I have so many stories to tell, yet it seems that I never have enough time to commit to tell them!
Seasons change. Friends come and go. Fashion, haircuts, jobs, apartments, impending relocations.
So many things have happened to me since I moved out of my parents in 2003.
I lost my favorite aunt. I got a part-time job. I met whom I hope is the love of my life. We toured the country. We taught each other things that we know eill alter us forever.
I hope that following my heart will lead me to places where I need to be. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Cheer If You're Winning!
ZsaZsah Zaturnah Ze Muzikal!
CCP Tanghalang Huseng Batute
Filipino Comic book heroes have another wonder-man/woman in their esteemed roster! Here comes Zsazsah Zaturnnah! Ada, a gay beautician/ beauty salon owner from Smalltown, Anywhere, Philippines, becomes the mysterious recipient of a glowing stone that falls from the sky while he showers in his batalan. His hilarious sidekick/assistant beautician/flaming queen house mate, Didi, convinced that the stone is mystical and imbues a person with superpowers, talks Ada into swallowing the fist-sized rock and he promptly becomes…Zsazsah Zaturnnah! A 6-foot titan haired woman, with double D breasts and the powers to leap from tall buildings unscathed! Dodge bullets! Do super Kung Fu!
At first, Ada is bowled over by the fact that she has become a woman. But then a group of alien lady warriors called “Amazonistas”—Dina B., Sharon C., Nora A., and Vilma S., and their Queen, Femina, try to invade the earth by targeting their small town. They send a giant frog rampaging through the barangay. Ada knows that only ZsaZsah can save her town, and the earth, in an ultimate battle between good and razor-clawed, Celia Rodriguez-inspired evil Femina.
Ada/Zsazsa also has to deal with her burgeoning romance with Dodong, his hunky next-door neighbor. Can love triumph over social conventions? Will Zsazsa defeat the frog and the Amazonistas? And will she get the guy?
This deliciously campy comic book, released in 2003 by Carlo Vergara, created a stir among gay and straight comic-book aficionados, even becoming something of a mainstream hit. Its tongue-in-cheek humor, its steady pulse on 70s and 80s pop culture camp won over many readers despite its heavy use of swardspeak, which left some heterosexuals scratching their heads in incomprehension. When time came to bring Zsazsah to life, her exploits were turned into—what else? A musical!
Tanghalang Pilipino’s exuberant staging of Zsazsah shows how much fun the cast had during the staging. Lyricist, composer, and musical director Vincent De Jesus’ use of gospel and soul music, and the uplifting vocals of the chorus, provide just the right light-hearted treatment of this highly entertaining and outrageously gay musical. The collective crescendo of their voices is infectious; one can’t help but dance and clap along with them. Kudos goes to the production for the excellent casting, even of the small roles.
The cast had a grand time delivering the zingers in the script. Ricci Chan (of Magandang Umaga Pilipinas, most popular for his portrayal of Angel in the local production of Rent) is a scene-stealer as Didi, with his commanding vocals and balahura lines such as “Ikaw talaga, parang hindi ka sanay sumubo ng malaki!” In the hands of skilled Chan, he made the material shine its brightest.
Eula Valdez as Zsazsa, the gay Ada’s alter-ego, was a revelation. With this play, Amor Powers has proven that she can not only play api on screen; she can kick, act, and sing her heart out! Hats off to her, she really gave the performance her all, especially during some of the dramatic scenes. She has emotionally connected to her character. However, her portrayal lacked an indefinable je ne sais quoi. Perhaps, like Julie Andrews in the movie Victor, Victoria, it’s hard work if you’re a woman pretending to be a gay man. While Ada is a soft-spoken barrio bading, Valdez was still acting a bit too feminine for the part.
Kalila Aguilos as Femina plays the villain to the hilt. Her rendition conjures images of all of the istariray kontrabida actresses local cinema could muster. Her snooty faux-British accent, her raised eyebrow, her commanding portrayal of Femina is the icing of this deliciously pink cake. The final showdown between Femina and Zsazsa in an abandoned kakanin factory is hilarious!
Hopefully, Tanghalang Pilipino will re-stage Zsazsa for the scores of people who were unable to buy tickets to the sold-out show. TP didn’t anticipate the popularity of Zsazsa, the comic book and the musical. Perhaps, they will be accommodated in a theatre bigger than the 100-seat Huseng Batute Theatre. While director Chris Millado’s innovative use of the small space is commendable (especially with the use of Barbie dolls in the giant frog scene), the play would have benefited from a larger venue. Such close intimacy of the actors with the audience is not a necessary requirement for the material at hand.
Overall, the musical never hit a false note. It remained faithful to the comic book without sacrificing time, and with minimal changes in the story.
While non-Filipinos and expats may have a hard time catching the gay lingo and the Filipino pop culture references, it does not diminish the power and energy of the play about Ada, a small town bakla who, because of a giant stone from the sky, discovered that he had he heart of a lion.
* to be published in Asian Journal
CCP Tanghalang Huseng Batute
At first, Ada is bowled over by the fact that she has become a woman. But then a group of alien lady warriors called “Amazonistas”—Dina B., Sharon C., Nora A., and Vilma S., and their Queen, Femina, try to invade the earth by targeting their small town. They send a giant frog rampaging through the barangay. Ada knows that only ZsaZsah can save her town, and the earth, in an ultimate battle between good and razor-clawed, Celia Rodriguez-inspired evil Femina.
Ada/Zsazsa also has to deal with her burgeoning romance with Dodong, his hunky next-door neighbor. Can love triumph over social conventions? Will Zsazsa defeat the frog and the Amazonistas? And will she get the guy?
This deliciously campy comic book, released in 2003 by Carlo Vergara, created a stir among gay and straight comic-book aficionados, even becoming something of a mainstream hit. Its tongue-in-cheek humor, its steady pulse on 70s and 80s pop culture camp won over many readers despite its heavy use of swardspeak, which left some heterosexuals scratching their heads in incomprehension. When time came to bring Zsazsah to life, her exploits were turned into—what else? A musical!
Tanghalang Pilipino’s exuberant staging of Zsazsah shows how much fun the cast had during the staging. Lyricist, composer, and musical director Vincent De Jesus’ use of gospel and soul music, and the uplifting vocals of the chorus, provide just the right light-hearted treatment of this highly entertaining and outrageously gay musical. The collective crescendo of their voices is infectious; one can’t help but dance and clap along with them. Kudos goes to the production for the excellent casting, even of the small roles.
The cast had a grand time delivering the zingers in the script. Ricci Chan (of Magandang Umaga Pilipinas, most popular for his portrayal of Angel in the local production of Rent) is a scene-stealer as Didi, with his commanding vocals and balahura lines such as “Ikaw talaga, parang hindi ka sanay sumubo ng malaki!” In the hands of skilled Chan, he made the material shine its brightest.
Eula Valdez as Zsazsa, the gay Ada’s alter-ego, was a revelation. With this play, Amor Powers has proven that she can not only play api on screen; she can kick, act, and sing her heart out! Hats off to her, she really gave the performance her all, especially during some of the dramatic scenes. She has emotionally connected to her character. However, her portrayal lacked an indefinable je ne sais quoi. Perhaps, like Julie Andrews in the movie Victor, Victoria, it’s hard work if you’re a woman pretending to be a gay man. While Ada is a soft-spoken barrio bading, Valdez was still acting a bit too feminine for the part.
