Hiking

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Indonesia - Fiery Blues of Kawah Ijen, Java

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A view of Kawah Ijen's crater lake, known to be the largest acidic lake in the world. Our guide Anto said people still swim in the turquoise blue water. We wouldn't take that chance.

A view of Kawah Ijen's crater lake, known to be the largest acidic lake in the world. Our guide Anto said people still swim in the turquoise blue water. We wouldn't take that chance.

Los Machucambos - Pepito

We leave Bali on a local bus, from the Mengwi bus station to Banyuwangi, on the East tip of Java. A hot and humid 4-hour ride until we cross the narrow waters between Bali and Java on a slow ferry. We arrive at Pepito’s Guest House, a cozy and cheap place in the city with a warm owner, Pepito; he quickly clarifies that the real boss is his wife (I, of course, avidly concur). 

Banyuwangi is a small city with few things to see, but it is the prime location for a night stop over before hiking the amazing Kawah Ijen, one of Indonesia’s most active volcano, topped with the world’s largest highly acidic lake. Before we get there, though, we spend time roaming through the city. We had almost forgotten that Indonesia is largely Muslim (85% of the population). We walk through the small streets as the Muezzin sings the Adhan, 5-times daily call to worship. The locals are all nice and respectful, but the stares are long and now directed at Madie rather than me. We’ll make sure to bring a scarf tomorrow. At night, we eat our first Martabak, a most delicious dish, like a fried pancake filled with duck eggs, onions and your meat or vegetable of choice.

The colors and late afternoon light were just right, making this place the perfect place to sit for a few minutes after our walk around town.

The colors and late afternoon light were just right, making this place the perfect place to sit for a few minutes after our walk around town.

Pepito helps us plan our hike up Kawah Ijen to see the blue flames and sunrise; we will charter with Catherine, another guest of the house for a cheaper group price. For most places we’ve hiked so far, if they’d be located in the U.S., we would have signed three waivers, a blood pact and made five pinky promises. In South-East Asia, if you’re willing and able to walk, your security is your responsibility - so we read online (maybe too much) the numerous warnings for people with asthma, panic attacks or difficulty breathing. Kawah Ijen is an active volcano constantly spitting out sulfuric clouds - and sometimes, the wind is against you.

At 1am we started our journey to see the Blue Fire, an ignited sulfuric blue gas visible at night at the site of a sulfur mine in the Ijen Crater. The flame is intense and too abstract to appreciate here (it’s behind the clouds in this photo).Using …

At 1am we started our journey to see the Blue Fire, an ignited sulfuric blue gas visible at night at the site of a sulfur mine in the Ijen Crater. The flame is intense and too abstract to appreciate here (it’s behind the clouds in this photo).Using the words of our French hiking companion, Catherine, “C’est fou!”

The journey starts with a foggy wake up at one in the morning and a bumpy hour jeep ride. We’re handed over extra jackets and gas masks (I get the pink one), and start hiking in the pitch black night - the chill immediately reaching our bones. Unfortunately, we did not ask for a “tall white guy” jacket, so I settle for my long sleeve and breaking a sweat on the way. It takes us a couple hours to reach the top; we walk carefully on a narrow rocky path down to the center of the crater, close to the source of the sulfur gas. The air stinks; the path is slippery and extremely steep. But the scenery is all the more breathtaking. The blue flashes we could see from the top become 3-meter tall fierce flames, created by immediate combustion of the sulfuric gasses meeting the oxygen-filled air; thankfully the wind is with us, pushing the menacing cloud away, so we get to come as close as the heat lets us. Some of the gases condense into liquid sulfur which continues to burn as it comes down the slope, creating a blue-like lava.

A colorful mix of local guides, miners, and hikers at the ridge of the Kawah Ijen crater, with its sulfuric gas and acidic lake below.

A colorful mix of local guides, miners, and hikers at the ridge of the Kawah Ijen crater, with its sulfuric gas and acidic lake below.

