Cousinly Love

As of late, I have been spending an inordinate amount of time at the garden patio of my cousin Benjamin. As if all roads led to his home, I've ended most of my days this past couple of weeks slouched lazily on his sofas. Not that I'm alone in this, our other cousin Mario is another familiar face in those parts as well as his brother Paulo, and my own brother Joseph who drops in from time to time.

It's a bit of a wonder that we have not yet grown bored of this routine, as it barely changes - The sofas/chairs are arranged in a circle for our little powwow, the door leading to the garden is flung open, and the speakers are laid on the floor. We then slowly lose ourselves to the soothing sounds of Owl City (yes, Owl City) that eventually serve as the background to our long-drawn conversations of shoes, ships, sealing wax, cabbages and kings. A bit of scotch, Mineshine milk tea, McDonald's, or whatever your body needs at that moment and we're set for the next few hours. Our little get-togethers pretty much always end the same way as well - a screaming match in Benj's room over a game of MarioKart 64. It's a bit more grown-up nowadays than what we used to have as children - a screaming match of barilan - but I don't think much has changed.

This affinity with my cousins has always been something I've been proud of, a tremendous positive force in my life. Having grown up with them, my cousins have always felt more like brothers who just happened to live in another house. Looking back, I realize that most weekends and summers of my life have been spent in their company. They have stood witness to most of the memorable moments in my life, and will continue to do so up until my corpse is sent off into the sunset on a flaming pyre. And although the winds of change have taken some of us to distant lands, our constant ranting, teasing and bickering with each other has not changed in the slightest, save the venue which has since been transferred to cyberspace.

That perhaps would be the one thing that would make the setup perfect - if the whole cast of cousins were still here with us, as if the good old days of yore had never left. But alas, each has his ship to captain and not all our ships were made to sail the same seas. Maybe one day when we're older, we'll all be together again. Maybe we'll play barilan like we used to, big boys versus small boys. Maybe our little ones will be in on it too, wondering how on earth their old men got so good at it. When that day comes though I shall smile, make an L with my right hand as if it were a gun, point it at my son, and say..."BANG. YOU'RE DEAD."

Where To?

Back in Bangkok, I chanced upon a streetside hawker selling flag patches from various countries. I suppose various would be an understatement because he had practically the whole United Nations stable in his little caboodle. Even Hong Kong, which technically is not a country, was well represented in the pile.

Four days and a 60% price reduction later, I wind up helping myself to 6 flags - Philippines, Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia, Hong Kong, Japan – all of which represented the different countries that have had the dubious honor to call me guest. Missing from the team was the USA (I actually forgot to buy it) and South Korea (I was only there for 3 hours so I was not exactly sure if it counted).


By no means is this a list for any traveler to be proud of - most backpackers do that many countries or more in one trip alone. It did however, start me thinking about where exactly in the world I’ve been aiming my feet at. The first obvious item on the list would be to finish up Southeast Asia. Third-world cost of living aside, Southeast Asia is probably the only area in the world I can visit without a pre-procured visa. On this list, the only unchecked boxes are Laos, Myanmar, Malaysia, Indonesia and Singapore.

Of course, I'm taking a little detour and passing by Brazil. How can you be there and not go to Brazil?

Another adventure I've always wanted to have was a modified Che Guevara route. That basically entails going from the southernmost tip of Argentina all the way up to Mexico, preferably on a motorcycle, while trying to avoid all the small squabbles between countries and drug shootouts. I’d probably have an easier time too with the locals than what I’ve experienced so far as Spanish is a lot less foreign to me than say, Thai.

Of course, I’d be hard pressed to leave the European experience out of this listing.  The big history geek that I am, the call to personally visit the lands of the world empires I grew up studying is just to great to resist.  To stand where Cicero stood in the Temple of Jupiter Stator, giving the first of the famous Catiline Orations, to stroll purposefully down the coastline of Thermopylae remembering Leonidas, to pass through the Arc de Triomphe with the Marcia Trionfale resounding firmly in my head, for a chance to experience these moments I would gladly give my left kidney.

