I returned to Camp John Hay after nearly three decades, to a place that once marked one of my earliest encounters with the quiet majesty of Baguio City. I was a teenager then, tracing long, curved roads lined with towering pine trees. Back then, there were no branded shops, polished cafés, or curated experiences—only the rawness of nature, unembellished and deeply grounding.
Returning now, the transformation is unmistakable.
The Camp John Hay of today is more developed, with restaurants, boutiques, and modern conveniences woven into its landscape. Yet despite the changes, something essential endures. The pine trees still stand—quiet witnesses to time—while the crisp mountain air carries the same familiar scent that instantly transports visitors somewhere between memory and presence.
From the grounds of the resort, I found myself once again drawn to the distant view of the Cordillera mountains, draped in fog and almost veiled in mist—still beautiful and mysterious from afar. And despite its evolution, Camp John Hay continues to hold the quaint charm that makes people fall in love with it over and over again.
We had dinner at Garden Wings inside the resort. Framed by wide, clear windows, the restaurant offered a cinematic view of pine trees softened by the fog of a late afternoon slowly giving way to sunset. It was the kind of scene I had long imagined capturing with my own eyes in Baguio. And there I was, finally with it—momentarily speechless, suspended between the beauty outside and the warmth of a sumptuous meal.
The evening, however, did not end there.
Still wrapped in the cool embrace of the Baguio night, Doc Mima Villanueva and I made our way to Café Will, where we had our first taste of strawberry ice cream cake made from fresh homegrown Baguio strawberries. For something generously served (more than enough for two) it was surprisingly affordable, but what truly won us over was the taste.
Unlike most desserts that overwhelm the palate with sweetness, this one allowed the strawberries to speak for themselves. The sweetness came naturally from the fruit, balanced by a subtle tartness that gave every spoonful a refreshing depth.
The café itself carried a warmth that made guests want to linger. Customers were serenaded by songs from the ‘70s, ‘80s, and ‘90s performed by a female singer who effortlessly played the organ while singing. It was the perfect place for a nightcap or a cozy dinner shared with family and friends.
From Cafe Will, we headed to the famous night market inside Burnham Park–a first for me despite my many returns to Baguio. We arrived a little past 9 p.m., just as the place was coming fully alive.
The stalls buzzed with activity while waves of tourists and locals streamed through crowded lanes eager to score affordable finds—from clothes and shoes to accessories, toys, and home essentials. More than the shopping, though, it was the atmosphere that drew me in. There was something wonderfully carefree about the crowd—people browsing leisurely, bargaining playfully, laughing with companions, and simply enjoying the cool Baguio night.
But if there is one place where every stroll truly comes alive, it is always the food section.
Rows upon rows of food stalls offered smoky barbecues, overloaded sandwiches, colorful shakes, milk teas, street food favorites, and an array of Baguio delicacies that instantly tempted the senses. The sight of it all made my eyes widen like a child unable to decide which treat to try first.
It was chaotic in the most delightful way—warm, vibrant, and alive with the kind of energy only nighttime markets can create.
However, one of the most memorable culinary discoveries actually happened a day before the conference formally began and before our evening wanderings through cafés and night markets. After spending hours under the sun harvesting strawberries in La Trinidad, Benguet, Doc Mima and I found ourselves craving not just a filling meal, but the kind of comforting food travelers hope to stumble upon by chance. It was already late afternoon when I remembered a quaint restaurant I had discovered while browsing through a travel app before leaving Bacolod City.
So we hailed a taxi and headed to Vintage Kitchen, thinking that whether the experience turned out exceptionally or forgettable, discovering where and what to eat was all part of the adventure.
As fate would have it, our timing was perfect—we were the only customers when we arrived.
The moment we opened the menu, we immediately zeroed in on Crispy Dinakdakan, a beloved Ilocano delicacy often compared to Kapampangan sisig. Vintage Kitchen’s version gave the dish a Benguet twist by replacing the usual chopped pig parts with crispy bagnet—deep-fried pork belly known for its crunchy skin and tender meat.
We also ordered a P265 combo meal consisting of fried chicken, egg, brown rice, lumpia, and pancit. Truthfully, we expected nothing extraordinary from such an affordable meal. It was our Plan B should the Crispy Dinakdakan fall short of expectation.
But we were wrong.
The meal turned out to be generous, flavorful, and satisfying enough to be shared by two people. The pancit, in particular, stole the spotlight—deeply flavorful, while the vegetables retained the perfect crunch.
Then came the Crispy Dinakdakan.
Vintage Kitchen’s version gave the classic Ilocano dish a Benguet twist by using crispy bagnet—deep-fried pork belly with crunchy skin and tender meat—instead of the usual chopped pig parts. Tossed in ginger, onions, and chilies, every bite delivered smoky, tangy, and savory flavors that paired perfectly with steaming brown rice.
It was exactly the kind of comforting lutong-bahay meal we had hoped to discover in Benguet—simple, flavorful, and deeply satisfying.
Long after the plates had been cleared and the cool Baguio night settled quietly outside, I found myself reflecting on how this return to Baguio felt both familiar and new.
There I was again—the same girl who first arrived in the City of Pines at 15, wide-eyed and curious, finding wonder in simple things: pine-lined roads, mountain air, and laughter shared with friends who felt more like sisters.
Decades later, the city had undeniably changed. Yet beneath all the transformation, Baguio still possessed the same quiet ability to surprise, comfort, and invite people to slow down long enough to truly feel a moment.
And somewhere between the pine-covered roads of Camp John Hay, the warm lights of little cafés, the lively chaos of the night market, and the comforting lutong-bahay meals, I realized that the young girl who once came here searching for small discoveries never truly left.
She was simply returning home to them.*
