laptop in a prada

road less travelled

2011-11-24T13:30:00.000+08:00

eating beyond my means

2011-10-11T10:45:00.012+08:00

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

2011-10-11T10:37:00.010+08:00

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

2011-06-13T11:41:00.024+08:00

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

2011-04-22T14:16:00.014+08:00

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

shiny new thing

2011-04-07T10:59:00.010+08:00

Raincoats fascinate me. I always expect rain.

This what happens when you've had the life I've had. You end up in Cannes, carrying a raincoat in the middle of spring. True enough, it drizzles.

Some say it's paranoia, but I call it preparedness. Hey, at least I'm not soaking wet.

Anyway, so this was me in the South of France, in an orange kid-size raincoat that was still a little too loose. I got it from a bookstore, of all places.

And this was me up in a mountain almost 3,000 meters above sea level, looking like I was dealing with radioactive chemicals. I got this ugly pair of plastic coat + pants from the store where the motorcycle people get their gear. It worked, but by the time I got down from the summit, both the pants and coat already had big rips. What did I expect for P200?

Naturally, I needed a more fashionable and sturdier alternative.

I might as well be stylishly prepared.

I found this coat on sale from the local Italian warehouse where I get all my goodies. This is from LiuJo, and was about $150 but marked down to $30. I had to have it. (I never pay retail).

It's shiny and made with "crystalized Swarovsky elements."

And it's structured like a regular trench coat down to the details (belt, buttons) except that it's completely waterproof. It's not just "repellent," but "proof." It also folds down to fit into the small body bag where I put all my travel documents, but it's not quite as compact as my previous cheaper raincoats.

I got it one size bigger, in anticipation of layering it over a thick coat should I travel in the fall.

My next trip is in 6 months. I wonder if it will rain.

staying alive

2011-03-27T12:24:00.004+08:00

As part of my ongoing bid to live deliberately and eat whatever the hell I want without worrying about weight gain, I've decided to try a new exercise.

Spinning will now be included in my sketchy fitness regimen (if you can call my patchy run+yoga modus operandi a "regime").

I hear spinning works wonders for strengthening the core and the quads, and will eventually help me run better. I've recently hit a wall and can't seem to run faster or longer, so I figured I needed to cross train.

The other side of the small gym in the condo. To the left are the spinning bicycles. (I don't use those weight machines - scary!)

Luckily, I don't have to spend money going to a fancy spinning class because the little condo gym has TWO spinning bikes. Being a treadmill junkie, I've never paid attention to them before. But then I started noticing a neighbor - a foreigner, woman, in her early 30's like me - using them regularly. And two days ago, I read that Brooke Shields spins 3x a week. That sealed the deal.

Wow, I thought. If I want to age as well as Brooke is aging, I must spin. It's only logical. (Hint of sarcasm, in case you miss it.)

So yesterday, I started doing position 1, 2, and 3 as explained here:

I've never felt more like a beginner. I could only hold position 2 for 1 minute, and position 3 for 30 seconds. The simultaneous burn on my quads and my lower core was indescribable, and my heart was pounding out of my chest. This must be what bad sex feels like.

After 30 minutes of sitting, then "climbing hills" with positions 2 and 3, and then sitting again, I decided to cool down. I'll be back next week. MSP found me this complete spinning workout on YouTube. It's a series - there are SEVEN parts. I'm getting tired just thinking about it:

Once I figure out how I can mount my phone on the bike, I can watch this as I spin. I probably won't be able to keep up, but I can pretend.

high and low

2011-03-19T08:30:00.008+08:00

Traveling is not always easy, but it is always transformative.

You think you come back the same person, but you don't. You always take impressions with you, and these little indentations in your consciousness change the way you see the world and spend the rest of your life.

The most recent local trips I made - 10 days and 3,000 altitude meters apart - proved two things:

(1) I can thrive even in unglamorous circumstances, wearing polyester.

(2) A good swim top gives me cleavage.

Way up there

It was the last week of cold month of February. After a total of 12 hours of land travel and nearly 5 hours of hiking, we reached the summit of the highest mountain in Luzon, and the 106th in the world - Mt. Pulag.

(At the summit of Mt. Pulag, almost 3,000 meters above sea level, waiting for sunrise)

Climbing a mountain is not so much about physical strength than it is about tenacity of the mind - the ability to push on, to deal with a completely new environment, and to survive on whatever you manage to carry with you.

I already knew I could trek for long hours. My running prepared me for that. I was worried about other things:

(a) the cold weather + altitude
(b) not showering for 36 hours
(c) bad coffee
(d) sleeping in a small tent
(e) peeing in a disposable urinal

The summit and sea of clouds

Amazingly, I did all these and survived with dignity and grace. It really takes very little to get by. All you really need is good company and a sense of adventure. That said, I still missed my big fluffy bed.

Down below

Pandan Island

Less than two weeks later (and after panicked days of beating deadlines), I found myself in Puerto Princesa, getting a tan. As usual, I stayed near the sand and floated around the shallower parts of the beach (thanks to my personal life vest). I will swim one day, perhaps almost as well as I run.

Down in Palawan, everything is cheap - lobsters, fresh seafood, transportation. The relaxed pace is sobering for someone used to Manila's hurried and overpriced lifestyle. I hope it stays authentic and doesn't turn into Boracay.

Next on the list

There's nothing on my travel itinerary for the next 6 months. It's time to focus on work.

(Our own brands have been neglected. But because of short-term financial goals, it's very hard to get out of slavery to clients. I KNOW it's time to concentrate on our own brands. It's time to think longer term. I shouldn't be spending my life making someone else's business flourish. It's depressing.)

Come October, I'm packing my bags again. I will finally get to see Laos, completing my French Indochina adventure. There are hotels and sleeper train tickets to be booked. Planning is going to be a little more complicated than usual.

And then it will be 2012 - possibly the end of humanity. I wonder what my last thought would be. Whatever it is, I hope it's unapologetic.

packing for mt. pulag

2011-02-07T11:49:00.007+08:00

In 18 days, we're climbing and camping in one of the most challenging mountains in the Philippines - the cold and wet Mt. Pulag. Time to pack.

I'm sure I'm forgetting something.

FOOD - These are ready to eat meals rationed to the US military, which the boyfriend bought from his airsoft buddies. We took out some items (mostly cakes) to make them lighter. Packages come with instant food/beverage heaters - that greenish plastic bag you see.

CLOTHING - Extreme weather layering essentials:

Columbia Kaleidaslope Omni-heat insulated jacket, for the cold

Moisture-wicking shirt and arm warmers for the day hike

The niftiest waterproof Stefanel hiking pants / shorts combo:

Raincoat, wool socks

My 5-year-old, Paris-tested wool inner layer from Terranova, more wool socks for the night

Thermal tops and leggings for layering, all Europe-tested, from Marks & Spencer

Trail running shoes from New Balance

CAMPING GEAR -

Sleeping bag for colder weather

Tent (for sharing with MSP)

TOILETRIES -

Disposable emergency urinal, baby wipes, razor (you never know when you'll need the blade!), meds for diarrhea, fever, etc., the usual toiletries

I still don't have:
1. a headlamp
2. plastic bag for trash
3. tissue - lots of kitchen tissue (in place of towels)
4. maybe extra shoes (my old Nike), in case it rains so hard and my trail shoes don't dry up?

This is so unglamorous and exciting at the same time.

Run like a girl (part 4)

2011-01-16T15:12:00.015+08:00

One day, I will be able to call myself an intercontinental runner, running and eating in all the cities I will ever go to.

For now, I relish small victories, like yesterday when I won my first running medal.

That's right - I actually WON a race. I ranked third in the 8KM/5mile Road x Trail Running event down south in Nuvali, so I got a ‘bronze’ thingy around my neck.

(My bronze WINNER medal + my FINISHER medal)

It was a smaller event but joined by serious road and trail runners nonetheless. The competition was not as tough as in the bigger 10,000-runner races, where I usually rank only 30+ in the female category. Still, it was a hard run on a new terrain against worthy opponents, and I ran my best 8km time — around 46 minutes (less than 6 minutes per kilometer).

(Road x Trail banner)

The boyfriend and I were supposed to run this together. We planned a weekend vacation around it, complete with a hotel and all. Sadly, he got the flu about three days before the event, so I cancelled the hotel. I nearly cancelled the run altogether, but because he’s supportive like always, he insisted I do it. He drove me to the south and cheered me on. You gotta love a self-assured man not intimated by an alpha female :)

The new terrain and its uphills was a shock to my system. But my new Nike Free Run served me well. I started strong, rested in the 3rd to the 5th kilometer, and then finished strong. Great shoes, greater will power.

(Me stretching in my new Nike Free Run)

It started to rain like hell halfway through the awarding ceremony, so I never got my 5 seconds of fame and pictorial on the medal stands. I was simply handed my medal thimagingy. That was okay, as it was getting dark and I was starting to shiver from the strong wind and rain. I grabbed my bronze and happily went back to the tent, where I was chatting with other runners who were also wet and cold. After a few minutes, the boyfriend and his car pulled up.

We intended on driving back to the metro, but the rain was pouring so hard and we could hardly see the road. We ended up staying in a hotel, after all. By this time we were both down with the sniffles. We figured a nice, hot shower and room service may save us from full-on fever.

TecnoPark hotel overcharged at around $130, even though they advertised a weekend promo that could have saved us $50 or so. Eh, what the hell. The booking guy probably sensed the desperation in my eyes (hot shower please!) and figured I would pay anything—ANYTHING to get me out of my wet clothes.

(The overpriced hotel room. My condo is better.)

I missed my place, my nice big bed, my 700-count Egyptian cotton sheets. I missed Conan O’Brien at 11pm. I missed home. But the hot shower was relaxing and the food delivered to the room was edible. I fell asleep on the weird bed, anyway. I was too tired to complain.

After a nice big breakfast the next morning, I went back up to the room and finally took a picture of myself with my medals. I forgot to put on a more decent outfit. (Yes, this is a big ratty shirt I sleep in).

And that was that.

I'm back home now. The adrenaline has dropped and I can feel the sniffles. Maybe I'll veg out all day, eat fruits, drink green tea. Oh, and I need to do "carbo loading" - a concept alien to dieters but very useful for runners like me who love to eat horrible, fattening things.

Tomorrow, it's back to work.

Victory is short. Deadlines loom.

Even champions have to face reality.

He-he.

buying freedom

2011-01-13T15:34:00.004+08:00

Today I decide to be grateful for the biggest asset that web entrepreneurship gives me: time.

Unlike most people, I can:

go on impromptu vacations (I never have to "file a leave")
stay in bed way past 10am... or 2pm... or all day on a weekday
run whenever I feel like it
take lingering lunches uninterrupted by the Blackberry
do my groceries in the middle of the week (when fruits are on sale)
go to lunch and movies at 2pm... on a Monday

I am grateful.

