Anchored in the Port of Galleons

A little more than three hours away from the hustle and bustle of the metro life is the anchorage that the Spaniards called Puerto Galera or the ‘port of the galleons’. With its deep natural harbour, it was the favoured marina of the Spanish when they arrived in 1572. Nowadays, Puerto Galera becomes the haven for those who wanted to escape and to wander.

Arriving in Puerto Galera, I was captivated by the various shades of blue of its waters and skies. The lush green and the purple mountains sheltered its bays and coves. The white sand beaches stretched for miles where yachts, outrigger boats, and fishing boats docked.

Soon, I was running towards the ivory shoreline of White Beach where people were lounging under the sun. The chilly yuletide breeze kissed my skin as I stripped off to my bathing suit. I brought out my beach towel and laid down on the sand. As I let the warmth of the sun toast every inch of me, I looked ahead to the sea where boats docked. Up above, the rainbow colours of the parachute struck a beautiful contrast against the blue sky as it glides through the air. Farther away, I heard the lilt to the peoples’ voices as they talked to each other. I was completely charmed.

For a solitary wanderer like me, it was indeed a place to spend the remaining days of the year reflecting and gearing up for the challenges of the year that beckons. And nothing starts a year right than a long leisure walk because Puerto Galera isn’t only about the beaches. To discover it, one has to meet its people, breathe in the grandeur of its mountains, taste its bounty and feast on its eccentricities.

People woke up early in town and I met some of them along the 2.5-kilometer road from White Beach to Talipanan Beach. Accustomed to tourists, a warm smile was always a welcome greeting as I passed them by. One of them called on me to sample her dalandan which she sold at 25 pesos per kilo. The fruit was so sweet and juicy that I loaded three kilos of them in my backpack, much to the delight of the seller. 

With the extra weight, I huffed and puffed my way and was rewarded by the majestic sight of towering Mt. Malasimbo with its peak peeking out from behind the morning fog. I stayed long enough to soak in its splendor before I headed off towards Talipanan Beach.

Tweeting birds and waves rushing to the shore were the only sound that filled the morning air. It was a far cry from the crowded and rowdy White Beach. Adding to the eerie feeling were some dilapidated and abandoned buildings with graffiti painted on their walls.

Further along the beach, boats of different sizes lined up its shore. They ranged from small fishing boats to large newly-built outriggers. I was particularly drawn to one outrigger bearing the Galerian Lines insignia of a galleon, one of my favourite ships.

It was indeed a symbol of a distance worth traveled. I weighed my anchor and set sail towards the New Year. Ahoy 2015!

Cooking with Fire in Mt. Firis

A Teduray woman boils native coffee in a stove carved out of a rock in her makeshift kitchen in Mt. Firis, Maguindanao.

Anthropologist and ethnologist Claude Levi-Strauss pointed out that cooking is a human activity with which culture begins. And no one upholds this fact better than the indigenous peoples who continue to preserve their culture in the midst of the dynamic changes in our present society. 

Taro stalks are boiled for a ginataang gabi or taro with coconut milk dish.

And so my journey takes me to the foot of the sacred mountain of Firis where for the Teduray, Lambangian and Dulangan Manobo indigenous peoples living there, cooking is more than just a day-to-day activity. It is a culture.

We arrived in the community greeted by the billowing smoke from the cooking pits. The men and women were preparing for a welcome feast. The children were removing the chaff of the green monggo or beans. The women were peeling the gabi or taro and cutting its stalks. I could hear the pounding of the spices and smell the rare aroma of the upland rice and native as they were boiled and brewed over the fire. 

This was what cooking truly meant: bringing people together for a shared meal where as author Michael Pollan in his book "Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation" we "learn the art of conversation and acquire the habits of civilization: sharing, listening, taking turns, navigating differences, arguing without offending".

Pots of upland rice are suspended in tree branches
over a pit of fire.

And as I shared the cooked meal with the indigenous peoples of Mt. Firis, I reflected on how this culture of cooking has been changed by the venture of capitalism.

Coming from an urban area, I have been used to cooking with the modern cooking appliances where fire is produced by gas or electricity. Though these made cooking food easier but it also made us dependent on the availability of gas and electricity and made us vulnerable to the soaring prices of these "commodities".

