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Adventure, Childhood, Family, Food, Friendship, God, Life, Tourism, Travel

Sibling Trip to Coron

May 23, 2015 administrator

Siblings, five years apart, on an unplanned Coron adventure.

May 16, 2015, 5:30am. Coron. The city is waking up, and so am I, wondering why my entire body seems to ache. For a second, I am unsure as to where I am, and then I remember yesterday’s adventure.

This was a sudden, unplanned trip. My Seattle-based brother Jean Pierre (Johnny) breezed into Manila for a dental visit and to stay a few weeks. This time, he was alone. During breakfast last Sunday, we talked about places we’ve always wanted to explore: Vigan, Batanes, Banawe, Coron, and more. I told him I would love to visit them. Well, he took it seriously, bought the tickets, booked a hotel he found on the Net, and called me to say the deed was done.

Just three days ago, I was running all over town busy with meetings. It was a hectic and interesting day, starting at 6:00 am when my driver’s wife called to say he wasn’t coming to work. With an 8am meeting in Ortigas and staff to pick up at the Alabang office at 7am, I quickly changed to flats and drove my car, with Wayz guiding me to meetings in Ortigas then Alabang, then to Makati, back to Alabang and finally to Paranaque in time for the 8pm mass to celebrate the feast of Our Lady of Fatima. I imagine there were quite a few white-knuckled moments and fervent prayers said. Sometime in between these meetings, Johnny called to announce we were confirmed for the 8am flight to Coron the next day.

I readily agreed to go. The last time, Johnny and I traveled together was 30 years ago. We went to Iligan for his ‘pamanhikan’ and wedding to Tita. I figured a sibling trip was long overdue.

With bags packed, we were off on our adventure! Arriving at the Busuanga airport, I was surprised to see the Cabuslays, friends from our village who were also visiting Coron. Sharing a van, we dropped them off at their resort and proceeded to Coron town where One Averee Bay Hotel was. The hotel was in the midst of town facing the plaza.

Courtesy visit to Fems Garcia, fellow CHSian and mayor of Coron

My friend Wilma Leagogo who owns Julie’s bakeshop came by to greet us. First off, we paid a courtesy call to Hon. Clara “Fems” Reyes, fellow CHSian and mayor of Coron. We then had lunch at Lolo Nonoy’s, then hurried back to the hotel for my 1pm concall with a client. After that, Johnny and I walked around town, looking for tours to take. The umbrella Wilma lent us came in handy as the fierce sun was beating down on us.

Wth my friend, neighbor, fellow servant parish leader, CHSian and all around nice person, Wilma Leagogo. Wilma owns the Julie's Bakeshop in Coron and took very good care of us. — Wth my friend, neighbor, fellow servant parish leader, CHSian and all around nice person, Wilma Leagogo. Wilma owns the Julie’s Bakeshop in Coron and took very good care of us.

Coron Town is a sleepy laid-back municipality. We visited small stores, mostly run by Muslim traders. An ancient looking sungka in the shape of a crocodile caught my eye but the proprietor refused to sell it. We ended up at Julie’s Bakeshop, and Wilma treated us to the most delicious freshly-baked pan de coco. It was so good I ate two of them. The poster said it was nakaka-loco and I wholeheartedly agree! Goodbye, figure. Oh well, I may end up shaped like a dugong later, but the food is hard to resist when it is this good.

The lobster was so fresh and delicious I almost cried while eating.

After freshening up and taking a stroll by Lualhati Park, we had dinner at Lobster King, as guests of Mayor Fems. The lobsters in kalamansi butter sauce were divine! Many thanks, Fems!

After dinner, Johnny and I decided on DCC’s tour package and went there to sign up. According to Mr. Kim, the Korean proprietor, we would share the boat with another couple who was going diving.

Back at the hotel, I stationed myself at Breakfast at Sydney’s, the hotel’s restaurant, to work. It was the only place with wifi and I had to complete some forms online for GCG. The website was not very friendly and I was getting frustrated whenever it would suddenly refresh and everything I had written was erased. Finally, by11pm, I was shooed off as they were closing.

That night, Johnny put on a movie entitled “Into the Woods.” The musical was quite interesting and had great actors but sleep took over quickly.

We woke up with much anticipation for the boat trip we had signed up for. But first we had a hearty breakfast of lamayo, Coron’s version of danggit, tapa and eggs. The brewed coffee was surprisingly robust. Wilma came by with a bag of Julie’s Spanish bread and bottles of water for our trip. What a thoughtful and kind gesture!

After last minute shopping for clear plastic ziplocks for my phones and slathering ourselves with sunblock, Johnny and I were ready to go. We met up with a young couple from Washington who were going diving: Matt who works for Starbucks in the US and handles their airport outlets and his friend Mihee who is a nurse. Matt and Mihee turned out to be from Seattle, so they had a lot of things to talk about with Johnny.

Our first stop was CYC Island which was chockfull with tourists. Donning my snorkeling gear, I went swimming but noticed there were so many black sea urchins around with scary looking spikes, so I turned back not wanting to be impaled. I didn’t realize I had gone so far and had a difficult time swimming back to our boat.

Next stop was Skeleton Wreck, named after the remnants of a Japanese supply ship. I’ve never seen a wreck before and was a bit nervous as it was in deep water, but with a life vest on, felt pretty safe.

Hearty meal by the shack with our guide.

We had lunch in a tiny hut on Skeleton Wreck. It was a simple meal of steamed rice, cucumber salad, grilled liempo and mackerel. While eating, I noticed a young couple paddle to the shore then climb onto a tall bamboo hut.

Members of the Taganua tribe, guarding Skeleton Wreck.

We walked over to say hello and they turned out to be from the Tagbanua tribe. They were assigned by their grandfather to collect fees from the boats that docked there. They told us there were 13 lakes on the island, and they had only seen two of them.

We transferred to Twin Lagoon, which required us to swim underneath some rocks to get to the hidden lagoon. The guide warned us it was brackish water, where fresh water from the lake mixed with salt water from the sea. Johnny and I snorkled, circling the lake’s perimeter. We were amazed at how the water would turn alternately hot and cold. It was exhilarating!

Barracuda Lake was up next. Our boat navigated between forbidding grey cliffs, with hardly any vegetation. It was eerie. Johnny commented that it seemed that anytime King Kong would make an appearance. The boat docked and we entered a break in the cliffs, walking on a slim bamboo walkway flanked by tall jagged rock formations on either side. Holding on to the flint-like rocks for support, I found them brittle and sharp.

After a short walk, we were greeted by an amazing sight. I gasped at the beauty of the lake. It was serene and still, hidden from view by the jagged cliffs. We jumped from the bamboo platform into the cool blue waters below. I looked down and hardly saw any fish swimming. However, there were black dots everywhere, as if someone had sprinkled too much black pepper on white spaghetti sticks. Curious, I picked up one of the black dots and it turned out to be a black spiral shell, much like what my grandmother used to cook as ginataang kuhol.

I relaxed and floated on my back, looking up at the cliffs and the blue sky above, thinking of my loved ones and thanking God for them. My companions and other tourists jumped from the cliffs, laughing and enjoying themselves, but I tuned them out. It was so peaceful! Soon, our guide told us it was time to go Kayangan Lake.

Kayangan Lake was the best of all, he promised, with caves to explore, a fantastic view, a beautiful lake, and a mountain to climb. Three hundred steps, he said: 150 up and a 150 down. Just 300 steps, I thought. I should be able to climb that. Johnny warned me not to count the steps saying I would just get disheartened, but that’s exactly what I did. I started counting, and by the 50th step was wondering as I tried to catch my breath if I would make it to the top. And when we reached the top, we realized that the guide was right, there were another 150 steps down to the lake. We hurried down, excited to get into the water.

A bamboo platform ringed half of Kayangan Lake and it seemed that there were people everywhere. We walked to the very end and stationed our things there. We checked out the cave which was but a short one. I started getting claustrophobic as more people entered the narrow cave, and escaped fast. Our guide boasted there was another subterranean way out. He dove into the water and came out a few seconds near the entrance. I heard Johnny saying he was going to do the same thing. I waited outside and when Johnny didn’t come out after several minutes, I started to worry, imagining him stuck in the rocks under water. How will I ever explain to his wife and children that I had not taken care of my brother? I was about to go back in to check on him when he appeared. Thank goodness!

