many of my friends know that i don't drink coffee. it's an interesting subject of conversation considering that i survived law school without this dark brew which i understand keeps people awake. my appreciation for coffee is so primitive that i cannot comprehend people who have such a low regard for a 3-in-1. once, i took on a challenge to drink civet cat coffee, which my host guaranteed will change my mind about the drink (so certain was he that he promised i'd pick up the habit), and after obliging to finish the small cup, i flatly replied: it tastes pretty much like how coffee should be (and that was, by far, the only full cup of coffee i've had in my life). so getting invited to kuppa in BGC on a saturday afternoon was possibly not the most exciting thing to do. at least, until i realized that although it's branded as a roastery and café, they actually have a well-equipped kitchen orchestrated by a chef trained in classical italian cuisine that ships out very delectable meals.

kuppa might be familiar to bacolodnons, having raked a faithful following over the years. last january, they opened a branch here in bonifacio global city. its logo might look like a coal-fired train, but once you go inside, you'd realize that it's actually what sets kuppa apart from all cafés: it's a coffee roaster. coffee is roasted fresh as many as three times a week in this expensive piece of equipment that resembles a machine from a sci-fi movie. it's probably not how you'd imagine a coffee roaster would look like, but after it's primed, coffee is roasted in as little as 5 minutes. there is no single formula, apparently, for roasting coffee beans, not even if they're the same kind, or come from the same farm; each harvest is different, so when a fresh batch comes in, karen -- a professional cupper -- has to roast several batches until they get the taste right. i didn't know until then that there's training available for anyone who wants to be able to taste coffee, and karen is possibly the first (and probably the only) filipino to be licensed as a coffee Q grader.

i'm not into coffee, but i like any kind of information, so i at least found this part a little interesting. and although kuppa's coffee will not be getting return visits from me, i will definitely be back for the food. now i'm probably not the best food critic out there since i'm appreciative of many things and will give glowing reviews most of the time. it's not that i have such low standards, or that my palette is not discerning. it's just that i normally don't want to ruin my experience when i'm eating by having to trouble myself with small details, that i actually forget i'm eating. of course, when something is supremely bad, i'd say it.


we started the day with some sandwiches. one was prosciutto and pumpkin while the other was a ham and jam sandwich. they sound very different although tasted quite alike. they were very good sandwiches, and the french fried potato wedges make you wonder why you even eat fries from mcdonald's, but i was saving up some hunger for the later servings. the insalata kuppa was nicely done, you almost don't notice it's dredged with really funky blue cheese.


like i said, the chef was trained in italy, so of course we started with some standard italian dishes: pizza and pasta. the pizzas, the chef was proud to announce, wasn't shaped using a rolling pin. they're kneaded by hand. i actually asked why this was so and he replied that it had something to do about not flattening the dough, such that air is kept inside. while baking, the dough rises, and it's served with some ruptured bubbles. we had two types: the margherita and the cristina (named after the chef's wife -- and in kuppa, many of the dishes are named after actual living persons). the frutti di mare pasta was served two ways: the first with olive oil, and the second being cream-based. now if you throw in seafood and pasta together, you can never go wrong where i'm concerned, but i did prefer the olive-based one.


and then the train arrived, so to speak, pulling with it carriage after carriage of goodness. the next four offerings just happened to be some of my favorite things to eat. first was a salmon with cream sauce: the fish was pan seared, and it crumbled when i attacked it with my fork. this is how it's supposed to be: without that crusty feel outside and that dry, bland flavor inside. and i'm not a big fan of vegetables, but i ate a lot of the creamy spinach sidings.


at this time, karen decided to switch our meals and served the beef salpicao first. ever since i started eating proper steak, i realized that it should never be served overcooked. the salpicao, done without any fancy fusion ideas, was almost medium rare: tender to the bite, and soaked in all the juicy goodness of beef. along with the salmon, i will most likely have this again when i return.


i don't know if i've eaten lamb kaldereta before but this was absolutely surprising, i had to ask how they took away the lansa we associate with lamb. the meat fell off the bone (although i may be wrong -- there wasn't any bone there actually), and yet had a stronger and more distinct bite to it.


we ended the meals with the pièce de résistance: crispy pata, in all its traditional deep fried goodness. by this time of course i was already quite full, i wondered why this was served last. then i realized if it had been placed first, i probably would not have managed to taste anything that followed. the crispy pata was both crunchy, chewy, and tender in the right places. the twist here concerned the sauces: aside from the traditional soy sauce, there was also a dollop of pureed liver and apple chutney which went well together. i normally just snack on crispy pata while having beer, but this one can actually be eaten during a slow-moving meal, appreciating the nuances of the sauces and the way the meat was fried to perfection. now i'm beginning to sound like a food commercial, but i really liked this.


after lunch we had some teas, which washed away any after tastes lingering in my mouth and preparing me for dessert. i completely enjoyed matt's chocolate cake: a sinful and glorious rendition of the easy-to-ruin lava cake. by this time i was giving nicknames to the meals and i called this one "mattcho". there were four different coffees there and everyone else seemed to pine over them. they had something local from davao called the hinelaban brew and then a glass of africa courtesy of the ethiopian yergacheffe. a third coffee was called the ben's cappuccino ("bencap"). they enjoyed all these freshly brewed cups so i guess they were pretty good. i'll take their word for it.


so although it's a little out of the way if you're not around the BGC area, but kuppa is a nice place to enjoy real coffee -- a lot of places claim that but kuppa's owners have the stripes to declare that they know coffee. but also, it's a great place to eat good, no-nonsense, non-fancy food. i'll be returning one of these days -- perhaps after a sunday race, or a lazy saturday -- so i better call ahead for the mattcho. apparently, they prepare it when it's ordered. by the way, i have some coffee beans which i have no use for. it'll go to anyone who first leaves a comment.

Tags: food, food review, gluttony

it seems the only way to keep things beautiful is to tuck them as far away from the reach of man (and woman) as possible. this must be the case for the pure shores and azure seas of the calaguas islands, which is a tempestuous 2 and a half hour banca ride away from the pandawan in the muncipality of vinzons in camarines norte.


the pier in vinzons, which can be reached from daet by tricycle, stands on the banks of a shallow river fringed by palm and mangroves. regular trips to the main barangay in calaguas are available, although the locals keep it secret so tourists are forced to rent outriggers at ostentatious prices. still, it is a small fee considering you get so much for what you pay: the stretch of beach in mahabang buhangin is unlike anything you've seen, unless you've been in boracay in the early 80s. there are hardly any visible structures on the beach, although it is starting. sprouting on this prime estate that spreads like a wing are small, squat gazebos, some already with marks of permanence: ugly concrete boxes that seem to serve no purpose but to uglify the beautiful. use of a hut costs some money, and, depending on which slice of paradise you choose to stay, an entrance fee may be collected.


the powder-fine white sand on mahabang buhangin rolls for about a kilometer from end to end. there is no electricity here yet, so the evenings are pitch-black. one or two areas have generators, although these are only used to power small lights. so imagine how the evenings must look like. in the horizon are the distant lights of fishing boats, and overhead are the twinkling gems of the night sky. sitting on the beach, staring at the sparkling dome circling around us, i wondered whether i have seen this many stars before.


calaguas is no longer as savage as one might imagine: in the weekends, a carabao might make the trip from the barangay carrying supplies, even ice. the prices are understandably higher, although the threshold of your understanding might be put to the test as the locals start to mine the potential that is tourism: the barangay collects an environmental fee of P20, although i did not see how the fees were put to good use. nevertheless, your eyes are rewarded with views that are preciously rare these days. the beach faces the west, so there is an unimpeded view of the sunset, which on my visit painted the dusk with hues of blue, pink, orange, and violet.


i worry about our dwindling forests, our overrun beaches, our crowded islands. we conspire with each other to take more than what nature is able to give, squandering our blessings, and surrounding ourselves with less and less of all that is beautiful. so i do not mind that there are some places difficult to access. there shouldn't be any shortcuts to paradise: no roads, no speedboats, no cable cars, no trains. he who seeks that which is pure must be ready to make sacrifices.