Most people trade their time for money. They get paid to stay in an office at least 8 hours a day. That's 8 hours they could be using to travel, spend time with people they care about, take up classes that make them happy. That's 8 hours they can never get back. I know because I used to be a corporate slave, too. And when I was in "the grind," I didn't even realize how sickeningly disproportionate my work-life stats were.

Thankfully, I don't have to always have to trade time for money. Certain parts of the business make money even when I am not working. MSP and I are putting our energies into making this unit of the company grow. We're halfway there.

Don't get me wrong. It's not easy. Owning a company has its hectic days, and the pressures are even bigger than what most employees have to put up with. Money is unpredictable; dips in the market don't just mean cutting back on latte, but moving heaven and earth to keep afloat. The monetary rewards - when they do come - are not bad, but they're never easy to get. Of the millions that flow in and out of a company yearly, owners only get to save a small fraction, really.

So what the hell is my point?

Huh.

I guess I have the time to write thesis-less post, when most people don't even have a few seconds to enjoy -- really enjoy -- a cup of coffee.

And for this, I thank the universe.

And I thank MSP, the business-minded, La-Salle bred (lol), technopreneur/geek who bullied me out of corporate slavery and taught me how to make money so I may live, not live to make money.

(We're almost there, punk. Don't walk now. )

The 175

2010-12-15T16:56:00.003+08:00

Paring down to just 100 things is almost a spiritual exercise. It's not about deprivation. In fact, the less I own, the better my life has seemed. There is a luxury to having only a few things of high quality.

I started wilting down my personal possessions about two years ago, but it was only this year that I started to give stuff away and buy less in an effort to numerically minimize what I own. I'm not quite down to 100 because I count everything. But I guess the exercise is not so much about how many things you have, but about living on only what you truly need and not more. For some people that's 700 things, for some maybe just 5 things. This is my attempt to get my number.

My last serious shopping trip was in January 2009. Can you believe it? I haven't bought anything major or expensive since. I am now a full fledged caviar-eating hobo / Prada-wearing hippie. (Well, my Prada shirts and shoes are 4 years old, but like I said, I don't buy anything anymore. And they still look great.)

It's time to do a formal count and make sure I live with only 100 things or less, just to be sure. I don't trust my estimations.

In editing my stuff, I have to get rid of redundancies (who needs two combs?) and assess everything according to strict standards like

(a) Good design. Does it do what it's supposed to do efficiently and beautifully?

(b) Increasing value. Will I be able to sell this fast if I needed to? Does it have all the documentation necessary?

(c) Shelf-life. Can use this again and again? Is it classic enough to not look dated?

(d) Happiness factor. Does this make me feel good no matter how useless it is?

(e) Essentiality. There are some things that enable me to enjoy a certain quality of life which to me is luxurious and graceful - being able to brew fresh coffee everyday, sleep in soft sheets, etc.

So I started the count and ended up with 199. This includes each and every spoon and fork. The rules said I SHOULDN'T count things like utensils and the like, but I did. If I didn't, my number would be down to 175.

(Note: Also, the rules said that if one thing is needed for another to work, those two things are counted as one. So a laptop and its charger is counted as one.)

* * * *

100. Chanel little black dress. This needs to be resized, as I lost weight.

99. Rechargeable fan. I don't even have a regular fan because the whole unit is air conditioned. However, I have an emergency table fan with rechargeable batteries in case of power failure. Pretty neat.

97 - 98. Emergency light (two units, one LED)

96. Vintage typewriter, passed on to me by my grandfather. I actually saw a similar one in Malaysia's national museum.

95. DVD player

94. Extra glasses by my bed, for watching TV

93. Reading lamp

92. Ambient lamp

91. Toothbrush - travel

90. Toothbrush - regular

89. Framed autographed poster of a Manila walking tour

88. Painting - my mom's

87. Painting - bought from a UP Fine Arts event

79 - 86. Running apparel. (Shirts, shorts, high-impact sports bras)

77 - 78. Luxurious, white, high-thread-count sheets. (Two sets)

76. Wallet in deer skin, from Prada. Another gift from MSP.

75. Debit card.

74. Credit card.

73. Medical insurance card.

72. Half a parking slot.

71. Half a condo.

69-70. Extra beds (hotel-grade fold out for sleepovers, 2 pieces, single size)

68. Air conditioner.

67. Wireless modem. There's nothing like fast Wifi in your own condo.

66. External hard drive.

65. Laptop, charger, case.

64. Small safe for documents. Fire proof.

63. Birth certificate.

62. Bank statements and check book (tied to one account and bank)

61. Driver's license.

60. Passport.

59. Raincoat.

58. Camera strap that says "Cannes Film Festival." Picked it up last year in the Palais des Festivals about 30 minutes from our hotel in Nice. That was when I also ran into Pinoy director Brillante Mendoza the day after he won.

57. Fuji Digital Camera (the best point and shoot in the world!)

56. Joby mini tripod (Gorillapod)

55. Purple prescription eyeglasses; great shape, unusual color. I started needing them this year. I only wear them when in the car, to read street signs and billboards.

54. Mini messenger bag by Prada for carrying passports, money, etc during travel

53. Hermes fourre tout canvas bag for shopping / used to carry post-run clothes

52. Ferragamo clutch in patent black. This is my only night bag.

51. My three-year old bag in turchese, by Prada. Used practically everyday.

50. Custom jeans I designed myself. Classic fit, ultra soft fabric, some interesting details. It was cheap, and only I have it :)

48 - 49. Classic buttoned short sleeved polo shirts, one black and one white, from Prada.

47. Red coat by Valentino.

46. Silk-cashmere cardigan. I used to have too many cardigans, but I have pared down to this Miu Miu by Prada piece, which is versatile because it has intelligent fabric. The silk makes it okay to wear alone or over light sleeveless shirts in Asia, and the cashmere makes it warm for layering in spring or fall in Europe.

42 - 45. Headscarves for traveling to hotter climates. (4 pieces, different patterns)

41. My coffee table (Almost forgot! It's for eating, working at home, etc.)

40. Pringle of Scotland classic British scarf for cold weather

39. Blue scarf for cold weather

37. Red turtle neck sweater

36. Cream multi-way cardigan

35. Blue wool sweater

33. Brown wool sweater

31 - 32. Thermal innerwear - leggings (2 pieces)

29. Thermal innerwear - longsleeves, black

28 - 29. Thermal innerwear - sleeveless, black (2 pieces)

27. Cheap coat in black by Hollister, for cheap travel.

26. Well-worn celebration ring gifted to me by MSP. He gave it to me in Paris, in Berne (Opera). I told him I didn't want the usual one-diamond ring because those things get caught in bags, etc. If you're as clumsy as me, this is more practical. No fuss design. It's also more expensive because there are more diamonds. I was issued the certification papers from Tiffany a few months ago.

25. My running shoes (Nike)

24. My beat up travel sneakers (Donna Karan).

23. Balenciaga heels, bought in Madrid.

22. Kate Spade suede flats.

21. Pucci flats, bought in KL.

20. Gucci heels. (NOTE: I posted about the very few pairs of shoes I own back in 2008. I have not bought anything major since.)

19. Prada loafers, now 4 years old. These were my first good shoes. They changed the way I looked at footwear. You do have to pay for quality.

18. Pure cashmere sweater/top. There's nothing like pure, buttery cashmere. Very versatile. I wear it under think coats for colder countries, and as a top for chillier nights here in the tropics. This one is from Ralph Lauren. I could live in them.

17. Spanish book.

16. Provence / Cote d'Azur Travel book

15. Paris travel book.

14. Singapore travel book.

13. Angkor Wat / Siem Reap travel book.

(Shown here are: My chair, my collection of travel books in the lower shelf, the santo and Buddha face passed down to me from my mom)

12. Hanoi / Halong Bay travel book.

11. Madrid travel book.

10. Barcelona travel book.

9. My chair.

8. Sofa. A modern Bauhaus-inspired piece.

7. Induction cooker + nonstick induction pan. I cook all meals with them.

6.Travel bag. This is proudly Philippine-made leather travel bag, which has survived multiple continents.

5. Microwave.

4. Bar refrigerator. Small enough to run cheaply and big enough to fit a week's worth of meals.

(Shown here is the pad from the sofa. All essentials in plain sight: good bed, kitchenette, TV)

3. French press. Great for morning brew and late-night coffee for friends who come over.

2. Bed and mattress

1. LCD TV + cable box and remote control

* * * *

The rest:

199. Nail cutter.

198. Trail running shoes.

197. Winter gloves.

196. Winter bonnet.

195. Winter jacket.

194. Bookshelf / TV stand.

193. Pen.

192. Moleskine planner 2010 (quickly expiring)

186 - 191. - Assorted kitchen tools, including as set of measuring cups/spoons, knives, strainer, etc.

182 - 186. - Headscarfs. I need them to get my hair away from my face when I travel.

156 - 181. Underwear.

137 - 155. Assorted tops/shirts/blouses. Includes good ones like a Mark Jacobs, Diane Von Furstenberg, cheap shirts from H&M/zara, and no-label shirts from local malls.

130 - 136. Plates and bowls (6 pieces, different sizes).

129. Rice cooker.

127 - 128. Drinking glasses (2 pieces).

124 - 126. My pristine white mugs (3 pieces).

123. Tea ball/diffuser. It's greener, healthier, and cheaper to get a bag of tea leaves and use a tea ball every time you want a cup instead of buying prepacked teas like Lipton or Twinings.

117 - 122. Spoons and forks (3 sets).

116. Mobile phone + charger.

115. Clock.

114. Room air filter / deodorizer. A must when you cook in a small condo.

113. Heirloom santo given to me from my mom's family. It's made of wood, dating back to the 1800's. It was said to have escaped a fire.

112. Gray leggings with pockets, thick.

111. Black leggings, thick.

108 - 100. Lightweight travel pants (blue, brown, black). They're like pajamas - big and breezy. They are very easy to pack. Perfect for travel to warmer climates.

105 - 107. Denim pants (3 pieces)

104. Short black dress that can be worn as a shirt

103. Blue dress, with buttons.

102. Tunic dress.

101. Another little black dress.

* * * *

childfree and proud

2010-12-05T12:03:00.002+08:00

Lisa Hymas is my new favorite columnist.

Some excerpts:

"Yes, as a childfree person, I'll miss out on a lot."

"But parents miss out on a lot too (as some will be the first to tell you): Time and emotional energy to invest in friendships and a romantic partnership. Space to focus on a career or education or avocation. Uninterrupted "grown-up" conversations. Travel that's truly impulsive or leisurely or adventurous (and never involves zoos). Unpremeditated Saturday nights on the town and Sunday brunches out. Opportunities for political or community engagement. Stretches of quiet for reading or writing or relaxing. A non-child-proofed, non-toy-strewn, non-goldfish-cracker-crumb-riddled home. Eight peaceful, uninterrupted hours of sleep a night. All without any guilt that one should be spending more quality time with the kid."