Kalila Aguilos as Femina plays the villain to the hilt. Her rendition conjures images of all of the istariray kontrabida actresses local cinema could muster. Her snooty faux-British accent, her raised eyebrow, her commanding portrayal of Femina is the icing of this deliciously pink cake. The final showdown between Femina and Zsazsa in an abandoned kakanin factory is hilarious!
Hopefully, Tanghalang Pilipino will re-stage Zsazsa for the scores of people who were unable to buy tickets to the sold-out show. TP didn’t anticipate the popularity of Zsazsa, the comic book and the musical. Perhaps, they will be accommodated in a theatre bigger than the 100-seat Huseng Batute Theatre. While director Chris Millado’s innovative use of the small space is commendable (especially with the use of Barbie dolls in the giant frog scene), the play would have benefited from a larger venue. Such close intimacy of the actors with the audience is not a necessary requirement for the material at hand.
Overall, the musical never hit a false note. It remained faithful to the comic book without sacrificing time, and with minimal changes in the story.
While non-Filipinos and expats may have a hard time catching the gay lingo and the Filipino pop culture references, it does not diminish the power and energy of the play about Ada, a small town bakla who, because of a giant stone from the sky, discovered that he had he heart of a lion.
* to be published in Asian Journal
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Sagada High
Warning: Adult Content
Before we set off on our trip, my brother leaned over into our car and asked us, "Hey when you get to Sagada, can you score some pot?"
First off, I feel like I have to explain why this is okay for me, as an older sister to a younger brother. My relationship with my siblings may be hard to understand by outsiders. We are a very-close-knit set; we cover each other's asses. We party together, we support each other. We are really good friends.
We discovered sex, drugs, and all that jazz independently. We confide and seek advice with each other. We know our limits, and I know my brother isn't a pothead.
The mountains up north are famous for producing quality weed, and of course, just like my brother, I was curious as to why this was considered the best in the country.
We really enjoyed our trip up north. Crisp mountain air, small, artsy, laid-back community, amazing food and great restaurants, this was right up my and Thomas' alley.
Thomas, like me, also enjoys the occasional joint. When we got there, he was also eager to sample the goods. I was reluctant to ask around for a score, so Thomas did the asking. We didn't have to go very far.
As we suspected, where there was smoke, there was a joint. On our second night there, we returned to *Bonfire Inn, where we had dinner the first night. We were greeted at the entrance by two teenaged kids making merry with liquor, who offered us a swig of their Tanduay. We refuse, as we raise the bottle of tapuy (rice wine) we brought with us. Instead, Thomas asked if they knew where to get something "to smoke."
"Oh, just go inside and ask for *Janice. She works for the restaurant inside."
So off we go and hunt for Janice. A few moments later, she materializes and she immediately understands what we want from her.
She took us to a dark corner, and produced a wad of tissue from her bosom. Gingerly unfolding the fabric, she says that her hash is P 500 for 10 grams. "I have good stuff, good stuff," she assures us, when we question the price.
After the purchase, we go back to the boys. They ask us if we were able to purchase something. We nod. Alwin and Mark. Alwin studies in the local high school, while Mark is a university student in Baguio. The examine our block, sniff it. Yes, this is a fresh harvest. We invite them to sample it with us.
We didn't have any paper with us, but they had cigarettes. Mark demonstrated a technique that I could not perfect. With his lighter, he burned off a corner of the stone, which later crumbled after pinching it off. Then he heated the cigarette stick, loosening the tobacco inside. After emptying the cylinder into his palm, he mixed the hash and the tobacco leaves, then scooped the mixture back into the paper vial. He is very adept at the skill.
I inhale during my turn. Heavy smoke fills my lungs, and the sweet aftertaste of the hash ring my lips. With each puff, my eyelids grow heavy, and words begin to fail me when I try to form sentences.
A man approaches us from the opposite side of the fence by the entrance. He offers us weed, saying that he has a fresh harvest. We negotiate--P 200 for 10 grams. He says he has to go home to get the merchandise.
Alwin creates another stick. After sharing the second joint, Mark begins to utter gibberish. Alwin apologizes for his friend; he's been drinking since 8 pm. Thomas, Alwin, and I take alternately take a swig of either tanduay or tapuy.
In the middle of the conversation, Mark suddenly falls silent. We leave him, thinking that he was trying to collect his wits. He suddenly falls on his side, on the grassy earth. Clutching his stomach, he vomits. Thomas says that he is puking in the right position; no need to worry about choking.
The man returns, and produces dried stuff that fills half of a small plastic bag. He also gives us a fresher batch "for free," wrapped tightly in paper like a giant ball of candy. We thank him for the stuff, and leave Alwin. "Take care of your friend, make sure he gets home," says Thomas as we wave goodbye.
The next day, we buy rolling papers from an artsy cafe in the mountain town. We ask for advice how to take it back home, fearing random inspections from police. You'll have to try your luck, says the storekeeper, there is no surefire way to prevent it.
Back to earth, during my brother-in-law's last night in the city, Thomas and I, My sister and her husband, and my brother sit in a circle and enjoy a joint--three joints, as perhaps our parents had, enjoying the smoke, the cameraderie of friendship and relations. The pot mixture turns out to be too strong for Thomas, and I help him back to bed.
NikkiAlfar
Tobie Abad
Gabby Lee
Andre Mischa Cleofe
Before we set off on our trip, my brother leaned over into our car and asked us, "Hey when you get to Sagada, can you score some pot?"
First off, I feel like I have to explain why this is okay for me, as an older sister to a younger brother. My relationship with my siblings may be hard to understand by outsiders. We are a very-close-knit set; we cover each other's asses. We party together, we support each other. We are really good friends.
We discovered sex, drugs, and all that jazz independently. We confide and seek advice with each other. We know our limits, and I know my brother isn't a pothead.
The mountains up north are famous for producing quality weed, and of course, just like my brother, I was curious as to why this was considered the best in the country.
We really enjoyed our trip up north. Crisp mountain air, small, artsy, laid-back community, amazing food and great restaurants, this was right up my and Thomas' alley.
Thomas, like me, also enjoys the occasional joint. When we got there, he was also eager to sample the goods. I was reluctant to ask around for a score, so Thomas did the asking. We didn't have to go very far.
As we suspected, where there was smoke, there was a joint. On our second night there, we returned to *Bonfire Inn, where we had dinner the first night. We were greeted at the entrance by two teenaged kids making merry with liquor, who offered us a swig of their Tanduay. We refuse, as we raise the bottle of tapuy (rice wine) we brought with us. Instead, Thomas asked if they knew where to get something "to smoke."
"Oh, just go inside and ask for *Janice. She works for the restaurant inside."
So off we go and hunt for Janice. A few moments later, she materializes and she immediately understands what we want from her.
She took us to a dark corner, and produced a wad of tissue from her bosom. Gingerly unfolding the fabric, she says that her hash is P 500 for 10 grams. "I have good stuff, good stuff," she assures us, when we question the price.
After the purchase, we go back to the boys. They ask us if we were able to purchase something. We nod. Alwin and Mark. Alwin studies in the local high school, while Mark is a university student in Baguio. The examine our block, sniff it. Yes, this is a fresh harvest. We invite them to sample it with us.
We didn't have any paper with us, but they had cigarettes. Mark demonstrated a technique that I could not perfect. With his lighter, he burned off a corner of the stone, which later crumbled after pinching it off. Then he heated the cigarette stick, loosening the tobacco inside. After emptying the cylinder into his palm, he mixed the hash and the tobacco leaves, then scooped the mixture back into the paper vial. He is very adept at the skill.