I remembered the time when I watched my mother mount pieces of fallen branches of trees and cut wood over lukay or dried coconut branches and leaves and flick a match under the pile. The magic of the first flicker of fire and the aroma of the burning wood had always lured me to our kitchen. And that's where my mother taught me to cook meals for the family in the traditional way. 

Lenumad, a sticky brown upland rice in bamboo
cooked traditionally with fire.

No amount of instant, "microwaveable", fast and "ready-to-eat-on-the-go" meals could ever come close to that.

Why I Could Not Celebrate Being Straight

Killings of lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transgenders (LGBT) like the transgender Jennifer Laude and the toleration of this violence are the reasons why I could not celebrate being straight.

It is I, the straight who set myself as the "norm", the standard for being morally right and socially acceptable; those who differ from me are scorned, banished from society and constantly pushed to the margins where they remain vulnerable and susceptible to violence from my kind.

In the freedoms I afforded for being straight, I have limited their rights to equal identity and their right to love themselves and fall in love with whoever they please. They have to struggle and even forced to "come out" just to make me understand who they are. I don't have to cower, to bend my knees, to ask for mercy from anyone for I am the powerful and I am always on the right side of things.

If I am the privileged and just, how can I be capable of hate? How can I even think of discriminating against let alone kill anyone just because he or she has been wronged by the standards of society? 

Yes, I am straight because society taught me to be straight and with this, I grew up with a closed mind and tolerated the violence against those who are not. Isn't that sickening? 

This is the reality of being straight and I have lived my life breaking the norms, asking pertinent questions and challenging the hypocrisy of it all. I have done the best I can as a human being, a rational person to create changes in this society.

And yet, the discrimination and hate still exist, the killings continue. The rigidity of the divide between genders and among peoples still dominates relationships. 

As a woman, being straight has not afforded me equal footing with men and I still continue to struggle against subjectivity. This is the reason why I stand up with the millions of LGBT people around the world in fighting for their equal rights as humans. This is the just thing to do. 

Stop the hate! Stop the persecutions! Stop the oppression! 

Straight up society! 

Keeping the Weaving Tradition in Maguindanao

The beautiful colors and the bright smiles of the women weavers greeted me when I first visited the Al-Jamelah Weaving Center in Tamontaka, Datu Odin Sinsuat, Maguindanao on March 2011. 

The sound of wood banging against wood as the weavers work on the threads at their looms and the rainbow colors of the cloth were familiar to my senses as I stepped foot in it again today. 

With only four women weavers in sight, I couldn't imagine how they were able to complete 73 pieces of the woven cloth they called inaul which the Department of Trade and Industry in Manila ordered for days. They still have to deliver 27 more in 3 days. This only showed that business is indeed doing good and the future of the Maguindanao weaving tradition remains promising.

Miriam Sumlay, one of the weavers had been keeping the tradition for years and I still remembered her and her peers on my first visit. 

It was however, surprising to see an 18-year old woman weaving among them. Realyn learned the craft from her mother and had been weaving inaul since she was 13 years old. 

She had come a long way now as she expertly put the threads in place to create a beautiful piece of inaul which will soon be worn by Maguindanaons in cultural events such as weddings and other celebrations.



Al-Jamelah is Arabic for beautiful woman and indeed, those women whose hands continue the weaving tradition are beautiful beyond words and I hope that with younger women participating, the tradition will be sustained through the years. 

If you are planning to visit, please take note of its location:

From the Awang Airport, take the right turn to the street before the Tamontaka Bridge. It is the first bridge from the airport so it is very easy to locate.

If you are commuting from the airport, just tell the jeepney driver to drop you off before Tamontaka Bridge.

Happy hunting! :)

La Garderie

In a popular neighborhood in the city of lights, a sweet and gentle soul opens his humble abode to the traveler who wants to experience Paris through the vibrancy of its youth. Meet Solen, my new friend and my host. His cool blue eyes and warm smile as he shook my hand for the first time reflected the place he considered as home away from home. 

You'll know from the moment you step at his place that it was unlike any apartment. Written on the walls are personal messages by people he welcomed and shared his city life with. Ladies and gentlemen, you have entered Solen's garderie of friends. 

