SIDE TRIP 19: Villa Escudero

The river is so still and calm I am actually half expecting to find Narcissus gazing lovingly at his reflection on the blue-green waters. The river flows from mystic Mount Banahaw, dammed up on one end of the resort, and overflows onto a restaurant below where visitors feast on Pinoy food while wading on ankle-deep water. Aaaah, bliss!

Villa Escudero awes me. Not only is it such a huge spread (40 hectares of coconut plantation), it also exudes a turn-of-the-century charm. Carabao-drawn carts and gaily-decorated jeepneys transport visitors from the entrance. The resort staff wear Filipiniana "costumes" and the cottages are built almost entirely from bamboo, coco lumber, and anahaw leaves. Bamboo rafts allow visitors to explore the river, but swimming is forbidden; there are pools for that purpose.

At night the air is filled with the combined sounds of crickets chirping merrily and heartwarming kundimans sung by young men serenading guests from cottage to cottage. Fireflies complete the magic. Wow.

In the morning, I wake up to a brand-new day -- unmagical, tedious -- ready to face...... WORK. Aaaaaargh!!!

Miki
(I am not on vacation. I am here for a workshop, heheh)

FIRST TRIP 2: out of the mouths of babes

last night i was busy with reports in front of the computer
my five-year-old little princess was likewise occupied on her bike

from out of the blue she turned to me and asked:

"daddy, paglaki ko pwede ba ako maging SINGLE PARENT?"

utang na loob!!!

FOOD TRIP 2: Kokak

It took six hours to cover the 68 kilometers from Bangued to the village of Gacab in Malibcong, Abra. That’s how bad the roads to the mountains were. And when I finally got off the land cruiser, I came face to face with a squad of New People’s Army (NPAs) loitering near a sari-sari store, all carrying high-powered guns.

One particular NPA caught my attention, and that was because he could have been no more than a boy. I told my guide slash interpreter to ask the boy how old he was and why he joined the communist movement at such a tender age. Speaking in Tingguian, the boy answered that he might be young in age but he was certainly old in terms of the cause he was fighting for. Tsk, tsk. I wondered how much he understood of the cause he was ready to kill and die for. He was only 15.

I was going to stay for the night at a village leader’s house. It was a poor man’s hut with no furniture and no electricity. During dinner, we had to squat on the floor to eat a simple meal of rice and tadpoles.

TADPOLES??!

Yes, tadpoles. Those slimy, black, wiggly baby frogs one normally finds in canals and stagnant water. There they were, swimming in a bowl of broth with bits of leafy vegetables thrown in for added texture. Yaiks.

Of course I had to eat them in deference to the hospitality of my host family. I couldn’t tell you what they tasted like, though, because I just swallowed them whole without chewing on them.

Bon apetit!

FOOD TRIP 1: Killing Me Softly

I stared at the dying chicken and nearly wept.

After being beaten half to death with a blunt stick, its feathers forcibly pulled out, and put over a fire to burn alive, it stubbornly held on to life.

The mountains of Benguet are unapologetic to lowlanders like me. While they looked great on postcards, it took nearly all my willpower not to drop dead from sheer exhaustion after a day’s trek. At journey’s end by nightfall, I was ecstatic to learn a feast was being prepared for us by our host family.

Or so I thought.

They were going to cook pinikpikan. Little did I know I was going to be an unwilling witness to the gruesome torture and murder of an innocent… chicken.

First, manong grabbed the chicken by its wings and started beating it with a stick all over its body. The chicken squawked and shrieked but the beating continued until its skin was entirely covered by blood clots. When the chicken could hardly move, manong began forcibly pulling out its feathers until only a few stragglers were left. Ouch! Barely alive, the “dressed” chicken was then put over a fire to burn (Ouch! again). That was the last straw for the poor chicken, I guess. It must have decided death was a better option so it drew its last breath and croaked adios patria adorada. Killing me softly ngarud.

Cooked like tinola, pinikpikan is quite an exotic dish. With the combined flavors of burnt skin and feathers, blood clots, and ginger - - garantisado, papawisan ka sa sarap! Yum yum.

Trouble is, pinikpikan is almost always served when the Ibalois or Kankanaeys have visitors. And since we were going to be in the mountains for several days – hopping from one village to another – we found ourselves eating pinikpikan in the morning, pinikpikan at noon, and pinikpikan in the evening every single day for three days. Aaaargh!!! I did not eat chicken for three months after that.

What’s more, I wouldn’t ever dream of being reincarnated as a chicken in the Cordillera.


PINIKPIKAN


BENGUET MOUNTAINS


RICE TERRACES

BAD TRIP 2: Ay, T!

I did not lose my cellphone afterall. Bwahaha!!!

This morning while cleaning out my cabinet under the stairs, I found the cellphone I thought I lost last May while out drinking with friends. Eh?! What kind of stupidity is this?

