Paraw-Rides and Parasailing In Boracay and Why Families Need To Travel Together

Silhouette: Me, Oliver, and Joaquin - parasailing at sunset.

It was precious. Seeing my husband's family in the same boat, smiling, relaxed, and bonding in Boracay.  It's been a year since my husband Oliver, and my in-laws Rina, Ging, Winnie, Riza, and Thunder formed a family corporation to put up a kitchen/commissary in their family's property in Mandaluyong, to provide 24-hour food services for call centers in the nearby Ortigas business district. Running 24-hour operations is no joke.  It was a colorful year, with some very dark moments, that led to fiery red fights when personalities and management styles clashed in a serious way.  The bright hours of triumph seemed to be outnumbered by long stretches of bleak, grey days in between.  But fortunately, this May, we saw some sun. We went to Boracay for one big, family trip - more than 2 dozen souls linked by blood, and by name - boarding the same bus, boat, and plane. And I sensed it: the sunny days have arrived. The wounds have healed. The toxicity that stressed relationships throughout the year, dissipated in the wind.  It was indeed, precious, and priceless.

Our side of the paraw: with Rina, Riza, Jennifer, Me, and Oliver.

How much does it cost to rent a paraw to see Boracay's magnificent sunset? For 1,500 pesos, the local outrigger sailboat (paraw) took us, some 9 adults, for a soulful ride in calm waters, against a gentle breeze, in the gloriously fading light.  Another boat took the two other generations: of our parents; and our children's.  But we, the middle generation, were on the same boat. For such a small amount of money, we got so much in return. We were lulled into a peaceful mode of healing contemplation.  We were relaxing together. And when the boatman fetched cold bottles of beer from his cooler, and Rina passed around the chicharon - I could hear the happiness in the crunchin' and the munchin' all around.   I was on the Cohen diet, and couldn't have the beer nor the chicharon, but I "joined in", by simply holding a bottle in my hand and taking pleasure from  its coolness against my skin.   In the boat, like in the family business - I was part of the picture, without partaking of the feast (and the frenzy). I did not sink my teeth into the chicaron, nor the business, like the rest of them did.  I felt like a participant with an "observer" status - with no voice, nor vote - but with the privilege of being a witness.  And I observed many things throughout the year, some disheartening situations that caused major headaches and heart break. So to see everyone smiling, together, relaxing side by side, after a year of trials, to observe this process of coming together and reconnecting - to me, is a moment of triumph.  The labor pains, and growing pains, of starting and nurturing a new business have  been overcome!

On the adults' paraw 

For some people, doing the paraw ride may be boring.  Why bother getting on a boat to see the sunset when you can see it just the same from the shore?  I really liked it. All the boring aspects of it: the silence, the relative immobility, the meditative qualities - being forced to sit still, and do nothing - being induced into a "zen mode".  In a hard-working family, that's always on the go, I think more de-stress and detox moments like these are needed!   It was good to see my sis-in-law Ging taking in the sun, drink in had, lost in music - what a far cry from those days a few months back when her stress manifested in health issues. Rina and Riza, seated side by side, smiling; and Winnie looking relaxed.  And my husband, with beer in hand, bathed in orange hues, was a picture of contentment.   

The next day, we tried a different approach for catching the sunset: we went parasailing!  This time, the adults, and the older kids bonded on a speedboat, and we took turns getting strapped by threes, onto parachute harnesses.  Oliver and I left Narra and Guijo behind, to bond with the rest of the younger kids, and this, in turn, gave us a chance to bond with our nephews and nieces.  Before we got married, one of the things I found attractive with Oliver was his rapport with his pamankins.  He seemed to me, to be a cool and fun uncle, and it convinced me that he'll make a good father.   With our kids left behind in the safety of our hotel's kiddie pool, we had the chance to focus on the older kids, and to engage them in conversation.

Parasailing Group: Nieces Bianca and Sabel, Nephews Arlo and Joaquin,
Aunts: Nikki, Rina, Winnie, Riza, and Rakel; and the only Uncle: Oliver.

Oliver and I had a chance to take our nephew Joaquin on his first go at parasailing.  He had his questions, since we were the first group to go, so he didn't know how we'd take off, and land back on the boat. I assured him that it was going to be a very relaxing and awesome experience (that is, for someone who has no acrophobia).  The last time I went parasailing in Boracay was with my dad (then 65 years old) and my sister. My mom, who had a fear of heights, happily took our photos. We did that family trip before I got married, sort of like a "last hurrah" for our travel-loving family of four - before we became a family of 5 (then 6, and now 7).  The parasailing flight was the culminating activity for that special Boracay trip.   I only have good things to say about parasailing, and its something I'd do again and again, for as long as I could.  

My parasailing group: Me, Joaquin, and Oliver - before flight.

Oliver, Joaquin, and I, were prepped, harnessed, strapped, and launched! We squealed excitedly on lift off as we pulled away from our sailboat and ascended towards the setting sun behind us.  Woohoo!!! The wind was marvelous!  When we calmed down from the excitement of take off, we got to talking.  Joaquin mentioned how his dad, Owen didn't want to take him parasailing just yet on a past trip to Boracay, when he was still too small.   Oliver and I wouldn't want to take Narra and Guijo either, not for many more years!   The mention of Owen made my throat constrict and my eyes water.  It's been less than two years since he passed away, and the pain of his loss is still fresh.  I would sometimes catch Oliver lost in thought, with that wistful look he has when he misses his papa, and his brother.   In many ways, this family trip is about them - it is about fulfilling the unspoken promise the living make to honor their beloved dead: that is, for surviving family members to live well, and to love one another, and be each others' sources of strength, hope, and happiness. 

