The Devil in my Reading List

There is nothing like breaching open the cover of a book while comfortably seated on my bed with the lights turned off and the room illuminated only by a cheap reading lamp. No TV, no radio, and no computer. It’s like watching a movie wherein you open your mind to whatever it is you are about to immerse yourself into. It might require the suspension of disbelief or the suspension of judgment but unlike a movie I dictate the pace.

I am not really a lover of works of fiction I would much rather pick up something whose context is historical in nature. My recent foray at the recent Book Fair held at the World Trade Center probably illustrates my preference. I shunned the huge sections gobbled up by Powerbooks, National Book Store, and Fully Booked and found a gold mine with the small and simple booth of the National Historical Institute (NHI). I was beside my self with joy when I found the Memoirs of General Atemio Ricarte that I just had to tell someone about it. I texted a friend who replied with: “Ok, I won’t even ask who that is.”

My loot that day included 4 books that have been reprinted by the NHI, the most recent original publishing date was in the 1960’s and it was written by Teodoro M. Kalaw (I think the street was named after him). The other 3 books dates back from 1899 to 1908.

My preference was once described by a friend of mine as reading up on a lot of trivia. I guess there is some truth in that since talking about the military strategy of the Katipunan in Cavite in 1896 wont get you any “pogi” points when you’re trying to impress a girl while seated somewhere in Libis or Metrowalk while sipping a mocha frap. You would probably get that “oohh, that’s interesting” look as she frantically texts a friend to put into motion one of her prepared escape plans.

I do try to create a semblance of balance and sanity by reading the more mainstream and popular books. Like everybody else, I do read Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Da Vinci Code, and what have you. Like every body else I am often on the lookout for something new or something different, I’ve always said that I’d like to expand my horizons and see things from different perspectives and to do that you have to be willing to try something new.

I’ve seen it a few times in the shelves of Powerbooks and I know it has been made into a movie but it wasn’t something that I seriously considered reading. I heard some people talking about it in the office and I made the mistake of asking if the book was any good and if it was actually worth reading. Big mistake! I soon found a copy placed on my desk by a co-worker with the explicit instructions that I should finish it before August 30 because it would be showing in theaters by then.

I am talking about The Devil Wears Prada… A book about a girl who works for an impossible boss at the world’s most “fabulous” fashion magazine… So it’s a lot of girl stuff set in the world of fashion… Ok, so it’s not my usual fare. I did ask for something different and I guess this really is well, different. My mind went on overdrive thinking how such a book could possibly prove tolerable for a guy who hates shopping and who has absolutely no fashion sense. I could also just imagine how people who know me would react, it’s was sooo not me… It was with a lot skepticism that I picked up the book.

I am happy to report that I survived my exposure to “Chicklit” with no visible injuries or any lasting side effects despite the fact that there was no violence, conspiracy, or controversy I was able to get through it without suffering from nausea nor falling asleep. I’d even say that it wasn’t so bad, it wasn’t just about fashion, it was really about a person struggling with a difficult job in an environment she wasn’t really accustomed to, a place where a lot of people doubted her abilities and were often outright hostile. I can’t say I can really relate but it paints a picture of just how difficult and complicated a situation could be and it’s given me a glimpse on how a girl might think given a particular situation. I should have taken notes…

Saturn Return

I didn’t expect much when I decided to buy this book called The King of Nothing To Do by Luis Katigbak, I was perusing the books displayed at UP’s booth during the recent Book Fair at the World Trade Center when I came across this particular book. It was just a compilation of short essays or columns by this writer and all I hoped for was to pick up some ideas about writing short essays and maybe help me get back into the groove of writing in my blog or at the very least get some laugh out of it. As it turns out Luis Katigbak is actually a prolific writer who have won several awards like the Palanca, and he graduated from UP and that comes with the honor of being given the benefit of a doubt that you are not a Neanderthal.

