This is a cut and paste from a May 8, 2002 blog. The photos were added recently. Made some minor edits before posting.

—start of flashback entry —

Sappy Travelogue
May 8, 2002

I just had a memorable weekend, and for some reason I cannot find the words to write about it. 

We went up North and maybe my muse loved it there so much that she decided to stay behind. It’s extremely frustrating because I am wishing I can write about it as well as I have experienced it. Muse, muse, come back wherever you are. Nope, nothing. Still at a loss for words. So I’ll just plunge on and try to describe my weekend.

I was able to get some free vacation leaves for Friday and Monday due to 2 instances I had to work Sundays. That meant I had a 4-day weekend to enjoy. And enjoy it I did. Tuks, his sister Yella, his cousin Angie, and I set off for the Northern province of Ifugao in Tuks’ reliable Honda Civic. 

We left our house past 10 in the evening and went to pick up Yella and Angie. And we were at the North Expressway by midnight and out of it in more or less an hour. We exited and got into long winding roads of countryside. The three femmes slept most of the way while Tuks drove, something he seems to truly enjoy. 

We woke up to a breathtaking sunrise, with mountains, hills, and rice fields replacing our daily vista of concrete and steel. The road, lined with trees, stretched towards a horizon. The sky was cast with a pinkish bluish glow. It was refreshing to wake up and know we are out of the city and away from the rat race arena. Our mobile phones inutile as no cell sites were in sight.

There was one Kodak moment when we caught the sun peeking out at that point where two mountains overlap. Kind of a photo cliché opp, but it was too beautiful to pass up. I asked Tuks to stop the car. I said the word stop about five times but he kept on driving. When he slowed down it was too late. The view was gone and if we drove back the sun would not be in the same place anymore. His excuse for not stopping was that he did not think I was serious about asking him to stop. Sounded like something from a rape trial. I said stop and I meant it. But Tuks, the Vacation Nazi himself, has this race he plays in his mind as if Michael Schumacher and the devil are after him, and the jury of the Guinness Book of Records are waiting at the destination point to clock in his record breaking time. There could be a Mother Mary apparition by the side of the road, or a real, live Elvis Presley sighting by the highway shoulder, or Jennifer Lopez herself in a thong with a sign that says “will f*** for food” and he still won’t stop just to take pictures. It messes up his flight plan or something. I tried to sleep to forget about missing the photo op, and as I woke up Yella realized we were lost and we had to do a U turn. Ironically, the turn we missed was about a kilometer from the photo opp spot. I think Tuks, in his rush to ignore the sun peeping over the mountains scene, stepped on the gas and that’s how we missed a turn. If we had stopped to take that photo we would have been coasting leisurely and we probably would have noticed the little directional sign. And we wouldn’t have lost so much time.

Other than that sour moment with the Vacation Nazi, every other moment went well. We arrived at the house of our host in time for breakfast, checked in at the Yamashita Shrine, where we were billeted, and headed for the Banaue Rice Terraces.The Banaue Rice Terraces. We grew up being taught in school that this place was the eighth wonder of the world. As adults we realized that almost every country has its own “eighth wonder”. Call me biased, however, I think this spot is quite deserving of that claim. I will try to post my photos as soon as I can, but you can drop by this site I found through google http://members.tripod.com/billedo/banaue.html to get a preview of how amazing this place is. Think Mt. Rushmore in grandeur, but prettier. It is a wonderful example of God and man’s coalition to create monumental art. Think 2,000 years back and how the tribal mountainfolk who created this wonder had to survive against or with the environment. Too far from the sea to subsist on seafood, their mountain slopes too steep for traditional rice fields, the Ifugao folk carved rice terraces following the contours of the mountain, meticulously piled and matched the rocks for reinforcement, used mud to bind the structure, built an ingenious irrigation system, and combined function with art leaving a work of beauty and a source of sustenance for future generations. 

Having said all that, I also have to honestly say that it was a bit of a letdown. Modernization has brought about damage to what would otherwise be an awesome piece of nature art. Shanties of corrugated iron and wood scraps speckled the otherwise green and amazing scenery. Time has diminished its beauty, and the artists who created the original are no longer here to care to save it. It is on the list of endangered World Heritage sites and that at least is helpful.

And then we saw Charlie’s Angels. These are the 3 Ifugao women clad in full regalia, faded feathers on their hair, clad in hand woven costumes, standing by the road to have their photos taken with the tourists for a little forced “tip.”

Afterwards, we went to the market place to look for local craft and interesting produce. We (meaning Tuks) just spent a small fortune the day before on my car A/C repair so a shopping spree was out of the question. I used all my will power not to buy anything. Okay, so it wasn’t will power. I just did not bring any cash with me. At the end of the market trip, all I bought were two hand woven sashes that I used as a bow to bind the photo album. The photo album turned out so pretty, with pictures (took 5 rolls of film) and illustrations.

