Okay, so the title is a bit of a stretch; I haven’t been really “living on the road” since I bought the car two months ago. 80% of the time, I just drive the car from the Pollock parking lot to SOM for a solid three minutes of pure driving pleasure. So yes, because I’m someone who can walk from the house to his place of work just as fast as drive, I don’t really need a car. Yet I bought one, my first car, a second-hand 2003 Toyota Corolla, complete with manual transmission and windows (I’m just realizing now that the latter’s a real pain in the ass) and that I-look-new-even-if-I’m-not look that I immediately fell in love with the first time I saw it. And another funny thing about this love affair is that I bought the car even before I knew how to drive.
I know I have done a number of stupid things in my life, but I’m quite sure that this is not one of them. As early as a year ago, I have already made up my mind that I will buy a car and learn how to drive soon, for reasons as simple as to have a dependable ride for my weekly trips to Rustan’s (imagine carrying 10 kilos of groceries back to the Ateneo when there are no tricycles around) and as profound as to not have to depend on utterly useless and completely unreliable friends for important trips (to an out-of-town wedding that I can’t miss or be late for, for example). The buying part, I knew I was already prepared for, to a certain degree at least: had I decided to buy a new car, I knew I had enough financial capacity for the downpayment and monthly amortizations. I always knew that the learning part would be trickier because I would need to buy a car first before I could learn how to drive: I did not benefit from father-son driving lessons when I was still living with my parents and I don’t have anything to practice with now that I’m living on my own. So when the opportunity presented itself, when a distant relative announced that he was selling his car for a reasonable price, I took the bait. Three days later the car was delivered to my parent’s place in Meycauayan. The next day I enrolled in an 8-hour driving program in a driving school right across Katipunan. After a month, I applied for and immediately received a driver’s license. The following day I drove the car from Meycauayan to Ateneo: it’s been parked at Pollock ever since.
The road to a more conifident and competent driving had been quite slow and bumpy: in the first few days of driving it around the city, I lost momentum in the middle of a steep ramp twice (both instances, I had to roll back down and try again), got wide-eyed lost a couple of times in places I once thought I knew like the back of my hand, and the engine died on me countless times in the middle of the road. But every passing day, I do feel barely-noticeable incremental improvements. So I’ve started using the car for more useful and challenging trips, to odd destinations within and around the metro: the watering holes I and my friends frequent in Matalino and Maginhawa, Trinoma, Antipolo for MACA’s evsem, Jun’s new pad in Manila, and just yesterday, Makati for GMAT. The coupe de grace for me, of course, would be Tagaytay, a destination I’m planning to head to before my next birthday (Baguio for me is still a couple of years and maybe a handful of accidents away).
I know what I’m feeling now is not a big deal for most of you; you’ve gone through the same thing what? 10? 15 years ago? I’m just happy that I was able to do these things, even if belatedly: buying a car with my own money and learning how to drive on my own. Doing something for the first time is always exhilirating. Ever since I started driving a month ago, I’ve just logged a total of around 400 kilometers: there’s still much of the world that I have yet to discover, still many roads that I have yet to traverse. I still don’t know what I’ll do next, but I can’t wait to see where my next decision will take me. I’ll see you when I get there, okay?
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
2 Days in Paris
2 Days in Paris is a 2007 film written and directed by Julie Delpy of Before Sunrise and Before Sunset fame. It tells the story of Marion and Jack, a thirtysomething couple played by Delpy and Adam Goldberg (you might remember him as the primary bankroller of the movie Medellin in Entourage). Jack, a heavily-tattooed American interior designer, and Marion, a French photographer who has a history of mental disorder, decide to spend two days in Paris with Marion’s equally dysfunctional family after a not-so-memorable vacation in Venice. Once there, it doesn’t take too long before Jack discovers Marion’s colorful and prolific sexual history, a discovery which eventually leads to jealousy and paranoia. The ensuing cornucopia of negative feelings, unfortunate coincidences and misunderstandings, and the host of sickeningly perverse French men from Marion’s past and present threatens to destroy the couple’s already-precarious two-year relationship
I loved the film. It was funny when it needed to be funny. Goldberg’s humor was there, of course. The French characters were hilarious! I’m pretty sure that at some level everything’s exaggerated, but in the movie all the French thought about was sex and flirting seemed to be the national pastime. In one scene, this was how Marion described to Jack a Frenchman they bumped into: “We met many years ago and we had a little thing. I think I gave him a blowjob. No big deal.”