“C’est Dantesque,” our French hiking partner says. I can’t disagree and fall silent to the amazing power in front of us. It‘s hard not to awe stupidly, but the gas mask doesn’t let me. The wind brings a wave of acid cloud, immediately attacking violently my throats and lungs. You’d almost complain and whine, if it wasn’t for crossing paths with miners on their way back, with 75-100 kg of bright yellow sulfur on their shoulders, and no gas masks. For Rp 600-700 per trip, they reduce their life by a decade or two to feed their family. Close to the gas cloud, ceramic pipes help speed up the cooling process, effectively harvesting sulfur. Unlike in Bali, volcanoes are not holy - they're a source of income. We climb back up and spend the sunrise looking over the crater and the green acid lake. The scenery is right out of an old star trek episode. My throat feels like the day after a rough night with friends at Shotwell. Maybe I’m getting a little nostalgic.

Relieved to have a breath of fresh air at the ridge of Kawah Ijen.

Relieved to have a breath of fresh air at the ridge of Kawah Ijen.

We're back from the hike at 8am, exhausted and amazed; we leave only an hour later on a six-hour train to Surabaya. We stocked up on snacks - meanwhile, Ramadan started. A little girl keeps smiling and playing with me on the train. We pass by the famous Mt. Bromo, choosing not to stop after reading numerous disappointing experiences (including our friends Me & Frenchie). We’ll have time later in our life for an easy jeep ride amongst tourists up the volcano; Our heads are still filled with Kawah Ijen anyway. Instead, we rest for a few days in Surabaya, in a cheap room upgraded with the mosquito net, watching CSI and eating our first McDonald’s in a long time, gulping down longingly a large glass of Coke. Comfort food is a contextual thing.


Links & Tips

  • Kawah Ijen - The awesome volcano of this post. Read more about the blue flames on NatGeo.
  • Should you be wary of the terrible gasses during the hike? Maybe so. We were quite lucky that the wind never really pushed the cloud our way. That said, a lot of the reading online is quite dramatic. After the fact, this was the best resource we found online.
  • Banyuwangi is a 6-hour bus + ferry ride from Bali. We took a bus from the Mengwi station, but the trip can also be started at the Ubung bus terminal. It cost us Rp 130.000 each - but we know now that we overpaid. Make sure never to buy bus tickets from the ticket station, which known to inflate prices. Hop on the bus and negotiate with the driver. The trip can also be arranged with an agency directly from Bali, but will take a full 24 hours if done in one shot (see link above). Better to stop over in Banyuwangi at least for one night.
  • If you do stop in Banyuwangi, make sure to check out our friend and owner of Pepito Guest House. Great rooms, free breakfast, good wifi, and cheap restaurants all around.
  • Where to find the best Martabak in town? We just walk around and look for the deep frying pan. There is no ‘bad’ Martabak.
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Indonesia - Ubud, Bali (or the Tri Hita Karana)

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Mesmerized by the beauty of the Saraswati Temple, a place we weren’t looking for, but serendipitously stumbled upon in the center of Ubud.

Mesmerized by the beauty of the Saraswati Temple, a place we weren’t looking for, but serendipitously stumbled upon in the center of Ubud.

Esbjorn Svensson Trio - Ballad for the Unborn

Ah, Bali. The top destination of Indonesia - the one people fly to - the one people come to eat, pray & love, and to perfect their yoga. Indonesia is a large archipelago of around 13,000 islands, and as big as it is, it was hard for us to find a way to Indonesia without visiting its most beautiful island, or so they say. We come here skeptical, doubtful, almost on alert. We decide to skip Gili and Kuta to avoid the ‘worst’ of it. But despite all our efforts, Bali, and more specifically Ubud, takes us by surprise. After a few weeks of bare walls and unfinished buildings in the Philippines and Labuan Bajo, we fall for the colors of houses, flowers and funeral structures; for the daily tradition of the Canang Sari; for the large green steps built by the rice terraces; for the numerous temples, each with their finite details, monsters and overwhelming peace. We meet the real Balinese, and their unique culture takes us away; the one that stood with its Hindu tradition while the rest of Indonesia became Muslim a few hundred years ago. Maybe we are still rookie travelers, too quick to love the unknown and the pretty, but the heart of the people of Ubud drew us into the Bali we didn’t think existed: the peaceful, respectful and harmonious - the ‘real’ Bali, I hope.