Well he wasn’t, I actually found my self, jotting down words that I would later look up in an online dictionary. Yes, I admit my vocabulary is limited compared to this guy. The stuff he writes about is typically light and the type that doesn’t require much research, but they were amusing and I’d say a welcome change of pace. But I did come across an article whose topic I had never even heard off and it got my attention, it was about The Saturn Return.

Though it was well explained in the article I felt the need to do a little bit more reading about it using google. My interest was spurred by the fact that I am at that time of my life when Saturn has returned.

Wikipedia describes The Saturn Return as:

The Saturn Return is the astrological phenomenon that occurs in a person's natal chart at approximately 28-30 years old. The planet Saturn takes approximately 29.5 years to orbit the Sun; when it returns to the exact degree along the ecliptic it occupied at the time of a person's birth this is referred to as "The Saturn Return," "The Return of Saturn," or simply "Saturn Return."

Saturn is symbolically/astrologically associated with time, challenge, fear, doubt, confusion, difficulty, seriousness, heaviness, and hard lessons, among other more positive things such as structure, significance, accomplishment, reflection, power, prestige, maturity, and order -- this is why astrologers believe that the thirtieth birthday is such a major rite of passage and is considered by many astrologers to mark the "true beginning" of adulthood, self-evaluation, independence, responsibility, ambition, and full maturation.

I was in Starbucks with my old buddies from college, Tuesday and Mayee, waiting out the heavy traffic caused by the heavy rains. As usual we were ranting about the small injustices and ironies that was common in our respective work places and it was at that point when I decided to tell them about Saturn Return. It just seems appropriate to talk about this thing since we are all in the midst of this Astrological phenomenon. If such a thing was true then we can blame all the troubles and little failures in our lives on this cosmic event as if there was a grand conspiracy or something. The conclusion that if something goes wrong around this time of our lives then we can handily blame it on Saturn was appealing. We soon parted ways with the expression “blame it on Saturn” stuck in my head.

In a few months I would technically leave behind my youth and become an adult. My excitement about this life defining moment that is supposed to usher in a new era in my so called life can be described in one word… blehhh… Yes, it’s utterly meaningless and denotes the most profound levels of indifference. I greatly doubt if there will be an Earth shattering kaboom to mark the occasion nor would there be an epiphany that would mark the beginning of wisdom. I think I can say with some amount of authority that my life is… well… Blehh…

I guess its normal to sometimes feel like the world is out to get you, or that everybody is better off in some way than you. So if your life sucks and you are aged 28 to 30 then you can just blame it on Saturn.

Pulag...

I was on top of the world looking down on all the mountains and forests that stretched as far as the eye can see. I was standing on the highest peak in the island of Luzon, and the 2nd highest peak in the Philippines. Even though this was my second time to climb this mountain I was expecting that I would get a rush of excitement when we reached the peak. But there was no jubilant leap, nor high fives. I walked away from the group and I was by myself thinking, I knew I had a decision to make and it wasn’t gonna be easy…

If someone was to ask me what favorite places are, Mt. Pulag would definitely be included on that list. A climb up Mt. Pulag is definitely a unique experience. Pulag is made up of three distinct eco-systems. The first one which is also the one located at the lowest elevation is the pine forest.


Pine Forest

As you go up, the landscape changes to reveal the mossy forest. As the name suggests the trees are covered by moss and is often shrouded by clouds. I often describe it as something similar to an enchanted forest in the Elvish realm of Lothlorien, from the Lord of the Rings. That was the thought that came to mind when I first entered the mist covered forest. But when the clouds lifts, a very colorful garden like forest is revealed. The leaves of the trees seem to be made up of flowers and it’s a profusion of colors and shapes.


Mossy Forest



As you go further up, a different landscape emerges. You are now at the grassland where memories of Julie Andrews singing “the hills are alive with the sound of music” quickly comes to mind. This continues all the way up to the summit.


The Grassland

The summit it self is more like an island in the middle of a sea of white clouds. Once at the summit, you have climbed up so high that more often than not when you look up you see a clear blue sky and when you look down you see masses of cotton white fluffy clouds below.





