Friday, June 19, 2015

Banaue and Batad (Philippines)

Not far outside of town, we stopped for a better view of the landscape. Archaeological research indicates that it took the native Ifugao people over 1000 years to carve out the rice terraces from the steep slopes and construct the stone walls. To this day, the sheer amount of time and manual labor required means that only one planting of rice per year is possible though other places, e.g. in the lowlands, can get in as many as three! One of the greatest challenges to sustainability of the rice terraces is that young people these days are more interested in seeking their fortunes elsewhere rather than following in the footsteps of their ancestors and maintaining the traditional lifestyle... confirming that brain drain is the story everywhere. We were lucky that we got to meet some of the tribal elders in our roadside break. Many still hold onto a belief that photos can steal a part of someone's soul, but we were able to get permission for a couple of snaps in their traditional dress.

There was also a typical Ifugao hut to visit. It's an efficiency raised on stilts. Nearly half of the interior was devoted to grain storage, and the posts supporting it had wide discs to stop rats and other pests from coming up and inside it. For protection sought in a more spiritual sense, a family may have rice gods ("bulol," or human figurines carved of narra wood and bathed in special ceremonies with pig's blood) installed as guardians of the granary/house. The exterior of the hut seemed a tad menacing with its wall-to-wall decor of dead animal skulls - even more unnerving when you remember they practiced head hunting only way back in the 1970s!?! - but our guide told us the skulls were a signalling of wealth. It makes sense when you think killing a water buffalo (or "carabao") means you're getting rid of what is essentially your dairy and your tractor... but more, much more, on that later. 

Clambering back onto the roof of the jeepney, it wasn't that long before we hit the literal end of the road. A construction site because it's not finished. The only way to Batad is on foot so it was time to haul our packs off and get walking. It was downhill all the way, a relatively easy hike, maybe 45 minutes to an hour, and a fair amount paved. The Batad rice terraces are part of the official UNESCO World Heritage Site and were actually the first property included in the cultural landscape category. The view from Batad was certainly impressive. The tiny village sits about a third of the way up the mountain with rice terraces extending around like a vast amphitheater. It has quite a restive feel - ideal for a quiet morning cup of coffee or watching the afternoon rains of the summer monsoon across the mountains - well, at least we discovered it could be so later.

When we arrived, it was actually a cacophony. The patriarch of the family who owned the homestay had had an illness so serious that no one expected him to return from the hospital. It was now the  anniversary of his miraculous recovery and were they going to celebrate! The entirety of Batad was invited. We were lucky that they still honored our reservations as the rest of the rooms were full up with out-of-town relatives and friends for the big occasion. In addition to the personalized vinyl banner - even in the remote Cordilleras! - honoring the patriarch and praising Jesus, there was music and traditional dancing. But the pièce de résistance was the slaughtering of 2 - count'em, 2! - carabao. It took about 30 men, heavy duty ropes, and giant bamboo poles to pull, push, and hold down the first water buffalo. The appointed man wielded an intimidating machete and proceeded to slit the carabao's throat and hack the body into pieces. It was an incredible sight, although decidedly not a humane one. The stench when he cut into the stomach was overpowering but did not seem to deter the packed crowds. They had a vested interest though. Rather than cook it whole like some kind of pig pickin', much of the beast was divided into portions for people to take home with them. Hours passed, and the butchering was still going on, interrupted occasionally by the calling of a name. That person would rush up to pick up their plastic grocery bag of still warm meat. The blood was scooped into large buckets, and our guide told us this would likely not be eaten and instead used in ceremonies. He also told us the extravagance was a cultural signifier and display of the family's thanksgiving and largesse to the village and guests, which, even as a first generation Filipino-American was not at all a surprise... er, our wedding, anyone? Guilty as charged.

Click on the picture to see the whole album.
WARNING: Contains animal carnage.
Philippines

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