Neighborhoods of Baguio, with love
Nostalgic travel note x
A year ago, my old roommate, whom I lived with as a teenager AND for four years asked me if I could come to her wedding and be her maid of honor. A few weeks ago, I was able to witness her get married in church —it was solemn, a clear picture of what devotion looks like. Two souls, faithful to each other —God-kneeling and vowing to hold hands in this life till death do them part.
I spent that weekend not only celebrating the romantic love they have and this big milestone, but it opened my eyes with how beautiful platonic love could be.
It is heart-warming to see the travels someone can make to show up for the people they love. 12 hour layover? nothing. 6 hour bus ride? it’s barely an effort. Traveling for just a ceremony and reception? I’m there. No more vacation leave? I’ll be on a half day, and I’ll travel and I’ll be there on time.
I sat in-front of the altar waiting for when I’d be called in for pictures. In that moment, I couldn't help but appreciate how many people adore the couple. I thought to myself “this is how a wedding should be, with the blessing of the people you love.” Their families are proud and you can see it with how they smile and how they look at the couple. You can see it in their eyes, and you can feel it. It’s the kindest of faces, their eyes glistens, and their smiles almost-laughing. Marriage is a bit of a sore topic for me, I still carry grief about it. I think when I was twenty two, I didn't know anything about everything but one thing is for sure, I knew I was ready. Everyone else wasn't even when they initially thought so. So at that moment, I knew what my naive twenty two year old self should’ve known. In that moment, I felt like my wound closed up and I wish someone could just hold my hand through it, or hold me tight. So I did, I caressed my pendant like a nervous little kid.
While the weekend was filled with celebrating the couple, I indulged in a few side quests and enjoyed family breakfasts together.
I’ve visited Baguio with my family a lot. It’s a city within the mountains that offers pine trees, cool breeze, strawberries, and nostalgia. If I think of Baguio, I think about Cafe by The Ruins and Vizco’s strawberry shortcakes, the strawberry flavored taho, the chocolate de batirol, Mines view park, the culture of the Igorots, Good Taste’s buttered chicken, the big dog, thrift-shopping at the night market, a cozy fireplace in a cabin drinking Tanduay rum and coke while my aunt spills the hot tea about her work or a lore deep in our family, a few fights with logistics and waiting around with my big Filipino family, and getting my cousins all packed in a 7-seater.
I also went to Baguio with just my mom when I was sixteen —both carrying just a backpack and getting on the overnight bus.
We visited the church, thrifted bags, and a leather jacket (that I wore for the last time to Jungle concert in 2024), and most importantly, I fell on a big and waist-deep muddy canal before strawberry-picking in La Trinidad. At that moment, my mom didn’t know if she was going to help me or laugh at my face. All in all, the city remains to host the sweetest memories. My parents also visited Baguio when I was too young to remember, but I’m glad to have spent time in this city with my favorite people.
This time, I got to experience it again with Kristine and her family (and some parts with just myself). Here are the visited neighborhoods outside of the tourist spots:
Sto. Tomas Road
A steep hill within Bakakeng Central houses a lot of BnBs and a craft brewery. Sto. Tomas Road is very quiet, but in the few days we stayed there, I enjoyed how peaceful the sleep was and how beautiful the sunrise were. I’ve tried to do a shakeout run and failed miserably ending it with just a 3 km plod due to how steep the road really was that I ended up walking back home. I was delusional to think that I was blasting it at a 5’21” pace when in fact the elevation loss from where we were staying to the main road was 100 meter drop —my knees were crying. Really, Baguio terrain isn’t a fucking joke. I might also say I wasn’t fit, I just had a 9-hour flight to Guangzhou, a 12-hour layover and wandering around, a 3-hour flight to Manila, and lastly a 6-hour bus ride to Baguio (but all of that is an excuse to put on my Strava essay).
But the sweetest memory of Sto Tomas road is that after picking me up at the bus terminal —I was welcomed with a big spread of Filipino breakfast: Tinapa (smoked-fish), salted egg, sliced tomatoes, garlic rice, bibingka from Vigan, Vigan longganisa, and fried banana. We sat and ate together, with her dad cracking jokes. I felt home again. When you grow up and you go to work, you rarely have the luxury of a slow family breakfast. This is what I came home for, this feeling.
