Drifting Thoughts 06

Last February 23 to 25, I was in Baguio. It was my second visit to the City of Pines; the first one was 18 years ago. Eighteen years! What a loser. That's what happens when you're born last in the family, at a time when your parents have long settled down and fended off the travel bug, parents who are overprotective to the point of locking you up. (Sorry, just had to rant about that frustration of mine. Anyway, I'm on my own now so no there's point in blaming the past if I still keep myself from discovering the world.)









This particular weekend was the time for Baguio's Panagbenga (Blossoming) Festival, which is highlighted by a parade of flower-decked floats similar to the one in Pasadena, California. I actually learned of the schedule only at midday of February 23 and, with nothing¹ to do on a three-day weekend, decided within minutes to join the trip that would be leaving five hours later. This was quite uncharacteristic of me, who would usually plan trips more than a week beforehand. One consequence of this would be forgetting to bring a jacket!

Aside from my failure to bring a jacket, the trip was riddled with bloopers. There was this two-hour delay when a rendezvous that supposed to take place in Trinoma ended somewhere in Balintawak.² Then there were a series of wrong turns along the highway as well as driving in circles in Baguio City itself.³ These extended the usual six-hour trip into eight, and at three in the morning hotels were fully booked, of course, so we opted to sleep in the car in Burnham Park. This had given us a good chance to acquire a great vantage point for picture-taking, which we eventually got at the overpass of Abanao Square. The series of unfortunate events continued after the parade: a lost wallet, a corrupted memory card, allergy-induced colds and a vehicular parking mishap. Nothing to worry about, I keep mentioning in my mind like a Zen mantra, I'd experienced worse,⁴ it could have been worse.⁵

Indeed there was not much to worry about. Baguio's temperature at that time was a little higher than 20 degrees Celsius, which incidentally puts it in the same temperature range at the office. I felt like a native when walking around in a T-shirt. The coldness only bothered me twice: the first was when it rained on the parade, which is easily solved with an umbrella purchase, the second was when it got windy at night when I was in the cathedral, oh how I wished to huddle up with that cute lady sitting beside me at Mass.⁶









My sightseeing was partly an attempt to relive some obscure childhood memories. This time I got to enjoy the view at Camp John Hay and posing on horseback at Mines View Park while back then my childhood fear of heights actually got me agitated. Some childhood memories can't be relieved, though, not during Panagbenga anyway. The influx of tourists practically filled up Burnham Park, and shops crowded Mines View.⁷ If I want to enjoy the place, I'd have to visit some other time, when there would be not that many people from where I come from (the "lowlands"). The swollen number of vistors actually amplifies the fact that the city is overpopulated. Going through downtown, I had this impression that this supposedly tourist city is no different from a congested, dilapidated urban area in the lowlands. Then there's the pollution. Old vehicles contribute much to it; thus, it's a spark of hope that the electric jeepney was introduced to the city and featured in the Panagbenga Parade.<sup>8










1</sup>Actually, I could've written a blog entry.
²What do you expect from people unfamiliar with the place?
³Substandard road signs disappear at night. Add to that the observation that most drivers in the North keep their headlights at "high" for maximum glare. Drivers in the Bicol area would be courteous enough to switch to "low" upon meeting oncoming vehicles.
⁴I was thinking of my three-day trip to Catanduanes ten years ago, where I got badly seasick (but didn't puke, hah!) and, being another trip taken on a whim, I brought no luggage whatsoever.
⁵Like falling down the mountain range.
⁶Virtuous maiden, please comfort your shivering brethren.
⁷Not unlike what happened to the view of the Cagsawa Ruins in Albay.
⁸It's interesting that the electric jeepney can actually handle the sloping streets of Baguio.

-oOo-

I know it's already Holy Week, but I'd just want to let it out my system. Valentine's Day just came and went last month. There should have been part 10 of Fantasia--that love story I'm writing for over a year now--released for the occasion, but inspiration became scarce. My IM status message indicated that the current unattached space was a bug in the program that is my life. 'Twas Singles Awareness Day indeed. Thankfully, by the afternoon of V-day, I had wizened up to admonish myself not to let Valentines ruin my ideals on love. The hopeless romantic lives on.

The Day of Hearts seemed to be a non-occasion this year. Some couples I know had avoided the date and its accompanying high prices and full bookings. Back then, my friends and I, made it a point to have some celebration. A simple lunch or dinner would do. The most memorable among them was what we in DS made up as a week to show our love to our organization. It was complete with an exchange gift, a Cupid courtship service and a big concluding party.

We also had some Valentines celebration in our office last year. Unbelievably, I won a dating game consisting of multiple choice questions to determine compatibility. I stayed on the conservative side, and it cracked me up to discover that the secret searchee was none other than a batchmate of mine. No romance in there, but I could've appreciated a "dinner" compliments of the company (too bad there's none).

Maybe those little distractions were all that I need to keep away from the V-day blues.

-oOo-

It dawned upon me that summer is here when the recent readers stumbled upon this blog when searching for Casa Remo Apartelle. They all end up to this entry of mine.

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Naga at Random - The Follow-ups

It’s almost Christmas, and my thoughts naturally wander back to the place of my childhood. Going back to Naga City last Peñafrancia Fiesta gave me an opportunity to have some sort of follow-up to my two previous posts.

This time, I managed to go inside Avenue Square and confirm that it truly is a small version of Metrowalk. I was visiting my brother and his family, whose residence / music studio was just a block away, and they invited me for some after-dinner coffee in the local branch of The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. The Avenue Square was in fiesta mode and customers from the nearby residential areas came in force (possibly they also brought along visitors from Manila). What caught my attention was the dramatic lighting and landscaping. The ambience in the cafe, as well as the other shops I assume, catered to middle class sensibilities. The wooden furniture, comfy seats, wall decors and the large glass of smoothie I was consuming, generic though they may be, could be likened to coffee shops in Manila.

Speaking of Manila standards, I had also gone inside the E-mall--in its Robinson's Grocery to be exact. From the outside the E-mall looks both promising and imposing. The mini-mall itself was just as large as its local counterparts like Master Square and Robertson's, so the grocery itself was quite small and lacking in shelf space to display a wider range of products, but its cleanliness and orderliness was just as good as its counterparts in the NCR. Too bad I didn't have time to roam around.

