Sabroso's at Libreria: A Most Unusual Meal at a Bookstore

I've had my share of lechon. And now that my husband is frequently in Cebu, lechon has become fairly common dining table fare.

So, maybe, I'm a little bit jaded now.

But I was in for a surprise treat with my first try of Sabroso Lechon.

One day before 2010 ended, we got invited to a lunch at the best bookstore in the planet, Libreria.

Libreria is a quaint, little bookstore tucked into a corner of the metro's most happening art spot, Cubao X. Outside, it looks a little bit like Hugh Grant's bookstore in Notting Hill. Inside is a scrumptious melange of white brick and Caribbean blue walls, floor planks salvaged from a bowling alley, shelves and shelves of books, kitsch (the good kind), and the heady scent of brewed coffee. It's small in area but big on personality. It's a place one goes to not just to buy and browse affordable books in great condition; it's also a place for friends to chill, to discuss books, to party.

And this little party last December was called by Libreria's lovely owner, Triccie Cantero. I didn't know if she was thanking us for our patronage or bribing us to come over when she whispered that lechon (roasted pig) would be on the menu. She neither had to bribe nor thank us because we go to her bookstore just because we love it there. But still, lechon! Who says no to a lechon invitation? So, even if my husband and I were off to an anniversary vacation, we had to stop over.

My husband, artisan, surgeon, demi-god of lechon carving, showed off his skills and left not one splatter on the books. He didn't even break into a sweat. And he finished carving in pretty good time too. He was in his element. And I was in mine, surrounded by books, good food, and my bookish friends.

Sabroso Lechon, as the packaging says, is incredibly flavorful. I have yet to find food that is better than sex, but this comes dangerously close. This is lechon that comes from the Cebu tradition of pig roasting, but deviates a little to make it unique. For one, it comes with a thick garlic sarsa, which might raise the eyebrows of Cebu-lechon-purists. And to my palate, there's a distinct flavor, something that resembles sinigang and something I cannot guess. I wanted to take a sampling of the stuffing to have our resident science geek Mike analyze. Maybe I have to try it again to find better words to describe its interesting flavor. For now, all I can manage is that it's lovely, lovely lechon.

Lechon and books -- a most unusual combination, a fusion of heaven for the senses and hell for the cholesterol conscious. At least now, I can argue that my vice (books) is so much healthier than my husband's (booze and baboy).

Lechon without rice is like, well, lechon without rice. Good enough, but a little sad. So, Triccie made sure the experience was complete by supplying seafood paella lovingly prepared by her mom. Cholesterol + carbohydrates; now, what else is missing?

Ah yes! Sugar. Fellow book club friends Blooey and Czar took care of that with a box of Krispy Kreme and the famous ADB chocolate crinkles, respectively.

Then, finally, the appetizer arrived. Like we need it. Our friend Mike (yes, the science geek slash sports watch endorser) contributed the ridiculously delicious hummus made by his mom. All of us now want to be adopted by an Iranian family.

And finally, a cupful of Libreria's house blend. The bookstore gives out free brewed coffee. Didn't I tell you this is the best bookstore in the planet?

Unfortunately, my husband and I could not stay longer for the reincarnation of the lechon in paksiw (cooked in vinegar and garlic) form. Pampanga beckoned.

We can always have some more of the lechon by visiting their shop at 1237 E. Rodriguez Ave., Corner Tomas Morato, Quezon City. And according to my Manila by Day book (Thanks, Peter and Rhett.), they serve meals there too. According to the same book, a full lechon costs PhP3k.

For delivery, you can dial +632-725-0711, or +632-515-8253, or +632-515-8259.

Thanks, Triccie! Thanks, Libreria, for this splendid lunch like no other.

Anniversary Weekend at Abe's Farm

My husband and I recently reached the 15th year mark as Mr. and Mrs. Yeay, us! So we celebrated by having an out-of-town weekend in the middle of the week. I love it when we do that, because that means we get to have two weekends in one week! Always fun.