Because of this incident and the fact that there were too many people around, I did not enjoy swimming in Kayangan as much as I did Barracuda or Twin Lagoon. But the guide was right. It is a beautiful place and one I would like to visit again during the lean period.

Once again, we had to climb the 300 steps to get back to the boat but not before a quick picture at the very top where the bat cave was. Our last stop was Twin Peaks where our companions were going to dive.

Donning our snorkeling gear, Johnny and I jumped into the water, discovering a most amazing world down under, with verdant coral, teeming with a myriad of fish in all shapes and sizes, colors and hues, nibbling at the coral. I wanted to take out my paints right then and there and capture the beauty of the seaworld, with its vibrant colors that would put any palette to shame. Various schools of fish passed us by, like ribbons of pulsating color, from matte to brilliant neons. I could have stayed there forever. Oh well! Back to reality. We returned to Coron Town, where we met up with Wilma for dinner and to make reservations for the next day’s tour.

Walking to Julie’s, we wondered why the streets were dark. Apparently, there was a brownout which had been going on for four hours. Luckily, electricity came back on as we made our way to Bistro Coron. Dinner was pizza, pasta and Hungarian sausages. I must say that their crusty French bread was very good. Tired, we went back to the hotel and promptly fell asleep.

The next day we were up early once more. This time around we were joiners at the JY tour. The trike picked us up and brought us to the Pantalan where we boarded our boat and met our companions for the tour.

New found friends. — New found friends who warmly welcome us into their group.

Ryan and Michelle are psychiatric nurses at a Riyadh Hospital on vacation. With them was Kaycee, Michelle’s sister who is a home-based software programmer and their cousin Knarf who was visiting from Canada. Then there was Randy and Abby who were celebrating their 12th wedding anniversary, and a young couple April and Ryan who were honeymooning. This was the second tour of our companions together so they were pretty friendly with each other already and warmly welcomed us to the group.

Henderson, our amiable tour guide, briefed us on what to expect. He was much more knowledgeable than our guide on the first day. He pointed out the sleeping giant, asking us to hazard a guess as to whether the giant was male or female. We all agreed it was a “she.”

Johnny and I perched on the side of the boat, trading stories of our childhood.

The boat ride to Malcapuya was and hour and a half away. Johnny and I sat by the side of the boat with our toes touching the me water, reminiscing childhood memories.

Malcapuya has a long stretch of white sand beach, perfect for lazing around. The beach was dotted with nipa huts. Our group settled on the farthest nipa hut, set down our things, and went straight into the water. Johnny showed me a bed of giant clams, their membranes opening and closing, each one different from the other. Some were tiger striped, others had green or blue or red mouths.

We had a veritable feast for lunch, with sinigang na lapu-lapu, grilled mackerel, grilled squid, chopsuey, adobong pusit, steamed rice, and an amazingly delicious salad of apple, mango, banana and Chinese petchay prepared by our guide. Henderson refused to share his recipe no matter how much we begged. Fresh coconut in their shells and sweet mango rounded up the meal. We were ready to hit the hammocks after lunch, but was given only a few minutes, so we tredged back to the boat. We must have all eaten so much as the boat refused to budge when we were all on it. The poor men had to disembark to push the boat out into deeper waters.

Banana Island was our next destination, but on the way there, our boat’s engine sputtered then died. Henderson asked us to help him call for help using our mobile phones, but there was no signal where we were. I texted the situation to my chidren and Wilma, hoping they would ge the message. Somehow, we were able to reach Banana Island’s bamboo raft, and we all disembarked to ride the bamboo raft to shore, while the boat captain and his assistant tried to fix the engine while waiting for help to come.

Luckily, the other boat was at a nearby island and they came over to check on us. Soon, we were on our way to our last stop, Bulag Dos. Our guide warned us that we had lost too much time and that we could only stay half an hour. This was enough time to have pictures taken and check out the beach. We climbed the little hill for a better view of the surroundings.

As we were about to board the boat, we learned from our companions that there were a lot of clown fish popularized by the movie “Nemo” in the area. We just had to take a look at them. While we were all hunched looking at the clown fish swimming in and out of their stone house, I noticed a much larger fish circling the stone, seemingly agitated. It suddenly attacked me, nipping me in the leg. Apparently, it is a territorial fish intent on defending its stone house which it shared with the family of Nemos.

We headed back to Coron. Wilma was patiently waiting for us at the dock with a trike that would bring us to Maquinit Falls. We were glad we went, despite being terribly tired. Wilma had packed a picnic dinner of grilled liempo, roast chicken and pinakbet from Lolo Nonoy’s. It was dark by the time we reached the resort, but there were still a lot of people there. We ate at one of the rustic picnic tables and made friends with the people at the next table who reveled us with stories of hidden treasures discovered in Palawan.

Basking in the warm waters of Maquinit Falls, I felt all the pains and aches slip away.

Maquinit Falls has three pools, catching the hot spring water from Mt. Dalara, a dormant volcano. They say the 40-degree Celsius water has healing powers, and that an egg left there will actually get cooked. I enjoyed dipping into the pool and letting the hot salt water ease away my aches and pains. I

Johnny walked around and came back saying it was beautiful at the other end of the resort. Curious, I went around to the other side of the pool, and walked on the bridge by the mangroves. It was dark and I was alone. True enough, when I looked up, I saw the vast expanse of the sky, twinkling with an array of stars, arranged by constellations. A shooting star crossed the skies. Moved by all this beauty, I praised the Lord, and thanked Him for all the many blessings I’ve received, praying for all the people He had sent my way, for those I have loved and have gone ahead, and most of all, for my family. And at that very moment, I felt one with all the generations of people everywhere who have looked up to the sky and felt an upwelling of emotions. We have an awesome Creator!

That night, Johnny and I put on the movie, Into the Woods, again, intent on finishing it. As you can imagine, we both fell asleep from being so tired. Someday, I will finish this movie, but for now, I’m glad I took this sibling trip to Coron with Johnny. There is still so much to discover about Coron and more adventures to experience, but those I will keep for another day.

Adventure, Children, Confidence, Death, Faith, Family, Food, God, Life, Love, Travel

Moalboal Fam Trip

April 4, 2015 administrator

April 4, 2015. Moalboal Fam Trip. It’s 6:00 am, and I am all alone in the lanai, waiting for my children. We’ve reserved a banca for a 7am trip to Pescador, an atoll where they claim the marine life swim in abundance. I’m excited yet apprehensive, not being a strong swimmer. The lifeguards told us that the drop off is quite steep so I was undecided about joining the children.

I get nervous when I can no longer see the bottom while swimming. When Mike and I would snorkel in Club Paradise, he would always hold my hand and lead the way. I felt safe with him always. Now, he is no longer here. Still, I’ve decided to go with the children, especially since Mama Becky told me I should go and that she would take care of Dada while we were exploring.

When Mike died, I vowed to do the things I’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance or the courage to do so, like wearing a bikini, jumping off a cliff, riding a bike, going paddle boarding, traveling by myself. And that’s what I’ve been doing these past two years.

Hale Manna where we are staying is true to its name. Hale in Hawaiian means good energy, and Mana means home. So it means home of good energy, of which there is much in abundance. Mama Becky Pestano-Smith, its owner, wanted to praise and thank God for His many blessings by spelling Manna with a double n. My children were right in deciding to spend Holy Week in this place. I feel at peace and happy.

Months ago, Bea and Cara were backpacking in Cebu and chanced upon Hale Manna as they were exploring the beach. They said a nice lady called out to them from the cliff, inviting them over. They accepted the kind invitation of the lady who turned out to be Becky Pestano-Smith, the owner. The girls said they immediately felt at home as the kindly Mama Becky enveloped them in her warm embrace and treated them to merienda. They vowed they would return, and so we are here now.

Arriving at Hale Manna Thursday afternoon, we were welcomed warmly by Mama Becky. She had prepared hot cassava chips drizzled with honey and the most delightful lemongrass tea to soothe our thirst from the long drive. Ravenous, we feasted on the lechon and puso, which we had bought at the Carcar market on the way here. Our spacious room has eight comfortable beds covered with colorful quilts, which beckoned us to sleep. And that we did since all we had was a couple of hours sleep the night before.