-oOo-

I managed finally to get a photo of that Greenbelt impostor in downtown Naga. It's not much though since I just used a cellphone camera as I was riding a tricycle.

-oOo-

Being in the city itself enabled me to be reoriented to its spatial context, and made me form some Urban Planning concerns a la Urbano de la Cruz.

Regarding the housing developments in the frontier barangay of Pacol (as well as contiguous municipalities north of Naga), the increasing affluence of its residents might cause more automobiles in the city since they would go to work and school downtown, which is at least four kilometers away. But downtown Naga (the original Central Business District or CBD1, more commonly known as Centro) is barely able to handle rush hour vehicle volumes, and for parking, vehicles merely park along the road. There's a CBD2 being developed, but it's just bedside Centro and also far from Pacol.

The easiest solution would be to encourage the development of commercial areas in Pacol itself. I must emphasize though that the environmental impact should be minimized to preserve the pristine environment of this originally agricultural area near Mt. Isarog. What I'm hearing is that this is the present track being taken by the city government, understandably so since it would involve less political and financial strain for City Hall.

The other solutions include policies discouraging ownership of private vehicles together with policies boosting public transport. For instance, the car owner would face higher taxes and fees. Environment-friendly alternatives to the jeep and tricycle could be introduced. These may be too drastic and burdensome, therefore unpopular. In turn, implementation and enforcement would require a great deal of government resources.

As for the parking problems, there are vacant lots in Centro that could be opened to parking. At the same time, stricter parking measures (including towing) should be implemented. Multi-storey parking structures may be built on the larger lots. Underground parking is iffy due to the almost yearly flooding episodes encountered in the low-lying areas of the city.

-oOo-

Speaking of transportation, I encountered no hassles in my bus trips to and from Naga last September. I rode Isarog Bus Lines on the way there. I must say, the La-Z Boy seats were overrated for me at least. Sure, it had easy push-button adjustment controls and superior shock absorption that cushioned my butt for the whole eight-hour trip, but I was still in a moving vehicle, and whatever discomfort and difficulty in sleeping I had have was primarily due to the motion, not the seat ergonomics. On the way back to Manila, I rode a Philtranco bus that wasn't speed crazy at all. Lastly, there was no "road kill" encountered this time around.

-oOo-

There's another Naga City nowadays. Residents of Naga town in Cebu chose cityhood in a plebiscite earlier this year. I guess this new city will be known as Naga City, Cebu, while my home city in Bicol, by virtue of its being a chartered city, will simply be called Naga City. For me, who had experienced and is still experiencing awkward dealings with namesakes, all I can say (in my limited Visayan) is "samok."

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Traslacion Musings

Last month, I went back to Naga for the Peñafrancia Fiesta, its opening festivities, to be precise. The Peñafrancia Fiesta starts with the Traslacion, the procession where the miraculous images of Our Lady of Peñafrancia and the Divino Rostro (the image of the suffering Jesus on the Widow Veronica's cloth) are brought from the Basilica Minore where She is enshrined to the more accessible Naga Metropolitan Cathedral downtown. This practice started out back in the Spanish colonial past where walking is the main method of land transportation, the basilica no more than a nipa-roofed shrine located in the scarcely populated city outskirts, and the cathedral was located right in the place to be, at the heart of the city.

I'd prefer going to the Traslacion rather than the main event nine days later--the Fluvial Procession, where the Image is returned to the basilica via a river barge (called the Pagoda). Perhaps it's just my aversion to crowds. Actually, the number of people in the city does shoot up during Traslacion, but there's about twice more people during the Fluvial Procession. And speaking of large crowds, fiestas not only attract devotees, tourists and merchants (some aren't even selling Bicol merchandise, for crying out loud), but also shady characters who think of large crowds as both unwitting prey and convenient hiding place, just as what fellow blogger Sidney recently experienced (he too went to Naga last month, but for the Fluvial Procession).

It had been six years since I had last watched or participated in the Traslacion. I guess it's a Bicolano thing to have this itch to participate. It also helped that every school in Naga and its neighboring towns sends a delegation, so from elementary to high school I had been marching, rain or shine, in the Traslacion. My plan was to wiggle my way, by affiliation with my former teachers, into the delegation of my high school alma mater. I was thinking it would also be a good opportunity to brush up with the latest in the school and in the city, hitting two birds with one stone. So there I was walking at high noon towards the usual staging point of my high school, which was a quarter of the way down from the starting point of the procession. (They are still schoolchildren, so it would be enough for them to walk for about a kilometer while the grown-up devotees take on the full route, which is about a couple hundred of meters longer. Yeah, we're tough like that.) I was wearing only a T-shirt, but the heat was getting into me, which is not a good sign. Back then I wore two layers of formal "gala" uniform, but I took the heat in stride. I discovered that recently, the staging area was moved, which meant students now walked about 30 more meters for the procession, no biggie actually.

Finally, I saw the delegation of my high school, but was disappointed. I've been supportive of its recent major changes like a move to a new campus located at the city outskirts (I meant the new city outskirts, kilometers farther than the Basilica Minore) and, of course, co-education, but, as a school that prides itself as a Bicolano, Catholic and Jesuit institution, I hope they retain this small tradition during the fiesta. What I stumbled upon in the delegation was a sound mobile followed by the crucifix, school standards and candles held by the altar servers, followed by senior high school students and teachers then finally some students from the college. I didn't even find the old teachers whom I personally know. This was a token delegation, no different from any other school in the procession. I risk sounding like an old fogey, but during my time, the delegation came in full force, which made it unique among the other schools in the Traslacion. At front was not just the crucifix, candles and school standards but a platoon of altar servers. Then there was a brass band from college (although its recent absence was due to the fact that the school bands were now positioned at locations along the route rather than march with their respective schools). Following the band was a platoon of CAT officers, who will compete a week later in the annual Military Parade. After them were all high school students escorted by all their teachers. Among the students were members of the mysterious religious organization Days with the Lord holding up banners with Marian slogans.

