DAY SEVEN :::: I HAD TROUBLE
SLEEPING after being awakened by my right forearm touching the cold floor at
23:00 last night. I did not notice icy fingers of wind slipping through opened
spaces between glass blades of the jalousie windows while I was asleep. The curtains
quivered a bit as the breeze work their way inside, bringing with it mists
which now occupy my special sleeping space underneath the long table. Suddenly,
the dining room looked so small in the dark but, fortunately, for me I have no
fear of closed spaces.
In my half-conscious state, I tried
to relax my mind so I could sleep but, it seemed, the more I tried, the more
elusive it became. Then I heard the crowing of the cocks heralding the arrival
of dawn and it sounds like I have just been cheated of sleep. Then the curtains
showed faint light from outside. This time I was able to catch Lady Starlight
when the temperature was just about right but the brush of slippers on floor
awakened me. Too late for me to dream of sleep.
I have to surrender to the reality
of the coming day’s business. The kitchen is now lighted and the staff of Rev.
Fr. Bernardo Oyao woke up early for this occasion to cook breakfast for us
pilgrims. They had been instructed to keep us comfortable and well-fed in his
absence. The familiar smell of camphor still float around the rectory in the
early hours of the day. It went with us since Day Two when it was generously
smeared on sore muscles and aching joints and is an accepted presence.
I went to the bathroom and,
fortunately, it was open and empty. Just as I sat on the seat, someone from
outside tried to push the door open. I locked it from the inside, of course.
Who could that “unlucky” soul be? Yesterday’s dining became history and is
flushed down the drain and now I am ready to accept another set of menu.
Preferably warm. The few minutes inside the bath let me enjoy warmth but as
soon as I opened the door, the cool atmosphere slapped my face and my wet hand.
I went outside of the rectory to
inhale the cold air. The mountain air is clear while the hills are verdant.
Sunrise had not yet hurdled past the crests of the Babag Mountain Range but its
golden fingers of light are now beginning to reclaim its space and should be
intense in an hour. The St. John the Baptist Quasi-Parish sits on a high
plateau beside the bald peak of Mount Tabla, in the village of Sudlon I, Cebu
City. Fr. Bernard would arrive today but not early.
Meanwhile, Rev. Fr. Scipio “Jojo”
Deligero of the Archdiocesan Shrine of Señor Santiago de Apostol, our chaplain
for this first-ever pilgrimage of the Camino de Santiago in Cebu, is all set to
resume the journey today, July 12, 2017, for the next parish but we need to
freshen ourselves first. The other pilgrims are busy with themselves, most of
them braving the morning cold, taking a bath. I just wiped myself with my wet
face towel and I am set to face the rest of the day.
When all were done, breakfast is
served. Joining Fr. Jojo and me on the table is Mayor Joel Quiño of the
Municipality of Compostela, the couple Jemmelyn and Roderick Montesclaros,
Mizar Bacalla, Roger Montecino, Alvie Rey Ramirez and Jonathaniel Apurado.
Omelet, hotdogs, fried rice and a leftover soup from last night’s dinner is our
food. All had the same appetite as yesterday’s and are extremely motivated by
the knowledge of being nearer to Compostela than ever before in this pilgrimage
of the Camino de Santiago.
We left at exactly 08:00 after
thanking the staff of the St. John the Baptist Quasi-Parish. We retrace our
route towards a street corner where we found the directional signage for the
church. It is a long walk among highland farms and small valleys, going up and
down, twisting among lonely hills. Mizar led again the prayer of the Holy
Rosary while the rest answered with the usual Hail Marys. Jonathan took the
rear, camera in hand, as I walked hearing distance forward of them.
Profusely sweating and extremely
excited caused by the walk on rolling terrain on an early morning, the pilgrims
paused for a while to eat rice pudding (Local name: bibingka) cooked and
sold on that street corner. While still warm, it is a meal good enough to give
energy to farmers working on their fields. I brought three palm-sized ones with
me, intending to eat it further up ahead. I eat all three when I reached a crossroad
where there is a police detachment. I was minutes ahead and I was alone under a
shed waiting for the pilgrims.
One road goes all the way to the
next village of Sudlon II while another one goes down the Bonbon River Valley.
It is all downhill and it is beautiful to walk where it is most moderate but
rather painful for the soles and the knees where it is most steep. It is a long
downhill walk and it would be harder if you do a reverse here. I have not done
it here yet but the mere thought of that gave me a frown. I hope I do not but
locals used this road to go places whether uphill or down the valley.
I am worried about Fr. Jojo. I
looked back many times to observe his gait. The walking aid we picked up in the
forests of Sohoton, Badian is still with him and it is most useful here. That
stick, if ever it is not laid or thrown aside or if ever Fr. Jojo survives this
Camino with it, will become an object of reverence. Without it, Fr. Jojo’s
misery would have been intense and grave but, with that, he looked like Zato
Ichi – the blind swordsman.
