Mt. Batulao: Blood, Sweat and Tears

Before anything else, I would like to say that this is Kat's idea. She did not force me to it; I said yes, enthusiastically even. But this is her idea. (Peace, Kat)

Scenic Batulao.

The meet up was at Mcdo in El Pueblo, and we were there as early as 3AM. There were already small groups of people waiting at Mcdo and I could see the trail guides going around, with a checklist. They approached every group except for us -- the two fat ladies at the corner who looked like they got out of bed for a midnight snack at Mcdo. Actually, one guide's eyes strayed to us, and then looked past us, as if in denial. Or fear that he would eventually carry us on his back across the ridges of Batulao. And then, after about 10 minutes of looking for "Kat and Helen," he went to our table, looking quite defeated, and took our remaining balance for the hike fee. The entire time, Kat was like, "Grabe Helen, bakit payat silang lahat." I worried too, but then I'm with Kat. And Kat has been to Mt. Everest base camp in Nepal. We swore that whatever happened, we would not leave each other. Chos, haha.

Peak (in red circle). That's where we are trying to get to.

And so the climb began. Batulao is really a beginner's mountain, with gentle slopes, and frequent stops.

 But I could already see that Kat, who has lupus, was struggling to keep up. We took this trip because Kat believes her days are numbered, and given the treacherous nature of her lupus, she wanted to take advantage of every period of wellness she has. I started to worry by Peak 4, because I remembered that just a few months before, she had an inflamed heart. Which she took care of by taking steroids, which made her quite plump, and which made it more difficult for her to move. But this brave, brave girl soldiered on and never gave up. 

Well, she almost did, about two more peaks later  (I think there are 20+ peaks). I think she was embarrassed that we were holding up the group (they were already at the next rest stop, and we were way, way behind, with Mik, the poor unfortunate guide who was assigned as sweeper). She kept apologizing to me, saying she'd just go back, but Mik wouldn't let her. I tried all all sorts of encouragement I can think of. Mik recounted all propitious, inspiring mountain climbing stories he could recall. Yet every time Kat sees a group of returning hikers, she'd beg Mik and I to let her go with them back to the base camp. Actually, I did not try hard enough convincing Kat to go on, because I was partly scared that her heart would give out, and I debated whether or not I should tell the guides about her medical condition. I did not. In hindsight, I should have, because after the peak, the climb would turn for the worse. Actually, had I known what was waiting for us during descent, I should have feigned a mild heart attack at that point.

Knife's Edge.

Kat getting the Mik Pep Talk.

I dunno how long it took, but finally, we reached the peak.  We were supposed to have lunch but I was so tired I just nibbled on my sandwich. Then Kat took out her steroids, and everyone asked what she was taking, so Kat had to explain her lupus. Thankfully, there's a Malaysian(?) doctor in the group. He didnt really do anything, but having a doctor around made me feel better.

Abot-tanaw na ang summit.

Then it started to rain, right before they told us we have to rappel down this almost-90 degree incline. It was a short one, about twenty feet down. I panicked because I have really weak arms, and I was so tired already. And I wanted to blame someone, anyone, for advertising this mountain as a beginner's mountain. Well I also thought I was being a crybaby but more and more people started voicing the same sentiments and it encouraged my despair. Most of them climbed Mt. Pulag already, and they said this climb is a lot more difficult.

I dunno how Kat and I managed to climb down, but we did. As we waited for the rest to go down, the rain no longer held back. It came in buckets. I have a raincoat, but at that point, I didn't have any energy left to take it out of my backpack, so I just sat on the rocks, the rain beating at my back, thinking I will stay there until the rescue chopper comes. Rescue chopper, my ass. Pretty soon, we were moving again, on slippery slopes, deep mud, crumbling rocks. My hands were bloody from grasping at the sharp blades of grass. I don't know how many grass I've uprooted, trying not to fall off cliffs.   I no longer took pictures. One girl tore her tights apart, in the butt area, and I can see her pale rump, grazing the rocks and being smeared by mud. I was just thinking what kind of nut would wear tights on a climb, when her slippers gave out too.  Slippers as in flip flops. And FYI, this girl has already been to Mt. Pulag, you'd think she'd have more sense to dress appropriately. Suddenly, I no longer felt foolish that Kat and I dared this climb. The girl went on barefoot and predictably, injured her feet. Mik had to lend her a pair of slippers, which were still no match for the terrain, so someone took out some strings and fashioned those slippers into gladiator sandals. Very ingenious. I don't remember the guy now, but I thought he looked like Prince Charming then. The mountains have this power, to cast spells like that. To make the strong ones look really, really attractive.