Just as we were going for dinner, there was a sudden brownout. We were worried about the trip because super typhoon Chedeng was expected to hit the Philippines the next day. Also, Bea had just finished regaling us with stories of how she and her barkada ended up one summer vacation in an island in Cebu when there was a massive brownout, and they had to survive for days without electricity and mobile phones and with just one vat of water for all of them to bathe in.

Using our cellphones as flashlights, we walked over to the lanai where the other guests were already having dinner. It was quite romantic, with just candles lighting up the place. Halfway through dinner, the lights came back on. Bea commented that she had enjoyed the candlelit dinner more. Still, I welcomed the return of electricity.

The beach at Hale Manna is rocky, not sandy, but there are kayaks to bring you to a floating raft where you can swim. I did this the first afternoon we were here, but preferred yesterday morning to just write at the Inspiration Point, the highest part overlooking the water while the children swam in the waters.

Hale Manna has several secluded areas facing the sea with bright red lounging chairs where you could laze all day. There are also cabanas, with mattresses and large soft pillows, set far from each other so that you could enjoy the serenity of the place. Despite several vehicles at the parking area, we hardly bumped into anyone, except for meal times when we would all congregate at the lanai.

Yesterday morning the children were bitten by jellyfish, so they came back early and we decided to go for an early lunch at Club Serena, two resorts away. CSR boasts of a sandy beach and more modern amenities, but there were a lot more people around. I prefer the quietness of Hale Manna as the houses are far apart from each other. We took a tricycle going there, and it was bumpy and dusty, an adventure in itself.

Arriving at Club Serena, we were warned that they were full and we would have a long wait. We decided to stay as the girls who had been there before were adamant we should try the suman with tsokolate and mango. It was well worth the wait, though it was way past 2pm before we had our first nibble. While waiting, the children played Places, Animals, Names and Things (PANT) while I sketched Niccolo and his girlfriend Sam from a photo I had snapped a week ago. Earlier that morning I did quick sketches of Bea and Cara at the house.

It was almost 3pm, and we wanted to pray. I tried accessing my mobile bible, but unfortunately, CSR did not have wifi and Globe Internet was spotty. I walked over to the bar and asked our amiable waiter Rolan if they had a bible we could borrow. He had one, he said with a smile, except it was in Bisaya, which only Cara would have understood. I went back to the table sad, but when I checked my phone, there was my mobile bible online!

Niccolo wanted to go back to Hale Manna to pray because CSR was a bit noisy, but we insisted to stay as the hour was near. Reverently, Niccolo read the book of Mark from the Last Supper to Christ’s death. As I listened intently, all the ambient noise drowned out, and I was there at Gethsemane witnessing Christ’s agony as the apostles slept, beside the anguished Peter as he realized he had denied the Lord three times, amongst the angry crowd as calls for crucifixion rang loud, beside Simon of Cyrene who was tasked to carry His cross, at the foot of the cross as Christ gave up His spirit, and beside His mother as she embraced His dead body. We were all quiet as Niccolo finished reading, each engrossed in her own thoughts.

We were aghast when we learned there were no more tricycles available for the return trip to Hale Manna. They had all gone home to observe Good Friday. We were worried about how Dada would be able to walk back to Halle Manna. Kind Rolan offered his vehicle, which could not carry all of us, so Niccolo and I walked back along the seashore. It was good to be with him alone, and we talked about plans for summer.

We slept siesta, then went back to the beach intent on going swimming by the raft, but the lifeguards refused to let us go, warning us that the current was very strong. Instead, we plopped down in one of the comfortable cabanas and shared stories, as we are wont to do when together. Soon, we were joined by Niccolo and Cara’s boyfriend Ramon who had arrived from Iligan. We stayed at the cabana until sundown. As we watched the sun go down, Bea asked, “with such beauty around you, how can anyone not believe in God?” We all agreed.

We turned in early because of the planned boat trip. And now, I have to stop writing and pack up as the boat has arrived.

12:00 nn. We’re back, and we just finished a delicious brunch of Arroz a la Cubana, Paksiw na Isda, and Ampalaya. The children and Dada have gone back to the house to sleep, and I once more have the lanai to myself.

I am so glad I joined the boat trip. There we were in the middle of the vast sea, basking in the early morning when the boatmen pointed to dolphins far away. We went nearer, and the playful dolphins decided to put up a show.

As the boatmen tethered the boat at Pescador and we were getting ready to jump in, I realized that in our excitement, we had forgotten to bring along life jackets. Cara, Niccolo and Ramon are all strong and confident swimmers and don’t need the life support. On the other hand, I am a floater, meaning I have a very difficult time diving, and I get nervous swimming in the open sea without a life jacket. Luckily, the boatmen were able to borrow two life jackets from another boat, one for Bea and another for me.

Once in the water snorkeling, I was lost in the beauty of the marine life teeming around me, sporting a myriad of colors unseen on dry land. Truly, there is a God, I thought! After Pescador, we traveled to another place where they said the turtles could be found. I was told to put on my life jacket as we would have to swim to where the turtles were.

As we were quite far from the shore, I worried about the drop off. As the bottom kept dropping and the water became darker and colder, I began to feel afraid, but then the kind boatman took my hand and led me swimming along the drop off, spotting turtles and pointing them out to me. Once in a while, he would let go of my hand, and Niccolo would take over. Soon, the excitement of seeing the huge turtles overcame my fear of the deep, and I happily relaxed, even getting over the sharp stinging I would feel once in a while as jelly fish brushed against me.

Our final destination was where the sardines were. Oh, and it was amazing! The school of silver sardines, why, there must have been millions of them, was like a gigantic ribbon undulating and pulsating in the sea as far as I could see. The water would alternate between very cold to warm as the sardines swarmed around us. It was truly an exhilarating and awesome experience! Mama Becky was right. It would be a pity to come to Moalboal and not see the marine life. Next time, I intend to swim with the whale sharks.

Food, Friendship, Life, Tourism, Travel, Women, Work

When in Davao, explore!

March 30, 2015 administrator 1 Comment

I’ve been to Davao twice before to organize events for clients, and in both instances, it was a case of arriving at the airport, going straight to the hotel, organizing the event, then leaving for the airport. I remember one time, it was my son Niccolo’s 5^th birthday, so Mike and I decided to bring him with us. While I was working at the hotel, father and son had a great bonding experience visiting all the interesting sites, including the Philippine eagle sanctuary and the crocodile farm. They told me they had a grand time, and so this time around, I made sure I had an extra day in Davao after the Tourism Industry Board Foundation, Inc. (TIBFI)’s 3^rd Tourism HR Summit. Problem was I was too busy in the months leading to the event that I never had a chance to research where to go.

After the summit, the congress organizers and speakers hied over to Mary Ann (Baby) Montemayor’s Habi at Kape for dinner and relaxation. True to its name, the cafe was surrounded by displays of the best handicraft and local products that Davao had to offer. I wish we had more time to browse around and shop, but we were all terribly tired from all the conference preparations the day before and from managing the conference all day, not to mention lack of sleep. And since I skipped lunch to work on my afternoon talk, I was ravenous as well.

The dinner Baby served was outstandingly delicious, as usual. I chatted with Baby about her various initiatives to help women-led SMEs in Davao gain access to the market. What a noble endeavor! She really is an admirable woman.

I sat with Pa Putu Laksaguna from Indonesia and Gina Jiraporn of Thailand. That night, I learned that Pa Putu had a beautiful singing voice as he gamely serenaded us. This after he told me that he only sang in the shower. I also met the lovely and gracious Joji Ilagan Bian, founder and chairman of the Joji Ilagan Career Center Foundation, Inc., who had allowed her students to take part at the Summit.

As we were driving back to the hotel, we got around to discussing what to do the next day. Most of my companions were interested in going shopping at Aldevinco, buying pomelos, and doing a quick city tour. The others wanted to stay in the hotel and work. There was talk of going to the crocodile farm, the eagles’ reserve, and to the Malagos farm that made its own chocolates and cheeses. I’ve sampled the latter before and they rival the best. These options beckoned, but no one seemed interested to go as the drive was quite long given the distance.

