Confessions of a Western Wino: What Lies Beneath: Baguio City, Philippines

Text and photos by Jason McKenney

Back and forth we went, climbing the perilous switchbacks to ever greater heights. Our van ride up the zig-zagging road felt like it would never end. The drive up through the mountains lasted no more than two hours but this was after a full day of traveling by public bus from the fishing village of Sabang to the small city of Cabanatuan. From there we chartered a van to the spectacular Baguio City, a destination hot spot on the island of Luzon in the Philippines. I paid for our driver, a young man named Bert (we called him Kuya Bert, an honorific meaning “brother”), to take myself and my three friends on a weekend trip to the mountaintop city. Finally our Shangri-La was in sight.

Looking down into the valley

My three compatriots were cousins and all three were female. Lori and Rachel were twins in their late twenties. They wore their hair short and dressed in similar board shorts and tank tops always making it difficult for me to tell them apart. Aubrey was the youngest cousin at 25. She was also the prettiest and spoke the best English. Her hair was long and flowing. She dressed in dainty pastel tops with short shorts that hugged her hips in ways that would’ve made the designers proud.

Igorot performer

All three ladies were natives to Sabang and acted as both my guides and protectors, making sure I didn’t get left behind at the remote rest stops or get ripped off at the hotel. With the exchange rate so favorable to American dollars, however, I felt like a prince in this foreign land, dropping money at every whim, sampling the wares of every street food vendor (and there are plenty in the Philippines), picking out gifts for the young kids back in Sabang, and indulging in plenty of warm beer over ice every time we ducked into a new restaurant.

Our cozy hotel room

Baguio City lies within the Cordillera Central mountain range in northern Luzon, sitting at an altitude of about 5100 feet above sea level (just shy of Denver’s 5280 foot elevation and well below Mexico City’s 7350 feet). It supports a local population of just over 300,000 people but also caters to a churning group of world travelers in search of nature, good food, amazing vistas, and plenty of dance halls and bars. Baguio is a subtropical highland and due to its high elevation the temperatures are much lower than other places on the island. There is enough rain, mist, and damp air to almost make one think they’re in the Pacific Northwest. Almost.

Fried baby chicks

“They’re Igorot.” Lori pronounced it Ee-goh-rrot in her thick accent.

“They’re like natives,” explained Aubrey. “They’ve always lived in the mountains.”

Our first stop was at a popular Igorot marketplace that catered mainly to tourists. Shops lined the cobblestone walkways selling food, plants, leather goods, t-shirts, and a host of other souvenirs. The Igorot people (or Cordillerans) are an ethnic group with a long history of living in these mountains and they have taken full advantage of marketing themselves to the tourists who make the trek up to the city. The Igorot are shorter and a little darker than the typical Filipino. In Baguio they can be spotted all over the place dressed in their traditional tribal outfits similar to the way some Amerindian tribe members will in the US in an effort for cultural outreach or entertainment.

Streets of Cabanatuan

Street food was available in abundance: dried sliced squid on a stick, boiled corn in a cup mixed with powdered cheese, and my personal favorite, the day-old baby chicks that are flash fried and served on skewers. These little beauties taste like meatballs dipped in buffalo sauce. They are eaten head, beak, feet and all and are absolutely enchanting . . . in a primal caveman sort of way.

At the end of one particular walkway was an astonishing view down the side of the mountain top into a lush green valley stretching out below. Tiny ramshackle homes littered the valley floor. “Littered” might even be too literal of a term in this case. There was trash gathered up in piles around each of the corrugated steel structures. Papers, shattered furniture, tattered clothes. The leftover remnants of previous lives now being preserved and picked through by local children. On the other side of the basin rose up another inspiring mountain peak. Beyond it another, and another, like the broad shoulders of giants lined up on military parade.

At the strawberry fields

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Aubrey gazed across the open panorama. Wisps of her coal-back hair swayed in the light breeze. A delicious smile perched itself along her supple lips. I put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to me.

“It’s amazing. Thanks for inviting me,” I said. She looked up at me, the smile fading, quickly being replaced by that familiar look of longing that a woman has; that look that tells a man that all pathways are open if you tread properly. It’s also that look that warns “traveler beware.” At least that’s what the little voice in my head was telling me. I wanted to lean down and kiss her, to feel those beautiful lips pressed against mine, but I didn’t. I chickened out. Looking back, it was a smart decision on my part.

