Crossing Borders: Traveling to Pagudpud in a Post-Lockdown World (Part 1)
This is the first part of a three-part series about traveling in the middle of a pandemic. Stay tuned for Part 2 and 3!
I.
First, the facts. There are two major checkpoints from La Union to Pagudpud. The first one is in Tagudin, Ilocos Sur, and the second one, the most rigid one, is on the border of Sinait and Badoc, Ilocos Norte. According to Google Maps, Pagudpud is about 300km away from San Juan, La Union. Under normal circumstances, this would take 5–6 hours on the MacArthur National Highway.
But these days, nothing is normal. Maybe normal is a myth. Everything we’ve come to believe has either been uprooted or upended. Flipped over or folded away. We were used to traveling at midnight, but on the night we left, we realized too late that even gas stations closed early because of the pandemic. We had to drive around for half an hour just to find one still open. The blinking fuel light eventually disappeared and we were able to start our mission.
To cross the borders, we brought the following documents:
- Letter of invitation from Ikani Surf Resort (our host)
- Supporting documents from the resort (DOT Certification, Mayor’s Permit to Operate)
- A booking confirmation with dates of arrival and departure
- Medical certificate from our barangay
- Travel authority from PNP (CovidShield)
- Valid IDs
- A negative result (swab antigen test taken at the Sinait-Badoc border)
We were 4 in the car and we had our own set of papers, passes, and permits. Before we left La Union, we each registered our trip in Ilocos Norte’s official website, www.ilocosnorte.ph, where we also signed up for a SafePass QR code. You could save a copy of the QR code on your phone or you can print it out on paper.
I placed all the files we needed in one thick brown folder. We dotted the I’s and crossed all T’s. We were confident we would get through the border.
We arrived at the Tagudin Checkpoint a little over 1:00 a.m. The checkpoint guards greeted us with bad news. Imagine our luck! They had received an ordinance that same night stating that a curfew must now be implemented for all traveling vehicles. The border was closed and will reopen at 5:00 a.m! We were asked to park on the side of the road and wait where many cargo trucks, passenger vans, and a few sedans lined up, windows rolled down, drivers snoring by the wheel.
H. talked to the officer-in-charge and the men at the border gradually allowed us to pass. We filled out forms, the first of many, and were given a Checkpoint Sticker to enter Ilocos Sur.
At this point, let me remind you to bring your own ballpen.
II.
We made it to the Sinait-Badoc Border a few minutes before 5:00 am. Had we brought our own negative swab RT-PCR test results, we would have been able to zip past the 10-wheelers and 12-seaters parked along the highway. Instead, we paid P1,000.00 each to be swabbed here, in an empty gravel lot covered by white tents, monobloc chairs arranged a meter apart. We were told that testing would begin at 6:00 am. An hour didn’t seem so bad. We parked and tried to get some sleep.
Outside, the sky was starting to turn orange. Large birds flew over the fields. I couldn’t sleep because I was having a mild anxiety attack. So I watched the gray mountains turn green as the sun came up.
We went back to the tented area at exactly 6:00 am but we were already 9th in line. Groups were given a single number so being 9th in line didn’t mean there were only 8 people ahead. There were more than 20 people already in the queue. Then, like a cruel joke, the checkpoint guard announced that our testing was rescheduled to 8:00 am.
Within the next two hours, our pitstop turned into purgatory. There was no place to rest while waiting for the test. H. returned to the car to try to sleep — he still had a long drive to Pagudpud ahead. The rest of us stayed in the holding area, afraid to lose our place in the line.
The testing didn’t start at 8:00 am. The medical team, probably still recovering from work from the day before, was late. And just as we were about to begin, they allowed a family of 6 to cut in front of everybody else because they had a senior citizen and a child with them.
The rapid swab antigen test is not the same as the RT-PCR test, which remains to be the gold standard for Covid-19 testing. Results were released after an hour and no one was allowed to leave the holding area until the results said you were clear.
After another 2 hours of waiting, which included the reprinting of our results because of typos in our names, our test results — all negative — were finally released.
(Tip: Write legibly.)
We walked back to our car, bodies flushed with relief.
III.
But the men in the Badoc border still wouldn’t let us through. We waved our swab test results, showed them our credentials, and still, they insisted on making phone calls because we weren’t “on their list.”
So we lost our cool. Anyone would have. The volcano of anxiety in my chest erupted.
We were frantically pleading, waving documents, and flashing the SafePass QR Codes until one checkpoint guard finally realized the mix-up.
We were classified as APORs (Authorized Persons Outside Residence) because the news of reopening Ilocos Norte to leisure travel had not yet synced with all men on the ground as of our date of travel.
An anecdotal joke:
Checkpoint Guard: APOR kayo?
Us: Yes, 4 kami!
Had they read our travel documents, looked closer at our QR codes, they would have known to:
- Send us to the Tourist Triage Area in Pinili where we can scan our SafePass QR codes as intended.
- Get swabbed and wait for results in their facility built for tourists.
Were we guinea pigs or sacrificial lambs?
When we left the checkpoint, it was almost lunchtime. The last 12 hours of heightened uncertainty left us feeling wounded.
But the wide open road was a soothing balm.
It took us 3 more hours to drive from Badoc to Pagudpud. We were the only car for miles on the great northern road. Seeing the Cordillera mountains in the distance, the green valleys at its feet flanked by the bluest rivers escaping back to the sea, calmed the mind and the human spirit. By the time the windmills in Bangui came into view, we were renewed, re-centered.
And isn’t this why we travel? To transform something inside of us. To be tested and disputed and stretched. Only so we could learn to keep moving no matter the shape or weight of our circumstances. To keep searching and surrendering to the noble cause of reflection, the divine intervention of displacement, the return to a humbler self.
When our frantic minds were finally quiet, we heard the mighty call of unridden waves somewhere, way up there, and the call got louder and louder as we drove.
(To be continued in Part 2)
