9/30/08

A visit to Sagada is never complete without a healthy serving of yoghurt from Yoghurt House. Some find it a little too tart but for me, it’s spoon after spoon of creamy goodness. What I also like about Yoghurt House is the late afternoon light seeping in from its windows.

Here, a broom rests behind the door.

I posted a series of children playing in the rice fields in my previous entry. Among them was this muddied boy who gamely posed for us.

We stayed at Alibama Inn, across George’s Guesthouse. Alibama Inn has a discreet, beautiful simplicity to it. And the pine wood gives a clean, homey finish.

Just a random lamppost.

Gotta finish packing! I’m off to Batanes!

9/29/08

On the way to Bomod-ok Falls, we chanced upon a group of children playing in the Bangaan Terraces. Like carabaos cooling off in the mud, these kids were playfully rolling in the wet, good earth. Now that’s mudslinging without the negative connotation.

This one looks like he’s retreating from an attack.

After getting all muddy,  an irrigation lane is a convenient refresher.

Time first!

Bangaan Rice Terraces or Bust!

9/29/08

We took the Cable Tours bus (E. Rodriguez Avenue, in front of St. Lukes and Trinity University) to Bontoc and stopped for a brief photo opportunity at the Banaue Rice Terraces.

A stream cuts across the terraces.

Is this meant for the second harvest?

Banaue or Bust!

 9/26/08

The wind makes an eerie howl, making our parked bus tremble. Streams of cold air sneak inside the windows, making its way to its already shivering passengers. Without warning, the bus lights go off and we are plunged into a frigid darkness.

Outside, everything is a hazy world of white and grey. Even the powerful beam emanating from our headlamps cannot pierce through, rendering almost zero visibility. To navigate, we point our lights to the ground nearest our feet and then choose a direction to walk to, hoping that our choice takes us to the nearby sari-sari store or at least, back to our freezing bus.

We never thought that a simple decision of delaying our departure by a couple of hours would lead us into a very, very cold mishap. We just thought that a few extra hours in Sagada would give us more time to linger and waste away. We were not rushing. We wanted a pleasant breakfast before scurrying back to our boring urban lives. But we never wanted to get stranded.

That day we woke up to a moody Sagada. She was drenched with rain and the clouds seemed to have migrated from the mountaintops to the streets. Still, she was beautiful. A bit down, damp but still effortlessly beautiful.

Sagada has never failed me. This was my fourth time to visit Sagada and still upon planting my feet on its rich, red earth, I still feel her welcome. Perched high in the Cordilleras, Sagada offers its visitors a reprieve from the usual tourist haunts. It exudes a quiet and simple charm that other destinations just cannot offer. It’s one of those places that gives a steady feeling by just being there. Sagada is my personal sanctuary.

By around 11AM, we bid farewell to Sagada and hopped on a jeepney bound for Bontoc, the capital of Mountain Province. If we were to arrive in Baguio by nighttime, this was the way to go.

There’s this unexplainable feeling I get whenever I begin to travel back home. I think it’s a combination of triumph and acceptance. Triumph because once again, you’ve deviated from your norm and again experienced the cathartic power of travel and acceptance because once again, you’ll join the ranks of routine and repetition back in the city. What I didn’t realize was that my trip wasn’t finished. Not just yet.

Rain was torrential in Bontoc too. I was beginning to have the impression that a real storm was rocking the region. Motivated by our responsibilities waiting for us in Manila, we took the next D’ Rising Sun bus to Baguio City.

The Halsema Highway, which slices through the rugged mountains of Mountain Province and Benguet, is the highest major road in the Philippines. Even on a bad day, Halsema presents stunning views and vistas of one of the most pristine places in the country. By virtue of terrain and geography, this highway is also notorious for landslides.

The bus comes to a halt and we are jolted to consciousness. Checking my watch, I learn that we’ve been traveling for almost 2 hours already. Our driver was nowhere in sight and most of the other passengers were indifferently sleeping as if the delay was an ordinary occurrence. In front of our bus were more unmoving vehicles, a sign of a motor-related incident.

Rex, Leia and I decided to explore the situation to provide answers to our unending questions. Stepping outside of our bus, we were attacked by the spine-chilling wind and rain from all directions. We were armed with jackets and umbrellas, so we didn’t care. On the road, a steady brown stream was bleeding through. A few meters from the first halted car, we found the source. A huge chunk of earth slid onto the road, blocking the passage of vehicles entirely. Helpless and with nothing to do, we surrendered and had our pictures taken beside the landslide.