We lunched at this hole in the wall place called Las Vegas Inn. Nothing Vegas about it thought. Rustic meets tacky. With a great view of the terraces. We had curry rice; igado, a local meat stew dish; something with lettuce and cucumber they call Israel Salad, which tasted really good; and fried milkfish.

We went back to Kiangan back to the Shrine where we were checked in. Showered. Walked towards the house of the bride, Lenore.

Lenore was a social worker working for the Child Protection Unit where Yella also works. She is a 40ish single mom, and was about to marry Paul, a 50ish American divorcee. They met 20 years ago, as maid of honor and bestman to Lenore’s cousin, and Paul’s brother’s wedding. No sparks, but they met again after 20 years, fell in love, and was about to marry. Their wedding was actually our pretext to having ourselves a grand vacation. An Ifugao wedding is more than just interesting. It is such a memorable, astounding experience. It is steeped in tradition, and very rich with symbolistic rituals. There are pre-wedding and post-wedding rituals that involve the slaughter of pigs, cows, carabaos and chickens. I do not think I will get into detail with this because it requires much cultural tolerance to appreciate. Some parts are gruesome but we had to respect the cultural differences.

During the eve of the wedding, we were at Lenore’s house. There were some rituals done. We did not understand the dialect used so mainly we just watched. There were gongs playing, dancing, chanting, and lots of ground stomping. Ancestors were called, gods were invoked. Afterward, the priests and the couple, who were forbidden to touch each other, walked to a neighbor’s house to drink rice wine brewed specifically for the occasion. The wine tasted good. We continued to just watch and take photos because the people were conversing in their dialect and we could only guess what they were talking about. Poor groom, of course, was hopelessly lost.

We went back to the house for the highlight of the evening – the “poor piggy should have stayed at home” scene. The main ritual involved the sacrifice of a native pig and the extraction of its liver as an unusual alternative for tea leaves. The chief priest looked at the state of the liver and the bile sack to determine if the union was to be blessed by the gods. The liver seemed to have passed merit, and the shaman foretold that the coupling would be successful and fruitful. Offspring will be many despite them being 40ish and 50ish old already. The ceremony went on till dawn. Chanting and dancing mostly. But we left right after dinner. Which was merely choked down out of respect. Nothing like witnessing a pig execution to ruin the appetite.

The next morning was the Catholic wedding, which we decided to skip. We instead went to the market where we did not find anything of interest. They were selling city stuff – plastics, fake jeans, etc.
We then drove to Bae, a valley of rice fields and amazing beauty. Nothing, not the photos, not my wordy descriptions can ever do justice for the spectacular sight of rolling fields, and mountains, and wild flowers, and vines, and more rice terraces and the locals doing their farming. It’s just so awesome, so incredibly beautiful it can make an atheist thank God. The road was a single lane concrete path winding over the fields and so you get this feeling that you are rolling in clouds of green. It is just beautiful. Spectacular. Priceless. Again, God and man conspired to draw out ooohs and aaaahs and OMG’s from us gaping, drooling spectators.

We parked the car and walked 283 million steps down a hill. My legs were trembling at the exertion; muscles left dormant struggled to keep up. At the bottom of the steps was a rusty bridge spanning a river. It was summer, and the water was barely ankle high. We followed the river downstream where they said there was a waterfall up ahead. Up ahead might be a short distance to the locals, but for us used to cars, escalators and walkalators, it was quite a walk. There was no clear path so we had to walk on mossy rocks and pebbles, hold on to vines, dip our teva’ed feet on cool water. I slipped twice, once breaking 3 nails on my right foot. We did not even see the waterfall because getting there seemed too dangerous for our old cranky bones to survive. So we just sat and marveled at the view.

On the way back, we stopped by the bridge. A part of the river was deep enough for swimming and a lot of pre-teen boys were happily playing, diving from the cliff onto the water. We wished we brought a change of clothes so we too could take a dip in the cool water.

Walking back up the 283 steps was more difficult than going down. We had to take a lot of “nature appreciation” stops just to catch our breath. Gasping, panting or not, I would have stopped too. It is an awesome feeling sitting down alone just allowing nature to beguile me with its spellbinding magic. Basking. Praying thanksgiving for being so privileged to be where I was. Composing snippets of poetry in my head. Inhaling the strange, rare scent of fresh air. I would sit and observe insects sucking pollen from wildflowers, watch a butterfly color coordinate itself with the flower petals it lands on, look at trees and notice how their branches serve as picture frames for nature, highlighting portions of the vast scenery. A few seconds of rest and I had the time to notice the lone tropical palm tree seeming out of place and yet looking strikingly beautiful, standing defiant in a forest of hardwood trees. Leafless Jemilina trees with their white trunks serving as accents to the dark verdant background.

A leaf fell and I was there to hear it drop. And then another leaf fell, and another leaf, and another, and another. And soon it was raining leaves. I likened them to little children running home screaming, the rain is here, the rain is here for the leaves falling occurrence was followed by a drizzle. I was praying for it to pour just to complete the nature experience. Who said words were necessary for poetry? What I was so privileged to see was poetry for the eyes.