Many other pipe dream destinations are still swimming in the back of my head, Batanes, Gen San Tuna Boat Fishing and hunting with the Cagayan Valley locals among others.  Many more flags are destined to adorn my walls, many more ambitions borne out of childhood reading to be realized.  Only God knows where I shall turn up next. The world is amazing, and I am determined to see as much of it as I can before I leave.

Two Overhead

Alas, sleep beckons when I am most inspired. The past two days since I returned from my travels have been spent in front of the laptop, processing and processing. Souvenirs have gone yet untouched, clothes still tightly packed in the bag in which they traveled a thousand miles.

Before I depart for the Land of Nod, however, I leave with two shots that particularly caught my attention - one colored and one black & white. I normally do not have the opportunity to do overhead shots as much as eye-level shots or a perspective slightly below/above the subject, so these interest me.

This was shot inside an art store. The (slightly cute) saleslady had wanted to show me more of her artworks in the store's second-floor warehouse, to which I gladly obliged. The view from the top fascinated me, as well as the caged cat at the bottom. It wasn't until Pau pointed out though that I should take a shot of it that I actually whipped out the camera and took it. Thanks, Pau.

I took this while checking out the open-air atrium of an old preserved tube house in Hanoi. The old man was doing calligraphy pieces and scenic artwork, all by hand, which were then sold for the preservation of the house. Word is, the city has plans to restore a lot of old houses to their...well, old glory. Beautiful stuff. Although, the particular house I visited used to be a rich man's house so I guess I've seen the best of the best already.

Two weeks worth of photos to comb through and process. I wish that sleep were unnecessary. It's really during these lonely hours that I become really productive.

Khao San

These past few days have been a blur as I went through the busy streets of Bangkok. It has been quite the different vacation altogether from Vietnam. If Vietnam were likened to a camping trip in the forest, Bangkok would be the equivalent of camping in your own backyard – all the excitement of a new world at your fingertips, yet all the comforts and pleasures of home. Just around the corner from my hostel, Mcdonald’s, Burger King, and numerous 711s await me, ready to cater to my pleasure.

Today, Khao San Road was in a festive mood. For those who are still Bangkok virgins, the famous Khao San Road is known as the backpacker’s road in Bangkok. Endless hotels and guesthouses dot the 1km street, with bars, food stalls, tailors, vendors and even your odd NLP fortune teller all trying to get a piece of the tourist action.

For the second straight day now, Khao San Road, Soi Rambuttri (Khao San Road’s quieter and more relaxed twin brother), and the main street in between have been pretty much blocked off to vehicular traffic for a celebration of Thai Culture. Named 'Smile Khao San' (if my memory serves me right), the whole section has been one stage after another with Thai performances and shows. Countless food stalls showcasing Thai food from all over lined each street from top to bottom. While Thai street food at Khao San (and in fact, the whole Bangkok) is already a marvel to begin with, today’s showing took my breath away. Between the copious amounts of Pad Thai, mango sticky rice, sausages wrapped in bacon, Chinese sausage, chicken rice, enormous fish balls, banana crepes with chocolate, extremely spicy pork, chicken wings, and even unidentified insects that I ate, I must have gained an equally copious amount of weight.

Throughout my gluttonous state however, there was one thing that I did sorely miss. For a country after whom the dish is named, there is a surprising lack of Thai Bagoong Rice in Bangkok. My favourite, too.

Quaint Little Hanoi

Spending time in Hanoi, quaint or quiet would probably not be the words you would first use to describe the city. Between the rushing tide of the two-wheeled demons and aggressive taxis, it’s very easy to get the feeling that Hanoi is the product of an oversaturation of both tourists and the normal populace (it being the capital and all) – nice a few years (or decades) ago, but a bit too crowded nowadays.

Admittedly, I thought just as much during my first day there. Navigating my way through streets that never seemed to intersect each other at 90-degree angles and fighting the surge of people rushing everywhere seemed to have taken its toll on me. In an act of exasperation I sat myself down in a small café near the lake to cool down and unwind. I watched the people go to and fro under the cool shade of my umbrella and it was there that I realized that I was approaching this the wrong way.