Coming from a culture which is known for its incredible hospitality, it was indeed a surprise to meet someone whose openness and trust surpassed mine. Evidently, he had allowed several people to sleep on his couch,  cook in his kitchen, eat on his table, wash their laundry and so on. "Why do you do this?", I asked. Wearing a smile he answered, "It is one of the best ways to meet people from around the world and learn from them."

Soon, he was asking me about Philippines, about my home and my people. As an artist, he began to take interest with the music and the art of my country hence when we ate and talked about Filipino food, original Pinoy music played in the background and broke the language barrier between us. It was subtle and I realized that I was lost in the charm of a seasoned host.

So seasoned that he makes it his advocacy to host artists to perform in Paris through squatting places for them to share their talent and their music with an audience craving for the fresh and the unconventional. One night, he tagged me and some of our friends along to see the different side of Paris where art plays a great role in the community. Never had I seen so much passion in a man as Solen meticulously explained each work of art along Belleville.

As I said my farewell, I knew that this young man would always leave a message marked on my heart. Everything all around us is beautiful and the most beautiful fact about life is the connection we have with each other.

Merci, Solen! 

Getting In and Around Europe

Being in a strange country for the first time opened up a lot of windows for learning for me literally and figuratively. As an audio-visual person, the moment I stepped in Europe, all the sights and sounds engulfed my senses. I couldn't help but feel the familiar prick and kick that signaled a heady learning experience that awaited me. Coming from a third world country with its conservative culture, Europe was like an  electric shock that brings wave after wave of jolting experiences. 

For someone who travels a lot domestically, I was used to riding buses, motorcycles, pedicab, jeepneys and boats. But nothing prepared me for the train, tram and ferry rides that made up the European transportation system. 

After landing at Schipol airport in Amsterdam, the firsts began. I was shuttled to Amsterdam Centraal by train and from there I rushed to catch the bus to where I was hosted. Everything was on time and I was amazed to find the train and the bus to be very clean and wide with spaces for elderly, people with disabilities, and those with grocery and toddler carts as well as travel luggage. It was a breath of fresh air since I was used to jam-packed and uncomfortable transportation at home. I would observe the same with the trams in Brussels when I visited later but with a touch of culture as I had the chance to hear a man play his guitar and sang for spare change from commuters.

But when I was in Paris on my way to a youth camp and was carrying a large backpack and toting a tent, it was really a nightmare to be in. The train was mostly packed with tourists who according to my friend, Chloe reaches to a number of at least 20,000 people per day for the city alone. 

In order to address the dense transient and migrant population who came to European cities for tourism, work, studies and even stay for a long period of time, additional modes of transportation was worked out. In cities where there are canals like Amsterdam, and Rotterdam in Netherlands and Venice in Italy which I have also visited, ferries and boats were a convenient way to go from one place to another and to avoid the hustle and bustle of the city. Tourists also use ferries for canal tours. This was of course, expensive so I opted to see the city from the canals through free public ferry rides in Amsterdam.

Another way to decongest traffic is riding a bike. Bikes! Bikes! Bikes! They were everywhere and the best season to get them out and show your tanned and well-exercised legs is summer. Lucky for me, my July-August sojourn was the perfect time to pedal and explore and enjoy the warmth of the sun. I took care to follow the bike lanes and be on the right side of the lane as many bikers were out and about and believe me, they took biking very seriously. They rode fast as if they were on a race and this made me panicked from time to time. 

Moving on, I had my first taste of the Mediterranean mode of transportation when I crossed from Venice, Italy to Igoumenitsa, Greece in the first week of August to join a young peoples' camp. And though I was born in the coast and riding a boat, however big it may be was common, the sights around the historical ports of Italy and Greece blew me away. 

Since we had at least 3 hours before boarding the ship that would take us to Greece, we spent some of it roaming around the famous city of masquerades and gondolas. The colorful buildings, the traffic of boats along the countless canals, the quaint restaurants, cafes, pizzeria and gelateria, the laguna, the charming Italian accents, and the old churches surrounding the port was just too much to take in one setting. I felt like I was off to meet my Casanova as I walk through its streets, drowning in all the romance that seemed to blanket every little thing that city has. 