I inhale during my turn. Heavy smoke fills my lungs, and the sweet aftertaste of the hash ring my lips. With each puff, my eyelids grow heavy, and words begin to fail me when I try to form sentences.
A man approaches us from the opposite side of the fence by the entrance. He offers us weed, saying that he has a fresh harvest. We negotiate--P 200 for 10 grams. He says he has to go home to get the merchandise.
Alwin creates another stick. After sharing the second joint, Mark begins to utter gibberish. Alwin apologizes for his friend; he's been drinking since 8 pm. Thomas, Alwin, and I take alternately take a swig of either tanduay or tapuy.
In the middle of the conversation, Mark suddenly falls silent. We leave him, thinking that he was trying to collect his wits. He suddenly falls on his side, on the grassy earth. Clutching his stomach, he vomits. Thomas says that he is puking in the right position; no need to worry about choking.
The man returns, and produces dried stuff that fills half of a small plastic bag. He also gives us a fresher batch "for free," wrapped tightly in paper like a giant ball of candy. We thank him for the stuff, and leave Alwin. "Take care of your friend, make sure he gets home," says Thomas as we wave goodbye.
The next day, we buy rolling papers from an artsy cafe in the mountain town. We ask for advice how to take it back home, fearing random inspections from police. You'll have to try your luck, says the storekeeper, there is no surefire way to prevent it.
Back to earth, during my brother-in-law's last night in the city, Thomas and I, My sister and her husband, and my brother sit in a circle and enjoy a joint--three joints, as perhaps our parents had, enjoying the smoke, the cameraderie of friendship and relations. The pot mixture turns out to be too strong for Thomas, and I help him back to bed.
NikkiAlfar
Tobie Abad
Gabby Lee
Andre Mischa Cleofe
*Name has been changed
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Infamy
To understand what this post is about, first you have to read this
Done? Good.
Now I am amazed at the ripples that some of my actions cause. Last Thursday, My friends from the younger set of the Executive Toastmasters Club decided to go out for some drinks after the meeting. I was coaching Lyra, one of our newest members, on how to pick a topic for her Speech number two for her basic manual (hehe, TM geek-speak).
The discussion drifted to places where we can go hang out outside of TM, and she mentioned that she goes to the annual Cosmo Bachelor's bash as a panata (personal vow). Leslie and I were not able to go because we weren't able to score tickets, plus, Thomas and I went to Marinduque for the weekend.
"But I did attend the 2004 bash. In fact, I went up the stage for one of their contests," I noted.
"Oh yeah? I was there too! Who were you there?"
"I don't know if you'd remember, but I joined the lick-the-chocolate-syrup off the model contest."
"Oh my God! Who were you there?"
"I was the girl who made the model lie down..."
And she lets off this shriek, "OH MY GOD! YOU WERE THAT GIRL!!! YOU'RE INFAMOUS!" and she starts laughing her head off.
In an excited voice, she tells me that the 2005 party was boring, and I spiced up the 2004 party, asked me what the hell I was thinking, blah blah.
And here is the kicker! "Ohmygod, my girlfriends and I were debating whether or you were a tranny!
And I had the biggest laugh of the month! I get it all the time, and all because of the same reason she gave. "Because we weren't sure if there was really a girl who would have the guts to go do what you did!"
"Actually I went backstage after that and spoke to the other male models. They were all shocked at what you did and they all felt sorry for the model. They felt that he was exploited!"
A kick in the head, eh? Should I say go girl power?
I retort, "Hello, the felt exploited? This was a party where they had male models gyrate in cages!"
"Oh my God, I can't wait to tell my friends that I met that infamous girl from the Bachelor's Bash.
Dammit, and I still have leftover mouthwash to prove it!
---------
On another note, Michael (aka Basang Panaginip )has compiled a list of the sexiest bloggers in the blogosphere. And yes, I am on that list! I even ran into an old college classmate. Read his selection, he has led me to some blogs that I now read avidly. Thanks for picking my blog, I am so flattered! I guess my name does indeed live in infamy!
Done? Good.
Now I am amazed at the ripples that some of my actions cause. Last Thursday, My friends from the younger set of the Executive Toastmasters Club decided to go out for some drinks after the meeting. I was coaching Lyra, one of our newest members, on how to pick a topic for her Speech number two for her basic manual (hehe, TM geek-speak).
The discussion drifted to places where we can go hang out outside of TM, and she mentioned that she goes to the annual Cosmo Bachelor's bash as a panata (personal vow). Leslie and I were not able to go because we weren't able to score tickets, plus, Thomas and I went to Marinduque for the weekend.
"But I did attend the 2004 bash. In fact, I went up the stage for one of their contests," I noted.
"Oh yeah? I was there too! Who were you there?"
"I don't know if you'd remember, but I joined the lick-the-chocolate-syrup off the model contest."
"Oh my God! Who were you there?"
"I was the girl who made the model lie down..."
And she lets off this shriek, "OH MY GOD! YOU WERE THAT GIRL!!! YOU'RE INFAMOUS!" and she starts laughing her head off.
In an excited voice, she tells me that the 2005 party was boring, and I spiced up the 2004 party, asked me what the hell I was thinking, blah blah.
And here is the kicker! "Ohmygod, my girlfriends and I were debating whether or you were a tranny!
And I had the biggest laugh of the month! I get it all the time, and all because of the same reason she gave. "Because we weren't sure if there was really a girl who would have the guts to go do what you did!"
"Actually I went backstage after that and spoke to the other male models. They were all shocked at what you did and they all felt sorry for the model. They felt that he was exploited!"
A kick in the head, eh? Should I say go girl power?
I retort, "Hello, the felt exploited? This was a party where they had male models gyrate in cages!"
"Oh my God, I can't wait to tell my friends that I met that infamous girl from the Bachelor's Bash.
Dammit, and I still have leftover mouthwash to prove it!
---------
On another note, Michael (aka Basang Panaginip )has compiled a list of the sexiest bloggers in the blogosphere. And yes, I am on that list! I even ran into an old college classmate. Read his selection, he has led me to some blogs that I now read avidly. Thanks for picking my blog, I am so flattered! I guess my name does indeed live in infamy!
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Rising to the Challenge: Conquering Mount Pulag
Winners take time to relish their work, knowing that scaling the mountain is what makes the view from the top so exhilarating—Denis Waitley
I have never climbed mountains, and I never had the inclination to. I admit that my curiosity about it was satisfied by stories of my friends who relished the cold winds and muscle pains from the hours they spent walking to the peak. How exhilarated they were when they spoke of the view from the top, I mused. I never fully understood their enthusiasm, until I got an opportunity to climb Mount Pulag, the highest mountain in Luzon, or the second highest mountain in the country, after Mount Apo in Mindanao.
The awe inspired by the imposing mountains of Benguet is heightened by the stillness of the surroundings, and towering above it all is Mount Pulag. At 2,922 meters above sea level, Mt. Pulag covers 11,550 hectares, with parts in Benguet, Ifugao, and Nueva Vizcaya. Mt. Pulag was declared a national park 1987, in order to protect the ecology and the endangered animals of the area. Several tribes call the mountain home, and consider it sacred. There are five trails leading to the summit. Thomas decided to take the easy route up, from Ambangeg, Benguet, since this was my first climb. We packed our provisions, and headed to conquer a mountain.
Day 1
From Baguio, we took a Norton bus to Kabayan, Benguet. The last bus to Kabayan leaves at around one o’clock in the afternoon, and we had to hurry to catch the last bus.