Back at the bus, the locals didn’t seem to care about the situation while we city boys and girls were cranking our paranoia to the next level. What if help doesn’t arrive? What will we eat? When will we get back to Manila? What about work?

At that moment, I wanted to be like the rest of them locals. Nonchalant, casual, laidback and accepting. But I couldn’t. I guess that’s what Manila does to you. Brought up competitively to challenge fate and circumstance, on the far corners of our worrying minds, we even thought of clearing the landslide with our own hands.

Between eight people, lunch was 1 bag of Mr. Chips, 1 pack of Oreos, 1 Goldilocks slice of bread and a pack of Dewberry cookies. Really filling, good stuff.

After almost 3 hours, a bulldozer appeared from behind like a godly apparition. I’ve seen bulldozers a lot of times before but this was my first time to feel comfort and assurance at the sight of a yellow construction vehicle. Soon enough, we were moving along Halsema once again.

At this point, a minor stop would send us standing and looking around to check for landslides. Talk about being paranoid. At one point, we tried to drive over a minor landslide and our bus slipped slightly to the right where a cliff was conveniently positioned. We all squirmed in our seats, holding tightly. Occupying the right-hand window seat, I had an unrestricted view of where our bus was to plunge, should we fall. I closed my eyes in utter fear. Think of happy thoughts Cedric.

By around 5PM, another line of stopped cars loomed to view. We were in Sinto, on the border of Mountain Province and Benguet. After about 30 minutes, vehicles began reversing and started going back. Soon, our own bus started making its way back to Sinto town proper. Our driver parked the bus somewhere convenient and with that he stepped out. Without warning. Without saying anything.

I suspected that we were going to spend the night in Sinto. After inquiring outside, my suspicions were confirmed. Night was fastly approaching and the cold was only getting worse. I knew that a lodge was somewhere nearby but the only way we were going to get there was if we walked. The fog was so thick, the rain was relentless and the cold was simply intolerable. We were down to our last sets of clothing. We wouldn’t survive the walk.

We were left no choice but to spend the night in the bus. Rex, Tee and I set out to find food for our group. Pickings were slim, but we didn’t care anymore. We bought ten packs of Lucky Me Pancit Canton, 3 small cans of Gusto Vienna Sausage, bread and Royal Tru-Orange. By this time, we felt like family and it was a feast. Never mind if we didn’t have plates. Never mind if our shared cup was made from an empty soda bottle. Never mind if all we ate was full of preservatives. Never mind if we were shivering in the cold. We were just happy to eat.

Just before sleeping, we set out to the sari-sari store to return the plastic forks that we borrowed. I swear it was one of the coldest nights I have experienced here in the Philippines. Inside the store, we were offered some shots of Ginebra and we didn’t decline. Here’s to the kindness of strangers.

Inside the bus, we were like meat being refrigerated. Or for a better metaphor, like beer being chilled. All of us struggled for warmth and employed different tactics. I tried looking for additional clothing but all my clothes were either damp or wet. The quiet was unnerving, only to be disturbed by the distant barking of a dog or the occasional whistling of the wind.

I brought out my iPod and decided on listening to Explosions In The Sky, a post-rock band that I often listen to when I need to think and be alone. Explosions’ songs do not have lyrics, just a streaming progression of music. Yet, their songs speak to me. I guess it evokes and amplifies whatever state you’re in. Happiness is the last thing Explosions is all about. Hope maybe, but happiness no.

When I finally ran out of things to think about, I finally allowed myself to sleep.

I woke up shivering, my uncovered feet already numb. Outside, the world was still sleeping in the clouds. When there was enough light, we were finally brought to Mt. Data Hotel where we were able to have a respectable breakfast any mother would be proud of.

Our travel continued, but this time only with minor delays. The rain clouds have decided to move on and the sun finally showed itself. Looking past the recent 24 hours, I couldn’t help but to feel proud. I will never regret this experience. I’m even thankful for it. Because even for just a day, we were living in the clouds.

On the way home, I felt the inexplicable feeling again. Of triumph and acceptance. Although this time, it was apt and I was truly bound for home.

——-

Many thanks to the Survivor 8: Leia, Rex, Tee, Charlie, Jan, Ruth and Dean

9/19/08

Shot this while my classmates were shooting portraits for an exercise in People Photography.

Enter

9/19/08

I will be facilitating this workshop. Hope to see you there!

