Philippines: A land that time forgot

Famous for its rice terraces and warm people, Banaue and Batad is a must-see part of the Philippines. Aya Lowe treks through this exquisite and relatively uncharted part of Asia.

A picture postcard of the Philippines would depict unspoilt beaches, swaying palm trees and diverse underwater life. But there's a lot more to this Asian country... there's an amazingly wonderful natural world that's waiting to be explored if only you are willing to be a little adventurous and are keen to stray away from regular tourist spots.

Pack your rucksack, slip on your hiking boots, bid farewell to the shopping malls in cities and head to the mountains and you will be rewarded with untamed highlands, humid jungles, active volcanoes and quaint villages where you are likely to meet people who still live in a world that time forgot.

Keen to explore the less-publicised Philippines, I landed in its capital Manila from where I decided to head to the northern regions Banaue, Batad and the famous rice terraces.

As with most of the mountainous villages in the Philippines, the region is obscure and hard to reach.

My first rickety bus ride was from Manila to Baguio, a popular mountain retreat located seven hours north of the capital. The ride itself was interesting with the bus making frequent stops so roadside food hawkers could sell you anything from Balut (a Filipino speciality made with ready-to-hatch hen's eggs), to coconut pies and quail eggs.

After a brief stop here, I set off for Banaue, a destination which looked deceivingly close from Baguio on the map but was a long bone-rattling bus and jeepney ride along harrowing, unpaved mountainous roads. Journeying with us were boxes of squawking, harassed looking chickens, industrial amounts of dried fish, construction material, and more people than the rickety jeepney could handle.

Eight hours later, a tad tired and ruffled, I reached the town of Banaue. Acting as a base camp to the well-known rice terraces, Banaue was characteristically touristy. Brightly named youth hostels, knick knack shops and cafes lined the narrow winding streets. Thanks to the strong American presence in the region during the Second World War, the residents are at ease speaking English than the dialect of the region, Ilocano.

From the ugly concrete houses that stood in stark contrast to the traditional bamboo nipa huts it was clear that the urban sprawl had found its way up the mountains into Banaue. Tricycles wove their way through the busy narrow roads brushing past pedestrians and jeepneys that were bursting at the seams with people coming from the south.

We checked into a youth hostel whose rooms were cosy if a bit basic, but their USP was the spectacular view each window offered. The sprawling rice terraces before us were a taste of the visual feast we would soon experience on our hike to Batad, a village that's nestled deep in the Batad rice terraces in the north.

The terraced area forms part of the Cordilleras region, home to the once feared headhunter tribe, the Ifugao. Declared a Unesco World Heritage Site in 1995, the 2,000-year-old rice terraces cover approximately 10,000-plus square kilometres of mountainous land. If placed end to end the terraces would run halfway around the world, a friend tells me.

Their spectacular beauty first caught the public's eye during the Second World War when an airbase in nearby Pampanga made the area a popular holiday hotspot for the serving American soldiers. And it's not for nothing: the rice terraces are a visual extravaganza. These lovingly man-made terraces were a source of livelihood for generations of local people until modernity began to snake its way up the mountains.

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En route my four-hour trek from Banaue to Batad, I meet an elderly gentleman who belongs to the Ifugao tribe. His name is Ben. In his tribal dialect Ifugao, which is phonetically similar to Japanese, he explains how in the Second World War, he fought for his tribe against the Japanese. Did he do a lot of headhunting during the war times, I ask him. Ben shakes his head, his last two yellow teeth protruding from his wrinkled mouth. "Too many,'' he says. ''I can't remember." The 85-year-old now stands guard over his inherited portion of the rice terraces while his wife stays at home taking care of the family.

He laments that he may be the last person in his family who will take care of the land because his children prefer to take up jobs in the more lucrative hospitality industry.

Ben's woe is echoed by many older tribal members. A lot of them are unhappy with the unbridled spurt in development which they fear may erode their culture.

The fact that the long arm of modernity has begun to catch up with the new generation means that the villagers' main income now comes from tourism. A far cry from their glory days, the elders in the village can often be seen wandering around town willing to pose for photographs in exchange for a few pesos. They live in typical indigenous nipa huts that dot the village. Richard, a tour guide living in the city, was not happy with the rapid changes either: "The modernisation of the village has changed the area a lot. Ugly, modern concrete buildings have sprung up, which [authorities] should have attempted to stop. It is important to preserve the beauty of the area."

Until recently, the customs and traditions of the Ifguao remained relatively untouched. The natives held family values in high esteem and a distinguishing characteristic was their thirst for vengeance if wronged. A tribal member's death would always be avenged through the form of headhunting. However, the inclusion of the Ifugoao tribe into the local government has meant that they have had to modernise. Certain traditions like their war dances are still practiced but customs such as headhunting have long been declared illegal.

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The delights of the region can be savoured in different ways one can undertake a leisurely four-day trek exploring the rice terraces and villages of the region or one can spend just six hours scrambling up and racing down the mountains after having a glimpse of the famous Batad rice terraces. Due to time constraints, I opted for a quick trip up the mountains to see the terraces. Of course, it was by no means easy. But the sight of the spectacular fields was worth it all. The sight of layers upon layers of clay walls that were holding up the terraces was awesome. The recent downpour only magnified their allure. The flooded fields mirrored the moody sky and the lush greenery of the forest in the background created an unforgettable picture. After scaling a few hills and walking gingerly along the clay walls of the ampitheatre-shaped terraces we caught sight of numerous picturesque places and finally a magnificent waterfall. We were not alone up the hills: close on our heels were groups of Koreans, French, and holidaying Filipinas proof of the popularity of the site.

Loud and proud, our guide pointed out beetle nut trees, hidden springs and a variety of wildlife living in the waters of the rice terraces. Later our guide told us that despite the majestic paddy fields, much of the rice consumed in the area is imported from the lowlands. The only annual crop that is produced in the terraced fields isn't enough to feed the surrounding villages, he said. We continued trekking up the mountains and soon left the fields and the villages far behind. Up in the mountains, nature in all its splendour was at its rawest and most majestic. Alpine faces plunged into green ravines, thick forests carpeted mountainous edges, which reverberated with the sounds of jungle fauna...

In the distance we could hear the roaring sounds of a waterfall. Relying on the sound to be our guide, we reached our final destination the Tappia waterfalls. The sight of the gurgling, churning water tumbling through a gorge onto the rocks below was amazing. There was only one thing to do: don a swimsuit, grab a drink from one of the numerous makeshift stores which dot the area and languish in the crystal clear pools of water near the falls.

Ah... Bliss.