We arrived at Ambangeg, at the foot of the mountain, at half past three. We went to the Protected Area Office for a short briefing on what to expect up the mountain, and to pay the park registration fee. Filipinos and Filipino residents (like Thomas) have to pay 100 pesos, while non-residents have to shell out $ 15 US. We also had to pay a 50 peso Camping fee and a 25 peso “green fee.” He said that a guide would meet us at the Ranger Station , a 14 kilometer hike from the office, and would have to pay him 500 pesos to take us to the summit. He explained that the guides are locals, and mountain tours were a way for them to make a living. Our fees would go to the management of the park.
We were advised to take our trash back down the mountain with us, and that we cannot gather wood for fire. We divested ourselves of non-essential items, making our backpacks as light we possibly can, and entrusted it to the office for safekeeping. We took a knife, lots of carbohydrate-rich instant food, two 1.5 liter bottles of water, winter jackets, a change of clothes, warm fleece blankets, and thermal mats. A dog from the office had taken us under her wing and led the way for us up the mountain. I named her “Nana.”
The first few kilometres of the route were paved, to allow vehicles to transport the vegetables grown by the locals to the markets in Baguio and La Trinidad. I was relatively in shape, so when I was informed that we would be taking the easy route, I thought that I could take the mountain easily. No sweat, I thought, this is like Level 5 in a stepmaster or cross-trainer in the gym. Taking Level 5 in the stepmaster relentlessly for hours and hours is bound to take the wind out of anybody, I thought, when I started to feel tired an hour into the climb. I congratulated myself on the progress I was making when a woman and a young girl passed us, without breaking a sweat.
Camp 1
It was starting to get dark, so we decided to camp at an elementary school in a few kilometres from where we started. The pair who earlier passed us by were seated by a sari-sari store. They suggested that we camp at an elementary school in the small village. We set up our tent beside one of the school buildings, and walked back to the village to buy instant noodles. We asked a local woman if we could cook the noodles in her home, and she agreed. The fragrant smell of burning pine wood from her stove permeated her warm kitchen, while some men in the next house watched the news from a small black-and-white TV. As she served us water, she explained that since the tap water in all the villages came from a spring on top of the mountain, it was safe to drink. The night was cold, hovering at 10 degrees Celcius. We slept fully wrapped in our blankets, winter jackets, and long pants.
Day 2
We woke up to the sound of Nana’s barking and of children trickling into school. Moisture from last night dripped into our tent, so we had to dry it while we went about his or her morning business. We started hiking at around 7 a.m.
We had a long walk ahead of us. I started to complain about the rough road, muddy at some parts, rocky in most. Despite the cold air, I was sweating profusely through my thin cotton shirt. I should not really complain much. We were lucky that the weather was relatively warm and crisp. We had worried that unexpected rain that drenched Manila last December would continue on until January, and the mud would definitely complicate our trek. We stopped at several stores along the way to buy provisions, like biscuits, and bought fresh carrots from a farmer to replenish our supplies. We didn’t want to take too much food with us up the mountain. Small terraces on the mountain were planted with peas, carrots, and cabbage. The way of life here seemed as ancient, and as ageless, as the mountain.
At around 10 a.m., Nana disappeared, perhaps to go back to the base. Luckily, we were not far from the Ranger Station, which was 10 kilometers from the summit. We were introduced to Cornelio, our guide. He was a local, from the Kalanguya tribe. We had a lunch of instant noodles with stewed cabbage and carrots. We wordlessly resumed our climb at noon.
The road disappeared, giving way to meandering foot trails that cut through grassland, or sat at the edge of ravines. We then entered a moss rainforest, thick with primeval fern trees, dwarf bamboo bushes that barely reached my waist, and mist. The bizarre vegetation reminded me of fairy tales. I thought of Hansel and Gretel and their trail of bread crumbs. Somewhere below we heard the gush of an unseen river. The air was perpetually damp, the trail muddy. Water flowed from tubes stuck to the sides of the mountain, their spouts encrusted with moss.
There are three permitted campsites in Mt. Pulag, and we reached the second campsite, closest to the top, at 3 p.m. We were only 2 kilometers from the summit, but we decided to climb up in time for the sunrise. We decided to resume our climb at 4 am the next day. We set up our tent, while Cornelio wisely decided to sleep in a nearby shed.
My ‘Blair Witch’ Night
I woke up at 8 p.m., as the bitter cold nipped my socked feet. I slept in my winter jacket and my long pants, bundled up in three thick blankets, yet the cold penetrated my cocoon. A Manila girl through and through, I was unused to single digit temperatures. My teeth chattered as I weathered what I felt was the most miserable night of my life. I was on the verge of crying, as I dreamt (or hallucinated?) eating ‘Amaterasu chicken’ (as I told Thomas) while biting into my cold, day-old hamburger. What this magical chicken was, I don’t know. I think the mountain was getting to me.
I was more than ready to take to the summit at 11 p.m. The cold robbed me of rest, as it roused me every time I tried to drift into sleep. Moving was the only way I could keep the chills at bay, so I sat up, and started rocking myself while I cried. How miserable, how miserable, I thought, I want to get off this blasted mountain. I had my flashlight under me. Then I realized that save for a camera, I was just like the girl in that Blair Witch movie.
The Air up There
I went out of the tent to take a leak at a nearby cathole when I saw the full moon. Its light was so bright that I thought a spotlight was shining on me. I turned to look at my surroundings, and again, I felt that I was trapped in a more sinister Grimm Brothers fairy tale. The light illuminated the rolling landscape, and I marvelled at how otherwordly everything looked under the moon and the million stars behind it.
The cold was too much to bear, so we decided to head to the shed at around three a.m., where Cornelio was. We found him in a place a few degrees warmer than where we were, and cursed ourselves for deciding to spend the night in our tent.
We started for the summit at 4 a.m. Cornelio’s flashlight was the sole point that illuminated the path. Perhaps, we were lucky to have trekked to the summit in the darkness. I would not see that there were deep ravines at either side of me until we got down the mountain at daybreak. The trees became sparser and sparser, giving way to brush and clumps of dwarf bamboo. The narrow trails sometimes could only accommodate the width of a foot. The icy fingers of the cold, dry wind whipped into my face, and neither my hat, nor the upraised faux fur collar of my jacket, could keep it out. But we were moving, and for that I was grateful.
At around 5:30 a.m., I thought we had reached the summit, when I saw that we still had to climb a 50-foot hill, and it had a steep incline, which conjured mental images of me rolling 2,922 meters down the mountain. I was at my breaking point. Me, who had never climbed a mountain, who endured a miserable night of frost, who thought that the worst was over, had another hill to climb. Tears were running down my face, as I grit my teeth and tackled the ascent. I had to, I had to, I have to conquer this mountain, I thought.
Cornelio had to hoist my lazy Manila ass up to the summit, and I sobbed as I reached the top. Perhaps, it was the effect of accumulated exhaustion, the cold, the hunger, the dirt. I reached the summit. I did not let the mountain get the better of me. The top of the mountain was bald, save for some grass and a bush of dwarf bamboo. We looked around the mountain, and saw the streetlights of Baguio, Sto. Tomas, Pangasinan, and Sagada. We saw the mountains of Ifugao.
The sky began to lighten, turning into slate gray, to white, to pink, to sky blue. The first rays of the sun radiated across the horizon. Eventually, a bright yellow arc emerged, and it seemed to fill half of the earth. The sea of clouds 1,000 feet below us carpeted the mountain. We were the first people in Luzon, maybe in the Philippines, to see the sunrise that day. I felt we were at the roof of the earth.
