Blame western pop culture pandering outsiders for coining a needless also-known-as name for this jaw-dropping place in Batanes. Racuh a Payaman, as the locals referred to it, sounded more faithful to its appearance: rolling hills showcasing the wealth of nature. It took a while before one's amazement was mellowed down by its spellbinding landscape stretching as far as the eyes could see. I missed out on going to that part of the island during my first visit there in 2014. On the morning when we were supposed to head to Racuh a Payaman, my friend Audrey suffered an accident. A tidal pool pulled her into the rocky bed while she was standing on a rock formation at one of the viewpoints situated along the road.
Afternoon Ramble at the Grassy Knoll of Racuh a Payaman (Marlboro Country) | Batanes
It was a no-brainer. We ditched the day’s itinerary and rushed her to the hospital, where the caring nurses treated and dressed her wounds immediately. Fast forward five years later, and on an uneventful media trip with the Tourism Promotions Board of the Philippines, I finally had the opportunity to walk, lay down, and jump over the fine grassy knoll of Racuh a Payaman.
Okay, fine. I understood when people described it as Marlboro Country, as most of us—pre-travel boom days—had only seen bounteous grasslands and hills on those classic eighties and nineties Marlboro TV commercials. I did too when I was a kid, and I could still remember a Marlboro-smoking cowboy shepherding dozens of cows across a vast hilly farm.
There were a dozen cows, goats, and a couple of dogs lying lazily on the wavy mounds the afternoon we arrived there. A few other tourists appeared like dots from a distance. I sensed the world had gotten bigger as I sat on the grass. Ditching the urge to take photographs, I stared at the cloud-covered tip of Mount Iraya towering across Diura Beach. An idea came to mind: I would return and scale that peak next time.
Lost in thoughts about life in general and my uncertainties of the future, I let the picturesque surroundings take over my mind. Not long after, a Zen-like state of well-being reigned over me. Why worry? I asked myself. The answer presented itself through the place itself. Racuh a Payaman, or an affluence of pasture, gazed back at me as if telling me that experiences such as that—being in that moment—enriched my life already.
I stood up and joined the rest of my group as they huddled seated on the downward slope of grass. I thought about rolling myself like an eight-year-old kid would do but settled to lie down again. I looked at the sky and listened to the sound of laughter from my fellow travel bloggers. In that moment, I felt reassured by kindred souls who appreciated good karma—the kind that had brought me to Batanes again.
