After four weeks in the warmth of the Philippines, it was more than a small shock to the system to return to a landscape dotted with uprooted trees and tales of 'the worst storm since 1961'. I've now had seven days to adjust to Irish January, nobody wants to hear any more of my holiday adventures or see any more of my photos, it's back to the routine, and the tan's long gone.

As memories of idyllic beach life and the ill effects of Manila's gruesome air fade, thoughts return to the short time spent in North Luzon's Cordillera Mountains, where, on hearing how people struggle to maintain a traditional lifestyle, Connemara came to mind.

The 8-hour bus journey to Bontoc, capital of the beautiful Mountain Province, featured a few hard- earned pit stops for ablutions, food, and an occasional stretch of the legs. As I warmed myself in the late morning sunshine, surrounded by fields bulging with oversized cabbages, I met with Joseph Balonglong. Originally from Bontoc, he was involved in rural community development work, travelling the countryside, with the Sisyphean task of convincing people that traditional ways of life were worth fighting to preserve.

This earnest young man was torn in that he sometimes felt guilt for refusing people the opportunity to experience the pleasures of choice as advocated by consumer society. At other times - when he himself witnessed the negative effects of this society - he felt proud that he was protecting them from the worst excesses of rapid development. He worried that people would choose chemicals over organic fertilisers, and that the countryside was in danger of being buried under an indestructible layer of plastic bottles and bags. While regretfully eyeing the tin roofs that replaced the old style wood and thatch houses, he expressed his deep concern that fewer young people were staying in the hillside villages to carry on the customary labour intensive cultivation of the rice.

The awe inspiring rice terraces that stretch for miles had been hand carved out of the sides of mountains and had played a vital role in the life of the people of the remote village of Maligcong for thousands of years. The work is all but constant, and while some adults toiled away, up to their thighs in muddy water, back in the village the very young and very old sat around, laughing in the sunshine.

The concern was obvious in Joseph's open, sincere face, and when he asked me where I lived I couldn't help but tell him of the similarities. The rural population continues to decline, while many who stay have to deal with the struggle that is a fact of life for people dependant on the land. The old style of doing things, of building houses and gathering fuel, are being eschewed for methods preferred by the relentless march of progress. There is the unending debate, heated at times, between those who advocate change and those who believe that a line must be drawn to contain and control these changes.

I travelled more than 7,000 miles to confront the fact that the same problems and the same pleasures exist for people everywhere. Joseph seemed to derive some sort of solace in this fact, and if it helped to make his arduous job a little easier, then I'm glad I met him. (28/1)

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