Ka-Blog!

     I’ve been promising my wife an out of town trip, preferrably to a beach, for so long. It’s been years
since we’ve been to one and it was getting unfair.

     Since three weeks ago, the trip and the beach visit happened.

     My wife and I got invited to an
affair at Ming’s Garden in Tagaytay. Ming, of course, was former First Lady Amelita Martinez Ramos. The
curiously-named Fern and Nature Society were having a get-together and we tagged along. But these (mostly ageing) persons and personalities were serious about
their plants, as Mrs. Ramos is. Her
spread of several hectares were full of exotic ornamental flora and some fauna.

     Amid the greenery, the trip was memorable for two
things—first, I was with my wife for a whole day and, second, Mrs. Ramos’ own private falls.

     The falls is at the bottom of a deep ravine. Normally, the owner, her family and visitors
reach it by riding an exciting-looking train/cable car-elevator combo. It’s a
train/cable car because it rides on an iron track with gears and is controlled
by a cable. It’s an elevator because it
is no bigger than an elevator car and it goes almost vertically up and down.

     But it was out of order that day.

     So we had no choice but to brave the 134-step steep stairway
down. (It’s an Oro, by the way, if
you’re into such things.) Being
overweight and all, my wife and I had second thoughts whether the falls was
worth it. But sexegenarian Odette
Alcantara was already halfway down and shame on us if we did not go through the
experience like she gamely did.

     One must marvel at the adobe walls put up by Cordillerans
imported to do the job of securing the slopes and creating terraces that would
be hanging gardens in the future. Babylon and the Rice Terraces meet up in Tagaytay!

     But the garden’s gem is really the falls. At the base of those darned steps, one is greeted by
a crystal clear stream that is carving the valley ever deeper. We followed it upstream for
about 200 meters and, finally, the falls reveals itself shyly tucked behind a
bend and some green cover. It has two 10-meter drops.   At its base is a small and clear
pool about chest deep where freshwater fishes dart in and out of exposed roots.
Its gurgle soothed our aching muscles and repaired my frayed nerves from months
of overwork.

     After a few more moments marvelling at the falls’
understated beauty, we turned touristy. We struck poses with the falls
as our background and made our borrowed digital camera work extra hard that day.

     That was all that we could do anyway while in the bosom of this
pocket paradise. As the saying
goes, the poor must “only take pictures and leave only footprints” because the
earth’s beautiful spots are already privately-owned by the rich.

 
                                                                *-*-*-*

     Mrs. Ramos treated some of us to halo-halo after our tortous
climb back up. My wife, Tita O and I
took several rest stops on the way up. All the while, the vegetarian and beautifully fit “city forester” June
Alvarez was hooting at the top of the steps liberally commenting on the amount
of oxygen we were using up as we huffed and puffed on those darned steps. But he did no climbing, did he?

      I vaguely suspect that Mrs. Ramos makes her visitors climb
those steps to make her halo-halo much sweeter and desirable. Sweet!

     Anyway, we found out that Cardinal Sin’s Villa San Miguel in Mandaluyong City was once a Martinez ancestral home. In fact, the last time she and her husband
(former President Fidel) got invited to the place, she was moved when she saw the wooden floor (wide, thick and dark mahogany) of the mansion’s upper level.  She said she remembered that floor so well as she grew up in that house before the
last World War.

     Stories were told around the table that afternoon. Stories about the late Cardinal, Cory Aquino,
Loi Estrada, Gloria Arroyo, Mrs. Ramos’ former friends when she was still First
Lady. and her husband. I don’t dare to
write them down here lest I jeopardize my chance to have a taste of that
halo-halo again—for free.

                                                                         *-*-*-*
    Just as thousands were paying their last respects to the
Cardinal my wife and I spent five days together in Panay and Guimaras Islands.

 Aside from official business, the most memorable thing we
did while in Iloilo was to overeat ’til
we’re woozy from fresh seafoods and La Paz batchoy. (Hey, there’s this roadside eatery in Dumangas, Iloilo
which may be able to give Ted’s Old Timer Batchoy a run for its money
(see earlier entry entitled “Usapang Pancit”)). [Thanks to my buddy Toto Deduro
and his driver slash wife Carol who drove us around without a license.]

    The apex of our trip was our weekend at Guimaras.

 It’s wonderful that we can still go to these kinds of places
for virtually nothing–thanks to our Third
World economy. We
took a pump-boat from Iloilo City to the pier in Jordan
(Hor-dan) town across the Guimaras Straight for only P8.50! At the pier, we were the first to board the
jeepney as everyone was busy cheering the rowers of a boat race off
the wharf. Jeepneys are built like tanks
here. Their roofs have more iron
supports and braces than a banana leaf has ridges. They have to be.  They support entire barangays
on their topside and entire towns inside. 

 The P20 fare took us to the center of Jordan Town, to the
provincial capital district of San Miguel and to our destination of Nueva Valencia on surpsingly smooth asphalt roads. I
wouldn’t mind trying my cycling legs here once more if Ron Papag would lend me
his precious mountain bike. And the view
isn’t bad at all. Guimaras is still
green. Mango orchards straddle the road
and the route is punctuated by picturesque school campusess, reasearch centers and
monasteries. Too bad, mango harvesting has just passed.  We didn’t have a chance to see and sample the
world-famous, smooth-skinned and overly-sweet mangoes us ordinary Filipino only see on Japanese television. If we
had more time, we could have visited the many caves and falls large signs
point to every so often along the highway.

    It was Saturday, so the first and more famous resort we went
to was fully-booked. We inquired at the
resort next to it (which has the same beachfront) and got ourselves
the cottage perched highway up the hill jutting from the right border of the
beach. It was the highest-placed cottage
on the entire beachfront and I bet it had the best view of all.

    From our veranda, I could see every bather with my telephoto
lens. If I had an extra roll of film, I
would have taken as many pictures as I wanted but we were on a tight budget so I
was just clicking in my mind and pressed the shutter button only when I was
sure that the shot was good. In the only
private house along the beach, I saw a plump woman sound asleep on a chaise
lounge with her arms up and her nose firmly planted on her right armpit. What a way to relax—waves lapping at your
doorstep, the salty wind blowing from the sea, sleeping on a lounge while
sniffing at your armpit to ensure deep slumber.   

    Alubijod Beach
does not have the immaculate fine sands of Boracay but is still a sight to
behold. It has light-colored sand tinged with red that brochures
describe as “pinkish”. It is beautiful.   Plus. it is nowhere near as crowded nor as
polluted as coliform-laced Boracay. We swam, island-hopped and snorkelled to our
hearts’ delight. And the food was great,
too. Cheap, fresh and delicious–just the way I want them.

    The more memorable portions of our vacation can be read in
my wife’s blog. (See Pom’s “Queen
Fisher.” Try finding her in my list of friends.) This article is already too long for so short
a vacation.