Once upon a time in Sagada /3

continuation...

Heavy

Your exploring group forges on with lighter baggage but with

heavy hearts, disappointed by people who come all the way

here to appreciate nature but are too eager to destroy it.

Along the way, you meet a relatively large group of fellow

spelunkers whom you assume to be Americans.

''You can do it!'' one of your classmates says by way of urging

someone on.

''Oh, I can do it,'' she answers. But her face says: ''Of course, I

can, you dummy. You're still on your way through while I'm on

my way back already.''

Next you scale a wall horizontally en route to a horrendously

cold and dark subterranean pool. How do I do that when I am

not a salamander? you wonder. Simple. The locals have installed

thick nylon ropes for the horizontal acrobatics.

Still, there is the constant threat of getting impaled on a jutting

rock once you lose your grip on the rope. It is so wet, slimy and

musty at this depth that you feel like a fungus. But the moment

the light from the lamp strikes the surreal formations around

you, and the limestone formations shine like bizarre crystal

chandeliers, you feel fortunate you are a fungus, if not a lizard.

Why, you have actually crawled your way to a 360-degree

underground theater that most humans don't get to see!

You have to squeeze through an aperture in order to get to the

pool. One classmate turns out to be claustrophobic, and refuses

to go in. The others take a dip and gladly chill their bones.

Practically everyone is dog-tired by this time, so a dip in the icy

pool is supposedly aptly therapeutic. Suddenly, you fear for the

Cro-Magnon man, for imaginary cave-dwelling critters, and,

most importantly, for pasma.

You pocket two manageably sized limestone rocks from the cave

floor. But you resist the temptation to cart away a glistening

stalactite. Gee, what are these? Fossilized shells on the cave

wall! Man, this cave must have risen from the sea! Your geology

teacher was not lying, after all. And you are how many miles

above sea level?

Enthusiastic

The trek back proves to be scarier and seems to take forever.

Worse, you feel you can trip over a slimy ridge any time and

plunge to your death many kilometers below.

And so when the class sees the sunlight peeping through the

cave's mouth, every pair of hands claps most enthusiastically.

The long ''night'' is over.

Imagine your relief: ''Yes! I passed outdoor rec! Thank God I'll

graduate on time!''

But you choose to keep it to yourself. You're the most senior

student here, you realize. The others will either get envious for

your graduating on time, or despise you for taking up a PE

course almost too late. You can never tell.

You know the others have the same thing running in their minds

when you all troop silently to the church right after the

expedition. God saved your lives. No intensity 2 aftershocks. No

untoward incidents.

To your surprise, you realize you've lost your bad cold. All that

sweating paid off, zapping the persistent virus.

By the time the clock strikes 7 p.m. all of you have taken a

shower (a sprinkler-lens faucet that spouts water which drills

right through your scalp) at the local inn, checked out the

aboriginal weaves in town, and bought reproductions of

Eduardo Masferre's famous black-and-white photographs of the

Cordillera and its proud people.

You can't remember how you got back to Baguio at 3 p.m. on the

third day, because all you had in mind was Sagada. It even

spilled into your dreams, as you imagined a grotesque rendering

of a frog, a pregnant woman, a porcine figure, the knights of the

round table, King Arthur's tower.

Sheesh, the limestone souvenirs have made your bag sag like a

sack of rice. Fortunately, the experience was excruciating

enough to make you less grouchy for the next two decades.