Tags: beach, beacheneering, calaguas, camarines norte, paradise, tourism, travel, wanderlust

this entry was supposed to have been about my valiant effort to finish the 50K category of the north face 100 philippines 2012, which took place in baguio city over the weekend. i was supposed to talk about how i caved in to the complaints of my forgetful legs -- legs which seem to have no memory at all of climbing mountains -- and my ignominious exit from the race. i would have harnessed all my talents as a wordsmith to convince everyone -- myself most of all -- that there ought to be no shame in not finishing the run, that covering 23 kilometers over unbelievably difficult terrain is still some measure of accomplishment. i would have written this to illustrate my lack of regret for quitting (or at least, my denial of having any) since my personal safety was still priority.

but there will be no such story. against all odds, i finished more than 50 kilometers of what still feels like pure evil, with just over 11 minutes to spare.

to be perfectly honest, i only registered for the TNF 100 in order to get huge discounts for stuff i needed on my climb to xueshan. i was hoping to sell my bib to someone more inclined to this kind of cruel self-flagellation at a lower price. i was unable to get myself to commit to any form of training: between taiwan and baguio, i had only done mount pulag's ambangeg trail, the recon run of the salomon x-trail, and a few road runs, the cumulative distance of which did not even exceed my last foot race. on the last two practice runs, i laced on my trail runners to decide which i would use on race day. i was still somewhat unconvinced that i should not be running the race despite my lack of ample training. in fact, up until my long bus ride to baguio, i was uncertain whether i would push through.


on the friday that i left for baguio, i had not slept a wink on the slow-moving bus. i arrived in the city of pines at a quarter to 2AM, and haggled with a hotel receptionist to allow me to just deposit my bags instead of checking in. i said i would have no use for a room at that time, and would only be returning after 10PM later that same day. i changed into my running attire in the toilet, decided what i would be stuffing inside my orange TNF gulper at the lobby, and took a cab to camp john hay. when i arrived, they had just flagged off the 100K runners and i cheered deliriously for friends who were competing. i was still dizzy from lack of sleep and i wasn't sure if it was healthy that i hadn't carbo-loaded a day prior to the event. there are unfortunately no decent places to eat in any of the bus stops.

after catching up with the race director on what i needed to know, i stood in the middle of a small crowd of people whose foreheads were shining with headlamps. only then did i realize: yes, i am in this event, and running it. but then again, i wasn't looking towards a finish. i just wanted to see how far my legs would take me. at exactly 4AM the gun was fired, and i was running slowly on the dimly-lit asphalt of camp john hay. no more than 500 meters later, i took a right into the pitch-black pine forest, and began following the runner in front of me. there were buntings scattered sparsely among the trees, so very early on i had made a wrong turn along with a few other runners. in the distance someone was flashing a light and shouting: "runners!"


i am still unsure what fueled my legs at the time, but i was in fact, just playing along, throwing the light of my lamp on the trail to make sure i wouldn't trip over a rock or a root. even then i couldn't believe that there were forested trails in baguio city still, and so deep into the woods that i could not even hear the roar of passing vehicles. because in fact the yellow trail goes around in circles for about 8 kilometers close to public roads. just as the sun was rising, we ran out onto narrow barangay roads patrolled by the neighborhood gang of unleashed dogs, and eventually ended up on the strip of the loakan airport. there was a nice-looking helicopter parked outside the terminal building. locals were jogging on the runway itself. it was at this point that i began to slow down, and began walking. at the aid station, i loaded up on 100 plus and a banana, and realizing there was still 40 kilometers between me and the finish line, i decided to take it easy.


we left the road once again and ran a trail parallel to the runway, and began to descend a single track to kennon road. there were four talkative runners in front of me. one girl was wearing a yellow skirt with feathers on the trim. i would have wanted to overtake them all, seeing as they didn't seem to be in a hurry, but i couldn't, lest i plunge into the rusty pile of roofs below. the moment we reached kennon road, other runners began to pick up speed. i went to the nearest store and had a softdrink. ahead of me was the most difficult part of the trail: an uphill battle to the santo tomas relay tower, an ascent which took me over six hours. it was extremely hot that day, and i pined for sleep. there were parts of the steep trail where a gentle breeze blew and i took many take 5's, letting other better-prepared and better-trained runners to go ahead. i had expected to be better during the ascent, having carried 40-pound backpacks over more difficult terrain, but i could not seem to summon my mountaineer's legs.


it was just after the baguio water district where i first encountered the elite runners returning. it was unbelievable. there i was with other slackers, relaxing and taking our sweet time, and these guys were rushing down like they couldn't get injured descending at that speed. i cheered them on although i'm not sure if they appreciated me telling them their respective rankings. meanwhile, i had to deal with my own travails, and pushed myself up the trail the best i could. i began to strike up conversation with people whose names i didn't manage to ask, but whose encouraging words meant so much to me, they fueled my late evening finish. the trail from kennon road to the satellites on mount kabuyao is thoroughly wild, although there are fantastic views in some areas. i almost forgot i was in a race when i stopped frequently to take pictures. the irony of it all is that when you finally reach the pair of satellite dishes, there's actually a concrete road and a huge community.


it was at this aid station where i stopped the longest. a volunteer mixed me a cup of cold milo, and another one helped me refill my bladder. if i wanted rice, they said, the locals had cooked lunch. so it is actually possible to provide logistics in an ultramarathon. take that bataan death march ultramarathon! i lingered longer than reasonable, watched as iker karrera wolfed a few bananas with his game face on, and joked so much about not continuing that someone actually approached me to ask if i was really quitting. there were already a few runners there waiting to be ferried back to camp john hay. perhaps i was supposed to say yes, but i reacted with a scowl: "no!" i filled a bottle with gatorade, and went off for the clump of towers in the distance. on the last ascent, i was wincing in pain from a pair of cramps, but concerned runners told me that a massage was available at the turnaround point. that egged me on, actually, and i lay down on a tarp while a lady pressed liniment on my thighs. i was expecting some form of denouement to possess me when i finally circled back, but all i could think of was: i still have 25 kilometers left! looking at what was left of the trail, i could see loakan airport. it seemed so impossibly far, that i would hesitate to walk there, even if the trail was flat.


the only consolation was that about 10 of my last 25 kilometers were right up my alley: i am pretty good in the descent, so much so that the two guys who requested that i wait for them called me "halimaw". later on, going back up to loakan, i let them go ahead. when i reached kennon, i decided to stop at a store and have a snack. it was already close to 6pm, and i had nothing that day but two snickers bars, a banana, a small camote, and some oatmeal cookies. i was not sure if i was weak, in pain, hungry, sleepy, or all of that at once. with just four hours between me and the finish line, and my last chance for getting extracted (one lady runner ahead of me hailed a jeepney the moment she reached the road), i decided to continue. i was walking slowly once again, pausing every few steps, looking back. behind me, mount santo tomas appeared like a giant blue silhouette, the outlines of its towers piercing the empty sky. pretty soon, the view was replaced by a brooding night sky without stars, and i entered the forest in darkness. several runners in the 100K had already overtaken me, climbing as though they just hadn't covered more than 80 kilometers.


the way to loakan seemed confusing, and longer than i remember it. at that point, marshals were giving me conflicting feedback. i doesn't really help a lot for anyone to tell you that you have little left, when you still have more. it pains the mind, which at this point, was the only thing that kept me going. i wasn't about to give up knowing there was just 10 kilometers between me and my quarry. but an hour later, someone tells you the same thing: still 10K to go. i got really pissed at loakan airport when a marshal informed me that they had moved the cut-off to 1AM, and that i had less than 7K left. this actually was a disincentive from running. it was only when i realized that i still had to run part of the yellow trail that i began to pick up speed. two of the runners from the only group ahead of me had quit with 5K to go, saying they could not possibly finish with just an hour left. i was almost in a state of panic.


then one other runner, who accompanied me on the ascent, but who lagged behind going down, caught up with me. his two companions had quit, but he forged on, so i told him to go ahead since i couldn't run anymore, and we had very little time left. i complained severely to the marshals who were just as lost as i was, and after a while, i found the other runner trying to find the trail. i pointed to the marker he missed, and when a group of volunteers flashed a blinding light on me confirming that we were already in camp john hay. "cutoff na ba kami?" i whined, and they said i still had 15 minutes and about 400 meters of asphalt road between me and the finish line. despite what i had just said earlier, i began to run. and run i did, clocking in a 17:48:43 finish time. i was one of the last two to finish. there was no fanfare when i arrived. no one seemed to notice that i was about to finish -- the marshals and volunteers were probably exhausted as well. i had to pick up the finisher's tape just so i could pretend at least my accomplishment was worth celebrating.