After I had stood up and left that café, I went at my own leisurely pace, letting the crowd ebb and flow around me. I no longer tried to keep up with the frantic ant’s pace that seemed to possess the city of Hanoi, which I had previously been doing. In this I saw Hanoi for what it was, an experience of raw culture as opposed to the adrenaline-filled vacations that other destinations offer. It wasn’t about surfing off the perfect wave, rafting down the river inside a used tire, or even going to the ruins of a temple to marvel at its splendor. Hanoi’s beauty was in experiencing Vietnam life the way the Vietnamese live it.

It was all around me. Eating pho ga from a fat old lady handling the food with her bare hands, walking around the Hoan Kiem Lake watching the lovers whisper sweet nothings to each other while imagining how many young men said their goodbyes to their sweethearts on those very shores just before being called to the front lines, or even shopping for old propaganda posters, all these gave me a glimpse of what it was like to be Vietnamese. When one absorbs a culture, when one sees firsthand how life is for another race, that is, in my humble opinion, when one can truly say one has been to a country.

There are still many aspects of the Vietnamese culture that I have not yet seen, many heartwarming and many heartbreaking. I’m sure I shall get more peeks into our indefatigable Asian neighbors' personality as I continue my journey, but for what I have been allowed, that which has been shared to me by the many Vietnamese characters in this play, I am truly grateful.

The Man With the Violin

I write today from the quiet little town of Hoi An. Pau, Patch and I arrived here after a grueling (yet interesting) 22-hour bus ride which involved delays due to the bus’s battery dying on us, two extremely irritable bus drivers/conductors, frequent shouting matches between aforementioned bus drivers/conductors and a certain male passenger, and many more absurdly unique events which continuously poked my consciousness as if to constantly remind me where exactly I was.

It’s been a fast-paced 5 days in Hanoi, which by the way has lived up to my expectations of the city. If you thought that Saigon was crazy and full of motorbikes, Hanoi is about 2 notches above it, both in craziness and number of motorbikes. Sure, back here we see individual motorbikes go up on sidewalks to avoid traffic, but imagine a SEA of them on the sidewalks. I also saw a car up on the sidewalk at one point in a particularly nasty traffic snarl.

Like a Vietnamese version of Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty

Last September 2 marked the 65th Independence day of Vietnam. Apparently, the man responsible for this was Ho Chi Minh, who had an Emilio Aguinaldo-like role but is revered like Jose Rizal. A quick trip to the Ho Chi Minh Museum confirmed this significance. Uncle Ho, as he is so affectionately called much to my amusement, pretty much built modern-day Vietnam, with his roles in the struggles against both the French and the Americans, as well as leading Vietnam into unprecedented economic growth into this day and age.

I was therefore half-expecting a spectacular display of national pride as I woke up that morning. Although I didn’t exactly get what I was looking for (my search would have been more fruitful in say, North Korea), I did discover a few nice touches to Vietnam along the way.

The Man with the Violin
After having breakfast, I went to Pau’s hotel to see if they were already up and about. Upon being informed that they had not yet come down from their room, I decided to get an early start and do a bit of Independence-Day sightseeing. The first choice destination was the city cathedral as it was only a 2-minute walk from the hostel. So sleepily I went, trudging along the backpacker-infested alleyways of Ngo Huyen. What greeted me there upon arrival however, ensured that all sloth left in me was melted away.

Seated on the hard concrete right in front of the cathedral gate was an wizened old man in a cowboy hat with a violin in hand and a crowd in the other. They were all seated around him in a circle, singing what appeared to be an old Vietnamese song about Uncle Ho. As foreign as Vietnamese is to me, I recognize Uncle Ho’s name when I hear it, and I can only assume that the words ‘we,’ ‘love,’ and ‘you’ were there at some point. He’d change songs every so often, stopping to teach the words to those in the group who didn’t know the lyrics, mostly the younger ones.

Ho two, as I had mentally referred to him by that time (he looked like…guess who?) also catered his entertainment to the foreigners passing by, inviting them to sit with him for a spell and promptly proceeding to play their respective national anthem. One woman in particular stood out as she did just that - stand to attention - as Ho two started playing the first few notes of Das Deutschlandlied.