"A childfree life also means a lot more financial freedom. How expensive are kids? Try $291,570 for a child born in 2008 to parents bringing home between $57,000 and $98,000 a year, according to figures from the USDA. That's for the first 18 years, so it doesn't include college. If you make more, you're likely to spend more. Couples bringing in upwards of $98,000 a year can expect to spend an average of $483,750 on a child's first 18 years."

"Here's a simple truth: For an average person like me—someone who doesn't have the ability of an Al Gore to reach millions, or of a Nancy Pelosi to advance (if not actually enact) landmark environmental legislation, or of a Van Jones to inspire (and piss off) whole new audiences—the single most meaningful contribution I can make to a cleaner, greener world is to not have children."

"Childfree people tread too gingerly around parents, as though we might wound their feelings if we told the truth about why we've made different decisions than they have. But we insult them by thinking they're so fragile or insecure about their family choices—and we shortchange ourselves and society at large by not speaking openly about the legitimate choice to not have a child."

"What would happen if you answered the kid question honestly? "No, I'm happy with my life as is," or "A child doesn't fit into our life plans," or "Kids aren't really my thing," or "I think there are plenty of people on the planet already."

"If we said what we really think, I suspect we would actually find a lot of kindred or at least sympathetic spirits out there, GINKs and otherwise. We might have some refreshingly frank and gratifying conversations with the parents in our lives. And we could give those who are undecided about parenthood the understanding that the choice to be childfree is completely valid, and not completely lonely."

the chicest hiking backpack in the world

2010-11-14T16:11:00.006+08:00

Dear Prada backpack,

You will make my treks much more fashionable.

Too bad you're not available in Greenbelt 4.

And even if you were, I doubt that I would fork over RETAIL PRICE to have you. So let me wait for you in the Prada outlet store in HK next year, okay? It's where I got all your sisters at 40% off.

Love,
Mussolini

i have new friends...

2010-11-08T10:31:00.004+08:00

... to tide me over until the next big French wine sale on February.

Thank you, MSP, for paying retail.

folding bikes - an experiment

2010-11-07T16:56:00.000+08:00

Europe continues to open my eyes to alternative lifestyles.

It was here I realized how wasteful going around in cars really was. In my favorite cities - Madrid, Barcelona, Nice - everyone got around by using trains, walking, or biking. The most common bicycles were actually folding types. They collapse into the size of half a small bike, which is the only size allowable for boarding in trains. This makes sense if you want to bike from your apartment to the train station.

Folding bikes in Paris

By the Louvre, also in Paris

A couple enjoys a bike ride by Barcelona's Barceloneta beach

Bike lane in Barcelona (wish we had bike lanes here!)

Another couple gets around Madrid using folding bikes

* * * *

Can I use a folding bike in Manila?

We live in a city of cars; they're just the most sensible and cheapest mode of transport around Manila.

I seriously doubt that a strict "bike only" lifestyle is feasible. That said, I am thinking of making my life less car dependent by using a bike (a) for shorter distances and (b) during good weather.

And so I decided to get a folding bike.

In order for my bicycle to truly be eco-friendly, it had to be secondhand. If I bought a new folding bike, I would be letting an old salvageable bike just go to waste. So MSP helped me search online for a used folding bike, which was about 1/8 of the price of a new one. It worked perfectly and just needed a little cleaning. TA-DA!

Here it is, folded in the condo's "foyer."

Last weekend, we took it out for a spin just to check if it really works flawlessly. We jammed it into the car trunk (it fits!) and off we went to the university.

MSP did his usual running routine while I re-learned biking. I used to be a decent biker as a child, but after 20 years of non-use, my skills have faded. And until I can bike gracefully like a Parisian, I cannot take the bike out on the road.

In my dreams, I can someday bike to the office. It's less than a KM away, after all. The only problem is that I have to pass by the very busy highway with cars and buses that go at least 50kph. But I've done stranger things. So maybe I can do this.

If not, I can at least take the folding bike to Europe on our next trip. (Yes - it will fit in a regular Samsonite when folded.)

Maybe I'll even be adorable, like these women:

The one on the right is wearing Chanel shoes. Tres chic.

just another birthday

2010-10-27T10:56:00.001+08:00

I am officially THREE DECADES old. That makes me older than most buildings.

Strange.

I don't feel any older or wiser.

I don't even feel the need to mark this stage of my life with a party or any other grand gesture. Don't get me wrong, because I love attending big birthday parties. I just don't like throwing them. Some people make a big fuss about "milestone" birthdays that end with zeros - 30, 40, 60, 80 - but never me. So the day of my 30th birthday would be simple - I'll just have a lunch with father (a one-sided conversation where he talks and i just nod) and a dinner date with MSP (and really good wine, of course). Then in the days after it, I guess I'll have meals and coffee with my different sets of friends. These small gatherings will be like any other coffee date because most of my closest friends are not big on birthdays, either. We are too concerned with less trivial things.

I may dislike big shindigs, but I don't ignore the importance of looking back at the things that have happened and assessing what I have been wasting my time on. Life is too short. We all need some kind of to-do list if we want to die fulfilled.

So before my long term memory fails me again, let me tick off some of the things I've already accomplished in my very own bucket list. These will seem very shallow to other people. I don't care. They are all important to me. So here they are, in no particular order:

find love
build own company
drive a really fast car
sell the really fast car to reduce carbon footprint
live on my own
wear a big white hat in the South of France
get drunk in Barcelona
make my mother proud
see the sunset in the great Khmer Empire
stay good friends with my oldest friends
smile more often
look hot in short dresses / fit into size-2 designer samples
dip my toes in the Mediterranean
see Palawan
learn to cook and eat sensible food
eat a frog in Kuala Lumpur
eat lobsters in the Philippe Starck-designed Felix at The Peninsula, Kowloon
pray in Avila, Spain
own a red Valentino coat
eat real Vietnamese pho and banh cuon in Hanoi
wear cashmere sweaters like they're cheap
cross the HK-Macau harbour while eating cheap instant noodles
get a tan in Monaco
eat real Vigan bagnet
eat macaroons in Paris
sit, linger, and enjoy churros con chocolate in Madrid
receive a Tiffany eternity ring I can wear forever
stay in love with Manila
downsize to (almost) only 100 personal things
run faster than the average runner

In the next decade, I hope to:

reduce my carbon footprint
live simpler
take the company to the next gear
mix idealism with profitability
become passionate for a cause
stay in love
never be afraid of trying the strangest food
run faster, longer
travel even more - Nepal, Morocco, eastern Europe, South America, Africa
eat falafels in Egypt
study again
put my superb public speaking skills - which I have retired for too long now - into good use (not just to talk consuls into giving me visas or to convince clients that my company is the best)

I don't really have a thorough list yet, but you get the picture. I want to live light, be free, be mobile, and start to work for a much bigger cause than just my own financial security.

Happy birthday to me :)

run like a girl (part 3)

2010-10-25T15:31:00.004+08:00

Adidas King of the Road Race Results - Oct 24, 2010

So I finally did it.

Five kilometers in a just a little over 28 minutes.

And the cherry on top is that I outran thousands of men and women. I ranked 32 out of 2,578 women, and 218 out of 2,052 men. That means I outran 4,380 people.

(Don't believe people who tell you it doesn't matter what your rank is. They're just slow. Rank matters. You can only really compete with yourself, but ranking shows you the average so you can go past it.)

So, I guess it's time to advance to a more challenging distance? I can call myself a real runner now.

This is actually my third run. In the first run last March, I was just a little above the average at 36 minutes, and I outran 41% of the women. In the second run last June, I clocked in at a little over 32 minutes, ranking 119 of just 1,178 runners (mixed gender). That meant getting into the upper 10%, and for me, that was quite an improvement. It's NOT easy cutting four minutes.

Around August this year, I decided that I would cut my time by three minutes more - just enough so that I could run 5 kms in under 30 minutes. So MSP - who said that it would be hard to make me faster because I am already fast - put me on a training routine that didn't seem to work at first but finally kicked in on race day. Thanks, punk :)

And so here I am, finally, a runner. Not a jogger. R-U-N-N-E-R!

Some people ask me how I motivate myself to do this. I don't know how to answer that. I run because it's fun. That's the only real motivation. Those who lose steam in the first few tries typically run for the wrong reasons - to lose weight, to get into the hype, etc. Unless you truly find running to be fun, you can't get up early in the morning (after a night of too many drinks), tie your shoelaces, and run.

Running is a metaphor for life. It gives me the discipline to stay on course at work. It teaches me about commitment. It teaches me not to make excuses. And best of all, it proves to me that if I can think it, I can do it.

The mind really is more powerful than the body. I mean, I'm 30 but faster than most women 10 years younger. If that's not will power, could it be my British W.A.S.P. genes?

It's time to celebrate with a new running shirt...

...and a big fat chocolate cake :)

Neue Sparsamkeit

2010-09-18T10:37:00.007+08:00

Friends always tell me I'm a lot like the Germans, and not only because I'm such a Nazi about the way I run my company, or only because I like things that only Germans seem to like (white furniture, big sausages, the old Mercedes Benz G-class, and walking).

Lately, I've also been very open about my foray into somewhat Prussian values of frugality, coupled with my usual Fleiß (hard work), punctuality, and Ordnung (order, arrangement, organization).

So naturally, I was amused by this article on Neue Sparsamkeit (meaning "new frugality") from the Goethe-Institut, written for the Brits.

"It is fashionable again to save – and to talk about it openly. " Except in Manila, that is.

Too many people I know still live way beyond their means and NEVER talk about money. For instance, I have friends who would rather talk about their vaginas rather than their finances. I see some of them get into real estate debt, buying too high in this bubble, sinking more than 30% of their paychecks into pre-selling condos that frankly won't appreciate as much anymore because the market has reached its peak and because there's a saturation of choices now.

Many of them spend anticipated bonuses -- money that's not even in their pockets yet. What if their companies don't quite do well - especially now that both the US and Europe are in trouble? Will their bonuses ever come?

I was once also painfully nouveau riche. I used to frown at any indication of penny pinching. I still remember being so caught up in my new-found financial freedom; from when I was 21 to 27 -- for 6 years -- I was spending money and not saving. Homes, cars, gadgets, designer everything -- you name it, I spent on it. Looking back, though, it was good that I made these parvenu mistakes while I was still young. I had time to recover before I hit the big 3-0. Not a lot of time, but enough wiggle room to still make changes.

So I've spent the past year attempting to shed myself of all the trappings of an "aspirational" life. I have simplified - I'm down to just a little bit more than 100 things, give or take a few redundancies (I still own too many batteries, but MSP is looking at solar chargers now and maybe I can do that, too. Let's see.)

Financially, I'm still burdened by some of the mistakes of the past and investments into the future -- the parking space bought too late and too high (it's the price of a small house!), money tied up in the expansion of the company, money lent out to relatives who never pay, etc. Scary, scary times. But it should all work out in the next four months, if my German Ordnung is correct.

