his efforts. He quickly disappeared back into the jungle. It is interesting to note that the chief of this village of primitive natives was out for tourist dollars just like everyone else. After hiking back to the jeepney we rode back to town with a quick stop at a small waterfall with a pool at the bottom. This was apparently a popular native picnic area of some sort and we didn't stay long. It was crowded with Ifugao children and the smoke from several fires filled the air. To our dismay, there was also much litter on the ground in this otherwise beautifully pristine place.
We
ate lunch at the People's Lodge in Banawe and then set out for the Banawe
viewpoint. This is the scenic outlook where impressive photos of the area
could be taken. The jeepney driver wanted to drive us up there for 150P
and waited outside for some time for our return. After the driver gave
up on us and left, we took a local tricycle to the viewpoint for P85. It
was only a ten minute trip and well worth the money. There were several
old Ifugao women in full native costume waiting for us. They were extremely
persistent in their desire to have their photograph taken, for money of
course! There were three women who appeared within two minutes of our arrival.
We gave each of them P10 and started shooting. A fourth woman arrived a
little too late for the photo session and followed us around relentlessly
for ten minutes demanding to be photographed. Like other poverty stricken
locations I have seen, local children have found looking cute and begging
a lucrative career and here was certainly no exception. A sign was posted
which said "please do not give the children money". These old
women have a different angle on this old ploy but it still seems like they
are setting a bad example for the children.
On the tricycle ride back we asked to be let off at the edge of town. From there we spent several hours looking into the numerous shops which adorn the town. All of the shops are of wood and tin with shanty town construction. The nicer shops have one bare 40 watt electric light bulb for illumination. The other shops use one or two kerosene lamps for illumination. Most of the local crafts consisted of wood carvings. All these wood crafted items from shop to shop were strangely almost exactly the same as if one person was creating all of it.
It
was here that we met Minda De Leon working in her weaving shop. Minda works
from 6:00 AM to 9:00 PM seven days a week. She weaves cloth into traditional
colored sections and then sews them into a variety of different items.
Lani had a section of cloth cut into place mats. Minda also makes purses,
bags, and even clothing from her woven cloth. She was in her late 20's
or early 30's, married with, I believe, three children. Her 16 year old
sister is now working in the shop instead of going to school. She quit
attending school because of a lame foot. She could barely walk and the
family had no money to take her to a doctor.
We made the mistake of asking Minda to recommend a good place to eat in town. She has been a resident of Banawe all her life and had only eaten in one of the restaurants where a friend had taken her out. The reason was that the prices are much too high for local residents to afford. We stopped in at the restaurant she mentioned and although we did not have the time to eat there, we noted their prices as being some of the cheapest in the area.
That
evening we took a tricycle to the Banawe Lodge to eat dinner and see a
native dance demonstration. The Banaue Lodge is the only hotel in the area
that offers first class accommodations. Rooms here start at $78 US per
night while our accommodations cost only $12. This was the only hotel we
saw which had a security guard posted to keep the local people out. The
dance started at 8:30 pm and cost P20 per person. Employees of the hotel
dress in native costumes and presented a forty-five minute demonstration
of typical songs and ceremonial dances. The native dances and costumes
added a bit of reality to all the talk we had been hearing about traditional
dress and traditions of the Ifugao people. One of the more interesting
demonstrations was the offering dance. Four men in Ifugao attire carried
in 3 carved wooden piglets.They danced around the pigs and at the end of this dance used their spears to kill the pigs. For the purposes of this demonstration one of the dancers took the liberty of squealing for the wooden pigs.
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