The Road to Pangyan

It has been three years since this happened (and I should've posted it then) but I grew lazy on blogging. Hence, the throwback.

How do I define the term, "being alive?" For me, that morning ride over to Pangyan, Glan (P.S.) would be the closest I can get to defining the term. Something which I will remember for all life.

Part two of our Glan escapade was our trip to Pangyan, about 15 kms to the southeast of Cablalan. We mulled on visiting the place, weather permitting. It was, after all, typhoon season, and our place was in the firing line for the southwest monsoon. Pangyan's inaccessibility was due to the bad roads that were still being improved.

We woke up early to a chilly morning. Midnight was unusually humid, but 5 in the morning and the floor felt like ice. We had no time to dress up, though. Soon enough, the mellow yellow of sunrise on Sunday began to slowly stir up a sleepy Cablalan.

Postcard house just across the road.

An empty stretch of the unpaved coastal road through Cablalan. (It has been completely paved now)

Sleepy village it is in the morning. The road is devoid of any traffic, save for the lone motorcycle heading for the next village, or maybe just down the road. The morning sun's yellow light filtering through the haze added to the romance of the scene.

Good morning, Cablalan!

As we would find out, at this time of the day there's really no truck or vehicle to get us to Pangyan. So we had to wait for the rides. And we waited, for probably an hour, while they looked for people with motorcycles to bring us to Pangyan.

The ojek, or habal-habal as it is known here, is the lifeblood of rural places such as these. Modern age steeds, they bring people, goods and sometimes livestock from farm to market, and back. The orginal habal-habal is usually a motorcycle large and rugged enough to tackle difficult terrain, tinkered with distinctive extension seats in order to carry 5 (yes, five!) people on it - three people behind the driver and another riding on the tank in front of the driver. Crazy, dangerous even, a configuration but it works.

The original habal-habal by definition. Note the saddle seat on the tank, by the way.

Against my better judgment, I volunteered (or was it insisted?) to ride the tank. Since I had the camera and I didn't want the driver to obstruct my view, I guessed the front-row seat, in the literal sense of the word, the best way to go.

The rural road passing through Baliton.

We took of for Pangyan in three motorcycles, running down the road at high speed. The road twisted and turned, climbed up and down hills. When we crested over one hill onto a high-speed downhill run, everybody went screaming. It was just like being in a roller coaster.

Or spread one's wings like an eagle, since we were almost flying at that point.

Of course, it wasn't simply all fun and games. The fifteen klicks to Pangyan wound up hills and mountains, including one section that was more twisty and narrower than the famed Baluyan zig-zag road in Malalag, DDS. Large sections of the road were still unpaved then. There was even that notorious uphill segment where they had just cut the road through the mountain, with the recent rains and passing traffic mucking up the road - we nearly slipped there at speed. When not shooting the DSLR, I was holding for dear life at the handlebar - and looking out the road for potential potholes. Suffice to say that at the speed we were going and my being precariously perched sideways on the fuel tank, I came close to being severely maimed, or even killed should the worst happen.

Try going up this slippery road at 60 km/h.

But all that hanging on for dear life has its moments, though. Going through this road early in the morning means getting rewarded with beautiful scenery. For a city-dweller having been accustomed to a sheltered lifestyle, this is a first.





Life goes slower in these parts, like the use of the buffalo to till the rice paddies.

Roller coaster road with a sweet view.

This is what I dream of waking up to!

After what seemed to be an eternity of fun and peril (maybe around 30 minutes to an hour), we reached Pangyan. Luckily, despite a few close calls, we made it in one piece.

Pangyan on a Sunday morning is a place time seemed to forget. Goats abound on the road, some of the Christian townfolk in Sunday's best heading out to church services, while Muslim kids are attending lessons in the nearby madrassa. The main highway running through the poblasi, now the width of a mere street, is quiet - save for the rumbling of a big truck-bus passing by to Margus (beyond Pangyan) from Glan or even General Santos. While the tranquil scene on such a fine morning could have been fodder for photography, unfortunately after a few shots in Pangyan, my camera's battery conked out.

The bridge at the entrance to Pangyan, Glan, P.S.

Off to Sunday church.

Goats chilling beside the road like it's no one's business. Lots of goats here!

The Ibni Katheer mosque of the locals in Pangyan.