Liquidity, simplicity, less stuff, more travel + food. That's still the plan. It's been an interesting journey leading up to "halfway there." I hope I can continue on this path to urban hippie-ness.

eating the world

2010-09-09T14:58:00.007+08:00

I travel to pig out. If you have ever been my travel buddy, you know I start eating the minute I step into the airport. When I'm lucky enough to fly first class, I taste everything in the lounge. If I am in the cattle class, I eat from the food outlets. If you happen to be in the transit area and see a woman carrying a brown leather handcarry bag (with stickers of international flags) and happily munching on something -- anything -- that is probably me.

Last week, I went to the sultanate to try the best flavors that Borneo has to offer. Here are just some of the dishes I stuffed into my smallish frame:

Roast chicken laksa
Rojak (vegetable dish with sweet turnips)
Beef rice
Kahwin Cakoi - Brunei's version of the churros
Ambuyat - the traditional Bruneian dish / essentially sago paste that you dip into spicy sauces
Halal red bean pancakes
Ayamku chicken
Satays paied with soups
Salted lobsters
Teh Tarik (lots of this!)

...plus HUNDREDS of dishes at Empire Hotel's sungkai buffet -- a big meal after sunset during Ramadhan.

It can be hard to eat healthy when you're in another country. You may often feel like you have no choice, as though you're a "victim" of whatever it is that they eat there - lard, fat, and all. There's so much joy in being a victim, though. You never really regret eating unhealthy food when you're in another country. It's what you don't eat that you regret.

And that, my dear, is why I didn't hesitate to eat sheep testicles in the South of France and fried cicadas in Cambodia.

YUM.

little things

2010-08-09T12:01:00.004+08:00

Being down with the colds is never fun, but a bit more bearable when someone cute unexpectedly brings you piping hot Kozui's minced spinach soup complete with soft tofu, kani crab, rice noodles, onions, cucumber, shiitake mushrooms, and egg.

Thank you, punk :)

downsizing a life (another audit)

2010-08-01T11:42:00.003+08:00

The 78-year-old parents of the former editor of Domino Magazine have decided to prepare for their death by downsizing from a typical suburban home into a small apartment in New York City.

Read the story here.

A bigger home - while great for raising kids - tends to be a magnet for things you realize you don't really need. It took them 78 years to figure this out. (Having kids really does make like much more complicated).

Thank heavens I intend to be child-free. That gives me the freedom NOT to upsize.

* * * *

This got me thinking. Will all the "valuable" things I own fit into one big box?

By "valuable," I mean things I can no longer replace because (a) they're not available anymore (b) they were given to me by very special people, or (c) they're really of superb quality.

Everything else - although necessary, like the French Press I use to make coffee or my beloved bed - can be bought from a store anytime, making them less valuable.

Ayt. Let's do an audit:

Valuable clothes/shoes/bags:

Valentino coat (in classic red - designed before Valentino retired)
Chanel dress (little black dress)
Cashmere Ralph Lauren sweater in cream (good-ply cashmere is always valuable)
Cashmere and silk blend MiuMiu cardigan in dark blue (great for travel)
Gucci heels (3-inch high)
Prada driving loafers
Pucci hand-painted flats
Kate Spade pink suede flats
Balenciaga heels in gray and black (bought memorably in Madrid)
Prada turchese bag
Dior doctor's bag (part of luggage, now vintage)
Fendi handbag
Ferragamo clutch
Hermes fourre tout bag (for grocery shopping)
Gucci abbey bag (folds small)
Prada powder blue mini messenger bag for holding passports and money during travel
Fino travel bag with all the stickers of places I've been to (irreplaceable because of sentimental value)

Valuable jewelry:

Tiffany celebration ring (someone loved me enough to give me this - it's the price of a car!)
Inherited coins (to remind me of my heritage)
Inherited jewelry (I want to reset them someday, make them more current)
Pendant from Granada, Spain (gifted to me)

Etc:

My mom's one and only artwork (for obvious reasons)
DVDs (mostly indie films that are no longer available)
Travel books (they have my handwritten travel notes)

So technically, if I fold the bags strategically, I can fit everything valuable into one big box. It will be a heavy box, but it will be just ONE box.

That's always nice to know.

honest house

2010-07-10T15:15:00.001+08:00

WIN A COPY!

Win a copy of Real Home Ideas 5: Small Space Solutions from Manila's leading interior design blog, House of Onika. Learn more about the contest here.

This widely-read blog blog did this feature on my little humble space last February. House of Onika has also appeared in numerous local magazines.

If you own a condominium unit and have no idea how to make the most of it, join the contest and you may just win the small space decorating handbook.

* * * *

GETTING TO KNOW YOU (AGAIN)

I am having a love affair with my sofa. I love how its tall, wide arms hug me during lonely days when I lose myself reading a book.

My sofa is like an old lover whose nearness is familiar and comforting, except that it is mid-century Danish modern and I've never had a Danish lover.

* * * *

HONEST HOUSE

It's dizzying: Moneyed people who have chronic bad taste taste try to buy taste. This is not a good idea. The smarter few who employ interior decorators end up with impersonal "model units" that they don't look good in, and the dumber majority end up with ugly houses stuffed to the ceiling with ugly (but expensive) things.

I don't understand why they do this.

A home should be honest. If you use Italian tiles but you've never been to Italy, you are lying. You are also destroying the environment and the economy. Do you really have to fly flooring all the way from Italy when our own local tile industry is world-renowned? They use Philippine-made tiles in luxury French hotels and German airports!

I'm proud to say that in this white box I live in, nothing is contrived. Everything was from a place I've been to. Everything has a function and nothing is for display.

It's certainly not aspirational (a concept so parvenu it's embarrassing). Nothing here is expensive beyond replacement. Like I mentioned in an old post, i also an honest house in fiscal terms. It's low-maintenance and conducive to building wealth.

You can lose a house just as easily as you can lose a pen. That's the truth. So keep your emotions in check. Don't buy or decorate a house to project a life you want people to think you have. Be honest, and you'll start to make more tasteful choices.

all i want

2010-07-08T15:23:00.000+08:00

So I came home to the tragedy of an almost empty box of French wines. I only have two bottles left from the last time I went wine shopping, which was in February this year. I got seven bottles then, which means I consume exactly ONE bottle every month.

I'm too sober.

Friends, if you are listening, all I want for my birthday and for Christmas are good bottles of French wine. The wines listed below all fall into the P700 to P1,000 category, which means you can all easily afford to give them to me because I know how much money you people make.

Jurancon-Sec Lapeyre
Coteaux de Languedoc - Mescladic
Jurancon-Lapeyre Molleux

I need about seven bottles more to last me until February, when Sommelier Selection goes on sale again.

my madrid

2010-07-06T17:00:00.000+08:00

dresses

2010-06-21T22:39:00.004+08:00

I thought I would celebrate by trying on random clothes. Running has toned me down to a size 2, which means I can shop in designer sample sales :)

Forgive the camwhoring. I am turning 30 in a few months, and these dresses may never again be age-appropriate. I just wanted to immortalize them here.

coca-cola normal (for one, please)

2010-06-13T14:30:00.005+08:00

Life is too short for diet coke. That's why I order regular coke, lovingly called Coca-Cola Normal by my favorite bartender in Barcelona - an unusually gloomy old man who speaks absolutely no English and frowns at tourists like me.

* * * *

Anyway, today is my alone day. I get to do things only I seem to enjoy all by myself, without a boyfriend or a friend. There's no noise to filter out. I can hear only my own thoughts, and I kind of like it.

One of the many things I enjoy doing alone is eating. Most people - women, especially - can't bear to walk into a restaurant and sit alone. Me? I love it. Eating is a sensory experience that can be enjoyed with or without company, much like masturbation, don't you agree?

And so here I am, waiting for my Malaysian hawker food. Manila has become so cosmopolitan. You can find almost every dish you have ever tasted abroad right here, in a freaking mall, of all places.

My Coca-Cola Normal sits here waiting to be opened, enjoyed with the peanuty taste of satay and nasi goreng.

* * * *

A while ago, I watched L'Heure d'Ete (Summer Hours), which was a French film about a family making sense of the objects that their dead mother left behind. It was a story I could relate to, having been through the grueling process of selling the house I gave my dead mother, sorting through objects she left behind, and having to decide - without a clear criteria - what should continue to exist. The process was traumatic but ultimately cathartic.

It was like forcing her life - and my life - into a spreadsheet and then deleting cells until everything added up.

* * * *

Some people cannot bear to be alone because they can't stand their own company. Lucky for me, I'm an amusing person. I can entertain myself much better than I thought.

run like a girl (part 2)

2010-06-06T10:59:00.007+08:00

Today on an impromptu run to support the World Food Program, I finished 5 kilometers 4 minutes faster than I previously did in the same running venue (The Fort).

I'm still not quite as fast as I want to be. My stamina is still lower than I wish it was. However, I know that my speed is not bad for a lazy recreational runner.

(A recreational runner is usually in the 10-minute mile / 6-minute kilometer ballpark.)

Thank you Drowning Bismuth for the free tickets :)

To friends who keep asking me about Chi Running, its' really simple. Watch this video:

* * * *

My problem now is this: I can't seem to combine yoga and running.

When I do yoga, my body strains its core muscles, making it much harder to run fast. I'm probably doing something wrong.

* * * *

Part 1 is here.

being a little bit british

2010-05-27T15:29:00.004+08:00

Here is an explanation of why I look strange.

My grandfather (my mum's dad) is half-British, which makes my mum 1/4 British, which makes me 1/8 British. Actually, my grandfather is only British by nationality; his real ethnicity is a mix of British-Spanish-French, which is not a very good idea.

Anyway, genes skip and weird things happen as we age, which is why I look more European now than I did when I was younger. That's just life. Hello, freckles.

Foreigners - clients, people I meet during trips abroad, etc. - never think I'm Filipino. I always get questions/comments like:

Are you half German?

What are you a mix of?

You don't look Filipino at all!

(I am Filipino, okay? Why the hell would I lie?)

With foreigners, I understand. They probably have a stereotype of what a Pinay looks like, and I obviously don't fit the mold.

But what's really offensive is when fellow Filipinos who don't know me describe me as being some kind of an alien.

Stop it.

When you call me that "girl na parang iba ang lahi..." or "yung parang half-breed na ewan..." or "baka anak sa Amerikano..." it really hurts my feelings.

Do I call you people indios?

Well yes, but not out loud. (I'm half-joking).

So stop calling me names, you racists.

NO COMMENTS ALLOWED, or you might hurt my feelings again.

break me out

2010-05-27T14:28:00.011+08:00

SLOW POKE

The next run is almost here, and I'm not ready.

In the last two weeks, life has not been "normal." The stress of working endlessly and dealing with someone's passing has taken its toll. I haven't been eating right. Sleep has been optional.

The shock and anger has subsided, thank God, and I'm slowly shaking myself out of this rut.

