Konted's Make My Day 2: February 2016

Taking the Victory Liner Bus to Baguio City

Leaving my old, reliable Toyota Altis behind, I took a Baguio-bound Victory Liner aircon bus at its Metro Manila terminal. With the bus travelling at an average speed of 90 kms. per hour, we breezed past the provinces of Tarlac, Pangasinan and Rosario, La Union. By 3pm, we were ascending the gentle bends of Marcos Highway and I had a glimpse of the woodcarving shops that have been there for decades. It was foggy and vehicles had their headlights on.

A little past 4pm, I caught sight of the steeples of Baguio Cathedral as the Victory Liner bus slowly approached the terminal. There was a drizzle and being the passenger closest to the door, I was the first to disembark. Though it was my nth time to visit the City of Pines in recent years, I still had that nostalgic feeling. Of years gone by, of special people I had missed. As I was adjusting the straps of my backpack, two boys walked by and were talking in the native tongue. For sure I was in a distant place, a place I once called "my home".

It was dusk when I hooked up with my old buddy Peter at Lower Session Road. The lights of the city were starting to glitter. We had chicken with gravy, mashed potatoes and macaroni salad. Through the clear glass panels, I could see commuters falling in line for their ride home. Traffic was heavy. There was heavy concentration of people and vehicles. Clearly the city is overpopulated. Session Road is no longer the Session Road I used to know.

At my behest, we started walking the inner streets of the city. We stopped at one bar and grill restaurant where two entertainers were singing alternately old country music, reminiscent of our Abanao days in the 80s. The owner was complaining that business was not as good as it used to be. Next we proceeded to that narrow street where our gang would wind up our day with shots of hard liquor. But sadly we could not find that hole-in-the-wall hangout anymore. In its place were stalls of wagwagan. Indeed, times and places have changed.

It was 4 a.m., two days later, when I boarded the Victory Liner bus bound for Manila. As we were negotiating the winding highway, I peered through the glass window. There was nothing to see, only darkness. I took the reclining position as weariness began to exact its toll on my aging body. I was half dazed with my mind wandering. Not yet in deep slumber but consciousness slowly slipping away, I began having hazy images. I started hearing distant voices from the distant past. I was travelling back in time. To the early 80s. To the good old days. George, with his beige corduroy jacket and brown topsider, was strumming the guitar and singing an all-too familiar song as the group feasted on Jumping Salad. Totally losing grip of reality, the voice and the song became clearer and more distinct: " Four strong winds that blow lonely, seven seas that run high....All these things that don't change, come what may....But our good times are all gone, and I am bound for moving on.....I'll look for you if I am ever back this way....."

- Konted