It took us 2 days to scale the summit, and 4 ½ hours to go down the mountain.
NikkiAlfar
Tobie Abad
Gabby Lee
Andre Mischa Cleofe
*A version of this article appeared in Asian Journal
I have never climbed mountains, and I never had the inclination to. I admit that my curiosity about it was satisfied by stories of my friends who relished the cold winds and muscle pains from the hours they spent walking to the peak. How exhilarated they were when they spoke of the view from the top, I mused. I never fully understood their enthusiasm, until I got an opportunity to climb Mount Pulag, the highest mountain in Luzon, or the second highest mountain in the country, after Mount Apo in Mindanao.
The awe inspired by the imposing mountains of Benguet is heightened by the stillness of the surroundings, and towering above it all is Mount Pulag. At 2,922 meters above sea level, Mt. Pulag covers 11,550 hectares, with parts in Benguet, Ifugao, and Nueva Vizcaya. Mt. Pulag was declared a national park 1987, in order to protect the ecology and the endangered animals of the area. Several tribes call the mountain home, and consider it sacred. There are five trails leading to the summit. Thomas decided to take the easy route up, from Ambangeg, Benguet, since this was my first climb. We packed our provisions, and headed to conquer a mountain.
Day 1
From Baguio, we took a Norton bus to Kabayan, Benguet. The last bus to Kabayan leaves at around one o’clock in the afternoon, and we had to hurry to catch the last bus.
We arrived at Ambangeg, at the foot of the mountain, at half past three. We went to the Protected Area Office for a short briefing on what to expect up the mountain, and to pay the park registration fee. Filipinos and Filipino residents (like Thomas) have to pay 100 pesos, while non-residents have to shell out $ 15 US. We also had to pay a 50 peso Camping fee and a 25 peso “green fee.” He said that a guide would meet us at the Ranger Station , a 14 kilometer hike from the office, and would have to pay him 500 pesos to take us to the summit. He explained that the guides are locals, and mountain tours were a way for them to make a living. Our fees would go to the management of the park.
We were advised to take our trash back down the mountain with us, and that we cannot gather wood for fire. We divested ourselves of non-essential items, making our backpacks as light we possibly can, and entrusted it to the office for safekeeping. We took a knife, lots of carbohydrate-rich instant food, two 1.5 liter bottles of water, winter jackets, a change of clothes, warm fleece blankets, and thermal mats. A dog from the office had taken us under her wing and led the way for us up the mountain. I named her “Nana.”
The first few kilometres of the route were paved, to allow vehicles to transport the vegetables grown by the locals to the markets in Baguio and La Trinidad. I was relatively in shape, so when I was informed that we would be taking the easy route, I thought that I could take the mountain easily. No sweat, I thought, this is like Level 5 in a stepmaster or cross-trainer in the gym. Taking Level 5 in the stepmaster relentlessly for hours and hours is bound to take the wind out of anybody, I thought, when I started to feel tired an hour into the climb. I congratulated myself on the progress I was making when a woman and a young girl passed us, without breaking a sweat.
Camp 1
It was starting to get dark, so we decided to camp at an elementary school in a few kilometres from where we started. The pair who earlier passed us by were seated by a sari-sari store. They suggested that we camp at an elementary school in the small village. We set up our tent beside one of the school buildings, and walked back to the village to buy instant noodles. We asked a local woman if we could cook the noodles in her home, and she agreed. The fragrant smell of burning pine wood from her stove permeated her warm kitchen, while some men in the next house watched the news from a small black-and-white TV. As she served us water, she explained that since the tap water in all the villages came from a spring on top of the mountain, it was safe to drink. The night was cold, hovering at 10 degrees Celcius. We slept fully wrapped in our blankets, winter jackets, and long pants.
Day 2
We woke up to the sound of Nana’s barking and of children trickling into school. Moisture from last night dripped into our tent, so we had to dry it while we went about his or her morning business. We started hiking at around 7 a.m.
We had a long walk ahead of us. I started to complain about the rough road, muddy at some parts, rocky in most. Despite the cold air, I was sweating profusely through my thin cotton shirt. I should not really complain much. We were lucky that the weather was relatively warm and crisp. We had worried that unexpected rain that drenched Manila last December would continue on until January, and the mud would definitely complicate our trek. We stopped at several stores along the way to buy provisions, like biscuits, and bought fresh carrots from a farmer to replenish our supplies. We didn’t want to take too much food with us up the mountain. Small terraces on the mountain were planted with peas, carrots, and cabbage. The way of life here seemed as ancient, and as ageless, as the mountain.
At around 10 a.m., Nana disappeared, perhaps to go back to the base. Luckily, we were not far from the Ranger Station, which was 10 kilometers from the summit. We were introduced to Cornelio, our guide. He was a local, from the Kalanguya tribe. We had a lunch of instant noodles with stewed cabbage and carrots. We wordlessly resumed our climb at noon.
The road disappeared, giving way to meandering foot trails that cut through grassland, or sat at the edge of ravines. We then entered a moss rainforest, thick with primeval fern trees, dwarf bamboo bushes that barely reached my waist, and mist. The bizarre vegetation reminded me of fairy tales. I thought of Hansel and Gretel and their trail of bread crumbs. Somewhere below we heard the gush of an unseen river. The air was perpetually damp, the trail muddy. Water flowed from tubes stuck to the sides of the mountain, their spouts encrusted with moss.
There are three permitted campsites in Mt. Pulag, and we reached the second campsite, closest to the top, at 3 p.m. We were only 2 kilometers from the summit, but we decided to climb up in time for the sunrise. We decided to resume our climb at 4 am the next day. We set up our tent, while Cornelio wisely decided to sleep in a nearby shed.
My ‘Blair Witch’ Night
I woke up at 8 p.m., as the bitter cold nipped my socked feet. I slept in my winter jacket and my long pants, bundled up in three thick blankets, yet the cold penetrated my cocoon. A Manila girl through and through, I was unused to single digit temperatures. My teeth chattered as I weathered what I felt was the most miserable night of my life. I was on the verge of crying, as I dreamt (or hallucinated?) eating ‘Amaterasu chicken’ (as I told Thomas) while biting into my cold, day-old hamburger. What this magical chicken was, I don’t know. I think the mountain was getting to me.
I was more than ready to take to the summit at 11 p.m. The cold robbed me of rest, as it roused me every time I tried to drift into sleep. Moving was the only way I could keep the chills at bay, so I sat up, and started rocking myself while I cried. How miserable, how miserable, I thought, I want to get off this blasted mountain. I had my flashlight under me. Then I realized that save for a camera, I was just like the girl in that Blair Witch movie.
The Air up There
I went out of the tent to take a leak at a nearby cathole when I saw the full moon. Its light was so bright that I thought a spotlight was shining on me. I turned to look at my surroundings, and again, I felt that I was trapped in a more sinister Grimm Brothers fairy tale. The light illuminated the rolling landscape, and I marvelled at how otherwordly everything looked under the moon and the million stars behind it.
The cold was too much to bear, so we decided to head to the shed at around three a.m., where Cornelio was. We found him in a place a few degrees warmer than where we were, and cursed ourselves for deciding to spend the night in our tent.
