I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to visit the highlands of the world’s largest city. After all, for the longest time, it had always been the beach for us, with island-hopping and snorkeling around Samal island garnering our full attention. Last weekend I thought, a change was finally in order.
Sure, Davao City can be impressive, with its fruits and all, but try taking in how wide it is in terms of area. It’s an understatement when you hear Dabawenyos boast we’ve lots of land and a whole gulf as our home and real estate. Travel more than an hour up the mountains past resorts and plantations and one is still inside the city’s boundaries. That’s how humongous the land is.
One time, my pardner had asked me to accompany her and her workmates to Bukidnon to visit a friend’s farm and accompany another to her hometown. I thought why not? The November month had been nothing but stifling and humid in the house anyway. Fresh mountain air was a welcome change, and just what I needed. First stop had been a private farm in the Marilog district, where they commercially grew veggies of all kinds. Interestingly enough, the farm’s cafeteria was full of walk-in, early-morning folks who had gone up to witness the sunrise over a mountain range fully covered in clouds. We had hot coco and biko, same as with other guests and I thought the combination really does the trick for weary and cold travelers (even as I noticed some children were having ice cream).
Over the years, the highway up the mountain in Marilog has slowly turned into one laid-back tourist spot, with slopes filled with lodges and resorts on both sides. At noontime, with a clear view of the pines and greenery all around plus the cold mountain air, one is instantly reminded of Tagaytay up north of the country. And as it can get really biting cold in the evenings, some private lodges have provided pits for a small fire outside, where one can cook a meal, be warm and then admire the stars overhead.
It’s because of these that on our way back from Bukidnon, we opted to stop by Marilog again for dinner. Sure enough, the temperature had dropped below twenty. While my companions had been ready with their cold gear, our driver and myself were not, clearly lacking the boy scout spirit of Be Prepared. Alas, city shorts and cotton shirts in mountain weather is the perfect uniform for those who had failed the marshmallow test as a child, if you know what I mean.
With them comfortably warm in their coats and parkas, the two of us idiots sat down at the outdoor table with our dinner of hot soup and pancit, along with a half a pint of hypothermia. Such is the life!