My first trip up Mt. Pulag was not easy. Instead of jumping off at the Ranger station which would mean a relatively easy three hour trek, we had to start trekking earlier with full packs on the Ambangeg trail because the road was being repaired and our jeep could not pass. What was supposed to take 3 hours turned into a grueling 8 hour trek which was exacerbated by the freezing temperature that Mt. Pulag is known for. Exhaustion was apparent in all our faces as we made our way up to camp 2, which was on the very edge of the grassland. The wind was blowing with a strong gust when we reached the campsite, making the already cold temperatures even more difficult to bear. We did manage though with a lot of difficulty to pitch our tents and cook our meals inside our tents because it was just too cold outside. Sufficing to say I learned a lot of lessons about climbing mountains from Mt. Pulag.

So when we started planning for Pulag, I knew what to expect and I knew I should be better prepared. We were planning to go up via Ambangeg and then go down via the more difficult Akiki trail, which is aptly called the killer trail. The climb was slated for February, but I had started preparing for the trip by November. I went back to the gym to prepare my self physically and I started buying gear, mostly cold weather clothing. So when the time came I would be ready for Pulag.

February came and I was on the lead of the group and was having a good time trekking. The pace I set was easy and leisurely but it soon became apparent that not everybody was having such a good time and Pulag was proving to be quite a challenge. I don’t think I was remiss in telling people how challenging and out right difficult Mt. Pulag was gonna be, but apparently the preparations made by the group was not enough. Some people in the group had a difficult time with the trek up to camp 2.

The next day we broke camp, with packs on back we headed up to the summit and the plan was to descend via the Akiki trail. But it had become apparent that not everyone was ready for the challenge. The question in my mind was do we push on as planned or do we just turn back and go back down via Ambangeg and head back to the Ranger station.

In the end I decided to head back via Ambangeg. I could not in good conscience risk going down the Akiki trail in the condition some of those in our group was in. However, some decided to push on down the Akiki trail. It was a sad moment because our group had to split up since around half would proceed down Akiki while the rest was going back down Ambangeg.

The trek back to the Ranger station made it apparent that I probably made the right decision, because even that wasn’t easy for some of us. Everything turned out well in the end, as we all met up again at the DENR office in the town of Bokod (Benguet). Our group headed back to Baguio, reunited.



Mt. Pulag once again taught me a lot of lessons about climbing mountains. The second time around it also taught me a lot about people, about my self, responsibility, making decisions, and about looking at the bigger picture.

Since I wasn’t able to visit the Akiki trail, I made a personal decision that another visit to Pulag was in order. I don’t think Mt. Pulag is a mountain that one climbs and conquers; it is a place you visit like a place of pilgrimage where one goes for more than just the view.

To know more about climbing Mt. Pulag just click on this link: Mt. Pulag

Going Under...

There comes a point when even hiking up mountains and diving down the ocean doesn’t seem to be enough to satisfy one’s craving for some action and excitement. I wanted something more, something new. It was that thought I had in mind when I recently signed up for Under Water Hockey (UWH) School.

For those who are not familiar with the sport, Underwater Hockey is a cross between Ice Hockey and Skin Diving. A game is played with a 3 lbs lead puck similar to that used in Ice Hockey but the game is played on the bottom of a swimming pool. Instead of Ice skates, players wear a mask, snorkel, and fins. The goal is of course to score by pushing the puck into the opponent’s goal using a small stick around 10 inches long.

To know more about this sport just click on this link: Under Water Hockey

Bruised, battered, and beaten…

Thursday, April 20, 2006. UWH School was to be held in La Salle Greenhills, every Monday and Thursday nights, for six whole weeks. The first day of Under Water Hockey school seemed like any other first day in school. I didn’t know anybody there, and even the guy who invited me wasn’t around. But everybody was friendly and I had this conceited notion that I can easily handle this sport. I saw my self as a relatively good swimmer, and I have been skin diving and SCUBA diving for some time now. So I thought this should be easy… My delusions quickly faded when I saw the attendance sheet and realized that almost everybody there was also into skin diving and SCUBA. Out the window went my perceived advantage.