I started to appreciate the hike guides more. Their long thin arms can surprisingly steady you until you've found your footing. There was this girl hike guide, so petite that the slightest gust of wind could blow her away, who caught me just when I was about to fall. And wow, she was solid as a rock. Plus, they were all very kind and patient, especially to Kat, which I deeply appreciated. And I marveled at how cheerful and chatty they stayed, when I was in near tears already.

Like the peaks of Batulao, my mood was also going up and down. At one point, I ran out of water, and was just putting one foot in front of the other, already shutting off. I remember the Snicker bars (I had three!) in my pocket and I started cramming them in my mouth, zombie-like. I didn't notice that Mik was behind me, still trying to keep the chatter going, "Uy, Snickers, energy bar, that's good. You know whenever I climb Pulag, I'd be so tired at night, I can no longer cook dinner. I just stay at my tent, eating chocolates until I fall asleep." Well I was at the end of my rope, and I felt like I needed complete silence at that moment, so I suddenly felt this intense hostility towards him and gave him a look that said, Fuck You. I hope he did not notice. 

And then another rest stop. Did you know they sell only Mountain Dews in the mountain? And I get why the sell buko juice, but there's also arroz caldo and halo-halo. We also met this guy running in a tracksuit. And in that torrential rain, he was just zipping through the mountains like it was flat and made of concrete. The guides know him, and told us he is training for a marathon. Fucking show off, I thought.

One of them rest stops. 

I realized how my mettle is being tested right then and there and I am miserably failing. So i forced myself to smile. Or at least keep the scowl off my face. I was no longer thinking about Kat. Hell, I was not even talking to her anymore. All I wanted was to go home.

Tabi, tabi.

Yet another rest stop. I noticed that the trails are becoming covered by horse dung. I can recognize them from regular mud because they're dark green in color, and they come in lumps. And then it started to get dark. I walked ahead of everyone, no longer caring how far Kat is behind me. I was only certain she was not the last one on the trail because injured butt girl was the slowest hiker now.

The Mt. Batulao Souvenir Shop.

The trail had gone horribly soft, and with every step, my foot would sink up to my mid leg. This was when I started to go through the stages of grief:

Denial. As I pulled my foot out, my shoe got left behind. I debated whether or not to retrieve it with my hands, and wait, why is this mud looking greenish? Fuck, no, it's just the dimming light playing tricks on my eyes. It's brown, not green. I took a deep breath and dipped my foot again into the soupy mud, and searched for my shoes.  Wiggled my foot to the left, then right, then deeper still, and yes, this is my shoe. It's okay, I can do this. Deep breaths.

Anger. I saw that the hiker I'm following is Mik, again. The Malaysian doctor should be behind me, but I could no longer see him. It was almost completely dark, and Mik's headlight was the only light I can see in the distance. I fall again. This time, I went on all fours. Horse shit and all, I may even have some on my face. I wanted to call out to Mik for help, but I remember him saying earlier, in a really worried voice, that this is the first time he got caught up here in the dark. And I thought he was implying that we, the fatties, caused this delay, and had it not been for us, he would have been back at the base hours before nightfall. I kinda felt guilty, and a little offended too, even though I keep on telling myself that's not what he meant. That what he meant is just that -- for the first time, it's 630PM already and he's still in the mountains. He turned around and saw me, asked me if I'm stuck. Oh hell no, I'm never giving you the satisfaction. I said I'm okay, and miraculously pulled myself out. See what pride and indignation can do?