Coming from Labuan Bajo, we land at the Denpasar airport and live our first bad experience with locals - a short altercation with taxi drivers. We were too smart for their own good and tried to work with the local Uber: GrabCar. The local mafia of taxi drivers did not appreciate so we have to walk a kilometer out to get our better price. We’re getting used to walking out of airports. Trusting reviews on TripAdvisor, we make our way to a place called Pondok Permata, 5-10 minutes out of Ubud. It’s a simple, quiet homestay in the Balinese style, owned by a single family who is quick to make us part of theirs. Putu (the son) gives us all the options for activities around here. We understand quickly that we just got lucky, so terribly lucky. Finding a family to understand the root of their country was all we ever wanted. A mere few hours after we dropped our backpacks, we decide that we will stay here until we leave for Java. Screw Gili, Kuta, the large beaches and cold beer; we’ll take the fan room instead.

Just a few macaques at the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary in Ubud. The animals are a bit aggressive here, as they've gotten used to being fed bananas and coconuts by tourists. Still fun to observe, nonetheless.

Just a few macaques at the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary in Ubud. The animals are a bit aggressive here, as they've gotten used to being fed bananas and coconuts by tourists. Still fun to observe, nonetheless.

We settle on a scooter for the first day (for a mere Rp 60.000, or $5) to explore Ubud and its surroundings. We walk through the Monkey Forest, a park with multiple colonies of macaques and a couple large temples. As much as I dislike zoos, this is the best form of cohabitation between an animal shelter and the many tourists visiting it. There’s an effort to maintain harmony and let the rainforest be, with its monkeys, birds and numerous plants. As we drive away, we come across large colorful structures shaped like bulls and horses. We’ll understand later that they are sarcophagi to be burned at a later funeral (read more about this fascinating tradition here). We stop on the road for a cheap lunch (Rp 40.000 for two) with a view of roosters being prepped for a fight. We get to Goa Gajah, the Elephant Cave. At the temple, the cashier dresses me with a sarong, mandatory in any temple here. We avoid skillfully to pay for the extra guide, explore the premises and come to a small temple with an old lady praying. She blesses us with incense, gives us a small flower and puts rice on our forehead and throat. We feel somewhat special (but yes, she pointed to the donation box at the end, still she was super real and the rice was magical or something).

We roam throughout Ubud and the countryside on our scooter, speeding overconfidently through narrow passages. We see many temples that day, small ones, nestled between shops or behind restaurants. We pass by the local coffee plantation to get the 12-cup free taster of coffee and tea, and taste the famous Luwak coffee (or cat-pooh-ccino). As we come back to the house, we’re hollered by Weci, the dad, who is playing at a local event that night. We follow him on the winding road at night to get to the show. It’s a simple outdoor theater, and we’re two of the six spectators. With other villagers, he plays the Jegog, an instrument made out of bamboo. His daughter is one of the dancers telling the traditional stories on farming, swans and love (of course). The show is fun and the dances beautiful - my still-working mind looks at their traditional hand movement and fear for bad cases of carpal tunnel. The bamboo music is surprisingly fun to listen to, full of deep beats created by the larger bamboo. We even get to step on stage at the end and try out the Jegog. A lovely end to a beautiful first day.

On the road through rural Bali.

On the road through rural Bali.

Weci drives us on the second day to the further temples. Just like in the Philippines, this is my favorite time; there’s not much to hide when you’re stuck in a car with someone for a few hours. He tells us stories about Bali, his village, and his house; we tell him about our travels and plans (still no kids?). We learn how some trees and statues becoming holy will be dressed in sarongs, what the tradition of the Canang Sari means, and what Bokashi is (the best remedy for mosquito bites, sore throat, stress and just about everything else). We drive by the beautiful terraces of Tegallalang, the perfect place for a photo. But he takes us on the back roads, and it seems that the entire countryside deserves a picture, with its lush forests and endless rice fields. He drives us to Pura Gunung Kawi and Pura Tirta Empul, large temple complexes that we explore for a few hours. The latter one is built around a natural water spring, revered by the Balinese; its water can cure all diseases. The Canang Saris are stacked near each water spouts. Locals who follow the tradition will put their head under every one of them. I decide against going in the water, too respectful to their tradition (or maybe just a coward). As we drive back (and hear more stories), Weci stops to buy Bokashi for us, and two portions of Babi Guling wrapped in banana leaves, one of the local delicacies that I can only describe as lechon with rice, blood sausage, and a spicy sauce. The local beer, Bintang, washes down the best lunch we’ve had in a while.