And as if God knew the climbing, wading, trekking exercise was going to knock the breath out of us, there was a halo-halo stand waiting for us near where we parked. Halo-halo is a dessert concoction of sweetened fruits mixed together with crushed ice and milk. It was heavenly, especially because we forgot to bring any water with us and we were really thirsty from the trek. In the halo-halo stand, the lady who minded the store had an infant covered in homemade comforters. He had a name that sounded like medicine, benadryl or something like that. He had the cutest smile. And he was unaware of how lucky he was to grow up in a place of such beauty.

From where we were we could hear the gongs of the wedding reminding us to drive back for the tribal wedding ceremonies. It was the most difficult task to pull ourselves out of that huge slice of heaven. After a quick trip to buy more film, we went to Lenore’s house. Lunch was being served. Now, this you’ve got to imagine. There is no such thing as a small private wedding for the Ifugaos. At least 17 pigs were killed to feed all the townsfolk. No RSVP customs here. Everyone can just drop by, queue for the meal, which they ate on de-layered banana trunks. After lunch, they had the Ifugao wedding ceremony. Even more ceremonious than the previous activities.
The bride, the groom, the priests and the entourage were in full regalia. There were so many rituals. More of the gongs, the chanting, and the ground stomping. Bride and groom were given beads for their hair, fertility necklaces, intricate headpieces. More ground stomping and chanting. The other shaman’s feet must have withstood a million stomping. They were the widest feet I’ve ever seen, spread out like a fan, contorted, and twisted, and sturdy. Wine was poured on the couple’s feet.

Then the entourage was led out into the streets. Like a line following the pied piper, they walked and danced with the groom and the men striking the gongs in an unusual beat. We did not follow them, but from what we heard, they went to another place and a dozen chickens were choked to death; one of the unfortunate fowl was tied to the groom’s waist. The standing joke was that there was a new definition of love. Real love is dancing out in the streets in a g-string with a dead chicken on your hip just to marry the woman you love.

We left the bride’s home and went to check out of the inn. We were supposed to stay and maybe view the post-wedding ceremonies the next day, but we were all overwhelmed with ceremony and decided to cut short our stay and drive back to the next province to make our trip back to the city the next day a little shorter.

We ended up at Solano, a bustling town in Nueva Ecija, which boasted of no major tourist attraction. The board, lodging and food costs were double of that in Kiangan. On the way to Governor’s Hotel, we stopped at the Dutch Pancake Restaurant. I went out of the car to ask the Dutch owner what time they opened in the morning. We were planning to have breakfast there. After checking into the hotel, we decided to have dinner at the Dutch restaurant also.

The T-bone was highly recommended, but I found it a bit tough. The scalloped potatoes were very good though. The pancake desert was also good. And it was fine service for the owner to run and get us wine even if it wasn’t offered in the menu. On our way out, he mentioned a little girl who went up to him earlier in the evening asking about what time they opened in the morning. It turned out that I was that girl, but he said I looked much younger a couple of hours ago. He said I looked no more than 14 then. I didn’t know if I would be thrilled to be mistaken for a teenager or aghast that I aged so quickly. Nonetheless, he was a nice host and we had breakfast there the next day. He mentioned wanting to expand his restaurant as a franchise and was willing to give the first franchise for free just to break into the market. Mental note to remember this when we are looking for business ventures.

On the drive back to the city, we stopped for lunch at this charming restaurant called Vicentico’s Grill. Food was excellent and the local antique décor was lovely. A couple of stopovers to buy goodies for the folks back home. Tuks dropped me off at my Dad’s place so that I can say goodbye to him before his trip to Europe. I stayed the night there. The next day, Monday, I had my practice round of being a woman of leisure. Woke up late. Breakfasted leisurely. Spent the good part of the morning creating a roller coaster park in the computer. Dragged my nephew and my niece to have my nephew’s tuition fee assessed. Went to see Spider Man. Hohum. Try as I might, I just can not find Kirstn Dunst pretty. Had popcorn, soda and fries for the movie. Mc Donald’s ice cream cones, chicken poppers, mashed potatoes and fries for after the movie. Back home, more computer games, dinner and Tuks finally picked me up to go back to real life. My greatest learning out of the whole experience is that I really should not worry about my Islandhopper business venture. Seeing the places I saw, falling in love with my own country, experiencing so much pride to call this land home, I know now that whether I succeed or fail in this venture, I would have had the time of my life traveling and seeing all these wonderful places and getting to know my country. Aaaah. God is good!

14 fun, fearless, clueless souls, most of them book geeks from my book club took advantage of the Labor Day weekend and grabbed the chance to tick off a bucket list item: Spelunking at Sagada. I was one of them. And that cliche about learning lessons the hard way — this experience exemplifies it.

