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

Chasing Lighthouses

(An article that won me second best travel writer slot in Philippine Star's travel writing contest in 2004.)

The middle-aged man with no teeth did not know where the lighthouse was. The mid-morning mahjongg players did not know where the lighthouse was. In a town where the ubiquitous welcome arch was replaced by a pair of lighthouse replicas, the townspeople lived, toiled and played mahjongg not knowing that their town housed not one, but two of those romantic antique sentinels. The few who knew did not know how, nor how long it took, to get there. Their guesstimates, two hours to half a day, were not helpful. Directions were vague and conflicting. The descriptions of extremely rough dirt roads were not very encouraging. For the less than determined, it was almost enough to give up.

We were on our second day of our lighthouse hunt. The long-term goal was to visit the more than 50 Spanish-time lighthouses in the country. For this two-day jaunt, we were going to visit two – Faro de Isla de Gran Capon at Capones Island of Zambales and Faro de Punta Patar, which overlooks Cape Bolinao in Pangasinan. If we were to be technical about it, the one in Bolinao shouldn’t count because it was actually built during the American time. But we did not know that before we set off for our trip, did we?

Our party of three got to San Antonio, Zambales midmorning. We parked our van by the seashore and arranged for a boat to bring us to the island. The boatman took us on a futile search for the lighthouse keeper who could have been at three possible places – his house, the Coast Guard station or the lighthouse itself. We did not find him in the first two places so we took the boat straight towards Capones Island.

We were first dropped off by a short stretch of a pebbly white sand beach where an imposing craggy wall of rock made a perfect photo-op background. We subdued our urge to loll and wade. We had a lighthouse keeper to find. We walked along the beach, my gym-wary, cramp-prone legs straining from walking on uneven sand and complaining with every step. Yes, still no lighthouse keeper sighting.

The boatman called us to board the boat again so we could go around the island and be dropped off where it was easier to reach the lighthouse.

Easy is a word I should use cautiously to describe the experience of getting from the boat onto the island. Because of huge rocks guarding the island, the boat could not come close to shore. What was I thinking that morning? Lighthouse equals seawater, sand, and feet getting wet. Why was I then wearing leather sandals instead of my trusted Teva’s? With no time to dwell on the inappropriateness of my footwear, I jumped into the water. It seemed a manageable knee-high level. It was knee-high all right, yet I still managed to get wet from head to foot. With the waves crashing against the rocks and my sorry non-athletic form, it was extremely challenging keeping my balance. Even after taking off my silly shoes to rely on my feet’s natural gripping abilities, I still slipped a number of times. How terrified I was of breaking my nails...er, bones. It was a shameless sight as I practically crawled on all fours to reach the beach.

The fearsome crawl was forgotten as we got onto dry land and saw an amazing sight. We struck pay dirt and found tsinelas heaven. If you happen to be missing a rubber slipper, it is almost certain it has found its way to Capones Island where flip-flops, which have outlived their utility, come home to retire.

To get to the top of the island, we climbed some concrete steps. Yes, the climb was exhausting. Yes, it was steep. But the real challenge was how to avoid those cute little landmines on the way up. Welcome to the Capones goat dung festival, where goats outnumber the people and where every step is an adventure.

Some part of the steps had eroded so we had to walk through rocks. Being the health buff that I am (insert sarcastic sneer here) I breezed, or rather wheezed, through the steep climb and was out of breath when we reached the top. Then I had to catch my breath again to gasp at the view. The panoramic view of the ocean was awesome. The word magnificent was invented for moments and places like this.

We climbed a little further to get to the lighthouse. This lighthouse was inaugurated in 1890 and it obviously did not age gracefully. The lighthouse itself seemed well-preserved and boasted a fresh coat of white paint. Two bright red stripes around its girth lent it a smart, dignified look. From what we’ve heard it was maintained by the Coast Guard to keep it functioning as a sea vessel guide. The maintenance, however, was not extended to the other structures surrounding the lighthouse. Everything was in a sad state of disrepair. Ravaged by the elements, the house looked like the next typhoon could level it onto the ground. We had to use our imagination to visualize how it looked back during its glory days. Our imagination also made us start daydreaming of the many ways we can restore this lighthouse.

It would be nice to convert it into a museum. Or a café. Or a bed and breakfast. Or my own private hideaway. We conjured up visions of restoration, of sprucing it up with antique furniture, living there with books and goats as company, friends coming to visit, and serving them herbal tea which we cultivated right at the foot of the lighthouse. We dreamed, and we sighed, and we took all the snapshots our film and memory sticks could store.

We could not stay longer than half an hour. We had to go back to the boat before the tide got higher. The boat brought us back to the van. We had lunch at a nearby resort, continuing to dream out loud of lighthouse cafés and hideaways. Then, we were off to Pangasinan for lighthouse number two.