One of the most revered temples on Bali is the Tirta Empul, know for its holy waters that flow from sacred springs. Locals and tourists flock here to make offerings, bathe, and pray. It's a beautiful and spiritual place, even with the crowds.

One of the most revered temples on Bali is the Tirta Empul, know for its holy waters that flow from sacred springs. Locals and tourists flock here to make offerings, bathe, and pray. It's a beautiful and spiritual place, even with the crowds.

After a short sleep, we wake up at 2am for a sunrise hike up Mt. Batur. During the hour drive, we meet another guest of Pondok, Becca - our new friend from Seattle. We start hiking in complete darkness up a steep rocky path for two hours with our guide. It’s steep, tiring and chilly. Our friendly talk with Becca stops early, leaving room for heavy panting. I hide cowardly behind Madie’s need for stops to catch my own breath. Our breath is steamy - who would have thought we’d get close to freezing temperatures in Bali? After a long wait at the top, the sun starts showing rosy colors behind a sea of magnificent clouds. There is no landscape, only us above clouds, with larger formations at the horizon building a cloud-like mountain range. The sun peeks shyly through giving it a pinkish color, an enormous cotton candy. It’s impossible to take pictures, at least not for me. I turn to Madie, only to find her sound asleep. I mistakenly wait to wake her up; a few minutes later, a dense fog comes in that would make San Francisco jealous. I guess the magnificent sea of clouds rushed onto us. We make our way down and finally see the landscape and nearby lake as the sun starts winning over the clouds. Lava painted the landscape in dark stone on which few things grow. Between the lava patterns are forest and fields of onions, chili, cabbage and many others.

Rolling green hills over black lava on the way down from our sunrise hike on Mount Batur. This valley produces a wealth of crops for Bali, because of it's rich, fertile, volcanic soil. Lots of corn, chilis, cabbage, tomatoes. 

Rolling green hills over black lava on the way down from our sunrise hike on Mount Batur. This valley produces a wealth of crops for Bali, because of it's rich, fertile, volcanic soil. Lots of corn, chilis, cabbage, tomatoes. 

We arrive back at our homestay around 9am and get a few hours of sleep. In the late afternoon, we meet another member of the Pondok family, the mom, for the mandatory cooking class. I learn to cook with tempeh, a more meaty version of soy thanks to the process of fermentation. I make delicious fried mashed potatoes (Bergedel), chicken satay with a spicy peanut sauce (Sate Ayam with Gado-Gado), fish in fresh coconut milk (Bumbu). I promise myself to buy a large mortar and pestle when we have a kitchen again. Simple recipes with always the same tricks: mash all spices in the mortar (never season on the mortar itself), mix with your deliciousness of choice, and preferably fry the outcome. Balinese food is spicy, not sweet, and full of character. And there is no beef around, because of the Hindu religion. 

After a busy few days, we try to slow down to take it in. Ubud took us by storm, and it’s time to let it settle. We have a couple more “rest” days here, in which we simply immerse ourselves in the culture and the small things. We eat regularly at the local warung, get a $6 massage, work and do laundry, and do our best to stop time from running. Ubud is a significant place for us, one where we were able to live with locals and get a taste of the peace of the place. Yes, it’s not all perfect - we sometimes felt like a large walking dollar bill, whether in the Denpasar airport, the Mengwi bus station, or passing the many stalls selling overpriced sarongs near temples (all temples with entrance fee offer a free one). We know we pay more than the locals in most cases; the better places have domestic and foreign prices called out. Bali is a top attraction and this is felt throughout the island. But the stillness of Ubud, we have not felt anywhere else. We got lucky with the dear family at Pondok Permata, but it just seems easy to get lucky there, as long as you travel smart and don’t give in to the obvious looking for tourist traps. And if you do, well, you may have spent a whooping Rp 100.000 more than you should - maybe. That’s $7 for you, less than two Starbucks coffees. For them, it’s a week of food. Personally, I’ve just decided that I would pick the right people to get ripped off from. 

