Baguio City: Panagbenga

Igorot Street Dance

Panagbenga is the Festival of Flowers, held in Baguio City on the last weekend of February. It’s one of the most famous festivals in the Philippines, and images from the parade and performances are seen country-wide. Sorry to disappoint all you fans of verbosity, but this will be one of those rare posts with more pictures than stories…

The hills in the distance are covered with buildings too!

The festival lasts something like three weeks, with the main events happening on the closing weekend. People warned that I wouldn’t be able to find a bus to Baguio during the festival - so I didn’t. I hopped a 5am bus up to San Fernando near my lolo’s hometown of Aringay, and squeezed guitar, pack, and self into a jeepney. It felt like I was coming into Baguio through the backdoor. My Uncle Danilo was expecting lots of people but he opened his house up to me anyways. A short downhill walk found me at his door.

A very special sculpture commissioned by Uncle Dani

Downstairs bar

Uncle Dani is a well-known doctor and educator of medicine in the Philippines. He has a house to match his reputation and his personality. My uncle is always actively learning and growing as a person. His house tags along. Uncle Dani has deep respect for nature. His house is built into the landscape, and nature is an ever-present theme indoor. According to him, his working/living spaces are touched by Wu Wei, which is a Chinese philosophy of non-doing in the way that trees grow without trying to grow, the way water flows effortlessly and moves in a never-ending cycle. Things don’t start and end. They just are.

Downstairs movie theater. Can you see it?

How about now?

Kitchen #1 of 4 (AKA the "show kitchen")

His house juxtaposes circles against angles, and lines seem to trail off into nothing. I was most struck by how spaces are framed organically, mimicking nature in serenity, simplicity, and subtle serendipity. Doors don’t interrupt spaces by swinging into them. Windows slide open or closed, which opens or encloses different spaces. A round table wraps the dead end of a wall. He thinks like an artist, and he uses his artist’s eye to pull people’s awareness towards certain things or away from others. There are seemingly hidden rooms and stairwells, and minute changes in altitude and room height make it feel like you’re playing on tree roots as you move from room to room. Beautiful woods, art pieces, displays of nature. It’s a brilliant place.

Fish tank - Uncle Dani has a thing for fish tanks.
He thinks they are calming. And he simply loves fish! 

Main Dining. Love the curved line in the custom cabinet on the left and the circles above it.

Nicest thing about simple beauty? It's cheap!
Like the asymmetrical windows that also contain sliding doors (pagoda-style)

The "waiting hall"

His house was built by the impressive career he made for himself. His practice now is sort of his pre-retirement social work project. His specialty is pulmonary medicine, and he now provides consultation in exchange for whatever the patients can offer. Discount? Sure. Php100 and a bowl of cabbages? Great! You just walked a goat into my office. Thank you so much! What a generous gift! What can I do for you? Uncle Dani has so much love for everyone that comes into his office, and people feel it. For a year they save everything they can so they can make the trip from places far and wide just to see him because they trust him, and because he's the best. His office is designed with the simplicity and genius with which he build his house, but with more modest tone. He capped it off with crafty additions like a bed built into the bookshelf, and an ingeniously simple X-Ray backlight (behind his head in the photo). There's also a fish tank and simple calming decorations that are hard to capture by photograph. It's a humble, calming, caring space - exactly the kind of place a healthcare office should be (but almost never is).

The office. Behind me, I came from a room for the secretary that's about 1/3 the size of this one.

Baguio's version of Central Park, at the bottom of the valley

I had been to Baguio before, but only a brief visit with my uncle and cousins. I never really got to wander the city. Baguio is located in the Cordillera Mountains. There is a very special character and energy to this landscape. The mountains are very steep, jagged, and covered with lush vegetation. The pine trees here -  imported from Spain centuries ago - are part of the area's uniqueness. The city itself is nestled into a valley with ridgelines sprawling up from a central flat bottom the size of a football field. It’s hard to describe the steepness of the roads. The last 15-20 years have absorbed a population eruption – new developments and vast neighborhoods of squatters cling to the surrounding slopes, poised to tumble down into the unseen valley bottom like a cruel experiment in potential energy. This is today’s reality, even after a Ms = 7.8 earthquake decimated the entire city in 1990. Once, Uncle Dani began to speak about what it was like to be a doctor in Baguio in the following weeks, but memory lane quickly became to treacherous to continue. Still, the cool air isn’t nearly as polluted as Manila; and in the mornings, mist rises up from below to evaporate into dawn.

Cumulonimbus!

Camping in the hills around the park. Community trust in action!