We headed for Abe's Farm in Pampanga, a restaurant cum bed and breakfast place we've heard so much about.

As is the norm, the Mrs. slept through most of trip as the Mr. channeled Kimi Raikkonen and tried to beat some imaginary world record. Our Trooper zipped through NLEX, creating a psychedelic, impressionistic, moving painting of the rice fields, swamps, and trees surrounding the highway. I knew this even as I slept with my mouth wide open. I know it's true love because my husband still loves me even after watching me, the world's ugliest sleeper, sleep. Ooops. A.D.D. alert. I won't apologize anymore for digressing because I always digress anyway. What I'm trying to say is, don't ask me how to get there. When I travel, it's like entering a time machine. I just close my eyes and then I'm there.

Just check out their homepage http://abesfarm.com.ph/ for directions.

I woke up as we neared Magalang, Pampanga. I always love the approach to a town. It's a predictable, comforting pattern. You first go through the suburbs, where progress is constantly changing the landscape, old homes and rice fields giving way to the sprouting of gated subdivisions. Then you pass through the busy bayan (town center) with it Jollibees, and post-war market buildings, and all sorts of enterprise and merchandise. Then as you go deeper into the more parochial parts of town, things quiet down and the roads get a little rougher, the sights greener, the structures fewer and farther in between. And you can even roll down your car windows to breathe in that unusual smell -- they call it fresh air.

I never fail to appreciate it when we pass a tunnel of trees that almost completely shade the road, branches interlocking overhead as if embracing me in a warm welcome.

We followed the signs. Then, finally we saw the farm's gate, where a man ushered us into a large, shaded parking lot loosely paved with river stones.

Abe's Farm is owned and operated by the LJC Group. Whenever I think LJC, I think: squid tactics. binukadkad na pla-pla. Claude's Dream. Abe's chocolate eh. These menu items have been in the Metro's culinary scene for ages that they've become comfort food for me, and I dare guess for others too. These are also the dishes that told me that going to Abe's Farm in Magalang, Pampanga would be worth the trip. Because if all else suck, at least, the food won't disappoint.

But we discovered that's at Abe's Farm, it's more than just the food, there are many other reasons to visit.

The calm. Within the walls, you feel you're far, far away from civilization. You're surrounded by dense foliage, muffling the sounds of the outside world, covering you, making you feel like you're one with nature, even though, I admit, I'm not the one with nature kind of girl. There's no rush. Paths meander; it's never about getting from point A to point B in no time. People seem to walk around and talk in whispers, as if reverential of the country quiet.

The charm. The brochure described the place with the phrase tropical art deco. It's that. Plus architecture and decor that fuse our rich Filipino heritage and Asian aesthetics. The architecture of the main house and the varied cottages do not disrupt nature one bit as they are low rise, unassuming, and finished in indigenous materials. Divans, solihiya lounge chairs, and four poster day beds decked in cotton canvas slip covers and batik pillows are scattered in various places inviting you to sit and read, or slumber, or just sigh and soak in the sounds and scents of provincial life. The air is of unpretentious luxury.

The romance. We arrived just before sunset, settled into our rustic cottage, and by the time we left it to go the spa, the dim of dusk and the sprinkling of outdoor lights have turned the place into a romantic garden of brick lanes and cozy tryst spots.

In the rooms, there are no hi-fi, no wi-fi, no TV. Just a bed. And a tub for two. This absence of high tech pleasantly forces you to go high touch instead. To converse. Or to read in bed together, something I find strangely romantic. And to just share silent space, as old married couples find comfort in doing.

The luxury. Okay, I admit it. Even though I love my creature comforts and backpacking does not make me a happy camper, I'm quite easy to please. Just put a muslin netting over my bed, and I'm easily impressed. I know it's just for effect, because the air-conditioning and glass walls and doors keep the mosquitoes away. But it just adds a touch of opulence, comfort, sexiness to an otherwise rustic ambiance.