The drive to Pangasinan took the rest of the day. It was nightfall by the time we checked in at a resort in Alaminos. After breakfast the next day, we set off for Barangay Pitar in the town of Bolinao where we met the clueless, toothless man and the navigation-challenged mahjongg players.

We eventually found a man who was more knowledgeable about the lighthouses. It happened that one of the lighthouses was within finger-pointing distance. It looked old and charming from where we stood, but it was too inland to be the one we were looking for. The other lighthouse, which overlooked Cape Bolinao, was a drive away. As we had been warned, there were patches of rough bumpy roads. Undeterred, we drove on and we eventually found the place in less than an hour. The road leading to the lighthouse was lined with beach resorts. We made mental notes of good lodging options for the next time we go on another lighthouse adventure. Just as we were wondering if we were on the right path, we finally caught site of the Faro de Punta Patar. A wall, a gate and a thick patch of trees surrounded it. We knocked on the gate and screamed "Tao po" but no one came to let us in. We pushed open the unlocked gate and were welcomed by the sight of the stately lighthouse, said to be the second tallest in the country, the tallest being Cape Bojeador in Burgos, Ilocos Norte.

We walked around the property, struck by the eerie loneliness of the abandoned structures, awed by the breathtaking view of the ocean, compelled to capture everything in photos. Best we document them for who knew if these structures would stay around forever.

Like the one in Capones Island, this lighthouse was well preserved. The surrounding buildings, however, were even more decrepit than those in Capones mainly because of the materials used. The older lighthouse in Zambales was partially made of rock while the Bolinao lighthouse was almost entirely made of wood so even if the latter was a more recent structure, it had been more badly damaged by time and the elements.

Trees were growing not just outside the house but inside as well since parts of the flooring have decayed to a point where one can no longer walk on them allowing vegetation to creep into the structure. Graffiti adorned the walls. Capiz windowpanes no longer served the purpose of covering the windows. Again, we had to use our imagination to visualize how beautiful these structures must have looked back in 1905 when they were just completed.

It is difficult to imagine how much work, and how much funding it would take to rehabilitate these relics of the past to their original glory. The realists in us realize that in the grand scheme of economics and national development, there are other more pressing priorities than quixotic plans of lighthouse restorations. But when we think of the possibilities, of the tourism potentials, of the sad alternative of someday losing these structures of amazing beauty, we cannot help but dream of lighthouse museums, of gift shops and seaside cafés, of romantic hideaways and lighthouse-hopping cruises. And of our next lighthouse adventure.

Backpacking Illusions

Backpacker? Moi? I can name at least 7 people who will laugh at the thought. That includes me.I just love my creature comforts too much, need to know with certainty where I'm sleeping that night, and would be the laugh of backpackers when they see my industrial sized Lysol spray.

But now, I have the gear. Okay, I exaggerate. I only have this nifty backpacking start-up kit. It contains Robert Alejandro's book on backpacking, a practical yet pretty guidebook that somebody more adventurous and less scared of germs than I am can learn from. The information is culled from a true-to-life 2 1/2 month adventure Robert and four other friends took around south east Asia. It lists down backpacker friendly places for lodging, cost information, and transportation suggestions. Robert's sketches add so much punch and value to this informative book.

The kit also includes a pocket notebook, pen, and calculator for monitoring your expenses. And then, there's Jethro Rafael's collection of postcards of pictures taken during the trips. The photos are gorgeous; I don't see myself giving them away as postcards.

I bought mine from ROX at High Street. This kit will make a great gift. And it's reasonably priced at 700++ pesoses only.


We also attended Backpacking 101 at ROX at High Street. Robert and Jethro shared a video of their trip. If only I weren't so scared of sharing showers with the international community of travelers, the video would probably inspire me to buy a backpack, quit my job (oh wait, I don't have a job), get a tattoo (just a nice touch), invest in cargo capris, and do as they did.


For me, the real draw of the event were the workshops on travel photography by Jethro and travel sketching by Robert Alejandro. I was so excited about learning to sketch the way Robert does in Probe Team. And I felt so suckered when he did not teach us techniques. He did not even teach us how to draw straight lines or curly lines. BUT, I did learn from him that travel sketching is really about having fun. It's not about aiming for perfection. It's about capturing your view, your impressions and emotions of the moment. I've always wanted to sketch during my travels, but I don't know how. I struggle translating a 3-dimensional view in front of me into a 2-dimensional drawing. So, my fear has been keeping me from doing what I want to do. But, Robert taught me to just do it. We had a practice 10-minute round in the store. I produced a very crude sketch of shoes displayed on top of palochina crates. I squirm at how imperfect the sketch is. But hey, like I tell my students, to be a writer, just write. So to be a sketcher, just...