I just had a wonderful journey.  With me in this trip were some members of my nuclear family:  Nengkoy, Ate Gaying, younger sister Joie, nephew Luis and iPod Touch.  Together, we embarked on a journey which saw us scale the wondrous sites, tastes and sounds of Macau – Senado Square, Ruins of St Paul, Leal Senado Building, Fortaleza Do Monte, Sacred Art Museum, Macau Museum, Wine Museum, Grand Prix Museum, Wynn Hotel, Lisboa Hotel, Venetian Hotel, Ponte 16, City of Dreams, A-Ma Temple, Lotus Square, Fisherman’s Wharf.

Nengkoy impressed me when we were in Macau, China.  She will be turning 73 next month but the rigorous physical demands of touring Macau – walking distant streets, alley ways, spacious museums and hotel lobbies of megamall proportions; climbing and descending demanding stairs; climbing and alighting public buses; talking to non-English speaking merchants; standing on long queues; haggling for lower prices for knickknacks; and, laughing over my nonsense remarks and stupid jokes. 

My sister Joie actually brought a portable folding stool which Nengkoy can use if she is too exhausted.  But surprisingly, Nengkoy never acted like a prima donna to request the usage of the said chair and never demanded to rest for a couple of minutes throughout the days of our Macau journey.  She was never the arthritic grandmother though her body is not as sprightly as once was!  I was actually the one who keeps on complaining about how hurt my calf muscles were. 

Yun nga lang di nakapag-duster si Nanay.  Malamig kasi…

Now I know how it feels to be a multi-millionaire even if it is was only for three short days.  This is what happened to me and my friend (Karen) when we spent the long weekend last week in Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam.

Prior to going out of Tan Son Nhat International Airport and while hauling our suitcases, we searched for a money changer to exchange our pocket moneys to Dong currency.  Upon receiving all the paper bills released to us by the counter attendant we did realized that we suddenly became multi-millionaires.

I was elated and my lips reached from ear to ear when smiling while counting all the milllions in my hand.  Me and Karen were actually declaring out loud that we were instant millionaires in Vietnam.  With feelings of sudden paranoia and elaborate confusion, we couldn’t believe all the zeros indicated on the paper bills in our hands.  We could not wait to reach our hotel for we wanted to take photos of the multitude of cash that we have.

Prior to hitching a cab to bring us to our hotel, we decided to take a nicotine break.  While wasting away our lungs, we were approached by an airport taxi driver offering us his service to drive us to our hotel.  My malignantly bloating happiness suddenly halted when the driver told us that the 20-minute taxi ride is worth 100,000 Vietnam Dong.

By the way, 1 Pinoy Peso is equivalent to 400 Vietnamese Dong.

Hwag ng e-epal.  Basta milyonaryo ako nung huling wik-end.

Early morning of Monday, I got the chance to watch a fresh US episode of the Amazing Race.  I always enjoy watching this show where contestants would zoom from one country to the next but tasks, detours and roadblocks needs to be accomplished in between.

I can travel with anybody, may it be a spitting distance or it would be as far as Jupiter.  But if I were to join in this magnificent race around the globe and would have the opportunity to choose whose soul should I be with to step on the mat at every pit stop, it would be a toss between the following endearing people:

me & karen in macau

• Karen Teotico.  I have journeyed with her and friends in Singapore, Macau, Hongkong, Sydney, Bohol and Boracay.  This month our next stop will be Ho Chi Minh.  She is my usual travel buddy and never did we encounter any disagreement on how should we navigate a city.  For sure, we would have “yosi” break and “shopping-for-pasalubong-moments” after every road block in the race.  We are both poor in directions but Karengkeng can always call Denton (her awesome hubby) to ask for directions. 

me & joesel in sahara

• Joesel Javier.  His flight attendant profession and being able to travel around the world will be an advantage to partner with him in this type of race.  I personally have been with Joesel and some close friends in a lot of travels (Bohol, Singapore, Sydney, the norther Sahara and all over Morocco).  If me and Karen would have a smoke after every road block, me and Joesel would instead have a cup of Moroccan tea before each leg of the race and enjoy gazing at “walking-works-of-nature” until a thin trickle of drool would run down our mouths.  We may be poor in road routes but we are the type who would surprisingly receive kind assistance from strangers.

me & nengkoy in villa escudero

• Nengkoy.  This would be the best opportunity for me to swell further my bonding with my mother and journey the spectacular parts of the world.  I wont be surprised if my eyes would roll up until only the white portion appears in every hurdle that we would accomplish if I will to tandem with her.  Without doubt, me and Nengkoy would hunt first for a souvenir ref magnet (our personal collection) in each city that we would go to before scampering the task required by the race.  Knowing the antics of Nengkoy since birth, those tasks that we need to pull off would for sure be the funniest moments in the show!

