We left the beautiful Baguio lodging this morning with one simple hope: to arrive early enough at our next place to enjoy the pool. After days of long drives, detours, and late arrivals, the idea of slipping into perfectly warm water felt like the reward we all needed. We chose a place in Bagac, Bataan because of its proximity to our destination the next day — Las Casas Filipinas de Acuzar, a heritage village where Spanish‑era Filipino houses have been carefully restored and rebuilt. It’s a place that feels like time paused: cobblestone streets, grand wooden homes transported from all over the Philippines, and architecture that looks like a living postcard from another era.

Before we even left Baguio, I received a message from Yas Villa letting me know that the caretakers, Laine and Doven, would be waiting for our arrival. That small gesture — knowing someone was expecting us — made the long drive feel a little lighter. After so many days of arriving late, tired, and hungry, it felt comforting to know that two people were already preparing to welcome us.

But first — breakfast.

We headed to Choco‑late de Batirol inside Camp John Hay. After the long, unexpected detour the day before, sitting down with a hot batirol chocolate felt like the perfect reset — thick, warm, and comforting in a way only Baguio mornings can be. We ordered our favorites, passed plates around the table, and let the slow, easy morning settle in before starting the day.

After eating, we drove around Baguio for a bit. We made a quick stop for some shopping, and that’s when Ella found the crocheted headbands — soft, colorful, handmade-looking pieces that instantly caught her eye. She picked one for Rica, one for herself, and one for me. Ella helped me slip it on, and I couldn’t help laughing; it felt like stepping straight back into the hippie days.

Baguio has always had its own personality — the cool climate, the mountain air, and the way it grows things the rest of the Philippines can’t. Strawberries, lettuce, and crisp greens thrive here, the kind you never see in the lowlands. Even the markets feel different: piles of fresh produce, woven crafts, and rows of those iconic Baguio house brooms. Every household seems to have one, and somehow they sweep better than any broom you buy anywhere else.

Then we headed to Mines View, where I stood in the same spot where a photo of me had been taken almost sixty years ago. Everyone tried to figure out the exact angle — the railing, the backdrop, the line of mountains — but the landscape had clearly changed over the years. New trees had grown, old ones had disappeared, and the view had shifted in subtle ways only time can create.

Still, standing there felt like touching two versions of myself at once — the young girl who once stood in that spot, and the woman who had finally come home to meet her again.

Only after all that did we finally start the long drive toward Bataan — and in true fashion, we didn’t actually get on the road until 1 p.m.

The zigzag descent out of Baguio was familiar by now, and we made our first stop at the Lion’s Head, just as we had on the way in. Another scoop of ube ice cream — because at this point, it was tradition.

From there, we continued down the mountain and made a meaningful stop at Manaoag to have our palm blessed for Palm Sunday. The church — the Minor Basilica of Our Lady of the Rosary of Manaoag — rose up like a quiet landmark of faith, its cream-colored façade warm in the afternoon light. Inside, the air felt still and reverent, filled with soft prayers and the scent of candles. Even with the crowds, there was a sense of calm, as if everyone who entered carried their hopes gently in their hands. It felt grounding to pause there in the middle of a day that was otherwise all motion.

We didn’t stop for a formal lunch — we had enough snacks in the van to feed a small barangay — so the drive continued, winding through towns and highways until the sun began to dip again.

And, just like all our other adventures, we arrived late.

Our place for the night was Yas Villa, tucked away and quiet. It wasn’t as beautiful or as polished as Whyte Payne Transient House, but the people more than made up for it. Their warmth was immediate, genuine, and effortless — the kind of hospitality that stays with you long after the trip ends.

When we finally arrived, tired and hungry, I asked about breakfast for the next morning. Laine asked what time I wanted it, and I jokingly said, “What about now?” She didn’t even blink. She simply turned around and said she would prepare it right then and there.

That moment said everything about the place — simple, humble, and full of heart.

After settling in, some of us still slipped into the pool, which was perfectly warm and exactly what we had hoped for earlier in the day. Even with the late arrival, that small moment of floating under the night sky felt like a gift.

Tomorrow, we continue to Las Casas Filipinas de Acuzar, the final stretch of our journey together.