In the morning I climbed into a packed-full jeepney into town, thrilled to be breathing clean air and smelling plants again after an intoxicating month in Manila. On one side of me was a beautiful Filipina looking excited for the day’s festivities, clutching her colorful mountain-weave bag. On the other side of me was a man coughing up something horrible. I felt energized, empathetic, and euphoric, so I pretended not to notice this man hocking up pneumonia-deep mucus into my right ear. His coughing got worse at every turn, and by the time we were near town, I thought either his lungs or his stomach would end up in my lap. It wasn’t until I got off the jeepney that I realized that this guy had gotten me to angle away just enough for him to open my ZIPPERED back pocket and snatch the 200 pesos kept inside. On a bumpy, loud, asphyxiating jeep ride, it’s not surprising I didn’t notice. People regularly fly off the bench and into the roof while riding these beasts. “Wow, that’s the first time I’ve ever had my pocket picked,” I thought, flipping through memories of all the poor towns and rough city neighborhoods I’d walked and inhabited without problem. My second thought was, “You know, it’s only $5, and that guy put up a hell of a show to get that money, and without me knowing. In a way, he earned it.” And I let my initial anger go – as easy as it had come.

Sneak peak: the parade begins...

Or if you're still afraid, you can always get an aptly-named "Self-Defense Bag"!

I’d like to give a few sentences to travel fears. Fears have a way of manifesting themselves. If you have no fears, they almost never manifest. Think about it. If you’re walking through a town like you’ve been there a million times, radiating confidence and calm, you’re not going to look like easy prey. In fact, you’re completely aware of everything around you and more able to both enjoy the moment you’re in, as well as react if there’s ever any danger. If you’re all stress and confusion, with too many bags or possessions hanging off you, covering up your insecurities with jewelry and accessories, well, hellooo easy money! Here’s a tip: have only what you need with you, carry a loaded steel water bottle in your hand, keep your big bills in a secret pocket or inaccessible place, and “Baby, don’t worry… about a thing!” You'll be fine.

Speaking of fear... Whether it's silly government warnings about the country you're about to visit,
or the church warning you about hell, it's hard to escape the deep fears
that our social environments force upon our fragile psyches.
Hitler's Propaganda Minister, Joseph Goebbles, as well as Lenin -
"Repeat a lie often enough, and it becomes truth."
In my opinion, it's better to let intuition decide what, if anything, is worth fearing.

While I was taking a nap under a tree, these kids played with me,
the way little people might play with a giant - feathers, fingers and giggles.
So I woke up and played back.

Pickpocket or no, it was a great day. I found my way to the parade line and arrived just as the head of the parade stepped off. Festivals here seem to follow a pattern – there’s a parade with competitive groups from the area, and then there’s a day of performances for big cash prizes. The Cordillera Mountains’ six provinces are home to hundreds of indigenous cultures collectively called Igorot. There are similarities, but there are also vast differences in language, art, beliefs and culture. The best cultural groups in the entire region come to compete in this festival. The costumes, the props, the colors, and creativity are second only to the zeal with which they are all displayed, each culture competing not only for money, but for the right to exist in the face of dizzyingly rapid invasion of gasoline-fueled materialism. Here are some pictures from the parade: 

The Sunflower is the featured flower of Panagbenga Festival

Evil Spirit or Halloween in February?

Dance of the Birds - Guina'ang Folk Troupe

Move over Parade of Roses!

Elders are highly respected

Amazing Dress!

These boys were a trip - Camera Candy!

Always messing around, but always on cue!

Guina'ang Folk Troupe in performance - drum line on the right

After the parade, I mingled with people and wandered around town. In the flat center of the city was a paddle-boat pond bordered by grass, benches, trees, and a road. Vendors occupied every conceivable empty space surrounding the park. I looked far and wide for buko (young coconut) until I practically tripped over a vendor. My favorite lunch in hand, I wandered over to the stadium/park to watch the performances. So many curious eyes followed me, seeming to wonder at this white guy carrying a buko (they all had horribly processed junk food and soft drinks in their hands, which cost five times more than my superfood lunch). I caught the last few performances for the last day of competition. I didn’t know where any of them were from, but I found out later that the first one I saw was from the tiny village of Guina’ang, and they won the whole shebang – 150,000 pesos. Guina’ang was where I was headed to build a library! That’s a HUGE sum, earned as a result of vast collective effort on the part of almost every member of the community.