We started for the summit at 4 a.m. Cornelio’s flashlight was the sole point that illuminated the path. Perhaps, we were lucky to have trekked to the summit in the darkness. I would not see that there were deep ravines at either side of me until we got down the mountain at daybreak. The trees became sparser and sparser, giving way to brush and clumps of dwarf bamboo. The narrow trails sometimes could only accommodate the width of a foot. The icy fingers of the cold, dry wind whipped into my face, and neither my hat, nor the upraised faux fur collar of my jacket, could keep it out. But we were moving, and for that I was grateful.
At around 5:30 a.m., I thought we had reached the summit, when I saw that we still had to climb a 50-foot hill, and it had a steep incline, which conjured mental images of me rolling 2,922 meters down the mountain. I was at my breaking point. Me, who had never climbed a mountain, who endured a miserable night of frost, who thought that the worst was over, had another hill to climb. Tears were running down my face, as I grit my teeth and tackled the ascent. I had to, I had to, I have to conquer this mountain, I thought.
Cornelio had to hoist my lazy Manila ass up to the summit, and I sobbed as I reached the top. Perhaps, it was the effect of accumulated exhaustion, the cold, the hunger, the dirt. I reached the summit. I did not let the mountain get the better of me. The top of the mountain was bald, save for some grass and a bush of dwarf bamboo. We looked around the mountain, and saw the streetlights of Baguio, Sto. Tomas, Pangasinan, and Sagada. We saw the mountains of Ifugao.
The sky began to lighten, turning into slate gray, to white, to pink, to sky blue. The first rays of the sun radiated across the horizon. Eventually, a bright yellow arc emerged, and it seemed to fill half of the earth. The sea of clouds 1,000 feet below us carpeted the mountain. We were the first people in Luzon, maybe in the Philippines, to see the sunrise that day. I felt we were at the roof of the earth. It took us 2 days to scale the summit, and 4 ½ hours to go down the mountain.
NikkiAlfar
Tobie Abad
Gabby Lee
Andre Mischa Cleofe
*A version of this article appeared in Asian Journal
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Charming Taal
A version of the article appeared in the Feb 14-18 edition of the Los Angeles Asian Journal
Everybody has heard of Taal Volcano, but nobody really goes to Taal the town, near Balayan Bay in Batangas, a province south of Manila. For those who want to go to north Vigan to see old Filipino-Spanish houses, but don’t have the time to make the ten-hour journey, Taal is a good alternative. Time seems to go slowly in this town, 110 kilometers south of Manila. It is a good pit stop on the way to the beaches of Anilao or Calatagan, Batangas.
This small laid-back community in a pocket in the mountains is bastion of Philippine colonial architecture, and locals are keen on preserving the old with the new. Old houses are still inhabited, while some have updated their homes while keeping to the original style and the shape of the house.
First stop is the impressive Basilica of St. Martin de Tours, a faded old church that has earned a lot of charm. Its high ceilings, and ornate candelabra chandeliers emits the atmosphere of how storied the town is. The present church was built in 1856, after its previous incarnations were ruined by either earthquakes or volcanic eruptions. Religious images such as the much adored Virgin of Casaysay are enshrined in the Basilica.
History is such a tangible part of Taal; evidence of its colonial heritage is everywhere. Drop by the homes of Filipino revolutionaries who were key figures in the fight against Spanish colonizers in the late 1800s. Near the Basilica is the home of Marcela Agoncillo, famous for having sewn the first Philippine flag waved in Kawit, Cavite in 1898. It has been turned into a museum displaying her personal effects. She was the wife of Felipe Agoncillo, who considered as the first Filipino diplomat, who was part of a team that tried to stop theTreaty of Paris, wherein the Spanish handed over the Philippines to the Americans.
A short walk will take you to the home of Leon Apacible, a member of the Malolos Congress, the first Philippine legislature. He was a friend of Jose Rizal, the Philippine national hero, and went to primary school with him. His former home has also been turned into a museum, which contains a treasure trove of photographs from the American period.
On the outskirts of town is barrio Balisong, famous for its of deadly butterfly knives, known in the Philippines as 'the balisong.' The barrio's knives has literally become its trademark. Balisong-loving Filipinos love to show off at how good they are at unfolding and folding their balisongs with a flick of the hand. A commendable shop belongs to Diosdado Ona, a knife designer who has extensive knowledge on the craftsmanship of the balisong. It is apparent that he is a treasure trove of information on how the balisong is made, as he explains how each knife in his shop was made and what materials were used. He even explained how each knife was made, what materials it was made of, the specialty of the knife (gutting, slicing off meat, or poking a hole through a peso coin).
Knives seem to be a specialty of Taal. Barrio Pandayan (or "Smith Village,") also in Taal is known for producing bolos, itaks, and scythes used by farmers. Watching how knifemakers produce one knife is an educational experience for those interested, and makers welcome the curious.
Another Taal specialty is embroidered Filipiniana clothes made out of delicate pineapple fiber or jusi, which is less expensive than piña. Shops selling gowns and Barong Tagalogs, the formal wear for Filipino men, line the streets leading to the town market.
Taal is a friendly town with a rich history that its residents are proud of. For a town steeped in art, culture, and craftsmanship, it is a wonder why this town is not as famous as its cousin Vigan up north. Perhaps, this obscurity helps in the preservation of the town's culture from other influences. Filipinos keen on learning about their heritage should take a look at the town that time forgot.
-------------
PS. Coup? What coup? Honestly, media should stop scaring the people to fill the empty space. When will they resort to reporting just the news, minus the sensationalism?
Dean says...
Jessica says...
Elber says...
What did I do? I went to work, slept, covered the Makati rally, covered a "press conference" of Senators Cayetano, Roxas and Pangilinan, bought a German-English dictionary, filed my news report, watched Brokeback Mountain with my mom, and went home.
For somebody who works in the news, I find it more alarming that I don't care at what's supposed to be news.
Everybody has heard of Taal Volcano, but nobody really goes to Taal the town, near Balayan Bay in Batangas, a province south of Manila. For those who want to go to north Vigan to see old Filipino-Spanish houses, but don’t have the time to make the ten-hour journey, Taal is a good alternative. Time seems to go slowly in this town, 110 kilometers south of Manila. It is a good pit stop on the way to the beaches of Anilao or Calatagan, Batangas.
This small laid-back community in a pocket in the mountains is bastion of Philippine colonial architecture, and locals are keen on preserving the old with the new. Old houses are still inhabited, while some have updated their homes while keeping to the original style and the shape of the house.
First stop is the impressive Basilica of St. Martin de Tours, a faded old church that has earned a lot of charm. Its high ceilings, and ornate candelabra chandeliers emits the atmosphere of how storied the town is. The present church was built in 1856, after its previous incarnations were ruined by either earthquakes or volcanic eruptions. Religious images such as the much adored Virgin of Casaysay are enshrined in the Basilica.
History is such a tangible part of Taal; evidence of its colonial heritage is everywhere. Drop by the homes of Filipino revolutionaries who were key figures in the fight against Spanish colonizers in the late 1800s. Near the Basilica is the home of Marcela Agoncillo, famous for having sewn the first Philippine flag waved in Kawit, Cavite in 1898. It has been turned into a museum displaying her personal effects. She was the wife of Felipe Agoncillo, who considered as the first Filipino diplomat, who was part of a team that tried to stop theTreaty of Paris, wherein the Spanish handed over the Philippines to the Americans.
A short walk will take you to the home of Leon Apacible, a member of the Malolos Congress, the first Philippine legislature. He was a friend of Jose Rizal, the Philippine national hero, and went to primary school with him. His former home has also been turned into a museum, which contains a treasure trove of photographs from the American period.