Julie Delpy was great. If you’ve seen Before Sunrise and/or Before Sunset, you know what I’m talking about. If you’re twentysomething and you still believe all that cheesy crap they say about love and romance, go watch Before Sunrise. After a few years, when all your unrealistic notions about love and relationships have been completely washed away by the passing of time, watch Before Sunset. I’m sure you’ll love both films and you’ll definitely adore Julie Delpy.
Another reason why I love this film so much is that it is able to portray mature romantic relationships realistically; it is able to eloquently articulate ideas and notions about relationships that the even the best of us have a hard time understanding by ourselves. Here are some of the more thought-provoking lines I have painstakingly transcribed from the film, as narrated by Julie Delpy’s character Marion near the end when the shit was just about to hit the fan:
“I confessed to Jack that the toughest thing for me was to decide to be with someone for good. The idea that this is it, this is the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with, to decide that I will make the effort to stay and work things out and not run off the minute there is a problem is very difficult for me.”
“It always fascinates me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all. Nothing.”
“Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really loved this one. When I think that it’s over, that I’ll never see him again like this. Well yes, I’ll bump into him, we’ll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we have never been together. Then we’ll slowly think of each other less and less, until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me: break up, break down; drink up, fool around; meet one guy then another, fuck around to forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love; desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness, meet a new love and swear it is the one. Until that one is gone as well.“
This last one almost perfectly captures what’s been going on in my life these past few years. I really don’t know what else to say after this.
It’s a great film. Go watch it.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Turning Thirty-two
Two years ago, in the months leading to my thirtieth birthday, I have constantly pestered my friends with my apprehensions and complaints about my age. I felt old and a bit depressed: I was turning thirty, and I felt like I had nothing to show for it. Well, I’m now just a few hours away from thirty-two: I’m still dirt-poor and single, but far from wallowing in dejection and misery, I now feel nothing but excitement and have nothing but optimism for what lies ahead.
This past year has probably been the most eventful in my life. I was able to do and experience things, visit beautiful places, and meet unforgettable people, all for the first time. It’s like having a “bucket list” of things to do before one dies, without the dying part; like being Jim Carrey’s character in “Yes Man”, without the slapstick comedy part.
Of course the ride had not been perfectly smooth; I had to do things that needed doing and unavoidably hurt some people and burn a few bridges along the way. But I don’t regret any of the things I've done. I guess part of the growing up that happened this past year is realizing that, ultimately, I am the only person who should be responsible for my actions and myself, selfish as it may seem. That I should do things that result only in my well-being, without a shred of selflessness or altruism; and yes, even at the risk of other people and some of my friends calling me an asshole for living this ideology.
Now that I’m about to turn thirty-two, I feel like I’m in some sort of personal and emotional equilibrium, a fancy term for saying that while I’m not perfectly happy, I am very much contented. I am thankful for the few material things that I have, and cherish the select people who are important to me; life is too short and time is too scarce to waste even a few moments on negative emotions and people who seem to inexhaustibly radiate negativity. I can’t wait to see how the seeds that I’ve planted this past year will bear fruit (not that kind of seed) and witness how it will all unfold.
This past year has probably been the most eventful in my life. I was able to do and experience things, visit beautiful places, and meet unforgettable people, all for the first time. It’s like having a “bucket list” of things to do before one dies, without the dying part; like being Jim Carrey’s character in “Yes Man”, without the slapstick comedy part.