When I saw Oliver's three sisters - Winnie, Rina, and Riza, taking off... I was filled with hope.  I know it has been a crazy, busy, stressful year for all of them - and the demands on their material and personal resources have been plenty.  The year had taken its toll on their health, emotions, and peace of mind.  But for a brief moment, while hovering above Boracay, riding the wind, they seemed carefree, and relaxed.  They came back looking fully re-charged and ready for another year of hard toil.  To see them looking so adorably excited like little children was inspiring.

I feared that traveling as one big travel party would be a stressful undertaking full of logistical issues.  But it was surprisingly full of rewarding moments, quiet conversations, and simple joys. I'm still on a high from the trip, and as my sis-in-law Ging messaged to me after: it was fun, and we must do it again!!

Spain Trip Diary 3: Spain by Train with the Spain Pass

A view of Spain's vast central plains... en route to Madrid.

This is one thing I love about train travel: the window becomes one big screen through which you see your destination unfold before you, placidly.  And with high speed trains, one is offered a most enjoyable contradiction: one gets somewhere fast, unhurried.  It's something wonderful, really. When going speedily, doesn't mean rushing. For me, to be on a train is to sit still, in quiet contemplation of the scenery. There's time for a long cup of coffee, and a chance to write down thoughts in my travel journal. It's a great way to see a country, especially Spain, where tracks are lain on very scenic routes through the Iberian peninsula's variegated landscapes. Where many breathtaking ancient fortress-cities sit atop hills, and can be seen from the distance.  Spain's railway system is one of the best in the world: extensive, efficient, and exciting.  Covering the country's plains, and hugging its coasts, crossing its rivers and ravines, and cutting through cities, it is a truly rewarding experience to be on a train in Spain. So when I found out there was a new SPAIN PASS offered by RENFE, Spain's railway operator, I was absolutely thrilled. 

Our first trip with our Spain Pass, from Barcelona to Valencia.

The SPAIN PASS is a product designed exclusively for foreign tourists. One must present a passport to purchase it.  The cheapest one costs 165 Euros for 4 trips anywhere in Spain! No matter the distance! And on the nice kinds of trains too - any of them! - from the popular high speed AVE, or the sleeper-car equipped Trenhotel, or the coastal Euromed and Alaris trains.  Whether one wanted to travel from North to South from Bilbao to Sevilla; or East to West from Barcelona to Santiago de Compostela... one could do so for the price of one regular-prized trip on a high-speed train! One could choose more trips, for a higher price, ... and the ticket would be valid until the following year.

In the past, travelers to Europe relied on the EURAIL Pass for this kind of flexibility and convenience.  When my father first visited Europe in 1979, he used his EURAIL pass extensively, fully exploiting the unlimited rides by visiting 33 cities.  When he took us to Europe in the early 1990's, he bought EURAIL passes again, but by that time, there were many restrictions already: we had to apply for visas for all the countries we'd pass through, and some trains required supplemental fees.  Nowadays, with the Schengen visa, crossing borders is no longer as tedious for Filipinos touring Europe (thank God!).  We weren't planning on crossing borders though, our trip was dedicated solely to Spain, so I looked up the EURAIL SPAIN PASS and compared it with RENFE's own SPAIN PASS.  In the end, RENFE won the contest. And here's why: it was cheaper, and valid for longer, and could be bought at the train station, and it measured usage by the number of trips.  In contrast, the EURAIL SPAIN PASS cost just a little bit more, was valid for a shorter period, had to be bought overseas, and measured usage by the day.  Both options have their pros and cons, and I would still consider the EURAIL alternative when planning future trips, but for this particular trip, RENFE's Spain Pass suited our requirements best. 

Unlike in planes, they don't make you turn off your gadgets on a train :-D

In this age of budget airlines, taking the plane may be cheaper than the train, but it may involve a bit more pain... it would mean queueing up at the airport, going through check-in and boarding procedures, waiting to board, being squished into cramped seats, then traveling from the airport to the city center. Trains, on the other hand, especially in Spain, usually mean comfortable seats, and strategically located train stations in the heart of the city. And with high speed trains, the travel time has been reduced tremendously that it is comparable to flying. Train travel is really attractive, if only it wasn't so expensive! My initial search showed a plane ride from Barcelona to Madrid could cost as little as 39 Euros on Vueling airline, while the AVE train would cost 139 Euros... whoa! - that's a big difference. Good thing the Spain Pass arrived! It was released to the market days before we traveled to Spain. I was using RENFE's website to plan our trip, and I visited the site daily to study the timetables, and one day, I saw the announcement: "New!" it said, "Discover Spain with the Flexible Spain Pass". Woohoo! I felt the universe conspiring to give me a great trip :-D  

The product was so new, that when we arrived in Barcelona, the attendant at the sales counter had to ask for help from colleagues in inputing our information and preparing our pass - "It's my first time to do this" he explained.  It was the same story in Valencia where another first timer prepared our ticket and had difficulty fulfilling our request to be seated together.  "The system only allows me to book one person at a time and it chooses the seats"...he said, "but let me try to figure out how to assign you seats that are together", and he patiently worked on it, while we patiently waited. By the time we got to Madrid a few days later, the railway staff had gotten used to the Spain Pass. Our tickets were processed quickly, and we were assigned adjacent seats in a flash.  Just like that, in a span of a few days, it was no longer "new"... even the website removed the "new" label formerly attached to the Spain Pass icon.  They've ironed out the kinks, fast.  