We were issued some safety equipment like a swimming cap with plastic ear cups to avoid ruptured ear drums in case of collisions or something. We were also given a mouth piece that fits over the snorkel to avoid loosing your teeth when the game gets rough. Finally we had to wear gloves to protect the hand from the pool’s bottom and from other player’s UWH sticks. I thought any game with this much safety equipment has to be interesting.

After some drills we were quickly instructed to take up positions for an actual game. It was six on six and I was tasked to play the right wing position. Then we were off… It was chaos as we dived down and tried to push that heavy puck across the bottom of the pool. The game dragged on and it wasn’t easy. At one point I had my mask knocked out of place and my snorkel forced out of my mouth. I was gasping for breath while in the water and it felt like I was on the verge of drowning the whole time. In the end despite our best effort we lost and thus I went home bruised, battered, beaten, nearly drowned, and I had a terrible head ache. But I had fun, and I wanted more…

Goal!!!

I typically hate Mondays but this particular Monday was different since I had UWH to look forward to. The sun finally set and evening came. School was in session. We were taught the basics of puck handling and we were made to do land drills with a can of tuna instead of an actual puck. After that we were made to count off 1 to 4 and grouped into teams, we then went into the pool to do the exercises under water using an actual puck. It wasn’t easy coz the darn puck was so damned heavy.

After the drills the different groups were pitted against each other in an under water relay race pushing the puck across the bottom of the pool. Our team of six was composed of 2 guys and four girls with varying skill levels. Once again we lost…

With the little time we had left it was decided that we were to have game and it would be a race to 2. I was assigned the left back position and my job was to defend against our opponent's attacks. We were told not to leave our positions unless we were sure we were going to score a goal, that job belonged to the girls in front.

The game began, and we allowed those in front to swim ahead to go for the puck in the middle of the pool. It was again a mad scramble for the puck and I hang back letting the offensive line play their game.

An opponent gained possession of the puck and I dived down to defend. It was a simple matter stealing the puck because that person was probably out of air. I had a puck with no team mate in sight to pass it to… most of the opposing side’s defenders were on the surface so I started swimming to try and score a point. I needed air but I thought to my self “you’ll have a lot of time to breathe later when this game is over” so I swam with everything I had and narrowly avoided the opposing team’s defenders. I scored!!! I let out a yell of jubilation as I surfaced... damn that felt good…

We were sent back to our positions and we went at it again. This time around Mario who was the center back dived in and quickly scored another point. The game was over, and we won 2-0.

If I was bruised, battered, and beaten on the first day of school, the 2nd day was perfect. I still had some bruises but I was able to score my first ever goal in UWH and we won the game. I was happy… and I haven’t felt that way in very long time. I was humming U2’s It’s a Beautiful Day while driving home and the feeling lasted till the next day… I think I love this game…

Tonight, will be day 3 of Under Water Hockey School…

Snapshots

I have not been posting anything of interest lately. Though I have decided to do so, at least my recent trips and stuff, I will do this as soon as I can find the time to draft something. In the meantime I will let pictures speak in my stead and give anyone who cares to have a look a glimpse of the world through my eyes…

This is a really old church in our home town Pampanga. This picture was taken early in the morning of March 25, 2006. It took a lot of effort and all my concentration to understand what was being said since the mass was celebrated in Kapampangan.




Evening of March 25, 2006. It was a beautiful night… This is a picture of Manila, Roxas Blvd., and was taken from the CCP complex.




April 1, 2006. Just a picture of kids on the beach, this was taken in the town of Donsol in Sorsogon.




April 14, 2006. It was the evening of Good Friday when I took this shot of the full moon, the river, and the far bank from across our house in Pampanga.

Click on the pictures to see a bigger image.

Walking Around

Pablo Neruda

It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.

Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.

I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.

That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.


Translated by Robert Bly

The pasta incident...