The spa is housed in a cottage similar to ours. My full body massage was glorious. And painful. Just the way I like it. When the therapist asked if the pressure was fine, I requested for her to make it harder. She obliged. She kneaded my holiday-weary body so hard, I almost wanted to shout, Uncle. The next day I was black and blue. And if I weren't already married, I might have proposed marriage to my therapist, so I can have a lifetime of spa bliss.

Then dinner. Ah, back to food.

Rice with dilis and tausi. Squid tactics. Inihaw na tadyang. Pako (fern) salad. Chicharon bulaklak. I thought we ordered too much. Yet, at the end of the meal, all that was left was the rice, which we asked them to serve with our breakfast the next day. The tadyang was a bit too crispy for me. I want it crispy on the outside, but tender, juicy, beefy inside. This one was crispy all throughout. Other than that, everything was perfect.

We washed all that with merlot, and we brought an order of leche flan to our room.

Because this is in the province, where the townsfolk turn the lights off early, service ends at 8PM.

So off to our cottage.

Insert 60s style hazy fade outs and sound effects to indicate a long time lapse because the censors cut the good parts in the bedroom.

We woke up excited to cap our weekend. LJC style breakfast awaited. We pre-ordered the night before.

We first built up an appetite walking around the grounds; checking out the Ifugao huts and the swimming pool; and admiring the orchid collection.

Moving around the main house, I wished we could stay longer to laze, to just lie on daybed and read.

We broke our fast with tapsilog for me and tocilog for him. Darn! I forgot to order chocolate eh. But the coffee was a delicious picker upper anyway. We wolfed down our breakfast because we were excited to visit the museum.

The museum is a relocated, reconstructed house, and is a great example of adaptive reuse as a means of preserving traditional architecture and decor. It also makes Abe's Farm more than just a bed and breakfast place as it gives it a story, history, charm, and romance.

In size, it's not much, which means it's not overwhelming and you can tour the place in minutes.

But because I am fond of minutiae, the museum was a wonderland of details that clue you in on Abe, his family, his art, his lifestyle. This museum is certainly another good reason to make the trip to Magalang.

We eventually tore ourselves away from Abe's farm to meet a friend who manages a business at the Clark Economic Zone.

Aside: I was amazed to discover that U.S.-based companies that restore old cars actually find it cheaper to ship the vehicle and parts to the Philippines, where local workers have been trained to do restoration work, and then ship back the finished goods to the U.S. Whew! Long sentence.

Lunch. I've been hearing about Zapata's (now Iguana's), the Mexican restaurant known for its margaritas. And I was glad to learn that the buzz was not all hype. That was mighty good Mexican food and an awesome margarita.

We managed to coerce our friend, one bottle of beer at a time, to extend her one-hour lunch break, but we eventually had to bring her back to work with her promising to grill some steaks for us pretty soon.

Because our car was coded that day, we had to stall -- first by passing for some Paning's butong pakwan (watermelon seeds), and then having an early dinner at Marquee Mall, an Ayala Mall in Angeles.

Aling Lucing's sisig, Susie's pansit luglug, Susie's tibok tibok (similar to maja blanca, but uses carabao's milk) -- our mini Pampanga food tour, all consumed at the food court beside the supermarket.

I almost don't know how to end this post, in the same way, that it was hard to end that weekend in the middle of the weekend. So, because the 15th year is merely a milestone in a what I hope to be a long, long marriage, I will not just say The End. Instead, I end with To be continued...

Abe's Farm, Pampanga Office

Phone: +(6345) 865-1930

Mobile: +(63915) 595-5501

I Ate Lechon Five Times and Lived to Tell the Story of Bale Dutung

n.b.: I wrote this piece several months ago. Then, somebody asked me to submit it a travel magazine, requesting me not to post it on my blog before publication. Now, I'm finally allowed to post it on my blog.

