i dream

of a space like this for the company.

easy breezy

Project: Mount Pinatubo

Date: February 18, 2012

Jump-off: Sta. Juliana in Capas, Tarlac

960 MASL

LLA: 15°8'35"N, 120°20'54"E

Minor climb

Trail class 1

 

long time coming

It's been years since i added anything to my minimal closet.  Last week, I finally pulled the trigger.

A grueling climb up a mountain and a cycling adventure around Laos finally killed my beloved 5-year-old Prada travel hobo bag.It has been to over 20 cities, through the worst summers and freezing temperatures. I have always used it to carry travel documents, hotel vouchers, emergency food, and other odds and ends through some of the world's most glamorous airports and nondescript borders. It carried my water, book, cardigan, and my money while I caught trains, rode bikes, and walked around places where I knew no one. But the interior lining is now ripped, and the front pocket is dotted by mysterious permanent stains. I have also outgrown it, as I now carry a slightly bigger netbook when I travel.

(And so, my beloved, I lay you to rest. I will wash and keep you in your dust bag until I figure out how to recycle you. Perhaps you will be reincarnated as an organizer - you know, for my undies and my moisturizer.)

The replacement is predictable - another Prada body bag, of course. I got a black one this time, to hide stains. It seems boring, I know, but I don't pay for whimsy. To me, this is good design - straightforward, functional, nothing unnecessary. The luxury is in the details - the polished steel hardware, the leather trims and zipper pulls, the very small enameled logo and logo lining, and the lightweight and hardwearing Vela fabric.

It is officially a camera bag, but I have other plans for all its pockets. The main compartment fits the netbook and all essential chargers, and the outside pocket can hold a snickers bar and boarding passes. 

We haven't been on a trip yet, but I already love it.

road less travelled

eating beyond my means

I don't eat too much, but I certainly eat very interestingly. So interestingly, in fact, that I pay good money on air fare to reach places that serve the authentic version of everything, from bahn cuon to felafels to sheep testicles to macarons.

The travel cliches of seeing new places and meeting new people are secondary to eating new food, whether I'm in a coastal city on the Mediterranean or deep into Borneo. Sure it's 'nice' seeing a bull fight in Madrid, but teetering on a tall wooden stool with a glass of cheap rioja on one hand and guindilla tapa on the other - in a bar so local no one speaks English - is 'priceless.'

The happiest moments in my life always involve food. Even when I envision what I think might be blissful moments -- such as reaching the top of Asia's highest summit -- there's always food in the picture. In this case, I will be watching the sun rise over Kinabalu, sipping hot chocolate in the company of MSP and friends who (like me) are stupid enough to try this test of cardiovascular endurance. When I dream about Morocco, I don't see myself shopping in the souks or riding camels. I would like to (a) eat in the souk and (b) eat the camel.

Food is the reason I even run. I always say I love running, but I'm just deluding myself. What I really love is eating, and in order to eat all I want without gaining the amount of weight that would render my minimalist wardrobe unusable, I have to run. My heart rate has to go up and burn all the flavourful fat and wine I so lovingly ingest.

This means I need to clock in more miles in the next few weeks leading up to my trip to two countries. Cheap, freshly baked French baguettes and real phad thai from the street vendors await. None of the hilarious 'pineapple curries,' please. I only eat authentic.

CBTL Coffee Maker VS. Old School Coffee Press

I am opposed to almost everything except (a) old world wine and (b) good furniture. I detest things that pretend to be anything more than the useless garbage they really are.

Case in point - this lazy and moronic CBTL single serve beverage system.

This contraption does to coffee what boxes do to wine. It cheapens the experience and removes everything that is romantic about preparing and enjoying a cup.

That said, it is a brilliant addition to the millions of products that feed endless cycle of consumerism. To keep using it, you need to keep buying  the 'beverage capsule' at P40 a pop. It won't work with any other.

Who buys this shit?

More importantly, whatever happened to simply having a good old cup of unpretentious Batangas coffee?

