With sprees following one another, I was edgy to go out and loosen up myself outdoors in the sun. For what better means to use up a holiday than to be out seeing the sights about, taking in new things to see, and letting the world immerse into you!
My programme was to go bicycling towards the countryside, but there were no two-wheelers to be had on rent. I therefore decided to go on foot. I took a motor vehicle into service to get to a hilly place. Then, I set on my trip under my own steam.
A few steps ahead brought me to a divergence from where I took the left route passing about the knolls towards a farm and a village. Spotting an undersized fishpond right down from the knolls, I decided to go and have a look. This brought me nose to nose with the central knoll that stood right over the main path I had been on. There were two more knolls closest to it, and together they made up an imposing make-up, at once challenging the human strength of character to come and get the better of it.
Travelling closer to the base of the knoll, I spotted a man ushering water buffaloes beside the centre of the knoll and moving towards my direction. I met him on the course, and he informed me, after enquiring as to what footgear I had on, to go up the knoll head-over-heels, taking the crisscross direction. Some other men were schlepping earthen wares such as the kuron, a round-bottomed, wide-mouthed clay cooking vessel; kalan, a clay stove; paso, a plant pot; and banga, a container used solely for storing drinking water. I asked them what they were going to do with those products, and they at once put me in the picture that they sold those in local market.
The trails cut across the entire slope of the knoll from right to left in a difficult pattern, and with water buffalo muck strewn across them, it looked as if these courses had been formed by animals browsing on the knoll slopes athwart. The routes were narrow enough to let a man scramble with watchfulness, so I was in awe at how a four-legged brute could have followed such routes.
The climb was not tricky, and I soon reached a place more than halfway toward the pinnacle to take some break. The inspection of the surroundings was a welcome sight—the area I have travelled through was a gigantic meadow surrounded on its sides by imposing mountain peaks. The countryside consisted of small, messily cleared fields with no distinctive pattern, and trees spread across the landscape. Cutting across the pitch was the highway, all along its route spotted by a sprawling series of cottages, some still in one’s hand.
I continued to climb the slope, and had to often stop and fix on which way to turn, sometimes receding on reaching a cul-de-sac. I had now about a cut up of the knoll more to climb and was on its left side when I spotted some men in colourful clothes climbing the hill on the left. They were following a clear trail that led as the crow flies to the top of that knoll. This had my fingers crossed for me to take the steep slope that lay right over me, and with a swift lick I reached the summit at long last.
The clean breeze and a mild sun shining from above revitalised my spirits, and my instant choice was to fritter the whole day walking around the hilly surroundings. What at first sight appeared to be a couple of hills were essentially complex hills, with their tops interrelated? I travelled from one knoll top to another, taking a look at the village that lay on the other side and where the path I had initially engaged led.
While standing on the knoll, I was amazed to see a man approaching me from the knoll that lay further on. I tried to hold him in a dialogue, but he was standoffish, and told me the name of the village which I failed to remember and was on my missing jotter, and that there was a hamlet on top of the hill he had come down from.
Before I left this knoll to explore the neighbouring one where I had seen the men, one last task remained to be completed, and this was to leave some mark of my having been there. I had no sharp object to create scratch marks. Spotting a lustrous and willowy piece of stone that looked much like a high point, half buried inside the ground, I lifted some weighty stones lying to hand and put them in a circle about this landmark. Over the landmark, I fixed another piece of stone, and under the heaviest piece in the circle, slipped bare packing of pommes frites and cheese biscuit, I had carried with me.
It was time now to go ahead to the next hill following the well formed track. Looking at these foot-stamped routes, it was palpable that the knolls were recurrently visited by people who went along these routes with goats and buffaloes, some of which I could see grazing upon the knolls.
The way to this footpath carried another revelation. A small portion of land had been marked out with large bamboo strips with saplings budding within. In close proximity, an ooze of water coming down from the knoll had been stopped with a small barrier, creating a small pond surrounded with outsized stones. Some clothes, logs, and gears lay on the ground. This was a primal shelter, a resting place of someone trying to build a smallholding on this terra firma.
I crossed over the haven to take the bridleway that went straight up to the top of the knoll. This stretched me to the farthest, and with my legs refusing to go any further, I had to sit down to rest for a while. At length I came forward over the knoll, and was surprised by the immensity of the neighbourhood, for what appeared to be a pointed top was large enough to contain several big fields. Walking across this earth, the sight of a village met me—this was probably the rustic commune the man I met earlier had told me of. The villagers as I came up to were weaving brown mats with grit, serenity, and hard work in folding over different strips of leaves to yield a fantastic design of interweave folds and entails a sequential order of steps to produce inimitable geometric patterns and rhythm in producing a mat. The brown mats are sought for because of its inimitable and intricate design.
Approaching the shacks, all closely hugging each other, I emptied my water bottle so that I had a convincing cause to give good reason for interfering with such an out-of-the-way place. I stopped at the vestibule, and saw several men, women, and children standing in the way and wearing tube-like hand-woven wraps called patadyong which is plaited with diverse colours of threads to capture the colours of life and reveal personal status—and for stylish looks. A little guy carefully approached me, grinned and enquired if I had come from the town, to which I came back with yes. He then asked me if I needed water to drink. I took out my bottle and had it filled up. Seeing this crowd standing right ahead of me, I felt a bit timid, beamed, and kept mum, which some of them found funny. I decided to leave the place, asking what it was called and which way I could climb down. I was shown across the village to a footpath which I followed. It led to another small bunch of huts where I saw some children and young men playing. I spend a good half an hour or more watching them play, with some little girls and women watching the game from the sidelines.
I was dazed by the splendour of some women, with small little ones in their arms. I never thought that these women could live to tell the tale of the country. Some young teenager girls sat under the leafy tree, but lacked fascinating characteristics. They braided the leaves and dry them under the sun, dyed and woven by hand to create conventional and inventive products such as hats, mats, bags, coin purses, pen holders, window blinds, jewellery boxes, table frills. Feeling that the group was now all-in of my being there, for they made no endeavour to intermingle, and made unkind notes on the sidelines making me feel quite unsought, I decided to go for the day. I asked one householder to give me an idea about the way down, which he did. Then, I told him the reason of my trip, enquired about him, and expressed thanks in Kinarayä.
The way down was steep, and right at the start lay a small water fissure used by the villagers to go and get water. A young woman happened to be there, and I stopped and kept looking at her, which startled her to leave her stuff and go up up the way, pretending to be searching for something. She in a little while came back, followed by a woman carrying a tot and two girls who then accompanied me right to the foot of the knoll.
The visit to the knolls was reasonably spontaneous, and made for a stimulating change to the everyday routine of the past few months. Though the day out was meant for me to lighten up in the setting and get some work out, scaling the hills and seeing a village surroundings over them was a lovely bolt from the blue, and I am still left wondering how old this occupancy is, and what kind of life its residents live, devoid of generated power, potable water, or easy access to modern facilities. I plan to return the knolls, and my primordial abode located right over the uppermost crest.
Before I made tracks from Antique, I splashed out on its Muscovado sugar, one of the most famous commodities and pricey sweetener in the bazaar for it is widely recognised as pure and highly healthful because of its low calorie content. I found out that it is residue and substance free with typical flavour, whiff, colour, and moisture. At home, Muscovado sugar goes well with my java or milk.
I laid all my knick-knacks in a fine twined bariw bag and vamoosed home.
"On the Knolls in an Antiqué Countryside" is Roger's article for his column "Vignette" in itravel Philippines magazine this month, May 2010. Enjoy reading it here as the magazine copies will be available at local bookshops next week.
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