On the last day, I try to write down our experience with the Balinese culture and fail over and again; the blinking cursor is unforgiving. But we get lucky again. We forgot to tell Putu about staying an extra night, and he has to send us to another homestay 50 meters away, taken care of by his great-uncle Redjon. We get to a beautiful garden with a pond and a small wooden shelter for meditation; we are shown a pretty room with AC (we’ll find out later that we stayed at the Redjon Guest House). Unfortunately, we can’t stay long and wake up the next day in the early hours; we need to go to the bus station to start our journey to Java. We get coffee at a nearby shop and come back to the house. We’re ready to pay, ready to go, as busy as we know too well to be. Redjon slows us down and asks us to sit to hear the story of Bali. I fall into his words and stories and learn about the Tri Hita Karana, the tradition at the root of the Balinese philosophy. It is used universally on the island, whether it is to build a new house, make a decision about the village, or act with a random person you just met. The literal translation is: “The three causes of well-being,” promoting the following principles: harmony from human to human, harmony from human to God, and harmony from human to nature. In the last few minutes of our time in Ubud, I finally start to understand the place, and why I felt so at peace with its people, the city and the environment they are both part of. Everything is built with the Tri Hita Karana, whether it is to respect God, Nature or the People. All the social interactions with the Balinese are immersed with it. Everything, everyone follows it. We’ll come back and follow it a little more, we hope, but for now we have to move on to Java - and a completely different experience.

 

LINKS

  • Ubud was our only stop in Bali. We (purposedly) missed Kuta, and a short trip to the Gili islands, better places if you’re looking for a beach vacation, with lots of parties and cheap drinks (or so we heard). We only regret not going to Lombok and hike up Mt. Rinjani, much better than Mt. Bromo as we were told.
  • Transport
    • If you make your way to Bali or other major cities in Indonesia, make sure to check out GrabCar.
    • From Denpasar to Ubud, taxis at the airport will quote you anywhere between Rp 200.000 to 350.000. Walk a little and take a GrabCar for Rp 160.000.
    • At the end of our trip, we took the bus from Denpasar to Banyuwangi on East Java. Bus leaves from the Ubung station or can be taken at the Mengwi station later on. Don’t trust the ticket sellers at the bus station like we did, and get your ticket directly on the bus once you see one in that direction. We learned the hard way that they inflate greatly the prices. The bus ride to Banyuwangi, which includes the ferry crossing from Gilimanuk, took around 6 hours.
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The Philippines - The Route to the Mountain Province

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The route from Baguio to Sagada is an incredible six hours of intense winding roads on a giant bus. It's worth it, for views like this.

The route from Baguio to Sagada is an incredible six hours of intense winding roads on a giant bus. It's worth it, for views like this.

Serge Gainsbourg - Le Poinçonneur des Lilas

Our first few days in the Philippines were privileged, not in comfort but in the luxury of living with family, with their stories and inconceivable hospitality. Leaving San Narciso, we decide to play tourists and head with Dad F to Baguio and Sagada, towns of the Mountain Province. "This will be a long ride," my lady says. "OK, of course", I reply, slow to realize that this will be a story of a journey, rather than one of a destination.

The first of many bus rides.

The first of many bus rides.

It starts with a one hour car ride from San Narciso to Olongapo at 5am, accompanied by the everlasting playlist from Uncle F (this time, greatest hits from Sting). We get in line for a 6-hour bus ride to the city of Baguio. Little did I know that this was one of the most comfortable bus rides we'd find, with front seats and AC. There's even a TV above the driver, plugged to a DVD player stuck in the overhead bin, full of pirated content - not sure Muni or Caltrain would approve. The driver chooses a mix of soft rock love songs, which will play at full volume until arrival. There's another employee on the bus, providing tickets and fares. To my naive puzzlement, he still uses one of those old school hole-punchers (hence the song choice for this post - private joke for my dear Frenchies). I put on earplugs and start getting lost in my Kindle. She makes sure to shove her elbow in my ribs whenever she feels like lip-syncing.