Bargaining. And then I fucking fall again. And I have honestly no strength left to get up. All effort to  move seems to only make me sink deeper and deeper in that horseshit-filled muck. I started to pray and I thought of how many times Jesus fell carrying His cross, before He was finally allowed to die, and I wonder if I'm anywhere near that number. So I could fucking die already. Then I noticed Mik's headlight moving, and I prayed, begged, offered everything, just to have Mik turn my way again. I promised I would be faithful to my diet, that I would start going to the gym again, that I would stop procrastinating at work, if only Mik will turn around and pluck me out of that rut. After an eternity, he turned, asked if I'm okay. I didn't trust myself to speak for fear that I would burst into tears. But I heard him walking towards me.

Depression.  Mik lead the way. I forgot what I was holding on to, his shirt or a stick, I don't remember, but we kept walking and walking. I keep on falling, dragging him down with me each time. He said I should grab his arm, but my hands are covered with horse dung (I'm so fucking sure of that now). He said it was okay, and I thought this is no time to be maarte, so I did. Then I fell again, on my knees. An old man suddenly appeared on my side, with a flashlight and picked me up. He said there's a tricycle a few more paces down, and we could just get a ride to the camp. I looked at Mik incredulously, we can take a ride to the base?? I walked again with renewed purpose towards my salvation, Mik on my left arm and the old man on my right, literally dragging me with them like the invalid that I am.

Acceptance. Mik kept trying to fend off the old man, who was clearly expecting some reward in return. I wanted to tell Mik it was alright. I'll give the old man all I have to deliver me away from this hell. Finally, we reached the tricycle, which was parked on the first concrete ground I've seen all day. Mik told me to wait for him because he wanted retrieve (yes, as in "body retrieval") the Malaysian doctor. Twenty minutes passed before they came back. We started to make our way on board the tricycle, in complete darkness, when the engine made this scary sound and we were suddenly engulfed in thick, black smoke. Blacker than the darkness. I went, shit, this is it, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die. The driver asked us to get out. We pushed the tricycle back on the road, and were on our way again. But he drove that junk like a really bad Fast and Furious: Batulao Drift, and once, we almost collided with the wall of the mountain. Like, three inches away. The doctor said, this is fun, like he really meant it. I wanted to smack him if I have any strength left in me. The engine died, we got out, pushed, got back inside.  Five fucking times. By this time, I have resigned myself to the belief that I will never see my family again, or my dog, and shit, why didn't I get that St. Peter memorial plan when I had the chance.

A pic of the trail taken during pre-rains, on ascent. Picture this after a day of raining, in total darkness.

I did reach base camp. A boy offered to wash the mud off my shoes. I took a bath in one of the houses. Kat arrived on a horse. A horse! She told me they were right behind our tricycle, and saw how messed up it was. She apologized again for this trip. I just kept shaking my head in disbelief.

One of Batulao's horses, tough enough to transport clueless, helpless mountain climbers

Back in my bed, I was so tired I fell asleep with half my clothes on. By half, I meant that my pants were halfway down my legs. I fell asleep while taking them off.  The following morning, I noticed that there was still caked mud at the back of my knees.

After a few days, the shock wore off and Kat and I posted pics on FB. And everyone was like, Pulag naman tayo guys! And Kat and I went, sige, Pulag! Pulag! *smh*

That's me with Ingrid Berghaus. Photo credit to Kat.

The Mother's Day Fiasco

For Mother's Day, I wanted to surprise Mummy (para British-sounding!) with flowers. It is a mortal sin to forget her on occasions like this, so I prepared well. On Mother's Day, the first thing that my siblings did was to greet her on text, and then post something touching for her on Facebook (aka, my mom's world).

By mid-morning, my sister asked me if I have greeted Mum already, and I said no. Because I wanted her to think first that I had forgotten, and then she will receive the flowers in the afternoon, and cry. And I would be the best daughter in the world again. Bwahaha.

Then my other sister texted me. I told her the same thing. And my brother, who is really worried for me. Haha. You guys, just wait and see.