Before I slept, I asked my Facebook friends for recommendations on what to do and where to go. My vibrant Facebook community was extremely helpful, and I had a number of great suggestions, mostly revolving around food. My daughters, meanwhile, advised me to skip the shopping and go on an adventure instead. Besides, I already had a box of pomelos, a gift from Myrna Padilla, CEO and president of Mynd Computing / Outsourcing Services Philippines.

To this day, Myrna is one person who I greatly admire and am honored to count as a friend. Three years ago, she spoke at the International Outsourcing Summit, an annual conference that we organize for the Information and Technology Business Process Association of the Philippines (IBPAP). An unassuming lady, she went up to the stage to share her story as an OFW in Singapore and HongKong, learning how to use the computer from her young charge, then coming back home to Davao to set up a BPO.

Myrna touched the hearts of the 500-strong international audience composed of CEOs and senior level executives from the industry, so much so that they got on their feet to give her a standing ovation, with a few shedding tears. Myrna’s story reminded everyone that behind the numbers signifying the rapid success of the IT and BPO industry in the country, there are real people struggling with seemingly insurmountable challenges and dreaming of a better life for themselves and their families, people whose lives are improving because of the industry.

The suggestion to have civet coffee at the crocodile farm seemed the most adventurous so after a quick swim I went down to breakfast to make arrangements for transportation. Luckily, I met a few of my friends and they decided to go with me. So, off we went to the Crocodile Farm.

The crocodile farm had its many charms: from its ménage of feathery and leathery friends from the animal kingdom, its various cement figures that invite guests to have their photos taken, its locally made ice-cream and civet coffee (which I yet have to try), to its various outlets selling traditional handicraft. They were even selling oil that came from the crocodile, which ostensibly cures all sorts of skin problems, since it contains Crocodillin, an antibacterial substance found in crocodile blood.

I spied a large plastic container on a table near the entrance, and was surprised, when the cover was lifted to see a baby crocodile with its snout bound tight with rubber. I asked if I could touch it and have my picture taken. Its caretaker agreed, and I gingerly extended my hand. When the baby croc gamely stayed put, I became more courageous, and came nearer, wondering if it would turn into a prince, just as the frog in the fairytale did. Inspired by my action, Leni Ogarte of the National Union of Workers in Hotel Restaurant and Allied Industries (Nuwhrain) wanted to have her photo taken with the baby croc too, but when she came close for the photo, the baby croc jumped at her. It was so fast I was not able to take a picture.

The bigger crocs of which there were so many lying in various pens looked sleepy and lethargic. It felt safe viewing them from the other side of the fence, but knowing how swift that baby croc was, I would not want to be near any of the larger ones. What looked like green lumps on the water turned out to be the back of the crocodiles, as once in a while, one of the lumps would move.

I don’t much like feathered creatures, but the colorful parrots were pretty, the peacock majestic, and a myna called out “Panget” when I passed, so I am assuming the poor thing has lost its eyesight. Whenever I see a peacock, I wonder why God had granted them such beauty while the peahen looked nondescript, brown and dowdy. I guess because the male birds need the trimmings to attract the females, while the females were confident enough to know their real beauty was inside.

There were other birds but how could I not write about those huge ostriches that lackadaisically sashayed around the field? One of them walked right up to the fence where I was, looked me in the eye, then dismissing me, turned aside and walked over to some sheep that had gathered in the field. I was trembling with fear, being deathly afraid of chickens, much less monstrous ostriches.

And there was that yellow boa lying on the ledge. Four of us summoned the gumption to have a photo taken, with the boa draped across our laps. It was heavy, but it didn’t seem to be big enough to swallow us, so I felt quite safe. The tiger, in the meantime, was having a morning snooze, and didn’t budge at all. It looked quite content in its cage.

We all had a field day having our photos taken with the various cement figures in the park. Some of us sampled the crocodile pandan ice-cream (not a fan myself). I was thinking of sitting down at the café to have a cup of civet coffee, when I saw a line of shops selling traditional clothing. I loved the explosion of colors of the woven fabric made by the Matigsalog and T-boli tribes, and so decided to treat myself to a complete outfit, including the heavy belt with tinkling bells. The kind lady at the store even taught me the proper way of wearing a malong, which included biting the edge of the cloth before tying the ends in a knot. Next time I am asked to attend a function wearing Filipiniana, I intend to wear it.

Soon we had to meet up with our other companions who had stayed behind to work. Lunch turned out to be at the Blue Post Boiling Crabs and Shrimps. The restaurant’s name was quite descriptive as it was a boodle meal with a refreshing pomelo salad, boiled crabs and shrimps cooked in garlic. Oh, was it good! Nay, it was great! And we even go to write our names on the walls. I took the opportunity to quickly draw a woman’s face inside the lifesaver in the foyer. I was having so much fun. So this is the high that graffiti gives to its creators!

Reminiscing on the day gone by, I am so glad I took the day off work and went on an adventure instead. There is still so much to explore in Davao, and I hope to visit once again and perhaps next time, have that civet coffee, Malagos chocolates and cheese. C’est la vie!

Death, Family, Food, Gradtitude, Life, Love, music

A Different Twist to Valentine’s Day

February 15, 2015 administrator 8 Comments

Valentine’s Day 2015. This was not how I imagined the day would be months ago when everything was coming up roses. I had a new love, or should I say he found me, but now he’s gone ahead to heaven, leaving me alone with a broken heart. Just as the love of my life, my husband, my best friend and father of my children did earlier. So now, I have two angels up above. And a heart full of grief that needs to mend. And must. And will!

I arrived from Rome the other day, sick as a dog. My son Niccolo picked me up from the airport. Before going home, we passed by St. Therese of the Child Jesus, to visit Mike, pray and tell him how much we loved and miss him.

The stress of the past three weeks had finally caught up on me. Acute bronchitis, the doctor said, and ordered strict bed rest. But this was not possible as my dear aunt Julia, former dean of the College of the Holy Spirit and youngest sister of my father, had died while I was in Rome. There was a wake to attend to and a burial to make. Just as I had before I left for Spain two weeks ago. It seemed that sorrow had decided to burrow a permanent hole in my heart.

Tita Jill had helped take care of me and my four siblings, aged four to 11, when my father had died. There was no way I would stay away. I arranged for mass last night and early this morning just before her burial in the family plot in La Loma Cemetery. From her friends’ tributes, I learned how much she had enriched their lives with her gentleness, her brilliance, her passion for excellence, her generosity of heart and her simplicity. What a role model she was for all of us!

I could not help but compare the two wakes and burials that straddled my trip to Spain and Italy. That of my boyfriend Rolando Perez Gosiengfiao’s was elaborate, chockfull of family and friends paying their respects throughout the day and night, flowers lining up the corridor, a flag draped over his coffin and smart marines standing guard beside his casket. Each night a different group (Young Presidents’ Organization, World Presidents’ Organization, AIESEC, BCDA, GenRex) hosted the mass and dinner, paying tribute to a great man who had touched their lives and left an imprint hard to erase. My aunt’s was simple, with only intimate family and friends present. But love abounded nevertheless. What struck me was no matter how brilliant or rich or powerful one is, at the end of our lives, we don’t take anything with us. Except for the love we had shared with those we leave behind.

After the burial, Bea and I had brunch at Wildflour. I sampled cacio e pepe pasta for the very first time on her prodding. It’s a wonder I didn’t have this in Rome. It was sinfully delightful, but more than the food, it was the company that made brunch truly special. For how many moms can have the pleasure of lunch with their first born on Valentine’s Day, especially if their daughter is such an attractive young woman that many would like to date? I felt honored that my daughter had decided to turn down all Valentine date requests to spend the day with me.

After brunch, we meandered over to the Saturday Salcedo market, bought flowers and passed by San Antonio in Forbes to say a prayer for Mr. G, as Bea calls Rollie. We then went home to comply with my doctor’s orders.

And lo and behold, a surprise awaited us! Since my birthday, the house has been dusty and topsy-turvy due to renovation. Blue burlap had covered the area on the ground floor where walls were being removed, and new panels put up. Before leaving for Spain, I had decided to take the plunge and fix the large first floor room which had previously served as an office, and later as an entertainment room.