It hasn't been easy finding entertainment, but I'm succeeding. Last weekend I went on a walking tour of Old Manila, and tomorrow I'm tasting 100 French Wines. I hear there's foie gras canapes. I better NOT wear cashmere, because I'll just soil it with duck liver and Bordeaux. Sheersh! Hick!

* * * *

DEALING WITH THAT...

There are moments when I still feel deeply sad. She was like my sister, after all.

These moments come suddenly. Just a week ago, I was running like hell -- faster and stronger -- when tears just rolled down my face. I couldn't tell how much I really cried. Was that sweat or were they tears? I have no way of knowing.

So anyway, I just keep running.

the end of an era

2010-05-05T10:10:00.005+08:00

Some days I think I am losing myself.

Some days, I think maybe this IS myself, and I just can't believe it -- that I am this uninteresting. A borderline snoozefest. That in Europe, I am just another face in the crowd.

I can't believe I have nothing to say. That I cannot maintain a tan for two weeks. That I cannot run faster than this. Or longer.

* * * *

It's the curse of the fours.

I quit my old job after 4 years.

It's been 4 years since this I started this company.

It's been 4 hours since breakfast.

And 4 minutes since I hit 'new entry' on this blog.

In 11 years, I will be 4-ty.

* * * *

This concept of constancy is a farce. Nothing ever stays the same. Nothing.

Feelings change. Priorities shift. Taste evolves.

Some people are so afraid of change that they build a false sense of security with possessions. They tie themselves down to things, people, and concepts they think they own but end up owning them. I learned this early on. I won't make that mistake again.

sunday routine

2010-04-25T22:15:00.009+08:00

I just found a new series on The New York Times called "Sunday Routine." It follows how people -- some celebrities, others not -- spend their Sundays. That's quite a treat for voyeurs like me.

My Sunday was spent working, mostly. MSP was here in the little white box; our laptops shared the little coffee table together with two coffee mugs (his contained pineappe juice, mine barako).

Late lunch was smoked fish with a side of veggies and brown rice, and then some fruitcake and tea. It was all work after that. In between spreadsheets, we talked about how our muscles ached from yesterday's workout/run. We're older, he complained, and I saw some lines on his forehead. They looked great. He looks better older and fitter. I love him.

By 8pm, all the work was done. I made pastrami, egg, and mozarella sandwiches for dinner. When I turned around, the sofa was already facing the flat screen. He always knows exactly what to do.

We watched The Blind Side. With my sandwich I had red wine, and I spilled some on the sofa. It came off, thankfully.

After the movie, he washed the dishes, and I wrote this blog entry.

I hope he stays the night because I just want to hug him.

We've spent so many Sundays around the world together, but it's on regular, half-annoying Sundays like this when I really fall in love with him again.

close to home

2010-04-02T10:44:00.015+08:00

The next time I find myself in Europe, I'm definitely staying in the Citizen M Hotel. It's efficient, it's no-fuss, it's chic - kind of like me. LOL.

Staying there shouldn't be a stretch because I already live in a similar box /pod (click to read related post).

Pictured above the pad where I crash. Hawig na rin.

Maybe I should also wire it with the Phillips Touchscreen Mood Pad that they use in all the rooms in Citizen M. It allows you to choose among four moods - business, romance, party, and relaxation. Just press a button and the LED lights change color, thereby changing the whole ambiance. Cool! I want it. I don't think the technology is available commercially, though.

Do you think I can DIY a mood pad? MSP probably has ideas, being the geek that he is. Or I can just buy lamps with different LED bulbs.

Oo nga no?

****

The room rates at Citizen M are also very affordable because you don't pay for a fancy doorman, a concierge, a waiter, or a receptionist. You check yourself in, you sleep, and then you go on your merry way. Fantastic.

Touchscreen do-it-yourself check-in/out.

Self-serve canteen. Choose what meal you want (most are healthy - sushi, etc), then slide your credit card / some Euros into the slot, and voila - your famine ends.

Get your own brewed coffee! (Unlimited)

Rates at the Citizen M hotel in Amsterdam start at just 79 Euros per night for the basic rooms. That's 30 Euros cheaper than the so-so hotel we used in Paris (which should be comparable to Amsterdam in terms of price). Thirty euros is a lot.

****

Here's the whole Citizen M concept:

And here's a great video review:

well, when you put it that way...

2010-03-31T14:13:00.013+08:00

Over 1.2 million+ / year
Number of people whose buying decisions we directly affect with our own website

Over 2 million+ / year
Number of people reached by websites we produce for our clients

Over 12 million+
Number of people we have reached in the four years we've been a company

****

And we're just starting, compared to giants.

I guess my job is more important than I think.

Shucks. I'm the internet's anonymous Anna Wintour.

This quiet empire shall get bigger.

run like a girl

2010-03-29T09:48:00.007+08:00

I've been doing recreational running for officially one year now. If you count the months I could barely do 6KPH on the folding treadmill in the office (I call this my pretend running phase), then I've been at this thing for almost a year and a half.

Early this month, I joined an official running event which dear friend Barry helped organize. My speed has improved to 8.2KPH. It's not fast, but it is within the "ideal" range for a long-distance running where it's not the speed but the consistency that matters. My goal is to slowly improve my speed to 8.7KPH, and maybe 9KPH by the end of the year. I don't intend to run faster than that. I just want to go longer.

Why I am doing this

When I started running a year ago, my goal was not to lose weight or anything cosmetic like that. I just wanted to develop stamina for the great European adventure. That was a success. After all, I did brisk walk through 8 European cities. (Just a few months before that, I could barely walk around Hanoi.)

MSP also took up recreational running around the same time I did. I'm faster than him right now, but I know he'll catch up. You see, MSP was athletic in his younger days - he did soccer in high school and swimming in college, while I was...eh...I was debating. (I knoooow.)

Running also gives me a very welcome break from all the thinking that I have to do every day. Even if I'm just on the treadmill (of the free condo gym) running at 8.8KPH and looking out the pool, I am at peace. It's even better when I do actual road work in the UP oval. Exhilirating.

Fitting in

Weight loss was just a consequence of my running; it was never the goal. I have lost only around 8 pounds since I started, which means I lost it all slowly over one whole year. It was such a slow and steady weight loss that no one noticed it except me and MSP, who is the only regular checker of my ass size. Friends - even those I haven't seen in years - just say I look more toned. No one ever realizes I actually lost some weight.

Now I can wear skinny jeans without my hips looking like China, and I can do the Indian sit without getting the dreaded muffin top. Even more importantly, I still eat like an Italian and I drink wine like the French. For a foodie and whino nearing 30, that's all that matters.

Hobby, not sport

I have stopped losing weight even though I run regularly. Perhaps this - around 112 lbs - is where my body naturally sits. No complaints. I feel stronger and healthier now than I've ever felt. I'm still a "recreational runner" in that running is not my life (and I don't ever want it to be). I can't imagine getting more serious about it. I don't ever want running to feel like work.

What now

My next local run is in June, and then October.

Slowly but surely, MSP and I will eventually run the annual Great Wall of China Marathon. We're giving ourselves two years to train for this. We are not gunning for the marathon, but just the half marathon or the 10KM at the very least, depending on our fitness level by the time we decide to go. It should be a totally different challenge, as it is more about climbing than running. Bahala na.

I should stop taking the elevator.

stuck in the new middle

2010-02-27T09:49:00.012+08:00

There's something nice about setting up a home at just the right distance from the craziness of the city center. You're just 5 to 10 minutes away from the essentials - the office, the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, church, a decent sushi place, the train station, THE GAP, etc. That was part of the charm of this little white box almost two years ago, when I moved in full time. It was near enough not to be boring, and far enough to still be quiet. You know - off grid, on radar.

Now, my little part of the metro is turning into a monster.

1. Foreigners are creeping in.

Fortunately, they're not the Noisy Korean types who infest my friend Illyria's bulding. My new neighbors are a different breed. I call them Chatty European types who live here because their money would go farther in the tropics than anywhere in the EU. They say "good morning" and "hello there" in German/French/British accents. They sunbathe by the pool wearing clothes that reveal more than they should. They actually use the gym and hang out in the garden. They are very... European.

(That sounded racist. However, if you knew me in real life, then you would know that I'm part European. Therefore, that just sounded self-deprecating and honest.)

2. Progress is assaulting this part of town.

I didn't realize just how noisy and congested the road to progress would be.

3. Property values are ballooning.

All the "progress" is doubling the price of the units here faster than you can say bourgeoisie.

****

Why I'm even complaining, I don't know. It's weird; I always knew this place would eventually be developed, and was even proud of the fact that I got first dibs while it was still cheap.

Resistance to change - maybe it's human nature?

How very Parisian.

the turquoise prada

2010-02-25T09:18:00.006+08:00

Three years before Pantone named "turquoise" the color of the year, I bought a Prada Crispy Nylon - Turchese. I have been using it almost every day since. People hardly see me without it.

I got the bag from the Prada-owned and operated "Space" in South Horizons in Hong Kong, where off-season Prada items are marked down. "Space" also has several branches in Italy and other major fashion capitals. It's like an insider secret. The stores are hard to find.

This was the bag's first "unveiling" from its big Prada box, which I first opened (very excitedly) in the suite in The Royal Plaza (which, by the way, is the room that inspired the condo). My heart was leaping out of my chest as I removed all the acid free paper that protected it. Finally:

I quickly took it out for a spin, but NOT JUST around Hong Kong. I whisked it right away to Macau, no less. Here it was on the ferry from Kowloon:

This Prada has since traveled with me to everywhere.

It was with me in the Petronas Tower in Malaysia.
In Paris, I lugged it around the Louvre and other touristy places. It sat with me in cafes and bookstores.
It watched the waves of the Meditteranean coast in the South of France, and then went on a road trip to Monaco.
It saw a bullfight in Madrid.
I clutched it while tipsy in Barcelona.
Heck, it even suffered with me during the dreaded train delay in Montpellier, near the Spanish border.
Etc, etc, etc.

This sturdy bag is easy to clean and easy to use. Unlike other designer bags, it does not need too much pampering. It has survived confusing Asian airports and the even more confusing Eurail / has flown economy and business class / has stayed in affordable bed and breakfasts and in 5-star suites. It's so easy to take everywhere.

Some of the Prada's details:

The tags, handles, and the strap are actually LEATHER. They don't seem like they are (because they are shiny), but they are patent leather.

The markings are brass, and the links are very sturdy.

Three years ago, a few people (with poor taste and ugly Louis Vuittons) told me that my Prada's color was too loud. But now, these pathetic trend followers all want my bag because turquoise is the color of the year. Pantone describes the color as "an inviting, luminous hue, combining the serene qualities of blue and the invigorating aspects of green, evoking thoughts of soothing, tropical waters and a languorous, effective escape from the everyday troubles of the world."

What can I say?

I always had taste.

to hang or not to hang

2010-02-21T10:48:00.008+08:00

It sounds a little pretentious, but it's true.

