Every Season Is Travel Season

At the beginning of 2014, I tried to convince myself that I would do less traveling this year, that I would try and stay put and quell my wanderlust with something a bit more regular and mundane, maybe put my travel budget to a more local use.

I tried, and for a whole month, I was sucessful. Yet here I find myself at the start of February, staring down at least three international trips already booked for the year, and the threat of more to come. I start the year off with Malaysia this week, having scored a free trip from Air Asia a couple of months back (Thanks, Air Asia!).

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Brief Pagudpud Memoirs: The Rock

I'm back in Pagudpud once more. Since I first stepped foot into its sandy beaches, there has always been a sense of familiarity about this small town, as far from it as I've grown up. I had been aching for a break from the numbing grimy stench of city life and consequently grabbed the next opportunity to pack up and look north. This time around, I found myself exploring the more known sites of the province.

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A Very Brief Sojourn in Kalinga

It was the first time in my life that I had seen fireflies on my ceiling. When you live in an overcrowded and extremely polluted city, you grow accustomed to reading about certain things in nature, yet never really seeing them. Save the ubiquitous stray cat, dog, sparrow, or cockroach, I would dare say that one could have lived in Manila not seeing any other type of animal for years. Except rats.

But I wasn’t in Manila, no. The serenade for the senses that was unravelling before my eyes was taking place in a small valley in the province of Kalinga. Fireflies were aglow on my bedroom ceiling while the constant rush of the river soothed my wandering mind better than crickets could have. Not that there weren’t any crickets - what must have been hundreds of the soprano-like maestros were singing in the darkness, perfectly complementing the midtones of the water to form a harmonious night lullaby, one that would rival the best nightingale from stories old.

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Lighting Up Samar

Half-seated and half-crouched I rode, inside a van making the four-hour journey to Borongan, Samar; a city on the eastern coast of the Philippines. We were about to drive onto the San Juanico Bridge, longest in the Philippines and in itself an impressive sight. I looked out the window. The glistening blue-green hue of the clear Pacific waters greeted me like a passer-by waving to a float on a parade. The familiar scent of the salty sea-breeze made its way through my being and gave me that sense of home-away-from-home. Random little islands littered the landscape like green polka dots on a blue dress, isolated groves of trees with their own mini beaches, sandwiched in the strait between two larger islands.

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A Short Break From Travels

I'm currently typing this from the proverbial eye of the storm of the consecutive provincial shoots I'm having. I have just gotten back in Manila from Samar, a province on the eastern coast of the Philippines that has had more than its fair share of typhoons and other natural disasters, and tomorrow I leave once more - for Surigao, a province that is only one island away from Samar.

It's been a busy past four days, albeit quite fulfilling. I've been shooting for One Million Lights, an NGO about which I have previously written. It's been a novel experience for me. Since most of my vacations around the Philippines have been in and around the island of Luzon, where I live, it seemed a bit surreal to be in an area where not everyone understood my language, almost as if it were in another country.

Nevertheless, endless interesting moments and curiosities abounded. One of these was Father Tito Abuda, in the photo above. He is a Catholic priest, doing God's work in the city of Borongan in Samar. We caught him wielding a shiny new saxophone just as we were leaving the cathedral after meeting with the bishop of that diocese. He explained that he initially took it up to pass the time. Since then, it has turned into a wondrous way of sharing the beauty of music as well as worshiping through song, as evidenced by the entrancing refrain he graced us with. I felt a tinge of jealousy at his skill on an instrument I have long wanted to master, but all that soon gave way to my sense of awe at finding such a man in such a remote area.

Tomorrow I leave for Surigao on a shoot of a somewhat different flavor than this previous one. I hope to have cellular signal there, as it will be even more rural and remote than wherever I went in Samar. This summer has definitely been more interesting than I hoped it would be - a good end to April, and certainly something to look forward to in May. May the light be with me.

Pangasinan - Fishing for Bangus Part 1

I excitedly hopped around the sturdy workboat as it steadily made its way out of the cove just off Pangasinan towards the collection of fish cages about twenty minutes from the coast. Anton, my guide and host for the next couple of days, was explaining to me the ins and outs of bangus (Chanos chanos) farming. The fish farm we would be seeing grew ocean-bred bangus, as opposed to the freshwater bangus industry in other locales. This, plus other practices that they had incorporated, translated into fatter fish with a superior taste (a claim which I made sure I verified that night at dinner). I could barely contain my excitement as I imagined thousands of fish thrashing around in chaos as a sturdy net slowly pulled them in for harvest.

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Postcards from Pulag

Last weekend I travelled to Mount Pulag with three friends, visions of the last trip's view of the summit still fresh in mind. We took the late night bus to Baguio as usual, then contracted a jeepney to take us to the trail and back.

It started off well enough. We made good time to Baguio, and the ride on the way to the DENR* office was more than pleasant. Toploading most of the way, we once more reveled in the beauty of our country, one I personally believe matches that of any other place in the world.

After the mandatory briefing at DENR, we got back into the jeepney for our final drive to the Ranger Station, where pretty much everyone who ascends the mountain starts their climb. On the way, we encountered our first bump in the road. One part of the road was pretty muddy, and the jeepney ahead of us was firmly stuck. Since our jeep was the only four-wheel drive vehicle anywhere near the area (and the only four-wheel drive jeepney I've ever heard of), we hopped off while our driver helped the group ahead of us, as well as the next four groups, get through.

I took that short break from the action as an opportunity to shoot something, and at the end of the day I'm glad that it happened because as it turns out, those were the last photos I took during the entirety of the trip.

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Next In Line

If I had my way, this would be my Asian travel list. Green represents those which I've already visited, yellow would be those next in line, and orange after that. The past two years have seen me blaze a backpacking trail through the Indochina Peninsula, with the exception of Laos which somehow got squeezed off the itenerary at the last minute.

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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.

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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