Of course the ride had not been perfectly smooth; I had to do things that needed doing and unavoidably hurt some people and burn a few bridges along the way. But I don’t regret any of the things I've done. I guess part of the growing up that happened this past year is realizing that, ultimately, I am the only person who should be responsible for my actions and myself, selfish as it may seem. That I should do things that result only in my well-being, without a shred of selflessness or altruism; and yes, even at the risk of other people and some of my friends calling me an asshole for living this ideology.
Now that I’m about to turn thirty-two, I feel like I’m in some sort of personal and emotional equilibrium, a fancy term for saying that while I’m not perfectly happy, I am very much contented. I am thankful for the few material things that I have, and cherish the select people who are important to me; life is too short and time is too scarce to waste even a few moments on negative emotions and people who seem to inexhaustibly radiate negativity. I can’t wait to see how the seeds that I’ve planted this past year will bear fruit (not that kind of seed) and witness how it will all unfold.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Who Watches the Watchmen? (Spoiler Alert!)
Like I usually do whenever a highly-reputed literary work is to be turned into a movie, I bought (and immediately read) a copy of the Watchmen graphic novel a few months back. I saw the film earlier today. As expected, there were discrepancies between the graphic novel and the movie, borne both out of the inherent limitations of film as a medium and the artistic leeway filmmakers bestow upon themselves. Almost all of the novel’s numerous sub-plots (Hollis’ “Under the Hood”, the newsstand vendor and the black kid, the collection of artists and scientists ala “Atlas Shrugged”, etc.) that were only indirectly tied to the main storyline were omitted in the film version, and several “trivial” inconsistencies were evident throughout the film (Rorschach and Nite Owl traveling to Veidt’s Antarctic base on foot; the missing big, badass motherfucker of a monster). But the whole plot is there, stretched across three hours of film; and moviegoers, especially those who have read the novel, will see the film makers’ efforts to stay true to the original material (note the homage to the newsstand vendor and the black kid when the New York bomb detonated).
Is Watchmen for everyone? Well, the graphic novel definitely isn’t. Some friends I’ve lent the book to were overwhelmed by either the enormity of the story or the complexity of the plot. But give the novel a shot and you’ll see that a significant portion of the pleasure in reading it will come from the sub-plots, these seemingly inconsequential narratives that lend color, life, and substance to both the characters and the story itself. At first glance, these details will seem unimportant; but as Alan Moore’s intricate web starts to unravel, the realization that each small part is related to every other in ways both subtle and brilliant will ultimately leave you breathless. As for the movie… Purists will definitely hate it (they always do), most of those who haven’t read the novel will not get it, and conservatives will be turned off by the excessive gore Zack Snyder is known for.
I personally liked the film, in general. But I do have a few gripes about my movie-watching experience earlier.
1. It is my humble opinion that the local movie industry, or this country for that matter, will never ever prosper as long as higher ups treat us like frigging children. I mean, come on! You’ll show a disintegrating body in all its bloody splendor and then you’ll cut portions of a love scene between two lead characters? Who the fuck are you kidding? Well, it’s probably the fault of the local distributors (sellout fucks), but that’s not the point, is it?
2. Again about this crap we call the local movie industry. What’s up with those grainy and dirty film negatives these mall theaters keep shoving down the throats of their patrons? It’s not like they’re one of those fly-by-night provincial movie houses which show local “R” rated films “double with” unknown foreign B-movies. I paid 175 pesos to see the film in your theater (I’m talking to you, Eastwood Cinema), and I expect to get my money’s worth, film-quality wise. How can you expect us to stop patronizing pirated films (which reportedly now cost a measly 10 pesos per film in Divisoria) when you keep giving us crap? Assholes.
3. In the film, Adrian Veidt looks eerily like David Spade, hair, nose, build and all, which is so unlike his masculine, Aryan-looking counterpart in the graphic novel. At one point in the movie, I almost expected badass Veidt to deliver a stand-up routine. Now that would’ve been definitely worth watching.
Have a nice day!
