As I was traveling through my home country of the Philippines, I decided to make the journey up to one of our most iconic living legends, Apo Whang-Od. This journey was important to me for a few reasons. I was born in the Philippines, but immigrated to the U.S. when I was young. I have vague memories of packing a small, yellow dump truck and a Jollibee nightlight into the bag that would serve as my starter kit for a new life in a new country. We grew up eating Filipino food and my parents spoke Aklanon at home, but aside from that and some vague memories, I didn’t have much to hold on to from the Philippines. Thus, I grew up trying to subdue a huge part of my identity, as most immigrants assimilating into their new country tend to do.

Having traveled nearly the entirety of the last seven years, I’ve found myself fascinated by and immersed in countless cultures of the world. I stayed with Xhosa families in South Africa, strummed along to the music of the Burushaski people of Pakistan, and spent weeks trekking through remote mountainous landscapes with the Quechua of the Andes. Yet, I knew very little about the Philippines and our own cultures. Learning more about where I came from and the various cultures of my birth country was a huge goal of mine. Sure, the tattoo and meeting Apo Whang-Od herself were good enough reason to go, but exploring my own culture which I had so long repressed made the adventure carry that much more weight.

It wasn’t until I went to my hometown’s Ati-Ati Festival back in 2019 when I was 24, that things started to click for me. Here I was at this festival that I previously had no interest in, carrying the flag of our barangay while the percussions of the marching band behind me kept my feet stomping for hours upon hours as we weaved through every road of my hometown. I was like damn, this is… cool? I felt like a badass, and for the first time, I started believing there was much more to my country than karaoke and pork.

Of course, those two things were heavily intertwined in the festival. We sang, we danced, we ate, and we drank until the early hours of the morning. It was a marathon affair that lasted all week. The sounds of the drums would echo early in the morning as a signal that it was time to do it all over again. We’d rub streaks of black ash from burned coconuts on our faces, with many adorning costumes of leaves and bamboo as their attire. The name of the Ati-Ati Festival comes from the indigenous Ati people of our home island, and although it is considered a religious festival, it still finds a way to proudly celebrate those indigenous roots. Those roots extended wider than I ever imagined, and it wasn’t until decades later that I began to explore them.

While some people might brush representation off as part of the “woke agenda”, it truly does matter, and even now, I see third-culture kids proudly embracing their cultures and backgrounds at a younger age. I think a big part of why I avoided anything related to the Philippines was not having many heroes when I was growing up. There was Manny Pacquiao, of course, for whom the entire country would stand still upon the first clanging of the bell. Every Filipino would gather in someone’s backyard or basement for a watch party, with aluminum trays of pancit or palabok in hand. Drunken karaoke followed regardless of the outcome. After that, all I could think of was that guy from the Black Eyed Peas. Fergie? Nope. Will.I.Am? Nope, the other one. Yeah, we were kind of strapped on idols.

So when I started backpacking and would hear whispers of this legendary tattoo artist from the Philippines, I was intrigued. I would meet backpackers from Slovenia, France, and elsewhere that have made the journey through our remote northern regions to be stabbed repeatedly by a bamboo thorn wielded by a tiny centenarian. I started seeing her on TV shows, Instagram pages and magazine covers. And despite being born in the same country as her, I did not recognize a single thing written in those articles. What is a mambabatok? Who are the Kalinga people? What sort of magic does this woman hold that has people from all over the world traversing our humid jungles to reach her?

The more I read about her, the more her legend grew. The last living mambabatok, a mysterious and legendary title to say the least. Well, at 106 years old, she wasn’t getting any younger, and I knew I had to make the journey sooner rather than later. I was dead set on making this journey. I found myself back in the Philippines in May of 2023, proudly hosting my first group trip to my home country. Of course, to go home to the Philippines without visiting your family is a speed run to getting disowned, so after quickly surprising my two lolas back in Aklan, I hightailed it to Manila to make the trek north.

The Journey to Buscalan from Manila

From Manila, the lengthy adventure would begin with an overnight bus from Cubao. I brought my cousin Paloma along for the ride, a flamboyant masseuse with a knack for charming their way into discounts. My Tagalog skills were rusty, at best, but he could translate to me via Aklanon, so we’d have a roundabout way of communicating. Plus, it never hurts to have a massage therapist along. Rounding out our little crew were two friends who’d joined me every step of my Philippines trip, from our group trip in Palawan to karaoke-ing with my family in my hometown.

We cozied up on the night bus after picking up a few snacks for the journey, some street lumpia and an assortment of Jack’n’Jill chips. The bus company was called Coda Lines, and the journey to Sagada costs around $20 USD each. You can’t book directly on Coda Lines website, but you can book with 12go.asia to make sure you get a seat. Otherwise, you can head to the Coda Lines terminal in Cubao and book directly at the ticket office, but that comes with the risk of tickets selling out.