Lent is considered to be a time when miracles happen. People who believe in magic and charms often perform their rituals at this time in order to make magical potions or acquire powerful amulets. I guess the same is true for me…

My family all left for Pampanga last Wednesday for the Holy week break. I was left at our home in Valenzuela all by myself because I still had to go to work and someone had to stay behind to watch the house and feed Beauty, our big black Labrador. I got by easily enough on Wednesday and Thursday with all the provisions left behind for me. I also spent Good Friday in our house in Pampanga and only came back that evening.



Beauty, the only company I had for most of the week

Then comes Black Saturday. Things started going wrong early on. The DVD player wasn’t working and the only thing I had to keep me busy was my PC. I was pretty much bored the whole day and I was looking for something to kill time with.

I had 3 packs of instant pancit canton for brunch but I was starting to feel hungry late that afternoon. I wanted something different from my usual fare of fried ham, hotdogs, or canned goods, stuff I usually had whenever I was alone at home. I had a craving deep down, I wanted pasta…

Let me admit now… I can’t cook… Unless you consider frying eggs, ham, and hotdogs cooking, and even that I can’t do well. I’ve messed up cooking rice even if I was already using a rice cooker. That’s how bad I am.

But I wanted pasta… Yes I could have easily just eaten out or ordered in, but I guess I wanted to prove something to my self. That I can cook… I also wanted to prove that I inherited even a few strands of DNA from my Mom who is a great cook. There it was a challenge, similar to scaling a very high peak or diving the deep blue sea. I was going to cook my self some pasta.

I took a quick inventory of available supplies in the kitchen. I found a can of Spaghetti Meat Sauce but we didn’t have any pasta nor cheese so I would have to go out and do some shopping.

Shopping, another thing I wasn’t really good at… This task is not going to be easy…

I wondered if the local sari-sari store had some spaghetti or any other type of pasta. I would have settled for elbow macaroni but delusions of preparing a dish that is similar to Sbarro’s Baked Zitti with meat sauce played in my head, so I decided to head for the nearest supermarket. That shouldn’t be too difficult. Or so I thought…

When I arrived at the nearest supermarket I found the parking lot full… and there were several cars waiting for parking space. Damn! I shouldn’t have brought the car and I should have just taken the ever reliable tricycle. I drove around for a while looking for parking space, but I eventually decided to drive to another supermarket, which was around 15 minutes away. Damn it! I am going to have pasta for dinner!

The sun had nearly set and it was getting dark when I arrived, and to think I started this whole operation at just around 5:00 pm. I haven’t set foot in this place for the longest time… I’m not sure if I was still in high school or college the last time I had been in this supermarket. There were obvious signs of renovation work so I started to methodically go around looking for the items I needed. I could not figure out the logic of their lay out and I’ve been walking around a few minutes and I still can’t find any pasta.

I eventually found what I was looking for at the back of the place. How could they put pasta at the back??? I spent few minutes thinking about what to get. Should I get spaghetti or those oddly shaped things? I eventually settled for what is called penne rigate, still with dreams of Baked Zitti floating in my head… Ok that’s done, now where did they put the cheese…

After what seemed like an eternity and a great exercise of patience on my part, I eventually found everything I needed and I headed home. I did recently help cook pasta during our last climb up Mt. Pulag. Cathie and Mella would be so proud if I could pull this off all by my self.

Remembering the mantra I had when it comes to assembling a PC, I said to my self: read the instructions… It seemed simple enough… Use 5 quarts of water for every pound of pasta. What the??? Quarts??? Haven’t they heard of the metric system??? I ran around the house looking for something that had the English system of measurement and even considered getting the weighing scale to measure the weight. Everything was in metric… No one said I would have to use math when cooking, should I find a conversion table??? Damn it! I want pasta for dinner!

I finally figured out what to do after I read the instructions again. Upon closer scrutiny the instructions did say that the water required would be around 1 liter, hehehe. Ok, I fired up the stove and brought the pot with a liter of water to a boil. I poured in the contents of the bag and added a tablespoon of salt just like what the label said. I also added some oil, stirred occasionally, and watched it closely.

Then I realized, how do I know when its ready?

