Banaue, Philippines
Aug 30, 2026
There are rice terraces carved out from the mountain slopes everywhere in these provinces, seen in snatches as the jeepney jolts along the winding roads. But as I approach Banaue, the vista opens up. Broad stretches stagger up the hillsides like stepping stones, the contours following that of the hill. Some are green, some are yellow of ripened crops and some are shorn already. Each field is bounded by hand-hewn rock walls, a masterpiece of craftsmanship. They overlook the hodgepodge of Banaue rooftops at the bottom of the valley.
The tourism industry proudly proclaims these terraces date from more than 2000 years ago; there is even a large sign near the Tourist Information office to that effect. The myth began with a merely a guess made by Henry Otley Beyer, an anthropologist from the early 1900s with singular lack of data to support it. The claim came down through generations, spouted as gospel, printed repeatedly in school textbooks. Recent studies via carbon dating have confirmed that these terraces were created 300-400 years ago. The reasonable conclusion drawn is that they were hewn by the Ifugao when they retreated to the mountains to avoid Spanish colonization. Slowly word trickles down via more mainstream sources. The terraces are no less awe-inspiring for their more recent date.
And they are everywhere, on all slopes and in every valley. Word is, some are even more picturesque. I am in the hands of Clinton, a young man who drives a tricycle. I met him yesterday near the market and we chatted bit. Today he is intent on showing me his barangay and neighboring ones. We stop along the way and I meet his family who bid me a shy welcome.
Along the road I see plenty of terraces adorning hillsides. I see the hand-cut bunches of rice drying along the road as I did before. A giant sow as big as the shed she is in, pokes her head out and grunts inquisitively as we rattle past. Clinton knows all the families around here and we pause sometimes to exchange hellos.
Then I see Bangaan village, a cluster of huts down in the valley, set like a pearl in its shell of rice fields. The slope leading up to the road is terraced, as are the slopes on all sides. This village is famous among all the others and to my mind, justifiably so. It is picture-postcard pretty!
Some of the older rice barns and houses wear thatches of cogon-grass that were used traditionally. But these days all are tin-roofed, albeit retaining the old shape.
ITCHY FEET TRAVELS 