I wouldn’t wake up at three in the morning for just anybody. But Rose, she wasn’t just anybody.
“Good morning Ginnaaa!” Rose’s voice blasted through the receiver and I quickly pulled away, my ear ringing. I checked the time at the top of my screen–3:06 AM. Lovely.
Minutes later I met Rose on the dark street outside my guest house in the small Filipino town of Sagada. She plopped a blue toboggan on my head and clicked her tongue at me, eyeing the wrinkled layers of t-shirts I’d thrown together in an attempt to stay warm. Patting her red backpack, she shook her head at me lovingly.
“Oh Ginna, Ginna, Ginna!” She swung the backpack over her shoulders, “I’ve got everything we need right here! It’s always good to be prepared for an adventure!”
She put her hands on her hips, smiling into the dark night. With her backpack and rubber boots, she looked ready to trek through a jungle or bushwhack through the rainforest. I, on the other hand, looked like I’d just rolled out of bed. Because, well, I had.
I’d met Rose only the day before, but she had already declared herself my unofficial Filipina mother. She had eight children she told me, so one more couldn’t hurt. Or, if I was interested, one of her sons was single, had a good job in Manila, and was very handsome. Emphasis on very handsome.
Rose had been my guide to Sagada’s famous hanging coffins, the main tourist attraction in the sleepy mountainside town and it’s primary source of capital. All day long groups of tourists, foreign and local, would descend into the Echo Valley alongside their guides to witness the coffins strapped to the sides of Sagada’s sweeping limestone cliffs. I had wandered up alone, much to the surprise of the three guides that sat waiting and gossiping, and before long I was trekking down the mountainside with Rose in the lead.
“All alone?” she’d asked me as she practically skipped down the cliff face towards the central valley. She had a bouncy way about her. “You’re very brave. But someone needs to look after you here in Sagada. I can do that!”
I was pleased to have found a connection in the Philippines, and accepted her offer to take me on a trek through the mountains after viewing the hanging coffins. The next thing I knew we were splashing through mountain streams, scrambling our way up rocks, and weaving through rice paddy paths no wider than a balance beam. All along, Rose beamed with genuine, unwavering enthusiasm, and I couldn’t help but feel an equal sense of joy as I clambered along behind her.
Perhaps that’s why I’d agreed to this 3 AM hike. Or perhaps I was simply out of my mind.
A white truck stopped in front of the guest house, and Rose motioned for me to climb in the back. “Also my son!” she exclaimed, and the driver of the truck turned and gave me a sheepish wave. We took off into the dark night, me holding on to the seat for dear life as we wound through the dark mountains. A few minutes later, we found ourselves at the start of the path.
“Looks like we’re the first hikers here!” Rose bought some crackers from a brave vendor nearby, who had probably been up for hours. My clock read 3:37 AM.
A Filipino couple wandered up with their guide, and Rose motioned for us to follow along behind them. “Let’s walk with them,” she whispered to me, “More light.”
Besides the two flashlights Rose and I held in our hands and a small LCD panel the other group carried, the world around us was an impermeable darkness. We focused on the ground directly below our feet, the path ahead of us a mystery and the path behind fading into the night. For a while we hiked in silence in this way, the only sound the scuffing of our sneakers against the rocky trail and the chirping of early-morning birds shrouded by darkness in the trees. In those moments, even on the other side of the world, the universe felt as small as our little bubble of light in the dark woods.
Almost an hour into hiking, we reached a rest point defined by a few ramshackle wooden benches perched on a plane of flatter ground. Collapsing on a bench, Rose pulled items from her backpack one by one. A large piece of plastic for us to sit on. The packet of crackers. Two small bottles of water. A fuzzy, fabulous, cheetah-print shawl.
“What’s this for?” I asked, motioning to the shawl with my elbow as I tore open the crackers. I handed one to Rose and she took a bite, crumbs raining down into the darkness around our feet.
“It’s for you!” she exclaimed, mouthful of crackers. She wrapped the shawl around my shoulders. “It’s cold up here! It is my job to keep you warm.”
We hiked on. The path became steeper as we neared the top of the mountain, the roots becoming harder to spot under the moving beams of our flashlights. The blackness around us stayed consistent, a starless sky without a hint of daylight. Rose and I hiked on, our breaths matched, our feet drumming a consistent rhythm on the bumpy ground.
“Coffee!” A voice broke through the silence of the night around us, interrupting our cadence. Two women stood to the side of the path, wrapped in layers of blankets. “Hot coffee!”
Despite the darkness, I could practically see Rose’s face light up at the prospect of hot coffee. Minutes later we sat side-by-side at a picnic table, the steam from our coffees fogging up our glasses.
“How far are we from the top?” I took a sip, the heat from the drink scalding my tongue. I winced, blew gently across the top of the cup, and sipped again. Better.
“Oh, we’re here!” Rose exclaimed, motioning into the darkness beyond where we sat. The coal-colored night was so clouded I was sure we were still under tree cover. As I squinted at the blackness around me, a tiny sliver of sunshine broke free on the horizon, flooding the scene with a golden light. Little by little, our surroundings became clearer.
We were on a mountaintop, the peak rising beyond a sea of clouds, waves of cumulous white fog billowing out beyond us in every direction. Our mountain appeared more like an island in a wild sea, the peak the only land visible in any direction. The sky started to change color, from gold to pink to blue, and the clouds reflected each color in turn, an ever-changing ocean surrounding us.
“Ginna, look at me!” The sunshine had seemed to ignite a new energy in her, and as I watched, Rose skipped across the mountain peak, opening her arms to the sky and bounding over a tree root in her way. I followed closely behind. She turned and beamed at me.
“Let me take your picture!” She adjusted my toboggan and positioned me in front of the sunrise, snapping a complicated variety of panoramas before she was finally satisfied with her work. “You’re a model!” she exclaimed, as I scrolled through the endless photos of myself smiling awkwardly.
“Let me take your picture Rose,” I held up my camera and she positioned herself in front of the view. “Ok, three, two, one!”
Rose leapt off the ground, her arms splayed out and her face filled with exuberant glee. I quickly snapped my camera as Rose landed back on the ground in a fit of giggles.
“What a good morning!” She caught her breath, exhaling deeply. She looked out at the endless sea of clouds, then up at me. “What a good good morning.”
I watched as the sun continued to rise, tinging the clouds a deep shade of violet. Rose stood beside me, smiling into the sunshine, the lenses of her glasses reflecting the same deep purple shade. I’m sure my face looked just as jubilant in that moment.
It was a good morning indeed.
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Virginia Taylor (Ginna) is a travel writer and photographer exploring the world until her boots wear through. She’s currently on a mission to explore all 32 departments of Colombia, though she formerly called the Middle East home. Want to know more? Visit the About Page.