Is Watchmen for everyone? Well, the graphic novel definitely isn’t. Some friends I’ve lent the book to were overwhelmed by either the enormity of the story or the complexity of the plot. But give the novel a shot and you’ll see that a significant portion of the pleasure in reading it will come from the sub-plots, these seemingly inconsequential narratives that lend color, life, and substance to both the characters and the story itself. At first glance, these details will seem unimportant; but as Alan Moore’s intricate web starts to unravel, the realization that each small part is related to every other in ways both subtle and brilliant will ultimately leave you breathless. As for the movie… Purists will definitely hate it (they always do), most of those who haven’t read the novel will not get it, and conservatives will be turned off by the excessive gore Zack Snyder is known for.
I personally liked the film, in general. But I do have a few gripes about my movie-watching experience earlier.
1. It is my humble opinion that the local movie industry, or this country for that matter, will never ever prosper as long as higher ups treat us like frigging children. I mean, come on! You’ll show a disintegrating body in all its bloody splendor and then you’ll cut portions of a love scene between two lead characters? Who the fuck are you kidding? Well, it’s probably the fault of the local distributors (sellout fucks), but that’s not the point, is it?
2. Again about this crap we call the local movie industry. What’s up with those grainy and dirty film negatives these mall theaters keep shoving down the throats of their patrons? It’s not like they’re one of those fly-by-night provincial movie houses which show local “R” rated films “double with” unknown foreign B-movies. I paid 175 pesos to see the film in your theater (I’m talking to you, Eastwood Cinema), and I expect to get my money’s worth, film-quality wise. How can you expect us to stop patronizing pirated films (which reportedly now cost a measly 10 pesos per film in Divisoria) when you keep giving us crap? Assholes.
3. In the film, Adrian Veidt looks eerily like David Spade, hair, nose, build and all, which is so unlike his masculine, Aryan-looking counterpart in the graphic novel. At one point in the movie, I almost expected badass Veidt to deliver a stand-up routine. Now that would’ve been definitely worth watching.
Have a nice day!
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Heads or Tails
At the risk of sounding like a Haruki Murakami fanboy, I would like to announce that I had just eaten the 100% perfect Spicy Oriental Spareribs. Actually, it fell just a tad short of perfect because it was bit too salty and the cut of the meat just wasn’t quite right. Nevertheless, despite its shortcomings, I still think that it’s the 100% perfect Spicy Oriental Spareribs—mainly because I cooked it myself.
As men, we take so much pride in creating things: wondrous, beautiful—and in this instance, passably edible—things. Giving life to something, from conceptualization to realization, from something as trivial as Spicy Oriental Spareribs to something as complex as Ratatouille, is perhaps the closest we can ever get to godhood. The desire to create, the impulse to fashion something meaningful out of virtually nothing, is what separates us from other forms of life; it’s what makes us what, or who, we are.
Unfortunately, we also take so much pleasure in destroying things. No other species on earth can destroy and kill as efficiently as we can. And it’s not even a simple retribution thing: it’s not like we only smother and smite our enemies and obliterate only those who have hurt us. What’s peculiar about our insane passion for utter destruction is that we often don’t care who our unwitting victims are—we still do what we do even at the risk of hurting the innocent, or worse, the ones we love.
What’s so beautiful about it is that this concept of man’s dual nature—creator and destroyer as two sides of the same ugly coin—is totally consistent with man’s concept of God and of himself as God’s poor surrogate; you know, “He giveth, so he can taketh away.” Or some shit like that.
So what the point? The point is that sometimes we feel a nagging urge to create something, anything, like this blog entry for example. And almost always, as soon as we are done, we feel an equally strong desire to click “delete.”
As men, we take so much pride in creating things: wondrous, beautiful—and in this instance, passably edible—things. Giving life to something, from conceptualization to realization, from something as trivial as Spicy Oriental Spareribs to something as complex as Ratatouille, is perhaps the closest we can ever get to godhood. The desire to create, the impulse to fashion something meaningful out of virtually nothing, is what separates us from other forms of life; it’s what makes us what, or who, we are.