When Mike took ill with cancer and could no longer make the trip up to the second floor, that became his sick room. It was also where he took his final breath and died in my arms as I had promised him. The room was just too sad for me, and so I hardly entered it. But my mom was getting on in age, and was having a hard time going up the stairs, so I decided it was time to make the change. I also had excellent advice from Rollie on what to do with the room.

When Bea and I got home this afternoon, we were greeted by a wonderful sight. The workers had removed the burlap covering the renovations ongoing in the living room, and the place had opened up. It was now spacious, airy, and bright! Oh, what a wonderful feeling it evoked! And I now have a sitting room full of natural light to paint in. What joy!

Tonight, I had dinner in bed with Bea. She prepared her signature tomato and basil pasta, and we had cheese and Spanish ham paired with a Vin de Bordeaux, while watching The Mummy Returns, and then Sex in the City on TV. Cara is working in Boracay and Niccolo spent the day in Clark with his friends. Now, Bea has gone to bed, and here I am writing and reflecting on my life these past few months.

Come to think of it, this was Rollie’s gift for me: a new lease on life. Seven months ago, when my world was dark and I was grieving for Mike, Rollie came barging into my life. Rollie taught me it was possible to love and be happy once again. From the moment he sent me that message on FB, I was literally hooked.

Rollie was always looking for ways to get together, whether for halo-halo, picking me up from an event, offering to help me with my speeches, going to the Saturday market at Salcedo, driving me to Alfonso, showing me where he grew up, or accompanying me to buy gifts. He would sometimes show up unannounced where I was, seeming to have just been in the vicinity. Little did I know that it had been carefully planned.

He was a man of many inconsistencies. Every chance he got, he would introduce me to his family and friends and would post our photos proudly on his Facebook page, tagging me whenever he could. And yet he told me not to write about him because he was a private individual. And so I would untag him. At times, exasperated, I would unfriend him, but he always asked me back. And truth to tell, no matter how many fights we had, we never could stay away from each other more than a day.

We had long conversations, yes, even arguments, about everything under the sun, especially religion, marriage, my church service, my busy schedule, and social customs. Rollie was a professed atheist, and this cut me deeply, being quite religious. It was hard to reconcile that the man I loved did not believe in the same things I did. I refused to eat with him unless we said grace before meals. He was very gracious and obliged me in this. He even accompanied me to mass, though he would not stay all the way to the final blessing.

I kept looking for ways to tell him our relationship could not flourish. One time, I told him our Chinese astrology signs were opposed. He was a tiger and I was fire monkey. And since monkeys and dragons were the best match (Mike was a water dragon), I said I must find myself a dragon. He was so cut up by this remark that he stopped talking to me, and told me I win. When I saw him, he was crying in his living room. When I asked him why he was crying, he said he wanted desperately to be my dragon. Oh, Rollie!

Facebook messenger was our lifeline, a surprising channel for two mature individuals. Like teenagers, we were glued to our mobile phones, waiting for the three dots to start blinking. The roles had been reversed. My children would tell me to stop looking at my phone all the time.

It was sad that my children could not accept our relationship. Early on, Rollie told me he had fallen in love with my family, and looked forward to being part of it. He said he was taken by the love that we all obviously shared. But he was also understanding that it was just too soon after Mike had died. All things will work out in the end, he said. He was so sure of it.

Plans, Rollie had a lot of. Where we would live, where we would travel, what we would do for the rest of our lives. He gave me keys to his condo, and asked me to move in. I told him not unless we were married. Which again brought up the issue of social customs. If we lived in the US, this would not even be an issue, he would argue. Why were papers so important, he asked? I told him it was a matter of values, not papers. Frustrated, he announced he would put up our pictures in his condo to make me feel more at home. I was in tears when his housekeeper in Hong Kong told me at the funeral that he bought a frame on this last trip and told her this was for my photo in Salcedo. He never got around to doing it.

For some unknown reason, Rollie unleashed the poet in me. I would find myself penning my emotions in rapid fire, in a fever of inspiration. I would send my poems to him, and each time, he would catch his breath, amazed at what I had written, and flattered to be the subject of the muse.

We painted together, and he loved the work I did, even blowing up a sketch I had made of him. He was very proud of that likeness of him that he put it up in his living room. For Christmas, Rollie bought me a set of oils from New York after he saw me throw away my old oil set that had dried up.

Rollie loved music, and singing. He brought music back into my life. We would sit and listen to music, and sometimes, he would burst into song. He sang for me at his brother Ed’s birthday, and his sister-in-law whispered to me that it was obvious Rollie was in love with me, and that she hoped I loved him too.

Although he said he envied my writing skills, he showed me a book he had written on his wife after she died and another one he had written about his family. I was very touched by his gesture of love. He encouraged me to write a book for my mom’s 80^th birthday and collaborated with me by digitalizing all the old photo prints.

Last year, Rollie urged me to write a book on Mike to celebrate our life together and to close that chapter so we could start a new one. I was unable to write during the Christmas break because I was sick, so when Rollie said he was going to be away the week Pope Francis came, he told me I should start on that book for Mike. And that was what I did. He called me from Hong Kong to check how I was doing. When I told him I had spent the better part of the weekend crying while writing and that I was only half way done, he told me to “Keep going, my courageous girl. I love you!”

I admired the way Rollie fixed his home. He had impeccable taste. He would bring me flowers and plants for my house, telling me that they livened up the house. Rollie convinced me to renovate my house, to dispel the sadness that had permeated it and to bring back the happiness that was there before. He disliked my white lights and advised me to change all my bulbs to warm white for a cozier feel.

On his last trip to Hong Kong, Rollie biked all the way to Shamshuipo to buy LED lights to surprise me and taught me how to change my lights. He was supposed to come to my house at 4pm to start on the lights the afternoon he died. He never made it home.

Living a fit life was something Rollie embraced with a passion. He biked, swam, watched his food intake, made sure he had eight hours of sleep a day. To keep up, I bought a bike which he promised he would teach me how to use. I think he was more excited than I was. I started going to the gym, and drinking his banana, apple, pechay concoction for breakfast.

The trip to Hong Kong on the first of January was our chance to be together alone. He and I were both so excited to be together. It was a beautiful time, and he told me that he felt so comfortable being with me. It was like being married 10, 20 years. We were so happy together, except for the last night when we had another of our little tiffs, and traveled home hardly talking to each other. But make up we did, as usual. As Rollie said, there is nothing that can stop this love we have. Well, nothing except death, and what a thief it is!

The week before he died, Rollie and I had dinner at an Indian restaurant near his home. He had decided to become vegan once again, and it was the perfect place for that. He said he used to eat there before but was very lonely; it was after his wife had died. But he perked up, saying this time it’s different, I have you with me. I was teasing him about all his past girlfriends, when he took my hand and said, “This I know, Monette, you’re my last great love, the one I will spend the rest of my life with.” I didn’t realize then how prophetic those words were.

If there’s one thing Rollie complained about, it was my need to love and be loved. He said I was too needy. He always told me to become self-sufficient, to be happy being me, by myself. Yes, Rollie taught me I could be happy after the death of my beloved Mike. Now, I need to get on with life, and learn to be happy without Rollie beside me. Circle of life.

And there are many things I am truly grateful for. First and foremost are my three beautiful children: Bea, Cara and Niccolo. I have my mom who loves me unconditionally, my beloved sister, my brothers, their families, Cathy who takes care of me and my family. I have my friends, and my work family at TeamAsia. I’ve loved and been loved by two wonderful men, Mike and Rollie. But most of all, I have a faithful and loving God who never lets go of me, despite my many failings.

At the Sistine Chapel the day before I left Rome, I was blessed to have had the opportunity to go to confession with Fr. Valentine, a black priest who suddenly showed up just as the museum was about to close. Despite more than a hundred tourists milling about, I felt at peace talking to him and telling him about my grieving heart. I asked him for prayers to discern and accomplish what I had been sent here on earth to do.

Someone sent me these amazing flowers yesterday without a card. I have no idea who they’re from, but am truly grateful to the kind soul out there who remembered me. It was after all, a different twist to this special day of love.

Art, Family, Food, Travel

Beautiful Taormina

Image November 8, 2014 administrator

December 2, 2013. Taormina is beautiful! Mario Monforte, Cara’s boss, made reservations for us at Hotel Diodoro, Our room has a fantastic view of the Ionian Sea. The hotel is right beside the public gardens, which surprisingly has cacti, bamboo and banana trees in them. Very quaint. It also has a statue of soldiers from WW1, and a cannon.