Ilocos or Bust!

8/29/08

Here’s my portfolio for one of my subjects at school, AESCOM 1.

Oso + Aso + Kuneho

Photography by Ced Valera

Acknowledgments:  Blaise Rodriguez, Carms Dinglasan, Kat Texon, Andrew Sulit, Rex Literato, Ayla Liberato, Leyna Torralba and Francis Liamzon

Interracial

Have Heart

Prom Date

Karate Kid

Petunia

Smoking By The Poolside

Hunting

Workers

Bitchin

Snoop Dog

Road Rage

Post

Trash Bag

All rights reserved.

8/9/08

My Morning Habit (Photo borrowed from Ayla Liberato)

I woke up from the surreal imagery of revolving worlds and camera flashes in different colors. I guess alcohol-caused nausea can jolt you into consciousness. With a botched sense of balance, I carefully made my way out of my tent. I nearly stumbled face-front but I managed to get out unscathed.

Outside, a half-filled container of distilled water loomed into view, strategically positioned to cue me into replenishing the liquids I lost due to an evening’s worth of dehydration. It was around six in the morning and though I was still sleep-deprived, I had to wake up to shake off the effects of cheap gin, brandy and tequila. Hangovers can cause unbearable feelings.

It was sort of a gloomy morning but still the turquoise waters in the distance looked every bit refreshing. A steady, cool breeze was blowing, a complete opposite to the warm, humid air that hung around stubbornly inside the tent. Some campers had already woken up and had begun strolling. They were the ones who turned in early the night before. Those who partied till the wee hours were still soundly asleep in their sandy tents. Some had not managed to crawl back to their tents and were left lying in damp groundsheets next to emptied bottles, crumpled plastic cups and all sorts of litter. It was like a scene from an American Pie sequel, where a great night had just passed and a slow-rising sun revealed the aftermath’s casualties.

It was a perfect moment to light a cigarette, but I had already run out. I glanced around for the usual suspects, but they were all in deep slumber. Besides, I knew they had run out as well. And even if I wanted to roam around to search for someone who still had some, my mind and body couldn’t coordinate properly.

I clutched my water container and clumsily dragged myself to a spot under the tree, with an opening that provided an awesome vista of the unchanged sea. There, I sat and stared blankly at the ocean with my hand holding my head for support, rehydrating at every opportunity. Friends have told me that this is my island morning habit. I tell them that water is my one, true friend.

After a good 40 minutes, I had successfully eliminated my hangover and my secondary dilemma of sleep-deprivation presented itself. I didn’t want to go back to my tent. That would’ve been regressive. I rummaged through my backpack to find my malong. I walked away from the campsite and over to the shore where I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed by the sounds caused by other people waking up. On the way, one of my classmates who was already eating her breakfast asked “Anong gagawin mo?” “Matutulog,” I casually replied.

And with that, I wrapped myself inside the malong, lay down on the cool sand and went back to sleep.

Good morning Calaguas Island.

08/08/08

Finally the bus came to a halt and everyone slowly unraveled from their seats. Almost everybody had wrapped themselves like cocoons, using whatever excess clothing they had to fight off the relentless cold air spewing from the air-conditioning.

Outside, everything seemed to be bathing in gray – the kind of sunrise you get when clouds are in the way. Some of my companions had already brought out their cameras, I, smoking a cigarette in disbelief. As if on cue, a taho vendor appeared and offered us a warm soy-based respite. I smoked another cigarette to shake the chills away.

Greyhound

We have arrived in Daet, the capital of Camarines Norte and the port in the nearby town Vinzons is just a couple of minutes away. It’s a cozy municipality, boasting of small town establishments and at roughly six in the morning, it was already buzzing with a hint of economic activity. They even have their own Jollibee, which these days is an indicator that you’re not too faraway from city comforts. Yet, Daet still remains a 1st class municipality, just a referendum away from cityhood.

e returned to our fortunately defrosted bus and headed on to the port where our final ride awaited us. By the time we arrive, the sun had decided to shine a notch higher and this set an undeniable excitement in the group. Two large fishing boats were already parked in the muddy river bank and its crew loaded our backpacks somewhat systematically. While waiting, most brought out their cameras and started snapping away at local, sun-kissed Bicolano children intrigued by the arrival of a busload of Manileños. Although this part of Camarines has been surfacing recently in travel related media, it certainly is not your usual popular Boracay or Puerto Galera. To the uninformed (and there are a lot of them) the word “Calaguas” will just trigger responses of “Saan yun?”