At the train cafeteria with my cafe con leche, bocadillo, and guide books!

As soon as we boarded our Euromed train to Valencia, I just had to visit the train's cafeteria for my cafe con leche and bocadillo de jamon y queso.  I bit into my first taste of Spain in over a decade since I last left it when I turned in my MA thesis and left for home back in 2002.  As a graduate student in Spain, I've taken this train many times, and memories came flooding back as I viewed the unfolding landscape. We passed by the dry mountains of the Costa de Azahar...and I remember climbing those mountains before. Oh wow! When did I last have the energy to climb a mountain?  Then we saw endless rows of olive trees; then orange groves; and stretches of beaches and the vast blue sea.  It was all so exciting, and calming at the same time.

Valencia's charming Estacio de Nord, right next to the bullring.

We just came from a long haul flight from Singapore, and we've been traveling for nearly 24 hours straight since we left our house in Manila, and I was neither tired nor energized - I was in that confusing zone between wanting to move and wanting to rest, too excited to sleep, but too tired to run... and for this ambivalent state of mind, being on a train was perfect. I was moving, while standing still (or should I say, gently swaying) in the train's cafeteria.  I was traveling - by looking out the window, but also resting, retreating into silence, free from the obligation to talk.  I was looking out, and looking in, reconciling past and present, I was both cooling down from the flight, and warming up for the days of traveling ahead. A train ride, is like an incubator of sorts, a place to extend gestation for a bit longer, after already being delivered into the world.   A trip, like an idea, can benefit a lot from a period of incubation.  Plans can develop and mature appropriately in situ, and no amount of pre-planning can compare to being there at the destination, at that very moment. Then, and only then can you tell how many layers of clothing will be sufficient for the current temperature; and how much money you'd willingly spend for a good meal. Guide books and on-line fora can provide advice, but only you can gauge for yourself, your personal threshold of comfort.  All these qualitative assessments can happen only in context, when you arrive. A train ride, after a plane ride, is a perfect occasion for such  musings.

And in Spain, some train stations are destinations in themselves.  Valencia's Estacio de Nord, for instance, greets visitors with proud displays of the region's locally produced ceramic tiles. The ornate old mosaics on the walls and ceilings are often accompanied by contemporary art installations and exhibits, making the train station a museum-gallery of sorts.  In Madrid, the Atocha train station is like an indoor garden, an oasis of sorts, teeming with plants from rain forests.  The shops and restaurants under the grand garden atrium give a taste of the bustling scene outside.  We lunched at Samar Kanda, an elegant restaurant on a terrace overlooking the train station's tropical garden.  Like a secret little place, the restaurant was shielded from view, and located far from the busy corridors of the huge train station.  We "incubated" for a moment, hatching our plan of attack for taking on Madrid.  The restaurant gave us a sense of being outdoors on the street, without the biting cold, and fear of pickpockets. We felt warm and safe, and after a good meal, we felt ready for our adventure.

At Samar Kanda Restaurant in Madrid's Atocha Train Station.

When I traveled with my mother in Spain back in 2000, we took the train and she mentioned how she used to take the train from Manila to Bicol.  "I took you when you were a baby, you were in a bassinet on my lap, and I held you throughout the ride, lifting you when the train swayed and jumped, so you wouldn't wake up".  Wow. I could imagine my mom, my indefatigable, self-sacrificing, nurturing and tender mom, not being able to sleep so I wouldn't wake up.  That's the kind of mother she was.  And maybe that's why I feel happy in trains, reminded of my mother, and how she lulls me to sleep, swaying me from side to side when I was a baby, the way she does with my children now.

I can't wait to take my children on train rides, so we can see the world unfolding, together. I find myself now, echoing the dream once made by my father when he first went to Europe: "someday, I'll bring my children here".

Spain Diary 2: Our Roast Suckling Pig Story in Toledo

My hefty serving of cochinillo, at Restaurante Don Diego, Toledo, Spain.

You are what you eat. And we found out in Spain, just how Filipino we were, when we bit into the crispy skin of their famed cochinillo, or roast suckling pig, and all we could think of were pork dishes from home.   We were in historic Toledo, which has the reputation of being that one city that best offers a window into the Spanish soul.   It is a common saying that if one has only a day to spend in Spain, one should spend it in Toledo.   And we were told that cochinillo was a specialty of the region.  So we we trained our eyes on our culinary goal - to find a good restaurant where we could get a taste of this famed dish.  Thus began an epic journey, a laborious search for good pork.  We felt like knights in search of the holy grail. Seriously.

Behind me, the historic walled city of Toledo, Spain's old capital.

When my husband Oliver purchased a sword from one of Toledo's shops (for they are well known for sword craft as well), we asked the shop owner to recommend a good restaurant. We mentioned cochinillo and they started to swoon - "es muy rico" they kept saying, repeatedly, and with appropriate gestures to match.  They gave us the name of a restaurant, and the name of the person to look for, and directions that didn't really help. We got lost.  Toledo's medieval paths are bound to play tricks on the mind. It is like entering a maze.  And with hunger comes poor judgement.  The cobblestone steps and the hilly terrain didn't help ease our pain. We were tired, confused, and desperate.  I asked for directions at another shop, and mentioned the magic word cochinillo, and the shop owner swooned again, and said "es muy rico!", and proudly pointed us to another restaurant, with a business card this time, and she wrote her name on the piece of paper to show the waiter, so he'd treat us like her guests.  We showed this card to locals, and we were directed up and down, and on and on, through more winding streets, until at last, we walked through the entry arch of a walled compound, and found a restaurant tucked in a corner of an inner courtyard... a secret place frequented by locals.