After a few hours climbing the mountain (we go from sea level to 5000ft), our bus overheats and breaks down. We all get out of the bus and wait for the next one. I hope for somewhat of a line, but we're getting pushed every time a bus comes in, as only a few lucky ones will onboard, the others will wait for the next. As I get somewhat annoyed, I remember a few restaurants and other lines we've been in. As tall as I am, I always got pushed aside. But I also realize that no one is complaining, and no one ever did at the restaurant when food ran out; they just move on. I get stuck in between two cultures: a hustling Asian world, skipping lines and grabbing what it can; and an ordered Western world, waiting in line, but also self-entitled to what they paid for, and to make sure to consume. At that moment, I'm not sure which one I prefer.

Baguio rooftops from Microtel.

Baguio rooftops from Microtel.

We get to Baguio in mid-afternoon, with little time to waste, as we're leaving tomorrow for the second half of our journey to Sagada, another 6-hour bus ride.

Baguio is nicknamed the Summer City. I had thought of it as a resort town (in the mountains??), but I understand better as we arrive. Summers are unbearable in the Philippines so people go to colder climates, like in Baguio. Quite the culture shock from my childhood French summers, driving hours on end to the South of France to soak up the sun. The summer house of the president is there - The Mansion. Most places we walk to are nicer and better maintained than we've seen in other parts of the country. We even see a bookstore, with a signing session from a Chinese poet; on the wall are the signs for Baguio's first craft fair. There are no tricycles around (I'll realize later it's simply because they wouldn't be able to climb up the hill). With the cool 65F, it's like a different country. I seldom see poverty and start wondering why -- did they do something different here? My running theory is that Baguio was a big destination for the U.S. military men longing for better temperatures.

The next morning we already leave to Sagada at the early hours. A quick taxi drive to a different bus station reveals the other side of Baguio. The bus station is surrounded by crumbling buildings, still filled with people. Then I understand that Baguio's infrastructure may be better kept, but they're also better at hiding its other side. Even though we're an hour early, the bus we wanted is already full and we have to wait for the next one, scheduled for 9:30am. Not a very big problem. Here, buses leave when they're full, not when they have to.

 This bus ride is a much different story. We have the last seats on the bus, all the way in the back, and I am sitting in the middle, towering everyone. I remember my childhood bus rides when these seats were the most prized of the lot. Here, they're the shakiest and most uncomfortable. Tall white man that I am, I had hoped to stretch my legs, until a woman unfolds a middle seat right in front of me. Her friend sits on my right and is openly grumpy about sitting next to the guy who takes too much room. 

Forced to only look at the landscape and think (no way to doze off or read in these conditions), I spent the most amazing 6-hour ride, as uncomfortable as it may be. The driver speeds through narrow mountain roads, with barely an edge to protect us from a steep descent to what would surely make the news (or maybe it happens too often?). All turns and swerves are exacerbated by the fact that we're sitting in the back of a moving 15-ton vehicle. My latent fear of heights comes back, years after I last experienced it, and feeds adrenaline for a good hour -- until I get too tired to care and finally start looking on my left, at her, ever peaceful. My eyes set on her, then out the window. The landscapes are grand, amazing and indescribable. It's too shaky to take pictures or videos, but she manages to snap a few. It's an endless sea of hills, covered in trees, with the seldom tiny house popping at the edge of a cliff (how the heck did they build this?). We tower countless rice terraces as the sun shines through storm clouds. We pass small villages on peaks that make me recall documentaries about Nepal (which we hope to see later). A big storm breaks through and we have to close all windows, simply listening to the hard rain. We get to a river and have to take a detour as the bridge is not fit to drive. I look at the window as we cross the second bridge. Painted by hand with red, a sign says, "Light Vehicles Only"; the bridge is made with wood and creaks as our bus crosses, with barely enough room.

While most passengers sleep the entire ride to Sagada, silently swaying with every turn, my eyes stay wide open for moments like this... When the clouds break, we slow for the sharp turn, and the rice terraces come into view.

While most passengers sleep the entire ride to Sagada, silently swaying with every turn, my eyes stay wide open for moments like this... When the clouds break, we slow for the sharp turn, and the rice terraces come into view.