Riverine

But my camera lingered in its bag. It wasn’t that I wasn’t thrilled. It’s just that I had been shooting a lot the past few months for school and I just wanted to vacation. So there.

Finally our sea voyage commenced and we slowly floated along a mangrove-lined river, carefully avoiding the shallow portions lest we get stuck in the muddy bottom. Our aged but handsome boat sliced through the placid river and everybody was warned to relish the pervading serenity.

Estuary

Soon enough, the river widened rather abruptly revealing an awesome blue mass of a sea and from the estuary, the breaking whitewater could already be seen. The photographers hastily put away their cameras and braced themselves for the inevitable force of the open sea. Our boatman relates that tourists rarely visit Calaguas this time of the season because of spotty weather which easily turns an easy 2-hour trip into a brutal 4-hour nightmare. But we are not your average tourists and we certainly aren’t the faint of heart type.

During boat rides, I often find myself seated near the boats bow where the sea spray is most felt and where the breeze is strongest. As long as conditions can allow my iPod to remain dry, my ears are usually stuffed with headphones blaring with my current travel anthem.

This summer I discovered Angels and Airwaves, a modern rock band led by Tom Delonge of the defunct Blink182. Their song “The Adventure” is grand, inspiring and builds up to a “now moment .“ It climaxes with these lyrics repeating over and over:

Hey oh here I am / And here we go / Life’s waiting to begin

It’s a complete sensory barrage which I feel nowhere else: the tireless wind rustling my hair, the salty water hitting my face, the taste of the sea in my mouth, the mild nausea and the music all reminds me why I travel. It reminds me of being alive.

Mahabang Buhangin

By the time Mahabang Buhangin was in full view, the sun was now in it’s fiercest and the clouds had stepped aside. As we approached the shore, the water began to lighten from a deep blue, to an emerald green and finally to a clear, light blue which can only be equated by the most chlorinated of swimming pools. The feeling amongst us was just electric, acknowledging to each other that the beach simply and overwhelmingly rocks. All I could muster was a loud “Beach!” in my most victorious voice.

At last the soft, white sands of Calaguas have touched my feet once more, my every step leaving a huge footprint. Save for a few locals, living on the island, there was only us, rendering an exclusive feeling to a place so precious at times you’d wish others wouldn’t discover it. But that’s just selfish.

Little One

The sun was beaming so gloriously that I had an unstoppable compulsion to unload my camera and began shooting. Beaches’ colors appear best when photographed in high and direct sunlight and after clicking about 20 frames on my digital camera, I was done and happy with what I got. I then brought out my film camera loaded with Ilford Delta 400 and shot my brand of travel photography. After finishing that roll, I stored all my gear and rushed to soak in the beautiful, beautiful waters. So much for photography.

It was a perfect, lazy island afternoon spent playing cards, drinking Tequila shots and attempting to play frisbee which because of the steadfast winds fastly turned into patintero and agawan base. That night was spent like any of our island nights – partying island style which consists of getting soused with cheap alcohol, laughing uncontrollably and rocking to the Eraserheads.

And I wasn’t in the company of strangers. At first, these people were just travel buddies – acquaintances who see each other during trips brought together by the forces of logistics and happenstance. But because of the blessing that is the internet, we soon found ourselves meeting up in Manila for dinners, birthdays, badminton matches and all-out drinking sessions. Despite the differences we have, we all have a common interest that is a great force in our lives: travel. No, I wasn’t in the company of strangers. I was in the company of good friends.

At around 3AM, after all the bottles had been emptied, and everyone had retreated into their tents and I was sure everyone was okay, I crawled into my own sleeping space. I knew that a huge hangover was awaiting me in the morning but I had always been an optimist. And with that thought.

Wasted. Happy. Alive.

8/3/08

I have not done anything this weekend but to waste away.

Grid

It all started when I got home at around five in the morning from a long fun shoot and an early morning breakfast at RJ Bulalohan at Mandaluyong. It had been a cold, damp night and the chilly wind suggested it would drag on to the next days.

My waking hours were spent aimlessly wandering online, clicking the remote and for lack of a cool metaphor, sleeping.

Sometimes, the sun would show but it would soon be eclipsed by the thick, grey clouds hovering, tagging along the usual rain and the wet breeze.

Movement is not an option.

P.S. At the attempt of doing something remotely productive, I walked over to the pool and shot an image of this leaf.