Dejected, I walked away. A few blocks away though, I saw a new delegation that was, in some ways, "unique" and amusing enough to elicit raised eyebrows from me. At its heart, Naga is a conservative city, where values like modesty, apparent if not internalized, are still regarded highly. For instance, the uniforms in its schools are of the long skirt variety (as exemplified by the seifuku in the anime Maria-sama ga Miteru, which, incidentally, is set in a Catholic school for girls, see pic at left), and this fits well with the religious procession the students are participating. But times do change and Naga is not exempted. Recently, the city had welcomed an international school, Brentwood if I'm not mistaken, and they were also marching in the Traslacion. The thing is, international schools sport a uniform of more worldly standards (and the Brentwood uniform in particular uncannily resembles the seifuku of Ghost Hunt with its sailor bow, long sleeves, short skirts and knee-high socks, see pic at right). After the initial startled reaction, the first question that came to mind was why was this not present during our time (Why?!). Then I thought, quoting somebody, "that's hot"--literally speaking--but I guess like any other Bicol resident, the Brentwood students could cope with the scorching weather. As to the question whether there were anime-cute students worthy of their anime-like uniform, it's probable but I could not ascertain since the fiery sun was beating down upon me and I had to move on.

In the end, I had to content myself with merely watching the Traslacion by the roadside together with childhood friends, something which I last did more than a decade ago anyway. At first I noticed that clouds were gathering above the approximate location of the basilica. She has started her voyage, I thought to myself. Slowly, like the pace of the procession, the clouds crept towards our location downtown. I wouldn't be surprised if it brought rain along with it since water was more than welcome in the midst of the voyadores, the tumultuous sea of men bearing the Image of Our Lady (think rush-hour MRT, only with a lot more pushing and shoving and drunkenness and body odor). Either way, there were volunteer fire trucks and civic-minded homeowners along the route willing to hose some relief onto the men. A similar sign of weather cooperating with the festivities happens during the Fluvial Procession where rains would raise the water level in the Naga River so that the barge could float along more smoothly, a feat replicated, just in case, using flood control structures.

The image of the Divino Rostro passed by, and, a couple of hours later, that of Our Lady. Together with the waved handkerchiefs and falling confetti, were raised cameras and cellphones. In the age of 3G and blogs, this centuries-old tradition continues among the Bicolanos will continue to do so for ages to come.

Traslacion photo stolen from Chy.

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Naga at Random - In Transit

As stated in my previous entry, I went to Naga City last election weekend. I kept my senses alert in order to observe the political drama that was unfolding there, but I got to absorb more stuff and generate more thoughts than I expected. Not a problem though, as they would all be blog fodder.

I went to my home city by bus, as I usually do. It was an eight-hour trip on the average, so a lot can happen in that period of time. One such unfortunate event was of the bus breaking down in the middle of nowhere. Back in college, I did have a fair share of this kind of misadventures. I remember one morning, when we were on our last leg of the journey to Naga, smoke was suddenly emanating from the underbelly of the vehicle and was filling up the interior. It got to the point that I was breathing through the aircon vent. There's a little exaggeration there, but you get the point.

Speaking of air conditioning, I can't tolerate the frigid temperatures; I prefer the air cool, not cold. Better yet, I'd open the windows; there are some parts in Quezon province where the air is good that you'd wonder how you survive the Metro pollution. I hear there's some sort of pollution field around Metro Manila wherein once inside, the temperature suddenly jumps and the breathing isn't as relaxing as in the countryside (ah the smell of trees and fields and manure).

Back to the broken down buses, those second-hand buses from Japan. In college, I rode Highway Express, said to be the pioneer of the CR-in-the-bus. I put up with the sudden repairs in some desolate location because, as far as I know, they had safety-conscious (slow) drivers. Compare that to speed-crazy Philtranco whose buses would cut the trip to Naga down to six hours or cut short your life. We once passed by two Philtranco buses that bumped into each other somewhere in Quezon province. What's with the need for speed? In night trips, I don't need to arrive early; I prefer that I arrive in either Naga or Cubao with the sun already shining. By that time, the MRT and LRT are already open and jeepneys are plying their routes; thus, I am no longer at the mercy of taxi and tricycle drivers who charge "special" nighttime rates.

Moving on, I guess the frequent repairs and mounting customer dissatisfaction took its toll on Highway Express, and the company closed shop by the time I graduated. I now ride Isarog, another slow-driving bus line. They seem to focus on comfort although I have yet to ride their bus with the Lazy Boy seats.

Their buses break down too, as what I experienced in this recent trip to Naga. I was originally reserved for the single-seater bus, but due to some mechanical failure, the vehicle didn't make it to Cubao. We unlucky passengers were transferred to a double-seater with jump seats at the aisle for that added cramped feeling. Knowing that sitting on jump seats are never comfortable, much less sleep inducing, I was still fortunate to be assigned a normal seat by the aisle. However, assigned to the jump seat beside me was this middle-aged lady. Now, I would just be tormented if I did not show some care, so I offered to exchange seats. She kindly declined. Chivalry is dead. Or perhaps she merely judged herself hardier than this young man with a skeletal build. During the trip, the bus had to make a few stops for impromptu repairs, so much for being a replacement. It crossed my mind to demand a refund, but I am too merciful for my own good, a sad day for consumer rights, to think that the daughter of the owner had been my classmate in a college elective.

All these delays expectedly made the sun rise on our trip while still three towns away from Naga. Heck, we even managed to snag traffic when the bus broke down in the middle of a one-way passage. Now how the heck would the National Highway become one-way? Blame it on the last-minute roadwork courtesy of the local politician who hopes to get re-elected. One consolation was that we arrived to a city that was wide awake, and I got to ride the jeepney instead of a rip-off tricycle.

Speaking of jeepney rides, it seems that after two years of daily commuting to work via the jeepney, I have gotten used to them. Thus on the day of my arrival, instead of resting, I was on the road to places I shall write about in my next post. Add to that the destinations I have reached on foot, an indication that this young man with a skeletal build does have a great walking range or that the big city of his childhood has shrunk in scale in the perspective of the Manila-based grown-up.