A Quick Detour in Tranquil Sagada

The bus dropped us off in Sagada, where we spent a few days atop our rented motorbikes cruising through the countryside. Already, the differences were vast, with the dialect of Kankana-ey being the main spoken language of the region. Most people also speak the national language of Tagalog, but eavesdropping on the chismis of the locals, I could not make out a thing.

We stayed in a homestay called Baey Bogan, tucked away through some winding narrow roads into the endless fields of rice. Nanay Helen, the owner, was our sole human companion, although a handful of large roosters in the garden toktoro-ok‘ed at all hours of the day. Nanay Helen would allow us to cut sugar cane from her field, and we’d chew on the sweet sticks as a snack after a long day of cruising to waterfalls and wandering amidst the rice terraces.

Our mornings started at Bana’s Coffee, and our joyrides took us to places like the small village of Fidelisan, the thundering waterfalls of Bomod-Ok, and an endless choice of cafes from the Philippines’ most renowned coffee region. I had no idea we even had a coffee region.

From Sagada to Buscalan

After a few blissful days in the tranquility of Sagada, it was time to make the journey to Apo Whang-Od. Along the side of Sagada’s main road, we waited for a Jeepney to take us to Bontoc, the capital of the Mountain Province, and hopefully where we’d find a ride to Buscalan. It called for an early morning and we rolled out of bed at sunrise to catch the 6 AM Jeepney to Bontoc. The bumpy, winding roads kept us from sleeping, although the golden light basking the morning clouds caressing the mountains were enough to keep my eyes glued open and gazing out the window. We dropped our bags off at one of the only hotels in the city, and followed the receptionist’s directions for the bus to Buscalan.

With a little time to kill, we grabbed breakfast across from the bus stop. Nothing hits quite like eating chicken butt and rice at 8 AM. The rickety bus started its engine, with American country music oddly playing from its speakers. The four of us hopped onboard, informing the bus driver that we intended to visit Apo Whang-Od, to which he gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment. After about an hour of driving through the Mountain Province’s rolling green hills and vast stretches of rice fields, the bus driver signaled that it was time for us to get off.

A quick check in with a police checkpoint awaited us, and shortly afterwards they arranged for a minivan to take us up to the trailhead to Buscalan. The added cost was negligible enough to warrant a quick ride as opposed to a steep and lengthy hike in the Philippine humidity. The van dropped us off at a small shack on the side of the road, this time a checkpoint for paying our fees for a guide and accommodation for the night. There were a few different options for visiting, and most people opt to visit just for the day. However, without our own transport, it seemed a bit of a gamble to hike back in the dark and find our way back to Bontoc. This journey certainly had many levels to it, but we were on the closing stretch.

Arriving in Buscalan

Our guide, armed with a walking stick and flip-flops, led us through the steep and narrow dirt road to the village. The midday heat was intense, but this climate led to the breathtaking greens that consumed every inch of the region’s mountains and valleys. It was about 30 minutes of hiking in palpable humidity before we caught our first glimpse of the humble village of Buscalan. It would be another 10-15 minutes of steep climbing before we’d reach the village, immediately plopping down at the first sign of shade. The Kalinga villagers greeted us with a cold drink, which we downed before continuing on to where we would be staying.

Despite Apo Whang-Od’s popularity and fame, the village of Buscalan was very unassuming. One would never imagine that anyone from here had once graced the cover of Vogue. The village’s pride in Apo Whang-Od was evident, though. Every spare canvas had her face on it, from t-shirts to bags of coffee.

Our homestay for the night was rustic, just four mats laid on the floor of a room with stone walls, which already was more than most buildings in the village could claim. Our hosts prepared lunch for us, with heaping portions of rice as is customary in every Filipino meal. Soon, an artist came by as we sipped our post-meal coffee and gave us a sheet with suggested tattoo designs. They ranged from the indigenous symbols of the Kalinga people, to some fairly random designs like a paw print and a “God is greater than the highs and lows”.

Getting Our Tattoos

As much as I would have loved to come all this way just to leave with a paw print tattoo, I ended up choosing otherwise. I pulled out my journal and started sketching a combination of the “traveller” and “compass” tattoo, which takes a while when you’re not particularly artistically inclined. They provided us with our choice of the weapon used to stab ink into our body, and we picked out bamboo sticks from a small tray. My cousin went first, opting for a series of four “prayer” tattoos.

With Apo Whang-Od being the ripe age of 106, she no longer does full-sized tattoos herself. My Slovenian friend was among the last to get a full-sized tattoo from her when her dexterity, eyesight, and accuracy were clearly not at their peak. A great honor to have received a tattoo from her nonetheless, but I wasn’t too upset about one of her younger, more nimble apprentices being my artist.

