SIDE TRIP 12: Colombo, Sri Lanka

Would you believe the ninang of my little princess is actually based in Sri Lanka? I hadn't seen her in four years and it was such a pleasure to meet her again in Colombo, of all places. The pinoy is truly global - - you will find one anywhere in the world.

Last night she showed me around Colombo. We had coffee in one of the oldest existing hotels in the world -- the five-star Galle Face Hotel which has been operating since 1864! (Manila Hotel was built only in 1912) She took me to the World Trade Center which is a replica of its late American cousin circa 9/11, then took a stroll on the boulevard on the shores of the Indian Ocean. We had dinner at the Grand Oriental Hotel where Jose Rizal used to stay! I didn't even know Rizal went to Sri Lanka but apparently it was one of his favorite places, at the time when it was still called Ceylon. A historical marker mounted on the hotel's walls attest to this. After dinner, she
took me to another five-star hotel where she said a Filipino band performs but sadly, the club was closed because they were in mourning over the killing of a Buddhist monk.

Later at midnight, I was lining up at immigration at the Bandaranaike International Airport when I heard someone behind me say "Ssssh, 'wag makulit!" Startled, I turned around to find a woman trying to contain her hyperactive brat of a child. I smiled at her. She smiled back, then followed it up with "Pilipino ka?" I nodded. Then she asked again, "Saang garments ka?" Nyahaha!!! Apparently, most of the Pinoy OFWs in Sri Lanka are employed in garment factories.

It left me in stitches, pun not intended.


COLOMBO, SRI LANKA on the Indian Ocean

SIDE TRIP 11: Kudawella, Sri Lanka

There is one place in the southern district of Sri Lanka that is truly amazing. Its name is Kudawella and it is home to the blow hole.

The blow WHAT?!

Now, now... before you start thinking kinky, I am not talking about blowing someone's hole. Ew. Although people do line up to witness the blowing of the hole. What HOLE?!

This particular hole gapes from a fold between two rock-solid mounds that are wrinkled, wet, and slippery... definitely dangerous territory. When the pressure mounts from below, great jets of liquid ejaculate from its gaping mouth and shoot 50 meters to the sky. Whew!

Tourists come in droves to the rocky shores of Kudawella, waiting patiently for the great swells coming in from the Indian Ocean to hit the caverns formed naturally under the rocks. When the caverns are filled to capacity, the ensuing pressure causes the water to escape through a small hole to form a giant fountain - - to the delight of
onlookers gathered outside on the promontory. Awesome!

And you thought the hole was...?

He he.

THE BLOWHOLE

SIDE TRIP 10: Galle, Sri Lanka

"Would you like me to jump for you?" asked the young man of about
18. I looked at him blankly, not comprehending. When I didn't
respond, blinding white teeth flashed across his ebony skin in a
wide smile and pointed to the edge of the rampart down to the waves
below. When I gingerly looked at the edge of the tower, my jaw
dropped; it was sooo high! It turned out I'd have to give him some
money to do the stomach-churning freefall, reminding me quite
vividly of the Mines View kids in Baguio hanging on for dear life on
the cliffside, waiting for tourists to throw small change for them
to catch. Tsk, tsk. I said "no" politely.

I am in the small seaside town of Galle in the southern tip of the
tiny island nation of Sri Lanka. It used to be an old Portuguese
settlement, much like the walled city of Intramuros, except that
it's outer walls jut out dramatically seawards. In the old days, it
was quite effective in warding off invaders coming in from the sea.

Quaint shops line the narrow cobbled streets, in-between old villas
and yellow brick buildings. Giant acacia and rubber trees compete
for canopy space, with fragrant white frangipanis blooming like
there was no tomorrow. Outside the thick perimeter walls, huge waves
roll in from the Indian Ocean, smashing against the rocks and
dissolving on golden shores. Truly breathtaking!

Then I thought perhaps I should do the jumping myself, be one with
the beauty of it all, instead of paying the young man to experience
it for me.

There was just one minor problem.

I am afraid of heights.

Waaaah!!!

RAMPART AT GALLE

SIDE TRIP 9: Hong Kong

I only had five hours to do HK, no thanks to a delayed flight by
Vietnam Airlines that made me miss my connecting flight and,
consequently, missed the chance to stay overnight in the Chinese SAR.