immediately after, i took a cab with complete strangers so that we could leave camp john hay. i was being invited to the filling station to celebrate my finish. but when i arrived at my hotel room, i crashed. i could barely drag myself to the shower to wash off the grime of nearly 18 hours on that trail. i was hungry, i was in need of a pair of ears to listen to my story, i was delirious. but i was also very exhausted, and my body was in great, unimaginable pain. i applied liniment on my legs, popped a pain killer, and slept with the TV on. i expected to sleep till noon the following day, but my body remembered it had not eaten well, so i woke up at 8 and limped to the buffet where i had 3 plates of traditional pinoy food. i wasn't quite sure if the food was good, or if i was just famished, but i had a lot to eat. back at camp john hay, i picked up my token -- a barrel man which the organizers thought might have been a cheeky way to commemorate our finish, but is actually a rather patriarchal symbol of virility. the rather unintentional sexism is forgivable since i'm not a feminist anyway. i watched as trail superstars enjoyed the boodle fight, picking up food with their hands, and -- giving in to filipino tradition -- having some gulps of beer.


until now, i have yet to completely grasp the profound, if not sublime beauty of this exhausting exercise. when people ask me why i did it, my answer is a terse and unphilosophical: "para pahirapan ang sarili ko." i could probably offer a few explanations why i decided to join and finish when everything else suggested that i give up: to test my limits, to break boundaries. perhaps i should relish in the fact that despite the punishment that i've willingly submitted myself to, here i am telling this story, able to walk albeit with some struggle. i have said it many times and i say it again: it is not so much that it is something i must do, or that i could in fact do it, but that i might have felt it impossible to do at one point that makes it more worthwhile. i feel more alive knowing that i can push through the pain, for no great thing is ever easily achieved.

Tags: 50k, baguio city, the north face, tnf 100, trail running, ultramarathon

these came in the mail the other day.


after months of procrastinating, i finally managed to sit down and design my photobooks. last year, i purchased some vouchers from groupon for 5 photobooks, and i don't really remember why i put off making them although i downloaded the program immediately after the transactions were confirmed. the result is that: i could have done so much more where the layouts are concerned. i just didn't want to put together pictures in a book. these weren't meant to be albums. i wanted the books to tell stories. the compilations were supposed to be five separate photoessays. right now, the message they convey is that i take good pictures, and that's not enough. now while i'm not completely happy with my own laziness, i am rather satisfied with the quality of the output. the books are so nicely done they could easily be coffee table books that savvy, cultured, well-traveled people might pick up and leaf through with keen interest. a small note though: it would have been great if my screen had been calibrated, or if i made myself aware of the color settings of the printer, because some photos appeared darker than they did on my iMac -- but then again, i edited very few of the photos, and those i did just had minor adjustments in contrast and sharpening. by the way, it took the printer in malaysia about five days to produce each one, and another two to deliver it to the philippines.


the first photobook is a compilation of photos i took during the days of film, when photography wasn't an everyman's thing. the printing output did not manage to capture the authentic feel of grain, but i was actually surprised to realize that although i was then unschooled in even the most basic principles of photography, i found elements that i use even now that i've done some workshops and read many books. the next one is about mountaineering, where i compile images of my adventures on the mountains. in some pages i also put group photos and shots of people i climb with. the last page is all about me. no one ought to complain because these are, after all, my photobooks. this photobook is where i spent the most amount of time, since i also lifted some text from my blog to accompany the pictures, and did a bit of page designing, whereas in most cases, i just put one photo in each page.


the third one is about my travels through the philippines. i chose an odd size for this one: portrait. the strange thing about photobooks is that for the softcover series, they only have square and landscape in small sizes, and portrait in both small and medium sizes, although they all have the same pricepoint. it's unfortunate because a nature/outdoor/travel/landscape photographer shoots mostly in landscape format. i compensated by spreading some photos across two pages, although since it's bound rather tightly, a portion of a picture is nearly obscured. on the cover of this photobook is a group of kids covered in sand and playing on the beach of apo island near dumaguete.


the fourth book chronicles images of my travels through southeast asia and hongkong. on the cover is a monk wrapping the stupa of a wat in colors we might associate with buddhism. if the photo file is large enough, you could actually have the entire front and back covers filled with just one photo, and i do this most of the time (the scan of the film photo wasn't large enough to be enlarged). so here i fill the pages with photos of temples, monks, and elephants. the last photobook is about my journeys through east asia, including japan, korea, taiwan. here was also a bit of thinking, because i sought to blur the distinctions between these three countries, and i decided to put two photos on a spread from different countries, but always with something in common: arches, spring colors, complicated ceilings, even just colors.

someone asked me why i didn't put captions in the photos: information that would have been useful, such as where they were taken, or how. i said, well, the books are mostly for my own reading pleasure, so i have something to look at when i'm not busy. but then of course i realized that i also want to share the images that i take, so that's something i can do for future editions of my photobooks. and there will be more since i just purchased another few vouchers. looking through these books now made me realize that my pictures aren't just meant for the web. they're meant to be appreciated on big, glossy books. for those who may be interested, viewing is anywhere near my place.

Tags: hubris, photography, self-publishing, vanity

my dinner at the leader hotel in taroko gorge was presented on oddly-shaped plates neatly arranged on a varnished wooden tray. a chunk of meat cut in two places was the centerpiece of this meal, and i had to ask CY what it was called. it was obviously a fusion of east and west, i thought, judging from what i had just heard, and i noted it down so that i could blog about it at some future time. but i wasn't sure if i had written it correctly, so i asked CY: "do you spell it w-a-y-b-o meets the eiffel tower?" CY's brow clashed disapprovingly and he gave me this perplexed look. "waybo! waybo!" he repeated as if i had not exhibited any form of intelligence in the past and pointed to the wooden sculpture of an animal nearby. it took me a while to realize that the hoofed quadruped with spikes on its back and what seemed like fangs protruding upward from its snout was a wild boar.


i had complained about the less-than-satisfactory meals i ate while climbing xueshan, and by my estimate, i may have lost at least five pounds from the combined exercise and crash diet, but i took all that back, and possibly more, on my first meal back in the plains of taiwan. dinner at yilan city was courtesy of the climb fee, and our guides spared no taiwan dollar in making sure we were happy. in fact we were, i immediately forgave them for scrimping on our food while we were at the huts. following the chinese custom that leftovers are always a good sign, dishes kept coming that evening and we devoured everything that was placed on the table until there was no room in our stomachs to put them in.


exhausted from the hike and still burping from the feast, we went back to our hotel to fix our things. after about an hour, we were on the wet streets of yilan again prowling for some late-night fix. we managed to pass by a small hole in the wall where the obviously drunk owner called us in for beer. they served really good grilled beef, and to show his appreciation, the garrulous owner showered us with peanuts. since we had decided to have just one round of beer, we stood up just as the rain started to fall, and we got stuck in front of a store that sold chicken and duck parts. it wasn't the most enticing display but we left with a bag that we ate at a roadside restaurant which had a grand staff of two: the auntie took orders and served, while the uncle manned a kitchen of 3 burners. at one point, he was tending to three dishes at the same time, sauteing vegetables, frying fish, and setting another pan aflame. and the food they served was really good too.


on my first visit to taiwan some years back, i remember being very happy with my food finds. i spoke (and still don't) no word of mandarin, and could not tell the difference between traditional and simplified chinese characters, so my choices were limited to those where there was an english menu, or where the menu was a picturebook, or where the waiters spoke some english. in this return, however, i was happy to just follow CY around. despite his sometimes expensive taste, CY loves food, and knows exactly where to find them. plus he also speaks the language of more than a billion people, so i made him decide where i would be eating for most of my taiwan tour.


on our last day in taipei, i told CY that i would surrender my day to him. kuya mar and i made him decide everything we would be eating, which also meant he would dictate where we would go. i trusted his taste, and just hoped that by the end of the day, i wouldn't be bankrupt. since i was eager to have din tai fung again, we went off to the original branch in xinyi. it wasn't 11AM yet, but there was already a queue outside. i was expecting us to wait at least 10 minutes, so i raised my palms over a metal pillar that was providing heat to the eager eaters. finally, our number was called, and we sat at a small table. the diners at the tables nearby were already gorging on different kinds of dumplings, but CY only ordered two dishes for us: the traditional xiao long bao and a shrimp dumpling. he gave instructions on how it would be eaten, and kuya mar quickly learned, although he was so fond of the ginger with black vinegar and soy sauce that he sipped it after each dumpling, pinoy style.