Cara and I walked all over town. Such a pretty place. We were ravenous by 2pm but could not find any place open. Every place we went to was either closed for the winter, or would open at night. We finally found a wine bar which served an antipasto siciliano with formaggi and salumi, Caprece salad,bread and Vino Rosso from Etna.

After this we walked a lot more, entering tiny shops for a look see. There was one store on the second floor that sold angel paintings by Anna Corsini and another that sold originals by Pino la Vardera of mixed Spanish and Sicilian descent. We met the artist who apparently has several paintings in various museums. We really loved his work but one small painting cost Eur400 and the larger ones Eur4,000. Mama Mia!

We entered at least four churches and there were many more, almost one in every corner! There was even one church that was being prepped up to be a chocolate museum. I wondered if Sicilians went to only one church as their parish or were able to choose depending on their mood or the petitions they had, something like a smorgasbord of churches. Churches here are generally simpler than those I’ve seen in Rome, Madrid or Barcelona.

We saw one really slim street called Viccolo Strata which had a restaurant. It looks like only slim people can enter, and they better not eat too much or they would never get out!

Oh, and we chanced upon a roman amphitheater behind Sta. Caterina church. Almost every nook and cranny of Taormina is picturesque and all I want to do is sit and paint.

Cara had been looking for a resto that serves pasta ricci and a pistachio pasta that Pinky and Ken raved about. She also wanted to eat granita, and I’d been dreaming of gelato since Madrid. But tired we were, so we headed back to the hotel for some much needed rest.

After resting a bit, Cara and I went down to the reception and asked for recommendations for dinner. The front desk officer suggested we try Trattoria de Nino, close to the funicular. It was quite a hike but well

worth it. We had spaghetti ala bottarga and involtini de vitello with vino rosso Siciliano. The trattoria was quiet, but soon filled up with a party of well dressed Sicilians celebrating a birthday. Walking home in the rain was not much fun, though we had gelato at a cafe beside Don Bosco.

I woke up to a dreary gray morning. Mount Etna was shrouded in heavy clouds, mysteriously silent. It was raining kittens and puppies. After a hearty breakfast, we trooped to town, Cara with her bright yellow umbrella and me with the rainbow colored umbrella. We visited the Taormina museum for some glimpse of its history and art. Cara loved the old clothes and dainty lace. I enjoyed looking at the sculptures and paintings. Interestingly enough, there were several images of San Sebastián.

Back at the hotel, I quickly fell asleep. The next day, Cara told me she could not sleep because the wind was howling and the glass windows were rattling. She was afraid that Mount Etna which we could see from our window would erupt. Little did we know that that was exactly what Mount Edna did that night.

After the museum visit, we hied off to the Greek amphitheater, marveling at its majesty and wondering how performances were done. Both of us being theater buffs, we thought how busy backstage would have been with costume changes and props, and wishing we could enjoy a play or opera there. Cara complained about the grainy volcanic black earth entering her boots.

Walking back to town, we visited shops along the way, looking for a trinacria for Cara. A trinacria is a winged head of Medusa with its three legs symbolic of the triangular points of the island of Sicily. Trinacia is also the ancient name of Sicily. Our quest for a beautiful face led us to enter almost all the curio shops. After settling on one, we then trooped to Bam Bar for a granita, cutting through a secret garden with Roman walls.

Bam Bar is famous for its granite. Saro Bambaro who owns the 17-year old bar was very gracious, telling us his story and showing off the photos of famous people who have sampled his granite, including Antonio Banderas, Michael Douglas, Marisa Tomei, Dolce and Gabbana, and many more. We met his 75-year old mom, who every morning still opens the shop. Cara’s strawberry and almond granita was delicious, taken with fresh cream and a toasty warm brioche. My espresso coffee granita was just right for a rainy day. Inside Bam bar, the ambiance was homey, with colorful fresco on the walls.

We meandered through Corso Umberto, window shopping until it grew dark, and searching for a restaurant that serves pasta ricci to no avail. We ended up in Il Cyclops for a pistachio pasta and Taormina pizza, opting to stay outside. A troubadour sang love songs in Italian, which made me miss Mike so much. I slipped on his wedding ring which I keep on a necklace with a champagne pearl he gave me, and momentarily felt his arms around me. The troubadour introduced himself to us. Rosario was his name, and he explained that he sang by night and was a music therapist by day. His introduced his cousin who played classical guitar and was a music teacher by day.

A trio of young men could not help but approach Cara to introduce themselves. Cara immediately introduced her mom, thinking this would stop them. Well, it did not. Italians as a rule are not shy when it comes to expressing themselves. Several times in the past two days, men have whistled, honked, greeted us. So this is Italy!

Cara was so tired she fell asleep right away. I tried staying up, hoping to glimpse Mount Etna venting a little. Well, it did not, but this morning, I finally saw it, washed in whites and grays, mysteriously beckoning. I got up and took out my paints and started feverishly painting. And as I worked, Mount Etna’s tip began to glisten in yellows and oranges as it caught the sun’s rays. Slowly, the the grays and whites gave way to vibrant greens and blues. I put away my paints and just soaked in the beauty that God gave us. What a marvelous and awesome Creator we have!

Childhood, Death, Faith, Family, Food, Life, Love

Will you visit me when my time comes?

November 3, 2014 administrator 5 Comments

Every year, I make the trip to La Loma Cemetery to visit our family plot and pay respect to our dear departed. As much as possible, I would go on All Saints Day. This time around, I went with just my mom on All Souls Day, as Niccolo and I had gone to visit Mike and hear mass at St. Therese of the Child Jesus the day before. Bea was in the US attending a wedding, Cara in Boracay working, and Niccolo nursing a fever at home. Niccolo tried convincing me to go another day saying traffic would be terrible. I knew this was going to be the case, but I was adamant. Nothing would keep me away.

Armed with two large pots planted with white and yellow flowers, candles and a hat to shield me from the sun, I got into the car to go to San Sebastian and pick up my mom on the way to the cemetery. Luckily, our driver had shown up, and so I didn’t have to worry about parking the car.

As expected, traffic had been rerouted, but with the help of Waze, we arrived at the 5^th Avenue entrance of La Loma. Cars were not permitted to enter the cemetery today. We usually enter through the Rizal Avenue Extension gate as this was nearest the family plot, but then we were not sure if we could get around given the traffic rerouting so we decided to step out and walk. It was 3pm and the sun was bearing hot on our heads, despite my hat and Dada’s umbrella. Soon, Dada gave up using her umbrella as there were too many people around bumping into it, and instead used it as a cane. She held on to me while I carried the bags with the flowers and the candles.

The streets were lined with makeshift tents selling all sorts of snack items and drinks. All the fast food joints have come out in force. As usual, flowers and candles were being sold, but the fare seemed to have extended to clothes and shoes. Lo and behold, there was even one stall selling leftover Halloween costumes, hideous masks, and blinking horns. About 500 meters from the gate, we found a tricycle driver who agreed to take us to our family plot. Thank goodness because it was still a distance away. While riding the tricycle, I started reminiscing days gone by.

As a young child, each trip was wrought with wonder. My earliest memory of All Saints Day was in the kitchen watching my grandmother prepare her thick chicken asparagus sandwiches. She would lay slabs of white bread with their edges trimmed on the plate, place a curly lettuce on top, carefully pile cooked chicken breast, white asparagus, a pickle and a sliced tomato on top, spread her special mayo dressing on top, then finish this off with another slab of bread. She then wrapped the sandwiches in big paper napkins, carefully tucking the ends inside. I must have been about four or five years old then, because I still looked forward to eating the chicken sandwich with the surprising burst of pickle flavor, and lick the gooey mayo that inevitably escaped from the sandwich from my fat little fingers.

My grandmother would order the maid to pack her large silver candelabras into her bayong, together with tall thick yellow candles from Divisoria and a box of matches we children were not permitted to touch. These were loaded into the car, with the basket of sandwiches, cold bottles of Coca-cola, and armloads of festive flowers in pails of water.

