As I sweat on my chair even with the fan directed at my body, I dream of Baguio. Not the mountain city of long ago when one could still smell the pine trees and sweaters were worn regularly—but today’s Baguio with its traffic and population explosion and ancient pine trees that have lost their wonderful smell.
Leaving Manila to go North on a Sunday morning is a wise thing to do. No stops and starts. Smooth cruising except for a few snarls in the small towns. We made one pit stop at Starbucks in Luisita. We didn’t take Marcos Highway, and instead opted for the hairpin curves of Kennon Road, aka The Zigzag.
How to get there: Take the bus from Victory Liner Cubao terminal; the fare going to Baguio is P445. If you’ll be coming from the Pasay terminal, the fare is P455. Deluxe buses with lavatories and more comfortable seats cost P715 one-way.
A white Christmas is far from a Filipino Christmas, but there was a snowman display at Manor Hotel in Baguio last Christmas that caught Alice Pascual’s fancy.
Baguio and I are not what we used to be, God knows. We’re both showing evidence of progressive abuse and neglect—denudation, for one thing. And for one who has lived as long as I, it’s definitely no small consolation that Baguio, as I, if I may carry on with the comparison, has remained loved.
The place is easy to miss. Not only is there no signage on the door, the façade gives you no clue, either, that here lies the best Asian cooking in the country.
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