The Road to Sagada

Sagada has a sacred and enigmatic sound to it. It is after all hidden in the mountains. And something hidden is always intriguing. I regard it as a place for writers, poets and artists, a place for soul-searchers. In my mind, I see bohemians dining in its restaurants and painters walking on its streets. Sagada smells of pine, fog and land – a mixture of scents that compels the soul. I’ve never been to Sagada but I have imagined myself plying the route based on stories shared by friends.

For years, Sagada had always been like that – a figment of my imagination. It only existed in my thoughts. A place built on dreams.

After working for almost a year, the feisty spirit I had when I graduated fizzled. I lost something valuable; but I can’t point out what. I am lacking something. I simply yearn to leave Manila and be far from everything – my job, my friends, my family, my self. At that moment, I heard it calling me. And I started to imagine the jarring road, the dust, and the cold feel of the mountain wind.

I need Sagada.

Five thousand pesos and a “yes” from my editor allowed me to finally explore the land of my dreams. No maps, no contacts, no itinerary. Pure instincts and stock knowledge from past web researches will serve as my guide for four days. I will let the cosmic force rule my trip. I will flow with serendipity.

Maybe the only consolation is the fact that I’m going with three other souls: one who have been my companion for a year, the other one I’ve only been acquainted twice, and my closest college girlfriend. We agreed to leave on Holy Week, which turned out to be a peak season in Sagada. But we decided to go nonetheless. If we don’t leave now, we knew we’ll never find another time.

Our bus left at 10 p.m. We arrived ten minutes after. I felt aghast. What should we do now? After much debate, we ended up waiting as chance passengers; hoping for a miracle. Serendipity would work its way, I thought. It did come, though four hours late. We boarded a bus to Baguio at 2 a.m., but we had a good seat: upfront, behind the driver, which turned out to be perfect for taking photos and videos.

It was already 11 a.m. when we arrived in Baguio – already an hour late to take a bus to Sagada. We still tried to catch one in Dangwa but to no success. Hordes of tourists were also waiting, we’re standing at the end of the line, and time is running out. As luck would have it, we met a taxi driver who used to live in Sagada and who is willing to give us a lift but for a fixed rate. The deal: we’ll fill his vehicle with nine passengers, all willing to shell out 220 pesos, and four of us will pay for the return trip on Sunday afternoon.

We agreed. The next thing I know, we were sitting at the back of the van – supposedly for baggages only. And then it started: the long drive to Sagada in a hired taxi with no decent seats, four of us struggling with our luggage.

I can’t remember much of Hanselma Highway or the numerous dirt roads; I only remembered the sensation of moving. I loved the feeling of going somewhere, even without the least idea where. Serendipity pulled and I allowed myself to be led like an obedient puppy. I liked the idea of being led by a higher unseen force. There is always a thrill in surprises. Never mind the back aches and cramps, this is the initial concept of this trip – to simply move.

They say a trip to Sagada is a trip back in time. I say it’s a trip to the self. To be one with nature is to be one with who I am, who I was, and who I will be. Sagada encompasses the law of time. It is a place where the past, the present, and the future swirl altogether harmoniously. Thinking so makes things simpler and easier. In this state, I learned to forget complexities and think clearly. This is Sagada’s effect. No wonder it is a favorite among soul-searchers.

The mountains brought serenity. The endless line of pine trees, mesmerizing in its simplicity, offered seclusion from the world. And the wind, the gentle rustling breeze, sent a chill to the body – making one forget the thoughts of being elsewhere but here.

The drive to Sagada reminded me of the scenic drive to Tagaytay; squiggly roads that circle mountains, breathtaking views of the land below, fog everywhere. The only difference is the rough roads that never existed in Tagatay’s main highway. But we got used to the bumps, it then cradled our stressed bodies while we sleep.

It was a six-hour test of patience. Patience from our uncomfortable positions, patience for the length of the ride, and patience to stay awake despite lack of sleep. Droopiness instantly faded when we entered Sagada. Excitement seeped in. At last! We’re here!

Once my feet stepped on the town, I instantly knew what makes Sagada special. The place has its own charm but it is the road that adds to its appeal. It’s the long winding route that heightens anticipation. This road, with its magnificent landscape views, makes any traveler contemplate. It is also the same road that cultivates longing when on the way home. Sagada is Sagada because of the road, without it, Sagada won’t be as enigmatic and enticing.

It is then that I realized what I lack in my life: patience. I’m a newbie and I have been impatient of my state. But I have to start somewhere. I just have to be patient and wait. Good things come to those who wait because at the end, something beautiful emerges. Like Sagada. Now, in every road I tread, no matter how jarring and far, I always imagine Sagada at the end of it – my Sagada.

Funny, what I hoped to find in the destination, I found before I arrived. It is truly the getting there that makes the difference.

I had a good sleep that night on the comforts of my bed. And in my dreams I saw Sagada. I smelled the aroma of land and fog. I tasted the minty tang of pine. And I heard the faint sound of voices, the chanting of the mountain that prays to the heavens.