Being one with civilization most often than not could cause the sanest people to flip out for no apparent reason, whatsoever. Metals and glasses on cement could never suffice at all for the much needed landscape that could soothe the mind. The smog that we religiously breathe in wouldn’t be of such help either. The noise, most especially, can leave us at the edge of our patience. You can spend your days bitching about it or better yet dealing with it head-on! Well I dealt with it (after much bitching, for sure!)! So, it was then that me and my equally crazy friend, no other than the Queen Bitch Herself, Leah (I’m the Bitch Emperor, just so you’d know), has decided to spend the holidays on high level altitudes! I don’t mean climbing up a thousand flights of stairs just to prove the insanity clause, which is way too flagrantly on-your-face obvious. Of course I meant going to Sagada (and as if the title of this thing will never give you an inkling of any sorts on what this is all about)! So my Sagada cum Holiday adventure starts…
December 21 was a day to be reckoned with. A day to be specially marked on my “Significant Days” calendar, for it is one of those days (to be politically correct, it was actually night, since we left the city during the night, but duh! who would ever give a shit?) that I considerably, possibly, probably, may have lost some weight (well about half a micro-pound). Why? Well, stupidity played a major role, but I have to blame it on my career for reclaiming my life and forgetting to borrow hiking packs from some of my friends (weird, I heard the loudest lightning ever!). So in the absence of a major bag in which I can lug all my stuff in, I brought 3 big bags instead! My brown Elle bag for my laptop, my Addidas sack for my gadgets (hair drier, hair iron, phone chargers, The Zahir by Paulo Coelho, green peas and my BFF Espoir) and my gray ukay-ukay bag for my clothes. I just wonder, if I got to carry all of my bags and hike all the way to Baguio, I can let Quasimodo take a vacation and I will be the next Hunchback of Notre Dame (at least I get to live in Europe!)! That could be fun! But then I could cause a major national incident the next time I get my toenails done, the nail technician will die at the sight of my corns as humungous as the Banaue Rice Terraces (or is it Bocaue Rice Terraces? Haha)! Anyways, back to the adventure. So it was then, on the 21st night of December, together with the Bitch Queen, that we have decided to torture our asses for 5 hours on a trip to Baguio, to segue us into the paradise that we set our minds on.
After two stops, where Victory Liner obligingly gave us, and some centuries after, we arrive at Baguio at around 6 AM. Upon disembarkation, the cold air slammed at our faces like two chismosas bitch-slapping each other. I, on the other hand, with my intellect left somewhere between Manila and Pangasinan, was wearing shorts that just grazed above the knee. Mind you, the cold air that crept up my thighs weren’t that pleasurable as others might think. Dragging my near-freezing full-muscled ass plus my 3 purgatories (my bags, that is), the Bitch Queen and I gleefully took a taxi that would eventually take us to the Dangwa station, where we will take a bus ride to Sagada. On our way there, we announced our arrival to the populace of Baguio by messing around with the city’s pollution by exhaling air to create fog. We bought bus tickets when we got there and decided to eat breakfast at a nearby cafeteria (where a sign says that if you’re not a customer and you use the café’s comfort room, you have to pay 500 pesos, makes you think why you shouldn’t buy food instead). Leah had her first complete meal of the day – coffee and water. I, on the other hand, considered the next 7 hours of having nothing to stuff in my throat but air, and so decided to have a plateful of rice, lechon kawali, vegetables, and Milo (but I, being the Bitch Emperor, I would like to call it Hot Choco). After masticating the fried crunchy suckling pig and fresh foliage, we decided that our bus co-passengers are all ready to feel our presence. After our asses had found a place to amalgamate, we doze off for a while (contrary to popular notions, us bitches need to rest also).
I was unabashedly shooked up one time when the bus took the sharpest curve ever and my head, which was dangerously lolling off the side of my headrest, fell and rolled out of the door (it rolled in garden and under a bush and then my poor meatball… was nothing but mush hehe). Seriously, the term twist and turns was graphically demonstrated by the roads leading to Sagada. The only way to stop your ulcerated stomach from churning and regurgitating your last meals was to distract yourself from the view on the other side of the road (One, rice terrace, Two, rice terraces, Three, rice terraces, etc). You can even wave at the clouds. But then, you’d have to endure the blatant stares and chuckles afterwards, so you might rethink that after all. You can exercise your mandibles and nibble on anything, nuts, candies, tissue paper, whatever. At least after the journey, you’d have the greatest chiseled jaw; Gretchen Baretto would give her Swarovskis to the poor. Reading is out of the question. Don’t ever try reading Paulo Coelho’s poetic verses at high altitudes and when you’re in great swooshing motion and you’ll have the worst case of vertigo – hand-delivered by Lucifer himself. If you already got tired from staring (or emotionally breaking down) at the scenery outside, you can always work out your intellectuality and whip out your incendiary wit by talking about other people’s lives. (I saw a signage once that says, “Great Minds talk about events; Poor Minds talk about people”, or something like that. Well, I talk about everything ESPECIALLY Events and People, so I may have one hell of a mind HA! HA!). After literally crossing seven mountains, enduring 2 freezing piss breaks (try pissing inside a walk-in freezer and you’d get what I mean), and major loss of sensation of my Gluteus Maximus, we finally arrived! Citizens of Sagada, Behold! Drop whatever you’re bringing and fall on your knees for the arrival of Your Royal Bitchiness.
