Banaue Rice Terraces - the journey . . .

June 7th, 2009

After returning from our volcano 'adventure' we quickly regrouped and headed out to catch an overnight bus to the eighth wonder of the world - the Banaue Rice Terraces. After some minor mishaps and disgustingly greasy food w were on board what appeared to be the coldest bus in history. After about 7 hours of freezing (no sleep for me and very little for Reen) - it was so cold condensation was dripping from the ceiling and windows, we realized we were directly under the central cooling system and moved to the back of the bus where the chill was slightly less deathly.

As the sun rose we were greeted with some beautiful mountain scenes that were enough to battle my desperate need for sleep. And then we were there - basically accosted by people trying to be helpful and determine our plans. THe place was just off from a mountain village that turned out to be much larger than expected and the hospitality offered by the people who owned/ran the terminal was refreshing. They made sure there was water pumped for us and prepared basins of clean water for us to brush our teeth and wash our face as I imagine the other stuff was less than safe.

In order to see the terraces we ended up spending MUCH more than anticipated but in my eyes it was more than worth it - the type of adventure I could never quite have the same way in Canada. AFter hopping in the jeepney one of our guides suggested we ride on top - so we climbed up, held on, and were off!

The blaze of the sun (after 3 days of rain) the wind blowing in our faces winding mountain roads, rich lush mountain views with beautifully maintained rice terraces dotting hte landscape and locals playing, cleaning, relaxing, and many (mostly children) waving with excitement as we passed by on their restful Sunday morning.

During the drive we asked one of our guides, Marshall, about the history of the terraces and later, his brother John. Marshall reminded us that the terraces were bulit over 2000 years ago and the technology used was not something one could learn in schools but was passed down through families. As we drove along, looking at smaller plots of terraces he told us that each family had a certain amount of terraces that they farmed and in his family (of 6) there was enough rice from their five terraces to feed them for 6 months of the year. Also, the rice is all used locally. They don't export anything. Furthermore, the plots are passed down through families and the land cannot be exchanged or used by anyone else. If a family leaves that land is left to go to ruin. He also mentioned that the design of the terraces was started by one couple and took between 200-300 years to complete. Quite a legacy!

hroughout these talks I took in the life that surrounded me - the land, the winding perilous roads, children running bak and forth reminded me so muh of my father's region in Jamaia. I felt akin to the place. Even the seeming focus on wealth through technology seemed familiar. I saw children with rags for clothes - basically - walking around with cellphones whereas in Jamaica people with plyboard walls and tin roofs had what looked to be 32" flat screen tvs. An interesting mix.

At one point in the journey we encountered a landslide and all had to get out of the jeepney as the guys cleared rocks from the road and the driver maneouvered his way through. More to the adventure. When we went as far as the jeepney would take us it was time to brave the heat (and the jungle) and walk to the next village where we would see the terraces and journey to a waterfall.

We were weary of needing a guide but decided it might be best ad as they offered us a deal we went for it. And a great choice it was! We ertaily would have gotten lost at some points - not dangerously so - but we probably wouldn't hae made it to the waterfall. Or ust given up from the heat of the blazig sun . . . ad the stairs. But as I had mentioned before - the physical trials, as well as the cost, was worth it.

To be continued . . .