My Bale Dutung story started a few years ago when I first heard about it from a friend. Like rumors of a magic island, the stories told of a rustic, art-filled, awesome place in Angeles, Pampanga, a place where one dines on culinary wonders whipped up by food columnist, artist,and chef Claude Tayag, a place where only a few can enter. One can’t just go alone; a party of at least ten is required. You also need to reserve way in advance. Because the owners do this only once or twice a month. If at all. If they’re not busy traipsing around the country or the world, sampling gourmet delicacies and exotic street grub. And you need to break the bank and bring enough cash, about P1,800 per person. More if you’re buying pasalubongs and copies of their books.

I knew I had to try this place. But organizing a trip seemed like a complicated, expensive production number.

Through the years, I’ve read articles and blog posts about Bale Dutung, seen pictures, heard more stories; and my desire to visit grew. Then I read Claude Tayag’s book, Food Tour, a delectable compilation of stories of food, culture, travel, and art. And I knew I wanted to meet Claude Tayag, who has made a career of doing the things I love to do. And I really had to visit this place. Watching Claude serve Tony Bourdain an extremely telegenic rendition of kare-kare, I resolved to make this pipedream happen.

And as proof that dreams still happen, we finally had our Bale Dutung experience. After a flurry of email and text exchanges with our hostess, Mary Anne Tayag, a group of 14 friends and family members trooped to Angeles on a drizzly Sunday morning.

We entered a gated subdivision that did nothing to prepare us for the surprise of entering a place that seemed more likely to be found by the foot of a mountain, by the edge of a rainforest, or somewhere remote and slightly magical. A big pond surrounded by outdoor art pieces greeted us. We walked around taking it all in, and then a lovely lady appeared, serving us a welcome drink spiked with muscovado ice.

The lovely lady was Mary Anne Tayag, who has elevated party hosting to an art form. She tried to memorize all our names and almost succeeded. What she did succeed in doing is making our Bale Dutung experience one of the best dining stories of our lives.

Before the pigfest ensued, the chef came out of the kitchen dressed in a crisp white shirt and batik pants. He explained that Bale Dutung means House of Wood. Claude regaled us with the story of the house – the story of how he built it from scratch and from scrap.

He explained the long, painstaking process of gathering recycled materials from old churches and structures damaged by the Pinatubo eruption and subsequent lahar catastrophe.

He talked about his collections of antique kitchen implements and how they opened their home cum gallery cum dining wonderland to people who appreciate good food and good art.

He then left us to do his magic in the kitchen, and Mary Anne took the helm in the dining room. Also dressed in casual ethnic chic, she was the epitome of the stylish, gracious host that I want to be when I grow up.

The appetizers were not even on the menu we agreed on. Just some of the many pleasant surprises in store for us that day; my favorite surprise was the refreshing face towels dipped in baby cologne and frozen overnight; such a thoughtful detail for guests who've traveled far to get there.

The meal began with crackers served with a trio of dips: Taba ng Talangka, Balo Balo, and Pesto. We attacked this first dish so voraciously the servers had to wrestle the dip bowls away from us to ensure we didn’t stuff ourselves prematurely.

Because as we were soon to discover, the degustation that was about to follow was going to stretch our stomachs to the limits.The next course was another off-the-menu surprise. A sotanghon dish that belied the accusation that carbs are heavy. Barely there vinaigrette dressing made this a light, refreshing starter. More starters were served. The Ensaladang Pako was the first dish that was part of the official menu. Mary Anne told us that the now-fashionable pako(fiddlehead fern) was actually ordinary fare, growing profusely in every home garden, usually served to the household help.

The Inasal na Manok was served with a tiny scoop of Claude 9 Talangka Rice. This was followed by the Piniritong Lumpiang Ubod, its flavor made interesting by the mustasa leaf wrappers and the Claude 9 Oriental Sauce. Another surprise dish, the talangka topped sushi ended the round of starters. We felt pretty satisfied by then. Our appetites were whet for the feast. But we had no idea that so much more food was in store.