Camp John Hay
Eco-Trail —I was filled with desperation to say that I’m fit enough for a long run even with Baguio’s steep hills within its neighborhoods. I wanted to redeem myself from the shakeout run, so the next day before the rehearsal dinner —I made a route to go around all the tourist spots and Baguio parks and end it with a small trail run. The thing about me is, I love my company. It’s an only child thing, I have my world and I need time to spend with myself. I know I’m losing myself, if I start trading my own me-time for them. Fortunately this year, I’ve gotten plenty of that to regain some sense of self.
So here’s the checklist
Burnham Park
Get a strawberry taho
Maybe the market??
Baguio Cathedral
That one haunted house they turned into a fine dining place??
Wright Park
Camp John Hay - Eco trail (meet the couple)
I did cross all of these out except the market and ran them with all my leg power, grudges for exes, and a bit of nostalgia reliving how annoyed I was during those family trips. The views were insane but the thing about Baguio is that one moment, you feel like you’re flying, and the next you’re hiking —it’s insanely steep up and down even if its 300m each. So it’s not like you’re covering great distances, noooo, you’re just about to break your knees. The moment I got to Camp John Hay and away from the tourists and the traffic —it got quiet. It’s almost scary to do it alone plus, you can’t see the trail from the get-go, you have to go to this paintball area and find a right turn to the eco-trail. While I love noticing the small things, like how red the ground is, how full of clay, and how rich the soil is —the eco-trail was a little scary. Not a lot of people visit the area, the entry is full of overgrown greens, and the trail is barely visible. I was trying to follow the Strava map only to realize 500 meters in that the visible trail is not the same on the map. What the hell is going on? I kept going back and forth, crossing the first river, and re-picking which of the two directions am I supposed to go. I just trusted my not-so-intuitive gut and followed the visible trail. It took me to a higher and a good view of the pines but again, it’s not following the broken lines on Strava. I’m still lost and I don’t know how I’m going back home but I kept going and gaslighting myself that I’m okay. I saw the highway from the top and thought to myself to follow another visible trail I saw going down with the hopes that it would go straight to the highway. So I did, and fuck was it not only steep, it was itchy, my head went in straight to a big web of spiders, and all I can say is a chant of “tabi tabi po”/ excuse me —and a loud prayer of please let me get home safe to the trees around me. When I went down, there was no highway. The highway is across the river! A river! I have to cross the river and not slip. Once I crossed it, I realized there was a wall of soft soil filled with sweet potato shrubs. No way for me to climb it without the risk of actually sliding down and taking big chunks of the earth with me. So I called Tin, and I finally admitted that I was lost. I prayed to God again and held tightly on the shrubs. Once I got up, I realized I was on someone’s private / no-trespassing kind of property. Jesus, I looked like a kid who fell in the mud when they picked me up. The bow on my hair was the cherry on top.
Would I do it alone, all over again? hell yes.
Gibraltar
Lokal ng Gibraltar —I’m not a religious person. Spiritual, yes, and in a hippie woo-woo way too. I’m a big believer in fate, and I think that what’s meant to be will be. The couple’s love story is a clear manifestation of fate —with all the invisible strings that tied them together, from their hometown, their university, the activities they love to do, and their families! But I think, their religion can also be beautiful. Seeing it close-up, as they kneel in front of God, reciting their vows in our language —the deepest and most hauntingly beautiful Tagalog vows I’ve ever heard. I haven’t seen many acts of devotion but that, that was it.
I used to write love letters with “Always devoted, S” —with no idea what devotion really means. This weekend was so healing in more ways than one, because in that moment, of fixing the bride’s veil, holding the ring, holding her bouquet, silently admiring them, and the look of love on their parents’ faces —I was in awe to see what devotion really looks like, not only to each other, but to their God too.
Bakakeng Norte
Frangeli House —if I have a home, god, I want it to be like this. The natural light, the big window in the attic, the big garden, the piano, a grand staircase, and a huge dining hall —so perfect for hosting people, for having a big Family Christmas Eve, for a lot of love.
I loved staying in that house —it felt like I was part of a big family. I loved the morning-after brunch, and being woken up by her mom. On the second floor, there was a big writing desk and a balcony that has a view the mountains. On the day of the wedding, I saw the groom’s parents next to each other on the writing desk, his mom handwriting her speech trying to control her tears. The house was filled with the groomsmen and bridesmaids, all beautiful with their green dresses, and the perfectly pressed pineapple threaded barongs.