Here are the lessons I learned the hard, slippery, slimy, smelly, scary way:

LESSON ONE: The dumb gets farther; the dumber gets dead. – For a bunch of book geeks, we did not do our research thoroughly enough. When asked to choose between the normal cave tour (PhP 100 per person) and the Connection Challenge (PhP 400 per person), which traverses 2 caves, Sumaging and Lumiang, we chose what sounded more exciting, more difficult, more unforgettable. Maybe we’ve been reading too much fantasy. Maybe it’s the hashish in the Sagada air. We wanted to release the inner extreme athletes inside us. And we got what we asked for. And failed to anticipate just how difficult it would be, for geeks as well as non geeks, for the fit and for those whose most strenuous exercise is carrying bag loads of books from Booksale. We all had no idea what challenges lay ahead. The guides did not give us a clue.

Of course, we were blessed to have survived relatively unscathed despite our ignorance. Tales of those who were stupid enough to go in without guides, never to come out again, serve as a counterpoint to this lesson. It’s okay to be clueless sometimes, but rash stupidity could cost you your life.

LESSON TWO: We have nothing to fear but fear itself. Aww, shut up! – I do not fear heights, nor water. I have scuba dived in open water. I have rafted through grade 4 white water with a stupid smile on my face. I have parasailed alone and was able to look down without feeling squeamish. I get a kick from roller coaster rides, the higher, the faster, the scarier, the better. My bucket list includes bungee jumping and skydiving.

Fear is not always a bad thing.

I realized how much our mindsets limit us from doing what we want to do, how much we underestimate our strengths, how much power is within us. It took the caves of Sagada and 5 sadistic guides to make me discover my inner strength.

In a Mythbusters episode, Adam and Jamie once concluded that “Poo is everywhere.” Literally. Sadly, it is true metaphorically too. Life can get crappy sometimes. Oftentimes, one can walk around and avoid stepping on poo, but there are times when there is just no way around it, and one has to bear with all the crap. You just have to grin and bear it. The thing is, a little crap ain’t going to kill us.

Those rest breaks slowed us down and stretched what was meant to be a 4-hour trek to 7 hours of torture. But those breaks actually fueled me, not just by replenishing energy, but also by inspiring me with beauty, and reminding me how blessed, how privileged I was to experience something so awesome.

Travel light. It’s still a maxim I find hard to accept wholeheartedly. But it is a lesson well learned in those dark, dank, dangerous caves where material possessions play second fiddle to life and health.

LESSON NINE: Shoes are important. – You have to use the right shoes for the right time and place. I thought my trusted Teva’s were good enough. But they are trekking shoes, not spelunking shoes. And at some point, it was better to go barefoot to let our feet grasp the rocks more securely. Having the right shoes for the right time and place is important. Okay, I don’t really know what this teaches me about life. I just want to justify my shoe closet issues.

Though I’ve taken the Myers Briggs Personality Test a number of times, I wasn’t able to resist taking it again here: http://www.mypersonality.info/

And these are my results: Fairly accurate I would say.

ENFP – The “Advocate”

Temperament: Visionary

ENFPs are introspective, values-oriented, inspiring, social and extremely expressive. They actively send their thoughts and ideas out into the world as a way to bring attention to what they feel to be important, which often has to do with ethics and current events. ENFPs are natural advocates, attracting people to themselves and their cause with excellent people skills, warmth, energy and positivity. ENFPs are described as creative, resourceful, assertive, spontaneous, life-loving, charismatic, passionate and experimental.

About the ENFP
“They can’t bear to miss out on what is going on around them; they must experience, first hand, all the significant social events that affect our lives.”

“ENFPs are warm, enthusiastic people, typically very bright and full of potential. They live in the world of possibilities, and can become very passionate and excited about things. Their enthusiasm lends them the ability to inspire and motivate others, more so than we see in other types. They can talk their way in or out of anything. They love life, seeing it as a special gift, and strive to make the most out of it.”

“Friends are what life is about to ENFPs, moreso even than the other NFs. They hold up their end of the relationship, sometimes being victimized by less caring individuals. ENFPs are energized by being around people. Some have real difficulty being alone, especially on a regular basis.”

“outgoing, social, disorganized, easily talked into doing silly things, spontaneous, wild and crazy, acts without thinking…”

“ENFPs are energetic and enthusiastic leaders who are likely to take charge when a new endeavor needs a visionary spokesperson. ENFPs are values-oriented people who become champions of causes and services relating to human needs and dreams. Their leadership style is one of soliciting and recognizing others’ contributions and of evaluating the personal needs of their followers. ENFPs are often charismatic leaders who are able to help people see the possibilities beyond themselves and their current realities. They function as catalysts.”

“Ranked 1st of all 16 types in using social and emotional coping resources and 2nd in using cognitive resources. “

I’ve been blessed to have the opportunity to travel. And though oftentimes I travel for work and don’t have the time to tour, I do try to grab pockets of time to absorb the culture and just totally enjoy the beauty, the exhilaration of seeing something for the first time. And for those trips that are purely vacations, ahhhh, I’m a great vacationer. I do my research and I make it a point to see something new and interesting. I also love visiting a place alone. So I can totally enjoy the place at my own pace, take as many photos as I desire, take short little appreciation breaks, linger, ponder, meander, without the vacation nazi (aka my husband) breathing down my back so he can beat some imaginary record for the shortest time to get from one place to another. But I digress.

