Visiting Grandpa

Visiting Grandpa means walking more than ten kilometers of dirt road, rugged terrain, woods, rivers and forest.  And if we are lucky, we get to ride in a jeep which is always filled to the rooftops, which is my favorite spot.

During rainy season, the dirt road is scarred with huge gullies made by water streams from the mountains.  It’s very hard to negotiate, and it gets so slippery that it feels worse than being in a boat in a storm.  In times like these, the tires will be clothed with special metal chains for traction.  But in worst case scenarios, it doesn’t work.  And we end up talking and laughing about our bad trip, literally.  And we would have to walk the rest of the way.  But those with cargo is left behind, and the locals are always happy to accommodate stranded travelers for the night.  They would talk about heavier rains and storms and worse situations in the olden days blah blah blah. . . .

Crossing a flooded river is an adventure in itself.  Travelers and local people gather together with sundry river crossing aids like long bamboo poles, carabaos and horses and ropes, lots of ropes.  It’s a sight to behold and it’s not terrifying at all.  Everybody is eager to help despite the rain and gloomy skies and cold.  Food is passed around including dry clothes and drinking water, and chickens, while murky brown water is raging below a makeshift bamboo bridge.  But sometimes boulders and whole trees are swept by the fast river current. That’s when things get terrifying, and nobody crosses, not even the most foolhardy.