There is a particular kind of tiredness that only Baguio City can give.
Not the heavy exhaustion of routine, but the pleasant fatigue that settles into your legs after a full day of walking uphill roads, weaving through crowds, stopping for photos, and insisting you still have enough energy for one more attraction because everyone else seems game for it.
And it's not as if I am complaining. Having a chance to go back to Baguio again to visit relatives is such a blessing, I could only be thankful.
By late afternoon, the cold had sharpened. It slipped quietly through sleeves and settled into the hands first, then the shoulders, until everyone began rubbing their palms together or pulling jackets closer. Even my nephews, who had spent the day racing ahead with the boundless stamina only children seem to possess, had started to slow down. They were no longer asking what we would see next.
They were asking where we would eat.