But soon, I was on a deck of a passenger ship bound to Greece and all the magic of Venice left as I got lost in translation. French, Italian, Middle Eastern and other languages I don't know filled the air and left me with nothing to do. Amidst the lively conversations around me, the sway of the ship as it broke its way through the Mediterranean lulled me to sleep. 

But if there was one thing I love about that trip was the chance to see the sun set into the horizon with my feet set on the deck of the ship. As Helios slowly faded into the other side of the world, I wished for it to come shining back more beautifully in the morning when we arrive in Greece.

And he didn't fail. He came back to reveal the blue-lined white boats of the Greeks as they raced towards the dock where I could see the ivory stone houses along the coastline as well as those built on the hills fronting the sea. And as our ship approached the dock, I felt like Helen of Troy off to meet her fate. But that fate turned out to be a learning journey that I would never ever forget. 

At the end of the day, getting in and around Europe was about all that I have experienced and learned along the way. Europeans treasure their history and their way of life. They invest in transportation so that these are not lost. As long as there are airplanes, trains, trams, buses, bikes, boats and ships, connecting peoples and cultures and the collection of knowledge and the development of sensitivity and understanding will remain and grow continuously. 

Dahican: A Travel Guide for the Backpacker

If you're daring to ride the waves of Dahican, Mati, Davao Oriental, here's a guide to help you in your first steps to AWESOMENESS: 

1. Take the bus to Mati City at Ecoland Bus Terminal in Davao City. Get a really good seat for it's at least 4-5 hours of travel. Do make room for other passengers for there'll be a lot of them getting in and out during the trip. The bus ride costs PhP 228.00 per person.

Note: Bring your mp3 players (in my case, my Kindle was quite helpful in relieving the boredom) and stock up on food and water for the trip.

2. As soon as you arrive in Mati bus terminal, pool in with other people on the motorcycle. The fare is just PhP9.00 per person when I was there in May. To be sure, ask the locals for there may be updates on the fare.

Ar-ar, a 12-year old skimboarder and surfer sets out ride on the waves in front of Amihan surf resort

3. Choose either to settle in Mati City, camp out in Amihan Surf Resort or rent a room in nearby resorts for your accommodations.

Note: Tent rental at Amihan costs 200 pesos per night and there's no catering and decent bathrooms/comfort rooms. Cooked cheap food (veggies mostly) is just across the street. Work out your charm to find a family who could let you use their c.r./bathroom.

This works out for groups who can pack a load of food and cooking materials to the beach

For the solo backpacker like me, I stayed in one of the inns in Mati City called Villa Merced Hotel at Bonifacio Street. It has a queen size bed and a bathroom inside for only PhP 500.00 a night. Restaurants are just a walk away as well as the baywalk, one of Mati's hang outs where you can buy fruits and food if restaurants are too much for the lone diner.

There are other inns and restaurants in the city as well as in Dahican. The city government was kind enough to provide the details online so you can check them out prior to your trip. Just click on the link: http://mati.gov.ph/IT_MatiOffice/where-to-stay/

A young woman and man surfer hang out with their friends during their downtime at the Amihan surf resort.

4. Going to Dahican, the motorcycle fare is PhP30.00 per person as it is quite a distance away from the city. Some drivers may jack it up to PhP 50.00 if you look touristy so be sure to arrange and agree on the fare and destination before finally hiring one. 

5. Be sure to meet the Amihan boys and girls in the resort. They are very accommodating and quite chatty. It's best if you're fluent in Bisaya because they'll be talking to you like a long-lost friend. But if you're not, Tagalog and English will do just fine. Just be patient if you're not getting the right answers. 

Note: Look out for Bayogyog Aporbo, the best of the Amihan surfers and skimboarders.  He is a tourist attraction as well as the place itself. Catch him with the rest of the team in their "duwa" or play as they call their riding on the waves.

Bayogyog Aporbo does what he does best: riding the waves with finesse in Dahican.

6. For surfing lessons, arrange it with the Amihan boys or girls so that they can schedule your lessons and determine who your instructor will be. An hour's lesson costs PhP400.00 per person. I assure you, it's not as difficult as it seems. The instructors are very patient and helpful in your learning. Be sure to add a tip though.