The Philippines has some of the best - if not the best - robustas in the world. We are so lucky to have easy and cheap access to these beans. Sadly, many Filipinos don't know that and would rather drink watered down Italian coffee.

Me, I love my Barako and my simple hand-powered Kenya coffee press. It requires no electricity, and you can make everything with it, including espresso and latte.

This straightforward gadget is an integral part of the morning routine that keeps me sane. I boil water, pour it over the beans, wait four minutes, and enjoy my cup while reading the news online.

This slow and deliberate process is not something I am ready to give up, especially not for an awful looking 'beverage capsule' system that looks like a prop from a bad sci-fi movie.

things to wear forever

Going minimalist requires a lot of confidence because yo can no longer use material things to make you feel good.

That said, fine things are still necessary. Reconciling simplicity with luxury is essential to living well.

For example, I am very particular with my choice of fabrics, even though my closet is the size of a small box.

My minimalist wardrobe says CASHMERE and SILK.

Two little black dresses.


Here are some of my cashmere sweaters. Warm enough for fall, cool enough for spring and air conditioned rooms.


Two basic coats - a dressy red city coat, and an outdoorsy black winter coat.

I've had most of these clothes for years, and I'm quite confident they will outlast trends.

They just HAPPEN to have labels like Prada, Chanel, and Valentino, because sadly, good quality clothing often means designer (though not all the time). I didn't pay retail for any of them. Some I got for even less than the price of a substandard trench coat.

I realize they look like boring staples, but to me, they're easy style. They don't need ironing and they fit in my little travel bag.

Now, if i can only stay this size until I'm old, I may never need to buy clothes again.

decathlon

In Paris in May 2009, MSP gave me a Tiffany channel-set band ring with 36 diamonds to let me know that I'm the one.

I won't go into the details of his very awkward and very lovable speech, because I want it to remain intimate, just between us. But let me say this: It was hilarious and endearing. I will remember it on my deathbed and it will make me smile.

Perfect little thing

The ring - like MSP - was exactly what I wanted. Years before, I half-jokingly asked for it, saying I don't want the usual solitaire diamond ring that gets caught in bags / clothes and looks too heavy for my thin, bony fingers. I am a clumsy person with an active lifestyle, after all. And I hate big jewelry. I prefer understated, functional, top quality diamonds, even if they're smaller. I'd rather have certified diamonds than dodgy BIG bling from unknown jewelers.

Thankfully, he remembered the ring when I had already forgotten about it.

He secretly purchased it from Tiffany in Makati, hid it in the inner pocket of the jacket he wore on the plane, and gave it to me 20 hours later, the minute we got to Berne Opera Hotel - the charming Haussmann-style building we stayed in near Moulin Rouge.


View from our place in Paris

A few hours later, we went to La Maison de la Truffe in Place de la Madeleine. I was already wearing it when I wolfed down my first Parisian lunch of carpaccio, truffles brumale, ravioli, veal mignon, etc.


Cropped picture showing the ring, taken before the meal. My hair is on the plate!


I initially couldn't bring myself to wear it all the time because it was: (a) too expensive, (b) I was paranoid it would slip out of my hand, and (c) that I would get robbed.

I also had self-esteem issues. Do I really deserve it? Why should I go about my often unglamorous days wearing such a decadent 36-diamond piece of jewelry?

Two years into owning it, though, I am starting to wear it more often, even when I'm just lounging at home in my ratty sleeping shirts. I no longer need a reason or a special occasion. It IS mine, and is IS beautiful. Why not?

It's also clearer what this ring celebrates - our devotion to our two-person team:



The "team" that will build a solar cabin in the woods, run marathons, continue to travel the world, and keep eating.

* * * *

To MSP,

In a few months, we'll be celebrating our 10th anniversary.

We're well on our way to being one of those cool, semi-hippie, independently wealthy, exceptionally athletic, well traveled old couples. Yey!

Love,

Mussolini