One of the profoundest moments of my life was when I saw a Kandinsky painting in the flesh.

This happened in my favorite city - Madrid - in the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, to be exact. The collection included the following:

Painting with Three Spots 1914
Oil on canvas 1210 x 1110 mm

Murnau: Houses on the Obermarkt, 1908
Oil on board, 64.5 x 50.2 cm

In the Bright Oval, 1925
Oil on board 73 x 59 cm

Delicate Tension, 1923
Watercolour and Indian ink on paper

I nearly cried at the sight of the last painting. I don't know why.

Perhaps it was because I've been holding on to a Taschen book on Kandinsky far too long, dreaming of the day I would see the real deal. Maybe it was Wassily's logical, non-representational forms - the ultimate representation of the semi-reticent, semi-expressive life I (think) I lead. Maybe it just reminded me of the 1993 film Six Degrees of Separation, the first artsy movie I ever watched, in which Kandinsky's art was integral. I don't know why I stood there in front of his art frozen, almost in tears but not quite.

So anyway, I own a print of Delicate Tension, and I am thinking of finding a wall for it. The thing is, I'm not quite sure if I should frame and display this piece of paper; after all, in this age of cheesy "Keep Calm and Carry On" posters in almost every pretend-chic space, hanging a print seems forced and too catalog-y. On the other hand, the print DOES mean a lot to me, so why shouldn't I enjoy it, right?

Perhaps it will find its place on the back of my bathroom's door. I shall look at it while I poop. Delicate tension, indeed.

****

Thanks to House of Onika for a nice little feature on the condo :) They called the shoebox "innovative, svelte, and refreshing." Wow. My space sounds more attractive than me.

Read Ingrid's Prada-esque home here.

whino (noun: a type of drunk, usually a hobo, who has a preference for cheap wines over the vodkas and whiskeys)

2010-02-19T09:53:00.011+08:00

French wines are on sale over at Sommellier Selection, and if you know me, you know that I love 'em reds and whites from Alsace to Loire Valey and beyond. At 30% to 50% off, these wines are bargains! I got seven bottles, and I plan to come back for more before the sale season ends.

I have no place to put them, so they're staying in their boxes for now.

Been trying out fish tapanade recipes for the whites, and the reds are paired with leftover meat and vegetables (with spinach and artichoke sauce). MSP was here yesterday; he's not big on subtle wines like me, though, and prefers the stronger Spanish vino de Jerez. He thinks French wines - and Parisian men - are sissy.

I also stocked up on some cheese. Yesterday, I made omelette with blue cheese for dinner, and then paired it with the light and clean Domaine de la Plante D'Or. Heaven.

* * * *

I'm no wine expert (obviously), but I do appreciate a good bottle paired with the right food. Unlike more sophisticated whinos, I don't really read up on enology - I buy what I like instead of what gets the best reviews. To me, the only requisite to a great wine tasting session is a clear wine glass (NEVER colored, because then you don't see the wine's clarity and other characteristics).

Experts say that serious whinos should at least have Riedel wine glasses, but I don't know that I am ready for them. They are pricey - one serious wine glass costs P5,000+ - and on top of that, they are hard to find locally. What if I break them in a moment of tipsiness? I'll stick to my cheap mall-variety wine glasses, thankyouverymuch.

****

What I really need are more wine recorkers with vacuum. I only have one (gifted to me by MSP's sister) and it works.

Sommelliers would probably scream at me for even recorking wine, but I have to - I don't finish a bottle in one sitting, as I usually only have ONE glass (two, at most) with dinner. Sometimes, a bottle stays in my refrigerator for a week. A recorker with pump seals the bottle and removes the oxygen, which deteriorates the bouquet.

I also dream of a wine glass necklace, which my Australian whino friend Julie says is a must for wine tasters. She says she would buy me one, but I'm not counting on it. I have never seen these ultra-geeky wine accessories locally. If you know where I can get them, please tell me.

****

Those who want to get French wines on huge discounts should pop by the Sommellier Selection warehouse in Makati. They're quite friendly. They can advise you on what wines to get depending on your preference. Bring around P5,000 and you can already get seven bottles or so.

Sheeersh! Hick!

valentine's day

2010-02-15T22:09:00.011+08:00

Feb 14, 2010

8:00am

Breakfast. Get some work done. Why are clients emailing on a Sunday?

11:00am

I decide to prepare what I'll wear for a fancy dinner with the boyfriend at 7pm. What do you do when you can't decide which simple shift is most appropriate? Why, you try everything on, set the camera timer, and Skype a friend for opinion, of course.

Ended up wearing the old black dress - the last one. Clutch is an old Ferragamo. Shoes are Balenciaga, bought on sale in Madrid.

12:00nn

Lunch. Eat leftover everything.

2:00pm

Pack running gear. Text Bismuth on where we'll meet. Can't wait to see her new car.

3:00pm

Run around UP with Bismuth and the boyfriend. It's not too hot, and I actually have Bon Jovi on my running playlist. Yes - that Bon Jovi. I'm so old.

4:00pm

Eat something. Anything. We hit the vendors around the UP Coop. The boyfriend eats corn and drinks buko juice; I eat corn and tuknene. We share an ice cream.

4:15pm

Mass.

5:30pm

Back in condo. Get ready for the date.

6:00pm

Head to Sala Restaurant - the old one along Ayala Ave (NOT the bistro in Greenbelt).

7:00pm

Right on time. On the five-course menu:

(Click to read)

My personal favorite is the little egg and caviar, the seared tuna carpaccio on Romesco sauce, and the lobster tail risotto which had bisque sauce. The duck and the Angus are both perfectly cooked; however, the duck is a little too fat.

The table is not so good. We can hear the young Chinese couple to our left. They are very prim and proper, hardly touching the bread basket and hardly leaving any crumbs. Meanwhile, we are eating like there's no tomorrow, exchanging plates like kids (so we can taste everything) and laughing like we are alone. We must be making them uncomfortable.

8:00pm

Yey. The Chinese couple left. Privacy, at last.

We see our chef - Biggest Loser Asia contestant Carlo Miguel. He is very thin now - too thin for a chef, in my opinion. But he does make good sauces.

8:15pm

Whaaaat?? What do you mean the tasting menu only comes with ONE GLASS of Verve Clicquot??
Anyway, the boyfriend and I talk about our past Valentine's day celebrations. We realize that they all involve food, cheap or fancy.

8:30pm

I take the boyfriend's half-finished glass of Verve Clicquot. He doesn't like it. Neither do I, honestly, but bubbly is bubbly. And this one is overpriced. I better drink every drop.

9:00pm

Dessert is forgettable.

And here we were:

frayed on the sides

2010-02-02T09:48:00.006+08:00

Dear Self,

This is to remind you - when you read this in the future - of the things that happened in January 2010.

1. You started a herb garden on your windowsill. Now you can make fresh mint and tarragon tea. You can't believe how easy it is - you just need scissors + boiling water. MSP eventually killed your old tarragon, saying that its new leaves need to sprout. You are still in shock. If this "new plant" he speaks of does not live, you might break up with him.

2. Your running improved. Now you actually run on real pavement, not just on the treadmill. However, after doing nearly 6kms in the UP Oval wearing your red cotton "Madrid" shirt, you got sick for three days (swollen throat) and had to take antibiotics for a week. Never wear non-wicking shirts when running, EVER AGAIN.

3. You went to many social events where you saw friends, old and new. You did a mental list of (a) friendships you will renew and (b) people you will toss. In one of these events, you saw your "first love" and realized that you never really loved him - that he was merely a fad, like baggy jeans. MSP is the love of your life. He is a trend you will love forever. Even though he killed your tarragon.

4. Business is finally gaining momentum after the long slump. You're still jittery about the future, but who isn't? Happy anniversary to the company you built with MSP. It is now officially 4 years old.

So there - the first month of 2010 was not so boring, after all. Your body is stronger, your is mind clearer, you still have a nice place to come home to, your bank account is on its way to recovery, and you are still madly in love with the guy who killed your tarragon. You have 11 months to go before the next new year, and nine months to go before you TURN 30. You better work smarter. Life is way too short.

dear bestfriend

2009-12-26T14:22:00.011+08:00

Hi Bestfriend,

Thank you for sending me pictures of your Christmas in Canada! The kids are growing up fast! And I love your home - it looks very warm and inviting, to think it's in the city. I can almost smell your gingerbread cake :)

You asked me how Christmas is here in the building. It was - eh - normal. Like a regular day. I already emailed you the pictures of the Christmas tree in the garden and the lobby. That's enough Christmas decorating for me.

Now I want to show you some "new" things in the unit. The last images you saw were probably still from the Apartment Therapy feature, but a lot has changed since. Books have piled up. Mementos from all the traveling are slowly creeping into the space. I shall purge soon, but for now, I thought I would show you the mess.

1. I finally framed the poster that made me change the way I see Manila. I thought it would put the unit into context. The more I travel, the more I appreciate home. The santo is an antique from the family - the one that "escaped" the fire. I think I told you the story. The books are all Lonely Planet "Encounter" guides, which I collect. Kulang pa - hindi pa ako nakakabili for some of the other cities I've visited.

2. Underneath is the mess I haven't sorted out. Old books, my travel bag, magazines I haven't read, a nice bottle of wine waiting to be opened, etc. You can also see the SkyCable Digibox, which is useful for a person who switches channels as much as I do.

3. There's finally a temporary workspace/fold-out desk. It's installed in the formerly useless small foyer. The IKEA thing never came (they ran out of stock) so this was the next best thing. It's functional. Eyelove.

The Gucci chair which I wrote about here is nomadic. It becomes a side table, a chair for watching TV, a working chair, a chair to eat in, etc. It's heavy, so exercise na rin when moving it around.

MSP and I framed all the maps of the cities that were memorable to us - even those we didn't love, pero memorable pa rin. You can see right away that Paris is the messiest!

4. Thank you for the wine cork you gave me last year. I still use it. This wine was gifted to me and of course I couldn't finish it in one sitting. The cork keeps it just a bit fresher.

As you can see, I didn't decorate for Christmas. The building people went overboard decorating the common areas anyway, and walking through them daily is enough for me.

So - I'll talk to you tomorrow. Yahoo or Skype. I hope my camera works.

XOXO,
Mussolini

do you know where your cashmere is?

2009-12-21T15:05:00.008+08:00

With temperatures in Manila going as low as 22 °C at night (almost like Spring in Paris), it's time to turn the air conditioner off.

I love how cold it is. Just last night while walking around Greenbelt 5 after eating at Mr. Jones, I felt the Christmas chill for the first time. I wished I had brought my Stefanel cashmere long cardigan. But alas, it was tucked away in the Hello Lulu travel clothes case my bestfriend gave me last Christmas, together with a more precious Ralph Lauren cashmere sweater I rewarded myself with last year PLUS all the other woolen clothes I only use abroad. Maybe it's time to bring them out.