Here are my top ten amazing places:

1. The Louvre, France – This is a place that humbles you. One of the first stops is the Department of Egyptian Antiquities (http://egyptianantiquities.com.au/Journey/Sections/INTRO.CFM). As I gawked at relics of early civilization, I just felt the reality that I am just one inconsequential fraction of a nanospeck in the timeline of the world. The giant paintings at the Medici Hall made me feel small, insignificant, and I realized that whatever talent and skills I had could not possibly match those of the creators of those master pieces. I felt so humbled, yet my soul felt so elated, my eyes so sated, and my heart a little proud to be part of the human race that has created all these beautiful works of art. The one day we spent at the Louvre was hardly enough. One of my dreams is to be able to come back to this place to wander at leisure for days.

2. Harajuku, Japan – One stop from the Shibuya station in Tokyo, and you leave the train to step into a different planet. Harajuku offers dazzling out-of-this-world spectacles. And it has nothing to do with the architecture, art, or any manmade tourist attraction. It’s the people. Young people. With an aversion for looking like everybody else. Japan’s fashion sub-cultures sporting the strangest, hippest, wildest of fashions taking the streets as their runway. Name a color, and somebody around there has that in his or her hair. It’s been more than a decade since I’ve last been there, so I don’t know if it’s still the same avant-garde young fashion capital of the world. A peek at Wikipedia says parts of it have become mallified. But Japanese youth in Manga, Gothic Lolita (the first time I’ve heard of this fashion genre), hip hop, still swarm in this surrealistic fashion wonderland.

3. Tsukiji Fish Market, Japan – You have to wake up at dawn to be able to catch the action here. The noise first, and the smell next accost you, wake you up. And then it’s the frenetic activity that wipes out any vestige of sleepiness. Your eyes dart from one spot to the next because there’s something interesting going on wherever you look. Who knew that fish auctions can be that much fun to watch? You look at the organized lines of frozen fish, numbered like marathon runners, most of them longer and bigger than most of the humans there, and you just know that the tuna panga you had in Davao or GenSan is related to some of the headless carcasses lined up on the auction floor. There’s also a market section retailing a dizzying array of seafood from all over the world. Because we were staying in a hotel, we couldn’t really go shopping for our lunch. But then again, I don’t think I would have been able to buy anything, because I would have been too overwhelmed to make a choice. Salmon, cuttlefish, fish I’ve never seen before, the longest clawed crabs. With my scuba dive card forever out of reach, this is the closest I’ll be to being underwater.

4. Huntington Gardens and Library, California – I’m surprised not a lot of people know about this place. Selfishly, I’m glad not a lot of people know about this place. It’s sort of a secret hideaway only a few minutes from Los Angeles. You pass a posh residential area to get there. The library is a bibliophile’s wet dream. A high ceiling accommodates two levels of rare, leather bound books. My heart ached in envy and desire for my own library to be that awesome. The 2nd print of the Gutenberg Bible, encased in glass, brought out the geek in me, and I almost genuflected, thanking God, and Gutenberg of course, for inventing the printing press. But the library, magnificent as it is, holds your attention only for a few minutes. The gardens, take note of the plural form, beckon. I made the right decision to go alone so I can walk at my own pace, and sit down when I wanted to just rest, read, relax, and wish that I could sketch. Each garden has a theme. The Japanese garden might look familiar to you since it has been used for some supposedly Japan-set Hollywood movies. There is a rose garden, an herb garden, and an English garden they call the Skahespeare Garden. It’s hard to pick a favorite, but from my memory, I liked the desert garden best because I got there by sunset and the giant cacti drew dramatic silhouettes against the orange cast sky. Next time, you’re in LA, check out these secret gardens.

5. Kiangan, Philippines – Check this out. http://islandhopperchronicles.blogspot.com/2009/05/kiangan-flashback.html

6. Sapa, Vietnam – It was the perfect vacation and we came at the perfect time – during the Tet holiday. It was the first time we’ve taken an overnight train ride. I slept at the upper bunk and my husband took the one below. We slept, and when we woke up, it was dawn. We took a van with a number of people who were on tour. And that’s how this amazing vacation started. Sapa is breathtakingly beautiful especially in the winter, when there is a heavy mist covering the town plaza and the church. Women from different tribes pester and follow you around selling their wares – and at some point you give in and buy something that’s beautiful, and colorful and done with painstaking detail. The vacation is about hikes — hikes up mountains, hikes down valleys where the tribesfolks live, make indigo dyed fabrics, hikes along cliffs with awesome views. But the highlight of my Sapa adventure was the magical rose plantation. It looked surrealistically beautiful and I felt that I just stepped into the dream scene of a period movie. Even more astonishing was when these local teenagers called us into their cottage to have tea with them. A cottage so simple the floor was of packed earth. Song, our tour guide, helped me to communicate, but mostly it was their facial expressions of innocent wonder that spoke to me. Sadly, I never blogged about the experience, but sappy as it may sound, this scene will forever be etched in my memory.

