The Banaue rice terraces are steps cut by hand into the near-vertical slopes of the Cordillera mountains of northern Luzon, in the Philippines, shored with stone and mud, climbing whole mountainsides from valley floor to ridgeline, and still watered from patches of forest that the Ifugao people keep deliberately on the crests above them. The terraces are the work of the Ifugao over two thousand years, according to the tradition, and they are still farmed by their descendants: every terrace is fed by a forest above it, kept uncut so that it holds the rain and releases it into channels that step the water down from paddy to paddy, and the planting and harvest have their own music, the hudhud, chanted across the fields as they are sown and reaped. Carved wooden figures called bulul are set in the granaries to guard the rice. The terraces run gold near the June and July harvest, the most spectacular stage of the year, and the roadside viewpoint above Banaue town is claimed before dawn, while the air is cold and the valley below is packed with cloud that lifts to show the steps.
The walking is on the terrace walls. Narrow dikes of stone and mud thread between the paddies, and you walk them single file at the pace of the farmers who use them daily, with the drop on one side and the water on the other. The finest of the terraces are at Batad, reached by a walk from the road, where the steps curve into a vast natural amphitheatre with a village cupped at its base, and the tiers carry on down to Tappiya Falls at the foot of the valley, a cold pool to swim in after the descent. Many terraces have been abandoned as the young leave for the cities, and the walls slump where nobody repairs them; the ones still worked are the ones you see green. Banaue is a mountain range turned into a staircase, and the people who built it are still walking the walls.