The trip to La Loma always seemed to take forever for the young child I was then, and the plot when we got there seemed huge and sprawling. I knew we were close whenever I would spy the big white angel with wings spread wide, carrying a wreath that stood on top of my grandfather’s tomb. The plot was ringed by black iron grills, and had two benches on either side of the gate. Green springy grass covered the ground, a treat to loll around on.

Paul, Pepito and I would scoop up the molten candles and form them into balls. Whoever formed the biggest ball would be king or queen for the day. That was our game, as was hide and seek behind lolo’s tomb. We didn’t mind the grown-ups who were praying the rosary, though we were constantly told to keep quiet at least until the prayers were over, after which lola would distribute sandwiches and Coke. The adults would then tell us stories about the relatives who were buried there. But we didn’t much care as we were intent on playing our games.

Early on, it was just that one large imposing tomb with a tombstone that said Jose Iturralde y Manalo. This was my father’s father.

To its right were two identical smaller tombs on the lawn: Apolonio Iturralde y Conding and Esperanza Manalo de Iturralde, my great grandparents. To my child’s mind, they seemed like little castles with turrets all around, and I enjoyed daydreaming about them. A tiny slab in front was for Enriqueta M. Buenviaje. I never learned who Enriqueta M. Buenviaje was, but looks like she was an aunt from the inscription on the tombstone. The inscriptions were all in Spanish, and my mom would explain what they meant.

To the left were two larger tombs on the lawn: one for my father’s brother, Rene Iturralde y Alvaro, and another for his nephew, two-year old Philip Iturralde who had died during Japanese war and who the family always referred to as their little angel.

I was always drawn to the inscription on the tombstone of my uncle Rene, and for some unknown reason those words have haunted me over the years:

“I am tired of tears and laughter

And men that laugh and weep

Of what may come hereafter

For men that sow to reap

I am weary of days and hours

Blown buds of barren flowers

Desires and dreams and powers

And everything but sleep.”

I don’t know who wrote that romantic poem, but I have a sneaky suspicion it was my dad who had adored his older brother and was devastated when he died.

The year I turned ten was cataclysmic for our family. My father passed away of an aneurism leaving behind a 32-year old widow and five young children aged 4 to 11. Once again, the inscription was in Spanish, but this time, the words hit home: tu esposa, madre y hijos que no te olvidan. This was my father buried there, not someone I had never met. Each year, I would write him letters, telling him how much I missed him, and leave them there. I never knew what happened to those letters.

To make way for my father’s tomb, they transferred the remains of Apolonio to that of his son, Jose, and placed his marker underneath the angel’s wreath. His wife Esperanza’s tomb lay intact, looking lonely without him. I felt bad for them.

Some more years passed, and my grandmother Dominga Alvaro Iturralde (Lola Ingga), my grand aunt Eriberta Manalo Iturralde (Lola Teta) who had reared me as a young child, my aunt and godmother, Maria Luz Alvaro Iturralde (Dada Uds), and my newborn nephew Alfonso Castillo Iturralde were all laid to rest in the family plot. My aunt Sr. Encarnacion, S.Sp.S. (nee Aurora Alvaro Iturralde, Tita Rory) was buried together with the other Holy Spirit nuns in Christ the King Church.

The inscriptions were now in English, except that of my Lola Teta who had spoken fluent Spanish. These were no longer just names on the tombstone, but people who had been intimately part of my life, who had cared for and loved me unconditionally, and whom I have loved deeply in return. I have memories for each one of them, and I would tell these stories to my children.

And because of this, no matter how difficult it is to visit them with all the traffic hassles, I go to say hello each year, offer flowers and candles, pray the rosary for them, and be with them for a brief time, telling them how much I love them. I believe that my siblings, if they were in the country, would visit them as well.

When I reached home and checked on Niccolo, telling him how tired I was and recounting what had happened to me all day, I mused aloud, “I wonder if my children will visit me too when my time comes?” I received a tight hug and an “I love you, mom.” Just as he did yesterday after I stood on tiptoe to plant another kiss on Mike’s tombstone at the Columbarium. We stood there holding hands, teary-eyed, missing Mike, telling him in our hearts how much we loved him. Somehow, I felt assured. It’s the circle of life and love. It’s what makes us family, and why traditions live on.

Beginnings, Differences, Food, Life, Pesonalities

A Study in Contrasts

September 21, 2014 administrator 1 Comment

Have you ever observed how a person eats halo-halo? And wondered what it tells you about him or her?

Consider the halo-halo on the left. Notice how all the ingredients have been methodically mixed before being eaten. Is this a person who goes with the flow, a relaxed individual with a simple view in life who takes things at face value and does not read more into them, someone who has integrated all the different aspects of life into one and come up with something even brighter and better? Someone at peace with himself or herself? Or is this a risk-taker, unafraid to try new things, an adventurous soul interested to see what may come, intent on trying out new adventures?

After all, a halo-halo is just that: a mixture of different fruits and vegetables with shaved ice, milk and ice-cream, which when combined gives a totally new taste and look. Taken individually, each ingredient has its own qualities, but taken together, they bring a new meaning to desserts. Sometimes, the result may not be as appetizing as each of the individual elements. But sometimes too the resulting meld is fantastically delicious.

Now, look at the halo-halo on the right. Here is a halo-halo with all the ingredients kept carefully separate, just as it was served, and enjoyed piece by piece. Is this someone who keeps a tight rein on emotions, keeps areas of life distinct from each other so that each may shine brightly and not lose their individuality, much like first enjoying the nutty taste of beans, savoring the thick heavenly ube jam, then letting the sweet, creamy leche flan dissolve in the mouth instead of having one amalgamated fusion? Is it a person with many interests, loathe to give up one for the other, balancing each one precariously like the ube ice-cream on the mountain of shaved ice?

What an interesting notion it is when two such individuals meet. Halo-halo, anyone?

Food, Friendship, Women

Embracing Raclette, Sushi and Pasta

September 15, 2014 administrator 1 Comment

Oh no! What have I gotten myself into? I just signed up for a new pasta challenge on September 27 at Palms Country Club, this time with Mongsie Wulff as my partner. For someone afflicted with the Asian flush (yes, I turn beet red with a sip or two of anything alcoholic), I keep forgetting not to commit to anything after a glass of wine. But what the heck, I thought, I do know how to make pasta, so I would not horribly embarrass myself. And, with friendly competition from Gabriella and Angie, as well as Marie and Mae, it should be loads of fun. Here’s what happened…

Wednesday night, Angie Laborte who sits on the Palms Country Club Socials and Dining Committee Meeting, invited me, along with our other friends Mongsie Wulff and Miri Medalla to join their first Committee Meeting for 2014-2015 that night. Miri couldn’t make it as she was overseas. (For a quick intro on my friends, check out an earlier blog entry: https://monettehamlin.com/2014/07/13/the-wine-lovers-club-how-friendship-began/).

Mongsie and I have longed to attend the exclusive committee mainly because of the good repast the Chef Hans would lay out, but this was reserved only for their members. The common denominator was that our husbands had all served as chairmen of the committee: Hans Wulff, Mike Hamlin, and Sam Medalla. This was a bittersweet evening, as each bite I took reminded me of Mike.

Chef Hans warmly welcomed us to the committee meeting. I was happy to see Gabriella Wegfahrt and Marie Segura who had arrived earlier. We were later joined by Dr. Mae Corvera, and a gentleman doctor from Asian Hospital, who stayed just a while. It was definitely a woman dominated evening.

That night, we sampled Palm’s private raclette dinner. Raclette is a semi-hard cheese made using ancestral methods with unpasteurized milk of cows grazing on the alpine meadows on both sides of the French and Swiss Alps. It gets its name from the French word ‘racler’, which means ‘to scrape’.

I first encountered raclette when I visited my childhood friend Lourdes Malto-Montenejo and her husband Bobby in Switzerland. A young couple then with their first child, Dodit and Bobby served this Swiss dish for my first dinner. The cheese, distinctively aromatic and slightly nutty, was melted on a raclette grill and then scraped on our plates once creamy and soft. We ate it with pickled onions, sausages, small potatoes, and gherkins. Oh, how I loved it! And how glad I was that Palms has decided to offer this for private dinners.

