DAY FIVE :::: THE STAY INSIDE THE
HIDDEN Valley Mountain Resort, in Lamac, Pinamungahan, last night had taken
away the burrs of fatigue and emotional torment that the pilgrims have
unconditionally accepted in return for that rare privilege of walking the
Camino de Santiago – their own Camino – for the past four days. The cool night
bath, repeated again this early morning, had freshened up the tired bunch. The
soft bed, well received by a sore body last night, became an object that we
found again hard to leave behind.
The last two days of walking I
found unbelievable. 53.33 kilometers! Can you dig that? It simply defied
reality and a long argument between the numbers and my own calculations took
place and the numbers were winning. That in just a total of 21 hours walk! How
could that be? Of course, we rode a patrol jeep on Day Three for around 45
minutes at Libo, Sibonga to Dakit, Barili, and that would be 4 to 5 hours
walking for the same distance but, would that made a difference to the journey?
For me it did not. The load I carried since Day One are still the same. It
should have lightened up if we follow our food plan.
Today, July 10, 2017, is Day Five
of the pilgrimage. We lived on the generosity of the parishes that hosted
dinners for us for four nights and breakfasts too. That also include a bath and
a cozy place under the protection of a roof. Probably, another parish this
night would open its sacred doors for us. Fr. Scipio “Jojo” Deligero seemed to
be in a different mood today. He fully knows that the most challenging
“principalities” are beginning to lose its grip on us as we crept slowly closer
and closer to our destination north.
But there is one thing that kept
tearing at my mind. Yesterday’s ride. The offer of conveyance from the cops of
Sibonga was hard to refuse and it seemed like it came from heaven. I tried to
protest the free ride but who am I to question Providence? Like I said, there
is a parallel universe in the heavens for navigating the Camino de Santiago. If
it benefited the pilgrims, it would, perhaps, benefit me. I hope it would. I
still carry our food supply in its untouched state, you know.
Rev. Fr. Wilfredo Genelazo, our
host, came to fetch us and brought us all back to the San Isidro Labrador Parish for breakfast. His
parish exists from modest contributions of the communities he served. These are
just small tokens and for as long as he respect the other faiths of his
part-time parishioners. These other faiths are a conundrum of mixed Christian
and indigenous beliefs which survived in the village of Lamac and these have
influence on the affairs of people’s lives there. All told there are 27
different pseudo-Christian sects competing with the Roman Catholic faith and
Protestant churches for the salvation of souls. A stronghold.
We leave at 09:00 and my second,
Jonathaniel Apurado, is good for another long walk behind the last of the
pilgrims and he seemed to enjoy the company of Roman Catholics. He is a
Protestant and he does not mind. It is all about the soul, you see. The Camino
de Santiago does not discriminate. It is open to all who has an open mind and a
humble heart. When we had overcome the last rise, Mizar Bacalla begins the
rosary while Fr. Jojo, Mayor Joel Quiño, the couple Roderick and Jemmelyn
Montesclaros, Roger Montecino and Alvie Rey Ramirez, replied with a string of
Hail Marys. We are now entering Toledo City.
Mayor Joel is the incumbent mayor
of the Municipality of Compostela, from where all the pilgrims came from,
except me and Jon. His participation is a commitment for the future of
Compostela. Its being a namesake of the original Compostela of Spain is
something that should not be left to the mercy of the four winds. Nor its
favorable position in sharing the same patron saint and a relic which
originally came from there. The town has to rise from the trivial and the idea
of introducing the Camino de Santiago to Asia is well received by many of the faithful.
The Camino does not deprive the far
provinces of the faith and to those who cannot afford the expensive travel to
Spain. The Camino could be everywhere and could be in anybody’s heart. Tangible
steps have to be made to establish one in Cebu and our Fr. Jojo and Mayor Joel
crossed that line of the impossibility. I, too, shared in that idea. I have a
great purpose in participating this pilgrimage which could have been
predetermined when I was still in the womb of my mother. In all my life before this,
the Camino or its equivalent takes up some of my reflection time.