We reached the village of Bonbon at
12:00 and grabbed lunch inside a food store. The day is very warm made more
warm by the concrete road bouncing off heat to us. I choose the farthest
recesses of the wooden structure and ate in silence amid the exchange of tales
between pilgrims. Oh God, do they ever tire? Cold soda drinks washed away the
dust down my throat and kept my sanity checked. I opt for another cold glass
and it settled my body’s state of affairs.
After an hour, we proceed and
walked the paved road going to the Trans-Central Highway. While doing so, Fr.
Bernard arrived alone with his pickup and stopped for a while for a short
conversation with Fr. Jojo. He was shopping for grocery and for other needs of his
parish. His back seat were full of these goods and a few were placed on the
cargo space. We thanked him for his kindness and bade goodbye to him as he sped
away to fulfill his sacred office. May God bless him!
By 14:00, we arrived at the St.
John Marie Vianney Quasi-Parish. I always passed by this place and sometimes
stopped to perform genuflection. Today, I stayed a little longer. We looked
around but it was closed. We rest for five minutes here and, after that short
inactivity, we returned to the hard concrete road once again that goes up from
the valley. We were relieved to reach the Trans-Central Highway after an hour
or so and doused our thirst with cold soda drinks.
It is now less than two hours of
daylight before dusk will overcome us and Fr. Jojo does not know where to stop.
Neither am I but I remembered a monastery along the way near where there is a
chapel on a hill. We walk towards there and I find it strange that it is fenced
off. The place seemed abandoned and I hollered towards a closed door 25 meters
away. A resident living across the place came to investigate our presence and I
explained it to him in explicit detail.
Fortunately for us, the local
personally knew Mayor Joel and he helped us find a place for the night’s rest
stop. We found it inside a covered court that had been converted into a chapel.
It sits on the border of the villages of Malubog and Pung-ol Sibugay. The two
villages have been at odds with each other as to the location of the basketball
court and the proceeds of its use and so have agreed to use it into a chapel
instead. There are wooden benches, monobloc chairs and thick plyboards to make
impromptu beds. It is 17:30.
The caretaker of the government
building happened to be our guide’s uncle and welcomed us to use the temporary
chapel. For water, we only have to go out of the back entrance into his house
to fetch it. The same with using a washroom, only you would have to adapt how
mountain folks answer the call of nature. For the first time of our journey, we
cooked our supply of food. That means the weight of a kilo of rice and four
pieces of Korean spicy noodles, along with 250 milliliters of denatured
alcohol, will be permanently removed from the spaces of my High Sierra Titan
and that of Jonathan’s.
The spartan comforts of our night’s
stopover are good enough to give us a place to consolidate our ebbing strength
that we expended during the whole of the day and the rest is sufficient to
prepare us for tomorrow’s journey. Fr. Jojo gave his wooden staff to Roger for
safekeeping as he lay prone to accommodate once more a generous amount of
efficascent oil on his calves and thighs, on his upper body and torso, and on
his biceps and forearms. I removed my shoes and socks and the blisters on my
toes seemed to be healing faster than I have expected it to be.
We have covered seven days of
hiking into some of the most rugged places of Cebu and it is now history. That
leaves us three days more to complete the first, and real, Camino de Santiago
of Cebu, probably, in the Philippines, before we could lay claim that we really
were the first. As I have said before, the Camino could be everywhere and in
everybody’s heart, but a Camino which we now have walked more than a hundred
kilometers in length; in an island which host rugged mountain ranges and clime
that is harsh already before the advent of global warming is legit. And
bittersweet.
What would be the kind of reception
the townsfolk of Compostela be upon us? This is a strange undertaking
understood only by a few Roman Catholics. Mostly, the upper class of society
and the clergy have the capacity and the means to undertake this in Spain. The
Camino is not exclusive to them and this same Camino which has its origin from
there does not discriminate the poor from engaging their own Camino de
Santiago. The far provinces of the Roman Catholic faith should not be deprived
of such privileges.
One by one, the bright lights of
the covered court are switched off. In the late evening hours, few motorcycles
would speed by on the Trans-Central Highway and brought with it annoyance and cursing but, once the road is
silent, crickets claimed the night air and it is most sweet to the ears. Under
a lone light, I sat studying my maps. Tomorrow’s route would be my first time
there. My skill in navigation would be tested once more and I accept any
challenge.
Walking the rugged spines of Cebu
has never been a problem with me. Local acceptance is. Ignorance, for most of
the time, make interactions complicated. Sometimes, political partisanship
during an election period. Armed rebellion is now absent in most of the places
I know in Cebu. What is left are just residues of distrust and a bad memory. I
see people smiling again. Watch when they get used to the Camino of Cebu, their
places will brighten and they, themselves, engage their own spiritual journey.
Would you not be happy with that?
Total Distance Walked: 14.93
kilometers.
Highest Elevation Gained: 2,449 feet.
Document done in LibreOffice 5.3
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