We chose the menu that included Lechon served in 5 different ways. The first way was the more traditional serving of the lechon skin. It was a little embarrassing how our carnivorous family assaulted the golden red skin. Crispy perfection as it should be. It was served with an unbelievably good liver sauce that would have been a tad too sweet if not for the generous amount of garlic slices.

When the pig has been stripped of its epidermis, the rest of the gorgeous carcass was carted off for the next porky installments.

Second way: Fried Lechon Flakes na Binalot sa Tortilla. Basil leaves and kimchi make this a more sophisticated, zestier variation of the pritchon. By this time, we were feeling the tightening of our jeans, and we were surprised that we were just about to have soup. The sinigang featured the lechon’s third incarnation.

It was a tough decision to make, but I eventually decided that way 4 was my favorite. Inihaw na Tadyang na Lechon served with Ensaladang Talong – it sounds as good as it tasted. It’s very hard to find words to describe the dishes and the experience because at about this time, our brains could no longer focus on the verbal as every vital organ was focused on properly digesting this amazing, and not yet finished, meal. The wine, which they allowed us to bring in with no corkage fee, had nothing to do with the dazed out, intoxicated feeling. We were drunk on food. And the beauty of our surroundings. And the entertaining stories.

And that little pig still had one more number for us. I swear to you – I am one with an almost finite appetite, teased by my friends for having an esophagus that reached up to my knees. But I met the feast that could forever ruin my reputation as a gourmand. I was so full I just let the fifth way, the Inasadong Pata ng Lechon, glide through my tongue just so I can taste the flavor.

We were so stuffed we were relieved when they called a break from the eating. This time, we would feast our eyes and our souls as we toured Bale Dutung. This place provides more than just eye candy. Art, antiques, a dash of kitsch, and even more stories made us forget about food for a moment. I am amazed at Claude and Mary Anne’s graciousness for opening their homes to us, entertaining us, and giving us so much more than what was promised and expected.

The tour burnt enough calories to clear some space for dessert, old-fashioned coffee, and pandan tea. A medley of macapuno, ube, yema, and carabao’s milk, Paradiso was truly paradise for the taste buds. And Mary Anne capped the meal with another surprise dish, the Tibok Tibok, a pudding made of carabao’s milk.

Yes, I ate lechon in 5 ways. And I survived to tell you this story and to tell you that Bale Dutung should be in every foodie’s bucket list.

More photos here: ttp://islandhopper.multiply.com/photos/album/38

Bale Dutung -- House of good food, gracious entertaining, and art

July 26, 2009 -- We used Eric's arrival from Sydney as the perfect excuse to troop to Angeles, Pampanga for this 5-way lechon feast we've been hearing, reading, dreaming, salivating about.

We knew about Claude Tayag -- artist, columnist, and chef. Whipping up an amazing lunch, a degustacion that had food gluttons raising their little white towels in surrender, Chef Tayag certainly didn't disappoint.

But the surprise was Mary Ann, Claude's wife. Stylish, gracious, and entertaining, she elevates party hosting to an art.

Of course, the most pleasant surprise is Bale Dutung itself. You enter an unassuming suburban village to get there. Then once you cross the Tayag's gate you step into a rustic restaurant slash house slash gallery slash nature wonderland. A house filled with art, antiques, and creative ideas that salute Philippine food and culture.

And the food -- I honestly have never been that stuffed in my whole life. Slooooow food at its finest -- almost 5 hours. And well worth the time and the trip. (Of course, I'm not with the party that got caught in the flash flood and the 5-hour traffic jam on the way back, so I can say that.)

Resto review to follow. In the meantime, enjoy the photos at: http://islandhopper.multiply.com/photos/album/38

Inanity and the Absurdity of Posterity

A record of sorts. Beating my personal bests.