I am not toying with obsession. I
could have but I am humble enough to recognize that I do not have the resources
to engage in it nor the skill to fleece people’s money so I could proceed
there. I am just a servant and discernment of invisible messages is my eternal
task. I move in God’s own time and so here I am in Cebu’s version of the Camino
de Santiago. It overlapped my own creation – the Cebu Highlands Trail – which I
walked and finished in 29 days last February 2017. Never did it occurred to me
that I would walk this same route again in a span of six months, this time for
the Camino.
My 55-liter High Sierra Titan
backpack is heavy as was the first day. My most important cargoes are my
original Camino passport now stamped with five seals from five different
parishes, a bleached scallop from Compostela, Spain with a red-painted St.
James cross and a pebble from my doorstep. I may add a fossilized scallop I
found in Dagatan, Badian. A camera would have been useful to document what I
saw and discovered but I trust Jon and Alvie to share me what photos they took
afterwards. The photos guide me in my writings of my online journal and blog
contents. I am the author of this 10-year old blog.
By this time, the effects of two
multivitamins a day and a capsule of Natural Raw Guarana would work on the
stamina of the pilgrims. I used this same formula during the Thruhike and I
know the day when it would finally fill your body system and give you that much
needed boost to push ahead day in and day out. The day is warm. It would only
slow them but it would not tire them. The road bounced the sun’s heat to our
faces and bodies and there are a few shady places. For want of that, I
increased my pace and arrive at the village of Bunga at 10:30. Another waiting
game.
For sure, they would have passed by
a roadside stall selling jackfruits and beside it is another stall selling
food. Cooked warm food. I would have stopped there earlier but the glare was
too much and the heat radiates from the paved road. I am sitting in a very cool
place munching on my energy bar and Titay’s Rosquillos and sipping a cold Coca
Cola. After an hour of waiting, they finally passed and I rejoined them. We
reached the Naga-Toledo National Road and we opt to bypass the big village of
Don Andres Soriano by walking on the same highway.
A strong storm overtook us and we
decide to take shelter under whatever awnings we could find. We just stood
there for around twenty minutes or so to wait out the rain. It was already
12:30 when we lurched forward for our destination of the day: the San Pedro
Calungsod Parish, in the village of Cantabaco, Toledo City. The abrupt change
in the weather system have made walking on the road better. We arrive at the
parish at 14:25 and Rev. Fr. Armando Orehuela is very accommodating and showed
us the rooms to spend the night.
After refreshments and snacks, some
of the pilgrims took a bath and washed their clothes at the back of the
rectory, trying to take advantage of our early arrival and enough time to do
chores which were denied them for the past four days. I would take a bath early
morning tomorrow but, for now, I joined Fr. Jojo and Fr. Arman in a discussion
about the latter’s aquarium containing riverine vegetation. Then I found out
that I got blisters on my toes. I let it be and tomorrow it will be dressed. A
bottle of cold beer came my way and I cannot refuse.
DAY SIX :::: WE ARE NOW ON THE
second half of the Camino de Santiago today, July 11, 2017. Day One to Five was
now history and the worries that hound me for the past five days are still
there, although a bit slighted by the idea of hurdling only five days more. I
am refreshed by the early morning bath and I am now plugging my blisters with
Band-Aids. I checked on the other pilgrims’ toes and theirs are not too good
either. Jemmelyn has all ten of her toes bedecked with Band-Aids. The petroleum
jellies I bought as part of our first-aid supply would now be most useful. They
ignored it when their toes were healthy then.
The next vulnerable part – the
inner thighs – have not been affected. I also bought three pairs each of
elastic undershorts for each pilgrim. It is quite amusing to see Fr. Jojo
trying one and he found it unmanly at first but soon found out that it is more
comfortable than wearing a brief. You know how older guys are, especially those
who are brought up in a traditional environment tend to accept change in the
way of how they think, feel and look but, once the undershorts were worn, they
began to like it. Just like tinkering a smartphone. That goes for Roger and
Mizar too and maybe Mayor Joel. They changed one everyday and washed the worn
pair to remove abrasive salt crystals.