I can’t really tell the difference between just right and overcooked, and what the hell is aldente???

I considered calling up my mom but quickly discarded the idea since I didn’t want to give her a heart attack. I think she’d always had this fear that I would burn down the whole house if I ever tried to do some serious cooking. I also considered going online to ask Mella since she was on B-shift and would probably still be online. But that would have been silly… “If I can assemble a PC and set up a whole network then I could do this,” I told myself. While I was contemplating what to do, I noticed that there was a layer of what seemed like starch on the ladle, I was no expert but I think its over cooked. That settled the issue.

I drained the pasta and set it aside. Now for the sauce… Ok, this is my element, just open the can pour it in and simmer till it starts bubbling. Simple enough… I was feeling jubilant and mighty proud of my self until I poured the sauce over the pasta. Then it dawned on me… I had way too much pasta and not nearly enough sauce. It looked worse than the anemic spaghetti that was served in the school canteen way back during my elementary years. Oh God... I failed!!!

How could I be so conceited as to think that I could do something like this???

I wonder if Beauty would like pasta mixed with some dog food???

Is Jollibee still open???

I was wallowing in despair and started looking around for something to eat for dinner. Then it occurred to me, hey maybe this is just a set back, a challenge. Nobody said life would be easy, nor did anybody ever say that choosing the path less traveled would a walk in the park! I knew that the path of least resistance (having food delivered) was looking very attractive at this time but that’s not what I wanted…. I wanted pasta for dinner or die trying!

Ok maybe I won’t go that far but I wanted to know for my self that I did everything I could do, and that even if I failed that I did my best and I would have no regrets and simply consider it a learning experience. Damn! I’ve been reading one too many self help books…

I found a pack of ham, which my mom left for me since it was easy to cook and there were two packs of tomato sauce in the cupboards.

Hmmm, maybe I could experiment… This could actually work…

I found some garlic and some onions and threw them into the pan. I sliced up all the ham and threw them in as well. I also found a can of mushrooms and thought, what the hell it could work. I didn’t know what I was doing but I decided to go with my instincts. I finally poured in the tomato sauce and brought it to a boil.

I said a little prayer before I poured the whole thing over the pasta. I stirred with a spoon and it started to look like a fairly decent pasta. I transferred everything to two large containers I apparently had enough to feed maybe 5 people.

I tasted it and it wasn’t bad at all… I wouldn’t dare say great but it was good enough to eat and maybe leave some for my Mom, Tita, brother, and sister in law to taste the following day.

I grated the cheese over the whole thing and it melted perfectly over the damned thing! God it’s beautiful!!!



After almost 3 ½ hours since I started this little project, I was ready to eat. I was jubilant! It was like reaching the summit of a level 3 mountain or something like the feeling I had when we had our check out dive. I was walking on sunshine and it felt something like the first time I saw a whale shark swim towards me…

I am my Mother’s son after all…

I thanked God for this little miracle and I even considered going to hear mass the following day (Easter) to give thanks.

I had to tell someone! I thought about texting my friends but it would have sounded silly and they might think I was out of my mind. I went online instead and frantically typed away as I told Mella the whole story of how I cooked my very first pasta meal in between big spoons full of my pasta.



There it is, the story of me cooking pasta…

I learned a few things:

Canned spaghetti meat sauce is no good and practically has no meat in it.

1 pound of penne rigate is a lot of pasta…

Hot oil bouncing off a frying pan causes pain and one should wear a shirt for protection while cooking.

Read the instructions carefully…

Finally… When things go wrong or don’t work out the way you planned, don’t despair and give up so easily… Try harder and keep at it… It may not work out as you would like it, but who knows maybe what you get in the end would be just as good.

A Dog's Life

On a recent trip we encountered this dog. It wasn’t particularly cute nor was there anything peculiar about it. But there was just something about it that prompted me to take a few pictures…



Hey little doggie… What are you looking for?



Why so sad?

Hey little doggie… Where are you going???