On that fateful night, my best friend from Baguio came for a visit and so we thought it was as good a time as any to get ourselves drunk. Dead drunk. And what better poison to do it with than Colt 45? So we stationed ourselves at Bamboo City in Cubao where beer is cheap and pulutan is plentiful. Whoa, Colt 45 does throw a mean punch; I was feeling groggy after just three bottles. And since my good friend Ric lived nearby (yes, MP Rico Acosta, bow!), I asked him to join us because I also wanted him to meet my best friend.

To cut the story short, all three of us were drunk by 1:30am. And as is customary with drunks, we were feeling more boisterous than usual and decided to move to Padi’s Point for yet another round of Colt 45s. Ric surrendered first (his lovey-dovey was already looking for him, bwehehe) and left for home by 2:00am. At 2:30am, I took out my cellphone from my backpack to answer a text message from the missus (do I have plans of going home at all?). I texted back “yes, we’re going home now”. Truth to tell, I couldn’t remember how my best friend and I managed to get home.

In the morning when I checked my backpack, the cellphone was gone! Waaah!!! Must have left it at Padi’s. I actually have a very bad record with phones, having lost three units in less than a year. There goes the fourth one, I thought. Bye bye.

Or so I thought -- until this morning, exactly six months later. The long weekend inspired me to clean out my cabinet under the stairs and ta-daaa! There was the damned cellphone, buried among all the other junks that needed sorting! How the f*ck did that happen?

Talk about being constantly on guard. My wife and I have had a few spats over cellphone messages so I usually “hide” it in the cabinet under the stairs at night so she couldn’t find it should she think of sneaking up on me and having a peek at the messages. I knew she checks on my phone sometimes.

So on the night that I was drunk, by sheer force of habit I must have put the phone inside the cabinet. I don’t remember doing it. And with the things in there in shambles, I didn’t find the phone at once. Stupid.

Why am I telling you all this?

Wala lang. I’m sure there is a lesson to be learned here somewhere, heheh. Go figure.

Miki

PS: Incidentally, the last text message that registered on the unit (before I asked Globe to cut the line) came from Ric’s lalabs. Sent on 05.28.2004 at 08:12:49, it read:

“Hoy! Gud am. Lasingan yta kau kgbi. Madaling araw n nkauwi c ric”.

Sinabi mo.

And sorry I didn’t text back, buddy. I got it six months later.

FIRST TRIP 1: Sri Lanka

GANDA NG LOLA MO

I was at the Bandaranaike International Airport a little past midnight and valiantly struggling to stay awake when - lo and behold - an apparition almost made me fall out of my seat! And what might that be, pray tell? A plane? No. A bird? No.

It's.... Darna! :p

Picture a small wiry guy with ebony face and plucked eyebrows, puckered lips glistening with pink lipstick, hips a-swaying as he sashayed down the aisle, wrists limp and fingers arched delicately.

Ta-daaa! Presenting the first-ever effiminate Sri Lankan I saw in my life! I almost choked. I knew there must be a gay community in Sri Lanka but they were invisible. In all the times that I'd been going back and forth to this tiny island nation on the Indian Ocean, I haven't ever seen an overtly gay person. Until now.

At mataray ang lola. Wa sya paki even if all the passengers at the pre-departure area were gaping at him with knowing grins on their faces.

Go girl!


BANDARANAIKE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT


SRI LANKA AIRLINES


PRE-DEPARTURE AREA

SIDE TRIP 18: Singapore

Persons born in September are supposed to be control freaks. They like order, organization, things in their proper places.

Like me. Like Singapore.

Here you can't spit, chew gums, or do a whole lot of things that are otherwise perfectly normal in our dear Motherland. They have restrictions on every conceivable deed, taking a seemingly perverse pleasure in telling people off: you can't do this, you can't do that.

(Bantay, SIT! Arf! Arf!)

But I think I will actually like living here. Everything is neat and clean, efficient, orderly. Clinical almost.

But expensive. I can't quite get over the fact that a pitcher of beer in some hokey hole-in-the-wall actually costs the equivalent of 600 pesos! Utang na loob. I'd pass out from the cost, not the alcohol.

I wonder, though, when they'd stop making robots out of their people. Now, they've made it illegal even to bring in souvenir items made out of empty bullet shells. Why??! They don't say.

Just being their usual tight-assed selves I suppose.


CHANGI AIRPORT, SINGAPORE


SINGAPORE NIGHT SAFARI


ORCHARD ROAD

SIDE TRIP 17: Kirinda, Sri Lanka

A ship in the middle of the street? Whoa. What a strange sight!

It's been five months since the tsunami struck but the scars remain to this day. Once congested settlements are now empty; what's left are slabs of cement that were once floors. Makeshift structures dot the horizon --- wooden planks and corrugated iron sheets that serve as temporary shelters for thousands of families left homeless. People talk of lost lives and livelihoods, helplessness and despair. Yet at the same time, they also talk of hope... displaying the spirit that refuses to buckle under in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

In Sri Lanka, people automatically smile, even at complete strangers. It makes one smile in return. So I know people don't think me silly when they smile while watching me take pictures of the ship that was carried by the waves from the harbor, over a two-storey building, and deposited onto the street where it now rests majestically... a mute testament to the world's greatest disaster in recent memory.