Unfortunately, we also take so much pleasure in destroying things. No other species on earth can destroy and kill as efficiently as we can. And it’s not even a simple retribution thing: it’s not like we only smother and smite our enemies and obliterate only those who have hurt us. What’s peculiar about our insane passion for utter destruction is that we often don’t care who our unwitting victims are—we still do what we do even at the risk of hurting the innocent, or worse, the ones we love.
What’s so beautiful about it is that this concept of man’s dual nature—creator and destroyer as two sides of the same ugly coin—is totally consistent with man’s concept of God and of himself as God’s poor surrogate; you know, “He giveth, so he can taketh away.” Or some shit like that.
So what the point? The point is that sometimes we feel a nagging urge to create something, anything, like this blog entry for example. And almost always, as soon as we are done, we feel an equally strong desire to click “delete.”
Thursday, January 15, 2009
New Year 2009 Road Trip - Day 4
In my effort to catch up with Hap’s ridiculously fast writing, I forgot to mention a few things about our first night in Baguio…
First: It’s all about the music, man. Jane had a 160GB WD Passport which I shamelessly tinkered with as soon as I was able to setup our “music station” (my Asus EEE and X-Minimax speakers and Jane’s Passport). She had old favorites from the 90’s which rivaled even my collection (I was able to complete my Nirvana and Pearl Jam collection, thanks to her), a few classic rock tunes (Led Zep and Rolling Stones), and – much to everyone’s surprise and amusement – timeless Disney songs (“shining, shimmering, splendid” was the first track we played from that collection) and contemporary greats from Sarah Geronimo to Ne-Yo (she continuously denies that these tracks are hers, but it doesn’t really matter now, does it?). From time to time, I also got to play tunes from my 8GB Sansa Clip whenever I felt a craving for Urbandub or Taken By Cars, or whenever I felt the urge to show off my Across the Universe soundtrack to Jane.
Second: It’s also about the food, man. We did not have much, but we did have bagnet and Happy peanuts for pulutan (Mae had Gardenia to go with her Coke), so what else could you ask for?
Okay, so pretty much everyone woke up past 12 PM the next day (that’s why I was not able to meet Nicole in the morning). Hap had several canned goods and onions left from our trip and Mae still had some leftover rice, so I cooked breakfast for everyone (corned beef with onions, tuna with onions, and fried rice with onions – who would’ve thought that we would still have one bulb of onion left over!) while everyone else cleaned up the previous night’s mess (a tip of the hat to Hap, who initiated the day’s cleaning proceedings).
After breakfast, everyone was too lazy to move; keep in mind, this was the first time Hap and I stayed in one place for more than 24 hours in the past few days. The next item in the agenda was to buy supplies like food and booze, and a few pasalubong, from the market. Even as we were driving to Bagiuo, Hap and I talked about having tinola at Mae’s; so when we broached the idea to the two ladies, they both enthusiastically agreed that we have tinola for dinner.
Our market trip turned out to be a bit sentimental for me: back in 2002 and 2003, when I frequently visited Baguio with other friends, we would always cap our trips with visits to the market. This trip reintroduced me to familiar smells and sights, to the disarming smiles of the locals and the frenetic calls of children hawking plastic shopping bags. We bought everything we needed for dinner, plus some strawberries and local sweets; Mae bought a new flat-bottom pan and casserole pot, inspired by anonymous tips from the “suggestion box”. After a few sticks of fishballs, kwek-kwek, and cigarettes, we headed home.
Back in Mae’s pad, everyone quickly became busy doing his or her thing: Hap prepared a quick broccoli appetizer and I took care of the tinola soon after; Jane and Mae prepared chocolate fondue with the strawberries. Dinner was set. Thankfully, everyone seemed to like the tinola.
Before we knew it, Mae had to go to work again. With the help of Antonov Vodka and Sprite, Hap, Jane, and I soon found ourselves in the middle of an eclectic range of conversation topics: God and religion, Einstein’s special and general theory of relativity and its shaky (at least according to me) underpinnings; Gaiman, Pratchett, Ateneo and some other topics that evidently were already discussed the night before which I had conveniently forgotten then and have completely forgotten now. When Mae came back from work at around 6 AM, the rest of us were already fast asleep.