Katulad ko, may sayad kasi ang mga ito.  Panalo!!!

When I want to go out of town with either friends or relatives, never did it enter my weird thoughts to go to the province of Bulacan.  All the while I thought that there is no interesting place to go to in Bulacan.  But my perception of the place totally changed when I and my officemates did a one-day tour of the province.  Thanks to Renn and Kuki the true-blooded Bulakenyas who proudly and generously toured us around.

Out first official stop was a visit inside the house and shop of Arnel Papa in Marilao.  Arnel Papa is a well known fashion jewelry and accessories maker who owns a shop at high-end Greenbelt 5 in Ayala Center, Makati.  He accompanied and showed us his shop just located at his backyard where craftsmen would polish, carve and whittle various metals and indigenous materials like roots of trees, snake skins and carabao horns to transform it into fashionable women’s accessories.  Mr. Papa even humbly showed us his most recent collection of clutch-bags which are to be featured in his upcoming summer collection in New York.

For our Bulakeño lunch, we were taken to Nena’s Restaurant located in Bulihan, Plaridel whose dining huts were atop an enormous catfish farm.  I especially dug unto the specialty of the joint like Fried Itik (duck), Kare-kareng Itik, Adobong Igat (eel) and deep-fried half face of a hog which I glugged down with fresh Buko Juice.

The next stop was the historic Barasoain Church – the very church featured at the back of the 10-peso bill.  Adjacent to it was the Barasoain Church Museum which features the serene figures of the Holy Mother in various representations, sizes and grandiose clothings.  Included in the same vicinity was the preserved and official carriage of the 1st Philippine President Emilio Aguinaldo.  Across the church yard our group proceeded to Barasoain Bakeshop to raid the popular Bulacan delicacies.

In my personal view, the highlight of the tour was when we entered the ancestral house owned by Mr. Des Bautista, a popular visual artist and well known figure of the province.  The old house is 132 years old which contains what could be considered antique treasures of Bulacan.  It was the house where numerous Pinoy movies were shot like Tatarin and Lola Basyang.  I can’t help but marvel the beauty of the house as well as its priceless contents.  The ceiling alone is already a valuable piece of art.  There were numerous drawings by Amorsolo and paintings by Edades hanging on the walls of the house.  The prayer room is the most intense and mind-boggling part of the house.  It contained a huge figure of the Virgin Mary crowned and dressed in metallic gold with elaborate sophisticated designs being surrounded by numerous life-sized angel figurines and golden flower ornaments.

ceiling...

interiors...

inside the prayer room...

After which, we went on a short walking tour to peep into the glass walls of the majestic Sto Niño chapel built by Mr. Des Bautista.  During the short walk, we were able to view on the regal architectural wonders of the ancestral houses of the Tantocos and the Lopez-es.

We took a short ride to go to Inang Wika (Mother Tongue) Street in Malolos to meet the renowned Pastillas Wrapper Artist, the 87-year old lady named Luz Ocampo.  Lola Luz showed us some of her works and demonstrated her ability to intricately scissor a bunch of Japanese paper that would turnout to become an elaborate design of wrapper of the sweet and milky pastilles.  She also presented some of her finished works with different designs – a bahay kubo(nipa hut), a gumamela flower, a mag-babayo (unhusked rice pounders), a sampaguita flower.  One sad note however is that her craftmanship will not be handed down to her children and grandchildren since no one in her family is interested to learn how to do it.  Another art work of this old lady is when she presented her sweetened dayap (lime).  A bottled delicacy made of intricately designed dayap skin submerged in sweet syrup.