While partaking of the sumptuous spread which included Palm’s new Japanese sushi offerings and wines, we reviewed the club’s socials and dining performance, brainstormed how to invigorate the club’s activities and promote them better, and discussed socials and dining plans for the coming months, as well as, Palm’s 12^th anniversary.

Leading up to the anniversary, plans are afoot for a Pasta Cooking Challenge on September 27, a Kampay sa Tagumpay on October 11 with a live band and beers (Palm’s version of Oktoberfest), a late night party on October 18 at the Poolbar with a stand-up comedian, and a grand celebration on November 7 featuring the 70’s Superband, with proceeds going to Project Pink’s Stage Zero.

It was a wonderful evening spent with friends over good food and wine. We all readily accepted the invitation to be part of the committee, had a good laugh over signing up for the Pasta Challenge, and reserved seats for the anniversary celebration.

And now, Mongsie and I must start practicing for the challenge. Mama mia!

Corporate Social Responsibility, Food, Friendship, Uncategorized, Women, Work

LCF Ladies at the Retreat

August 17, 2014 administrator 3 Comments

It all started July 30 when I received a call from Techu asking if I would be willing to invite the League of Corporate Foundations (LCF) ladies to the Hamlin Retreat in Alfonso on August 16. I immediately agreed. We had just finished celebrating the Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) month, and the thought of having a break from work to relax, catch up with each other, and chat the day away seemed too good to pass up.

It was the brainchild of my LCF mentor, the lovely Lydia Sarmiento Enrile, who wanted to gather the ladies for a leisurely day of bonding. Soon the emails were flying back and forth as plans hatched, the menu firmed up, transportation issues settled, and more friends confirmed. Maurice Ligot of Ang Hortaleza Foundation promised to bring along her therapists for some serious pampering with their signature foot massage. Raffle queen Elaine Mapa galvanized into action. Excitement was at an all-time high. The list of confirmed guests grew longer: Vicky Garchitorena, Irene Labitad, Techu Tumbali, Cecile Alcantara, Camile Buenaventura, Malu Erni, Esther Santos, Ching Jorge, Tess Villacorta, Neury Chan, My Almogino-Calara, Nicole Tirona, Rory Tolentino, Joyce Talag, Linda Atayde.

What I didn’t figure out was how busy my entire week leading up to the Saturday ladies date would be, with back-to-back meetings late into the night. When would I ever find the time to shop, cook, and make all the preparations I wondered as Friday afternoon deepened into the evening? It was a relief to finally arrive at Alfonso, and to feel its peace settle in my soul. Although we’ve had the farm for almost eight years, this was the first time I would ever sleep there alone. It was blissful, and I slept like a babe, secure that Mike was watching over me, keeping me safe.

Early the next morning, I walked around the farm. It still looked sad from being ravaged by the storm, but the birds were chirping, the cicadas were humming, and the sun was peeking out, though the sky still seemed downcast. Internet connection was spotty, and has been since Glenda unleashed her fury on Alfonso, so I went looking for signal and finally found a faint one near the gate. I was startled when loud band music began playing outside our gate. And that’s when I found out that it was the town’s fiesta. I asked Jeovanie to set up the tables out back, but he discouraged me saying it always rained on fiesta days. Better to be safe and have the tables in the veranda.

Without Internet, I couldn’t make Jango work. While searching for our music CDs, I came upon one that was still unopened, Pure Country. Mike must have bought it. Putting it on, I was soon dancing to country music.

And then the ladies started arriving. Unfortunately some couldn’t make it and we missed their company. Laughing like little girls, we hugged and hugged each other. With everyone speaking, the decimal level quickly shot up. Pretty soon, we were partaking of the sumptuous lunch and gabbing our hearts away, taking turns at foot massages at the gazebo.

The afternoon passed quickly, and the ladies said good-bye but not before taking souvenir photos at the farm. I could not let them go without having the diwata shot, and everyone gamely picked a tree and posed.

Lydia captured how we all felt in her email last night, “How wonderful it was to discover that we have not changed all these years… that we are still the same LCF ladies “na mababa ang kaligayahan… that we still shriek at winning the raffle whether it is a bag of potato chips or a P500 gift certificate from SM care of Linda Atayde who had to fly to Cebu, or a heavy bag of condiments from Splash care of Maurice. Our afternoon was truly a fun-filled day thanks to all your contributions of food and sinful desserts. But most precious was sitting together, sharing stories once more, remembering friends in prayer and recounting past LCF fun days. Elaine Mapa continues to be our raffle queen. Most of all thank you, Monette for sharing your restful home with us, preparing the laing, fish and grilled vegetables, Malu for the adobo, Neury for the chicken a la king, lastly for the Cecille who saved the day for us by driving all the way to Alfonso. I am sure I missed someone or something, I only know that we are all hopeless romantics listening and vicariously sharing Vicky’s love story. Irene Labitad cannot show up next time without a new found love in her life. Thank you all ladies for making time to renew friendships, laugh at our silly jokes and continue to be women who serve but also know how to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. It is more fun with LCF friends. See you all in December!”

Truly, it was a day of fun and laughter well spent in the company of friends. I can’t wait till the next reunion!

Family, Food, God, Resilience

Alfonso after the Storm

August 3, 2014 administrator

August 3, 2014. Home at last in Alfonso! Everyone’s schedules finally converged and our family drove down to The Retreat for the weekend. We had not visited Alfonso since Glenda happened, and I feared the worst at what I would find.

We arrived at dark last night, with the rains pouring, after a brief late afternoon stop at Bag of Beans. Not having had lunch, Niccolo and I were both hungry but it took some girl convincing for Niccolo to try out a new place. His heart was set on pizza but Dada had just come from Rome and didn’t want any. I was pleasantly surprised at how pretty Bag of Beans has transformed from the rustic place Mike and I would visit years ago. Their porkchop tastes just as delicious and smoky as I remember it to be, and the raisin bread I bought was still warm from the oven.

We stayed indoors last night watching a love story on DVD, against Niccolo’s protests, but then it was one against three so we won that round. Dear John, it was. Not a weeper, thank goodness! Signal was spotty, weaving in and out, so I finally gave up trying to connect to the outside world. The night was cold and the wind whipped as I stepped out to the lanai. Alfonso nights are always magical. Peace settled into my soul, and I whispered goodnight to Mike’s spirit. I turned off the garden lights and locked downstairs. It felt good to be back home, in bed and listening to the pitter patter of the rain outside.

Early this morning, I set out with our caretaker Jeovanie to check out Glenda’s damage to the farm. The landscape was different. I could see all the way to the other embankment, which used to hide behind our lush foliage before. Bereft of their crowning glory, the trees seemed much thinner and more fragile, just like Bugsy is after taking a bath. Capiz lights that adorned the trees were battered; some had lost their shells. Fallen santol, rambutan and coconuts littered the ground, though I spied some kalamansi and dayap clinging on. It will take a while before we can enjoy the fruits of the farm again.

Trunks cut in half by the lashing of the wind stood sadly by. Trees leaned precariously on their sides, as if bowing down to the powers that be, unable to get back on their feet. It seemed that the biggest trees were the ones that could not withstand the onslaught of the storm and were uprooted completely: Five mangoes, one guyong guyong, one langka, one antipolo, several bamboos, and about a dozen and a half mahogany trees. The boys had tried to clear as much as they could but I still had to clamber over fallen logs to get around, and balance on the slippery moss-covered stones. Surprisingly, none of the 14 Stations of the Cross trees were damaged. Mike had taken care of them.

Jeovanie’s roof had flown off, but was now back in place. He tells me that most of our neighbors had lost their roofs, if not their entire houses. Why even the St. Paul nuns next door were not spared. Luckily, our house, outside kitchen and cabanas were not damaged, although Jeovanie said that at the height of the storm, he feared that the large picture windows would cave in with the pummeling of the wind, and that he and his wife Bleng were able to save the large glass top of our dinner table before the wind carried it off.

Despite the storm, however, the ground was lush with green, and new shoots were springing up. Rain, our dog, was running around, chickens were scratching for food while the roosters puffed up their chests to crow, birds chirped and flew from tree to tree. Everything smelled fresh and clean, as if God had given the world a bath to start the day right. And as I passed, the ylang-ylang tree perfumed the air. New life begins, and hope springs eternal.

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