Beyond Lipa: Mataas Na Kahoy

Many people are not aware that Lipâ is elevated more than a thousand feet; the highways leading to the city have gentle ascents on wide open spaces that when one gets there, it hardly occurs to anyone it's actually in an elevated valley between the Malarayat range and Mount Maculot.

But the elevation is most obvious if you drive to the next town of Mataás na Káhoy, southward from the city center past Fernando Air Base. Once past the town center of Mataas na Kahoy, the road makes abrupt descents and will slowly reveal a panoramic, bird's-eye view of Taal Lake and Volcano Island down below. The waters of Lake Taal are actually still not sea level, but anyway the town clearly gives us perspective on how high Lipa is in the first place.

In the last couple of years, Mataas na Kahoy has become a new venue for stunning weekend homes; a more private, less congested alternative to Tagaytáy across the lake (below).

The roads are lined with beautifully-designed gates, with some affording peeks to the equally-interesting houses inside.

Silángan

Since Day 1, I've been amazed at how eloquent the locals are in expressing themselves. The Batangueňos, or at least my neighbors in San Celestino, have an immense yet healthy pride of place and of their identity, and this is most evident in their language. Of course, I speak Tagalog which is supposedly the same, but their Tagalog is THE Tagalog! And a lot of times, until now, I ask them to translate to "Manila" Tagalog what they say.

Anyway, one of the most beautiful words I began to appreciate since I moved to Lipa is silángan. In Filipino class, we were taught that this is Tagalog for "east," and it is. But when I speak to them and they refer to something somewhere beyond, eastward, they say silángan when they mean "that direction, where each day is born."

Ahhh, so THAT is SILÁNGan; a place to give birth. What a romantic word to refer a mere compass point. I don't know if any of you are with me on this, maybe you have to hear it and not read it to empathize where I'm coming from. But when I listen to them, their navigation sounds so natural and organic to their "now" that it just makes so much sense. 

Gee, makes me wonder, what else don't I know? Naturally, the next question is: so what is kanlúran? It turns out it's from the verb kanlúng, sounds familiar but honestly, I do not know what it means. Apparently, it's to seek shade or to hide under something, as in kumanlúng ka díne sa lílom nang di ka ma-ampiyasán (stay under [our roof] here so the rain won't get to you). 


Okay, enough in the meantime. I told you their Tagalog is different.