7. Hanoi, Vietnam – In the trendy store at Church Street, Tina Sparkles, they sell a beaded bag that says “I was in Hanoi before McDonald’s.” One of my biggest regret is not having bought that bag, which says so much about what Hanoi was, and might soon not be. It is a place that one must see now, before the malls take over. While it still feels like you’re in another place in another time. While the streets are lined with little stores selling the most colorful crafts and art; you get the sense you’re in the Orient’s version of the souk. I only lived there for 7 months, but a part of me will always miss Hanoi with its 7 lakes, Highland Coffee shops, 12-dollar hotel rooms, street food; where getting lost in its littered streets is a game I play; where hopefully no golden arches will ever invade.

8. Capones Island Lighthouse – Scattered along the coasts of the Philippines are Spanish-era lighthouses badly ravaged by time and neglect. My first lighthouse trip was to the one in Burgos near Pagudpod. I’ve also visited the Bolinao and Calatagan lighthouses. My favorite is the one in Capones Island in Zambales. http://islandhopperchronicles.blogspot.com/2008/11/chasing-lighthouses.html

9. The waters of Donsol and the Butandings (Whale Sharks) – Butandings are solitary creatures. They do not swim in schools. They are also very shy; you get too close to them, they leave the surface and go down into the depths of the sea. So, they’re a bit hard to find. When I finally got up close and personal with one, I was stupefied, glued to one spot in the water, and with the snorkel in my mouth, I just exclaimed, Oh My God. I was in awe. Laughing too. The butanding we saw was a magnificent creature. It had rows of white dots on its back. It looked more like a whale than a shark. It was amazing being only about 3-4 meters away from the creature. It glided under me and I saw the whole beautiful creature. Awesome.

10. I struggled to choose the 10th place to put in this list, so I’ll just list down the runner-ups which will share this last slot – Old Town beside Jet D’eau in Geneva, San Francisco’s Halloween night, Little Italy in Boston, Bethlehem Town in Pennsylvania during the Christmas season, New York, Palawan, Bohol and the underwater world of Anilao.

The other amazing places I still want to visit are: Morocco, Egypt, Greece, Batanes, Borobudur, and Ankor Wat.

It’s still work in progress. Still have a few more books to shelve. And the rest of the room is still a mess. But I’m loving my reading nook. I pretty much read everywhere else, but this is where I read at night, a few steps away from the bed where my husband snores away. That floor to ceiling shelf filters the light so he does not complain so much now about the light getting in the way of his beauty sleep.

It is as cozy as it looks. And it is my corner. At least, it’s mine until we get cable, and then this lounge chair will double up for TV watching, and the battle for the remote and the comfy chair resumes. In the meantime, this corner is mine.

I also do my knitting and daydreaming here.

One of the best things about being a missus is accompanying the mister to the barber shop. Barber shops are usually no-nonsense places, awash with brash white lights, devoid of exotic eastern decor. That’s why they are not as seductive as spas. Absence of fancy Asian frills notwithstanding, they provide comparable levels of service.

Men go to the barber shop not for the ambiance but for simple pampering sans zen music and that irritating soundtrack of birds chirping. Given a few minutes, you start appreciating the DOMish music, and even start finding it strangely comforting.

The good thing about barber shops is that, unlike beauty salons, they are not frequented by gaggles of girls bonding, texting, gossiping. Just men, quiet and serious, intent on only one purpose: to zone out from the world, the work, and the wife. An invisible “Do not disturb” sign hanging around their necks.

This particular wife tagged along but promised to ignore the husband so she can also zone out. He picked Beppo’s Barber Shop at the ground floor of A Venue on Makati Ave. She picked the foot massage from the extensive menu of services.

She picks well. After several days of hard, physical labor — moving heavy objects and standing for hours dusting and such — she feels the soles of her feet are screaming, “Massage us, massage us!”

*Ending bothersome third person narration here*

Sheena, my therapist starts with hard, reflexology-like movements from the knees down. She goes easy on the oil, just enough to make it pleasurable, and not too much to make me feel like I’m being prepped for roasting. As I focus on Wuthering Heights, Sheena focuses on providing comfort to my tired feet and her deft fingers do not miss a spot, rubbing away my pains. After the thorough kneading, which I think is glorious enough, she brings out this scary contraption that she straps to her hand. When her fingers touch my flesh, I discover that one thing missing from my life until now, well, two things actually — Sheena and her wonderful, vibrating machine.