Anyway, Mr. Jones Greenbelt 5 was a bit disappointing. MSP ordered the Wagyu ribs - they managed to overcook it so much that it didn't taste like Wagyu anymore.

When I am disappointed by food, I find myself going back to a happier time when food was just delicious. Somehow, the disappointing Wagyu led me to think of Le Coude Fou, one of my favorite restaurants in the world. Everyone who knows me knows that I am not a big fan of Paris. However, I would come back if only for Le Coude Fou (There's a video here).

Located in the less pretentious Marais area along rue du Bourg-Tibourg (Paris Métro Hôtel de Ville), this resto serves authentic Parisian food in a laid-back setting devoid of the usual snobbish staff.

One of the waitresses looked a lot like me (she noticed it, too) and the owner/chef was a nice guy. I didn't realize you needed reservations to even get in (as the place gets packed by locals), but luckily, my lookalike waitress was able to sit MSP and me beside a noisy Italian family.

We devoured the (a) foie gras de canard maison et son chutney de poires, (b) tartare de filets de canard mi cuits, and (c) entrecote sauce bordelaise liee au foie gras cru.* Prices were not astronomical - we had three dishes and two glasses of wine for under 50 euros.

*I don't speak decent French, but somehow, I can order from/remember entries on French menus. It's a gift from God.

real friends stab you in the front

2009-12-18T13:55:00.006+08:00

An out-of-the-country trip with friends you've known for 12 years takes you back to when you were 17 and didn't worry about the stock market. You get to be a kid again.

Jumping for Angkor Wat (Cambodia)

Where's our pilot??

Upgraded to business class just because

I wonder where we'll go next year.

merry christmas to me

2009-12-18T11:01:00.004+08:00

I am complete broke from the crazy 10-day Cambodia/Malaysia trip (complete with missed flights, mysteriously disappearing/appearing things, and curry overload).

However, I had to get this chair to replace the old one.

It's much bigger in person. I curl up with a book and sleep on it. I haven't actually done that because I am too busy working, but one of these days, I will. You know. In theory.

bananarama

2009-11-27T09:05:00.007+08:00

According to the body fat calculator, 23% of my body is fat.

That puts me in the "acceptable" range, but NOT in the "ideal" 20-22% range to be considered "fit." Running has not caused me to drop significant weight, sadly. However, I feel healthier. That should be enough.

I'm a BANANA and I just have to accept it. Things could be worse.

To know your own body fat percentage, go here.

*For women between age 20 and 40, 19% to 26% body fat is generally good to excellent. For women age 40+ to 60+, 23% to 30% is considered good to excellent.

For men between age 20 and 40, 10% to 20% body fat is generally good to excellent. For men age 40+ to 60+, 19% to 23% is considered good to excellent.

* * * *

Meanwhile, all I can think about is eating in Cambodia, where I will find myself in about 5 days.

My main goal is to eat deep-friend spiders.

Yum.

what if it all ends?

2009-11-06T10:54:00.007+08:00

I wish I could feel more ready for life, but I don't.

Everyday, changes tip the balance. Interest rates fluctuate. Marriages end. Houses burn down. Everything we could touch, count, smell, feel, and think - it all feels like a bluff, and not a very good one at that.

Today my grandmother (my father's mom) passed away. We were not close or anything. I only knew her superficially. Many of my relatives described her as a manipulative person, trying to control the family with her wealth. To me, she just seemed uncompromising. Her biggest flaw seemed to be her blind love for her eldest son, my uncle, to whom she gave her all money only to see it burn to the ground. It's a classic story of fortunes made and lost. This is just my point of view. I don't know all the details, and frankly, I don't want to.

I wonder when I'll die, and how.

It's impossible to prepare for life. All we could do is minimize the risk - and that's why people insure their valuables, save for the future, and follow other formulas created by self-proclaimed gurus of all kinds. But sometimes, all this "preparation" gets in the way of living, don't you agree?

* * * *

P.S. Just read an article about the ruins of another life change many people go through: divorce. Here's a look at a gorgeous house post separation. In my opinion, banks should only grant mortgages based on individual income, never on joint income. After all, 50% of marriages fail.

missing barcelona / i can almost smell cambodia

2009-11-04T15:53:00.007+08:00

Reading The New York Times over cinnamon bread and tea, I saw this article on the Eixample district in Barcelona, which I now proclaim our home whenever we are in Catalunya.

This lovely little space I speak of is along Calle Roger de Lluria (in the same hotel-apartment that was home to Hitler), within walking distance of the city's major spots but still far enough from the constant party that is La Rambla.

Eixample is an almost magical place - just as clean as Gran Via where we stayed in Madrid, but less hurried and more sincere. I remember walking past quaint shoe shops, antique depots, and beautiful drugstores (really). The architecture was quiet but dignified - just as Idelfons Cerdà i Sunyer planned for this extension of the city.

(View from our balcony)

Due to time constraints, we didn't get to explore our neighborhood as much as we should have. I regret not having discovered the hidden gardens mentioned in the article:

"Hidden from view, however, behind the Eixample’s grand facades, is a little-advertised patchwork of public gardens and courtyards that offers refuge from the urban rush and an intimate view of everyday Barcelona life.

The patios are like a window onto Barcelona,” said Francesc Muñoz Ramírez, a professor of urban geography at the Barcelona Autonomous University, during a recent afternoon stroll through the Eixample. “You can be an urban voyeur — watch the business of the city from the inside.”

* * * *

Eixample was not always the beautiful slice of city that it is now.

"Back then, Barcelona was a teeming, disease-ridden warren of streets, clustered around the port and hemmed in by medieval walls beyond which lay the wide expanse that became the Eixample. Life for the working class was grim and short; the average person died before his or her 36th birthday.

When he submitted his plan in 1859, the city Cerdà had in mind was to be functional rather than flamboyant, a breed of socialist utopia where rich and poor would live side-by-side in city blocks of identical size wrapped around parks and kitchen gardens."

Why can't we do the same here in the Philippines?

There's a serious lack of urban planning where we are. It makes no sense.

Ever notice how the supposedly "real estate" stories in magazines and newspapers are nothing but sales pitches of new condominiums?

We need a more intelligent look at how we are planning the cities. There's gentrification all around, and developers are burning down forests to build ugly subdivisions, but no one seems to notice.

* * * *

I hope to have the luxury of lingering the next time we are in Eixample. Meanwhile it's work work work time. With no real trust fund except the one I'm trying to build myself, it would be hard to go traipsing around Catalunya without going broke.

****

Meanwhile, my college friends and I are leaving for Siem Reap, Cambodia (with a short stop in Kuala Lumpur) in exactly 28 days.

Those who know me know I pack early. My trusty travel bag is at the foot of my bed once again, ready to catch whatever I throw into it. Every time my freshly laundered clothes arrive, I look for pieces of clothing that seem appropriate for the Cambodian climate, and I throw them in there. So far I have managed to pack the following:

- 8 nondescript around-town shirts made of light, 100% cotton (all with sleeves, for temples)
- 2 light long pants (for temples)
- 1 pair of short pants
- 3 thin hand towels (in case the guesthouse doesn't provide towels)
- 2 big sleeping shirts
- 1 pajama
- sunblock
- the usual medicines for emergencies
- passport
- tickets (mine and Julie's)
- travel insurance

Obviously, Cambodia is not the place for a classic Chanel or au courant Prada. Everything I packed is light and cheap.

I hope I don't forget my:

- sunglasses (an old Gucci with missing nosepads)
- toothbrush
- laptop and phone
- chargers

Packing is part of the whole travel experience. It's exciting.

so i'm older

2009-10-27T14:00:00.005+08:00

Today is my birthday. I share it with several geniuses, serial killers, and Kelly Osbourne.

Last year, I spent my 28th birthday flying over international waters, on a plane from Hanoi to Singapore. No cake - just food off the Vietnam Airlines menu.

It was a memorable birthday, as I got to spend it in two countries.

This year will be different - I am being whisked off to a wine tasting and degustation dinner in a local fine dining restaurant. I can't decide which black dress to wear. Should I bust out the Chanel or use a low-key Kenneth Cole that's a little too big? What about shoes? Balenciaga heels or low-key flats?

I think I'll go restrained. After all, the dresses are both black. Who the hell will notice?

I don't even know why I have fancy things. I never wear them.

everything is the same, pretty much

2009-10-13T17:05:00.008+08:00

During my usual weekly visit to The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf a few days back, I came across a local magazine called "High Life" (published by Business World). I make it a point to read all the new magazines a coffee shop has to offer so I don't have to buy new magazines. Also, I'm paying them good money for the Matcha Green Tea. They better have free reading materials.

In one of the articles, "High Life" claims that the luxury market in the Philippines is growing, explaining why despite the obvious poverty all around (nevermind the recession), the Makati shop floors still have the usual Louis Vuitton, Prada, Bottega Veneta, Gucci, Tod's, etc. - and why Hermes is opening in Greenbelt 4 soon.

The article goes on to claim that Filipinos who have traveled abroad and have been exposed to a lot of luxurious experiences/choices want to recreate the same shopping experience here.

All I can say is...

Bah, humbug!

Traveling has the opposite effect on me.

Instead of making me crave more luxury, it just makes me realize that luxury is NOT really exclusive. I no longer want a new bag or a tweed jacket. I have enough - adding to it would be just so parvenu.

(Perhaps I have "luxury fatigue." Champs-Elysees gives me a migraine. Don't even get me started on all the luxe shops in Nice Ville and Cannes, where Chanel seems to be in every corner. This accessibility cheapens luxury.)

(Also, don't believe those who RAVE about things they see abroad; they probably have colonial mentality coupled with bad taste. In my experience, people who get starstruck by other countries are just unhappy with their lives here. Perhaps they do not surround themselves with quality things, so when they see just a teeny weeny bit of luxe, they are agog.)

Travel doesn't stir discontent in me; I certainly don't look for the same "luxury experience" that well-traveled people look for, at least according to Business World. If anything, travel makes me appreciate what I already have - and what we (as Pinoys) already have.

It's not so bad here, TRUST ME. Metro systems, housing, shopping - we have it all, and in many respects, we have it better.

So the next time you hate your life and wish you were in Paris, London, New York or some other romanticized city pretending to be "first-world" like Hong Kong, look at these pictures:

One of the many homeless people in London

Slums of Paris

Real-life housing in "first-world" Hong Kong

Dirty streets of New York

See? Everything is the same, pretty much.

:)

wiser

2009-10-11T11:04:00.007+08:00

In a few days, I am turning 29. I am fast becoming ancient. This "growing old" business is a dirty job, but we all have to do it.

It sneaks up on you, these birthdays. You drown yourself in work and coffee and before you know it, you have inexorably slipped away from what "the kids" do these days. Worse (or luckily, I can't decide), you don't even care. You just accept the fact that you don't know what the hell is on MTV, that staying in is better than a long night out, and that you can no longer eat a whole bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken by yourself, even if you tried.

