I had read and seen tales of the Eskaya tribe of Taytay, Duero, Bohol in the Visayaas Islands of the Philippines. An original Bohol hill tribe that has a unique 'dialect' based on sounds modeled on parts of the human body. Even though there were photos there were no actual locations specified for this tribe. We knew from tales that they were up towards Duero, so we decided to head to Jagna, around 15km from Duero and a 2hr bus-ride from Tagbiliran where we were staying. I managed to find out that Taytay Baringay (or parish) appeared to be accessible via the Sierra Bullones road, or so it appeared from Filipino local maps. So early after breakfast after an overnight stay at Jagna, we headed to the Jagna bus-stand. As we waited and waited locals asked us where we were going, when told they said 'no bus'. Plan-b, We then switched attention to the 'habal-habal' (or solo motorbike taxi) stand. The head-honcho, after he explained it was a steep and rocky ride which talkes its toll on bike and riders, I negotiated a P200 (£2.90) price to get to Taytay and return on 2 solo habal-habal (1 each with rider, simultaneously). Game-on. We each straddled the ageing motorbikes (sans headgear) and the local riders, replete with coats and scarves set off. We buzzed up on the rear of the 125s weaving our way uphill from an altitude of 37m. Passing locals on bikes and overloaded Jeepneys, and waving at local children we climbed in the 30 degree heat. A brief stop, so that Sheryl's guy could top up with Gasolina and we were off. I gripped my guy tightly with my left arm on his shoulder and had my Nikon D300 tight in my right hand, with neckstrap on! As we reached 500m farmers had rice on sheets drying in the sun on the road, we weaved past. As we passed through a cool valley covered by grey cloud, my rider volunteered his name was Romulo, I told him mine. He then pointed to a narrow lane off the road 'my home' he beamed. All around were small homes made of wood and bamboo panels, with metal roofs, water collected from a communal tapped 'spring'. It was another world. We continued on in the 11am heat, with only trees and the rough road about us. The climb and unevenness of the road (plus the odd landslide across it) got me understanding why no buses used this route. There were a myriad of trees and bushes and few people, just the odd Goat, eating or dog, lazing in the steamy warmth. After 40 minutes we reached a turn-off in-between some small homes of wood and palm leaves. The realtively smooth concrete road was replaced by a path of uneven stones, rocks and puddles.We shook and rattled down hill and through rice paddies and vegetable patches. There were views of the mountains (the largest in Bohol) and huge trees with complex roots above ground. We continued the shuddering for another 15 minutes until we reached Bangwalog. In this small village was a shop, selling water and single cigarettes. We stopped (our driver took one cigarette for P1). There were some locals opposite selling basic vegetables at the roadside and in front was a check-point barrier signed 'Stop toll fee'. Our guides/riders talked in Filipino to the locals. After a few smiles and nods my guy paid P20 each for our passage. We started off again, ducked beneath the barrier and headed on. It was more of the same, a single track of rocks with vegetables/rice fields all around. After 10 more minutes we reached a fork in the road and ahead to the left I could see the Village. 100m on we pulled up. We both got off and I stood, camera poised, I grabbed some shots of the Eskaya tribal hall and village. Some locals were sat outside the Village Hall and approached, 'Inglis?' they said, 'yes', we nodded. A guy came across and opened the entrance gate, I handed over the P20 each entrance fee. I grabbed more shots and unhooked the rusty nail holding the hall door closed. As it creaked open a swift flew out from a nest in the rafters above. Inside the musty hall were various boards covered with the Eskayan script. As I grabbed more shots a young man entered, 'I am Edgar' he announced. He was the Eskaya village 'captain', his English was excellent. He walked us around the hall, showing us the script and explaining that centuries ago the Eskaya had hidden their language from the Spanish to retain their identity and history, using it as a game to avoid losing their heritage. He also said that each Sunday they taught local youths the ancient dialect. We climbed the rickety stairs and above were more scripts. These were engraved in wood. Edgar also showed us the male and female clothes that historically the Eskaya wore. Theses were only used at weddings and formal occasions nowadays. There was a genuine sense of pride as he talked of their history. We stood on the upper gallery and looked across the fields surveying the small school, houses and vegetable patches. The Eskaya converted to Philippine Independent Church in 1902 and have adapted their original 'shared' farming methods recently. Now, there are just over 600 people and around 150 households. Life here is basic and tough. At around 800m elevation it is cooler here too. Many of the youngsters leave for the towns in Bohol and further afield, so the population has stayed constant these last few years. We signed the guest book, which was scant - roughly 1 or 2 visitors per month, thanked Edgar and hopped astride our smoky steeds. We set off up the rickety path and onward to the main road. Around 9km out of Jagna we stopped, paid and thanked our chapparones, took some photos and let the bikers head back to Jagna alone. We decided to stroll the last 9k in the burning sun and enjoy the views across the bay. It was a fine day and we made the most of it. We, at least, had good food and a comfortable hotel to return to and more adventures ahead..... (PS. If you have read this and want EXACT gps co-ordinates and/or directions please message us)