A member of the Guina'ang Folk Troupe

I hadn’t eaten at a restaurant since Dumaguete months earlier, and I heard of a place that was supposed to have real tablea cocoa. I had a vegetarian pasta, and I forgave myself for the carabao cream (from a water buffalo) that was in the super rich hot chocolate. I ate alone in the soothing ambiance, every mouthful steeped in pleasure. I spent a good 15 minutes watching some large, peaceful ants explore what was left on my plates (only an ant could find anything left on a plate of mine… they’re usually spotless when I’m through with the food that it held). I left as they were closing, with eternity in my hands, and needing nothing.

By moonlight, I followed the road ~3km back through the hills to Uncle Dani’s home. On the way, I met three kids trying to use a skateboard to travel faster. On the way up a steep hill, I easily passed them by foot. We stopped to have the typical Filipino-stranger conversation: Where are you going? Where are you coming from? What’s your name? On the way down, they sped past me completely out of control, getting swallowed by the headlights of oncoming traffic. I hope they made it home okay, crazy boys.

Some of the wood carvings on display were incredible

The next day I went into town after lunch, letting serendipity be my guide. As the sun pulled over the covers of evening, used clothing vendors from all over the Philippines set up for their big night selling one of the main streets surrounding the central park. There were some serious deals to be had… Too bad I didn’t need anything. I wandered back up the hill to find the famous vegetarian restaurant, Oh My Gulay (gulay means “vegetable” in several Filipino dialects). I couldn’t find it even after an hour treading water on the block that was supposed to be its home. So I settled for a little café below street level that was hosting an event of some sort.

I could see from the woodwork why my Filipino grandpa is such an inspired woodworker himself.

I joined some foreigners at their table and mentioned that I couldn’t find the place I’d been looking for. They said, “Yes, it’s difficult to find, there’s no sign or anything. But you’re awfully warm.” “Really?” “Ya! Just walk to the top of this building, and you’re there.” Ecstatic, I practically ran up the stairs… to the 5^th floor! The building didn’t look that tall from the street.

Inside Oh My Gulay - indoors, on the 5th floor.

One of my far-in-the-future fantasies is a venue that acts as musicians/artists coop, showcase of natural building techniques, and off-the-grid restaurant/venue with simple, amazing foods supported by a fully functioning permaculture food forest. The design of this place was basically the high-rise city version of what I had in mind. On the FIFTH floor, the space is two stories but feels outdoors, with mock rooftops at weird angles, natural lighting (dark at night), rotating art installations and pieces, awesome mosaics, stones to walk on and a creek/koi pond with a bridge over it. I was oogle-eyed at this place out of my dreams, noticing every detail and playhouse-like use of space until my eyes fell on something familiar. Russell in the corner!

Current art installation -
I saw a real lion fish in my first week in the Philippines... 6 months earlier.

Russell was the guy I was headed up to Guina’ang in two days to meet and build a library. Russell never ever ever ever comes down to the big city – to Baguio. “What are you doing here???” “What are you doing here???” My story was obvious – I was on my way up to him and stayed for a few days of fun at the Flower Festival. His was more complicated – he was meeting a Filipina ex-girlfriend from two years before, a mandala artist who was up in the Cordilleras for reasons too confusing to understand as yet. His ex, Sarah, and her group were on their way up the stairs, so Russell and I found a bigger seating area up the ladder above us. And thus, I found myself submerged in simple synchronicity.

This night would lead to the most profound personal changes in self and direction that are sure to reach far into the future; it was the climax of what I would later realize was a path that I had been tip-toeing since birth. But the scope would take a lot to explain and complete openness on the part of the reader. Russell came down from his northerly perch in the mountains to meet with Sarah. Sarah Queblatin is a mandala artist, humanitarian activist, and powerful healer. She was in Baguio for many reasons, but mainly to be with Pi Villaraza and the group that manifested around him and around Inner Dance.

Inner Dance, much like a person, is something different and unique with each passing moment. Sticking a "Hello, my name is" label on flowing water or a dust devil doesn’t really work, and describing Inner Dance and the people and places associated with it is equally challenging. Whatever you find on google, and whatever I write here is already outdated and inaccurate since it was written more than a second ago. But, at risk of losing you in the process, I’ll give a schoolboy try at description.

The Inner Dance Crew - Russell is the awkward tall guy lit up in the back.