After a long search, at last! We found this restaurant.

  

Meson Restaurante Corral de Don Diego, it was called.  And the waiter swooned and responded with "es muy rico" as soon as we said the magic word.  Like a prayer, the word cochinillo, when uttered, got a reverent response. You could tell the locals were very proud of this dish.  It will take some time to prepare, we were told. And though we were starving, we said we could wait. We've walked this far and waited this long, surely, we won't quit now? So while waiting for our food, we took the time to appreciate the restaurant's interiors.  We chatted with the owner, who introduced us to a local painter, seated at the bar with what could have been his nth drink for the day.  He painted the murals on the walls of the dining hall, which looked like a mini shrine for the worship of meat.  There were legs of ham hanging from the rafters, and deer antlers displayed on the walls.  It was quaint and cozy, warm and oh so charming. It was a tough choice deciding whether we'd sit indoors, or out in the courtyard.  We later decided to sit outdoors to take in more of Toledo's sights and sounds.

The restaurant's charming interiors.

While waiting for our main course, we started our meal with a lovely spread of vegetables: fresh tomatoes, and grilled asparagus with sea salt, and mushrooms with bacon bits drizzled with olive oil. Oh that was so good.  These are not the usual vegetables we find in the Philippines... not the same size, and not the same texture.  We also ordered a plate of piping hot paella with tasty langoustines.  We were properly primed for the main course. We were so ready for the cochinillo, we summoned the waiter and asked if it was ready...and it was! 

And so it came.  In a plate so huge it felt like a platter, it came. Each of us had a daunting serving of cochinillo that looked like a quarter of a piglet.  My husband, a true meat lover, looked so excited as he started to dig in.  We took our first bites. Then there was silence.  Then we started to chuckle. One can't control the direction one's thoughts would take. A bite of succulent pork will trigger instant associations, unfiltered, uncontrolled.  For Oliver, it was Mang Tomas lechon sauce.  Wala bang sarsa? he asked playfully.   For me, the sauceless roast pork reminded me of lechon Cebu! I was in Toledo, Spain but I was doing a mind trip to Toledo, Cebu!!!  Or more precisely, to Toledo's neighboring town of Carcar, and its wet market where lechon is bought by the kilo, and where Oliver and I had our last pork feast early this year.  Mama was reminded of pritchon, the deep fried suckling pig, especially the one served at our wedding, the one our guests continued to rave about long after Oliver and I exchanged vows.  We were unanimous in thinking this cochinillo is not the best roast pork we've ever had... not that it wasn't any good. It was good. It was worthy of the "es mur rico" phrase the locals described it with. It was rich.  But our palates were proudly Filipino, and completely decolonized. 

My husband, ever the meat lover, excited to dig in.

Of course there's a part of me (and my husband shares this too, I think) that aspires for some degree of cosmopolitan culinary connoisseurship. There's a part of me that wishes for my taste buds a kind of world citizenship.  We wish to savor global cuisine and to appreciate authentic dishes in their own terms, as they are intended by local chefs for their local audience.  Oliver praised the cochinillo's subtle flavors which offered an opportunity to better taste the meat, in its purity, without being masked by too many condiments.  I tried to enjoy the cochinillo's crispy skin as it crackled between my teeth.  "Es muy rico", indeed (although Mama stands by her assessment: "no tiene sabor"). Much as we enjoyed our meal, with our bottle of bubbly, comparisons to our versions of roast pork were inevitable, and a sort of gustatory nationalism surfaced.  Just as the numerous works of masters at Museo del Prado made us want to revisit Juan Luna's "Spolarium" at our National Museum, so too did our cochinillo adventure make us want to have some of our own Pinoy-style lechon.

As luck would have it, my sister was in Cebu while we were in Spain. And she bought a few kilos of lechon Cebu to bring home to Manila.  How fortuitous it was, that she arrived at our house bearing gifts of pork, on the very evening we arrived from the airport.  The lechon we craved was right at our table. It was one warm welcome of the splendid kind. Truly, there's no place like home.  

Spain Trip Diary 1: Return To Castellon and Benicassim

Castellon's Cathedral and Tower, in the town center.

If you were pressed for time and had an entire country full of wonderful sights to visit, would you choose to spend a day retracing steps and visiting old friends? Or would you save precious travel time for new places you haven't seen before?  This was a choice I had to make a few weeks ago, while planning our trip to Spain.  My sense of history took over. I decided to make a stop in Castellon de la Plana, where I completed my MA in Peace and Development Studies exactly 10 years ago. So much has changed in ten years, with the city, and with me. But so much has remained the same - there are things that don't change: the medieval cathedral and the tower beside it; the central market just across the square, the fountain in the middle, the cobblestone steps, and tiny streets with their tiny shops that close for siesta. And my memories of the place - those too are unchanging.  I will always feel forever 21 when I walk Castellon's streets.  

Calle Enmedio, the street of my old school - and the Mango store in the corner.

I was 21 when I received my scholarship to study in Spain, and I moved away from home for the first time. It was my initiation into adulthood, my first taste of life without my parents' protection and support. I learned a lot of painful lessons: for the first time I felt hunger when all shops were closed for holidays and I couldn't feed on the cash in my pockets.  I just had to wait it out, and sleep with an empty stomach, and a lonely heart, in the cold of winter, thousands of miles away from the warmth of family.  That's the thing about Spain. It shuts down when it feels the need to: for siesta and fiesta, for a general strike, or even for an epic football match.  Once, my sister and I waited at a railway station, for a train that didn't come as we made our way home from a day of teaching English in the mountains of Vall d'Uixo.  We decided to finally leave, and we walked across deserted fields in the fading light, encountering no one for too long in the tiny town of Xilxes/Chilches, just outside Valencia.  I couldn't shake off the feeling of isolation I felt then.  

