The trip to Sagada was almost 3 years in the making. With more than 2 years of dreaming and imagining, the actual planning (itinerary, budget, shopping, scheduling) only took a little over 2 weeks because we already knew where to find what we needed. All that was left to do was write everything down on paper, shop for necessities, pack our bags, and go!
On Friday, February 5, I bid my workmates farewell and jumped into a cab (which they very kindly hailed for me) with my huge, pink backpack and striped slingbag. I got off at Jollibee Farmer’s Plaza and had hot choco and a tuna pie, waiting for the boyfriend.
He showed up pretty early and we walked all the way to the Victory Liner bus station, me in my office work clothes with a huge, pink tortoise shell on my back, sweating and swearing silently. The hour we waited for the departure of our bus was spent with him looking dreamy-eyed and drooling over the buses that had lazy boy seats.
Wishing on a lazyboy seat.
The bus finally left, and we photographed, munched, argued and slept our way to Baguio. The thrill of the first change of the landscape always gets to me and I snapped away, thinking every moment too precious to allow it to pass by.
A view as alien to city life as I could get, within the first hour out.
A bus ride is not complete without the stopovers and token artsy shots:
The first stopover.
How many liters to Baguio? To Sagada?
The bus started to move and a little girl started crying in panic, her words incoherent to all but those nearest to her. “Sshh, sshh, we’re not leaving yet,” a woman soothed. “We’re not leaving your big sister,” said the bus conductor, gruffly, gently, looking at the girl but careful not to touch her.