After a lovely breakfast and the
stamping of the passports with the sixth seal, we say goodbye to Fr. Arman at
08:45. Fr. Arman instructed me the way to the next parish, which would now be
in the highlands of Cebu City. It would be very enticing for me since I have
not been there before. We follow the road once more but the temperature is
cooler here, maybe because of the presence of a man-made forest which we get to
pass at the village of Camp 7, of the municipality of Minglanilla. The
pilgrims’ stamina have now increased and are now used to the abrupt changes in
terrain difficulty and weather.
We stop by at a small store in
Lantawan, in the village of Sinsin, Cebu City. With cold soda drinks, they
finally munch on their energy bars, Titay’s rosquillos and biscuits. Fr. Jojo
complained as he felt something unfulfilling inside. He eats another bar. He
does not know how energy bars work. It works the same like the altar bread when
introduced with water. It bloats inside your stomach. After an hour, we
proceed. We passed by the famous Sinsin Ridge that stalled American forces
during their campaign to take the Katipunero stronghold of Sudlon. It has a
narrow passage that is now heavily eroded caused by heavy usage of quarry
trucks.
The road begins to ascend and
ascend and ascend like it is going to heaven. It is concrete but the roadsides
are thickly vegetated, giving you enough shade. There are many places here
where you could establish campsites. The Sudlon Mountain Range is a place that
exudes an aura of mystery and most of its trails and remote peaks beyond the
habitations had not been visited by urban hikers. Slowly, inch by inch, we are now in the
village of Sudlon I. Sudlon hosts a large community of an indigenous cult that
is a mix of Christianity and spirit worship. It was established by the late
mystic, Hilario Moncado.
The climate begins to go cooler as
we reach higher elevations. The heat of the sun do not bother us anymore. We
are sweating hard because of the effort yet we were not tired. We reach a very
populated community where a road sign says, with an arrow for emphasis, that we
are on the right direction to the St. John the Baptist Quasi-Parish. We arrive
there at 16:45 and, just a few minutes after, thick fogs cover us and the
church. I am a bit disoriented by its sudden appearance. I could not relish
anymore the beauty of the landscape that I saw a few minutes ago.
The parish priest, Rev. Fr.
Bernardo Oyao, was not present. He was on a personal errand and has to travel
downtown. Anyway, his staff expected our coming and welcomed us inside. The
rectory, which doubled as the living quarters of the priest, shielded us from
wind chill. Fr. Jojo and Mayor Joel used the room of the absent Fr. Bernard
while the office was now the refuge of the Montesclaros couple. Despite the
cold weather, a few bold pilgrims took a bath. I would have but I decide not to
at the last minute. Perhaps, I would have that tomorrow morning.
The parish is made of concrete,
painted white, with the bell tower located on top of the main door. It is
facing a deep valley and the faraway Babag Mountain Range, with its distinct
feature of one peak crowned with many telecommunication and television towers.
That range is my playground and I have not seen it from the vantage of Mount
Tabla, a peak that is 2,342 feet above sea level, where I am standing beside. I
asked Fr. Jojo about the difference of a parish from a “quasi-parish”, but it is
still God’s Country, nevertheless.
Meanwhile, the helpful staff of Fr.
Bernard cooked a very enticing brew: a steaming broth of pork knuckles. Despite
the cooler climate, I could feel minute fingers of sweat streaming slowly down
my temples as the soup warmed up my body. Outside, the wind howled and it would be foolish for me to sleep outside.
After that very filling dinner, I found the dining table a very good place to
stretch for the night. Not on the table top but underneath it. I unrolled my
Therm-a-Rest sleeping pad on the cold tiled floor and inspected my bruised toes
before saying goodnight at a late hour of 20:30.
Total Distance Walked: 24.38
kilometers.
Highest Elevation Gained: 2,342 feet.
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