The plaza I passed by daily, for a stop at the Cathedral, and Central Market.

And even now, ten years later, in the deserted plaza of Castellon at siesta time... it all came coming back to me, the loneliness and alienation I once felt here.  Coming from the heat and the hustle, the chaos and color of Manila's streets, Castellon was cold and quiet on most days (unless of course at fiesta time called "Magdalena" when the streets reverberate with bangs and booms of the loudest firecrackers known to man). The loneliness of regular days is probably the reason why I learned to party hard here, to dance and drink until morning came, so I could load up on momentary happiness to fortify me for the long stretches of sadness ahead.  But it wasn't really the parties and people that gave me the most comfort and solace while I was here. It was really the lessons I learned in class - I did learn a lot with my MA, life-changing lessons that fundamentally shook me to the core and left me with new frameworks for seeing the world and my place in it.   My mind opened up here, and learned countless lessons not only from books, but also from conversations with teachers and classmates from all over the world, and also from Spain's streets and the way of life of its people.  Being a Filipino in Spain is an intellectually rewarding experience - one sees so much to reflect on - everywhere - as though every moment offers a means of discovering an antecedent, a cultural root of sorts, an old link in a chain that spans across the ages, and the seas, and leads back home.   

Casa Ana, my favorite cafe for studying, where I learned about Focault, Derrida, Said etc.

I walked past Casa Ana, a cafe I used to frequent.  It was here that I pored over my course readers in philosophy and learned about Focault and Derrida, and Feminism, and Orientalism, among many other "isms" which I came to understand with the help of countless cups of cafe con leche.  It is still here. MY merienda place.  I am happy to see it hasn't changed much - that it is still in the same spot, serving the same food. It takes me back in time, as though I were visiting 2002.  I walked past the Post Office, passing under the arched entryway in front that says Correos y Telegrafos. It is a beautiful brick building with a lovely interior to match. I used to come here to fill up boxes with Spanish goodies to send to my parents, to give them pieces of my life. I always loved this building, and how it linked me to my loved ones.   

Castellon's Correos y Telegrafos, the post office where I sent off boxes headed for home.

Then it was time to meet with old friends who call Castellon home.  "I can't believe you're here! I've missed you!"my good old friend Penny squealed when she saw me. And I wanted to cry.  It's like the distant past collapses with the present.  It is peculiarly disconcerting, how our conversation was so clear, despite the confused time frames.  To hear her voice again, and the distinct way she spoke, it was just like yesterday. "You haven't changed a bit!" she told me. And I couldn't believe what she said. We both changed, of course, profoundly! - but in a way, she was right. It didn't feel like ten years had passed.  She was as I knew her, and perhaps I was, in her presence, how she knew me - even if I am a mother now, and no longer the center of my world as I used to be. It was fun! It was great, great fun to be having tapas in Spain with my Spanish friend. 

Penny at a Tapas Bar in Castellon's La Salera Mall.

Penny drove me to Benicassim, the beach resort town where  students of the Masters Program used to live, where we had many barbecues and brunches, volleyball games on the beach, and parties that drove the neighbors mad... where we cooked dinners for one another, and made family out of strangers... where we laughed and cried, and learned life's lessons, good and bad.  It's a place of love and heartache... which seemed like big, big things back then, when we were in our early twenties.  Now in our thirties, haha... we know better now.   

The entrance to Orange Park, my old apartment complex in Benicassim.

Orange Park hadn't changed at all! It looked exactly the same. The same whitewashed low fence, the same orange sign, the same plants in the same spots. Wow. De ja vu.  I felt like I had walked into an episode of the Twilight Zone.  It was as though I'd see my old dog Sandy, running towards me any moment. I felt like grabbing my rollerblades and gliding down the street.  

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I missed my sister who shared this time in Spain with me... she should have retraced these steps with me too!  Oh well, that's a plan in the making. We can keep returning to Spain at various points in our lives, until we're old and retired. But that's way off in the far, far future. In the near future though, I could imagine returning to Castellon again soon, with my husband and kids.  So I could tell my daughter and son where mommy used to live and study.  Before turning in at the end of my day in Castellon, I stopped by the lovely shop called "Imaginarium" where I picked out Spanish children's books for my kids to read, so they can have a piece of Spain.  

With Sidi, Sophia, and Dori, at the Graduate Building, Universidad Jaume I.

The next morning, I visited the new building in Universitat Jaume I, where the Masters Program now holds its classes.  In a way, I am not "retracing steps" because it is in an entirely new location.  But I got to see familiar faces, of Sophia and Dori who worked with the program back then, a decade ago, and my old classmate Sidi, who is now a doctorado himself, and teaches new batches of students of Peace.

I had no regrets about taking the time to retrace my steps in Castellon and Benicassim.  Yes, there are many cities with great sights to visit all over Spain, but what Castellon and Benicassim have to offer, I cannot find anywhere else. They offer me a chance to revisit friends, re-tell stories, refresh memories, retrace steps, and re-live my personal history - even if only for a moment.  It was good to be back.

My Weekend Break in Peaceful Putrajaya

Putrajaya's iconic pink Mosque - one I couldn't enter, but could appreciate from outside.