Inner Dance might better be called Inner Yoga. It’s a form of energy self-healing. Usually learned with a facilitator or a group, it is a powerful and very easy-to-use tool to remember the profound connectedness with existence and healing energy that can be found all around us, at any given moment. Dis-ease in the body is almost always a result of emotional memory pooled as stress. Inner Dance often uses specific music and lighting to enter a conscious trance. This trance of trust facilitates the dissolving of emotional/spiritual blockages in mind/body/soul, and the transmutation of those negative energies into self-healing and empowerment. The clearing of these negative energies can look like dancing, visions, singing, tears, screaming, yoga, sleeping, flying, tai chi, anything really. But it’s all intuitive – if your arm starts to move, it doesn’t feel like you’re moving it, more like an invisible string is gently and lovingly pulling at it. The music made some people associate it with dance. Check out Pi's most up-to-date website to learn about Inner Dance: http://www.innerdanceprocess.com/ 

One of many videos about Inner Dance

But I didn’t know any of this stuff at the time, nor did I know that these people I had just met would each have a profound effect on my life. Besides Russell and Sarah, there was Pi, Daniw (his wife and well-known raw foods chef), and Sinag (their 2-yo son). There was Maui and Zelli – Filipino and German alternative/natural builders, along with Zelli’s two daughters. There was Ryan, a permaculturist and acupuncturist based in Mindanao. Shiva, an Ananda Margi and his boyfriend/husband Tony, another Ananda Margi. Both Pinoy, but Tony was raised in Ohio.

As Sarah and Russell gave introductions, I wanted to take each and every person aside for a whole day and talk with them. In my life’s journey, I see myself in transition generation that bears responsibility for finding a new way to live after the current pattern collapses. In the next 20 years, something will make life as we know it unsustainable: lack of potable drinking water, out of oil and coal, global warming, world war, economic collapse. Most signs point to all of this happening in 10-15 years, and all at the same time, as any one will trigger the others. Point is, the current lifestyle has been lived long enough that most people don’t know how to do the basic things to survive that their great-grandparents took for granted, things like finding water, growing food, building a shelter, healing illnesses, making their own tools, building a community, etc… A huge part of my journey has been erasing my fears of survival by learning this basic stuff. Most Filipino elders and rural communities are completely self-sufficient. The Philippines is vastly abundant in skills needed to survive and natural resources. In my mind, this is wealth - not the power of some green-colored pieces of paper backed by the promise that someone owes something of value in exchange for the bank note. The people in this group are all coming into mastery of all the skills I've been seeking, and I’m a sponge wanting to soak it all up.

Russell was on my left, and Tony from Ohio was on my right. Of course I talked the night away with the fellow foodie from my homeland. Tony and I zeroed in on each other, completely stoked to speak American after so many months of clearly enunciating simple sentences to a Filipino population that speaks English as its 3^rd, 4^th, sometimes 5^th or 6^th language. I always tell shy English-speakers that their English is 100 times better than my __Tagalog__ (fill in the blank) will ever be. It’s truly impressive how many languages Filipinos can juggle. And oh, to find such an amazing vegetarian meal in a country with one of the worst food cultures in the world, second only to America.

It was on this night that the Universe let me understand just how perfectly existence can flow. Tony was the only person I wouldn’t interact with in the coming months until I came down from the mountains and reconnected with him in Cebu months later. Knowing that I would probably see some of these folks revolving around the project I was headed up to do was good enough to let me leave without feeling desperate to connect with everyone right then and there. Stomachs full, bill paid, we went separate ways. Back on the street, I wandered with Tony and his boyfriend, Shiva looking for a music venue. We got lost and the walk tuckered my new friends out, so they settled for a massage instead.

Meshuggah-lovin' bass man. Damn good player too.

I found the venue late in the night, in the middle of the smorgasbord of bands that I had wanted to sample. A guy walked in with bass in hand and wearing the shirt from one of my favorite music groups – Meshuggah. There’s a certain culture and palate that makes fans instant friends. It’s a metal band responsible for inventing not one, but two subgenres – Math Metal and Djent. It also happens to be a major influence in the jazz world. Anyway, we spent the whole night chatting music until his band got up to play. They were a damn good band on any night, but stellar compared to others that could barely finish a tune, let alone a 20-/30-min set. I walked home under midnight stars and arrived at Uncle Dani’s house just in time for the best part of my cousin’s wife’s birthday party (cake, beer, and reckless karaoke). What a day.

In the morning, I hauled my stuff up the hill to catch a bus north to Guina’ang. The Universe apparently didn't want me to leave the area, as every conceivable delay kept me from getting out, so I went back for another night with Uncle Dani and clan. The next morning I was on the route north for real. By dark I disembarked from a 7-hour bus ride at the steps to Russell's house in Sabangan for the first time since December. The next three months there in Mountain Province would complete the 24-year journey I’d traveled thus far in life, and I would take the first steps with the kind of new consciousness that only comes from major transformation. Here we go!