No. of hours in pajamas - 25 (maybe barring the times I've been in my sickbed)
No. of kilometers traveled in pajamas - app. 394

Bontoc. I put on my pajamas at roughly 10PM. The next morning, we were traveling to Baguio to spend the night there en route to Manila. I decided I would shower in Baguio. The Baguio Country Club shower, a gazillion stars better than the one at Bontoc, beckoned. I went coffee-shopping in Bontoc and had lunch at Cafe by the Ruins in my snowflake riddled jammies. And then some people, without asking my pajamas, decided to go straight back to Manila. The country club lodging was canceled. And so my pajamas and I arrived home past 10 in the evening. My pajamas practically walked itself to the hamper.


And that, my dear friends, is another installment of utterly useless facts about me.

There is no bottom to the well of inanities I can think of.

Kiangan Flashback

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!

The Nine Things I Learned about Life by Spelunking in Sagada

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.

On hindsight, that naiveté, that ignorance, that stupidity was good. If we had known how formidable the challenge was, most of us in the group would probably have not taken it. We would have backed out when we still could. At the mouth of the first cave.

Instead, we went in, excited, awestruck, dumbfounded, dumb as rats led by the pied piper. And got the surprise of our lives. Many surprises, in fact. Gimongous walls to scale, steep crags to climb down, cliffs to descend, slippery rocks to walk on, knee-deep muck to dip our bare feet into, blind corners to hug, streamlets to swim in, the narrowest of edges keeping us from plunging into deep dark pits. It was unbelievable what we had to go over, go under, go through, jump into, squeeze in, hurdle, straddle.

Truly, if somebody had shown me first a video of what we had to do, I would have chosen not to do it, knowing full well knowing that given my fitness level, I couldn't. Not knowing made me do it. It was sheer stupidity that got us there, literally in between a rock and a hard place. The uncertainty almost killed me, but it was also what got me through. The dumb, the clueless, when unaware of the dangers ahead, can actually accomplish more as he walks in ignorant bliss. And I’m glad I was stupid enough to do it. Because that was by far, the most exciting, most amazing thing I had to do in my whole life.

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.

The first time I had to take a high ropes challenge, I couldn’t contain my excitement and wanted to zip down the wire a dozen times. I was fearless. I was 25 years old, a size 6. I could do anything.

As a trainer facilitating high ropes challenges, I had seen participants break down in tears as they confronted their fear of heights. I could only watch without really understanding what that fear was all about.

Until now. 42 years old. 70 pounds overweight. My sense of balance faulty. With nothing to rely on but the grace and strength I got from ballet classes with Ms. Valeriana in second grade, and from a few lousy attempts at a badminton regimen.

In the cave, we had to rappel down a cliff, the bottom of which we couldn’t see from where we were. No harness, no safety nets. The ropes did not even have knots for gripping. And what confounded us was that the rope was tied to a lithe, little man, barefoot, sitting by the edge of the cliff. Our lives depended on him being strong enough not to be pulled by our weight to go hurtling down with us to our sure deaths.

I was afraid of falling to my death, the guides picking up my brains and innards splattered on the cavern floor. I was afraid I would die without having completed my scrapbooks. I was afraid of falling and not dying, but being permanently disabled and not being able to drive myself to the bookstore. I was afraid I'd look stupid.

I was afraid. Petrified. As afraid as I’ve never ever been in my whole life. So afraid I cried for a few seconds. What made me cry was this inner struggle of accepting that I had to do it. There was no chickening out, no charming or bribing my way through, no delegating the tough parts to others, no negotiations, no way to circumvent the challenge. I had to get down that cliff or else stay in that cave forever subsisting on a diet of bat sashimi. I was so afraid, so stupefied my brain could not even manage to make my life flash before my eyes.