To re-live one last memory of being girls together, I was at the bride’s prep room indulging in a Bugnay wine (a fruit wine mostly found in the north of PH) in a supposedly sober wedding and croissants while taking photos using the disposable camera (and teaching the best man how to use one).
The thing about Tin and I, is that we spent most time in our dorm because we don’t go home to our provinces on the weekends. She was the first person I climbed with on my first mountain, we climbed Batolusong and Daguldol together. We climbed ankle-deep mud, fell on our butts, and descend on mountains barefoot. We sat on jeepneys top-loaded, feeling the breeze of the wind, and the innocence of being teens. We swam in the rocky beaches of Batangas and lit sparklers at night. We slept on the floor of my first college dorm together after binge eating Jollibee. I did my laundry on Saturdays in Maginhawa and she wrote her thesis at Zentea while I wait for my clothes to dry. We danced in our dorm room with a green tumbler and a phone torch blasting Lorde and Chainsmokers. We sent ugly selfies to each other, and probably farted loads in front of each other. We loved the water, she used to competitively swim, and I love the water in general. We would go to the Marikina pool every morning before our classes and have cheesy eggdesal from Mcdonald’s. We would walk Major (her small chihuahua that can fit inside her Jansport pack and stay in our room) to UP Diliman, under the dancing trees, and sit in the sunken garden. Together with our roommates, they were my family during those years of 14-18. They were there to be at Yabu for my post-entrance exam (especially after Ateneo and I saw kids running up to their parents) —I had my roommates. Our beds were adjacent to each other, we would do all-nighters together, or sometimes just play sims. We would take photos sleeping and scaring each other, so we could compile them for our birthday greetings on the 21st of November. Tin and I were girls together, and we will always be.
At the end of the reception, they advised guests to take home flowers. As I walked back, I saw one stem, literally one stem of Stargazer lilies. That’s just a sign that I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Lilies always have been a good reminder of that.
SM Baguio City
Nothing says you’re back in the Philippines than an SM shopping centre. It’s a routine, you queue, you open your bag, the security guard pokes a stick and ta-da you’re a citizen carrying zero bombs and would never do an act of terrorism (for sure), and then you’re off to have a jolly shopping day hearing their jingles “sa SM, we got it all for you!”
Of all the weekends my family and I have come here, my first time to go inside is to get my nails fixed with the couple. We all got our little sections, the groom getting his foot spa and the bride picking a french manicure over a pearly almond nails, while I got my favorite shade of blue and had to bid goodbye to my red long nails which took months of prep and care. After the nails, we headed down for a little grocery shop and while waiting for Tin —I spotted a very nostalgic snack, I just can't resist. A fucking purefoods hotdog in waffle, god, was I beaming, eating, standing like an idiot in front of the tills. The softness of the waffle, with a little bit of butter, some bites of cheese, and the red hotdog that I’ve eaten for the last 25 years of my life hasn't lost its charm. The best bits of coming home is to have all your favorite snacks and falling in-love all over again.
The next day, we went with her whole family and indulged in Manam, a trusty chain that offers twists on filipino classics: a crispy fried palabok drowned in sauce until it becomes soggy and returns to a noodle like consistency (that doesn't sound appealing but trust me, it slaps); the beef sinigang with watermelon —a sweeter, beefier sinigang (honestly, I like Kanin Club’s corned beef sinigang better, the sweetness of Manam’s got us tweaking for a second there); baby squid in garlic oil (which would slap even harder on a crostini). I do think while Manam is a chain, it is consistent, and it’s good to share with a big group. That lunch felt nurturing, seeing the dynamic of a bigger family, an extremely extroverted dad, a charming mom, and three sisters with their husbands that equally has the kwela/kanto humor. I am an only child, so seeing this apart from my cousins —it felt nice. What’s so nice about Baguio is that you can eat Al Fresco, it isn't as hot and humid hell as in Manila —so in this centre, you can overlook the Burnham Park and a view of the mountains with the clouds so low you think you can touch it.
This weekend was so magical, and out of the two weeks I was back, this was the most at home and relaxed I felt. So this is a love letter to Kristine and her family, thank you. I would never want my brain to forget this weekend.
Always devoted, S.