without telling us what would happen next, we moved to another restaurant where we each had a bowl of noodles and a plate of shrimp tempura. there was a woman on a stool near the door, pouring soup into containers, and dipping metal nets filled with noodles in a vat of boiling broth. it was probably a recreation of the traditional noodle house because behind the woman was an old, faded, black-and-white photo of almost the same scene. i thought it would be our last restaurant for the day, and that we would finally go and look for the camera i hoped to buy but CY had other plans. we walked to another restaurant and ordered 4 dishes. i wanted to ask at that point if he was serious, or if we had planned to go to a fourth, fifth, or sixth restaurant just for lunch. as a matter of fact, we did go to six places that day, since we spent most of the day eating.


the third restaurant served the best sardines, braised pork, and liver i've had in years, i would go back there if i could speak a word of mandarin. they do have pictures, so if ever i'm in the xinyi area, i know where to go. we gobbled every morsel of rice that was served, and i was about to beg CY to stop the madness, but we still ended up having shaved ice with fruits. later on, after a visit to camera street, we had tea and coffee near ximending, then afterwards dinner at another restaurant near the sun yat sen memorial. it wasn't the fanciest place i've visited in taipei, but it was so crowded we had to share our table with complete strangers. a funny-looking man whose unappealing combover stole my appetite took our order. CY actually apologized before the food arrived that he had ordered only two dishes. but the food was so good that i forgave our order taker for his bad hair, and i told CY he had nothing to be sorry for -- i was just so happy to have decided to let him take me wherever his nose and his tastebuds took him.


when we arrived in taipei, CY actually worried about how people might react to his choice of eating places. he was concerned that the others might find his suggestions too expensive. he didn't want to let us non-chinese speaking filipinos lose in the streets of taipei devouring strange meals. and there were plenty of them, beginning with the night market just outside JV's hostel where we stayed. there were rows of restaurants there, and i could honestly have eaten in any of them, but my malaysian friend's discerning palate was not easily pleased. on the night i joined him for a buffet at a mall near taipei 101 -- and you'll have to forgive me if i can't provide any further details since i failed to ask what the romanized names of most of these restaurants were -- he worried about where the others would eat. i told him not to be bothered, since they are seasoned travelers who seldom need the services of a guide, nor that of a translator, even in the most exotic of places.


so we enjoyed our NTD850 buffet which could easily rival some of the best manila has to offer, particularly because they also served unlimited beer and unlimited häagen-dazs, although i honestly don't think you can have too many of both, even of either. i made it a point to be able to taste everything on the japanese food corner, but also stuffed my plate (and my mouth) with little servings of everything. what really impressed me about the restaurant was that they didn't put big pots over small fires. instead, there were limited portions which got refilled by a fresh batch every now and then. most buffets really distract the poor quality of the taste with the variety of the selection, but this was not the case with this restaurant. we had to shake off all those pounds by walking back to our hostel, almost 20 minutes away on foot.


i used to think that singapore was the asian foodie's paradise. that is still probably true, if you are hindered by knowing only the english language. if you can even speak a little mandarin, try to explore the gastronomic wonders of taiwan, and you'll discover a world of flavors, aromas, and textures that will satisfy your salivating taste buds.

Tags: food, food trip, gluttony, taipei, taiwan, travel, wanderlust

"did you make a snowman?" asked the malaysian we met at the 369 hut after we declared our successful ascent to the summit of xueshan. i struggled for an appropriate reply as to why we didn't. after all, this is what every person from the tropics is expected to do when he first encounters snow: source twigs, a carrot, some buttons, and a bowler hat, roll ice into balls and make a likeness of himself as an overweight white man. "a friend of mine made a snowbunny," i replied, and he seemed stunned we hadn't acted appropriately, surrounded by all that snow. "and snow angels." still, this did not satisfy him, and the look on his face seemed to ask: why? "the snow was just too cold," i finally said. "we couldn't hold snow for too long."


in fact, we were cold far too early in the climb, beginning the moment we stepped out of our bus at the trailhead in wuling farm, when we wrapped ourselves in jackets, gloves, scarves, and bonnets. nine hours earlier, we were whisked from downtown taipei, and traveled through tunnels drilled inside mountains and highways carved from mountainsides to reach shei-pa national park. getting there was an atrocious test of patience. there were long periods when our bus parked itself on the road, as parts of the mountain pass could only be accessed by one car at a time. our ordeal was made worse by the fact that wuling was blooming with the colors of early spring, and the locals were driving into shei-pa in droves. so at around 6:30PM, our guides were distributing packets of food, and after having stuffed sleeping bags, crampons, and layers of clothes i hoped would make me feel warm and fuzzy during the wintry evenings, i heaved my 70 liter osprey argon on my back. it towered over my head like a tall, burdensome shadow. we began our trek up into the darkness in relative silence, as if the air froze our words. after 15 minutes, we began peeling off the layers we had piled on: it only gets really cold when you hold still, but under that weight and up the trail, you perspire as you do when it's 15 degrees warmer.


in about an hour and a half, we all reached cika hut, which is about 2 kilometers from the jump off and sits at an already high 2463 meters. the hut has two rooms each with two rows of barracks-style double bunk beds, which, on peak seasons, can sleep as many as 156. but on that evening, there were only us, our guides, and two other taiwanese climbers, allowing us ample elbow room to roll around -- after all, there was not much to do in the evening. cika hut was well equipped: there was running water, toilets, solar-powered lights, and a huge mess hall where the guides tended to dinner. that evening, we were served a huge pot of soup with an assortment of vegetables which we did not manage to finish. instead of throwing away the leftovers, the guide ate every morsel. i am not sure if that incident convinced him of the size of our appetites, but on some days, we were either weak or grouchy for not having eaten too well. ahead of our trip to taiwan, we had informed the guide of the dietary restrictions of some of the team members: niel is a vegetarian and danna does not eat pork. probably to make things easier for them, the guides did away with meat altogether, leaving the carnivores amongst us trembling from deprivation.


the scale of the logistics in getting to snow mountain was unfortunately lost on me. a few months previous, niel asked me whether i was interested in climbing the second highest mountain in taiwan, and i immediately said yes, not certain whether i would be in shape, or whether i would have the resources to fund what then seemed like a simple plan. i was not too concerned about getting myself prepared until after a week before we left for taipei, and i read a blog entry on a failed attempt at reaching the summit. i was suddenly gripped by the fear of failure and concern brought about by ignorance, more than anything else. i was unsure about what i was getting myself into, and i never even realized that so much had to be poured into the preparations: permits had to be secured, payments had to be made, and many emails had to be exchanged with the guides who spoke primarily mandarin. it was comforting to know, at the very least, that we were taking the east xue trail, the mountain's executive route, if you will. it was not only the shortest way to reach the main peak, but is furnished with the facilities that robbed us a bit of the wild in exchange for a little of the comfort.


the following day, we began our hike at a little past 8AM. the previous evening, jack had described what we were supposed to expect. his english was limited, but we got the general idea: 3 kilometers going up. 1 kilometer flat. 1 kilometer going down. in terms of altitude, that meant a 750 meter gain for the first 3 kilometers, then a loss of about a hundred in the last. but it's actually a little more complicated than that. outside cika hut, the thick fog of the early morning could not conceal what the previous evening hid from us. the trail continued to wind up the mountain in a dizzying zigzag through the lush pine forest, whose trail was browned by needles. in places, weather-beaten logs had been driven into the ground both to serve as steps and also to prevent erosion. wooden markers spaced 100 meters apart recite how far away the destination is and how much distance you've covered. there are also rest areas where information about the mountain's landscape, geology, and wildlife is displayed. unpainted picket fences were also installed to prevent climbers from drifting off the main path.


when we reached the foot of the crying slope, we noticed the subtle changes in the surrounding terrain. the erect pine trees dispersed, the trail became littered with rocks, and foliage shrank into bushes. oaks and junipers began to appear, even as we crawled towards the east peak, pausing every few steps, amusing ourselves with stories that had little to do with our present burdens. along the way, we encountered mountaineers who were descending to wuling farm. many of them were pleased to find out we weren't local, and perhaps even surprised to realize that we had come from a country where the word alpine is associated with a brand of evaporated milk, or that the closest we'd come to seeing snow is by scraping the ice inside our freezers. the crying slope was terribly steep, and it left me breathing more vigorously than i'm used to, inhaling what little oxygen i imagined might be availble at 3000 meters. finally, i found jack sitting on a rock, talking to two climbers, one of whom was wearing socks over his vibrams. his funky-colored plastic snow boots were hanging from his huge bag. there was a a directional sign behind jack, pointing to where we were headed and where we were just the previous day.