On the outskirts of town is barrio Balisong, famous for its of deadly butterfly knives, known in the Philippines as 'the balisong.' The barrio's knives has literally become its trademark. Balisong-loving Filipinos love to show off at how good they are at unfolding and folding their balisongs with a flick of the hand. A commendable shop belongs to Diosdado Ona, a knife designer who has extensive knowledge on the craftsmanship of the balisong. It is apparent that he is a treasure trove of information on how the balisong is made, as he explains how each knife in his shop was made and what materials were used. He even explained how each knife was made, what materials it was made of, the specialty of the knife (gutting, slicing off meat, or poking a hole through a peso coin).
Knives seem to be a specialty of Taal. Barrio Pandayan (or "Smith Village,") also in Taal is known for producing bolos, itaks, and scythes used by farmers. Watching how knifemakers produce one knife is an educational experience for those interested, and makers welcome the curious.
Another Taal specialty is embroidered Filipiniana clothes made out of delicate pineapple fiber or jusi, which is less expensive than piña. Shops selling gowns and Barong Tagalogs, the formal wear for Filipino men, line the streets leading to the town market.
Taal is a friendly town with a rich history that its residents are proud of. For a town steeped in art, culture, and craftsmanship, it is a wonder why this town is not as famous as its cousin Vigan up north. Perhaps, this obscurity helps in the preservation of the town's culture from other influences. Filipinos keen on learning about their heritage should take a look at the town that time forgot.
-------------
PS. Coup? What coup? Honestly, media should stop scaring the people to fill the empty space. When will they resort to reporting just the news, minus the sensationalism?
Dean says...
Jessica says...
Elber says...
What did I do? I went to work, slept, covered the Makati rally, covered a "press conference" of Senators Cayetano, Roxas and Pangilinan, bought a German-English dictionary, filed my news report, watched Brokeback Mountain with my mom, and went home.
For somebody who works in the news, I find it more alarming that I don't care at what's supposed to be news.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Cathy and Thomas Do the Philippines!
Because I am a GD lazy blogger, I would rather post the trip in photos. Image-intensive post: you've been warned!
One last look at Paseo Parkview *sniff* at the start of the journey.
Relaxing at the Terrazas de Punta Fuego. They are not nice. After the Terrazas manager assured us that we had a place to stay at the Peninsula, the people over there tell us that they were fully booked, so we had to spend the night on the beach. Hello, ano ba sila? Pag sinabi ng letter ng member na we will stay there ng January 2-3, ibig sabihin overnight kami dun no! Common sense lang po! Wag kayong mag-aaprove ng sulat ng member nyo kung mali ang pagkakaintindi nyo. May kasama pa naman kaming mga bata. Your guards treated us like dirt pagkatapos kinabukasan nakita ng management nyo may kasama kaming foreigner saka kayo mag-aalok ng kwarto? Hahaha...and my sister lost her Canon Powershot camera to boot!
This beautiful isolated beach is tucked away in the mountains of Lian, Batangas. Un-touristy places are the best; though there are no amenities, they are inexpensive, and people are much nicer.
St. Martin de Tours Basilica, Taal, Batangas.
Crash! We were on our way to Bicol, staying in our lane, when some 80 year old dude decided to drive his jeep across a blind curve. No blinkers, no signal, no nothing. He wasn't even wearing glasses. The driver, Mr. Pablo Rada, owner of Ramyund Bus Lines, refused to even help us with our transportation costs back to Manila. DO NOT hire Geronca car rental services, they refused to send in a replacement car for us and wanted to leave us stranded in the middle of Lopez, Quezon. I suffered from mild whiplash, which ended in a week. X-rays showed that I was fine. Oh well, there goes the Bicol leg of the trip.
Snakes, anyone? Since we were stranded with nothing to do, our hosts, who thankfully took us in, had a party. We were served fried python, and we could not refuse. Snake tastes a lot like chicken. A chicken with blander, tougher meat.
Waterfalls in Calauag, Quezon
A plate of buttered broccoli. Thomas' dish in Baguio.
The Air up There: At the Summit of Mt. Pulag, Benguet.
The weirdest looking Chicken in the world. It looks like a cross between a chicken and a turkey! Protected Area Office, Mt. Pulag, Ambangeg, Benguet.
The hanging coffins of Sagada. Echo Valley, Sagada.
Thomas and the sulfuric hot water pools of Mainit, Bontoc, where the pigs, the humans, and the sugarcane inhabit the same area. It feels like an alternate universe there. It seems that time really does run differently up there, and it's not just the atomic clocks talking.
Our jeep crossing the Abra river in Cervantes, Ilocos Sur. Dust, mud, cold, heat, sun...adventure! That jeep could crush any 4x4 off-roader. What competition? That damned thing was strong. Ang tibay! Laban Laban! Bawi Bawi Aww! (sorry, Petron ad-Filipino pop culture reference)
With MY monkey in Chavit Singson's exotic animals zoo. Vigan, Ilocos Sur. You've all seen photos of Vigan so I won't bother with that.
Paoay Church basking in the sunrise.
Sunset over Fort Ilocandia, Laoag.
Swamp in Mantatao island, Tubigon, Bohol. This well-maintained island is said to be owned by the Lobregat and the Aboitiz families.
Sunset over Inanuran Island, Tubigon, Bohol.
Thomas at his gayest in the Butterfly Dome on Sagbayan Peak, a tourist attraction on top of another altered Chocolate hill in Sagbayan, Bohol.
Looking forlorn on top of a chocolate hill. Carmen, Bohol. I was pissed off at Thomas because we had just climbed the hill, which had a 45 degree incline, comprised of loose soil and limestone. Why did we have to set up a tent when the Chocolate hills complex was next door? Oh yeah, we wus robbed nga pala.
Thomas making laba laba laba at some house in Anda. No electricity, right beside a pig. Bwahaha!
This beautiful scenery is at the doorstep of the Anda municipal hall, in Anda, Bohol!
Rough dining at Basdako beach, Anda, Bohol. We bought fish for dinner that afternoon. Stupid us, we hung the plastic bag on a nail attached to the bamboo pole of a small shed. The dogs got to it. We had to cook in the open using this filthy pot. It literally looked like "somebody had shit in it," Thomas' words. He was too much of a pussy to even touch it, so I had to clean the grime sticking to the sides of the pot with laundry detergent on a bit of coconut husk, rinsed it in seawater and sand, and boiled it with saltwater. We had sandy instant noodles for dinner. Yum.
Thomas didn't like the Loboc river tour, he called it "too commercial, too, chiki-mikki, to boring. It's something for sixty year olds."
The 277 steps down to Nuts Huts. Try descending, then ascending, this flight of stairs with a 10 kilo backpack! I dare you!
Thomas relaxing at Nuts Huts, a backpackers paradise in Loboc, Bohol. Owned by Belgian couple Chris and Rita, I found the place weird, as a Filipino. It's like a westerner's idea of a tropical paradise. I mean, the scenery is great, it reminds me of Apocalypse Now, and I even swam in the Loboc River (which is deep in the middle), but I don't know...you guys know The Beach, that movie with Leo di Caprio? The place is a lot like that island. European pancakes, yogurt. Basically its a place for backpackers. They have a library where you can take a book, but you have to replace it with two books. The huts are really basic. Amenities include a herbal sauna, massages, and you can book river tours, rent a mountain bike, rent a guide for hiking, or take a pumpboat tour to the ocean or to the waterfall nearby. I was the only Filipino guest. Everybody else was white. Anyway, despite my initial trepidation, I kinda liked the cool vibe of the place.