For a not-so-sober take on this part of the trip, visit Hap's blog.
(Okay, if I try to write an account of what happened on the fifth and last day of the trip, I know I won't finish it until after our Sagada trip. I think it would be best if you just read Hap's version of what happened that day. Besides, a lot of things had already happened just ten days after this memorable road trip, things that will hopefully grow and bloom and flourish in the coming days, weeks, months, and even years, things that will definitely be topics for future entries. So until then, I wish everyone a bountiful and joyous 2009. Long days and pleasant nights ahead.)
First: It’s all about the music, man. Jane had a 160GB WD Passport which I shamelessly tinkered with as soon as I was able to setup our “music station” (my Asus EEE and X-Minimax speakers and Jane’s Passport). She had old favorites from the 90’s which rivaled even my collection (I was able to complete my Nirvana and Pearl Jam collection, thanks to her), a few classic rock tunes (Led Zep and Rolling Stones), and – much to everyone’s surprise and amusement – timeless Disney songs (“shining, shimmering, splendid” was the first track we played from that collection) and contemporary greats from Sarah Geronimo to Ne-Yo (she continuously denies that these tracks are hers, but it doesn’t really matter now, does it?). From time to time, I also got to play tunes from my 8GB Sansa Clip whenever I felt a craving for Urbandub or Taken By Cars, or whenever I felt the urge to show off my Across the Universe soundtrack to Jane.
Second: It’s also about the food, man. We did not have much, but we did have bagnet and Happy peanuts for pulutan (Mae had Gardenia to go with her Coke), so what else could you ask for?
Okay, so pretty much everyone woke up past 12 PM the next day (that’s why I was not able to meet Nicole in the morning). Hap had several canned goods and onions left from our trip and Mae still had some leftover rice, so I cooked breakfast for everyone (corned beef with onions, tuna with onions, and fried rice with onions – who would’ve thought that we would still have one bulb of onion left over!) while everyone else cleaned up the previous night’s mess (a tip of the hat to Hap, who initiated the day’s cleaning proceedings).
After breakfast, everyone was too lazy to move; keep in mind, this was the first time Hap and I stayed in one place for more than 24 hours in the past few days. The next item in the agenda was to buy supplies like food and booze, and a few pasalubong, from the market. Even as we were driving to Bagiuo, Hap and I talked about having tinola at Mae’s; so when we broached the idea to the two ladies, they both enthusiastically agreed that we have tinola for dinner.
Our market trip turned out to be a bit sentimental for me: back in 2002 and 2003, when I frequently visited Baguio with other friends, we would always cap our trips with visits to the market. This trip reintroduced me to familiar smells and sights, to the disarming smiles of the locals and the frenetic calls of children hawking plastic shopping bags. We bought everything we needed for dinner, plus some strawberries and local sweets; Mae bought a new flat-bottom pan and casserole pot, inspired by anonymous tips from the “suggestion box”. After a few sticks of fishballs, kwek-kwek, and cigarettes, we headed home.
Back in Mae’s pad, everyone quickly became busy doing his or her thing: Hap prepared a quick broccoli appetizer and I took care of the tinola soon after; Jane and Mae prepared chocolate fondue with the strawberries. Dinner was set. Thankfully, everyone seemed to like the tinola.
Before we knew it, Mae had to go to work again. With the help of Antonov Vodka and Sprite, Hap, Jane, and I soon found ourselves in the middle of an eclectic range of conversation topics: God and religion, Einstein’s special and general theory of relativity and its shaky (at least according to me) underpinnings; Gaiman, Pratchett, Ateneo and some other topics that evidently were already discussed the night before which I had conveniently forgotten then and have completely forgotten now. When Mae came back from work at around 6 AM, the rest of us were already fast asleep.
For a not-so-sober take on this part of the trip, visit Hap's blog.