Corn with cheese powder

I rented us a room at the Venus Parkview Resort Hotel, located on the west side of the popular Burnham Park. The hotel was adequate if not a little worn down. You could tell that at one time it must have been quite a spectacle. Large chandeliers hung from the high ceilings. A tall set of double doors led into a grand ballroom in the east wing. Still, it’s better days were now behind it. The chandeliers were yellowing, coated in dust. Water stains crept from the ceiling down the lime-colored wallpaper towards the floor making shapes like speeding comets. The flattened carpet was coming loose and frayed near the base of the wide staircase. Regardless, it would more than make do for the five of us (including Kuya Bert) in a room. One night in the Venus Parkview for 5 people in a 3-bed room ran me 2150 pesos ($53). The room was spacious enough, similar to a spot at Motel 6. Two futon-sized beds and a roll-away twin filled the main room.

“How will we sleep?” I asked.
“Kuya Bert gets the roll-away and the three of us will sleep in this bed,” said Aubrey, referring to her and the twins. “You get your own bed.”
“Will you have room?” I asked, trying not to show any disappointment.
“Sure, we’re used to sleeping this way.”
Lori quipped something in Tagalog causing all three girls to erupt in giggles. I could only imagine the jokes they said at my expense throughout that trip.

Tasting rice wine

After dropping off our stuff in the room we took off again to find supper. It had grown dark outside and was raining hard. We ran through the parking lot being pelted with grape-sized drops of warm rain. Laughing and squealing, the girls jumped into the van and clamored together in the rear bench. I sat on the middle bench and turned around, wiping the water off my face with my sleeve.

“We would’ve brought the van up to the door,” I said.

“It’s more fun to run through the rain,” said Aubrey, still trying to catch her breath. Her face glistened. The fluorescent lights from the hotel framed her lovely form in a vivid chiaroscuro. The pink straps of her bra were now visible through her damp white t-shirt.

She caught me looking. “White wasn’t a smart color for this weather I guess,” she said with a giggle, still showing that innocent smile.

Kuya Bert drove us over to a seafood restaurant called Barrio Fiesta. It was a large Igorot-themed place with a couple bars and a nightclub area in addition to a spacious dining room. Due to the rain (I assumed) it was virtually empty save for a large Filipino family sitting at the table behind us.

Deep valley hides much below

We feasted on a king’s platter of clams, mussels, crab, ar-arusep (seaweed that looks like miniature bunches of grapes), bistek (Filipino beef steak), chicken, and plenty of San Mig beer. By the time we were done we left nothing but a pile of bones, shells, and empty bottles as evidence of our gluttony. We laughed, gossiped, took photos and reflected on our day’s excursion. We had spent nearly all day riding around. I had seen beautiful sights of the archipelago I never knew existed. Sights I thought could only be conjured up in movies.

Tourist trap or cultural epicenter?

All this and I still couldn’t keep my thoughts off of Aubrey. Her humor, beauty, and seductive eyes had me enthralled like a tiny Hobbit caught inside a giant spider web. But I just met the girl the week before, and my cynical nature told me something here was too good to be true. Like Baguio City itself, where magnificent mountaintops cascading to the sky distract from the crumbling shanties below. Where many people live hand-to-mouth in the midst of a seeming paradise, there are so many things in life that appear beautiful and perfect at first glance. Take a moment to explore and pick along the edges and the grimy, coated rot below will eventually appear; like layers of corrosion on a forgotten and once-lovely chandelier or an ulterior motive in the beating heart of a beautiful woman.

Our meal finished, we ventured out into the still-pouring rain and returned to the hotel. I fell asleep while watching Philip Seymour Hoffman impersonate Truman Capote on the small TV set. And when I dreamed, I dreamed of soft brown skin, dark eyes like glimmering pools in the moonlight, full lips like ripe fruit. And somewhere in the distance I could hear a child crying for its lost mother.

Shopping for herbs

A few weeks later, after returning to America with a few extra pounds in my belly and a lifetime of great memories in my head, I heard from one of Aubrey’s relatives in the States that the girl was trouble. She was a master of manipulation. She could play the sweet and innocent child with the best of them, using her skills to extract from men exactly what she wanted, namely money. Apparently she was good at gaining a man’s confidence and then asking for money on behalf of her young daughter. Books for school, next quarter’s tuition, new shoes, a laptop, and on and on. But the child would see very little of that money. Instead she spends most of her time with her grandmother in a small house, barely getting by while her own mother continues her endless quest of reliving a rebellious adolescence. Aubrey had already driven off her daughter’s father. Others had also come and gone. I could have been yet another horse on the carousel.

Whitest Filipino King ever.

I felt vindicated for resisting Aubrey’s sweet temptations. A fork in the rode of life where I chose the right direction. The Philippines is a land filled with dichotomies: amazing resorts and some of the poorest people on earth; nature at its best and pollution at its worst. It’s also susceptible to those same universal traits that can be found everywhere. A beautiful woman in constant search for a hand out. A bride of Dracula singing her siren song, pulling her victims ever closer. A veneer of pleasure and kindness on the outside obscuring the dishonesty within. Some dichotomies are great to explore and learn from. Others are best avoided.