As a sheltered little kid, instances when I can travel alone were very, very few, and nothing short of 2-3 weekend trips per month to like, a, mall. With my best friend since 3rd grade. With my dad calling my phone every 10 minutes. So then, to my 16 year old UP freshman self on my first 3 day field trip outside Manila for my Geography 10 class, it was euphoria...and authentic Vigan longganisa. It was all I could do to record every little thing in my then-not very smart phone like a pathetic 12 year old.
Now that I am almost twenty, okay, still sheltered, but relatively more well-traveled, I would like to share my experiences during my first weekend miles away from home - in the jewel of the North, Ilocos Norte.
PROLOGUE: TIBAK MODE
I fought for my Ilocos Geography Trip for almost two months.
And to those who truly know the extremities of my familial relationships, you’d know that waging a war of open-minded reason and youthful rationality à la UP Tibak vs. Budget Cut with these two human walls whom I call “Great Wall of Mom” and “Great Wall of Dad” is a herculean feat.
Yet, I dared. I Because against all doubts, warnings, and financial threats, I dared to push those walls and stand up to a decision I know I deserve: “Gusto kong ma-experience ‘to.”
It was a long, unpredictable battle of midnight arguments, text debates, money issues, companion-hunting, incessant overthinking and overwhelming urges to give up; interspersed by these annoying spasms of rain and sun and storm There were these last-ditch efforts and last-minute rapid heartbeats while I await The Very Truly Final Result (which is different from the The Very Final Result, The Truly Final Result, The Final Result, and The Result). At one point I just wanted to really, truly give up and bawl and scream and kick and punch and throw a huge tantrum right in the middle of CAL Atrium.
But I won.
I see all these signboards along NLEX announcing “Meycauayan” or “Tarlac” or “Pangasinan,” and then suddenly my grade-school Philippine geography lessons flood back to me until I realize how far I really am from home. It was incredibly euphoric! I was just so...happy for God-knows-why, but I may be right to assume that this kind of euphoria goes with the thrill of doing something you’ve never done ever before. I thought I finally began to grasp the gravity of the situation. Or so I thought.
It was when everyone had gotten rid of their initial euphoria and was frozen asleep in that fatal igloo of a bus that the shadows came in to consume my hyperactive imagination. I lay awake for hours, staring into space with my eyes bulging open. And it was then that I realized what “grasping the gravity of the situation” meant.
Moments before, it was “OMG! I am miles away from home! Yey!” and then, all of a sudden, “Wait. Hold on. I AM miles away from home. Yikes!” It’s the sudden childish realization that I have to reprogram my mind into NOT expecting to see Mum and my sisters tomorrow on our dinner table. It’s the disorienting pang of selfish worry, and the countless “what-if’s” brought about by morbid thoughts and text messages about a forming low pressure area on its way to our destination. And finally, the scariest of them all – it’s the sinking feeling in your gut when you have to admit that your parents had been right.
Mustering all the fatigue of the past week and all the soupy-ness in the world, I shut my eyes and tried to fall asleep.
Perhaps I fell into a very distracted and very short slumber. I don’t really know.
PART TWO: HYPERACTIVE ENERGY
It was reeeeeally, reeeeally hard to fall asleep in the bus. Aside from the fact that the bus operators must’ve thought we’re cadavers ought to be preserved in freezing temperature, the possibility to miraculously discover a comfortable, stiff neck-free, and backache-free sleeping position in a freezing tourist bus is practically nonexistent. I woke up early in the morning in a surprisingly sunny but wet Laoag with eyebags the size of my travel backpack and a plethora of missed calls from my Mum.
It was most probably because of the iced coffee Alecs, my travel buddy, and I ordered from Mcdo, but all throughout the afternoon I was a whirling blur of photographical vanity, insatiable hunger and tourist energy. Generally, it was a fine day spent to having our photo taken at every possible moment in every possible tourist attraction with every possible pose.
We went from Paoay church to park/church/restaurant-hopping in Laoag to collapsing once again in the bus and then channeling all our energy to wreak havoc in Bangui Wind Farm. All the while I was thinking how immaculately kind God had been for keeping the weather at bay.
PART THREE: FUN FUN FUN SAND SAND SAND FUN SAND FUN SAND FUN SAND FUN SAND FUN SAND ALL OVER
Ah, the pleasure of remembering the best times. The first word that popped into my mind when I saw Saud Beach and the very pretty resorts lined near its shores was: “Pang-artista.” They were the type of resorts I’d see only in cheesy local movies with some sexy actress in a very tawdry swimsuit sipping a very posh-looking martini while ogling an equally hot actor with bulging muscles. Kidding aside, Saud Beach was, in the simplest of all terms, breathtaking.
The euphoria was coming back. After using up all my remaining energy camera-whoring in Laoag, you’d think I’d crumble and use all my free time just chilling in our air-conditioned room with TV. But the call of the sea was just too much. We washed up, donned our beach wear, ditched our parents’ messages in our phones and our overused cameras, and practically skipped our way to the white sands of Saud Beach.
Cozy bed. Good air-conditioning. ‘Nuff said.
PART FIVE: LOW BATTERY AND EXPECTATION
Understand that by “low battery” I meant my energy, not my camera or my cell phone. After the game I didn’t even have enough energy to wash all beach sand from my hair, and ever so often I tried to comb those tidbits off, until I gave up and scrunched them all into a bored ponytail instead.
We left the resort and Saud Beach at noon, and although we knew the highlight of the trip was over, we were expecting quite a lot from the last two destinations, especially since they include Vigan.
PART SIX: DISAPPOINTMENT
It was most probably because we spent all our energy in the beach, or because we expected a bit too much from our good luck. We trudged the steps of Cape Bojeador lighthouse with practically our tongues lolling in breathlessness, and we all seemed a little too unable to move on from the events in Saud Beach to appreciate anything we see.
Because we had to wait for one poor guy to have his shoulder fixed after a killer wave at the beach, the trip was enormously delayed, and it was already very late in the night when we reached Vigan. We couldn’t possibly blame the guy, for it was an accident, but of course we were all obviously grumpy about it, because it was Vigan, one of the best places in our itinerary. Almost all the shops were already closed, and though Vigan was still immaculately beautiful even at night, it was such a pity that we didn’t get to experience all of Vigan in the hustle and bustle of the daylight. At night, when everyone was either silent or asleep, combined with the gloom of the dripping rain and the low orange glow of the street lights, the heritage village we often see so alive and colourful and and breathtaking in travel magazines seemed dead.
We had our last-minute pasalubong shopping and then we all suited up for the loooong, chilly ride home while playing cards.
EPILOGUE: WAKING UP
It all seemed like a three-night dream.
When I got home, my mind was all too jumbled to recognize the situation, so I fell into a deep, dreamless slumber of around 7 hours before I woke up in an overdose of reality. There was my unfinished work on my study table, there was the pandemonium that is my room, and there was the storm and the ugly brown floodwater in our living room. And somehow, it all seemed so unreal, that seemingly only moments before there were the hot sun and the white sand and the beach and the cool, trouble-deleting waves.
Many times, I had to check my hair for remnants of beach sand so I can actually convince myself that it was all real.
I blinked, scratched my eyes, and tore them wide open. And, for the first time in three days, I woke up.
THE END
P.S. The locals told us "Mano day toy"means "Magkano ito?" in the local dialect.
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