By lunchtime, Dad called me. He said Mom's (okay, I'm giving up, hard to be British) upset, because she has not even heard from me yet. I told Dad not to worry coz I'm having the most expensive bouquet of flowers delivered to her. Later, just wait, I told him.

Mommy was so mad when she saw me online on Facebook, without posting a greeting for her, and sent me this: (by this time, I think Dad already told her about the flowers to placate her; because you don't know my mom -- she will disown you if you forget to pay honor to her on special occasions like this)

 OMG she called me demonyita! And I made her cry! I started emailing Flower Express/Island Rose:

And then I decided I could not wait for a reply, so I sent them another email that matches the intensity of Mommy's drama.

Taray. Haha. But really, I was mad. My hopes for Best Daughter in the World came crashing down with the force of a tumbling skyscraper (chos!).  No, seriously, I was mad. The company called me the following day, explaining that they sent out the flowers in time for its delivery on Sunday. And they do not know why LBC failed to deliver it that day.

Well I asked around, so now I know. The LBC in our place is closed on Sundays. And I'd like to cut Flower Express/Island Rose some slack, except that when you think of it from a contractual point of view, their customers are not privy to whatever agreement they have with their delivery company. It's not like the customer gets to choose who would deliver the flowers. So really, the blame is on them. Anyway, they were willing to make a refund (after offering to send an extra bouquet of flowers if I don't cancel the order).

My mom called me on Monday, the day AFTER Mother's Day, and told me that my flowers have been delivered, and should she accept it? I said no, because I already asked for a refund. She did not put the phone down so I overheard her gleefully (because she is just as proud and spiteful as me, haha) telling the delivery boy that she refuses accept it. And then my Dad took the phone from her and told me that after the delivery boy left, she looked longingly at that huge box of flowers, wondering aloud what the flowers inside look like. Oh, Mom.

Boracay 2014: The Morning Walk

For a vacation weekend, we started out stressed: our wailing dog had to be taken to a boarding vet, house/car keys to be entrusted to neighbors, last minute packing, with Pop and Star coming from night duties (no sleep!). Pop's flight is at 6am (Cebu Pacific), mine at 9am and Star's at 11am (PAL) -- different flights because we need at least one of us to stay alive if one plane crashes or something. Kidding. Blame it on promo fares. Pop lined up at the check in counter for a whole hour, and was told that she, together with 7 other passengers, could no longer be accommodated in the flight because they were late. Everyone's stress level shot up, and one caucasian guy wanted to punch the lady officer, who dilly-dallied in checking them in (looong story).   It was all sorted out, without violence, and everyone was able to board.

Star and I checked in at the same time, despite the different flight schedule. The check-in personnel asked me if I wanted to board an earlier flight, at 7am., instead of 9am. I said yes, thinking I could meet up with Pop at Caticlan, instead of getting to Boracay by my lonesome. Then I remembered I have another sister waiting behind me, and I asked the nice check-in girl if Star could be with me in the flight too. She said yes. Then seemed to change her mind, and said, "would you two like to be on the 630am flight instead? But you need to hurry because boarding starts soon." Who says no to that?

Star and I were all smiles when we met up with Pop at Caticlan airport an hour later. We can have breakfast, in Boracay! Every extra hour we could squeeze in Boracay is very much welcome. 

Day Off ng mga manangs: milking Mesa's bottomless lemonade for all its worth.

Every morning I spent on the island is awesome. I'd wake up early, and shake the sisters awake, only to be met with such hostility that I did not try it again the next day. Then I'd take a long walks, envying those taking jogs (why, oh why did I not pack my rubber shoes sportsbra). There's this group of guys doing cross-fit training (I think).

The Lord of the Flies crowd. 

The dragon boat (?) people. They would heave and move it a few inches. Stop. Then lift it again. And there's like, ten of them lifting. Like the boat's made of lead. I figure they would have it on the waters by noontime. 

I'd park my ass at a nearby Jonah's (they're everywhere!) and take a wildly zoomed in shot of Willy's Rock, because everyone has to have a picture of it.  

Boats for island hopping. We didn't see any need to visit the nearby islands twice in our lifetime.