Watching him play so enthusiastically and spurred by national pride (he did not ask for a single cent from anyone during the 45 minutes or so that I was there) made jealousy pull at my heart strings, as I longed to see that same thing in my beloved Philippines, perhaps with Ang Bayan Ko or even seasonal melodies such as Pasko Na, Sinta Ko sweetly wafting through the wisps of air at Luneta, rather than La Bamba at a cheesy restaurant (I used to request that ALL the time as a child. I have no idea why).

I’m sure that these people still exist here, hidden as diamonds in the rough along the streets of Manila. I take it upon myself to find them, maybe just to listen to them play, maybe to sing along a bit, and maybe to give them an affectionate pat on the back and tell them how much that meant to me.

Gastronomical Memoirs, Part 2

I must say, Vietnamese life has impressed me for the most part. The most glaring aspect would of course be the cuisine. Never in my life have I seen a country with such a healthy diet in this day and age. Then again, there are many other countries that I have yet to spend time in that have an overall healthy set of national dishes (I’m thinking of the Japanese), as well as a host of others whose menu is unfamiliar to me.

Still untouched by the evil clutches of unhealthy fast food, Vietnam’s charm that had me hooked was the presence of street food vendors abundantly scattered throughout Saigon that sold a variety of dishes one would not expect to be sold on the streets. Within an arm’s reach from my hotel (ever so conveniently located along De Tham Street in the heart of the backpacker district of Saigon), I had access to:

Pho – Vietnamese noodle soup. Rice noodles in a murky broth, topped with leeks, cilantro, mint, and either beef or chicken. Normally costs VND 20,000, which is roughly USD 1 or PHP 45.

Banh Mi – Baguettes filled with roasted pork, sausages, cilantro, cucumber, and various other vegetables. You normally have the option to add cream cheese for an extra VND 5,000 (PHP 11). Adding cheese is highly recommended. Highly. Banh Mi goes for VND 15,000 with cheese (PHP33.75)

Stir Fried Noodles (whose name I forgot)– Another great way to satisfy those hunger pangs after a few rounds of Saigon beer. This dish is fried noodles (no shit?), topped with pretty much the same assortment of greens as Pho or Banh Mi, doused with sweet/spicy sauce and topped off with a fried egg. VND 20,000 (PHP 45) is usually enough to score you one of these.

Other little delights also abounded on the streets, such as frozen yogurt sold in bite-sized packs for only VND 5,000 (PHP 11) or Ca Phe Sua Da (iced coffee with condensed milk) for VND 10,000 (PHP 22.50) per glass. Not so common but equally as delicious were the strawberry shakes. I suspect other types of fruit shakes are sold throughout Saigon but the ones we bought at only had strawberries. It’s your normal garden variety strawberry shake, made with your normal garden variety blender (yup, still on the street) but with one exception – instead of using refined sugar to sweeten the shake, the vendors have a sugarcane press right there which extracts the juice from sugar canes and gives the shake quite the distinctive taste. It’s almost as if the sweetness comes guilt-free. Almost.

Strawberry Shakes, sans the guilt (but probably still with the calories)

And oh, for dinner that other night, we had:
- 5 different types of snails (cooked in different ways – grilled, with butter sauce, with some other type of sauce reminiscent of gata)
- HUGE HUGE shrimp. The heads alone were longer than my middle finger, I shit you not.
- Bo Luc Lac. Salpicao meat cooked with onions, bell peppers and tomatoes. Really tasty, although I highly prefer the Bo Luc Lac in Ba Noi’s, my favourite Vietnamese Restaurant in the Philippines. Ba Noi’s Bo Luc Lac is cooked a bit differently and served with crispy basil. Plus you get to dip it in a mixture of salt and pepper, which is awesome.
- Fried rice. By this time, I was too preoccupied with the taste of the food to really care what was in the rice. All my mind can extract from itself now is that there were clams in it.
- Shrimp claws, formerly belonging to the shrimps mentioned above. These were almost a foot long each, making for one intimidating shrimp.

An Incomplete Gastronomical Memoir

I'm definitely in Saigon.

"Welcome back", Saigon almost seemed to mentally tell me, through memories of last year's brief encounter rushing back into my consciousness even as new ones were being forged as we walked to the Ben Thanh Market. Pau's childhood friend Philip, who was now based in Vietnam, had ever so graciously volunteered to take us around the city.

