✧ Series Note – Banaue–Buscalan–Sagada 2018 ✧
Some journeys carve deeper than the roads we travel.
This three-day escape reminded me that adventure isn’t just about places—it’s about the people we meet, the stories we gather, and the courage we carry.
📅 Travel Dates: Aug 25-27, 2018

“The fog didn’t just cover the trail—it quieted the questions. Here in Buscalan, ink is not decoration but declaration; every tap of the thorn is a whisper from generations past.”

🏞️ Buscalan Village

Buscalan was the heart of the journey.

Almost everyone in our group had one goal: to receive a traditional hand-tapped tattoo from the legendary Apo Whang-Od. Except me and Eric. We didn’t come for permanence. We came for the quiet between rituals—the way the mountains held their breath, the way Apo’s gaze lingered longer than her hands.

Her legacy has long attracted travelers from across the world seeking not just ink but a brush with heritage. The artistry, passed down through generations, remains alive in the rhythmic tapping of thorns dipped in soot and water.

Our five-hour drive through dizzying mountain roads was exhausting. Rain turned the path treacherous—loosened earth, falling rocks, and landslides transformed the zigzags into something feral. Yet between bursts of rain, sunlight lit up the surrounding mountain ranges like divine brushstrokes, urging us forward.

By 4 PM, the road to Buscalan became impassable. Slippery terrain and thick mud stretched out before us. Led by two local hosts, we began our uphill trek through rice paddies, narrow streams, and vibrant fields that seemed to shimmer under a clearing sky. Black pigs roamed freely around the village, adding charm to the laid-back rhythm of Kalinga life.

They weren’t fenced in. They weren’t fussed over. They just roamed—black, glossy, and oddly dignified. No squeals, no stink. Just pigs, living their best mountain life. We came for ink and culture but stayed amused by the local livestock, who clearly had more freedom than we did.

🍬 Sweet Offerings in the Highlands

Our group leader, Ghie, didn’t plan a grand outreach. Just a few bags of candies. It was handed to the kids with a grin, and suddenly, the foggy moment turned festive. Children gathered, curious and wide-eyed, their laughter echoing through the misty alleys. No speeches. No ceremony.

🌫️ Sagada

The next day, we headed to Sagada, rushing to arrive before lunch. Once again, the rain followed us—slippery roads, thickening fog, and a mountain chill that quietly crept into our bones. By early evening, we checked into Valley View Inn and grabbed dinner at Sagada Homestay Inn and Restaurant. Later, as we wandered through the fogged-over streets, the air turned eerily enchanting.

That morning, Sagada stirred to roosters crowing and fog lifting. By 5 AM, we layered up and packed snacks to hike Mt. Kiltepan. Our guide stood ready in the cold, and we were buzzing with hope.

But the sunrise never fully revealed itself—just soft, muted hues behind a curtain of clouds. No grand entrance, but the quiet gray light was poetry in its own right. There was peace in that hush. Gratitude, too.

The sky slowly tinted itself in pinks and purples—a gentle palette for reflection.

🌄 Blue Mountain & Echo Valley

After Kiltepan, our hiking shoes met mud once again at Blue Mountain—its soil tinged with bluish tones, rare and remarkable. Each step felt like a soft battle against the trail, but the effort rewarded us with stark natural beauty.

Later, at Echo Valley, we stood before Sagada’s hanging coffins—an iconic practice rooted in honor and tradition. Our guide breathed life into each explanation, turning cliffside rituals into stories. Sadly, we had to forego caving adventures at Sumaguing and Lumiang. Flooded pathways, lost time—nature had its own itinerary.

Having explored these caves before, I held those memories close. They were unforgettable, yet the challenges had reshaped my sense of risk and readiness.

🚌 Return to Manila

After a final lunch and warm shower, we hit the road home. I expected the scenic Sagada–Baguio route, but we looped back through Banaue. A quiet 1 PM departure stretched into a 2 AM arrival in Manila.

No regrets.

The Cordillera Region offered not just landscapes but lessons—on patience, on history, on artistry preserved in earth and skin. Most of all, it offered connection: with my friends, with locals, and with parts of myself I hadn’t visited in a while.

Meeting Apo Whang-Od was more than an item on a travel list. It was a quiet honor etched deeply into memory.

The trails of Buscalan and Sagada weren’t just carved into the mountains—they etched themselves into memory. From misty mornings to quiet conversations with strangers-turned-companions, each moment felt like a soft echo of something deeper.

📝 2025 note: It’s been a year since I retraced my steps to Buscalan and Sagada. Seven years have gone by, but I still remember how, once upon a weekend, I met fellow warriors—strangers who felt familiar and whose presence made the journey unforgettable. And though the weekend passed like a breeze through pine trees, its warmth stayed—quiet, steady, and unforgettable.

“Where terraced dreams fade into inked traditions and echoes in stone, the Cordillera reveals another face.”