First off, it has been brought to my attention that i have misspelled the title of this here internet diary. And to that i say that as this is not the first time i have ever been known to get creative with my spelling, nor will it likely be the last, perhaps we should all just chalk these "mistakes" up as privy to one of my more endearing eccentricities and remember the wise words of Mr. Mark Twain who once said, "I don't give a damn for a man [or woman] who can only spell a word one way." Amen Samuel, amen.
That said...
Deep breath in through the nose and "ahhh..." That is my sigh of contentedness. I am ever so glad to be out of Manila. Baguio, although it is still a rather large city, is much more pleasnat and approachable than the aforementioned, making the couple days we spent there very much enjoyable, indeed. There is a large park in the town center, a ginormormous "people's market" (think farmers market with more raw meat and fish) and lots more of that wonderful, humidity-bred foliage. The only slightly unpleasant part is that what, as for usual, will likely be a loosing battle with the local vermin has now officially begun. Thus far, the score is insects/aracnids 3, eleanor 0.
From Baguio we took a 6 hour bus ride to Sagada, which is a little town even more up in the mountains en route to the famous rice terraces. It didn't seem like the grueling ride daddy remembered from his childhood, not until about hour four that is. For that is the point at which we passed into the mountain provence, the land where pavement gives way to dirt/mud and what passes for a bigde is, to us westerners, really just a couple planks of wood placed precariously across a cavernous revene. But, cheating death yet again, we made it safely to our guesthouse and traipsed around the town and along narrow little philippino sized paths that wound us through the neighborhood (as far as i could tell there was only one). In the evening i treated myself a "shower." By "shower" i mean that i went into the bathroom (where the toilet is), stripped off my clothes and set to diluting boiling water in a kettle with cold water from the sink into a giant ladle which i then poured onto myself, trying not to get too much on the toilet seat.
The next day i awoke feeling clean from my "shower" and ready to hop on a Jeepney bound for Banaue, home of the most expansive rice terraces. To say that it was bumpy would be and understatement. It was definetly not a ride for the faint of stomach or bottom, and yesterday, to my great misfortune, i was representing the former. Whether it was due to the sip of calamance juice i'd had the day before ( that's philippino limeade more or less, but yummier) or my unsightly habit of biting my fingernails no matter what dangerously unsanitary hand rails or sink knobs they may have touched, my tummy was definetly not pleased with me. I harrnessed all the self motivating thoughts of mind over matter (or in this case stomach contents) i could muster and made it all the way to the hotel bed where i remained in a supine position for the next 16 hours. And, after a brief but effective rendevoux with the toilet around hour 4, i woke up almost as good as new in the morning. Vacine, shmakcine, i say! Foreign infectious diseases are no match for my superior cognative prowess. So, after a modest half-eaten breakfast of oatmeal (i wasn't quite ready to tempt the up-chuck gods with garlic rice and salty fish so soon) i hoped onto a motorcycle behind a 22-year-old rice farmer, with dad in the side thingy, and headed out to behold the magestic and mystifying rice terraces (heavy on the myst.. mist). To try and describe them more would be pointless, for i cannt do them justice. I suppose that's the way it goes with wonders of the world, you've just got to get out and see them yourself.
That said...
Deep breath in through the nose and "ahhh..." That is my sigh of contentedness. I am ever so glad to be out of Manila. Baguio, although it is still a rather large city, is much more pleasnat and approachable than the aforementioned, making the couple days we spent there very much enjoyable, indeed. There is a large park in the town center, a ginormormous "people's market" (think farmers market with more raw meat and fish) and lots more of that wonderful, humidity-bred foliage. The only slightly unpleasant part is that what, as for usual, will likely be a loosing battle with the local vermin has now officially begun. Thus far, the score is insects/aracnids 3, eleanor 0.
From Baguio we took a 6 hour bus ride to Sagada, which is a little town even more up in the mountains en route to the famous rice terraces. It didn't seem like the grueling ride daddy remembered from his childhood, not until about hour four that is. For that is the point at which we passed into the mountain provence, the land where pavement gives way to dirt/mud and what passes for a bigde is, to us westerners, really just a couple planks of wood placed precariously across a cavernous revene. But, cheating death yet again, we made it safely to our guesthouse and traipsed around the town and along narrow little philippino sized paths that wound us through the neighborhood (as far as i could tell there was only one). In the evening i treated myself a "shower." By "shower" i mean that i went into the bathroom (where the toilet is), stripped off my clothes and set to diluting boiling water in a kettle with cold water from the sink into a giant ladle which i then poured onto myself, trying not to get too much on the toilet seat.
The next day i awoke feeling clean from my "shower" and ready to hop on a Jeepney bound for Banaue, home of the most expansive rice terraces. To say that it was bumpy would be and understatement. It was definetly not a ride for the faint of stomach or bottom, and yesterday, to my great misfortune, i was representing the former. Whether it was due to the sip of calamance juice i'd had the day before ( that's philippino limeade more or less, but yummier) or my unsightly habit of biting my fingernails no matter what dangerously unsanitary hand rails or sink knobs they may have touched, my tummy was definetly not pleased with me. I harrnessed all the self motivating thoughts of mind over matter (or in this case stomach contents) i could muster and made it all the way to the hotel bed where i remained in a supine position for the next 16 hours. And, after a brief but effective rendevoux with the toilet around hour 4, i woke up almost as good as new in the morning. Vacine, shmakcine, i say! Foreign infectious diseases are no match for my superior cognative prowess. So, after a modest half-eaten breakfast of oatmeal (i wasn't quite ready to tempt the up-chuck gods with garlic rice and salty fish so soon) i hoped onto a motorcycle behind a 22-year-old rice farmer, with dad in the side thingy, and headed out to behold the magestic and mystifying rice terraces (heavy on the myst.. mist). To try and describe them more would be pointless, for i cannt do them justice. I suppose that's the way it goes with wonders of the world, you've just got to get out and see them yourself.
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