I forgot to bring slippers to the beach (what??) but my adventure shoes are more up to the job.

The Great Sandsifter.

The adventure shoes in this obligatory/tradition shot.

I didn't know boats dock in Station 1. This was near TGIF, and I was saddened to see that side of the beach a little unkept, littered with these slimy green algae(?). The other beachfront resorts take pains to remove these every morning, and rake away the small, sharp stones in the sand. What, you think you Station 1 looks picturesque au naturel? 

By mid-morning, I would start stalking people. This is the little star of Honesto, staying in the same resort as ours. 

 Grandpa Tirol and granddaughter in pampers.

Push mo yang satin-white high-heeled shoes mo, 'te.

And some randoms strangers, so I can caption the picture with banat lines I read on twitter.

"Ayoko ng katulad mo. Gusto ko ikaw mismo."

And my favorite shot of the trip:

Thank you, Manong Vendor, for passing by so often I was finally able to take a good shot of you. 

Boracay 2014

I have only one mission in Boracay: to have a real vacation. One without a lot of water activities (no paragliding, helmet diving, etc.) except to languidly float in its bluest water, lie in beach beds, and soak the harmful rays of the sun, while sipping fresh fruit drinks with that little umbrella on the side. Honestly, the last one is more of my sister's idea.

And one more thing: I have to be in Station 1, because I am so freaking annoyed when we try to swim in Station 1 and we're driven away like pulubi's because we're not allowed to leave our stuff in the sand (not even on their beach chairs, ha) in front of their resort/hotel. This happens every time we are in Bora (and staying at cheap accommodations in Station 2). In fact, I was so incensed last time that I did a research on res nullius and the boundaries of the  rights of beachfront property owners (kaninong sand ba talaga yan, ha?). I found out there's a lot of debate on that, and the rules actually vary from state to state, so the only real solution to my vexation is to stop being a cheapskate and get a Station 1 hotel.  

Behold, Residencia Boracay: 

One sister taking endless selfies.

Residencia is everything I dreamed of, with beach chairs under huge umbrellas facing this view:

Papa Americano! 

And these hammocks! They make me wanna grow palm trees on my porch so I can hang a hammock between them. (What am I talking about, I don't even have a porch).

I loooove these hammocks. One night, after a very full dinner and a long walk from Station 1 to 3 and back, I laid here, with A Feast of Crows on my kindle, and fell asleep while reading. I woke up at around 1am, shivering, and was momentarily disoriented because the first thing I saw were the blackest skies, and stars. Stars! I don't see a lot of stars in the city because the skies are always lit up by orange lamp posts. A few weeks later, Calla Lily performed in Boracay and stayed at Residencia (I think), and here's Kean in the same hammock I slept in, bwahaha.

From his instagram, taken without permission. Ack.
Sorry, Kean, that duyan is probably much lower now.

In the mornings, I am treated to a buffet of danggit, tomatoes, and fried eggplants. They also have  longanisa and tocino and pancakes. Pancakes, I almost forgot. The chef will cook it for you on the spot, and also prepare your eggs, however you like it.

Ang totoong bakasyon, laging may extra rice. 

But before the buffet breakfast, I would take my usual morning walk along the beach, take awesome pics,

Been to Boracay several times and didn't realize it's actually lined with coconut trees from Station 1 to 3. My mind only saw the shops, bars, and restaurants.

and give in to irresistible Starbucks (because hey, I'm on vacation!).

Apparently, my vacation name is Shona.

Boracay sunsets are not to be missed of course, and I waited every day for that moment when the beach would be bathed in warm orange hues and for everyone to have that trance-like look as they watch the sun goes down. But no, I did not get that because a typhoon came in on the second day, and it was almost always downcast, if not raining. My sister rejoiced because it meant it would not be too hot, and she won't have a tan to explain to her boss (naka sick leave lang kasi!). Oh well, maybe next time, Boracay. I'm pretty much happy with this sunset:

I am having a throwback moment here because Kororo proposed to me in Boracay, at sunset, on his birthday, three years ago. I was urging him to swim, and he was just looking so uncomfortable, he won't even float. He couldn't move around much because he might lose the ring inside his pocket. We've been going out for seven years at that time and he doesn't want me to think he's an asshole for dating me that long without formally popping the question (even though we both know it's not what we want). Wait, he didn't even ask the question. He said, "[preliminary niceties where he summarized our years of togetherness, then] whenever you're ready, I'm just here." Then gave me the ring. O di ba, he didn't even give me the chance to reject him, haha. How can I not keep on coming back to Boracay, with memories like that? 

