Day 2: Cape Bojeador, Banggi Windmills

The Banggi Windmills carry an eerie sound as the turbo engine propels. I look up at its majestic sight and I realized I could stay there all day or night, but the enormity of its size made me feel so small, and think eerie thoughts. Like for example, I imagined myself being thrown on one side of the mill and churned round and round before slipping into the ocean, thrust ed by it force.






Traversing the path to the lighthouse, Cape Bojeador, on the other hand, was uneventful, except for the actual going up the steep staircase leading to the top. Cie almost didn't make it, and so she congratulated herself after successfully getting down our first (I think) lighthouse. From the top, one can see the tip of Taipei, where I will be headed in September.

Adventure Begins From Naia3 Terminal

The new airport looms to my left, a sight to see after turning from Nichols. The entrance is fitting an international airport, finally, after a million years, the new old airport is now open and in use for all their PAL and Cebu Pacific flights.






Passing through NAIA 3 which was sparsely occupied by tenants, was uneventful, except for the fact that Cebu Pacific is once again, delayed.






Our flight was supposed to leave 6:10 PM, we finally took off at 7:40 PM, and arrived past 9 PM in Fort Ilocandia.

The Ilocos Leg: Laoag, Vigan, Pagudpud

All photos taken by: Chris Cagasan



Day 1: Vigan

"We're now going to the Vigan" says Agnes, our tour guide, who seemed intimidated by the French couple who were earlier on complaining about our being late for the 9AM tour. We tell her it's ok, it's our vacation, and she should not let those foreigners get in the way of her spiels and her sunny disposition. So off the blabbers with (I assume) her usual line

"Did you have a heavy breakfast? Because this is going to be a long tour--"
"What is heavy, it's very subjective," interjects the male (French) spawn, shaking his head, as if to say this conversation is pointless. Agnes continues to engage him,
"We usually eat rice for breakfast. I used to work for a Frances (huh?)...in the industry(huh? what industry, I thought? Apparently she's finished her sentence).
"They eat French fries for breakfast," she boasts this information.


To this we all holler, and she insists that this is true. Whatever. Apparently Agnes is willing to believe anything; our supposed Muslim-French couple, we later find out, are Turkish non-Muslim expats who have been living in the Philippines and have visited more islands and provinces than the average Filipino.







From Fort Ilocandia, we drive through Ilocos Sur via Laoag, Paoay, Currimao, Badoc; a distance of over 50 kms, covered in an hour and a half drive. Along the way, we spot a man taking the road on a carabao, and uhmn..texting.










I wonder what Marcos, and many of his forefathers would say to this. Actually I wondered how come many famous (or infamous) men came from Ilocos, unlike our province of Aklan whose only claim to fame is Cardinal Sin.








Is it because Ilocos is steeped in history, with its revolution and many great heroes from a series of battles against the abusive spanish Augustinian friars? After all, this where Diego and Gabriela Silang, Gregorio Aglipay came from. Ilocos is the birthplace of Juan and Antonio Luna and Padre Jose Burgos, as well. Yes, maybe history has a way of telling the next generation not to forget its past, especially when the past is still standing, a full reminder of the blood shed by one's ancestors.

Sonya's Garden 2008

On L's birthday weekend, the KP boys and girls hied off to Canyon Woods again, and all 14 of us managed to fit in Uncle P's house, with the boys sleeping in the living room, on extra mattresses pulled from the basement room. Every time we go here we eat , we drink, we sleep at 4 in the morning and then we do the same thing over again. Last week, though, I dragged L to Sonya's, so he can take some photos and so the girls who have not been there can see the gardens as well.