So, what can an ordinary Pinoy do for five hours in HK? Tinatanong pa
ba yun? E di shop like mad, wahehe!

Good that their mass transport system is super efficient. Double-
deckers leave the airport every few minutes. With limited time, I
could only go as far as Kowloon, taking in the beauty of bridges
linking the outer islands from the airport to the city. The airport
itself was built on reclaimed land.

Along the way, tall residential buildings dominated the landscape.
There was no traffic, except for a slight build up when we reached
Nathan Road. Kowloon.

Boom! I truly felt like a foreigner then. Must be all those Chinese
characters in neon signs everywhere. Nakaka-alienate.

Heading to the side streets, I immediately joined the melee at the
night market. Cheap imitations everywhere! Fake Nikes. Fake D&Gs.
Fake Louis Vuittons. Fake anything. Aaaargh! Didn't want those. Guess
the most precious thing I got was a cheap anime doll (sort of like
Polly Pocket but Jap-looking) that my daughter adored and whom she
named Michiko.

All the rest, you can easily get at Tutuban. No need to go to HK.

Zhu ni yi tian guo de yu kuai!

KOWLOON NIGHT MARKET


NATHAN ROAD

SIDE TRIP 8: Hue, Vietnam

I hate Vietnam at this very moment.
OK, not really true, he he.
It's Vietnam Airlines I hate.

Here I am at the airport in Hue, cooling my heels waiting for my flight to Hanoi. My delayed flight to Hanoi. My very, very delayed flight to Hanoi. Aaaargh!!! It's Hannoying!

I don't mind waiting really. Afterall, we have been contending with our very own Plane-Always-Late national carrier for most of our flying life. What irks me is the fact that I will miss my connecting flight to HongKong. Which means I won't be having that overnight stay in the Chinese SAR I have been so looking forward to.

Oh well, guess it wasn't meant to be.

One more night in Hanoi is not such a bad idea actually. Maybe it is a sign or something. Perhaps I will finally have that Vietnamese kinuykuyan tonight... on the last night of the wooooorld! ---> (sung a la Kim in Miss Saigon, wahehe)

miki
(turning insane in hue)

GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!

SIDE TRIP 7: Da Nang & Hoi an, Vietnam

Yesterday was mainly travel time so it was kind of relaxed and touristy. No meetings await in the next destination; thank God for small mercies.

After Hanoi, I flew to Da Nang from Nha Trang. I only heard of these places before in war movies and books; now I'm seeing them up close and personal. Traces of the war still linger like a dull ache - - barely discernible but there.

From Da Nang I backtracked to the quaint little town of Hoi An, recently declared a world heritage site. Combine Intramuros with Vigan and Ongpin and you can imagine what it's like.

My destination was really the old imperial city of Hue about 130 kilometers north of Hoi An but it was fun to take my time getting there. Between Da Nang and Hue, we had to traverse the Mountain and Cloud Pass - - very much like Kennon Road in Baguio but with a spectacular view of the South China Sea directly below it.

A bit further on, we stopped for late snacks at Lang Co Beach which resembled Boracay except that the sand wasn't as white or as fine, but close enough. The food at the resort was delicious, though.

Did I say food? Vietnamese cuisine definitely ranks high in my list of favorites.

But that's another story.

Miki

NHA TRANG


PERFUMED RIVER (HUE)


HOI AN

SIDE TRIP 6: Nha Trang, Vietnam

Wake up call at 3:45am.
Leave the hotel at 4:15am.
Depart Hanoi at 6:10am.
Arrive Cam Ranh at 7:50am.

I was going to the resort city of Nha Trang but we deplaned in Cam Ranh some 40 kilometers away. The Nha Trang airport will be closed permanently because there is no more room for expansion (it is the only airport I know that's located smack in the middle of a tiny city!).

From the window, I saw a bevy of pretty girls in graceful ao dais near the foot of the stairs waving banners and flowers, with cameramen and photographers right behind. Hmmm... there must be a celebrity among the passengers (obviously not me!). But when I stepped off the plane, one of the girls gave me the sweetest smile and a long-stemmed rose. Whoa! What's happening? I thought perhaps she mistook me for Dao Ming Si come to visit Vietnam. He he. Kapaaaal !!! When I turned the corner going to the arrival area, a drum and bugle corps and more ao dai-clad ladies were waiting, and a TV (?) reporter shoved a mic in my face, blabbering away in Vietnamese! Hello? OK ka lang? When I answered in English, she promptly turned her back on me and shoved the mic to the person next in line. Ay, bastos!