Nirvana. I am not fond of using eastern religious terms, but WordWeb’s definition fits perfectly — complete bliss and delight and peace. I drop my book at its story’s most exciting part, as it is getting in the way of my zen. That wonderful vibrating machine, from hereon to be called WVM, is the answer to all the world’s problems — wars, drugs, road rage, and Britney Spears. If everyone would just have Sheena and her WVM, then everybody will be living in a state of well being, and we will all just get along.

After the WVM does its wondrous job on my feet, the rest of my body feels envious. Sheena hears my shoulders’ jealous rage and massages my arms, hands, shoulders, head. I run out of eastern mystic terms to describe the ecstasy.

Then she slows the pace and ends with a light finger massage. And I understand finally what my guy friends mean by “happy ending.” Then she does what very few spa therapists do — towel wipe out the oil and slap on a splash of one of my favorite scents in the world, rubbing alcohol. Then she covers me up with some fuzzy towels and lets me nap for a few minutes.

As I hover between dazed awakeness and the brink of REM, I understand why men usually top up with more services they don’t really need like manicures and ear waxing. They just don’t want the experience to end. Sad sigh.

Sheena doesn’t allow me to leave with bedhead. She spritzes water on my hair and brushes it, making the fat tip and the pension plan I’m planning to give her so much worth it.

Really, this is the most fun and pleasure you can have without taking off your clothes (I mean, taking off your clothes at the spa, pervie). All for 350 pesos.

My new word: barbelicious.

Try out Beppos’ Barber Shops’ grooming and massage services. They also have branches at Cash & Carry (South Super Highway) and The Link Building (Makati Avenue across Landmark)

PS: (June 8, 2009) Today I went for hot oil treatment and again had a pleasurable encounter with the Wondeful Vibrating Machine, this time on my head. Lovely. Great hand massage too on the shoulders down to my fingertips. Mmmmm!

No. 2 United cor. West Capitol, Bo. Kapitolyo, Pasig City

The Bait: Good reviews from friends and media
The Line: Eclectically Romantic (according to Awesome Planet)
The Hook: Simply good cooking
The Sinker: Less than stellar service
The Catch: P400++ per person

This is the opposite of zen. The beyond-kitsch, bordello-like decor is a minimalist’s nightmare. Gordon Ramsay would have a fit with the fusion-confusion of its ultra eclectic menu, which mixes Mediterranean with Asian. Cafe Juanita is a visual melee but a gustatory delight.

My husband, knowing I’ve been wanting to try the place, decided to treat me and my mother in law on the eve of my birthday. But he was noncommittal about the time so we weren’t able to make reservations. And the place, with two floors and several family size dining tables, was packed. We missed the chance to dine at the main dining rooms. Instead, we slummed at their meriendahan. That there was no a/c on that hot March evening would be enough reason for me to go for a plan b resto. But I really wanted to try it, so we chose a table close to the blasting electric fan and ordered from the main resto’s menu.

My husband will never pass up on his national flower, the Chicharon Bulaklak (P189), so we started with that. What can I say, it’s good. Hard to go wrong with that.

That was followed by Sinigang na Corned Beef with Chorizo (P389). What’s great about the dish is that before they served it, the server came out with a little cup of the broth and asked us to sample it the way they’d ask you to sample the wine before serving. You can ask them to adjust the acidity or the sourness. So the soup they delivered was just perfect. As sour as we wanted it. We rarely have this kind of sinigang broth, thickened by gabi. Really good, or it also could be that we were very hungry when we got there. There was nothing extraordinary with the corned beef, but the chorizo gave it a unique twist.

My favorite dish was the Tinuktok (P199). I suspect a lot of diner miss this as it is on the bottom of the comprehensive menu. Imagine this: crabmeat and buco wrapped in taro leaves topped by two sauces — coconut and crab fat. Something I would definitely order when I go back.

Hubbalicious wanted Thai Style Crispy Dalag (P295), but they didn’t have it that night. So we settled for Sole with Lemon Butter Sauce (P368). Faultless. Perfectly pan-grilled — crispy on the outside and tender on the inside.

The Spicy Spare Ribs (P160?) was not listed on the dinner menu, but I saw a picture of it and ordered. The ribs have the kind of sneaky spiciness that creeps up on you, seems mild at first and next thing you know you’re sneezing as the well hidden labuyo pepper bits tickle your nostrils and taste buds.

For dessert, Hubbalicious and Mom in law split a halo-halo. I sampled it but did not detect anything special about it. Plus it seemed to have too many beans, which I don’t like in my halo halo. I don’t like beans. Period.

My Cafe Juanita experience was capped by the famous Sticky Toffee Pudding (P89). This affirms what I’ve always known — giving up dessert for life is just plain wrong. The pudding was very moist. The caramel sauce could be too sweet for others, but for me the combination of pudding, caramel sauce, and vanilla ice cream was just, uhm, I’m struggling to articulate how good it is. It has an old-fashioned, homemade appeal to it, but it is exceptionally good.

Our server was very pleasant and helpful, but she still needed a bit of training answering some of our questions. In fairness to her, I was inquisitive and my husband was determined to charm her with his corny jokes. She was very patient with both of us.

