An overnight bus, nine hours of hiking in the rain, and the unexpected relief of staying longer.
I am not a hiking person.
Please keep this in mind throughout this story, because my behaviour will suggest otherwise.
I travelled from Manila to Batad, hiked for nine hours in the rain, needed a massage to negotiate peace with my legs, and then went back out for another five-hour hike.
I had booked two nights.
I stayed for five.
Somewhere between the slippery paths, the aching muscles, and the mountains that kept interrupting my suffering with spectacular views, I stopped counting down to my departure.
I wanted to stay.
Manila to Banaue: The Bus That Builds Character Getting to Batad began with an overnight bus from Manila to Banaue. Roughly nine to ten hours.
When I booked it, I imagined falling asleep in the city and waking up refreshed in the mountains.
A lovely idea. Very optimistic of me.
This was a sit-upright, freeze-slowly, reconsider-your-decisions kind of bus.
The air conditioning had ambitions of preserving us for future generations. The legroom required negotiation. And the mountain curves at three in the morning introduced a spiritual dimension I had not included in my itinerary.
Sleep was more theory than practice.
I would drift off, the bus would turn, and my body would remind me that we were still very much participating in the journey.
By morning, I had spent hours sitting down and somehow still needed a rest.
My overnight bus survival kit: a warm hoodie, a neck pillow, snacks, and emotional resilience.
Pack all four. The hoodie alone cannot carry you.
Banaue to Batad: Your Legs Take Over Arriving in Banaue felt like an achievement.
It was also premature.
There was still the journey to the Batad jump-off point, followed by the walk down into the village.
Down. With my bag.
Batad was not somewhere I could step out of a vehicle and roll my luggage into reception. Reaching my accommodation required effort, balance, and a growing awareness that I would eventually have to climb back out.
At first, I was too distracted by the scenery to dwell on that last part.
This is how the mountains get you.
The Views Had Me Sounding Like an Ambulance There are beautiful views, and then there are views that reduce your entire vocabulary to one word.
“Wow.”
A few steps later: “Woooow.”
Turn a corner: “WOW.”
I sounded like an ambulance siren working its way through traffic.
The Batad Rice Terraces curved around the mountains in enormous green layers. Mist drifted across them. Clouds settled over the slopes as though they had booked a longer stay than I had.
Even the rain seemed committed to the presentation, making everything look richer, greener, and almost unreal.
I would stop to complain about my legs, look up, and forget the rest of my sentence.
For a moment.
Then my legs would remind me.
Day One: Nine Hours in the Rain Let me return to the central fact of this story.
I am not a hiking person.
Yet on my first day, I hiked for nine hours.
Nine hours. In the rain.
There were narrow mountain paths where I had to pay close attention to every step. Slipping there would have been serious. I could not afford to become distracted by the view, however determined the view was to distract me.
The scenery demanded admiration. The path demanded concentration. My legs demanded to know who had authorised this.
By the time my guide and I were returning, it was dark.
It was still raining.
We were navigating mountain paths using our phone flashlights.
At that point, I had very little interest in personal growth. I wanted to reach my room.
When we finally got back, I could barely walk properly. My legs were finished.
Capital F.
I had come to see the rice terraces. Apparently, the rice terraces also wanted to see what I was made of.
The Massage That Gave Me False Confidence After that hike, I arranged a massage in my room.
Calling it a treat would be misleading. This was a peace negotiation between me and my lower body.
Did it restore me completely?
No.
Did it make me feel sufficiently hopeful to make another questionable decision?
Absolutely.
Because by day three, I was back on the trail for another five-hour hike.
Five hours.
After the nine.
There is something deeply suspicious about a place that can leave you struggling to walk and still persuade you to go out again.
But I wanted to see more. Another stretch of terraces. Another view around a bend. Another chance to stand somewhere so beautiful that I temporarily forgot how much effort it had taken to get there.
My legs were entitled to feel betrayed.
I Booked Two Nights. I Stayed Five. For all my complaints, I extended my stay.
Two nights became five.
The quiet had begun to work on me.
With limited Wi-Fi, no traffic noise around me, and fewer opportunities to disappear into endless scrolling, my days felt different. I spent more time looking out at the mountains. Listening to the rain. Sitting with my thoughts long enough for them to settle.
On the trails, my attention narrowed to the next step, the next foothold, the next place to pause and breathe.
There was something relieving about that.
I did not have to work out my whole life on the side of a mountain. I just had to put my foot somewhere sensible.
And when I stopped, there were the terraces.
My problems had not vanished. But looking out across those enormous slopes, they took up less room for a while.
I could feel the exhaustion in my body and a little more space in my mind.
That was what made me stay.
Somewhere during those extra days, I realised I felt lighter.
Was Batad Worth It? My legs may wish to submit a separate review.
For me, yes.
Getting there took patience. Walking took effort. The rain complicated things, and returning along mountain paths after dark was a part of the experience I would plan differently next time. I would allow more daylight, take my limits seriously, and carry a proper torch.
But I still think about those views.
I think about the mist moving across the terraces, the quiet between the rain, and how good it felt to have nowhere urgent to be.
I arrived expecting a two-night visit to a beautiful place. I left after five nights with aching muscles, a quieter mind, and a surprising reluctance to go.
I am still not a hiking person.
But apparently, I am a person who can be persuaded by a mountain.
And Batad made a very convincing case.