After the hotel's free breakfast in which I discovered that the ketchup here is labelled simply as tomato sauce and tastes accordingly, we waltzed our way down to Pasteur Street (yes, that Pasteur) to eat at, of all places, Pho Hoa. For those still clueless, the idea of eating at Pho Hoa in Vietnam is sort of like going to Italy then ordering from Pizza Hut. The local version however was completely unrelated to its more commercialized namesake as we soon found out after tasting the difference in a huge steaming bowl of Pho with everything on it and 3 glasses of what I think is spelled Cha Da. It's basically tea with ice.

The feast continued shortly after in Ben Thanh Market itself. Finding ourselves surrounded by food stalls, we couldn't help but help ourselves. Philip had what looked like fish-based rice cakes brought to us, which we greedily gobbled up. A local store owner was overjoyed when Paulo and I tried his spring rolls (a healthy, tasty, AND cheap snack at VND 5,000* each) and upon discovering how good they were, got everyone else to buy from him.

Dinner later was even wilder......

......but that's another post for another day. I shall return to this when it's not 3am.


*As of August 29, 2010 USD1 = VND 19,500; VND5,000 = approx. PHP11.25

I Dream of Manila

I have had a vision. In that vision, I saw a city just like Manila, with streets much like the very streets I roam as I dance through life. The lifestyle afforded in this city was somewhat similar - a smattering of high-class denizens cruising in their Benzes and Audis, with the rest of the populace content to get by with more affordable means of commute. It was in a nutshell Manila in another land, another time but with one difference - one small missing piece that made everything so much better.

NO JEEPNEYS.

Yes, the hell-spawned ubiquitous vehicle that has for me in my lifetime grown to be an eyesore was noticeably absent from the streets of Saigon as I made my way through the heart of the city, returning here after a year-long absence. The end result? Peace. A sense of cleanliness, order. Gone was the chaotic scene of 2 crazed drivers clogging the public pathways as they competed for the attention of indifferent would-be passengers. I was seeing the potential that Manila had, that it still has, if we get our public transportation system in order.

Fresh hope springs anew in my soul as our young President takes his place. May he prove me horribly horribly wrong about him.




On a sidenote: Saigon actually has its own form of hell-vehicle - the motorcycle. Literally hundreds of these will cross your path in a matter of minutes, but that's for another day and another post.

Earth Sandwich

One-half of the world's most kick-ass sandwich.

An Earth Sandwich I want. According to the (almost) all-knowing Wikipedia, the antipode (aka where you will end up if you dig a hole straight through the earth from where you are) of Manila is Cuiaba, Brazil. Or pretty much any area along the Brazil-Bolivia border. Given that, are there any Brazilians out there that want to make a sandwich with me? Sliced whole wheat bread, please.

And I quote from the link above:

To make an Earth sandwich you must:

1. Put a piece of bread on the ground.

2. Have someone else put a piece of bread on the ground directly on the other side of the Earth from you.

3. Do this at the same exact time, so the Earth at that moment is "sandwiched" between two pieces of bread.


Amazing stuff, this is. Is your mind blown? I expected that.

Words

Worship words -- quite the catchy phrase that I saw on a good friend’s email signature. It’s still amazing how a few words can move one’s day from humdrum to ecstatic, and on the other hand, from pleasant to pissy.

I got a good dose of both today, although thankfully in the order that left me bouncy at the end.

Back in Manila

I write tonight having just returned from a 4-day long sojourn somewhere in the northern recesses of our fine country. Quite the picturesque location, I must say, in the heart of a province that I absolutely did not expect to contain a resort that almost gives you the feeling of being on the cusp of the Mediterranean. But I shall write more about this yet unnamed place in the future.

One bad thing about it though was that the hotel TV had no Balls Channel, and subsequently, no World Cup coverage. And as Murphy would have it, the Spain-Germany semifinal match just had to be shown while I was there. Not that it would have mattered though, because as I was desperately searching the Internets high and low for a live stream, the day's grueling schedule caught up with me and caused me to nosedive straight into my laptop.

But all joy was not lost, as Spain went on to punish the in-form German team and earn Paul the Octopus the hatred of the whole German nation.