Aaaaand because we saved a lot in foregoing the water activities, we splurged on food and drinks. Yey, no more Andok's! But we still could not resist the cheese buns from Julie's -- still the perfect pamatid-gutom on a short notice.

Buffet Dinner at the Sea Breeze of Boracay Regency.

The dancing cooks of Sea Breeze buffet dinner. We suspect they've been hired more for their dancing skills, rather than their culinary prowess. We were greatly entertained though.

Last hirit at White House, before leaving for the airport. 

Truffle pasta with crispy tilapia fillet. I recommend. 

Sisterhood of the traveling RB3025's. 

Visayas Finds: Chef Paul's

We eat out quite often, because I am not fond of cooking. More particularly, I am not fond of cleaning up after. So I always light up when we come across cozy places like Chef Paul's at Visayas Avenue (right on top of Eastwest Bank). 

Points for creativity! Hanging vinyl records, casette tapes, elevated lounge with wooden slats (we took our shoes off). I keep on thinking how I'm gonna fish my phone out if I accidentally drop it there.

Lovely interiors, tires for tables, and the throw pillows I absolutely covet.

I loooove the Eraseheads wall mural. Vince likes the Beatles. Akalain mo yun, the boy bands of our [respective] youths, in one continuous wall. I kinda felt the generation gap there (peace, Vince). They were playing Eheads songs the whole evening. We were the only customers, so I sang along, thinking I could stay in this place forever, or at least until the soundtrack runs out. 

I want that Eheads mural on my bedroom. 

For a place overflowing with coolness, it was kinda deserted, so I thought the food must be bad, or expensive. I was wrong. Everything is scrumptious and priced quite reasonably (like, 80php to 150php). Since my first visit, and I've been back four times in a span of one week (adik lang), I have yet to be disappointed. 

Hot choco caramel, triple white chocolate milkshake (?) and plain hot chocolate.

My sister loved the Nutella Almond milkshake (not in picture), because who doesn't love Nutella and milkshake? The other sister was feeling under the weather when we brought her there, and the hot chocolate with the marshmallow bits comforted her. Actually, it tasted like Swiss Miss, not that I'm complaining.

Chef Paul's serves waffles. Lots of them, in the most glorious combination you can think of.

Top: Mexican Beef Omelette with Waffles, plus Spam (a special request of Vince). OMG, yes, they have Spam.
Bottom: Cinnamon and Peanut Butter waffle, a dessert dish.

And speaking of combinations, who would have thought of serving waffle with pasta? Or burger with waffle for buns? If I'm PMS'ing I'd say, goddamn weirdo, but seriously, this is just genius.  It's like all my favorite things in one plate.

Top: Tuna and garlic pasta.
Bottom: A burger, forgot what kind, but Pop says it's good.

Carla(?), the Chef's sister, says we could pluck the guitars off the walls and play them. And there's effects and amp right beside the door, which we're free to use. We could not play a single song to save our life, but she did say we can play with the guitars, right?

The guitars were returned unharmed and unscathed.

I am a bit concerned though that they might not stay long in business because every time we were there, we seem to be the only diners. I guess it takes a while for word to get around (they opened only late last year, I think). I remember feeling the same way about Oliva, our once favorite place in Visayas Ave. (before they jacked up the prices), and look where it is now.  Branching out and all that. Ironically, we frequent Chef Paul's because of exactly the same reason: it is uncrowded and we have the place all to our greedy, selfish selves. So yeah, it's a Catch 22 thing. Just the same, this place rocks.