Describing Sagada as a quaint little town is an understatement. Seventy percent of the entire land area is foliage, around twenty percent is the residential area, and the remaining ten percent is occupied by a measly thousand, both mortals and ghosts (I’d assume that Sagada wouldn’t just be a breeding ground for hardcore naturalists but also of free-roaming spirits as well). The Bitch Queen and I went directly to the town hall to register and to check out some activities that we can do, of course we didn’t plan to travel a gazillion miles just to freeze ourselves.
December 21 was a day to be reckoned with. A day to be specially marked on my “Significant Days” calendar, for it is one of those days (to be politically correct, it was actually night, since we left the city during the night, but duh! who would ever give a shit?) that I considerably, possibly, probably, may have lost some weight (well about half a micro-pound). Why? Well, stupidity played a major role, but I have to blame it on my career for reclaiming my life and forgetting to borrow hiking packs from some of my friends (weird, I heard the loudest lightning ever!). So in the absence of a major bag in which I can lug all my stuff in, I brought 3 big bags instead! My brown Elle bag for my laptop, my Addidas sack for my gadgets (hair drier, hair iron, phone chargers, The Zahir by Paulo Coelho, green peas and my BFF Espoir) and my gray ukay-ukay bag for my clothes. I just wonder, if I got to carry all of my bags and hike all the way to Baguio, I can let Quasimodo take a vacation and I will be the next Hunchback of Notre Dame (at least I get to live in Europe!)! That could be fun! But then I could cause a major national incident the next time I get my toenails done, the nail technician will die at the sight of my corns as humungous as the Banaue Rice Terraces (or is it Bocaue Rice Terraces? Haha)! Anyways, back to the adventure. So it was then, on the 21st night of December, together with the Bitch Queen, that we have decided to torture our asses for 5 hours on a trip to Baguio, to segue us into the paradise that we set our minds on.
After two stops, where Victory Liner obligingly gave us, and some centuries after, we arrive at Baguio at around 6 AM. Upon disembarkation, the cold air slammed at our faces like two chismosas bitch-slapping each other. I, on the other hand, with my intellect left somewhere between Manila and Pangasinan, was wearing shorts that just grazed above the knee. Mind you, the cold air that crept up my thighs weren’t that pleasurable as others might think. Dragging my near-freezing full-muscled ass plus my 3 purgatories (my bags, that is), the Bitch Queen and I gleefully took a taxi that would eventually take us to the Dangwa station, where we will take a bus ride to Sagada. On our way there, we announced our arrival to the populace of Baguio by messing around with the city’s pollution by exhaling air to create fog. We bought bus tickets when we got there and decided to eat breakfast at a nearby cafeteria (where a sign says that if you’re not a customer and you use the café’s comfort room, you have to pay 500 pesos, makes you think why you shouldn’t buy food instead). Leah had her first complete meal of the day – coffee and water. I, on the other hand, considered the next 7 hours of having nothing to stuff in my throat but air, and so decided to have a plateful of rice, lechon kawali, vegetables, and Milo (but I, being the Bitch Emperor, I would like to call it Hot Choco). After masticating the fried crunchy suckling pig and fresh foliage, we decided that our bus co-passengers are all ready to feel our presence. After our asses had found a place to amalgamate, we doze off for a while (contrary to popular notions, us bitches need to rest also).
I was unabashedly shooked up one time when the bus took the sharpest curve ever and my head, which was dangerously lolling off the side of my headrest, fell and rolled out of the door (it rolled in garden and under a bush and then my poor meatball… was nothing but mush hehe). Seriously, the term twist and turns was graphically demonstrated by the roads leading to Sagada. The only way to stop your ulcerated stomach from churning and regurgitating your last meals was to distract yourself from the view on the other side of the road (One, rice terrace, Two, rice terraces, Three, rice terraces, etc). You can even wave at the clouds. But then, you’d have to endure the blatant stares and chuckles afterwards, so you might rethink that after all. You can exercise your mandibles and nibble on anything, nuts, candies, tissue paper, whatever. At least after the journey, you’d have the greatest chiseled jaw; Gretchen Baretto would give her Swarovskis to the poor. Reading is out of the question. Don’t ever try reading Paulo Coelho’s poetic verses at high altitudes and when you’re in great swooshing motion and you’ll have the worst case of vertigo – hand-delivered by Lucifer himself. If you already got tired from staring (or emotionally breaking down) at the scenery outside, you can always work out your intellectuality and whip out your incendiary wit by talking about other people’s lives. (I saw a signage once that says, “Great Minds talk about events; Poor Minds talk about people”, or something like that. Well, I talk about everything ESPECIALLY Events and People, so I may have one hell of a mind HA! HA!). After literally crossing seven mountains, enduring 2 freezing piss breaks (try pissing inside a walk-in freezer and you’d get what I mean), and major loss of sensation of my Gluteus Maximus, we finally arrived! Citizens of Sagada, Behold! Drop whatever you’re bringing and fall on your knees for the arrival of Your Royal Bitchiness.
Describing Sagada as a quaint little town is an understatement. Seventy percent of the entire land area is foliage, around twenty percent is the residential area, and the remaining ten percent is occupied by a measly thousand, both mortals and ghosts (I’d assume that Sagada wouldn’t just be a breeding ground for hardcore naturalists but also of free-roaming spirits as well). The Bitch Queen and I went directly to the town hall to register and to check out some activities that we can do, of course we didn’t plan to travel a gazillion miles just to freeze ourselves.
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