Batad

I finally got to plant some rice. I planted some over a month ago, but it was with a group of tourists and done in a rush. It felt more like a photo opportunity than a genuine experience. I spend so much time sitting at my desk looking at the terraces that I wanted to actually get in the mud and get dirty. That’s how I had pictured my time here anyway—lots of time in the fields. But since I live in a city of sorts, that doesn’t really happen much.

A couple days ago, I decided I needed a break from Banaue for a few days. So I left for Batad, a town with no roads or cars that just got electricity within the last few years. I had planned on staying for two nights, but for several reasons (including an interview on Monday) I ended up heading out on Saturday with plans to return the next day.

Because the driver loaded our jeepney with 30 people (normal passenger load is 16) it took forever to make it up the rocky road. After the 2.5 hour journey, we arrived at a saddle where a hiking trail winds down to the village. A few guides leapt at me, asking if I needed assistance, but I immediately declined and walked past them and down the trail. I haven’t had a chance to hike alone here once, which is very unusual for me. Typically people think it’s not safe for a woman to hike alone, but hiking alone is one of the most important ways I connect with myself and with my natural surroundings. I needed some alone time in nature desperately.

I spent a good portion of the day hiking by myself. As soon as I stepped away from the road, I could smell the scent of crushed green leaves, hear distant bird calls, and enjoy the silence. Once I arrived in town, I knew I wouldn’t have time to make it out to the waterfall I really wanted to see—it was almost four and the sun would set before I returned. But the owner of the hostel I stayed at was out in the fields, and her husband told me I could go plant rice with her if I wanted to.

I wandered out on my own, only partially sure where I was going. Since I speak a bit of Ifugao now, the locals here seem to trust that I’ll be okay. I wandered around by myself, passing by groups of tired Koreans coming back from a hike, and found my way through the fields.

I think I really fell for the terraces for the first time. Finally able to enjoy them on my own, I stopped and looked at the construction—I noticed the amazing details. I didn’t have my camera either, which somehow made my experience more intimate; I was less of a voyeur, more able to experience the feel of the mud beneath my feet and the sounds around me. I noticed the water construction, the long tubes of bamboo that channeled water from one terrace to the next, the walled creek that the locals had funneled between the terraces, channeling the water through the beds along the way. Walking along the walls, my feet bare, I chatted a little with some local women in Ifugao as they weeded out their rice beds.

Women planting rice

Photo courtesy of Eighth Wonder

Finally I found Rita, one of the owners of Rita’s Lodge—my lodging in Batad. I mentioned that I was hoped to help plant rice and she told me take off my shoes and come in. I slid into the rice field with her, the mud slipping over my calves, and she handed me a bundle of rice. She showed me how to plant it—a much more difficult process than I’d thought.

She held two rice seedlings at the root. “You must hold it here,” she said, “so you don’t bend the stalk. Then you must use your thumb and push it deep down into the mud so it won’t get knocked over by a wind.” She nodded to me and gave me a spot to plant. I felt honored that she trusted me to help plant her crop. It took me quite a while to get the technique down; I was very careful to make sure I planted it the right way.

“Sorry I’m taking so long,” I said.

“Nevermind,” she said, bent over her own seedlings. “When we were young and we were learning how to plant, it took us a long time too.”

Rita looks much older than Lola, though she’s about twenty years younger. Their daughter, Germaine, works the lodge mostly, while her parents help or work in the field. Germaine is younger than me, around 27, but she looks older too. Her parents must only be around 50, but they look like they could be in their seventies or eighties. I imagine all that time in the sun and the back-breaking work in the fields has taken their toll on their bodies and faces.

Germaine and I. Sitting down, I am almost as tall as Germaine.

Rita and I spend much of the hour in silence, or chatting, but I don’t always understand what she says. Mostly I just like listening to her talk and I don’t ask her to clarify. I want to remember what she’s saying so I can write it down later, but my mind doesn’t want to absorb it. I just enjoy the moment instead—this time to be in the terraces.

Two German travelers, David and Benjamin

I made the acquaintance of a two Germans that evening; I had dinner with them and breakfast the next morning. We hiked out with a family of Canadians after breakfast. I even got to squeeze in a game of Connect Four.

David and I play Connect Four. After I won two games he wouldn’t play with me anymore--so German!

The one thing I enjoyed this time was that I didn’t really feel like a tourist. I enjoyed meeting other travelers and sharing stories, but somehow I felt more tied to the locals. I spoke as much of their language as I could, and I felt deeply connected to the place. It was nice to see how I’d changed over the past two months since I arrived here. At the same time, I really enjoyed being around Westerners too. I think since I’ve arrived I’ve become more comfortable with who I am and where I’m from than I ever have been before. Going to Batad gave me a chance to walk in both territories—the tourist and the local—not really belonging to either, but relating to both.