But then again, after all the drama, when I got out of the cave, got home, and had a shower, I realized I had no scratches. No bruises. I did not even break a nail or scratch my pedicure. Even though I slipped a dozen times. Even though I missed a step rappelling up a crag and I held on the rope, swinging dangerously, ramming my already sore body against a rocky wall. I suppose fear kept me safe. It made me walk slower, and made me look like a stupid granny wimp, but it was also the instinct that made me take only sure steps and kept me from harm.

Fear is not always a bad thing.

LESSON THREE: We are stronger, faster, harder than we can ever imagine. Like I said, I’m not in the best shape. I find myself panting just mounting the bed. And I would never believe that I could do what I did in those caves. I still could not believe it now.

Nearing the exit, we stared at a 3-storey high, 15 degree steep wall that separated us from the freedom outside. In normal circumstances I would have thought it impossible to climb it and survive. But all the earlier challenges showed me that I could do what I never thought I was capable of doing. So even if the adrenalin was already starting to dwindle, and I was tired from 7 hours of gruelling spelunking, I just took a look at the challenge in front of me and did it. I heaved, I grunted, I whined, and I climbed, and climbed,and climbed until I finally got out of that cave. I realized I am stronger than I ever thought. I can do far more than I ever thought possible.

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.

LESSON FOUR: Crap is inevitable. – In the last upward stretch out of the cave, we had to climb stone steps, made extremely slippery by bat excrement. The stench was unbearable, but the worst thing was that we had to hold on to some of the rocks to balance or lift ourselves up. Our fingers would land on inch-thick sludge – thick, icky layers of moist, mushy guano. And every germophobic fiber in my body would cringe and cry. But I just had to hold on for dear life fueled with the desire to just get out of that wretched cave that had held us captive for far too many hours.

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.

LESSON FIVE: That big, fat ass (or nose, or ears) of yours will someday be put to good use. - What got me through the toughest physical challenges and the most perilous conditions? My stamina? Strategy? My upper body strength and leg power? Nah! It's my big, fat ass.

As we slid on rocks and soil, our guides asked us to rely on a skill creatively called the butt technique. Many, many times, we had to get ourselves closer to the pull of gravity and sit down, and let our butts do the walking, the wading, the sliding. And for the first time in my life, I thanked God for my ample assets.

I have always had what are euphemistically called child-bearing hips and the most generous rump to go with them. I hate how they get in the way of fashion and vanity. But that time at the cave, I was so grateful for all that generous padding.

It was a clear case of making lemonades out of life’s lemons. Life is fair when the things we consider as faults are actually blessings in disguise. In Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell talks about 1930s born Jewish lawyers who were barred from WASP law firms forcing them to develop skills that would actually spell their success 20 years later.

So, don’t whine too much about your big ears or your big butts or whatever it is you consider a liability. They just might come handy someday.

LESSON SIX: Trust the experts, especially when you’re not one. –For all the bravado and the pride we felt after that incredible experience, we all know we couldn’t have done it without our guides, James, Andrew, Mark, Matthew, and Jory. (Those apostolic names did not escape my attention.) So many times in that whole experience, we really did not know what to do and were too afraid to do whatever it was we had to do. We had to literally let our guides lead our feet through every step. I mean every little scaredy step. And they would even let us step on their knees, shoulders, hands, and bear our weights as we shifted our balance to move forward.

For control freaks like me, it was very difficult letting go, trusting someone else, and bearing the shame of total reliance on others. But what choice did I have? So, I had to let go and let the guides get me through. When the guide said, “Trust me,” I had no choice but to obey. I trusted him with my life.

It’s the same thing in life. Don’t be macho. There are times when we have to let the experts show us how. We have to humble ourselves and allow others to help us for the sakes of safety, survival, and success.