(Okay, if I try to write an account of what happened on the fifth and last day of the trip, I know I won't finish it until after our Sagada trip. I think it would be best if you just read Hap's version of what happened that day. Besides, a lot of things had already happened just ten days after this memorable road trip, things that will hopefully grow and bloom and flourish in the coming days, weeks, months, and even years, things that will definitely be topics for future entries. So until then, I wish everyone a bountiful and joyous 2009. Long days and pleasant nights ahead.)
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
New Year 2009 Road Trip - Day 3
Hap and I woke up at around 7 AM on New Year’s Day. We ate our free breakfast (gourmet “tuyo” for me) and headed out for the highly-reputed Maira-Ira beach, ugly clouds and searing winds notwithstanding. After walking a few kilometers westward, up to the stretch of beach in front of Hannah’s, I gave the turbulent Blue Lagoon waters the old college try (Hap took care of the pictures). I didn’t need to go very far before I felt the ankle-deep water transform into a brutal shoulder-high wave that, at first, pushed me harshly towards the shore and then, almost instantaneously and without warning, sucked me back into the angry waters. I was not even able to use my snorkeling gear; I was literally being pushed around by the wind and waves like a rag doll. Only when a wooden flotsam, complete with protruding rusty nail, hit my arm did I realize that I was unwelcome and that it was time for me to quit.
Hap and I headed back to Kapuluan and unceremoniously packed our things and headed back to where the sun did shine.
We made a brief stop to see the Cape Bojeador lighthouse, the one thing we missed when we were on our way to Pagudpud. We arrived in Laoag around lunchtime; we decided to eat at Dap-ayan ti Ilocos Norte, where the food was unremarkable but pleasantly cheap. After taking some pictures of the belltower of St. William’s Cathedral, we headed back for Vigan.
When we first passed Vigan on our way to Pagudpud, we weren’t able to spend much time soaking in the sights and culture of the historic city. The second time around, we made sure to spend enough time to chat and haggle with locals, and to buy bagnet and a few souvenirs. Still, we were pressed for time; we did not want to reach Baguio in the wee hours of the next morning. So as soon as our business in Vigan was done, we quickly headed off.
The trip from Vigan to San Fernando, La Union took a good chunk of 4 hours. During the whole trip, I took significant pains fighting off sleep, and fortunately succeeded. It was already past 6 PM when we reached San Fernando, and we decided to take a much needed break.
We finished our Jollibee dinner at around 7:30 PM and immediately headed for Baguio.
After much dilly-dallying and despite Hap’s apprehensions, we eventually decided to take Naguilian road. The hour-and-a-half ride was relatively and surprisingly smooth despite a) long, unlit stretches of the highway, b) drunken locals leisurely and dangerously strolling along (and sometimes even across) the road, and c) that crazy motherfucker who lit a loud firecracker the very moment we passed him.
We finally reached Baguio ten and a half hours after we left Kapuluan Vista Resort in Pagudpud. It took a few more moments to reach Mae’s pad.
(I hope it isn’t too obvious that I am desperately scrambling to reach this portion of our tale.)
Mae’s welcome was pleasingly warm amid the biting Baguio cold. Jane was there, too; she had been in the city since a few days after Christmas. At that time, I didn’t really know Mae and Jane very well: I had only met Mae in a couple of drinking sessions before, and I only got to talk to Jane once and only briefly ages ago in Conspiracy. Still, with all due respect to Hap, seeing the two after two whole days of seemingly endless travel felt like falling in the arms of long lost family (I can only imagine how Hap felt since he had been the only one driving). So what else were we to do but drown our weariness in booze and conversation?
Mae, unfortunately, had to go to work at 10 PM, so Hap, Jane and I were left to keep each other company. Talk was casual and light, the alcohol was flowing freely (beer, Tanduay lapad, Johnny Walker Black, Tequila Rose, and the oft-maligned Piikit rice wine), and the three of were just having a grand time. At around 2 AM we picked Mae up for her lunch break. While she was unable to partake of the drinks (because she still had to go back to work), Mae still was able to join the fun, either by dunking slices of Gardenia bread in Coke, or by showing us her inane Ilonggo videos (of her dad and some other relatives, and of the Ilonggo version of “300”). That night was quickly turning out to be the highlight of the trip for me.