I first went to Sonya's in the early 2000, when I still had my first digicam, a Fuji Finepix. All my photos were uploaded to webshots, and there was one particular photo I loved, taken of the bed right in the middle of the garden, where the afternoon sun was caught in the seams of the gazebo and captured perfectly on cam. It was ethereal, and one feels like a fairy looking at that shot. You would not think about the many people who lazed in that bed (someone from FHM I think even confessed to doing it right there). Back then that was indeed possible because those who managed to pass by the gardens were free to roam around and the garden was more open and inviting, with shrubs and jars scattered around in a disorderly yet well-designed manner. According to Sonya Garcia, English gardens were like that, and since retiring here, she decided to make her own English garden since she could not found one in the Philippines.





Since then, Sonya's Garden has come a long way. It is now booked for weddings, despedida de soltera, anniversaries, baptisms and other more formal occasion. There had been additional structures- a spa, a panaderya, a country souvenir shop, and a resort cottage for overnight stay. What has remained the same, though is their menu, which is so good the taste, the scent, the visual presentation remains in my memory.
Forget about "blind" eating, which is the rave in other countries, a lunch at Sonya's is a feast for the senses.

















Sonya's Garden
Brgy. Buck Estate, Tagaytay
www.sonyasgarden.com
0917-5329097/09285073301
Meal set at P610/head.

The Weather These Days

During this time of the year, it usually rains. From where I sit in the office, there is so much drama from the murky, overcast skies, shielding my usual view of Makati and the bay area. From my house, this is how it looks like during the height of the storm, which came and went in an hour.

Photo by: Chris Cagasan, aka L

Boggle

Like many addictions,the habit starts with one looking in, wanting to try, but afraid to start lest one knows he can handle it. It started innocently, harmlessly for me, at a party where in one corner they were doing it. Before long, I was doing it, and got hooked. Surreptitiously, the need got stronger, and the wanting to outdo L became stronger and stronger. The need was like waves washing me ashore, waiting for the next big hit that would make me feel like a winner. I wanted to get all the words, especially all the 6-letter words that would showcase my (beginner) English skills. Unfortunately, no matter what I do, L's English, learned from his Tomasite (yes, the first American English teacher soldiers)- taught teacher/aunt, to who he owes his English and his love for books, is much stronger than mine.

While he was playing Boggle and reading books while growing up I was probably playing patintero, teks, and chato. Although L said he did all of those too, including biking, taking care of dogs, and much much more, my childhood is as masa as it can get, playing with my kababata along the streets of Sampaloc. I only took an interest in books when I got my period, thanks to my Lola's wonderful set of colored encyclopedia for children. That moment is a life-changing experience. At the onset, I felt I had to stay home and be more girl-y.

Mango Cuerva Cake

The other night, I brought home a Cuerva cake (thanks Bonnie!). Thinking it would be nice to show this to L before I attack, I showed the cake, and agreed it would be fun to add this to his food shot photo collection.


Click! click! See the juicy, dewy, mango scoops.






Click! Click! Faithful setting is the right color setting using a Canon 30D SLR. With this setting, the mango does not look like oranges, but plump, rich, with an I-can-almost-taste-it sweetness from the best part of the fruit.








Click! Click! Enough already, L.
It took you 30 minutes getting lost in this beauty, capturing this creation.
Let me have my cake and eat it, too!

Alas, truly another classic treat from Cuerva. A must pasalubong for Mama and mother-in-laws (yes, proven and tested).







CUERVA BAKESHOP
Petron Complex, Dasma, Makati City

Bah Kuh Teh and other Hardcore Food Choices

It was about an hour drive to get to our destination. Along the way, we were supposed to have breakfast. I already did, back at the hotel, which was a disappointment. I should have saved some room for this one, knowing that this is where the locals love to eat. Our host asked if we wanted dry or wet noodle, and what toppings. I settled for a wet wanton noodle, it looked like it was going to rain and soup would be good. Our Chinese host was hardcore in his choice, mushrooms and chicken feet.

The previous day we had Hainanese White Chicken in the city, and of course, this is a must try when in Malaysia.




For lunch we had Bah Kuh Teh, a pork stew similar to our pata, but cooked with more vinegar and some other Chinese spices. Jim loves Bah Kuh Teh, and always orders this when he is in Malaysia.