On the trip back to Manila, I rode the Amihan bus. In the process of shifting gears to move out of the Naga City Integrated Bus Terminal, the engine just died on us, and the driver had difficulty restarting it! I was about to decide that this break down took the cake among those I had experienced, but the advantage of being in the terminal meant that help was immediate. The engine woes proved to be a minor hiccup as we commenced into a smooth trip through light traffic. This was a day trip, so I got to see Lamon Bay (pictured here) while going through the Quezon towns of Gumaca and Atimonan, arguably one of the major highlights of the trip (it's even more dramatic when going the other way, towards Naga, since at Atimonan, the road descends and opens into a view of the bay, just like in the movies).

Lastly, a Naga-Manila trip's not complete without witnessing "road kill" like the two unfortunate Philtranco buses I mentioned earlier. Well in this trip I saw one right before entering the South Superhighway. A small truck rammed into a roadside Laguna residence, and the carnage seemed fresh because the pedestrian kibitzers were still gawking at the dazed and bloodied driver inside the wreck. Our bus conductor and driver discussed the victim's fate, with one of them declaring that an amputation of both legs would be inevitable.

Pabaon / For the road:

While I ride the bus occasionally, my friend Arlene commutes to work everyday in this mode of public transport. Expectedly, she has a fair share of bus tales starting with this one.

More info on going to Naga is found in the city tourism site. There's a link to an updated PDF file for trip schedules and rates. I also got the map of Camarines Sur in another of its links.

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Hold On

My Fantasia fantasizing was interrupted last March 10 by a far more pleasant matter, a fantasy-turned-reality, so to speak. This activity was so compelling that for the first time in months, I woke up earlier than eight in the morning, just to make sure I wouldn't be left behind even if I knew from past experience that things like these follow an extreme form of Filipino time. However, it turned out well and good that I woke up early; since, to my surprise, everyone had also been up and ready early enough, enabling the trip to commence in record time by eight. After a hurried breakfast and a few minutes wait by the C5 road, I was all smiles when the rented van approached, and, once inside, I chatted with dear friends I had not seen for a while. The places whizzed by: South Luzon Expressway, Star Toll Way, Lipa City, Padre Garcia town, San Juan town, Laiya Beach. In a little less than four hours (another record time, thanks to a driver who's too fast, too eager for comfort), I was back at the Casa Remo Apartelle.

Now approaching its first year in business, the apartelle had maintained the no-frills approach that would appeal to tourists simply in need of a clean and safe place to sleep, eat and leave their things while they explore the beach and the sea. Why bother with amenities like cable TV, which are supposed to be left behind in the city? Doing away with these fancy stuffs to lower the room rate would be far more reasonable for me. Besides, the real priceless treasure would be the warm service provided by the caretakers.

Speaking of the beach and the sea, Laiya had staved off at least for this year the commercialization plaguing other more famous beaches in the Philippines. There was still none of those in-your-face beachside rows of restaurants and videoke bars. Heck, there's even a 10 pm moratorium from the videoke-induced ear torture, at least in Casa Remo. Also, the boats ferrying people to snorkel sites were still occupying a small stretch of beach; thus, they bother only those who swim within their territory. I was able to take one such boat ride and finally saw fishes, colored yellow, silver and blue, swim up close to feed from the bread crumbs we offered. I was even more delighted that two shortcomings I had pointed out in my Laiya post last year were somehow absent this time around: the sea was cleaner now while the stronger pressure of the plumbing system provided enough flowing water for me to have a decent shower.

Curiously, I am giving Laiya and Casa Remo a rare all-glowing review. Perhaps it is due to the timing of our outing; since, this time we got there before the end of classes and the Holy Week vacation. Meaning, we arrived weeks before hordes of tourists from Metro Manila spoil the place with their wasteful habits (city-dwellers, bah!). Furthermore, unlike last year, there was no typhoon the week before to mess up the area.

I think, though, that I tend to gloss over trifles simply because I was in good company last weekend. As I had said in my post last year, if I wanted to make a pilgrimage reliving all those exhilarating emotional memories of college friendship, I should have done it so with these friends. Well whaddya know, good things do happen if one fervently wishes for them to happen.

I was with my friends from the college organization we fondly refer to as DS. There were only six of us in that outing: Maan, Malen, Niña, Ruth, Jacob and I. Others have been tied up with other commitments in home, school or office, on matters that were either scheduled way beforehand or cropped up at the last minute. Due to a routine overtime, even I almost didn't make it if not for a change in the outing's schedule.

From about twenty or more potential attendees, the fact that only six made it is admittedly disappointing for me somewhat, but I do acknowledge, reluctantly, that ever since graduating and being entrenched in our respective work or further education, it is inevitable that we would part ways. It has been two to three years since dispersing to pursue our individual careers. Although we do meet up once in a while, it would never be the same like in college, where every day we would drop by our little org room either to fulfill our "shifting" for our various services or simply to seek amiable company. Gone, too, would be those weekly meetings where we discussed, in no particular order, organization stuff, the latest gossip or what gimik we would do afterwards. When once we thought that the different schedules of classes and locations classrooms already make meeting up quite challenging, even more varied schedules and locations of the different companies and schools we are in now make meeting up almost impossible. Ah, I remember myself one March morning two years ago, also here in Casa Remo. We were wrapping up our penultimate official activity for DS, all huddled in prayer. It was at the point when I contemplated this impending prospect of separation that I was driven to tears: bittersweet tears they were.

Though unavoidable the drifting away would be, I hope we do so with the ties still intact, in such a way that when the call for a reunion such as this arrives, and barring no conflict in schedules nor logistical concerns, almost everyone would attend.

In this outing, one thing reminded me why these are great friends beyond sharing common interests, beyond sharing common opinions, beyond sharing fun moments together. The fact that we can express our misgivings of each other, without the ill feelings is, I think, proof of a mature and strong friendship. More than acceptance, there is that desire to make friends grow. Being on the receiving end of constructive criticism from friends like these have made me aware of weaknesses, an awareness that is more acute than if the remark is coming from, say my boss or even my parents.

It was amusing that even until now, there can still be new things we discover from one another: from confidential interrogations, discussions on love and friendship, and actuations by the beach we got to know of changes, intrigues and the like. Among the discoveries, the most striking and at the same time comforting for me, in the sense that they resonated with my own sentiments, were that we share the gratitude of how this companionship had contributed to our growth to the better as well as the desire to preserve the friendship for the rest of our lives.