"east peak." jack said, pointing to a mound of earth on his right. it was so far the most reassuring two words i had heard that day, since it suggested that there would be no punishing ascents until we reach 369 hut. we spent a brief moment at the east peak, wondering what lay beyond the fog, and decided that we should go on even though jack was inclined to stay and wait for the others. he told us to just "go straight, follow the trail", which is more or less what we did. a few meters from the east peak was a giant white H, at which point i complained about why there were brief uphill stretches when we were promised a very steady trail to the next hut. then i realized that it had just been after lunch, and i had nothing but crackers. one of the things that i belatedly realized was that we weren't stopping for lunch. it wasn't even on the meal plan. we were told that we should just stock on bread to munch on along the trail, but it was not something i was about to get used to, and i was grumpy.


i was admiring the interesting flora that grew around us and imagined how they must look like in autumn. the late winter and the onset of spring had allowed the trees to be either green with life, or bald and pale from the frost. many of them were wrapped in green moss, which spun around trunks and branches like yarn. throughout most of the last part of this day's trek, we were focused on the trail. there was nothing to see outside of 20 meters, and our visual radius was further obscured the nearer we got to 369 hut, that we didn't realize it was already in front of us until we were 5 steps away from it. we were under the impression that all the other climbers had gone down, so we announced our victorious arrival to the world, only to realize that there were 3 other persons in the hut. we bowed to show our courtesy, and spread our things on the areas that had not yet been occupied. i am not sure how far away the rest of the team was from us but we had dozed off when they arrived, although it wasn't even past 2PM yet.


in the other room, the only other climbers at the hut were fixing their things. i noticed they had packed climbing rope and each one of them had a harness. this stoked my fear and i wondered whether we were ill-equipped, despite the last-minute shopping frenzy that sent us buying gear that would have no use in the more temperate region where i usually climb. after a while, jack decided to make soup to warm our bodies. although we had climbed in elevation, perched at 3100 meters, the outside temperature was still at a tolerable 8 degrees. outside cika hut, the fog was spinning in imperfect circles over the vast expanse that opened between two ridges that disappeared in the bouquet of clouds in the distance. cika hut sits on a slope cleared of trees and populated only by dwarf bamboo. it also has many of the facilities that are available in cika, except that it has the strangest toilet. while comparatively more modern than the holes in the ground that we are accustomed to, the dry toilet is equipped with a system that "flushes" without the need of water. you crank a wheel any direction, and a churning mechanism scatters whatever that falls into the catchment below. unfortunately, not everyone does his business with precision, and the toilet is disgusting.


after CY arrived close to sunset, dinner was served. the mess hall was abuzz with activity, and we feigned excitement over the food that left us regretting the surrender of our meals to the discretion of our guides. we were served boiled noodles and pickled vegetables whose flavors were so subtle that my advice to anyone climbing snow mountain in the future is to bring patis. the weather improved a little that evening, and the sky cleared to reveal the attendance of many stars. the faint moonlight traced the outline of distant peaks. since we were all anxious about what was to take place the following day, we all decided to sleep early. it wasn't even after 7PM when i cocooned myself in my negative-rated sleeping bag which was rented from the guide. we were also provided a hygienic liner -- who knows how many climbers have slept in these -- and filled the lower deck of the bunk beds with colorful, fluffy pods. the strange bedtime had us waking at very odd hours. it could have been the excitement, really, or the deranged mountain rat that kept running over our heads.


at 5AM we silently rose from our cozy bunks to hug the frigid dawn. the guides refused help in the kitchen, although it doesn't take a lot to boil a tasteless congee and open a pack of mantao bread. a while later, jack gave us a final briefing: one kilometer to the forest. one kilometer in the forest. one kilometer to the peak. the sun had just risen when we started to trek, bleeding the golden colors of dawn onto the vast mountainscape that surrounded us. our shadows were long against the slope, and although we moved slowly, it was as if the world around us had changed the minute we stepped into the black forest, which was nestled in the sombre shade of a high ridge. the erect, gray trunks of pine trees jostled for sun in the canopy, and the narrow trail meandered along a precarious slope. it was here where we finally encountered snow, first in pockets, in patches, then in sheets, until it seemed that the entire forest sprang out from this white bed of ice. i have been somewhere higher, but xueshan's altitude and distance from the equator allowed it a cover of snow during winter.


there was a tinge of disappointment in my heart when i realized that snow on the mountain was not nearly as immaculate as it was in my imagination: the wind had speckled the white sheets with dried pine needles. perhaps we had come not at the best time to experience alpine conditions. winter was already waning in the last week of february, and we caught only dregs of the abundant snowfall that took place in the previous weeks. giant icicles that resembled cold stalactites were melting on a boulder, and in parts the snow had been compacted to shiny rocks of ice. there was a section of the trail that was described as a rock waterfall, where a sheet of solid rock seemed to have broken into many pieces, allowing the snow to settle inside the cracks. at a rest area, jack pointed to a tree whose trunk had been scraped. black bear, he said, and although it was likely the animal was in hibernation, i had to ask whether there had been any record of attacks on humans.


somewhere inside the forest jack decided that it was time for us to wear our crampons. ahead of this trip we knew our hike through snow-covered mountain trails would not have been complete if we weren't sufficiently equipped. in taipei during our final briefing, our guides distributed the tools that would make our climb both safe and possible, including a pouch that contained two metal contraptions with long yellow straps, each resembling the jaw of a mechanical crocodile. someone pestered jack about putting it on, but he just waved his hand and said later. a minute after, i asked whether i had attached the crampons correctly, and he blurted out: wow, you're very smart! that is right. jack merely mentioned what was obvious, but of course everyone disagreed. "you should not have said that," CY cried. "now we will never hear the end of it," complained another. in fact they didn't.


the crampons added at least an inch to my height, and i drove the ten sharp spikes into the snow with so much force, i would probably have pierced my recently-acquired boots if i had carelessly stepped on my foot. we ploughed through the trail with metal teeth under our soles, and finally reached the fringes of the black forest, where the trees, stripped of their green crowns, began to twist into disfigured arms reaching out from the earth's layer of ice. sunlight fell through the gaps on the canopy, and the trail opened into xueshan's glacial cirque. it felt like i stood at the bottom of an open coliseum, with bleachers of snow and rock spreading outward ending abruptly just under a mound that tipped the difficult route known as the holy ridge. dotted lines which the guide said were footsteps of mountain goats streaked from the peak into the meadow where i stood. our trail rose steadily towards the mountain's rim, ending at the summit, which at the time did not seem like the highest peak.


we walked slowly to our destination along a trail that was sometimes too precarious. we need only stray a few steps from the path to find our foot sinking into the frosty foam, or fall briefly out of balance and find ourselves tumbling back to the meadow. the sky was blue under my polarized sunglasses, and the clouds overhead moved faster than my lazy pace. i inhaled gulps of air in my paranoid belief that there was little oxygen to go around at that altitude, clearly a symptom of my state of deprived intelligence, having carried the weight of the sky on my head in such harsh conditions. i say harsh because although we were treading on snow, covered in layers of technical fabrics, we had climbed closer to the sun and the fluids swimming inside our bodies had all but turned to steam.


the hour that was necessary to reach the peak seemed like a fleeting instant when i finally stood on an area with neither snow nor bush. a salmon-colored boulder sat on a platform of broken rocks proclaimed our altitude: 3886 meters. a sign pointed to the other trails in xueshan, including the treacherous holy ridge, which jack said he would never do again in winter. we passed around a bottle of chivas regal which mannie carried all the way from manila, and celebrated our successful ascent to the second highest peak in taiwan, and all of east asia. standing on the highest peak, the summit ridge formed the bottom half of a circle, from which curtains of snow draped towards the meadow. further in the distance, a green forest was hedged between ridges, disappearing under a plume of cloud that seemed to have just escaped a recently-erupted volcano. on the other side, the fog obscured the view of the rest of shei-pa national park.