Epilogue

5th and Final Entry in the Sagada Chronicles



Leaving Sagada

This entry begins as we leave the St. Josephs Inn which was our home away from home during the whole length of our stay in Sagada. During our short visit we have journeyed through the Echo Valley, famous for its hanging coffins. We dared to venture deep underground to marvel at the world beneath. We took countless pictures in Kiltepan and enjoyed the breath taking view of the big falls. It had been a fun and exciting adventure but this entry is not about Sagada…

We spent the better part of the day sitting on a bus over the country’s highest highway system called Hanselma. It was a seven hour long bumpy ride through a narrow and winding road that seems to be perpetually under repair or construction as sections of the said road is in constant need of maintenance due to the regular landslides and erosion. The highway was so high up that visibility was often limited to about 10 to 20 meters ahead due to the thick fog or was it clouds. We eventually reached the outskirts of Baguio and it became obvious that we were back in the kind of civilization that we have grown accustomed to, the traffic was bad. The scenery has also changed from sparsely populated mountains with either natural vagetation or vegetable gardens to mountain tops filled with houses. We were in Baguio.

We found a place where we could dump our bags and gear so that we can roam around the city unencumbered by our heavy load. We walked down sesion road to look for a place where we can eat. Session Road has definitely changed from what I remember as a small boy years ago. Baguio I guess has changed, it has embraced the demands of modernization and development till it has become what it is now.

As if drawn by an irresistable force we eventually made our way towards this new edifice that dominated the landscape of Baguio. It was like a monolith of stone and steel, we ended in up in SM. We had dinner at Terriyaki Boy and spent the equivalent of what we spent on food during our whole stay in Sagada on a feast of Japanese food. After dinner we walked around Burnham park and decided to have coffee but resisted the call of Starbucks and Seattles Best and instead sought out a local place. We had our fill of caffeine with orders of iced coffe, milkshakes, and other concoctions while we lounged on soft sofas while listening to laid back lounge music. We could have been in Starbucks in Valero, Greenbelt, or Rockwell. After that we retrieved our packs and headed for the new Victory Liner terminal which looked even better than the Manila Domestic Airport. We started the last leg of our trip on our way home.



Session Road at night



Dinner at Teriyaki Boy at SM Baguio



Just chillin out…

It is safe to assume that Baguio was not unlike Sagada Fifty years ago. I wonder if there will be a Starbucks outlet in Sagada the next time I go there? I dread the day when Henry Sy or his descendants builds a mall in Sagada. There a lot of issues that arise as we go forward in our march towards development. To what extent should we allow the “development” of a particular area in the name of progress? Should development be restrained in the name of environmental and cultural conservation? There are a lot of arguments that would arise including the right of people living in those areas to enjoy the comforts of modern living. No one can tell at this point how things will work out for Sagada, but whatever happens I will always have wonderful memories of that rustic and enchanted place and I have a lot pictures to prove it…

Let me end this chronicle of our trip to Sagada with a picture I took of a wild flower in Echo Valley, its speaks of Sagada, beautiful and wild.



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Gulugod Baboy 2006

January 29 to 30, 2006. A year after our first climb together up this place, we returned to Gulugod Baboy… We brought new friends along, and for a lot of them it was their first climb. The newbies of the open climb last year had become good friends and are now the group leaders and the “more experienced” big brothers and sisters to this year’s batch of green horns.

I’ve always enjoyed the great outdoors whether I’m climbing up to a mountain’s summit or diving down a coral reef. It has always been obvious for me that it’s a beautiful world and we are living in a beautiful country. But sadly not many people get to enjoy the things I’ve seen and experienced because of the challenges involved in these activities. That’s why I’ve always been such an advocate that it sometimes seem like I’m a pimp for my kind of outdoor activities. I’d like people to experience the great outdoors in a safe and environment friendly manner and in the process I hope to instill a little bit more appreciation of just how beautiful this country is and maybe teach people to love this country just a little bit more.