The tour did not end there, after another short ride we reached one of the oldest churches in Bulacan – Nuestra Señora La Virgen Immaculada Conception to say a short prayer.  Along the way, we witnessed a procession of a figure of the Virgin Mary being paraded solemnly along the streets of Malolos.  As a last stop, we entered Citang Eatery where we bought another batch of Bulacan-made delicacies.  I was so impressed with Lola Luz that I bought a big slob of pastillas de leche and an order of Bulacan’s version of hamonado.

There were a lot to see still in Bulacan according to Renn and Kuki.  But with this one splendid tour all I can say that it was fun, enriching, impressive, unique and regal!  It’s truly a feast for the senses.

Trip na triiip!

I just spent the long weekend in Singapore.  While I was in this southern tip of the Malay Peninsula…

• I patiently wait for the Green Man to flash and appear across the street before I cross it.  Even if I’m so tempted to pass over a narrow street since no motor vehicle is passing, I dare not to because everybody are so disciplined in conscientiously waiting for the Green Man to beam and appear before crossing.
• I go to designated outdoor areas to smoke my cigarette.  Even if I’m starting to feel cold turkey, I still made sure to manage to add more than a few steps just to be in the right designated smoking area for my usual nicotine dose.
• I dump my trash and properly place it inside a designated trash bins.  Its not hard finding these receptacles in the Citystate so there is no hassle of carrying for long the junks and garbage you want to throw away.
• I buckle the straps of the seatbelt even if I am seated at the backseat of the taxi car.
• I courteously dump the plastic cups, paper wraps and left overs placed on my tray after having a meal in a fastfood joint.

Now that my delicious body is back and my molecules have returned in the Philippines…

• I cross the street anytime to my liking may it be the Green Man, the Red Man, the Blue or Violet Man that would flash and flicker across the street.  Pinoy folks simply would not mind what color of the man glinting across the street.  We just cross.
• I smoke anywhere since the Philippines is one big smoking area.  I have no reason to turn cold turkey anymore.
• I throw my trash anywhere since the Philippines is one big dump receptacle. You will actually have a hard time finding a decent trash bin placed in public.  And if you find one it either stinks or it is full to the rim.
• Even if I want to put my seatbelt on while inside a running cab, I simply cannot because seatbelts in Philippine taxis are either not available or are simply not working, busted or wornout.
• I guilelessly leave a fastfood restaurant after having a meal.  There are an abundance of service crews working all at the same time in Philippine fastfood outlets.  If I would bring my tray full of junk and left overs to the trash receptacle after eating and before leaving the joint, what then would these service attendants do?  I once had the initiative to dumped my trash and leftovers to the designated garbage bin and what I received was a big laugh from other diners inside the fastfood outlet.

Go Pilipins! Ngek!

I am glad to have come to Morocco while I’m relatively young and healthy because going around that country is no big joke.  It requires good physical stamina.

The flight takes at least 19 hours to travel from Manila to Casablanca.  It takes 4 hours via train ride to travel from Casablanca to Marrakech.  It takes 6 hours back and forth to traverse from Marrakech to Essaouira crowded inside a grand taxi with 5 other passengers.  It takes at least 2 days to tour around the outskirts of Marrakech to visit the Berber towns and the magnificent provinces of Merzouga, Dudades and Ouarzazate to finally get to Sahara.  It takes a 30-minute camel ride to get into the edge of the Saharan dessert from Merzouga.  It takes a 7-hour train ride from Marrakech to Fes.  It takes 4 hours to commute via train ride from Fes to Casablanca.  It takes another 19 hours air travel from Casablanca to be back to Manila.

With all these rides and travels, I have not even counted the yards, meters and kilometers of traversing the streets, valleys, gorges and narrow alleys of Morocco (especially the old medinas) that me and my friends have been to.

I am not complaining because along all these travels comes the unforgettable and spectacular experiences I had in this marvelous north western part of Africa.  While travelling and moving around the country, I simply fed my senses and work my glutes.

I am so thankful that I travelled early unlike other people who put off travel until retirement.  I may not have saved a lot and not yet financially secured but I don’t want to consign the most active years of my life to drudgery.  I don’t want to sacrifice today’s freedom for a future that will always remain uncertain, no matter how I carefully plan for it. 

I’m not saying that everyone sitting in an office or busy with ther respective jobs should drop everything and take off for north Africa.  I’m saying that if you want to see the world, plan for it and do it as soon as possible.  The experience will give you the spunk, courage and inspiration you need to survive being a full-grown human being.