I have always believed that travel does wonders to our psyche. It is to me, like a reset button. I often leave in a messy state of mind - with to-do-lists and mental notes cluttering my brain. I always return refreshed. With my mind rewired, my thoughts focused, my agenda clear, my energy no longer erratic, but flowing smoothly.  This weekend, I had one very peaceful trip to Malaysia.  A confluence of factors led to a languid journey. I traveled with my mom-in-law, Mama Rubi - and she was in no rush. We were visiting my sister Marion, who was in Malaysia for an extended stay for work, and she just wanted to relax during our visit. And I, having seen Malaysia several times before, had only one agenda on this trip. To enjoy the change of scenery. To breathe in new air. To take a break from my daily routine.  And Putrajaya was a worthy setting for our kind of trip.  We took a ride on a tour boat that cruised around a lake around which Putrajaya's buildings are built. I sat out on the deck, in the sun and the breeze, and took in Putrajaya's experiments with architecture, and politics.

On board are tour boat, at Cruise Tasik.

Putrajaya is a planned city designed according to some utopic ideal. It feels somewhat surreal.  Somewhat detached from reality... like most utopias tend to be.  It is still, and quiet, like a ghost town - only, it isn't. It's a functioning administrative center, with government buildings, housing the country's bureaucracy.  There was a moment I was staring at the unmoving scenery, and I felt like I stepped into a post card. I have felt like this before - in another Muslim capital - Bandar Seri Begawan, in Brunei Darussalam, the abode of peace.  In both places, majestic mosques dominated the skyline.  The footpaths were lined with flowers. Calm waters and blue skies framed the view - with no threat of storms and subsequent floods.  The streets saw no crime, nor grime. And poverty thrived elsewhere, far away.  Islam means peace - we often hear. And staring at the iconic pink Mosque in Putrajaya, I felt this statement's truth. Encoded in the architecture is the formula: faith is the solid foundation on which a good society is built.  

A view of the mosque from our tour boat. Cruise Tasik, Putrajaya.

It was a vision to behold, of symmetry and harmony, and dignity.  I was allowed to admire it from afar, though not from within. And from a respectful distance, I was moved to meditate on the power of prayer, and of places of prayer - mosques, temples, and cathedrals alike - to project a message of peace.  It was a powerful image. The sight of that pristine, perfect, peaceful mosque.  It offered a respite from the barrage of negative images in media about Muslims and violence.  Putrajaya radiated peace, and exuded an other-worldly orderliness.  There was so much space, vast and wide, and green.

The government buildings on the banks of the lake.

The huge lake we toured covered such an expanse, and reached quite a depth (of some 18 meters in some parts), I found it hard to believe it is man-made.  It's a large-scale project, constructing an entire city from  scratch. It is an ambitious undertaking, a gargantuan task, and despite the many controversies it has ignited, and the huge costs, Putrajaya is a significant accomplishment.  The buildings and the bridges are of great architectural interest, referencing other landmark monuments from elsewhere in the world, from Australia to Yemen, the US to Europe.  The end result of deriving influences from a hodgepodge of global sources, is surprisingly a cohesive, harmonious whole that is distinctly Putrajaya in execution.   It is there, in the bones of the structures erected thus far: the rootedness in Islamic arts, and the desire to claim a spot in the global scene.  It resonates with the guiding aesthetic behind the iconic Petronas Towers in KL.

My mom-in-law, looking at one of Putrajaya's grand bridges.

Putrajaya presented a wealth of contradictions: it presented something new and modern, that also felt timeless and classic; it felt somewhat contrived and artificial - but also, well-suited to the surroundings, and peculiarly nature-bound (it's not a big chunk of concrete, but a garden city carved into the hills); it feels like an exclusivist city catering to Muslim dreams, but open to tourists and foreign workers who are welcome as guests; ... it is exciting, and (dare I say it?) boring, all at the same time.  For every person who recommends going to Putrajaya, you will find another who will say "there's nothing to do there, it's a waste of time".  But I loved it.  My stay in Putrajaya was a welcome break from the hustle and bustle of Kuala Lumpur. 

Even shopping was at such a leisurely pace.  My sister took us to a nearby mall in Alamanda, and it was nearly deserted.  We shopped at Carrefour (an old favorite supermarket of ours, from our days living in Spain and Singapore), and we had the entire superstore to ourselves!  Perhaps because we were there on a weekend? And maybe the place is busier on weekdays?  Or maybe we arrived too early? I couldn't tell for sure.  

My sister and I, outside Carrefour, in Alamanda.

But it was good for my spirit, the seclusion and the calm setting.  I shopped in silence, unhurried.  I bought toys and clothes for my children, and some stuff for myself. And felt very, very relaxed. This trip is a far cry from last month's trip to Singapore with kids and strollers in tow, when I felt tired and wiped out all the time.  This trip was at such a slow pace, it felt as restorative as a beach vacation!  Putrajaya had that effect on me.  A restful, relaxing effect. And I returned to Manila, recharged.  I could even say I missed Manila's chaos - after a couple of days in too-peaceful Putrajaya.  In truth, I sometimes wonder whether I travel so I could have an excuse to miss Manila and love it even more. I'd like to believe I am a better mother after a trip. I end up more attentive, and patient, and eager to tend to my children after missing them for a few days.  And my husband too, seems like a better father when I'm not around for a bit. So it was a good weekend. I got to bond with my mom-in-law, and my sister, for a relaxing break in peaceful Putrajaya.  

At the mall in Alamanda - a relaxed alternative to crowded shopping in KL.