7. Be sure to pack your camera and charger for there'll be a lot of photos to take. If you have a monopod, the better to take selfies with it. Once your on your way to surf, ask one of the Amihan boys or girls to take photos of you as mementos. If Ar-Ar is available, the better. He takes good photos. Just be sure to set it on f16 aperture or the best mode for beach settings. I was too excited to did that and ended up with overexposed photos. It'll take time to edit them afterwards.

8. Always remember that fear is a state of mind. Let it go and have some fun, fun, fun in Dahican!

Surf Up in Dahican: My 28th Birthday Splash

The Amihan Surfer's resort face the winds blowing from the Pacific in Dahican, Mati, Davao Oriental.

It was two days before my 28th birthday and what did a fun-motivated, goal-driven woman do to usher this momentous event in her life? Well, I decided to turn over a new leaf and dared to try on surfing. 

My adventure began from the hustle bustle of Cotabato City where I am currently based for work to the durian city of Davao where I stocked up on sunscreen with a 75++ SPF and bought a pair of pink Speedo board shorts. Yes, I needed these stuffs not only to prepare my skin for the harsh summer sun and to make sure I look like a surfer girl but also to give myself a bit of a cheer. My nerves were shooting up and down with anticipation as well as apprehension.

Twelve-year old Ar-Ar patiently waits for the right wave to ride in Amihan Surf Resort.

After a restful overnight sleep which I forced myself to have, I carried my enormous backpack and skipped on a bus from Ecoland terminal that would bring me to the southern tip of Davao Oriental. Five hours of waiting somehow calmed my nerves and I began to hear reggae songs playing in my head. It was a good sign and I knew then that it would be more fun than I could ever hope for. 

Off Ar-Ar goes to catch the perfect wave to skim in Amihan Surf Resort.

I arrived in Mati City at two in the afternoon and after a short nap, I decided to take a peek of the famous surfer's village of Dahican particularly in the Amihan surf resort where the best local surfers hang out. It was about 20 minutes of motorcycle ride from the city. 

And there it was, the long stretch of creamy white sand beach that welcomed the rushing waves made by the strong blows of the wind from the Pacific Ocean. I stood there lock-jawed and totally overwhelmed. Though it was still a few months before surfing season, the waves were good enough for the Dahican local surfers and skim boarders to catch and ride on. It was quite a frenzy as several of them simultaneously take on the waves; providing the non-surfers quite a show with their undeniable great skills on catching a good wave, balancing on the board and riding the surf. 

The youngest of the Amihan boys, Longlong skims the beach easily for a 6-year old.

Most of them were boys and young men. The youngest of them was Longlong who when I asked was just 6 years old. The oldest are still just in their twenties. And it was indeed my luck because among them was the best surfer and skim boarder in town, 21-year old Bayogyog Aporbo who had already proven his excellence in various competitions ranging from local to international.

Bayogyog Aporbo expertly rides through a wave in Dahican, Mati, Davao Oriental.

Unlike other surfers there, Bayogyog seemed to be one with the waves. When he started to do what he does best, I couldn't help but follow his every move. Yes, he was very smooth. Every move was done in perfection. So much so that even his fellow surfers and skim boarders sometimes took a break just to watch him ride wave after wave. I admit that watching him glide easily added to the courage that I was already building up for the next day's surfing lessons and application.

Bayogyog Aporbo (left) and a fellow skimboarder show off acrobatic skills in riding the waves.

The morning after, I donned my rashguard and board shorts and headed back to Dahican. I was ready and so was my instructor, MacArthur. It was not his real name but hey, to each his own, right? With dreadlocks on his hair and a wide smile on his face, I couldn't ask for more for a surfing instructor. Bob Marley songs played in my head again and I smiled back. 

Surfing instructor, McArthur waxes the surfboard in preparation for the surfing lessons in Amihan surf resort.