SHIP-ON-STREET: Kirinda, Sri Lanka



KILLER TRAIN: 1800++ passengers died when the tsunami struck the moving train

SIDE TRIP 16: Chennai, India 3

SCREENSAVERS

*Yawn*

*Yawn again*

Aaaaargh!!! Lemme outta here!
It's bad enough that their accent sound funny to my untutored ear; worse, they also tend to either talk in droning monotone or really, really fast, so much so that the words and syllables stick together like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Sessions after lunch on a hot day (42 degrees celsius here today! waaaah!) are killers. My eyelids refuse to cooperate and keep dropping off at every unguarded opportunity. More and more I realize that Robert Chambers is right when he says the Philippines is the global epicenter of energizers. Pinoys do have the knack of perking up boring sessions with silly games and action songs that keep blood circulating and interest up. Here in India, they plow right on with the discussions, never mind that almost all the participants are wearing screensavers on their faces. Aaaaaargh!!!

BORED OUT OF MY MIND

SIDE TRIP 15: Chennai, India 2

BLAST FROM THE PAST (INDIA OF OLD)

I could have sworn I was Manuel L. Quezon come back to life. One look at the car and I was ready to believe I must be in a Back-to-the-Future remake. I've never been fond of vintage cars, so to actually ride in one was a bit disorienting. If you watch reruns of old movies on TV and see those large, ancient cars - - that's exactly what I rode in from the airport to the hotel. Bongga, heheh.

Upon arrival at the hotel, the illusion was further heightened when the car door was opened with a flourish by a character straight out of maharajah epics (naka-costume ang doorman, har har har!) who later ushered me into this huge lobby that evoked memories of golden days past, when unabashed opulence ruled. And they don't build hotels the same way anymore I guess - - where the rooms are enormous and the furnishings ornate and rich. I can actually get lost on the king-sized bed! Alas, ako ra usa. Walay kadulog. Waaaah!!!

But hmmmm.... I think I can get used to the good life. Wahehehe.

CHENNAI CAR


GRT GRAND DAYS HOTEL


GRT GRAND DAYS HOTEL LOBBY


CHENNAI AUTO

SIDE TRIP 14: Chennai, India

OF ARMPITS AND HEAVENLY SCENTS

The first thing to assault me on landing in Chennai, India is the smell.

Uh... OK, I am being polite. What I really mean is the foul, stinking stench emanating from I don't know where and which permeates the entire airport. Aaaaargh!!! Perhaps it is because the building is rather dilapidated and lacks proper ventilation. Or perhaps it is because it is my first time to be right smack in the middle of a throng of sweaty "bombays" on a hot and humid evening. Either way, the smell is overpowering!

B.O. nothwithstanding, I swear I am going to enjoy my first taste of India. The Taj Mahal may be far from where I am now but I'm sure there are a lot of other interesting temples and scenes to boggle the senses.

Madras (old name of Chennai), here I come!

MADURAI TEMPLE


TENEMENTS IN CHENNAI, INDIA

SIDE TRIP 13: Bogor, Indonesia

Don't let the name Bogor fool you.

I know it sounds funny (like bogo or bulgur, wahehe) but let me assure you that it is renowned for something much more serious than that --- a 188-year-old Botanical Garden no less, said to have the largest collection of tropical plants from all over the world (over 15,000 species lang naman, heheh). I like trees and plants around me, and the back-to-nature resort where I am now has plenty of them, complete with authentic rice terraces, a gurgling brook, and graceful payags scattered amidst lush greens. It is also the only hotel I've ever been in where you can actually find large grasshoppers and colorful butterflies fluttering about in the hallways, slipping in and out of frilly white curtains swaying in the gentle breeze. Wohohoh.... paradise found!

Paradise indeed! Except that this paradise is also expectedly secluded, cut off from the rest of the world, and --- horrors! NO INTERNET!

Aaaaargh! Lemme outta here!!!

Miki
(going insane in Bogor and afflicted with the severest of internet withdrawal symptoms)

PS: I had to beg a friend to drive me to the town proper ten kilometers away to get this email sent.

GG HOUSE, BOGOR


WHITE ANTHURIUM AT GG HOUSE


BOGOR BOTANICAL GARDEN

BAD TRIP 1: Flash

the past few days we did not have internet access at the office
server was down
so in the evenings i would go to the neighborhood internet cafe
to check on my mails

one night there was this bunch of screaming fags
huddled around one unit, chatting
the one on the keyboard was the ugliest of the lot
his pants was down on his knees (ugh!)
and the webcam zeroed in on his bulge
encased in floral bikini panties
every single one used vulgar language, loudly
screaming, laughing, applauding
everytime the one they were chatting to
flashed...
a chest
a nipple
a crotch
a pubic hair
a cockhead

and on the other units
eight-year-old kids
were playing ragnarok.

call me anything you like
but in that particular instance
i wanted to kill those slimy creatures.