The Pleasures of Singapore Zoo

Narra and I at the pygmy hippo's observation dug-out.

We were there for the kids. But we ended up enjoying ourselves as well. This, to me, is one of the perks of being a parent. It gives one the motivation to make time and exert effort to learn about the world all over again.  We do it to introduce our children to wonderful things, and in the process, we become enchanted ourselves.  Our afternoon in Singapore Zoo was full of "look at this" and "look at that" moments.  So well have the zoo's designers recreated the natural habitats of the animals on display that scoping the exhibits was truly a rewarding exercise in discovery.  

The exhibits have thoughtful lay-outs with strategic viewing points for zoo-goers at a respectful distance from animals.  There were also thrilling sections where animals were free-roaming, I couldn't believe my eyes!  The rainforest exhibit inside a gigantic aviary-like enclosure was one of my favorites.  Once inside, a mouse deer approached me and came within arm's length while I was walking on the foot path. A Philippines mouse deer!!! Back home, I've only seen these shy creatures in cramped cages in zoos outside Manila.  To find them here, roaming freely in lush surroundings, was a welcome surprise.  Just above our heads were crawl posts for all sorts of tree-dwelling creatures - like monkeys and lemurs. I had to wheel Guijo's stroller out of the way so we wouldn't be too near a lemur stationed right above the main walkway.  There were also birds, like multi-colored parrots to be found hiding under vegetation, we got excited when we unexpectedly spotted some.  There were also awesome fruit bats and lovely butterflies fluttering about.   I was somewhat scared to be wheeling my babies in a cage full of animals, but I trusted the Singaporeans with safety standards - I knew that when it came to controlling behavior through intelligent design, they know what they're doing.  

A lemur resting conspicuously above the Rainforest footpath.

Singapore Zoo, like the rest of Singapore, is carefully planned and thoughtfully designed - and perfectly executed.  The gently sloping inclines meant for strollers and wheelchairs were judiciously  integrated into the landscape, so intelligently and artfully, that one would tend to forget they're there at all.   And everywhere one looks, one would see meticulous attention to detail.  A stretch of land next to a foot path, for instance, was made into a delightful garden.  What could have been an otherwise negligible corner was transformed into a focal point with the creation of a pocket lily pond.  We came to the zoo to see the animals, but we ended up enjoying the plants just as much. 

At a pocket Lily pond by the reservoir.

The selection of plants for the garden was deliberate, guided as it was by an underlying agenda: to give a sense of place in the tropics and particularly in Southeast Asia.  On display were typical vegetables and fruit-bearing trees and shrubs from the region.  The "Bahay Kubo" vegetables were there, and it would have been an excellent opportunity to introduce Narra to the origins of her table food - but she was napping as we took our leisurely stroll.  With kids fast asleep, Oliver and I had the chance to focus on Mama, and share in her enjoyment at seeing flowers, shrubs, trees and fruits from her childhood - plants she hadn't seen in ages.  Mama Rubi is an outstanding cook, and traveling through a vegetable garden with her is profoundly delightful and enlightening.  She pointed at each leaf, and fruit, with unbridled enthusiasm, saying what they were, and what they're for.  She carefully inspected a vine that produced a cross between a patola and upo, and contemplated on whether it was more like the former or the latter.  There were vignettes of personal recollections too, of Mama's neighbors that had this tree, and that shrub, and where this plant once stood in which part of the garden in the home she grew up in.

Oliver filming Mama as she pushed Narra's stroller through the garden.

"Look at that - it's a Rozelle!" she said excitedly at a rich burgundy clump of flowers.  "That's what Haw Flakes are made of", she informed me. And I accepted this tiny bit of information with great interest - I loved Haw Flakes, and consumed them with reverence for 3 decades, without ever knowing what they were made of.  It was a moment of revelation!   That walk in the garden is special to me, it gave me a chance to marvel at my mother in law and get a brief glimpse of the depth of her culinary genius.  To know Mama Rubi is to cook with her, and since I don't cook - I miss out on the opportunity to bond with her.  I didn't expect that a short walk through a vegetable patch would offer me the opening I didn't know I was hoping for.  It was a perfect setting for a bonding moment, as we snaked our way through a garden by a lake, with overcast skies and a cool breeze, and we pushed strollers with the babies peacefully asleep.  

Guijo and I on the tram ride to the zoo's exit.

We realized we had walked the entire zoo without once taking a ride on the tram (despite the fact that we bought tickets for unlimited tram rides).  We hadn't planned on walking the entire park, but we ended up doing so because of the shaded paths through thick foliage.  There were some majestic old trees that towered above the rest.  They reminded us that a big part of the zoo's many inducements is its being in a true nature reserve with a thriving ecosystem.  Parks designed for tourism tend to feel somewhat contrived - and in some ways the entire island of Singapore can sometimes feel like one big well-planned theme park - but the presence of these huge, centuries-old trees in full glory makes me feel closer to nature.  I remember just standing in front of one particularly powerful tree outside the buwaya exhibit.  The sun hit the trunk at a magical angle, making its wood shine with deep and rich orange-yellow-gold tones.  Oliver and I admired it (we love trees), and we stopped for a moment to breathe.  Our day at the zoo had come to an end. We took the tram to take us back to the entrance. What a fun afternoon appreciating flora and fauna it was, even for the kids!

At Universal Studios Singapore With Our Young Children

Oliver and I with our sleepy kids before entering Universal Studios Singapore.