i only had a shot of chivas regal, but before our half hour stay at the summit was over, i already started to complain about a headache. our brains were still apparently not used to the thin air up there, aggravated perhaps by my hunger. jack suggested that we begin our descent as bad weather was brewing. we marched back down to the bottom of the cirque and into the black forest. the way back showed just how steep the trail was. inside the forest, we held on to wearing the crampons until the snow completely vanished from the trail. we were unsure when we would be needing them again. suddenly the forest opened, and we were back inside the 369 hut, wondering what we would do with the many hours left before the day was over. i began to pack my bag in preparation for the following day's descent, but not before finishing the chivas regal to celebrate our safe and successful climb.


the following day, xueshan blessed us with clear weather, and although we managed to see her completely, we passed her in haste, possibly because many of us were both trembling and salivating from having been denied meat for so many days. the forest of junipers, oaks, and pine was greener, and the narrow trails appeared closer to the edge; the fog that covered the mountain in mystery also masked her dangerous but graceful beauty. distant peaks were revealed, and ridges rose to the sky. the trail snaked down along a sometimes rocky spine of earth. we rummaged through our bags for something to eat while resting at cika hut, where jack delivered to us some bad news: we'd have to walk an additional 6 kilometers since the bus couldn't get into wuling farm. so although we were early, we decided to continue walking.


jack wasn't very accurate, because from the nicely-appointed ranger station at the trailhead to the parking lot at the tourism office, the distance must have been nearly 10 kilometers. the road going there was quite interesting. shei-pa had plantations of very pink cherry blossoms in full bloom lining its narrow avenues, and tourists had swarmed the park bringing along cameras, picnic baskets, and wearing leather jackets with furry hoods. at a bridge, people were staring into the stream, pointing at some of the last remaining land-locked salmon in the world. at one point, the wind blew the petals of a cherry blossom tree, giving us a sample of what i'd read was a sakura storm. it would have been a leisurely stroll had it not been for our heavy backpacks and our aching feet. i was a little pissed to realize, about two hours later, that the other members of our team were already at the parking lot, having chanced upon a cab, but didn't offer to unburden us of our packs when they passed us along the road. it took a while for me to simmer down -- if only i had packed some snow to cool my head.


climbing xueshan is special not only because i managed to walk on snow; it wasn't unique just because i managed to put on a pair of crampons and pose with an ice axe as though it was an essential part of my gear. lately, i have been a helpless witness to how fleeting most people's passions are. their devotions are ephemeral, and although they began as me, quickly they tire of the usual sensations that accompany an excursion to the mountains. while i have not had to resist questioning my own choice of adventure, i must admit that i have not recently been so excited, or scared, or both, about a climb. the last i felt this was when i first tackled mount mantalingahan, and not since. when something you love dearly starts to become routine, then that should be cause for genuine concern. so there is always something cathartic about plunging into the unfamiliar, the unknown. while it is interesting to see just how different the conditions are elsewhere in the world and to compare my "hills" with foreign mountains, new experiences such as snow mountain have happily confirmed that at the very least, i have not lost a sliver of my curiosity.

Tags: adventure, amci, mountaineering, snow, snow mountain, syue mountain, taipei, taiwan, travel, wanderlust, winter, xueshan

unbeknownst to me, i had apparently been appointed the official photographer of salomon pilipinas, which meant i had to haul my sleepy self to tagaytay highlands for the social media preview of the salomon x-trail run. of course the appointment has little to do with my talent as an events photographer: salomon brand manager janice is a friend of mine. we were there with runners who blog and a few members of the philippine skyrunning association. janice gave us a briefing about the salomon brand and an idea of what the x-trail participants will have to suffer, i mean, experience, come march 31. and this is all i have to say: am i glad that i'm not running this event.


i say that because i have almost zero training. i have not had any decent exercise since i made a PR at the half marathon category of the condura skyway run last february 5. i did try to run a little last week, but my 3K was both pathetic and ridiculous. how easy my muscles forget, when in january alone, i racked up more than 50 kilometers. so anyway, it wasn't my first time to be in tagaytay highlands. last year, i did the nathan run and that was possibly one of the most insane races i'd ever done, but also one of the most refreshing, so much that i'd like to do it again this year if and when they stage it, never mind the distance of the race venue from manila. now imagine that level of difficulty, multiplied by rough terrain, and you have the salomon x-trail. the race director said that it was the most difficult trail he has ever plotted, and judging by the short distance we ran (a little over 6K), i worry about those who are going into this trail with the haughty ignorance of a road runner. the bloggers were comparing the course with other trails and they said this was off the charts, and for good reason: other runs try to pass off fire roads as trails. if vehicles, even the off-road types, can pass through them, they could hardly be considered trails.


in the salomon x-trail, we have single tracks and steep portions where regular running shoes will simply not do. of course, it's reassuring for the participants to know that ropes will be placed in certain places. and also, runners may not need to hack their way through the trail: the organizers will clear portions where the vegetation is really thick, and to most of the city-bred bloggers, itchy. arm sleeves and protection for your legs may be in order. the preview run got me really exhausted; although i'm supposedly more used to these kinds of terrain, i don't usually run them. and it's really quite difficult to do something like this while carrying a full-frame DSLR and a video camera as well (that i never got to use anyway). i really have to get back into shape since i'm supposed to do the 50 in the TNF 100 late next month. i hope that doesn't leave me limping!


tagaytay highlands is a really exclusive development (they wouldn't even sell me a coke because i didn't have a card), and events such as these give us an opportunity to take a peak at the posh playgrounds of the rich. i knew we had cable cars in the country, i just didn't know that one of them was here. but what really surprised me was the funicular train from the main clubhouse to the midlands golf course. the rails are elevated for the entire part, which made the brief experience even more exciting than the ride up victoria peak in hong kong. we also checked out some of the real estate, which look really nice. it must be really nice here during the colder months: makes you feel you're somewhere else.


so some wise words to the salomon x-trail participants from someone who had sampled the route: i hope you're sufficiently prepared and geared for this event. it's going to be a huge event: 1,000 participants! just a reminder from tagaytay highlands: they're an exclusive, gated community, which means you can't just waltz into the venue to check out the race course. you'd have to be checked in, which is only possible because of the event, in order to be able to see the area on the day prior to the race itself. i'm almost certain this event will have most people cursing, swearing, and wanting surrender: the salomon x-trail pilipinas is like nothing most runners have ever done before. i seriously wish all the participants good luck.

Tags: blogging, salomon, tagaytay, trail running

i was sitting underneath the shade of swaying coconut trees trying to figure out the country of origin of the young people behind me while listening to the sounds of kulintangs as they drifted into the ampitheater that faced an empty stage. it was the second malasimbo music and arts festival, and i arrived here shortly after 5pm, following an almost catastrophic boat ride and a long walk that resulted from avoiding enterprising tricycle drivers. i have heard of this festival before, although i was somewhere else last year when they staged it. when the opportunity to go this year came along, i grabbed it, notwithstanding the fact that i would be going alone. i got my camper's band, and a day pass, which, combined, set me back P1,500. i later found out that many of those who camped didn't pay the camper's fee, which kind of pissed me off since we were promised facilities, but had to queue for the lone shower in our area.


i pitched my tent on a clearing near the parking lot, and made my way down to the sprawling festival venue. people's future was performing when i got there, and the ampitheater, whose slope had been shaped into stadium seats, was nearly empty. works of art were scattered all over the area, which was so manicured it resembled a portion of a golf course. there were mats on the ground. at either side of the stage were areas where they sold beer. behind it were food concessionaires. to the right was the mangyan village, where they built examples of indigenous architecture. a woman was threading plastic beads into a bracelet, while others were selling colorful bric-a-brac and weaves. there was also a smaller stage for parallel performances.


i wasn't particularly drawn to the festival because of the music. i am not a big fan of any of the performers and would probably even prefer not to listen to radioactive sago. but i just wanted to be there and see for myself what it was all about. this country has so much talent in the field of music, it makes one wonder why something like this, spread over 3 days, has not caught the attention of mainstream consumers. of course, there was nothing mainstream about the people who attended, judging by the number of people sporting dreadlocks and tattoos and the fact that marijuana was smoked openly, although members of puerto galera's police force were visibly present. for that saturday, the festival featured, aside from those already mentioned, chillitees, sinosikat, kristian fernandez, DJ bad kiss, feen, and junior kilat.