The outing was only an overnight stay, and our reunion ended too soon. With a sigh, our present commitments crept into our consciousness. We traveled to Manila in silence, to each his or her own thoughts. We were going back to the "real world" and wallow there until the next fantasy-turned-reality.

-oOo-

Apologies for the delay of this write-up. Immediately after the outing, instead of resting for the week of work ahead, my laptop and me myself was commandeered in the preparations for another journey, this time to a big destination come May, and when I say big I mean literally and figuratively big. To avoid being jinxed however, I won't mention it yet, just stay tuned folks!

(Pictures from Ruth)

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Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 5 of 5)

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

Laiya, San Juan, Batangas

This was the outing that nearly failed to push through.

It was a tradition among the young ones in our IT department to have a summer outing as a bonding activity. In previous years, they had been to La Union and also to White Beach, Puerto Galera. Calls for organizing this outing came more than a month ahead of schedule so that we could mark it off our "busy" calendar. Consistent with our "workaholic" lifestyle though, we put the issue of organizing the outing at the back of our minds. Only later did it dawn upon us that we will have to reserve a venue in advance. Numerous suggestions have been thrown, but in the end they chose mine: Laiya Beach in San Juan, Batangas.

Obviously, I suggested this place since I had been there before--twice in fact--and both were bittersweet but predominantly happy memories nevertheless. On both occasions, I participated in my capacity as core group member in the year-end evaluation seminar of my beloved college organization, the Department of Student Welfare and Services (fondly called as DS). Ah, those were times of heightened emotions ranging from bored to solemn to reflective to cheerful to funny to sad to hopeful--all of these a testament to the friendship (or such) of a group that was formed between acquaintances and even strangers who were given tasks to fulfill in twelve months, and in the end will have to bid farewell to graduating members and give way to the next core group. Therefore, for me, this outing would also be a personal pilgrimage to relive those memories.

Alas, the year 2006 was out to prove itself as a rain-drenched year and it started early with its bid. There was a tropical storm in May, and it struck Batangas right during the weekend of our supposed outing. Thus, aside from the strange schedule for this spiraling cloud of bad weather, it had a quite unusual path (they usually pass by Bicol and Northern Luzon). We were forced to reschedule to June, even if we'd paid a 50% down payment, a transaction I personally handled through a dinner with my DS friend, Maan, whose family owns the place we will be lodging (perhaps the spilled glass of water in that dinner was an omen). Thank God, they're very accommodating, and our schedule was modified without much incidence.

The storm still dealt some damage to our plans. It, and its message that summer is over, drenched the enthusiasm of some of the dismal few who cared to join. From a measly 15 out of 40 potential attendees, our numbers dwindled down to six, with some, including me, still threatening to back out. I would lose face to my friend. From reserving two rooms, we would end up canceling it altogether. Even if it was not embarrassing (Maan says she understands), we would still lose the down payment (as she pointed out too). Attempting to salvage this outing, my officemates relied on their significant others. Still, this wouldn't obviously work for me, and, faced with the inevitable torture of watching lovebirds go mushy (among other things), my threat to back out remained. I changed my mind when one of them finally agreed on bringing her two kids along. At least the outing wouldn't be entirely a lover's trip. With the numbers assuring a critical mass of attendees, the outing pushed through, albeit with only one room this time.

The ten of us left one rainy Saturday morning aboard an old van that bravely moved along under the collective weight of our luggage. The clouds soon cleared when we have left the metropolis, and in no time we were rolling along the idyllic Batangas countryside. The trip itself was like traveling back in time. With the Eraserheads Anthology and Ultraelectromagnetic Jam CDs playing in the background, we were back in the 90's reliving school time fun. Yup, it was regression galore, making me wonder who the real kids are: the two girls silent/sleeping/bored at the front or the yuppies cracking up at any inanity that arose along the way. When the list of recent songs was exhausted, our time travel was pushed back further when we strangely agreed to play a digital preservation of an obscure artist of the Sixties. If we painted flowery patterns on the rickety old van and wore bell bottoms and oversized sunglasses (wait, this one's in style again), we'd be cruisin' along like the hippies of old. Peace mehhnn...

The trip was longer and farther than expected. In the first place, I, who reserved the venue, only have vague memories on how to go from Lipa to San Juan. Rakenrol! Thank God, one remembered a web site that gave directions to a neighboring resort and connected to it using his Nokia Communicator. Whaddya know, cutting edge technology did save the day. The last kilometer of the trip was a dirt road towards Laiya, the beach of white sand and fond memories.

The Filipino-style two-storey Casa Remo where I stayed for the two evaluation seminars still stood proudly. Upstairs, the sliding doors of the bedrooms were ajar. Downstairs the inhabitants were lounging by the sala, the same place where we held meetings and watched DVD movies. Others were playing cards by the long dining table. Beside it stood also the tamarind tree, decked with multi-colored lights that had dazzled us at night and a bamboo hammock that had lulled us to sleep as we whiled idle moments away. Ah, memories! This time, however, we would be staying in a two-storey concrete Casa Remo Apartelle beside the house. Built just two months ago, this would be for commercial use while the old house would be for exclusive family use.

We made the trip without aircon (lest the van overheats more frequently than what we experienced); thus, the air conditioned room was a welcome place of rest. We decided to let the hot afternoon pass first and focused on establishing territory. The room was actually designed for eight people, but with the kids being, well, small and the three couples having a propensity to stick close to each other, our group managed to fit in it nicely.

We joined the setting sun in taking a dip in the sea. The water was not as crystal-clear as in White Beach, but it sure appeared clean enough to be swim-able unlike that of Nasugbu. I smilingly remember how last year I filled a bottle with the white sand of this Laiya beach as a memento of that great evaluation seminar I attended. Indeed, the white sand makes Laiya similar to a Puerto Galera beach, and the resort owners here were making an effort to enhance that similarity. Multi-colored flags line a wide stretch of the beach and beach volleyball sites emerge from the sands. Moreover, there were boats offering transportation to snorkelling sites, and their docking and undocking also interfere with swimming. If the trend continues, perhaps rows and rows of seaside restaurants will be grilling seafood in the near future. But before that, perhaps it would be wise also to have a Bantay-Dagat to monitor the cleanliness of sand and sea. At the time of the outing, there was some trash being swept by the waves into shore. They might also want to do something about rocky portions in the beach. Lastly, the town of San Juan might have to expand the capacity of their plumbing system to handle the increasing numbers of resorts, since the large demand will reduce the flow of tap water to a trickle.