The KL Towers and Malaysian Food

A Lexus SUV pulls up in front of our hotel, and out comes YM, the son of a conglomerate owner, himself a billionaire, along with his bodyguard. He changed from his corporate outfit to classic dark jeans, black collared shirt, and comfortable shoes. He is over 6 feet tall, and at 23, his official title is PA, or personal assistant to the chairman, his father. He is polite and well-mannered, knows about the business to deal with CEOs, but wise enough to know he is still a student, and that he has much to learn. His bodyguard looks more like a trusted family servant, an Indian-Malay in his 40s, wearing a shirt-jack, and his driver, also of the same age and color.

He brings us to Trader's Hotel's SKY BAR and POOL, admittedly having the best view of the city. Whereas the previous night we kept angling our camera to capture the tip of the pewter-like structure, this time, it was a cinch to get a shot of the Petronas Towers.






We were at the 33rd floor, under the dark sky, and wooden planks line the sides of the pool, where there are comfortable cushioned seats and glass side panels. At a far distance, twinkling lights line the mountainside, and when we asked what area that was, YM's reply was to ask if we wanted to go there. Turns out his father also owned the Genting Highlands, a casino and theme park. It was 2 and we were spent from a very hectic business schedule, and amidst red wine and talks about the life of the son of a taipan, the quiet evening was enough, at least for this moment.

It was a very interesting night (another entry, one that deserves more thought), which ended with what else--food. Just like a Quezon Ave after-gimmick treat, KL has a similar place. We went to PELITA, a mama (traditional Malay- Indian hang-out) which was packed, even at 2 AM. We had roti, including a roti tissue for dessert, and guess what, MAGGIE RICH INSTANT MAMI NOODLES. Remember this? The brand died here, thanks to Lucky Me Pancit Canton.

P.S.

Here is how the kids look like now...

Birthday Week Ends In Malaysia

The moon is nowhere in sight, shrouded by grey mists. A directional sign blinkers on and off at midnight while the skyscrapers are all lit. The skytrain whizzes past our hotel; under it Proton cars and taxis abound.

Earlier, an Indian immigration officer talks to me in Tagalog. I flirt back with Bahasa I picked up from the jacket of a pre-sponsored immigration card. A Malay woman receives us at reception, while housekeeping and maintenance is dominated by Indians. Tomorrow we meet with Chinese- Malays.

Welcome to Malaysia!

As if on cue, the sky darkens and turns from mystical to pitch-black, and my inspiration to get up and grab a pen and paper disappears, telling me it's time for bed.

***

The drive from the airport to the hotel took us all of 38 minutes, covering a distance of 52 kms. It struck me how evenly paved the roads were; it was literally a smooth ride all the way, even with our Proton sedan. At first I am reminded of Singapore, with its taxi rides and neon- lighted traffic updates, but the roads are wider, and ubiquitous JAYAs along the way makes it harder to associate it with SG.
Within minutes, we see it, the Petronas Towers, both lighting the way to KL. It was majestic and represented the modern convenience of the life in Kuala Lumpur. Our taxi ride stops in front of the Berjaya TImes Square, one of the biggest malls in Malaysia, and owned by our host- friend.


Next post:
- All about Malaysian food!
- The best view in KL
- The Inside Story of the Life of a Billionaire
- Why I Never Got to Shop in KL
- What My Next Trip to KL will be All About


Abangan!


In the meantime, here are some pics of how my birthday week turned out to be, highlighted by food (of course), discovering Petra and Pilar (the best kare -kare in town), a pit-stop at Wine Depot/Purple Feet along Reposo, a quiet and relaxing day with L, a flower bouquet, a new phone and of course, this trip to Malaysia.













Here are some thoughts, after this birthday week:

To L

I've flown many miles
and scanned thousands of men
only to find you
back again,
in my heart.