Alona Beach, Panglao Island, Bohol.
Home sweet home. We spent 24 hours of every waking and sleeping moment together for one mnonth, slept in a stinky tent, saw the best and the worst of the other person, and we still like each other. That must mean something.
One last look at Paseo Parkview *sniff* at the start of the journey.
Relaxing at the Terrazas de Punta Fuego. They are not nice. After the Terrazas manager assured us that we had a place to stay at the Peninsula, the people over there tell us that they were fully booked, so we had to spend the night on the beach. Hello, ano ba sila? Pag sinabi ng letter ng member na we will stay there ng January 2-3, ibig sabihin overnight kami dun no! Common sense lang po! Wag kayong mag-aaprove ng sulat ng member nyo kung mali ang pagkakaintindi nyo. May kasama pa naman kaming mga bata. Your guards treated us like dirt pagkatapos kinabukasan nakita ng management nyo may kasama kaming foreigner saka kayo mag-aalok ng kwarto? Hahaha...and my sister lost her Canon Powershot camera to boot! 
This beautiful isolated beach is tucked away in the mountains of Lian, Batangas. Un-touristy places are the best; though there are no amenities, they are inexpensive, and people are much nicer. 
St. Martin de Tours Basilica, Taal, Batangas.
Crash! We were on our way to Bicol, staying in our lane, when some 80 year old dude decided to drive his jeep across a blind curve. No blinkers, no signal, no nothing. He wasn't even wearing glasses. The driver, Mr. Pablo Rada, owner of Ramyund Bus Lines, refused to even help us with our transportation costs back to Manila. DO NOT hire Geronca car rental services, they refused to send in a replacement car for us and wanted to leave us stranded in the middle of Lopez, Quezon. I suffered from mild whiplash, which ended in a week. X-rays showed that I was fine. Oh well, there goes the Bicol leg of the trip.
Snakes, anyone? Since we were stranded with nothing to do, our hosts, who thankfully took us in, had a party. We were served fried python, and we could not refuse. Snake tastes a lot like chicken. A chicken with blander, tougher meat. 
Waterfalls in Calauag, Quezon 
A plate of buttered broccoli. Thomas' dish in Baguio.
The Air up There: At the Summit of Mt. Pulag, Benguet. 
The weirdest looking Chicken in the world. It looks like a cross between a chicken and a turkey! Protected Area Office, Mt. Pulag, Ambangeg, Benguet.
The hanging coffins of Sagada. Echo Valley, Sagada. 
Thomas and the sulfuric hot water pools of Mainit, Bontoc, where the pigs, the humans, and the sugarcane inhabit the same area. It feels like an alternate universe there. It seems that time really does run differently up there, and it's not just the atomic clocks talking. 
Our jeep crossing the Abra river in Cervantes, Ilocos Sur. Dust, mud, cold, heat, sun...adventure! That jeep could crush any 4x4 off-roader. What competition? That damned thing was strong. Ang tibay! Laban Laban! Bawi Bawi Aww! (sorry, Petron ad-Filipino pop culture reference)
With MY monkey in Chavit Singson's exotic animals zoo. Vigan, Ilocos Sur. You've all seen photos of Vigan so I won't bother with that. 
Paoay Church basking in the sunrise. 
Sunset over Fort Ilocandia, Laoag. 
Swamp in Mantatao island, Tubigon, Bohol. This well-maintained island is said to be owned by the Lobregat and the Aboitiz families. 
Sunset over Inanuran Island, Tubigon, Bohol. 
Thomas at his gayest in the Butterfly Dome on Sagbayan Peak, a tourist attraction on top of another altered Chocolate hill in Sagbayan, Bohol. 
Looking forlorn on top of a chocolate hill. Carmen, Bohol. I was pissed off at Thomas because we had just climbed the hill, which had a 45 degree incline, comprised of loose soil and limestone. Why did we have to set up a tent when the Chocolate hills complex was next door? Oh yeah, we wus robbed nga pala. 
Thomas making laba laba laba at some house in Anda. No electricity, right beside a pig. Bwahaha! 
This beautiful scenery is at the doorstep of the Anda municipal hall, in Anda, Bohol! 
Rough dining at Basdako beach, Anda, Bohol. We bought fish for dinner that afternoon. Stupid us, we hung the plastic bag on a nail attached to the bamboo pole of a small shed. The dogs got to it. We had to cook in the open using this filthy pot. It literally looked like "somebody had shit in it," Thomas' words. He was too much of a pussy to even touch it, so I had to clean the grime sticking to the sides of the pot with laundry detergent on a bit of coconut husk, rinsed it in seawater and sand, and boiled it with saltwater. We had sandy instant noodles for dinner. Yum. 
Thomas didn't like the Loboc river tour, he called it "too commercial, too, chiki-mikki, to boring. It's something for sixty year olds." 
The 277 steps down to Nuts Huts. Try descending, then ascending, this flight of stairs with a 10 kilo backpack! I dare you! 
Thomas relaxing at Nuts Huts, a backpackers paradise in Loboc, Bohol. Owned by Belgian couple Chris and Rita, I found the place weird, as a Filipino. It's like a westerner's idea of a tropical paradise. I mean, the scenery is great, it reminds me of Apocalypse Now, and I even swam in the Loboc River (which is deep in the middle), but I don't know...you guys know The Beach, that movie with Leo di Caprio? The place is a lot like that island. European pancakes, yogurt. Basically its a place for backpackers. They have a library where you can take a book, but you have to replace it with two books. The huts are really basic. Amenities include a herbal sauna, massages, and you can book river tours, rent a mountain bike, rent a guide for hiking, or take a pumpboat tour to the ocean or to the waterfall nearby. I was the only Filipino guest. Everybody else was white. Anyway, despite my initial trepidation, I kinda liked the cool vibe of the place.
Alona Beach, Panglao Island, Bohol.
Home sweet home. We spent 24 hours of every waking and sleeping moment together for one mnonth, slept in a stinky tent, saw the best and the worst of the other person, and we still like each other. That must mean something.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Tent
Volleyball court, Punta Fuego
Barrio San Diego, Lian, Batangas
Ambangeg, Benguet
Try to look for the yellow dot. Camp 2, Mt Pulag, Benguet
We spent the night on Mindoro Beach, Vigan, in front of a resort Titong Singson built using government money. We woke up with Chavit Singson with brothers Titong and another younger brother in front of our tent, while being interviewed by Maverick and Ariel. See Thomas demolishing the tent in record time. Oh, and they called him "the grandson of Hitler!" as a joke. He didn't take it well.
Paoay Church, Paoay, Ilocos Sur
Calayab beach, Ilocos Norte, near Fort Ilocandia. Somebody stole Thomas' Otto slippers.
Malapascua island, Cebu. Somebody stole my bright pink (!) slippers.
Inanuran island, Bohol. We lost P 5,000 to "bantay-salakay" robbers.
House on a Chocolate hill.
Basdako Beach, Anda, Bohol. Tucked away at the southeast corner of Bohol, we could see Camiguin over the horizon.
Alona Beach, Panglao Island, Bohol
Tagbilaran Bus Station. The home stretch.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Pilya entries
Okies, judging time! my top three pilya picks are:
#3
Hotness!
#2
Wearable!
It's sooo her!
Honorable mention:
What a wicked sense of humor!
#3
Hotness!
#2
Wearable!
It's sooo her!
Honorable mention:
What a wicked sense of humor!
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