After dining, I checked out the main dining area again, and I think it’s worth a second trip to have the full experience next time.

More photos at: http://islandhopper.multiply.com/photos/album/35/Birthday_Eve_at_Cafe_Juanita

Why is it that whenever the universe hears I’m going low carb, it sends me the most irresistible combination of carbohydrates? But I persist despite the odds.

When I got invited to a blogger event at Italianni’s, I hurled my splenda packets in exasperation thinking Italianni’s is really just a synonym for pizza and pasta.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the protein seeking diner actually has a lot of options, especially with their summer line-up of dishes.

Five dishes comprise their Small Price for a Big Lunch Promo. It doesn’t surprise me that my favorites are the ones that are most appealing to carnivores. The Costina Brasatta, loin back ribs braised in tomatoes and red wine; and the Manzo di Arrosto, Roasted rib eye, are my top choices.

The braised ribs are so tender, literally falling off the bone and melting into my mouth in a delightful medley of herbs and garlic. Really. Just don’t get any of the perfectly al dente spaghetti, and the carbs are kept at bay. Not bad at P395.

The rib eye. I like the rare in the inside and medium well on the outside doneness of this dish. I can’t believe it was slow roasted for 8 hours. I also can’t believe that it is only P350. The mushroom topping is also very good. Good carbs come from the grilled zucchini and capscicum bites that go with the steak.

The Pesci in Vino Blanco is a crowd favorite. This dish uses local dory fillet simmered in white wine and herbs. The fish is just the right side of tender. Flaky but in a good way. Again, stay away from the spaghetti aglio e olio if you want to go low carb. Otherwise, have a lot of it because it’s really quite good.

The Pollo con Rucola, Chicken with Arugula, P295 is an interesting take on the usual herbed roasted chicken. I really love how the arugula is not merely a garnish, but the flavor really rubs onto the chicken skin, giving it a nutty taste. The flavor, however, doesn’t seep into the rest of the chicken meat, which could also do with a bit more tenderness.

What I thought would be my favorite, surprisingly lands at the bottom of my fave list. The Spiedo del Pollo e Dei Pesci, Fish and Chicken Skewer P295. But it could be just me. I am not fond of white chicken meat. It’s a well seasoned dish, but some kind of sauce would probably make this tastier.

If you’re seriously avoiding carbs, I suggest you leave after you’ve had the entrees. Go. Now. Go. Because it would take the willpower of a monk to resist the desserts. One dessert, in particular, tested my carb-free resolve. Sadly, okay, I wasn’t really that sad, I failed, and the Tartufo, (P450) won. In my defense, no one with functioning taste buds can resist this 3-layered chocolate cake with dark and white chocolate mousse and fudge frosting. It has this amazing flavor where the salty and the sweet tastes alternately titillate your palate. To quote my friend, twitchmimitwitch, it’s abso-bloody-lutely delicious.

Did I mention this is a summer promo? So the good times will end, so better head over to Italianni’s now.

Photo lifted from Italianni’s press kit.

That previous post about the ensaimada, that description — I take it back. This is the real, ultimate, ooh-aah-yeah-baby-baby-who’s your daddy, oh-so-yummy delicious bite of pleasure. Scrumptious. Insert more superlatives here.

If you’re familiar with the Dove ice cream bar, Nestle’s Pops taste like it. It’s not a very complex flavor. Just comfort food vanilla ice cream coated with chocolate. Ice cream you can eat as finger food. You pop each kiss-shaped pop into your mouth, and the flavor pops as the chocolate breaks and the vanilla ice cream melts onto your tongue. Then you close your eyes and contemplate the perfection of the universe and the sublime beauty of being alive.

I kid myself that the vanilla is mostly protein and the chocolate is mostly anti-oxidant, so having a dozen pops in one sitting is actually a healthy thing.

Take note the brand name is a plural noun. Because only one with an extremely high EQ, one who grew up in the misery of war, only one who can’t understand the concept of buying all colors of great shoes, can have just one. It’s very good and addicting.

I like it when the vanilla ice cream is slightly melted, so wait a few minutes after you pull the tub out of the freezer before you pop one. If you can.

Parmesan Ensaymada
from Tender Trap Bakeshop
at 681 Lee Street, Addition Hills, Mandaluyong City
(a new shop at Virra Mall according to the owner’s blog: http://tender-trap-bakeshop.blogspot.com/)
P240 per dozen

So much deliciousness packed in these little balls of eyes-closed, ooh-ahh-yeah-baby-baby pleasure. Super moist ensaymadas topped with parmesan cheese. Though I like my ensaymadas smothered in butter and sugar and these aren’t, the taste of the dough and the cheese makes up for the absence. I’m not an ensaymada connoisseur so I can’t tell if it’s the best in the city, but I wager it’s in one or more of those “Best of” lists.

The bummer: it’s a messy eat because the cheese is dry, and you end up with a sprinkling of cheese on your shirt.