As expected, the couples swam as pairs like ... wait, what's the marine equivalent of lovebirds? I guess there's none so humans like these are setting an unprecedented marine behavior. As for the rest of us, the presence of the two kids was a constant and effective reminder that this was not exactly a lover's outing. Aside from their mother, we never thought their silence and lethargy during the trip actually meant they were merely preserving their energy. By the time the sun disappeared, the boundless energy they release made them so adorable that you'd want them to quit it. The younger one, in fact, reminds me of Taz of Looney Tunes. After the swim, we showered and dined, still the kids remained bouncy and zippy as ever. Even when we left them in the room for the perfunctory drinking session cum bonding activity, they continued playing on the two joined king-sized beds. Their rowdiness made me comment that they might be more drunk than we were. The couples contemplated the possibility of having similar lively offspring in the future.

In the end, I realized that this outing was not exactly the pilgrimage to the recent past that I wished it was. If I wanted that kind of pilgrimage, I should have done so with the friends I have shared this pleasant recent past with. Instead, the outing was an introduction to the possibilities of new friends, new loves and the fruits that these would bring.


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Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 4 of 5)

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

White Beach, Puerto Galera

I had gotten used to Mt. Taal's eccentric charm, just as I had gotten used to Mt. Mayon's symmetric beauty way back in Bicol. Repeated trips passing that location were the culprit. Still, it was a sign when a Tagaytay stopover seemed a welcome consolation from unfulfilled expectations of the beach resorts. There had to be deliverance from these sorry mishaps.

It took an officemate to organize my best trip of the summer. Using his memories and contacts of the previous summers, he scheduled our outing two weeks after the Holy Week in White Beach near Puerto Galera. We would spend the Sunday and Monday there, admittedly a quirky schedule but this enabled us to avoid the crowd as well as the heavy traffic to and from the place. White Beach is not actually inside the "Port of the Galleons" (Puerto Galera), that maze-like enclosure (lagoon?) that, for centuries, had protected ships from destructive typhoons. It is located about two hundred kilometers further to the west. Still, it seems to be included in the Puerto Galera group of beaches, if there ever is such a thing, judging from brochures and the souvenir being sold there.

I think I'm getting ahead, though; better start with the journey that Sunday morning. We would all park our vehicles overnight at the Batangas Port (and the schedule worked to our advantage in finding parking slots). We were expecting a fairly large ferry to bring us to White Beach, but we discovered that big ships go only to the port of the capital city, incurring an additional four hours of a trip on land. For direct transport to White Beach, we rode a big-enough outrigger boat to cross the strait between Batangas and Mindoro.

The first part of the one-hour crossing consisted of an uneventful treading of an all-blue expanse. Thankfully, it was sunny that day. There were constant waves, but not the towering ones. The wind blew just strong enough to keep us cool. The air wasn't really salty, and it was the cleanest I had inhaled for quite some time. Near Mindoro, we encountered about five islands not far from our boat. White sand adorned their edges and foliage crowned their center. We would quip that the boat may drop us there, in other words, "Para po, dyan na lang sa isla."

Finally, the boat throttled straight to a wide white strip of sand. White Beach slowly revealed its scintillating details. First to be discernible was the foliage behind the beach. The greenery covered the island's geography, which, like a natural wall, quickly climbed towards the clouds. Then there were the boats that were berthed on the white sand. Then the variety of beachside inns presented their facades. Then there were the people frolicking, swimming, idling by this marine wonder. The most pleasant of all, was the fact that the sea vessel we were riding was consistently surrounded by clear blue waters from a few kilometers away from the beach up to the few splashes on one's feet upon alighting. I'm gonna like this, I mumbled under my grin as I took in the scenery from the cloud-covered trees down to the sand that I could clearly see through the purest body of water I beheld in quite some time.

Indeed, there were pleasures big and small in White Beach. Some pleasures were obviously gastronomic. Numerous seaside restaurants serve generous amounts of grilled fresh seafood. Ah, nothing beats the rustic charm of simple provincial eateries and their home-cooked fare. The crowning glory of the food we ordered would be this seven-fruit shake consisting of mango, papaya, banana, cherry, melon and watermelon deliciously served with representative slices of the mentioned fruits adorning the rim of the tall glass. Ohhh yeahhh! Considering that fruit shakes had recently become my comfort food, consumption of this wonderful concoction left not just my stomach but more so my soul greatly fulfilled.

Another big thing was, of course, the boat ride to the snorkeling sites. In one site, the corals were farther out into the sea by about 20 meters from a remote beach. It was my first time to snorkel so I cannot do comparisons, but I sure heard myself say "whoa" underwater. It was a novel experience for me to see colorful and spiky fishes swimming in the wild. The other corals site was actually nearer to the beach. I mean, the corals were less than a couple of meters away from the shore! I never knew there could be coral reefs underneath waters so shallow. This second site had a larger area reef, where the senior ones among us gleefully explored. The others who dived vigorously in the first site were already tired. I wasn't so adventurous without the snorkel gear, so I just swam along the shore. Still, there were corals and exotic fishes along the fringes. When not swimming, I enjoyed the feel of large-grained sand between my feet. From 30 meters away, an excited yell startled everyone, "Dito! Maraming fish!" We never knew our boss, the soft-spoken leader of a soft-spoken team, can shout so loudly.

As for small pleasures, one of them happened after I chickened out of a banana boat ride since the tale of the Deadly Banana Boat Ride was fresh in my mind. I just swam around the crowded beach instead. Lo and behold! A submerged piece of paper that looked like money floated in front of my goggled eyes. I grabbed and inspected it and indeed it was a hundred peso bill! To be fair, I asked those swimming nearby if they had happened to lose 100 pesos to the sea. When they said no, well, this sea treasure financed my snack of isaw and my officemate's bottle of beer. Perhaps if I swam near the foreigners, I might snag a floating $100 bill, which was more than enough to pay for my total expenses in this trip.