My grand delusion was thus rudely blown away, more so when I learned ako pala ay nasa inaugural flight to Cam Ranh and that they were having this grand powwow to celebrate the opening of the airport. Uh, OK.

So much for being a big TV star in Viet Nam.

Miki

CAM RANH AIRPORT

SIDE TRIP 5: Ao Dai

Postscript on the Vietnamese Ao Dai


On my last day in the old imperial city of Hue, colleagues at the Hue
University treated me to lunch before my flight back to Hanoi.
Expectedly, they ordered a feast. Yum yum! And as is customary in
Vietnamese cuisine, puro ulam halos, walang rice. Kaya pala ang
papayat nila.

Except for a pretty lady lecturer, all the others in the group were
guys. Young single lecturers at the university and who possessed
tolerable English skills. Anyway, the lady hardly ate - - just
picking on her food. I told her: "You know what, you should eat more;
you're so small and thin!"

One of the guys had an immediate reaction: "You think she's small?
You think she's SMALL?!" he blurted out, wide-eyed. "She's not small!
She's medium!"

Uh, OK.

By their standards, yeah I guess she's a bit big. But compared to
Manila girls, she is definitely on the small and thin category.

So I asked them again: "If a girl were fat, could she still wear the
ao dai?"

"Yes, of course!" they chorused. "But she stay home. No go out."

Ouch.

GIRLS IN AO DAI

SIDE TRIP 4: Hanoi, Vietnam

"covers everything but hides nothing!" is how my canadian lady friend in hanoi puts it when referring to the ao dai, the traditional dress worn by vietnamese women. "and these women? they're so tiny they're not human at all!" bully for her. with her... er, ample girth and big bones and a fair amount of unwanted avoirdupois, she can only dream about slipping into those slinky, form-fitting wisps of cloth that easily transform the vietnamese into ravishing beauties.

hanoi, like its people, is also a beautiful city. suspended in time, you feel like you are in a 1950s period movie, with yellow brick buildings and narrow tree-lined streets. art galleries are all over the place, displaying excellent paintings that are currently the rage in international art circles. charming little shops selling anything and everything occupy practically all the space fronting the streets. and who can ignore the motorcycles? king of the road... they come in swarms! crossing the street is a lesson in survival, an art: not too fast, not too slow, but steady. don't stop; you'll be run over by an avalanche of wheels.

but what really bugged me was the sight of hordes of giggly teenage girls and boys (with a few old timers) at night - around 7pm - parked in front of a shop licking away at ice cream cones like there was no tomorrow. hello? ok lang kayo? pinipilahan ang ice cream? intrigued, nakipila na rin ako and bought one cone for myself for 3,000 vietnam dong. ha! cheap! don't know what's the fuss, though. it was ice cream like any other, except perhaps that it tasted more like milk.

miki

HANOI


AO DAI

SIDE TRIP 3: Bali, Indonesia

BALI may be the Island of the Gods and the people steeped in
spirituality but here, it is quite manly for a guy to wear a skirt
and a flower behind his ear! Eh?!

Picture a fierce-looking warrior, intricate tattoos covering his
upper body, but wearing a yellow and gold skirt (sarong, actually, he
he) and a half-opened pink frangipani tucked in one ear. Ew!

Last night was a full moon and the mostly Hindu residents of the
fishing village in northeast Bali where we are having our workshop
formed a beeline to their temple. It is awesome to see these gentle
people in full Balinese regalia bowing before their Gods, bearing
with them offerings of flowers, food and incense.

Ever the Pinoy Usi, I also wanted to go, of course. But first I have
to wear the skirt; you can't enter the temple otherwise. Not having
the foresight to pack a malong in my suitcase, I had to borrow a
sarong from a workshop participant. Suitably attired in a red shirt
and purple sarong (para akong early warning device, wahehe), I went
past the intricately carved gate into a world quite unlike anything
I've known. Fine sculptures of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva (and God
knows who else) adorn the temple at every corner. Inside were people
squatting before smaller temples, hands clasped over their heads and
bowing several times. With a flower between her fingers, a girl dips
her hand into a bowl of water and sprinkles the faithful three times.
It was all so quiet and peaceful.