LESSON SEVEN: Rest when you get the chance and enjoy it. – Spelunking with a large group, we had to sometimes wait for each other as we shared 5 guides and the light of a few kerosene lamps. Those were moments for rest. I loved those moments as we caught our breath and had the time to look around and admire the beauty within the cave – the fantastic rock formations, the shadows and the lights creating moving art against the smooth and the rough rocks, the heights, the layers, the sexy curves of walls, the secret crevices, the trickling and falling of the water, awesome sights no camera can capture. They’re meant to be etched in memory.

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.

LESSON EIGHT: The less you have, the less you fear. – Travel light. Travel light. Travel light. It’s a lesson that in my years of jet setting and island hopping, I still cannot comprehend. But when you’re in a slippery niche, 20 feet off stable ground, trying to balance yourself is made more difficult by anything hanging from your neck, shoulders, arms. Having too many things -- some of them precious like high-tech cameras, your return tickets -- complicates matters as you try to protect your goods when really you should be protecting your head and limbs. The less you have with you, the less you worry about losing or breaking them.

At one point, I had to accept that my camera had already been destroyed by the water and the blows. Strangely, I felt liberated from having to take more pictures and finding time to download them when I get back home.

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.

Today, I say CAVE is a 4 letter word. My joints are still sore. My voice a bit hoarse. My body recuperating from all the slips and falls. But I can say about spelunking at Sagada, I’ve been there and done that. And I’m glad I did.

Sagada pics here:

http://islandhopper.multiply.com/photos/album/37

http://sumthinblue.multiply.com/photos/album/271/The_Long_Road_to_Sagada_?replies_read=10

http://sumthinblue.multiply.com/photos/album/272

10 Most Amazing Places I’ve Visited

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.

Casa Rap

Kilometer 90, San Jose, Batangas

"We join with the earth and with each other to bring new life to the land, to restore the waters, to refresh the air..." -- Excerpt from the UN Environmental Sabbath Program -- as printed on a postcard from the Casa Rap store.

Casa Rap is an old favorite. I once celebrated my birthday there with my family. And last year for my big 40th shebang, I had them deliver breakfast (hubad na longanisa, sinaing na tulingan, tawilis) to our farm in Batangas. I also ordered organic cherry tomatoes, cucumber and three kinds of lettuce from them plus their special dressing to serve for lunch.

It's hard to pinpoint my favorite thing about the place. There's the little curio shop with the most charming of items; the owner, Emma Alday, was trained by renowned potter Ugu Bigyan. There are the rustic gardens and pathways punctuated by little surprise nooks and corners, all filled with greenery that relaxes eyes, body and mind. Of course, there's the food, organic, not 5-star fancy but delicious and beautifully served. There's the tranquil ambiance that makes you feel you have escaped all that is urban and noisy and busy.

Maybe what I like best about this place is that though it brings you back to nature, it is a very progressive place. Every time we go there, they have something new to offer. Today, we were surprised by the new things that Sister Emma showed us -- a pigpen that uses a revolutionary method which produces no stink; container gardening that gives encouragement to those who want to go into vegetable farming even though they do not have huge tracts of land; the fact that they are now open for small corporate meetings; the restaurant-side store that has more merchandise to offer -- Batangas delicacies, organic vegetables, and gardening implements. But the most charming surprise was the food presentation. That's always been a special thing at Casa Rap, but this time lunch was served bento-style, so you get to sample a variety of dishes without spending and eating too much. These bento boxes are available for group dining, and depending on your choice of dishes the price can be adjusted. What was served to us could go for about 350pesos per person. And it is so worth it. We feasted on kalabasa soup, lato salad served with purple marigold (yeah I thought marigolds came only in yellow too) flowers, cassava ukoy with taro and thyme, pajo mango salsa, sinaing na tawilis, native chicken adobo, and guinatang sugpo. After all that, we still found space for ice cream with lambanog.

We moved on to a different place, but we had our take home, the suman sa lihiya that Casa Rap is famous for.

After all describing all that, all I could really say is what our balikbayan Tita Nene said, "Ah, talagang kasarap!"