Too bad that this (see below) didn't happen again though. I bet Schweinsteiger would have snapped.

La Plage et Le Train

Last Tuesday, I kept with my otherwise subconscious policy of going on spontaneous vacations and booked a trip to Vietnam, Laos and Thailand. Although I've already been to Vietnam, last year's trip had more of a focus on Cambodia and as a result the most we saw of Vietnam was the backpacker's district in downtown Saigon. In those 2 days we spent roaming the streets eating pho and banh mi, I was so enthralled by the place that I determined to find my way back there the very next chance I could. Et voila, one year later I shall be true to my word.

Accompanying me this time around are Diego and Fonta (who were also on the last trip), as well as our other friend Ken and my cousin Paulo, whose recent resignation suddenly left him with an indefinite number of free days. As none of us are in the corporate world, we afforded ourselves the luxury that would make most yuppies green with envy and decided to stay for the better part of a month.

Naturally, I ready myself for this trip by doing the first thing that pops into mind which is to watch similarly-themed movies. At Paulo's suggestion, I download Darjeeling Limited and The Beach which has left me psyched for that 1 1/2 day train ride and Thailand, as well as giving me a new fondness for French women. Move over, Espanol mestizas.

A French woman. If only newscasters here were this beautiful. Damnit.

So far, all we know is that we're going to Saigon, then make our way up via train to Hanoi to complete the Vietnam Leg. From Hanoi, we find a way to get to Vientiane, passing by Luang Prabang and Vang Vieng along the way. We then leave Laos for Thailand, where Bangkok and the gastronomical heaven await us. So do the Phatphong lady-boys, for Ken who is spending his birthday there. Happy birthday buddy.

Her Morning Elegance

Call me late (since this was released last 2007 or so), but here's an interesting stop-motion video by Oren Lavie, and an amazing song to boot. 

I'm not normally the biggest fan of stop-motion, but I do appreciate it when the concept is great, as I believe it is here.

Manila Ocean

I dropped by Manila Ocean Park last Wednesday to conduct an ocular for a shoot we're doing this Saturday. Great place, it turned out to be a lot more impressive than I was expecting.  We are a country extremely rich in biodiversity, and the aquariums beautifully reflected this fact.  Walking through the tunnel-shaped glass corridors separating myself from the hosts of rays swimming above, I felt like I was back in Anilao chasing turtles and teasing clownfish.

I snapped this shot a bit later, eating a late merienda at Chowking on the second floor of the Ocean Park. It's one of the rare times I get to view the famed Manila Bay sunset while not in a moving car. If you look ever so closely, you can see the smudges on the window separating me and polluted beauty.

A Change Of Pace

Photo randomly taken from Flickr. Sorry, Mr. Owner!

A black mangy cat, curled up without a care in the world beside the large tawny neighbourhood ascal.

The sweet suburban breeze rushing past you as you stand under a street lamp, its haunting yellow light casting an foreboding warm tinge on the world of the night.

The interesting conversation with the groundskeeper while sitting on a bench in the empty church courtyard.

The uninhibited and heart-warming laughter of local barkadas as they while the night away drinking beer at the local sari-sari store.

The loving way the middle-aged Korean couple teased each other while taking their nightly stroll through the village.

My trusty iPod serenading me with Chopin and his nocturnes while I make my way through the streets, my feet walking but my mind soaring.


These are things I would have never seen, heard, or felt had I chosen to do my usual run. The impromptu decision to have a change of pace and go out into the night in my plaid shorts and Sanuks was, perhaps, the right thing to do tonight.

The Man Your Man Could Smell Like

I saw this ad on Mon's blog, and I somehow cannot get enough of it.

Road Kings In Their Own Mind

Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't sirens supposed to be illegal on unmarked vehicles? Meaning if you're not a MARKED police car, a MARKED ambulance, or a MARKED fire truck, then no wang-wang for you?

If so, then ZSX-217, shame on you. Not only were you wantonly blasting away with that siren, you were also driving very arrogantly and recklessly, in a residential subdivision no less.

I presume that you are a politician or a relative thereof, given the combination of the two factors mentioned above. For shame! You, sir, shall never have my vote.

January 24, 5:05pm, BF Homes, Paranaque City