some of these groups are actually quite famous, and have a following of their own, but what really carried the evening were the performances of paul zialcita, brigada, and joe bataan. both paul and brigada played percussion instruments. paul had done a workshop that afternoon and invited young mangyans to play with him. he got the audience to rise from their seats and jump to the sound of thumping water bottles and drums. brigada played familiar festival tunes with a variety of instruments that were pounded by hands and sticks. they infused the beats with rhythms from world music, and they were so loved by the audience, we asked for two encores. joe bataan, an american of afro-filipino lineage (he pronounces his last name as batahn), played music of mostly spanish harlem inspiration, and got the crowd dancing. he had come with two back-up singers and a trumpet player, but performed with a full band he had just met two days prior: he couldn't help but heap praises on local talent.


the festival was a unique and special experience which i would have wanted to share with more of my friends, although i did know a lot of people who were there. for a brief moment i could not believe we had something like this in the philippines. i was wondering whether this was going to be our version of burning man, but that will probably not happen if they keep it prohibitive. the price tag on the festival is really steep, and the cost of the food is ridiculous: P50 for a manila light beer or a small bottle of water or a stick of banana q. a friend said it may have been purposeful: this is what you pay to keep undesirables away, and the quality of the crowd was particularly glossy: lots of beautiful people with familiar faces, countless foreigners, and filipinos who preferred to speak english.


the festival had a really good vibe. the music was pretty good, regardless of the kind of music you like. the organizers (which, to my slight disappointment, turned out to be foreigners) did not scrimp on the quality of the sound. the line-up of performers was impressive: no little-known rock bands formed in school or at garages and the hordes of orcs they seem to attract (cue the UP fair here). it was well-organized, and i felt there was no threat to my safety and security. the experience felt very genuine and sincere, like kindred spirits convened in a place for the love of music and art. the only thing that might ruin this, i thought to myself, was a fire dance. and that is exactly what happened. you can keep out the orcs, but there is no sieve for pretense.


i may have a few suggestions to improve the festival: first, get san miguel to sponsor the drinks, since i wasn't even half tipsy after 5 bottles of manila light and 3 tanduay ice. the foreigners were looking for red horse. second, make the cost of food more reasonable: even those who can afford were surprised at how much they had to pay for a sandwich, 5 pieces of siomai, a glass of coke, or even a bottle of water. third, make camping a more attractive alternative, because the venue isn't near any of puerto galera's tourist spots. fourth, have more trash cans available (although there were these kids that kept picking up trash the entire evening.


at around 4am, i didn't realize i had fainted. before i found myself sleeping on the ground, clutching my cameras, i had been up for 20 hours straight. i was exhausted from dancing, standing, looking around, visiting the toilet, exchanging pleasantries with strangers. junior kilat was rapping something unintelligible on the stage and only a bunch of people had been left standing in front of him. i slapped myself a little and walked up to the campsite and fell quickly asleep. i woke up an hour and a half later to a wonderful dawn but decided to sleep until 8am. i walked back down to the main road with the intimate knowledge that i'd most likely be returning, the smell of weed, dreadlocks, tattoos, and pretense notwithstanding.

Tags: art, malasimbo music and arts festival, mindoro oriental, music, puerto galera

i am unsure whether people have so low a regard of me, or simply do not know me, that they ask the strangest questions whenever i am surrounded by foreigners. i have fielded the gamut of inquiries, from the seemingly innocent but stupid "tour guide ka ba?" to the subtly suggestive "san mo napick-up ang mga yan?" to the downright vile if not ignorant "booking ba yan?" i've responded very casually in most cases: no, they're my friends, and i am showing them around. i have not kept secret the fact that i am a xenophile, and that i may actually harbor fantasies about being a cicerone, but the truth is, i am drawn to foreigners visiting my country because i am curious to know what brings them here, to this nation of close to a hundred million people, against whom a handful of travel advisories have been issued by foreign governments. i am drawn to them because i want to know where they are from, what language they speak, and what they think about this country, whose streets are littered by tumbling plastic bags and children with dirty faces and no underwear. why the philippines? and perhaps by getting answers, i can somehow contribute something to nation-building.


last month, i hosted 3 slovenians who came to the country to escape, primarily, the freezing winter that is sweeping across of europe. andri has visited me before, but this time around, he brought with him two more. sometime last year, andri asked me what i had planned for january, and although i wasn't jumping off my seat at the prospect of receiving any visitors, i informed him that i would be going to kalibo for ati-atihan. a week later, andri was providing me with information so that i could buy them tickets on the same flight as mine. i whisked them from NAIA terminal 1, brought them to makati, and spent the next few days thinking what i could possibly do to keep them preoccupied.


immediately after ati-atihan, we took a bus up to caticlan, hopped onto a boat, and were gently cruising to boracay island. i had planned this trip for my lonesome self, so i really had no specific activity in mind. i had done a few of the touristy things one might do in boracay, and wasn't keen on feeding fish or riding a glass-bottomed boat. honestly, i just wanted to get really boozed. and by my humble calculations, during those 5 nights of debauchery since arriving in kalibo, i may have consumed over 30 beers. still, nothing comes close to last year's decadence, but understand that this year, i was actually baby-sitting some foreigners. not that they needed to be watched, but that i felt responsible for them. so most of the things we did, we did together.


as usual, i slept for most of the day and peeled myself out of bed at noon. i stepped out into the beach to just look around and watch people of all forms and colors do what most people are expected to do in paradise. boracay island looked a little crowded, but not as crowded as holy week when truckloads of tourists are dumped on its powder-fine shores. mostly i just waited for the sun to set so i could watch as the sky turned orange while paraws sailed across the horizon. and then i rested after dinner so that i could dance the night away until i am exhausted from drinking, or drunk from exhaustion, and walk home with my head unbowed, a silly grin plastered on my face.


after boracay, andri decided to stay in manila a while to have his first taste of a foot race in tropical weather. his half marathon time in ljubljana is impressive: 1 hour 43 minutes. their race starts at 10AM, and the temperature is a pleasant 10 degrees. here, it's 25 degrees even before the sun rises, and there's humidity too, but despite stopping at every hydration station, he still finished in exactly 1:30. after the run which left both me and my guest really exhausted, we went to get full body massages. i'm not sure what the standard in europe is but at one point, andri revealed that he entertained thoughts that it was an erotic massage because the masseuse was kneading him too close to his private parts. i guaranteed him that it was normal in the philippine setting, and that if he was interested in a happy ending, he should have said so because i may have some ideas.


i also took andri to binondo for chinese new year, where we got lost in seas of onlookers and people with cameras. i wanted to eat some hand-pulled noodles at lan zhou la mien but i couldn't find it at benavidez street anymore. the space it used to occupy was now a david's tea house, so we transfered to dong bei dumplings, where we were driven out literally, despite not being half way through our meals because ivan man dy and his group were already there. i like what the guy does, but i'd prefer that his tours not interfere with other people's happiness.


for the rest of andri's stay, i took him to what i usually do when i'm not visited by strangers from strange lands: mostly to places around my neighborhood, ending each night with at least one bottle of beer. he eventually met many of my friends, toasted glasses na zdravje with them, and educated them on the finer points of slovenian cuss words. of course everyone else had a difficult time pronouncing those strange slavic phonemes and it made andri laugh so hard because the meanings had been changed. i normally don't encounter such difficulties, which is probably a direct result of my prolonged exposure to foreigners: i am used to the myriad of ways a or e or i is said in different languages. i have an extremely good ear, and an equally flexible tongue.


during andri's stay here, he's had occasion to share with me his minute observations about the state of this nation. now i'm not onion-skinned nor easily affected by sour comments about the pervasive poverty, or the crippling corruption, or the lack of foresight that plague this otherwise beautiful archipelago. i didn't react in the same manner as most people when philippine medical schools were insulted in an episode of "desperate housewives", or when claire daines had unkind words to say about manila, or when one foreign blogger described his experience here as disastrous, or when a website described NAIA's terminal 1 as the worst to sleep in. in most cases, the observations are based on truth, based on fact. i am often more incensed by generalizations made by filipinos about their own country: that there's nothing to do here, that everything is better than elsewhere.


that is why i was a lot surprised when i was affected by andri and his quips about how filthy the philippines is and that filipinos were lazy. to put it into context, here are the stories: we were walking back to our resort in boracay when i spotted a creepy crawly on the pavement. he said they don't have cockroaches in slovenia, to which i replied that well, it's a common sight here. and then he concluded by saying it's because the philippines is so dirty. his second observation was about the lack of bus stops in most places outside makati. he lamented the fact that the bus hadn't moved more than 10 meters when another passenger shouted "para!" he blamed lazy filipinos for prolonging his ride. no one will deny that cockroaches don't exist in manila, or that commuting filipinos have no regard for proper areas to stop a bus. but oddly enough, i took personal offense, as though the comments had been directed at me: that i'm dirty, i'm lazy. i found it hurtful, particularly because they're coming from someone who has been to this country six times. if the philippines is crawling with cockroaches and filipinos plagued by a general lack of industry, then why do you keep coming back? is it because people here find you good looking? or is it because we're cheap and you're able to stretch the value of your euro far? i actually did ask him these questions, and maybe it was his limited english because i never found a sufficient response.


so playing the role of an unpaid tour guide is one of my contributions to promoting philippine tourism (others being writing about travels and photographing the beautiful places that i've been to), which, despite the rise in visitors, is still clearly floundering and flagging if compared to its neighbors. i have not earned a single peso from doing any of it, but it makes me happy, knowing that i have shared what i know, and i talk about this country in a positive and encouraging tone, regardless that sometimes, i have to shovel through layers of muck to show that beneath the surface, this country is so much more amazing, a lot more incredible, and has countless beautiful people, than what its reputation suggests.