Perhaps the memory of the pain has long been dulled, but I didn’t find it particularly painful. I opted to get a tattoo on my calf, which aside from an occasional jolt of pain, handled the process fairly well. I’d compare it to being stung by an ant repeatedly, and then once every 20 pokes or so, it hits a soft spot and sends a shooting pain throughout your body. People have told me that it was extremely painful, but if you’ve been tattooed before, I don’t think the pain is much worse than a normal stick-and-poke.

Depending on the size of the tattoo, you can expect to pay between 400 to 800 pesos. That equates to about $8-15 USD. For such a legendary tattoo, I was beyond surprised at how affordable it was. A tattoo the size of my calf cost me less than $20.

Meeting Apo Whang-Od and Receiving Her Three Dots

When we finally made it to Apo Whang-Od, it was close to the end of the day. She was finishing up her last few customers, and the four of us would be the last ones to see her for the day. We’d heard before that she could tattoo several hundred people per day, depending on how busy it was. It was a quiet Tuesday, so we got lucky to meet her as she was winding down. The atmosphere seemed a little more relaxed. She was full of laughter, full of jokes, and more quick-witted than someone a fraction of her age. It was genuinely surreal to be in the presence of someone who had lived the equivalent of four of my lifetimes. But there she was, red bandana strapped around her full head of hair and tattoos covering every inch of her limbs.

We lined up to get our three dots to complete our pieces. The three dots represent Apo Whang-Od, her grand-niece, Grace Palicas, and another blood ancestor, Ilyang Wigan. She does not have any children of her own, as her love died at a young age and she chose never to marry.

That doesn’t mean she was inactive in that part of her life, though. Those who know her well might argue that she might perhaps be the world’s oldest sex symbol. Although Apo Whang-Od only spoke Kalinga and Ilocano, our guide was able to translate a few things into Tagalog and let me tell you, she’s got quite some drive for someone her age. While some might find this weird or distasteful, she does have a habit of flirting with her customers, and even going as far as commenting on their genitalia. It’s for the best that I don’t go into detail of what fully transpired during our brief time together, but just a heads-up that you might get more than you bargained for.

She got around to tattooing her three dots on each of us. Although she was all fun and games beforehand, you could see her flip a switch as she puts her full focus on the small, but meaningful tattoo. One can only imagine how skillful and adept she was in her younger years.

The Kalinga tradition of tattooing has changed drastically. Prior to this century, only warriors, headhunters, and other indigenous Kalinga people were the sole receivers of these tattoos, seen as a deep honor. These days, practically anyone can make the journey and receive the tattoos. Apo Whang-Od knows just how much business and economy she brings to her village, so if you’ve got pesos, she’ll pick up the hammer. Although she is currently the last living mambabatok, she is passing the skill down through her grandniece and other apprentices within the village. Traditionally, the role of a mambabatok would be only assigned to men, but Whang-Od’s talent made her the first female to continue the tradition at just the age of 15. Now, all her apprentices consist solely of women, showing just how much this tradition has evolved over the past century.

Reflections on Visiting Apo Whang-Od

I mentioned earlier that I wanted this journey to be as much an exploration of my roots as it was about meeting Apo Whang-Od. And wow, y’all, I got much more than I bargained for.

Our first stop was Sagada, where the villagers spoke Kankana-ey, buried their notable elders in hanging coffins, and fondly feasted on smoked, sun-dried pork that maggots often got their hands on first. We reached Bontoc, just an hour away but with a different language altogether. Another hour and a half up the road took us to Buscalan, home to the Kalinga people of the mountains. They spoke Kalinga, tattooed their warriors, and became the stuff of legends among Filipinos and non-Filipinos worldwide. My journey didn’t stop with a visit to Apo Whang-Od, as I continued on to see the famous Banaue and Batad Rice Terraces, a mind-blowing feat of agriculture that rivals any rice terrace I’ve seen anywhere in the world. And yes, they did speak a completely different language, Ifugao, there, too.

It really wasn’t until recently that I started celebrating my Filipino background, and the more I travel my own country, the more incredible I realize it actually is. It is legitimately mind-blowing just how varied and diverse the cultures, tribes, traditions, and lifestyles of the Philippines are. Perhaps too varied, as despite each of us speaking three different dialects of the Philippines, Apo Whang-Od and I could not communicate a single word to each other. I truly wish I could have told her just how much she means to the Filipino people. The majority of visitors to Apo Whang-Od are Filipinos traveling from all over the world, and the few that were around that day clearly had an immense and profound respect and admiration for her. I met Australians, Canadians, and Americans of Filipino backgrounds that day all making the same difficult journey to see her.

Meeting her in person was easily one of the most surreal and most meaningful moments of my travels, and it happened in my own home country. It’s pretty damn cool being Filipino.

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