Adams. Ilocos Norte.

I had left the shores and the flatlands and ventured up the mountains for Adams, a small highland town, at the rim of the Cordillera backbone, where a postcard view awaited in almost every turn and residents of Igorot decent held to their old ways. Its pastoral seclusion may not last long as word of this secret spot in the hinterland has already gone out. Only the 14-km stretch of rough unpaved track cut off Adams from the outside world. And the prospect of a paved road could facilitate the arrival of the crowds.

They made their own wine in Adams from bugnay fruit, the local berry that grew in the wild. I opened a bottle and sat on a bench outside the slanted house, amongst the flowers, savoring the essence of a lost idyll captured in a half-filled glass. I lost track of time, deep in my own thoughts.

Surrounded by peaks and verdant green city-less horizons, I could sit here and wait for the berries to grow and the wine to age.

2010