Tags: boracay, nationalism, patriotism, tour guide, tourism, travel, xenophile

just as i was about to consign to old age the fact that i am not getting any better at running, along came the condura skyway marathon yesterday, where against all odds, i established a personal best time of 2:21:47 in the 21K distance, which is more than 42 minutes better than my last half marathon, and about 14 minutes better than my previous record. on average, i improved my half marathon time by 26'10". and i am extremely happy.

weeks before the date of the marathon, i did not make any predictions about how well i would do in my 21K. anyone who has bothered to check this blog would have noticed how often i have failed in meeting my expectations: i always fall short, owing to some factors, not all of which are outside my control. with the exception of pain, or even gas, i am always just really lazy, asking myself why i submit to the attendant pains of middle distances, when i very well could join the throng in finishing easy 10Ks. but when i finally push against the pavement on the last half kilometer, i always realize that if i hadn't been overcome by sloth, i would have met my goal, exceeded my expectations. and these pains -- these lovely, heavenly pains -- i crave them, cherish them. they remind me of my frailties as a human being, and how pushing beyond my limitations makes the struggle worthwhile.


i wouldn't say i was more prepared now than i was for my standard chartered marathon singapore. i clocked longer hours running for the entire month of november, almost 8 kilometers more than my investment in january, when i even went for a week without a run. the difference is that i dared to run longer distances: my legs chased two 10 1-milers and a 15K, my marquee race categories. but more than just muscle memory, i think what resulted in a much better showing this time was my mental state: there was no gnawing discontent about the choice of physical exertion over having a great time in the city (although i did leave a high school homecoming earlier than usual in order to be at the starting line on time). i was just interested in exorcising the ghost of my half marathon time. and what a spectacle i made out of it.

which is not to say that i was wholly committed to this exercise: i downloaded a 6-week half-marathon training program which i pretended not to understand so that i wouldn't be faulted for not following the routine it prescribed. in fact, when i was at the 16K point, i was asking myself: why didn't i just run this distance instead? i had to shove these negative thoughts aside even as they clamped my already heavy legs with balls of lead. after 15 kilometers, despite the visual image the remaining 6K imbued in me, i was already dragging my feet. in the horizon, fireworks illuminated the sky over the condura village in filinvest alabang: it seemed so far away, and i was already walking intermittently: a pair of lampposts every time, at most 3.


it didn't start that way, actually: i did quite well in the first 5 kilometers, when a pair of runners paced me, until one decided i was too slow, while the other sank back. i was doing too well perhaps that i worried i might get too tired too early, so i decided to slow down. close to the turnaround approaching C-5, i noticed that the runners going back to alabang still didn't count in the hundreds. i was elated. being an early registrant, i was part of wave A with a handful of elite runners, sent off at least 14 minutes ahead of wave G, but i hit a wall immediately after i encountered the approaching crowd, and i allowed too many runners from later waves to overtake me. i would have been happy to just slightly improve from my best time so far. in fact, when i was asked what time i expected to finish, i very humbly said i wanted to do a sub-2:30. which meant i would have been happy to finish in 2:29. but when i crossed the last toll booth i realized that i could finish this in 2:25! so although my mind battled with my legs and the rest of my body, and finished the best way i could, despite the short uphill push going towards the finish arc.

so i'm very happy with the condura skyway marathon this year. initially, i had misgivings about it starting all the way in alabang. i am not a southie, and i have probably been to the filinvest festival mall twice. perhaps i am too used to having races start in nearby bonifacio global city or in makati, but the commute to alabang feels too much of an effort. so it was a good thing i managed to hitch a ride with janice. the race started at the tunnel where the skyway terminates, and we went up against the normal flow of traffic. at that time a few runners from the full marathon were already finishing, but they were few and far between. not until the 6 kilometer mark did they number in bunches. i imagined these guys would finish in 4:40, which is an amazing time for most runners of any age, regardless of experience. water stations were spaced about 1.6km apart, although i did skip some of them as i was neither thirsty nor hot. our race began at 3:30AM, and this time of the month is usually the coldest in so far as tropical manila weather is concerned, and a nice breeze accompanied us until i finished ahead of the sunrise.

analyzing the race map, i worried about congestion approaching the finish line, considering that the ramp leading to alabang was just a little wider than 1 lane, but the bulk of runners in the 10K began their race 2 hours after ours, so i was well on my way to snatching a PR by the time they were crowding the skyway. so i am happy with how this race was organized. i did notice a few kinks that could have been improved, which didn't matter to me so much because i was already going back while the stream of runners was still thin. last year, i remarked that having water stations on both sides of the road was genius, particularly when the same space is filled with runners coming and going. but for at least two water stations, i bumped into oncoming traffic. this was quickly remedied, though when they moved some tables to the other side so that anyone's natural cadence wasn't disturbed.


other than that, my main complaint really would have been the band that played at the condura village. they were just plain awful, about as good as the band that played in the ati-atihan festival in kalibo. the village itself was a bit too big, it made the pack of 13,000 runners appear scattered. but all things considered, the condura skyway run truly is the premier running event in the philippines. i agree with how it bills itself now because it has truly improved from just a few years of missteps. it was well-organized, smoothly-planned, and almost flawlessly-executed. it owned up to its environmental angle by reducing the impact of the race on nature, exerting efforts to make it more green. it certainly is the safest run in the country, where the only things on wheels that share the run course with you are ambulances, motorcycle escorts for the leaders, and cyclists assisting runners (can i just insert that ateneo SPEED's no speed limit race is the most dangerous run i've ever participated in?). the only thing i might disagree with is the condura run's goal of inching close to the standard chartered marathon singapore's attendance of 12,000 entrants in the full marathon. i personally feel that while enticing more filipinos to take up running because a healthy lifestyle is something to be admired, having that many runners in just one skyway might be a nightmare. this is already the best run i have seen -- certainly the most expensive, but hey, when does anyone ever get to step on the skyway? -- even when it wasn't this good, so why set goals to make it less of an ideal race?

if at all, what the race should aspire for is drawing more international elite athletes: journeying runners who do a tour of the world's top marathons, as well as more foreign entrants who travel to destinations in order to run unique courses. the philippine-based kenyans are giving the best filipino runners a very good challenge, but they aren't even in the radar in so far as the rest of the world of running is concerned. their otherwise amazing times may even be below club standards.


so i walked away from the condura village under some pain, limping only very slightly, and happy with a time that i would have only imagined two years previous. around me, runners beaming proudly with their accomplishments milled around, refusing to remove what one full marathon runner described as an unnecessarily large medal from their necks, which ultimately made them look like they were wearing saucers on their chests, enjoying the frou-frou that, while probably unnecessary in a race, make it more attractive: photo booths, free ice cream, free beer, free milk, celebrities. there was even a mural of mangroves (obviously it was a poor attempt to copy the dolphin mural from last year) which was vandalized by runners, about which the artist complained that this lack of concern is precisely why we need to raise awareness in order to save our dwindling mangrove forests, for which the race raised over half a million pesos. so we've done it for tubattaha, for the whale sharks, for the dolphins, and for mangroves. i wonder how next year's race advocacy would sound like? will it be for the philippine eagle? the manatees? the flying fox? the spotted deer?

Tags: 21k, celebrity, condura run, half marathon, personal record, road race, running