I've read it in blogs and heard it from friends: Universal Studios Singapore is not as baby-friendly as Disneyland - so we went to the theme park with that mindset. We were going to make the most out of the situation - the basic plan was to hit the baby-friendly attractions while the kids were awake, and make a mad dash for the grown-up attractions while they took naps.  To put this plan into action, we needed a few essentials: 1) Universal Studios Express Passes - to allow us to breeze through queues; 2) Strollers - one for each kid, so they can nap on the go; 3) The Child Swap Program that allowed Narra to go twice on a ride she liked, without having to queue up twice; 4) the Baby Center, where I could wash, change, and feed the kids in air-conditioned comfort, and most importantly, 5) Helpful companions! My mum-in-law Mama Rubi, and sister Marion joined us on this trip to help us take turns in watching the kids.  The result: precious bonding time! (though we were all dead tired by day's end).

With Guijo, riding King Julien's Party-Go-Round, Madagascar.

I got to bond with our birthday boy, Guijo, on the few attractions fit for babies: King Julien's "Party-go-Round" in Madagascar; "Lights, Camera, Action" in New York; and in the land of Far, Far, Away - I got to take him on "Shrek's 4D Adventure" (we sat on stationary seats designated for mothers with lap babies) and the attraction he enjoyed the most: "Donkey Live!"  The interactive show was a hit with our kids. Guijo clapped as Donkey sang his short Happy Birthday song, and both Narra and Guijo danced along quite happily when the audience was asked to join the fun.  I liked the fact that that the theater was cool, and dark, and we were seated in benches, and this offered a welcome break from the intense heat outside.  Guijo also enjoyed the Baby Center for the same reasons. It was cool. And quiet. And he could walk around without us restraining him. And we adults, enjoyed the sofa to rest on. My sis gave Guijo an ice cream cone and he was delighted! It's a good thing the Baby Center had a sink and nice changing table, so I got to wash his sticky fingers and face, and change his clothes after.

My sis Marion, and Narra, entering Madagascar zone.

Narra, being taller than Guijo, could ride on more attractions. She was already tall enough for the junior roller coaster, "Enchanted Airways" and she was thrilled! We took advantage of the child swap program so she can ride on it twice, first with me, then with her Ninang Marion.  I had a great time riding the attractions on this trip. With Narra, I felt nervous/excited like a typical anxious/proud mama; with my sister, I felt nostalgic - and I reminisced about all the other rides we took together since our youth - from the Octopus ride at our school fair, to the caterpillar in Fiesta Carnival, to our first trips to Disneyland and Universal Studios decades ago.  I loved having my sister there, she always says the right things at the right time that makes me snap out of any negative modes I get into.  I say something to complain, she'll call my attention - and coax me back to my happy place - she's my guru! She's my ticket to a happy trip! I'm glad we had the chance to do some rides together, just us sisters.

Narra, greeting "Diane" the newly hatched Triceratops in Jurassic Park.

I was most scared with the ride I had with my Mom-in-law - we tried "The Mummy"  together, just the two of us, while Oliver and my sister waited outside with the kids.  The ride was in complete darkness at times, and rather jerky, and full of rapid twists - and I wasn't scared of the ride per se, but of my mum! What if she gets a neck sprain, or loses her eyeglasses, or God forbid, what if she faints! Oh dear! I invited her to join me on the ride so I felt responsible! I was soooo scared!!!  What will my sis-in-laws say??? But Mama won my respect that day. She went for the roller coasters and thrilling rides with enthusiasm and great energy, and emerged youthfully triumphant. She rode with Oliver on a roller coaster, and he looked scared! (and I could relate with him! riding with a senior citizen is peculiarly nerve wracking). She's one cool lola who knows how to have fun! 

"The Mummy" parading down Sesame Street in New York zone.

One ride that proved to be quite cathartic, was the ultimate roller coaster: Battlestar Galactica.  Oliver and I left our napping kids with Mama and Marion at the Diner in Hollywood zone, and we speed walked to Sci-Fi City and rode Cylon, the blue coaster.  The ride had so many twists and turns at such exhilarating velocity that even my ponytail came undone, with the elastic flying off mid-ride.  Oliver and I were shouting our guts out - and boy, all that screaming felt good!  Everyone needs a good scream every now and then - it's just so liberating.  I felt shaken clean, inside out, with all the bad vibes dissipating in the air.  We were still high from Cylon when we rushed to "Transformers", and that ride left me spell-bound.  That was the one ride that made me feel like a little kid, fully absorbed in a make-believe world, and I truly believed as Optimus Prime looked me in the eye, that he was really talking to me, and me alone.  It was a violent, brutal ride - and I am really against war and violence in real life - but I have to admit, that ride, had a great story-line and worked some kind of magic.  I allowed myself, for a moment, to be someone else, to get into character.  The last time I remembered being gripped by a ride in the same way was with Dineyland's chilling "Pirates of the Caribbean", and dreamy "Peter Pan" ride over London in miniature some twenty years ago!  Universal Studios' action-packed Transformers' ride is one for the books. I loved it!

The Woodpeckers with Marion, me and Narra, Mama Rubi and Oliver, and
our celebrant, Guijo - fast asleep.

Ok, ok. So maybe we adults enjoyed Universal Studios Singapore more than our kids did, and the attractions I liked the most were truly not baby-friendly.  Just as well, our kids were asleep half of the time anyway. And we made sure that when they were awake, we took them to the few kid-friendly attractions there were, which they did enjoy! It was August 19th, Guijo's 1st Birthday, and we decided to celebrate his milestone by indulging the inner kid in each of us, and having one fun day at the theme park.