It did not take more than five minutes since we departed from Bugnay Rice Terraces when stopping the car became mandatory again. A sign called our attention, and it is not something we can just ignore. It was the turnaround signage to Buscalan Village.

Why is a sign such a big deal?

Buscalan Village is particularly popular not only in the Cordilleras but in the country as a whole, as it houses the oldest mambabatok or the traditional Kalinga tattooist, Whang-od. Despite the discrepancies about her real age, Whang-od is still widely believed to have been born in 1917 and hence as of writing is 107 years old. She serves as the living icon of her tribe, its culture and traditions. Armed with only sticks, a thorn from a citrus plant and some soot from her fireplace, she used to impart tattoos to headhunting fighters as visible sign of combat achievement. Now, she employs the same traditional way of imparting tattoo but to tourists who go all the way up to Buscalan just to see her.

Until pieces of information that supports the contrary surfaced in 2024, Whang-od was considered as the last mambabatok. She has since then started to pass the skill to her grandniece who serves her senior apprentice. Despite the clouds of controversy, Whand-od remains arguably a treasure to her tribe, a living embodiment of the Kalinga culture of the highlands.

I would have to cut the joy here though and rain on the parade: we did not go to Buscalan. Apart from the fact that it was still quite a distance from the turnaround signage, we were really just barnstorming the Cordilleras, just doing things as we went along, having no specific plan at all.

It was already past 03:00 PM and we went on with our journey. Being surrounded with the might and beauty of the mountains, we gained some sense of connection to the history and culture of the Cordillera just by being on the grounds preserved in time, continuously being sanctified with work of those whose lives have been dedicated to the continuation of the legacy of their forebears.

At some point on our journey, Ran changed seats with me and offered to drive. I said yes, of course, and slept my way while we traversed the mountain roads. My sleep was interrupted though because something bad happened, though not as bad as as the one in Quirino. Besides, the unsightliness of the situation almost immediately diminished because of our indubitable proximity to humanity, which I would say, Cordilleran humanity.