To my dear friends

Precious gems
I count you all
our laughter shines like glitter,
your smiles etched onto my memory
like diamonds encrusted onto the earth.
All these years add color
and luster to our lives,
each one unique, different.
collectively,
i am
truly rich.


Thank you to all who remembered!

It's The Time of The Year

As I was making my way home, several thoughts ran through my head. But they would not linger for long, because my drive is short, and because err...I do not think too much?


My BFF recently become a "grandpa". Too soon, but what can we do? He is loving his rabbits and his beagle Simon



"Where would you like to immigrate?" The answer to this was not, "Why?"

I am going to Malaysia. Yey. Thanks to my work, I get to travel at least once a year to a new country. But nothing is free. Remember that.

The Sartorialist

This could very well be included in The Sartorialist's street scenes.
Except..this is Cie from the Philippines, with her sister-doctor now based in the US (this was taken after TeeWye's 24-hour duty)





One day, New York, one day.

Playing The Host

On the third week of June, our country played host to a workshop here, inviting several colleagues for a 3-day event sponsored by the head office. We were thinking about cultural exposure, perhaps a Carlos Celdran Walk of Intramuros. But we had little time, so in lieu of this, we had store visits in the Malate area, where the real MANILA is, culminated by a dinner at Barbara's, capped by a show featuring our dances- Spanish and barrio folk dances.

Highlights of the workshop were the following:

1. Everyone (all cultures,especially the Northern Americans) loved our hospitality- I keep hearing it over and over again, our warmth, our smiles, people here are so friendly

2. The top-ranked event was when we hired a bus with HAGAD (police escort) leading our overtaking and counterflow. They could not believe we could pay off the police and run opposite the traffic. When we were stuck in the Manila area, entering Intramuros, causing traffic with our counterflow, instead of people being irked by our single act, they were waving at the Americans. Culturally, we adore the Americans there is no denying this fact.

3. As appetizers we served balut at Barbara's and dared people to eat. Let me tell you, this got everyone crazy. All the Canadians , Australians won't touch it, only one of my American friends did, while the guys from Mitsui gawked at Christine as she dissected the duck egg and explained its anatomy. I try to convince my friend from Vancouver to try it; in the end I said, " When I was in Canada, you served me to the best salmon restaurant in town, and I return your kindness by serving you duck egg, eh?". He couldn't agree more.






4. During the buffet dinner at Barbara's, aside from the buffet, we also had lechon (of course). Again, the Americans could not believe we would have the pig's head served up on the table. One American told me," We like to keep our food as far away from the supply chain as possible.." (fish heads are cut off, chicken is cleaned and sold as breasts, legs and such; they never ever serve anything that's staring back at them)

5. They loved the weather, especially the guys who live up the equator. They couldn't believe we have Prada or LV shops here,they really think we live in the boondocks. Tsk tsk. You'd think in this day and age, one can google anything; in fact they can googleearth my home address and see right where I live.

6. When I brought them to M Cafe, I didn't realize it but we probably looked weird, all the guys were Caucasians, "9 feet tall", as Raj would say, while we the girls were all Asians. Never mind. It was a crazy night.At one point, I told my new friend, "White men can't dance.." He said," I know, I know.."



7. During the store visit, where we walked up 2 blocks from R. Salas to Marina and Hyatt, we walked through the puddles, the bad road infrastructure, amidst street children. They could not get over the fact that there are these little children, with no parents in tow, tugging at (almost at the hem) of their pants, asking Joe for money. It tugged at their hearts, too. Later, I saw my drunk friend counting his pesos and giving away P500 peso bills to the street children in Makati.

I was driving, and although I had a couple of margaritas and then some, I was able to bring home our guests safely back to the hotel. I had all the crazy guys, the Mexican, and the tall Canadians, who all deserve a SAN MIG shirt, with its Manila, Philippines mark on the front, just like the Pale Pilsen bottle. My boss took home the rest of the guys. They have their secret, but everyone knows.