But I've always wondered to what degree Bali's ceremonial activities
and supernatural beliefs – sitting side by side with discos and
McDonalds – are sustained from within, or perpetuated from without,
by the demands of the tourist industry. The obvious question is how
can a culture so rooted in the spiritual reconcile itself with the
increasing absorption of new gods so obviously rooted in the material?

But let them worry about it. First, I gotta have my picture taken.
Nyahaha!!!

Satu, dua, tiga… say cheese!

Klik.


Miki
(19 days down, one day to go. Uuwi na ako ng Pinas bukas!!! Yehey!)

HINDU TEMPLE IN BALI

SIDE TRIP 2: Jakarta, Indonesia

It's sad to eat breakfast alone.

Especially when you're alone in a hotel in a foreign land. Even if
the hotel is really nice and had a great selection in its buffet
table.

This morning, I was trying to decide between the chicken curry (na
naman? aaaargh!!!) and the fried sea bass when a soft voice from
behind put a stop to my dilly-dallying. When I turned around, I found
an elderly Caucasian lady talking to me in Bahasa Indonesia. Everyone
here assumes I am also Indonesian. Primed, I immediately recited my
rehearsed line: "Tida bisa Bahasa Indonesia", informing her I don't
speak the language. Seeing the puzzled look on her face, I followed
it up with "Orang Filipina" which meant I am from the Philippines.
Her face cleared and split into a really nice smile. "Magandang
umaga!" she said. It was my turn to be surprised and greeted
her "Magandang umaga din po" in return. Switching to English, she
asked if I wanted to try the chocolate porridge which she said is a
traditional Indonesian breakfast. I murmured "maybe later" politely
(I don't really like porridge that much) and brought my food to a
table near the window. I was wolfing down the sea bass when someone
tapped me gently on the shoulder and put a bowl of the blasted
porridge with fresh coconut milk beside my plate. "Here," the lady
firmly said, "try this. You might like it." And with a smile, she
went back to her own breakfast table, occasionally glancing my way if
indeed I was enjoying the porridge. To my surprise I did and found it
really delicious! I smiled my thanks to her.

Then

I suddenly missed my own mother who would hover around us at
breakfast when we were kids, making sure we ate right.

Much later, I learned the lady was the owner of the hotel and that
she was from Holland. But I will remember her forever for keeping
that old world tradition of the kindly innkeeper, putting meaning to
the words "service" and "personal touch".

Miki

Jakarta at Night

SIDE TRIP 1: Sumatra, Indonesia

If not for the veiled women, it's as if I never left the Philippines
at all. I am in this tiny fishing village off the coast of
northeastern Sumatra in Indonesia working on a book project. Local
case writers struggle to put into paper lessons learned in community-
based natural resource management.

There are ten of us in the group. Five are case writers while the
rest compose the editorial team and support staff. Next week, we will
meet with seven other case writers in Bali.

This is the first time I am actually staying in a Muslim village for
any length of time. We are staying in a traditional Indonesian long
house owned by a community leader. We sleep on pandan mats on the
floor made of wooden planks that creak like crazy when someone walks.
In the morning, I wake up with aching bones from the hard surface,
reminding me quite plainly just how far removed from the field I had
been lately. There is also not enough rainwater in the tank so we
bathe from an open well with murky water. Now I have reddish-blond
hair. Nyahaha!!!

The village of Teluk Pambang is fascinating. It looks like any rural
fishing village in the Philippines except that in the afternoons,
walang nag-iinuman at walang nagtotong-its. What you'll see are
groups of people gathered in the village square playing volleyball
and spin tops.

Spin tops?! Yes, turumpo. It's hilarious to see 60-year-old granddads
happily playing alongside ten-year-olds. They use home-made tops
carved out of bakhaw trunks. And what fun they have! Yep, one can
still have fun and not spend a cent except sweat. Heck, in Manila
you'd have to pay a lot to sweat in gyms and indoor courts.

(ooops! someone told me horses sweat, people perspire.)

whatever.

morning guys!!!
i really miss being home.

miki

PLAYING SPIN TOPS IN TELUK PAMBANG


BENGKALIS ISLAND, SUMATRA


SHORES OF TELUK PAMBANG