Of the few things that I take issue from, one was the commercialization of this strip of white sand. Even with clear waters and white sand, serious nature trekkers would find it hard to take solace and commune with nature; since, it was as if a commercial district in Metro Manila was transported to the main beach. That was one more reason why the boat rides to the snorkel sites were more enjoyable: no crowds, no blaring music, no torturous videoke singers, and no smoke from dozens of barbecue grills from the numerous restaurants that line the beach. Speaking of restaurants, it would be wise to order even before the onset of hunger; because, the restaurants, or at most those we've tried out take a notoriously long time to cook those orders. Speaking also of crowds, it was not just people and establishments that crowd the main beach. Along the shores were docked boats awaiting snorkelers, and, even more irksome, were the outrigger ferries that regularly arrive and depart to load and unload passengers right on the beach. The swimmers would have to give way to these vessels: there was never a good time for an idyllic swim on the main beach.

Moving on, the important thing was that White Beach delivered on what I was expecting--clean and clear waters--and more. With nearby less crowded alternative swimming sites reachable by boat or by traversing rocks, the shortcomings are more than compensated. I'll be back, definitely.

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Photo Credits: The high-quality ones I got from what my boss shared in our internal website.

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Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 3 of 5)

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

A live band would be playing in the resort restaurant later that night, so we three single men went to check it out. At the very least we'll get to enjoy a few bottles of beer. We ordered Red Horse while one had Coke as chaser, for faster alcohol absorption, he claims. The band opened up its act with Evanescence covers, which suits them nicely since they had three vocalists, one guy and two girls. For instruments, they had a lead guitar, keyboards, base guitar and drums. One thing I found strange was that while they were playing rock the band wore hip-hop get-up. (The two singing ladies were the exception since they sported a cowgirl look with their sleeved top, denim short shorts and knee-high boots.) The fashion anomaly was explained during the second set, when they chilled out with hip-hop, perhaps to showcase their versatility not just in singing but also in terms of genres.

Our guy with the Coke chaser was smitten by one of the vocalists. He'd been gulping down a few more bottles while raving about the mestiza beauty he imagined to be actually singing to him (memories of his ex who was also a band vocalist back in their province). She looked older than me, though. I preferred the other girl vocalist whose mestiza features were gentler (maamo ang mukha). She looked younger too, perhaps still in college. Actually, I wasn't too keen on enjoying beauty at that time; I was diggin’ their music, so sometimes I tapped to the beat or sang along.

Perhaps it was that appreciation they were looking for, aside from the fact that I must have been the youngest in the audience, that when they played upbeat music, and Coke chaser guy's favorite singer was searching for someone to dance to their groove, she approached our table, not for him, but for me. I decided to oblige her for a few seconds only, since I wasn't in the mood to dance. It was enough, though, to start the ball rolling for the rest of the audience. By the end of the set, the stage was filled with moving bodies. I kidded our smitten drinking companion for not joining the people on stage and dance with her, asking him how many more bottles of beer he would need. (He'd been pouring beer to my glass. It was a futile attempt to make me drunk since I just returned it to his glass whenever he leaves to take a leak.)

The third and last set started off with the band finally playing requests for the latest OPM hits. Audience participation was impressive as some volunteered to sing or even play the drums. After another prodding from the lady vocalist (this time I directed her to her big fan in our group), all three of us, along with almost all of the audience, were dancing away at the stage. I was amazed at how my tipsiness could make me simply flow with the music. I was just the back-up dancer, though; the guy with the chaser-induced tipsiness was the one dancing with his star. Too bad for him, as I noticed within the few seconds I danced during the previous set, the girls, although they could engage an audience, didn't engage on a personal level (no eye contact, not even the appearance of connecting). I guess it was their way of being professional. Our fan was not unfazed. When the show ended after a little while, he engaged his star for some small talk. He learned that she was actually just a freshie in a Laguna college. Well, whaddya know!

Earlier that evening, our fellow trip mates booked for the next day an early-morning boat ride to an island(?) nearby. This would have allowed us the opportunity to bask in un-crowded white sand glory and swim in clear waters. Unfortunately, the three of us clambered back to our rooms at around three in the morning, a mere couple of hours before the boatmen came to fetch us. They did come, but we were all deep in our sleep. We had alcohol as an excuse, I don't know about the others. When we woke up, a few hours were left before we head back to Manila, concluding the most jologs -- worse, the tackiest excursion I ever had.


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Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 2 of 5)

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

Nasugbu, Batangas

So much for "private seaside houses," my brother’s in-laws decided they'd have to enjoy the summer on a real beach. Their wide search had considered high-end ones with the works on water as well as on land. I learned the summer version of the word "opportunistic": in those high-end resorts, everything, and I mean everything that you might need and want while there, from bed sheets to badminton rackets, was for rent. Thus apart from the ten thousand-plus peso main fee, the resorts were raking in additional income per night or per hour. Oh well, I guess that's how it would have to be to survive in the tourism industry. Besides, we could take care of our logistical needs to avoid the additional fees.

In the end, our beach experience was banal as banal can be. We settled for one of those resorts that dot the beach-side boulevard along Nasugbu, Batangas. The resort was obviously not high-end, but at least it won't charge additional fees. We were booked for the Holy Week(end).

Now, this four-day weekend is the longest respite from work in this country, and, since it coincides with the summer season when everyone is in vacation mode, most people, or at least the Metro Manila working class families would spend this God-given free time at the beach or in Bagiuo City. Personally, I would prefer that people would return to their home province, and practice their respective traditional Holy Week rituals. In that way, I think the reconnection to one's own roots, one's own community, would make reflection and repentance more heartfelt. What choice did I have, however, last Holy Week? I was unable to secure a ticket to Naga City. The buses were now fully booked, and I didn't want to idle around Cubao bus station as a chance passenger. Besides, I was now one of those working class Manileños, so for once, I shall go with the flow of the unrepentant sinners out to have some hedonistic fun (relax folks, that was just an exaggeration).