After 6 hours of scenery, we finally arrive in Sagada, drained. I find out later that the road we took is called Halsema Highway, and is famous for being in the top 25 most dangerous roads in the world, but also one of the most scenic ones.

We're being shuttled to the Rock Inn in a jeepney. The inn is in isolation from an already remote town. Dogs are sleeping everywhere, not caring about us. We will spend only two days here, before heading back on the bus to Baguio.

Our days have been starting early here. In the province, it's when the roosters start crowing. In Sagada, it's at 4:30am when you want to hike Kiltepan for the sunrise. Three vans passed us on the way up, but we were the only hikers. Little did we k…

Our days have been starting early here. In the province, it's when the roosters start crowing. In Sagada, it's at 4:30am when you want to hike Kiltepan for the sunrise. Three vans passed us on the way up, but we were the only hikers. Little did we know there were campsites and about 20 other vans already there.

Sagada is a small mountain town, a few hours from Banaue, a village recognized by UNESCO for its rice terraces, part of the New 7 Wonders of the World. Exhausted from our trip, and with no envy to cram into tourist buses, we choose to avoid Banaue and only stay in Sagada. M and I hike to the Kiltepan peak for the 5:30am sunrise. As we leave the hotel, a dog wakes up and chooses to come with us. At the top of the short hike from our hotel, we're welcomed by a scenic landscape covered in fog, and countless jeepneys filled with tourists who beat us there. I realize then that this is our first real tourist spot we've visited since arriving to the Philippines ("oh wow - is that a couple of white people?"). A few stands sell coffee, balut or Cup O' Noodles; people wait for the sunrise by taking selfies (with the mandatory hand signs). We hike a little higher than everyone for some peace and wait for the sun to cast its colors on the clouds.

Later (and after a hearty breakfast) we head over to town with Dad F for a tour of the local wonders. Our guide Russell takes us to the Hanging Coffins (some of them perched for the past 500 years) and the Burial Cave. We learn that only the ones deceased from natural causes were allowed to be hung, as they can freely roam the world. The ones with diseases will go to the cave. We hike for two hours in the Sumaguing cave, sometimes half climbing or descending a rope. As I grab on to rocks and feel cool mud under my hands, I quickly understand that it is lovely guano. With my natural and amazing agility, I narrowly escape breaking a bone at least three times, but the experience is amazing. In the U.S., a hike like this would have probably required a helmet and three different waivers. Here, we're only required to take off our shoes, otherwise, it'd be too slippery. On the road back from the cave, we pass by a small valley of rice terraces, with such a beautiful sight that all regrets for avoiding Banaue are gone.

The rice terraces of Sagada. These fields of green are all over the Mountain Province of the Philippines.

The rice terraces of Sagada. These fields of green are all over the Mountain Province of the Philippines.

The rest of the time, we'll lounge, stroll around the town, and scavenge for the rare WiFi connection. Sagada is a pretty, quiet town, amenable to tourism without being overwhelming. We see signs of the 'town rules', as Sagada does its best to not become a party town (curfew is at 9pm). We feel free in the cool air, and long for a couple more thunderstorms.

It's already time to go back to Baguio, and start heading to Santa Catalina (her mom's hometown) and Vigan, another UNESCO wonder. Of course, after another 6-hour bus ride.


LINKS

Halsema Highway, from Baguio to Sagada is #9 in the top 25 most dangerous roads in the world, but is also one of the most scenic routes.

The cool air of the Mountain province should be experienced for anyone visiting the Philippines, but it is far, whether you are driving or riding the bus. We spent 5 days in total, 2 of them riding buses. Driving, or rather finding a driver, will make your schedule more flexible, but not necessarily faster.

Sagada is amazing and almost mandatory to get to Banaue. If you have time, we highly recommend this place. We do not regret not going to Banaue, as we were already overwhelmed by tourists in the few parts of Sagada. We might have missed a few good pictures, but certainly did not miss rice terraces.

Buses are cheap, and the best way to backpack through the northern part of the Philippines, but they are long and never on time. A 6-hour bus ride should be considered a full travel day. Leave as early as you can to beat traffic, and get to the bus stop early. As much as you can, prefer to grab a bus at the original station rather than on the way. We've seen countless people waving for the bus, but it would not stop if already full.