With an ease of a beach bum, he taught me the basics. First, lie down facing the board with legs drawn together. Palms must be laid flat on the side of the chest and head and eyes straight ahead. He told me that when he says "Ready", I must fold my right leg so that my sole touches the side my left knee. And when he says "Up", I must slowly push myself up with my hands and squat on the board with my left leg in front of my right and with my hands stretch out slightly on the side for balance. Upon reaching the beach, put more weight on the back of the board to slow it down for the easy jump on the side for landing. After ten minutes of practice, we were set to go. 

The writer takes a memento of her surfing lesson in Amihan Surf Resort, Mati City, Davao Oriental.

As I was tying the leash on my leg, I assured myself that it was going to be easy breezy. How difficult could it be?

Before heading out, a surfer must tie a leash that connects her to the surfboard for easy retrieval.

But as I rode on the board and started to paddle, the waves seemed bigger and stronger and I felt the sudden kick of fear in my mind. As if sensing the change in me, McArthur began whistling a familiar tune: Bob Marley's Three Little Birds. I giggled and joined him singing "Don't worry about a thing coz every little thing is gonna be alright". 

McArthur guides his student towards the waves. 

And soon we were there where the surf starts to break and while we waited for the right wave, McArthur incessantly pepped me up. Suddenly, he shouted "Ready!" and I moved into position, breathe in and out and focused on his instructions. He said, "Ma'am, don't forget to keep your mouth closed". 

My laugh was drowned by the sound of the wave coming and suddenly I was being pushed towards the beach. "Uppppppppp!", I heard McArthur from the distance and with the determination to perfect my first ride, I pushed myself up, folded my knee to squat and balanced myself on the board.

I rode smoothly on the wave and it was indeed like floating on cloud nine. But just like every fleeting moment, the ride was soon over. "Dowwwwwwwwwwnnnnnn.....", McArthur shouted and I leaned at the back of the board to slow it down and eased myself down the water. As soon as I hit the water, I felt it rushed down my throat. This did not hinder me from jumping up and down, fists up in the air and shouting Yes! 

Oh yes, I did it! I braved the surf of the Pacific! 

It was an hour of smooth and clumsy rides but as a learning wanderer, I knew that ups and downs form the foundation of the process. And just like the waves coming home to Dahican everyday, I promised myself to come back and do better.

Happy birthday, brave girl. I am proud of you. 

Here, let me be your guide and take you to Dahican: 

http://mindanawani.blogspot.com/2014/05/dahican-travel-guide-for-backpacker.html

Chasing the Light: A Photographer's Mementos

The sun rises in Tagbiliran Bohol. (August 28, 2010)

There's not one perfect moment. Instead, there's a myriad of breathtaking possibilities. 

Chasing the light, the elusive light that appears only at the early hours of dawn and the late hours of the afternoon as it gives in to the night can test a photographer's patience. Yet it also rewards her the most in her quest for one-of-a-kind mementos of beauty and wonder. 

A family watches the colors of dawn on a Greek ship bound towards Venice, Italy. (August 2, 2013)

Whenever I find myself in travels, I force myself to wake up very early in the morning to get a chance to capture that beauty as it peeks from the East. No words can describe the feeling every time I am one with nature as the sun lights its way up in the horizon. 

Everything seems to stand still. Yet as its rays slowly creep out and illuminate the world, all of creations begin their early praise. 

A number of birds perch on electrical wires and bask on the glow of dawn in Lebak, Sultan Kudarat. (November 1, 2011)

The rooster crows as it welcomes the start of the day. The birds flap their wings and fly from their perches towards the golden glow of the sky. The flowers open their blooms to soak the sun's warmth and to spray a heady perfume in the air. The trees stretch out their branches to bathe their leaves with the dawn's light. I, a mere mortal bask in the glorious feeling of being alive and witness this magical spectacle.

A water lily bloom opens up to the glow of the sun in Lake Sebu, South Cotabato. (June 4, 2013)

And at the end of the day when Helios flies his chariot to rendezvous with the god of darkness and shadows, I stand there and watch as he blasts his way with the various hues of pinks, blues, purples, oranges and reds. Like a moth to the flame, my senses are drawn to the seduction of the sunset; leaving me speechless and reflecting on the infinite joy that life brings to my searching soul.

The author (right) having fun with flippers as the sun sets in Picalawag, Sultan Naga Dimaporo, Lanao del Norte. (October 23, 2013)