CEBU, Philippines - The night before Sunday, I closed my book and stopped to consider what else there was to do after church on another ordinary Sunday. For those who are not native to Cebu, the automatic response would probably have been to pack your bikini and hit the beach—even if it’s at the peak of the –ber months which could mean potentially heavy rains. But hey, you are going to the beach to get wet, right?
But with beaches becoming a little bit too overrated and with heavy puffs of clouds crowding over the heavens and leaving little room for sunlight to pass through, I was headed for the hills with only a camera and my magenta Addidas jacket in hand.
The first time I had heard about the Transcentral Highway was just a day before I geared up for a trip alone to Balamban. Balamban is, honest to goodness, nothing like Mactan in terms of popularity and perhaps in terms of the number of tourists that flock its limits day in and day out. But it is exactly this lack of people, the serence silence of being left with nothing more but mountain air and fresh blossoms that makes Balamban all too endearing.
There are two options to get from Cebu City to Balamban. The first and undoubtedly the safest is via Naga from SRP—a rather boring and less challenging route, if you ask me. The second and the more perilous of the two is via the Transcentral Highway which goes all the way from Busay and eventually through the lush greenery of the mountains. It was perilous, I was told, because of the threat of impending landslides from the cliffs and the mountainsides when the ground loosened up after a heavy downpour. But going via Transcentral is as perilous as it is scenic.
I turned off my car’s air-conditioner to get a whiff of the fresh, post-rain mountain air that was a combination of a grounded, earthy scent and the coolness that clung on the leaves and branches of the trees and shrubs that I passed by, as I slowly began my ascent. Right off the window of the passenger’s seat was sweeping view of the city that I had just left behind while around several bends, the mountain side, as I left Busay, rose like a giant moist chocolate cake.
The road to Busay and Balamban was every inch just like a replica of Baguio, albeit a little less cooler than the latter. The climate was perfect for rare blossoms, many of which thrive along the mountainsides, creeping and clinging against the rocky faces while spurting colors of deep blues and violets, and sprays of old rose.
I parked my car along the ranger’s station at Canada Drive, a fork in the road with the left bend leading towards Balamban. Just a few meters off where the road bounded, were lines of flower stalls bursting with hibiscus, blue bells, marigolds, and a rich array of flowers with colors deeply saturated by the rain that had just begun its descent towards the city.
A little farther off were quaint huts selling sweet corn that was perfect with butter melting and seeping into the cracks between the kernels.
My final stop was West 35, a respite high above the mountains that barely anyone has discovered—yet. The café rose from a zigzagging path, a quaint and homey retreat made of rock, glass, and hardwood with beams that rose high enough to support a viewing deck that offered a sweeping sight of the surrounding mountains where you could literally kiss the clouds.
Devoid of people, the café basked in a cozy silence that was hard to find in the bustling city back down.
I ordered a cup of hot chocolate and kicked off my ballet flats to cosy up on the upholstered couch overlooking the mountains. Taking a sip as I prepared for my trip back down, I figured there was really more to Cebu than its pristine white sand beaches.