After the carnage of the celebration, we headed out for a hike. Before coming, I had debated about packing hiking boots and trekking poles for this portion of our trip. Ultimately, I decided against it due to the weight in our packs and the protestations of Rich and our other companions, "Seriously, it's just a walk. How bad can it be?" Famous last words.
There is a reason the Batad terraces are the grandest and most majestic - maybe we should have expected steep terrain? While we did some traversing, almost all of the hike was stairs. Stairs too numerous to count. Stairs of all shapes and sizes and heights, which actually made it challenging to get a good rhythm going. We went all downhill, then all uphill, then all downhill. Comparisons were made to the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, even. The knees were not pleased... or the thighs or calves or ankles. Rich and I chalked it up to being out of shape, but the runners in our group were also suffering days later. A few sections you had to edge sideways carefully along a muddy ridge, like some high-wire act. My sister had a full-blown freak out. We had to negotiate between slipping into the unknown muddy depths of a field or pitching over the edge of a 20 foot drop off behind us, with nary a hand hold in sight. Luckily, most of paths were, in fact, paved in stone or concrete. The really fun parts were akin to rock climbing, using tiny stone projections to pull yourself up to the next terrace. Narrow stone bridges in the irrigation channels - a few of which had a long fall into rushing water - reminded me of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
The rice terraces are all different fields belonging to different farmers. When you walk in them, you are effectively walking along a farmer's fence line or irrigation canal. I gathered that many tourists just trespass and potentially disturb or damage their crops. One benefit of having our guide was that he had obtained permission to cross their lands and also knew where to go when the routes were blocked off. Since the terraces are like an amphitheater, we actually could watch the perils of a French couple in the distance, who had to keep zigzagging and back tracking, trying to find an alternate route from one of the road blocks.
Our destination was Tappiya Falls. The water comes thundering down 70 meters into a pool where visitors can take a dip. On our way to it, the pounding afternoon rains of the start of the monsoon season caught us just as we were leaving the last houses, and our guide asked for shelter on a farmer's porch to wait out the worst of it. As a consequence, the falls themselves were turbulent and brownish with all of the sediment from rain. Rich, a stronger swimmer, went for a paddle, but I stuck to wading in a little, well beyond the reach of the current. I had to keep my strength up for the hike back!
There is a reason the Batad terraces are the grandest and most majestic - maybe we should have expected steep terrain? While we did some traversing, almost all of the hike was stairs. Stairs too numerous to count. Stairs of all shapes and sizes and heights, which actually made it challenging to get a good rhythm going. We went all downhill, then all uphill, then all downhill. Comparisons were made to the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, even. The knees were not pleased... or the thighs or calves or ankles. Rich and I chalked it up to being out of shape, but the runners in our group were also suffering days later. A few sections you had to edge sideways carefully along a muddy ridge, like some high-wire act. My sister had a full-blown freak out. We had to negotiate between slipping into the unknown muddy depths of a field or pitching over the edge of a 20 foot drop off behind us, with nary a hand hold in sight. Luckily, most of paths were, in fact, paved in stone or concrete. The really fun parts were akin to rock climbing, using tiny stone projections to pull yourself up to the next terrace. Narrow stone bridges in the irrigation channels - a few of which had a long fall into rushing water - reminded me of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
The rice terraces are all different fields belonging to different farmers. When you walk in them, you are effectively walking along a farmer's fence line or irrigation canal. I gathered that many tourists just trespass and potentially disturb or damage their crops. One benefit of having our guide was that he had obtained permission to cross their lands and also knew where to go when the routes were blocked off. Since the terraces are like an amphitheater, we actually could watch the perils of a French couple in the distance, who had to keep zigzagging and back tracking, trying to find an alternate route from one of the road blocks.
Our destination was Tappiya Falls. The water comes thundering down 70 meters into a pool where visitors can take a dip. On our way to it, the pounding afternoon rains of the start of the monsoon season caught us just as we were leaving the last houses, and our guide asked for shelter on a farmer's porch to wait out the worst of it. As a consequence, the falls themselves were turbulent and brownish with all of the sediment from rain. Rich, a stronger swimmer, went for a paddle, but I stuck to wading in a little, well beyond the reach of the current. I had to keep my strength up for the hike back!
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