Mae went back to work, and the night (rather, early morning) wore on. We just continued to laugh, and drink, and be happy – even when Hap started dozing off in the chair, until he eventually decided to sleep in one of Mae’s beds, even when it was just Jane and I talking about anything and everything we could talk about, even as Mae came back home from work and we realized that the sun had already risen and it was time for us to sleep.
For a not-so-sober take on this part of the trip, visit Hap's blog.
Hap and I headed back to Kapuluan and unceremoniously packed our things and headed back to where the sun did shine.
We made a brief stop to see the Cape Bojeador lighthouse, the one thing we missed when we were on our way to Pagudpud. We arrived in Laoag around lunchtime; we decided to eat at Dap-ayan ti Ilocos Norte, where the food was unremarkable but pleasantly cheap. After taking some pictures of the belltower of St. William’s Cathedral, we headed back for Vigan.
When we first passed Vigan on our way to Pagudpud, we weren’t able to spend much time soaking in the sights and culture of the historic city. The second time around, we made sure to spend enough time to chat and haggle with locals, and to buy bagnet and a few souvenirs. Still, we were pressed for time; we did not want to reach Baguio in the wee hours of the next morning. So as soon as our business in Vigan was done, we quickly headed off.
The trip from Vigan to San Fernando, La Union took a good chunk of 4 hours. During the whole trip, I took significant pains fighting off sleep, and fortunately succeeded. It was already past 6 PM when we reached San Fernando, and we decided to take a much needed break.
We finished our Jollibee dinner at around 7:30 PM and immediately headed for Baguio.
After much dilly-dallying and despite Hap’s apprehensions, we eventually decided to take Naguilian road. The hour-and-a-half ride was relatively and surprisingly smooth despite a) long, unlit stretches of the highway, b) drunken locals leisurely and dangerously strolling along (and sometimes even across) the road, and c) that crazy motherfucker who lit a loud firecracker the very moment we passed him.
We finally reached Baguio ten and a half hours after we left Kapuluan Vista Resort in Pagudpud. It took a few more moments to reach Mae’s pad.
(I hope it isn’t too obvious that I am desperately scrambling to reach this portion of our tale.)
Mae’s welcome was pleasingly warm amid the biting Baguio cold. Jane was there, too; she had been in the city since a few days after Christmas. At that time, I didn’t really know Mae and Jane very well: I had only met Mae in a couple of drinking sessions before, and I only got to talk to Jane once and only briefly ages ago in Conspiracy. Still, with all due respect to Hap, seeing the two after two whole days of seemingly endless travel felt like falling in the arms of long lost family (I can only imagine how Hap felt since he had been the only one driving). So what else were we to do but drown our weariness in booze and conversation?
Mae, unfortunately, had to go to work at 10 PM, so Hap, Jane and I were left to keep each other company. Talk was casual and light, the alcohol was flowing freely (beer, Tanduay lapad, Johnny Walker Black, Tequila Rose, and the oft-maligned Piikit rice wine), and the three of were just having a grand time. At around 2 AM we picked Mae up for her lunch break. While she was unable to partake of the drinks (because she still had to go back to work), Mae still was able to join the fun, either by dunking slices of Gardenia bread in Coke, or by showing us her inane Ilonggo videos (of her dad and some other relatives, and of the Ilonggo version of “300”). That night was quickly turning out to be the highlight of the trip for me.
Mae went back to work, and the night (rather, early morning) wore on. We just continued to laugh, and drink, and be happy – even when Hap started dozing off in the chair, until he eventually decided to sleep in one of Mae’s beds, even when it was just Jane and I talking about anything and everything we could talk about, even as Mae came back home from work and we realized that the sun had already risen and it was time for us to sleep.
For a not-so-sober take on this part of the trip, visit Hap's blog.
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