“Drink,” the village shaman said before sipping from a dried coconut husk and dipping it back into a bowl of rice wine.
He handed me the husk, wine dripping off the bottom. Looking around at the deep green of the Banaue rice terraces surrounding us, then to the village chieftain nodding and grinning at me, I figured when in Rome, or more precisely, when in Ifugao, I might as well drink the rice wine.
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