Once again, we passed by Tagaytay, then onwards to Batangas. With a little help from the locals ("Ganire, gan-on," an old woman muttered while her arms' gesticulation hinted left turns; as to which street, and how far that was, we had to ask others along the way), we were at the boulevard, looking for our resort.

After settling down from unpacking food and utensils, we decided to check the beach out. The strip of sand was more than two kilometers wide, I suppose, but it was crowded by beachgoers, this weekend being the peak of tourist influx. The sand was black like in the “private seaside house”, but what disappointed me, though, was the murky water, which they say was due to its proximity to Manila Bay. I wasn't going to swim in this liquid where I couldn't see anything a few feet underneath. Instead, I contented myself with a very long stroll along the coast as the sun was setting into the waters (the beach was situated at the west of Luzon; thus, watching sunsets were as simple as looking straight out to the sea).

People-watching during the stroll had left me doubly disappointed with the dearth of human beauty. Sure there may be one eye-catching group or family after some ten meters or so, but I would prefer seeing one wherever I turn my gaze (the two places where that happens are at the Powerplant Mall and the Ateneo Loyola Schools). I might as well have gone to Boracay (and see the same people frequenting Powerplant and studying at the Ateneo). There was not even a single familiar face in here. It seemed my friends knew better than to get stuck in some beach that had seen better times.

The one reward I had for my kilometers-long stroll was stumbling upon the mouth of the river, the source of all that black sand. Its water was just as dirtied, carrying the waste coming from some Batangas town(s). Nevertheless, the geek in me enjoyed standing at the point where fresh water met salt water, their currents countering each other. I wished I had brought my camera-phone to capture this moment, grainy photo or not. I wished for the camera-phone again to capture the moment the jet skier passed right beside a reddish sun hanging low on the horizon. When the sun's disc touched the horizon, it took less than a minute for it to be completely under the blue expanse of the sea.

I did my swimming in the pool of our resort. Thank goodness for their providing a clean body of water albeit man-made. Just that I had to watch out for the transvestite with fake(?) boobs who'd been soaking in the pool for hours, like an alligator waiting for its prey.

The highlight of the entire trip happened later that night...


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Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 1 of 5)

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

Earning their own salary enables people to splurge in their personal luxuries. The most common of these financial black holes would be clothes, shoes and accessories. Others reward themselves to a massage, as spa or perhaps a beauty treatment. The techies would gobble up the latest gadgets, while others still go for their comfort food, or any delicious food for that matter.

I don't know if I can consider myself lucky to not have the above types of luxuries that demand a regular share of the monthly income. My luxury is seasonal and highly dependent on my leaves and work schedule. There is also the high possibility that it can get cancelled, one reason being the other participants' inability to raise funds due to the demands of their regular indulgence. These factors allow me to save more money for my future stability and my future of more lavish luxuries (I wish!). Talk about delayed gratification! On the other hand, when all the factors like time, weather, logistics and funds are in cosmic balance, I then indulge in my personal luxury: the vacation trip.

The summer season from March to May (expanded to February-June) is the perfect opportunity for these trips. With newly available vacation leaves and last year’s savings at my disposal, I was all set to grab that opportunity last Summer 206 and lavish myself with a trip to the beach or any swim-able body of water for that matter...

-oOo-

"Private Seaside House" in Batangas

My brother's in-laws were invited to their friend's "seaside house" somewhere in Batangas. To go there, one passes through the same route as one would go to Nasugbu. The extended family, as well as family friends, answered the invitation. Nothing beats the lure of a "private seaside house"; we were imagining the freedom and the perks this house would provide to us. What surprises could be in store for us?

We started the excursion one February morning. In the South Expressway, we took the Sta. Rosa exit, allowing us to pass by Tagaytay. The morning air in this city is pleasantly aircon-cool. Going down from the Taal Caldera, the next part of the trip was a long uneventful drive.

In a Batangas highway, our host drove up with his pickup to meet us and to guide us to his place (we were starting to get lost). Along the way, we dropped by his friend's resort, which was more famous in the past as the location for a kenkoy movie. Sadly, the resort had lost whatever glory it had, for it now appeared as a mere run-of-the-mill resort. The owner conceded that a power plant nearby had affected beachgoers perceptions. Fortunately, we're not staying in a resort, but in a "private seaside house."

After the resort, we approached the colossal structures of the coal power plant the resort owner mentioned earlier. To our great surprise, our host turned to the entrance of that plant. We beheld up close how giant shovels would haul coal from a docked cargo ship, place it in giant conveyor belts, which in turn would dump their load beside the plant, creating mountains of coal. From these mountains, the coal would then be placed in another giant conveyor belt that would feed them into the plant itself, fuelling the giant generator that creates electricity. Man, everything was huge in here!

Our vehicle convoy stopped at a bungalow located just outside the plant complex. It turned out that our host is the contractor for the coal-mining and delivery to this power plant. Yup, his company owns the cargo ship docked nearby. The bungalow was the rest house for the crew while the coal was still being unloaded. Okay, so we would be staying here, fine, I guess the aircon would filter out the coal dust that was now sticking to my skin. If we'd still have to drive to the swimming area, that's fine by me, as long as it would be away from this place.

Unfortunately, this was actually the "seaside house," meaning, we'd be swimming nearby, right beside this coal power plant. Indeed, after a couple of minutes' walk, we encountered what appeared to be a miniscule "beach" with black sand and a floating hut. They said the sand was black not because of the coal, but because of volcanic deposits from a nearby river. I still took issue with the sand though; because, under water, it turned into something like coarse mud. The sanded area of the "beach" was a puny 20-meter stretch from side to side and a pathetic three-meter skip-and-hop towards the water. The water by the "beach" was enclosed like a tiny "bay". The water, though, was clear since I could still see the little fishes swimming below. It was actually a good sign that fauna thrives here, like the small crabs and snails crawling up the hut and the school of flying fish doing their aerial leaps a few meters away. The water itself wasn't too salty and didn't give me an itch.

The floating hut became our dining area. The seniors share their stories after some drinks. One couple had to take care of their toddler. The young couples, on the other hand, wandered away on a banca, sharing romantic moments while rowing around the enclosure. As for the singles like me, we contented ourselves with some swimming as well as with partaking of the abundant food.


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