Tara na! Gala na tayo!

Via airplane, Philippines to Morocco is a 19-hour journey.  The time zone difference between Pinas and Morocco is 8 hours.  Pinas is hot, Morocco is cold.  Majority of Pinoys are Christian while Moroccans are Islam.  It’s basically worlds apart.  But after my 2 weeks vacation, I realized that there are similarities between the two countries…

• Inhabitants do not have the concept of using the zebra/pedestrian lane.  Moroccans like Pinoys would cross the street wherever they want unmindful of the imminent danger of a fast approaching vehicle.
• Motorists in both country think that traffic laws are mere suggestions.  Both citizens ignore the significance of the yellow traffic light.  Crossing the road in both countries are the surest way to heaven.
• People can assume that underpass walkways have no purpose other than its aesthetic presence.  No one dares to go by the underpass due to the possibility of being mugged and get out from it black and blue.
• Residential streets are turned into big sports venue.  In Pinas, streets are turned into bantam basketball courts while in Morocco streets are turned into mini soccer fields.
• There are lots of bootleg peddlers on the streets offering tourists to buy fake (made in China) watches and sunnies.
• Dingy street corners of urbanite cities stink in the morning as caused by the trace of urine leaked by a drunken man the previous night.
• Both countries have internet cafes that don’t serve coffee.

Ang listahang ito din ang mga hindi ko na-miss sa Pinas.

When I was in Macau last December with Karen and Denton, we would address the locals as ‘my friend’.  “My friend, where is this?”  “My friend, what is that?”  “My friend, how is this?”  My friend, why is that?”

‘Efren’ sounding so similar to ‘my friend’, my avant-garde friend Karen after a considerable extraordinary intellectualization concluded that the most common name in Macau is Efren.  According to her you can call every local as Efren.

In Morocco, I kept hearing ‘Mon Ami’ when a local or tourist would call or address a total stranger.  When a store attendant would call me Mon Ami I would not respond for I don’t know what it connotes.  But my French-speaking friend Charlie would tell me that the store attendant was actually calling me.

Similar to Karen, after stupendous intellectualization, I came to a conclusion that the most common and popular name in Morocco is not Abdul or Mohammed but Mon and Amy.

After my stick-figured thighs were showing signs of muscular definition from all the walking along all the Mohammed V streets and old medinas of Marrakech, Casablanca, Essaouira and Fes, I learned that Mon Ami are the French words meaning ‘my friend’.

Magandang hapon sa lahat ng Efren sa Macau at sa lahat ng Mon at Amy sa Morocco.

When I arrived  in Casablanca the first thing I noticed is that almost all men were wearing dark colored jackets.  Jackets in Morocco is a necessity to cover ones body from the notorious cold weather.  Coming from an awful needle stinging summer in Manila, I felt so cold that tiny blood vessels in my nostrils broke I had to pick blood stained boogers out of my nose.

Men in Casablanca would commonly wear dark leather jackets.  I don’t know if the leather type is so “in” in such a country that almost all young ones prefer to wear it.  They would pair the leather jacket with tight fitting dark denim jeans.  Thanks to their innate genes for the superb butt shapes they possess.  Denim jeans seem to fit them perfectly.

Another noticeable common appearance among Moroccan men is their hair.  They tend to put a lot of gel on their thick wavy hair.  I’m sure gel manufacturers in Morocco do not feel the worldwide financial crisis and their Sales Executives for sure are having a great time due to the high demand of their product.

Moroccan men usually sport the wet look brushed up hairstyle as if a salivating camel has been summoned to lick them before going out of their respective houses.

Moroccan men being so consistent with this fashion statement, my friends Charlie and Joesel agreed that these men sport the John-Travolta-Grease-Era look.  We declared then that Morocco is one big John Travolta country.  For a brief moment, I thought I would see a monument of Danny Zuko (the name of John Travolta’s character in Grease).

After such a keen observation and notes of amused beliigerence about Moroccan men’s fashion taste, I couldn’t stop wondering whether if we would one day bump into Olivia Newton John singing ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’ while having 2 weeks of self indulgent holiday in Morocco.

Ang galing. Parang pelikula and itsura!