Optimism peaks when you’re seated on a beach lounge chair enjoying a watermelon shake.
Optimism wanes when you realize there’s nothing that can be done to stop another workweek from bursting your bubble.
Picture taken in Subic, March 1, 2009.
Travel
Archived Posts from this Category
March 22, 2009
Six gruelling hours. That’s how much time I spent next to a portly woman who had no qualms about elbowing my ribcage everytime she rummaged her purse for some godforsaken thing. When I lined up at the bus station, I didn’t realize the ticket I bought only afforded me three quarters of a seat. Unscrupulous elbow woman brazenly took over the rest and along with it, my personal space. Peeved as I was, I resorted to leaving my elbow rest in an upright position and blocking the aisle with my knees.
I’m afraid she didn’t stop there. She also sang to every insipid Air Supply song that played from the speakers. Relentless! At that point, a nice camel ride would’ve made for a more comfortable means of transport. No offense to camels but then again they don’t read blogs. So there.
Incidentally, as I am writing this, the resort “lounge singer” is busy obliterating a Nora Jones song (much to the Beached Bear’s chagrin). This I think is the reoccuring theme of my entire trip to La Union: unsolicited aural assaults.
But the sunset was incredible and the food was excellent. For that, you lot can sing all you want. Besides, it’s nothing my wee MP3 player can’t handle.
March 19, 2009
Travel log reads as follows:
February 21, 2009. Approximately 10:30 AM.
Location: Sumaging Cave, Sagada, Mountain Province.
Persons involved: Dan, sure-footed caving guide. Gela, friend from work. Myself, klutz extraordinaire.
Before us was a slightly damp rock formation that plummets into the earth at an almost 90 degree angle. The cave had its mouth agape, seemingly ready to gobble up feeble tourists by the truckload. Beyond that, a dark void. Very ominous. How and why I get myself into these things considering how traction-impaired I am is beyond me.
In a few minutes, Dan was done gassing his lamp and we were off. Already I was flipping through my mental rolodex for reasons to cut and run. Ok, maybe “run” is too liberal a term. More like grovel up the 50-odd steps that lead from the cave to the road above us. Even then, I’m sure the two would have caught me by the scruff of my neck before I got too far.
After an arduous descent we found ourselves slithering our way through shafts of limestone, rappelling down and splashing into pools of ice cold water. One very interesting fact about the place was that it was nicknamed the “porn cave” by the locals and we soon found out why. Alongside naturally sculpted elephants, snakes and what-nots were formations that unabashedly resembled…**coughs into her fist**…boy and girl parts. Seeing as we refuse to be labelled prudes, we had our pictures taken. Now we have something unique to educate the grandkids with.
After about two hours we finished all three stages of Sumaging and even opted to go beyond which involved squeezing through a small tunnel about two and a half feet in diameter. I am proud to report that despite huffing through the obstacle course and cutting circulation from Gela’s arms with my constant gripping, I emerged intact. Although as I approached the oncoming groups of tourists on the way out, I watched their expressions change from upbeat to apprehensive. Behold the foreboding guano-stained trainwreck, folks! Welcome to Sagada!
You can imagine how stiff we were in the morning. I never regarded stairs (or the low toilet seat for that matter) with as much derision as I did then. But I felt like a graduate. This klutz is no more.
January 27, 2009
As some of you might remember, I went on a trip to Bohol last year. In lieu of a trite refrigerator magnet, I promised my friend Clare that I would do a travel write-up for her NGO’s website. Amidst the ruckus in both our lives, the essay got lost and then found and then delayed for almost a year. Not until recently did it resurface on my to-do list and finally after all that procrastination, I turned it in.
So if you have time, swing by their website. I am not coercing any of you to read the tedious yarn I wrote. I’m just putting in a word for the NGO. It’s called Youth Trip Philippines. If you’re looking to travel the country, this is a good place to start. Plus, they have a really pretty logo…Not that that has anything to do with anything.
Anyway, click on the logo to visit their site. It just might incite you to pack your bags and go somewhere.
October 25, 2008
Just to underscore a few points from my recent trip:
Right around the Camp John Hay area, along Loakan Road, sits a cozy little restaurant that I have vowed to force on anyone who plans to set foot on Baguio. So if you happen to be one of those people, it is now incumbent upon you to swing by the Forest House Bistro & Cafe. A little pricey for something perched that high up in the mountains but I’m telling you it’s well worth the effort. The winter log cabin ambience alone is enough to justify half the bill, let alone the actual grub and the impeccable service.
Far be it from me to write a food review as my palette is nowhere near being refined but I thought I’d give it a shot. Their Norwegian Salmon Steak with lemon butter sauce has a consistency that is somewhat reminiscent of the M&M tagline: melts in your mouth, not in your…in this case…plate. Let’s put it this way: it is now my last meal of choice should reality be flipped and I be sentenced to the chair. That’s how big a fan I am.
We also ordered the Bouillabaisse Soup in a bread bowl, the Salpicado Local and a good Benguet brew to top. Another menu suggestion would be the Shrimp Thermidiore which will be my target on my next visit.
~~~
We were up and about one afternoon when I felt the urge to use the facilities. While in line at the public restroom, I noticed an imperically-speaking attractive young bloke standing right behind me. Now, for all of you Hallmark-card thinkers, allow me to put the kibosh on any ideas that might have been ignited by my previous sentence. Out of sheer curiousity I turned tow and behold, the word “Maintenance Crew” on his shirt caught my eye.
Hmmm…Baguio is beginning to sound like a very interesting town. And as The Beached Bear later pointed out, we already have something in common: we both clean up after other people’s shit for a living. In my defense, I do it metaphorically. Besides, how the hell are we going to explain ourselves to the grandkids?
~~~
Here’s a picture of me scaling the muddy steps of the Tam-awan Village. It had just rained the night before and the trail that went up to the Ifugao huts was a bit tricky, especially if you’re as sure-footed as I am (do not miss the irony there).
This photo should be enough to eliminate any doubts that I am of an urban constitution. But in case it hasn’t been stated enough, here’s another symptom. On my first morning there, I noticed a pillar of white smoke quickly seeping out from behind the houses in the horizon. Without thinking, I shrieked, “Oh my god! Is something burning?!”
It turned out to be a cloud. How strange to encounter one this close to the ground.
~~~
I’m planning to spend Christmas there this year. Previously I opposed the idea of being anywhere other than home during this particular holiday.
I changed my mind.
P.S. I am officially taking pasalubong requests. Preferrably something small and manageable and nothing in the form of a Baguio walis. I have done that only once and toting one of those back to Manila was…shall we say…interesting. At this point it is safe to say that only The Queen Mother has exclusive rights to any further broom purchases.
