Amen to Seven

"How about Baguio?"

I blinked twice, scarcely able to believe what was being suggested. I was standing on the parking lot of Alabang Town Center at 2:30 on a Saturday morning, my friends Mias and Mario prancing around beside me. We had just left San Mig Pub having what we had planned to be a steady Friday night. The pub closed at 2am, but we weren't done for the night, and were thinking of where we could continue the party.

One of our other friends, JL, was already in Baguio for a weekend getaway. He had promised us a bottle of scotch should we decide to join him up there, thinking (with good reason) that a bottle of scotch wouldn't be worth the 4-6 hour drive to the mountains. Too bad for him, the few pints of beer in our systems were telling us otherwise.


So off we went, a troupe of three guys on an adrenaline high and a sudden rush of impulse. Up and down the roads we went, pausing only for gas and to drink in the sunrise while standing in the middle of rural Tarlac.

...as well as a photo op by the (perpetually under repair) lion at Kennon Road, after scouting the area carefully for someone to take our photo. Qualifications: he should look like he can't run fast, or at least not as fast as me.

Looking relaxed, but ready to pounce. Like that lion.

We eventually arrived at Baguio proper, and as if to prove the point of our spontaneity, we decided to eschew the usual cheapo fare for breakfast, and instead settle ourselves in at no less than The Manor, one of the most upscale hotels in the city. The setting was perfect, nary a storm cloud in sight and the nippy Baguio air, bursting with the scent of pine, proved to be a fresh getaway from the sticky smog of the metro.

We accept no less for an after-inuman food trip

After eating pretty much the whole available tray of bacon at the buffet and gawking lovingly at some jogger who seemed to have been the mold for Aphrodite herself, the rest of the day rushed by in a blur -- napping in the car with windows wide open while elder folk stared at us and shook their heads in disgust, touring that American house, looking for the secret garden that had apparently been replaced by a zipline station, exploring the Philippine Military Academy and its cadets marching in perfect formation.

We also met up with JL and Rochelle, his girlfriend. They had stayed next door at the Baguio Country Club, and had just finished a late lunch when they caught up with us over at PMA. We then drove to Good Shepherd for some edibles before heading on back to the real world, another 6-hour drive in which all the borrowed energy we were running on throughout the day finally broke us as we took turns passing out in the back, the silence peppered only by short outbursts of singing in chorus when the bands of our childhood came on. Truly, I thought, it indeed is for times like this that we live. These are the moments that shall remain shining long after the dust of age has clouded the vision of my memory - these moments when I, to quote someone, felt infinite.

The clock struck nine. We found ourselves once again seated in San Mig, at the same table, in the same outfits, exactly one day later. The waitress gave us quite the funny look, but shrugged and proceeded to take our orders. We all chuckled and raised our glasses - one last pint to cap off the trip, Alabang to Baguio and back, our 24-hour Friday night out.

N.B. The title comes from this trip being our seventh Friday night out in an almost unbroken series.