But enough of drama, we went to that place to conquer the summit and have a great time. Just reaching the summit and beholding the majestic vista that was there for us to behold was enough to cause what I can only describe as euphoria in some of the first timers. The things they did up there is their story to tell. But as for me the highlight of the climb would have to be the time we spent taking pictures at the summit. It was the best spot to go wild taking pictures and to express long hidden artistic talent and creativity.

This is what we saw from my camera’s lens…

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Some thoughts…

When taking pictures…

The best source of light is the sun.

The best backdrop is the sky, either clear blue or accented with clouds.

The best objects to fill up space is nature’s features like mountains, trees, animals, and the sea.

The best subject is people, especially friends old and new alike.

It really is a beautiful world.

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Tarak

My muscles were aching all over, sweating profusely, bearing a very heavy load, and near exhaustion. It is these times when you ask your self why do I climb these darn mountains. Our destination was the Tarak Ridge on Mt. Mariveles, in Bataan. We spent the most part of our day on a long arduous trek through winding trails going up and down under the forest canopy. We took a much-needed one-hour lunch break near the Papaya river and then proceeded to the second part of our trek up the ridge. We were now on a near vertical climb on a very steep trail heading up. We had to rest every few minutes because of the trail’s difficulty. Our guide had long since left us on our own saying that it would be easy finding the campsite and Vince was insisting that we only rest for three minutes for every ten minutes we spend walking or should I say climbing. Tarak wasn’t easy at all…

We had arrived in the town of Balangga, in the provice of Bataan by bus in two batches the night before and we spent the night in Gino’s house. The plan was to arrive in Bataan on the evening of December 3, 2005 so that we could get some rest before we tackle the challenge ahead, which was Tarak. Tarak is the name of a ridge on Mt. Mariveles in Bataan and it is a considered a level 2 climb. It normally takes 7 to 8 hours of difficult trekking in order to reach the ridge. The ridge it self was open and exposed to strong winds and it is barely large enough to be a campsite. As if the climb it self wasn’t difficult enough, we have been warned by a friend of mine named Conch that he got Typhoid and Dengue after climbing Tarak.

The team out to conquer Tarak was composed of Yano, Vince, Park, JC, Jeff, Lester, Noah, Gino, and my self. This motley crew of would be mountaineers was out to tackle a challenge, which we may not be that prepared for. But we were already in Bataan and we were determined to climb Tarak.

After an early breakfast we headed toward our jump off point, which was the Barangay of Alasanin or Alas-asin in the town of Mariveles. There we registered at the Barangay Hall and found ourselves a guide. We started our trek with the sun already high in the horizon. I was still clinging to the hope that maybe it wouldn’t really take seven to eight hours to climb this mountain.

Clutching on every tree trunk, vine, rock, and any other handhold I could get my hands on, I kept putting one foot in front of the other and try to keep moving up. I knew that we were in essence committed to this climb and there was no turning back. Relief would only come once we reach the summit. After hours of hard climbing we finally broke through the tree line and found a clearing big enough to be a campsite. We were at the ridge. Our intended campsite was a little further up but we knew then that we made it. We had a very good view of the whole island of Corregidor, Manila bay, and the town of Mariveles. The strong winds brought soothing relief to our tired and hot bodies. But it signaled what we were to face that evening.

The campsite was small and rocky so much so that it was almost impossible to drive pegs into the ground, I had to settle for tying my guy lines on to big rocks. When evening descended the winds picked up and a thick mist covered the ridge since clouds shrouded the summit. After dinner and a couple rounds of drinks we retired into our tents to get some rest. The tent was battered the whole night by very strong winds which made it harder to sleep, but since we were all exhausted from all the climbing we did manage to get some sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night with the call of nature. I didn’t much fancy the idea of stepping out into that cold night with the howling winds but I had to relieve my bladder. When I stepped out of my tent I paused. The sky had cleared and I could clearly see nearby lights from the town or Mariveles, the distant lights from Manila across the bay, and what seemed like an infinite number of stars. The thought crossed my mind; “was I still on Tarak?” I could only describe it as magical. I was in awe and I could then tell my self, this is the reason why I climb up mountains.









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