Perhaps it would help keep my teeth from falling out, I thought, if I clenched my jaws firmly shut as the tricycle bounced its way over the rocky trail. One kilometer north of Banaue, on the road to Bontoc, an unpaved road leads off from the main highway to Barangay Hiwang. From the turnoff, it's four more kilometers of country road to Hiwang, a tiny colony of perhaps a score of houses, some of them still the traditional Ifugao huts that have stood for generations. There's no regular public transportation plying the routes, nor any private transportation, either. There's no street lighting, of course, and you have to make sure that you're well on your way to your next town before sundown, because there are no accommodations for visitors. To be blunt, it's backwater country.
      But it's hard to miss Barangay Hiwang: a large billboard on the highway announces the fork in the road that leads there, and well-lettered signs along the route will make sure that you don't lose your way. Not that you'd want to, either, knowing what lies at the end of the trip. Hiwang is home to a minor tourist attraction of the Cordilleras: mummies.
      No, really.
      And it gets even more surreal. These aren't ancient remains that surfaced during an archaeological dig and housed in a museum, nor traditional tribal burial grounds like the ones in Sagada. The curator of this strange exhibit is Manong Manuel; and the mummies are of his father, Apo Bay-angan Limangya (d. January 7, 1971) and his mother, Apo Pay-aga Limangya (d. January 4, 1972). The revered elders' preserved remains lie inside a traditional hut, within the yard that borders the family's current abode. A neatly painted billboard--of the same kind that that hang in sari-sari stores, sponsored by Coca-Cola--takes the place of tombstones to announce the pertinent date-of-birth and date-of-death details. It'll cost you Php15 to view the mummies.
      I hadn't been able to resist making the trip to Hiwang after coming across a small mention of the town attraction in a guidebook. The town is just small enough, out-of-the-way enough, and authentic enough to lend a nice Indiana Jones veneer to postcards home, though it's obvious enough that this is tourist country. Here, every tricycle driver is a tourist guide, Ifugao ritualistic trinkets are sold in every shop, and snap-happy shutterbugs take their requisite rice-terrace pictures from any of a number of viewing decks—with the authentically costumed tribesman thrown in for a small fee. Welcome to Cordilleraland.

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