In a way, this is all fantastic. I sort of feel like my apprenticeship on life is finally over, and now, I am in a "managerial" level where I can actually LIVE. My life is finally mine. I am free from parental control. I live on my own. I have some money for small luxuries. I have the trappings of adulthood (including a proper French press), but more importantly, I no longer feel the pressure to prove anything to anyone. Hey, I'm almost 29. This IS me.

To be able to minimize the hiccups of this newfangled life stage, I should be able to achieve a state of recklessness tempered by practicality. I want to live in the moment without throwing away my future. It's going to be hard. Some ideas:

1. Save money. My twenties have been all about spending. This has to end. Anyway, my closet is full of Prada now, and I have eaten in thousands of fancy restaurants here and abroad (frankly, expensive food is starting to taste the same). I need a budget and I need to stick to it. Passive income streams need to be built, as I don't intend to work forever.

2. Live healthier. Wealth is nothing without health, really. That's why I have started moderate running two to three times a week, but I intend to become more active. I am seriously considering taking up Chi Running and joining a marathon. As for diet - I don't do diets. This is why I'm not as thin as I used to be, which isn't necessarily bad (I feel healthier, anyway). I am beginning to eat more sensibly now, but who can say no to sweets and the occasional bad carbohydrates?

3. Disassociate with negativity. I must develop a new method of dealing with people who just zap energy -- dysfunctional family members, friends who always seem problematic, clients who nitpick, etc. There's no way of completely cutting them off, so I should just change my approach so that they don't get to me. I must master the skill of saying NO, especially if saying it equals self-preservation.

4. Build a light lifestyle conducive to travel. The world is a book, and those who do not travel only read a page. Well, I intend to read the whole book until it's beat up. I will doggy-ear pages I like so I can go back to them. I'll even subscribe to updates. To enjoy this freedom of just going whenever, my life's essentials must fit into a carry-on bag. It's the only way to live.

5. Take care of good relationships. I haven't been very lucky with family, but I am blessed in the coupling up department. I have MSP. He does not only help me carry life's occasional excess baggage but has actually bought into this light lifestyle of "no mortgage, no kids, no hangups." We are working our asses off to make our business even more mobile, so we can make money anywhere we are. That is a ultimate dream, and we're getting there slowly but surely (his words, not mine / if it were up to me, everything would be fast, fast, fast.)

Friends - I have a few good ones, and I intend to keep them. Old friends I haven't seen for years are suddenly here again -- people from high school, from my old job, etc - and it's like we never parted ways. I still have my constant college friends, and I have a feeling they will always be there. Our friendship has surpassed the deciding point when you all either (a) lose contact or (b) consciously decide to pester each other for life. We've chosen (b), obviously. And of course, I still have my bestfriend of two decades, who now lives in Canada. We still talk almost everyday, thanks to technology. The world is so small and I just know I'll be able to visit her regularly.

* * * *

MSP is asking me what I want for my birthday. I said, "NOTHING." It's the first time I haven't wanted anything. Why? I have four reasons: (a) I'm still not over the Tiffany treasure he gave me, (b) the shop floors are so boring these days that nothing catches my fancy, (c) I'm much older now so I value experiences more than things, (d) I am realizing that if we get married, his money will become my money, too, so I would prefer that he save as much as he can.

However, I think I'll buy myself a small gift. I haven't decided. If nothing amuses me, I'll just save the money for the upcoming trip to Malaysia and Cambodia. I already have the book. I can't wait :)

life in a travel bag

2009-10-05T15:46:00.005+08:00

The recent Ketsana tragedy really drives home one important lesson: That everything is temporary. Believing in absolute security will only break your heart, if not kill you.

Perhaps the most emotionally wrecked people post-tragedy are those with strong attachment to things – to their homes, to their furniture, to old photographs. These are people who have defined themselves by the things they have.

I used to be like that, but now I know better.

Everyday, people's lives are turned upside down by unexpected tragedies, illnesses and other serious circumstances beyond control. It takes experience to understand the effects of such situations; there’s no way of comprehending the reality of sudden life changes until they actually happen to you.

I certainly don't pretend to be a guru of these things, but I have learned some lessons along the way, and one of them is this:

Security is a sham. The capitalist notions of collateral and planning never work out, no matter how disciplined you are. Everything that can go wrong will go wrong.

So how can you cope? Keep things simple. By simplifying, you cut your potential losses should your house be ravaged by fire, earthquake, flooding, or any other situation that causes you to lose it.

Best of all, a simpler life is easier to rebuild.

Read if you want to start:

30 Ways to Make Your Life Simple

****

Achieving lightness and simplicity is an ongoing struggle. It really is. There are days when I wake up just WANTING to BUY MAJOR THINGS for no particular reason. I want to buy another property. I want another car. I want a bigger office. Now.

Sigh.

I am still learning to restrain myself - to breathe and really think before I leap. I ask: Will this thing /idea just weigh me down and make it harder to start over should circumstances force me to shift gears?

If it will, then I dismiss it.

However, I still spend serious money on foreign travel. Even though I am now stuff-averse, I still purchase experiences, which often cost more than physical possessions.

Does this make me a materialist?

no right to complain

2009-09-26T21:32:00.010+08:00

It has been flooding in Metro Manila. Some houses have been completely submerged. This time it's not just in the poorer areas. Even the fancier houses in the chi-chi parts are mostly knee-deep in floodwater - Valle Verde, high-end condominiums in Makati and The Fort, etc. Katipunan and the Xavierville areas, which rarely get flooded, are soaked. Watch video here.

Kakatakot. Disaster doesn't discriminate.

Greenhills

Ayala Ave., Makati

Katipunan (Rustan's area)

****

MSP is here. His garage is also flooded. His family is safe, as they have three floors plus an attic. Still.

His decision to stay over was spot on; had he gone home, his car would be swimming right now.

Thank God it's nice and dry here in the bunker.* No flood outside - not even an inch.

*Us having a "hell or high water" pied-a-terre in this area was never "plan A." But this half-hearted investment is now proving to be a good decision. This area somehow seems less prone to the inconveniences - it never floods, there's rarely heavy traffic, it's far enough from coup de etats and rallies, etc. It's a good bunker indeed :)

****

Before watching the depressing news, I entertained myself and watched Vogue's THE SEPTEMBER ISSUE.

(Anna Wintour was fabulous, but I liked Grace Coddington more. Such genius.)

****

The rain has subsided, thank God. MSP is watching HBO. Dinner was nice.

But there's more depressing news. People are dying. Hundreds need to be evacuated.

****

I can't believe our luck - that we are here, safe and dry and enjoying the conveniences.

Maybe it's foreplanning, or maybe it's good fortune.

Either way, I've never been so grateful to be here.

I'm just so thankful. SO THANKFUL. But at the same time, I feel a bit guilty. Here we are - OBLIVIOUS - enjoying cable TV, internet access, a chocolate cake, and a nice warm bed while most of Metro Manila is submerged in flood waters. I feel like we should be more proactive, but how?

****

EDITS

I just found out that it's very easy to help our through the RED CROSS.

There are several options:

1. VIA SMS text REDAMOUNT to 2899 (Globe) or 4483 (Smart)
2. VIA BANK DEPOSIT - details here

design porn

2009-09-15T14:59:00.006+08:00

In my opinion, only a few architects and designers are worth following, and they are usually less-known, silent forces that truly change the way we live. These people are not "brands" stamped on developments (like Philippe Starck usually is), but they are popular in their own niches and are preferred by clients with confidence in their own sense of practical aesthetics.

One of them is Page Goolrick - an award-winning arhictect, interior, and product designer.

Ms. Goolrick and I will be very good friends if we ever met. I love her taste. In fact, her "urban vessel" looks like a fancier version of "our bunker." The white walls, the glass partitions, the practical parquetry (although mine are ceramic tiles as I live in the tropics), the stainless mini kitchen, even the the sofa -- the resemblance is uncanny. I have been a fan of her previous works but NEVER daw her own place until now.

Goolrick's pied-à-terre functions much like the interior of a small yacht: efficient, adaptable, highly functional, and glossily good-looking. With a place for every little thing, and lacking fatuous details, she has created a decadent minimalism on a budget of only $70,000.

"You want to use every inch in this city," Goolrick says. "Every half-inch amounts to something, but it's not necessary to have a lot of square footage to live well."

Similar sofa, bed, sliding glass walls.

Similar layout -- bedroom separated from kitchen with moving glass walls.

Sources:

The article is here.

The slide show is here.

Her apartment is here.

* * * *

Surfing for home porn (and blogging about it!) is such a waste of time. But my friend Barry advised me to WRITE ideas (nonsensical, like this) just so the brain could process it and move on. So here. Now, back to work.

gratitude

2009-09-13T11:09:00.001+08:00

There's nothing like a quiet Sunday with leftover truffle carbonara and chilled, grocery-bought wine. This STAY-CATION is so cheap, it's chic.

In the last few weeks, my weekends have been hectic. (1) People came over. (2) I had to go to parties or run errands. (3) Work needed to get done.

But today, I have nothing much to do except ENJOY the environment I've created. My old friends from high school call it a hotel (with no room service). To me, it's just a very cushy bunker - a pied-a-terre that holds my things until I go away to my next trip :)

social studies

2009-09-07T15:31:00.002+08:00

A few months ago, I noticed that my social circle needed diversification. I seem to be friends only with people of my level of intelligence, which is above-average. I mean:

a. My closest barkadas are people I went to UP with;
b. My best friend is a cum laude of Ateneo;
c. My former colleagues from the government - who I still see regularly - are all from the best schools, too; and
d. The high school friends I bother to still hangout with are all successful professionals making good money.

Obviously, I needed to expand my horizons and meet people I would never even talk to during my snobbier days. You know the type – people who are not really jologs, but are not quite...shall we say, “at par.” These are people who have good jobs and pay their mortgage and do things similar to things “we” do, except without the delicate balance of panache and Marxism. Perhaps they studied in diploma mills, still have non-management jobs at 30, and seem to relish in their average-ness. Those people.

Of course, these things never work out.

We have nothing in common. Conversations are dull. I just nod politely and try to SIMPLIFY my ideas for their digestion. I find myself PRETENDING TO BE AVERAGE just to level with them. They can't relate to the concepts of “world travel” or “Philippe Starck.” And when they ask me about my interests and I say I like the “coffee in Hanoi” and “the original 1920's Barcelona chair I saw in Spain,” they look at me as though I am making it up – as though no one can really have THAT kind of taste.

Exhausting!

The (sad) thing is, despite our VERY obvious differences, they still want to be my friend. Some of these people are actually incorporated BY DEFAULT into my life (no thanks to the six degrees of separation). Some are my cousins. Some are MSP's relatives. Some are friends of friends.

How do I say this without hurting their feelings?

You don't travel and have bad taste, so I can't be your friend.

That's my new rule now. I am getting too old too fast to waste time talking to people without any sophistication. So please, go away.

not your usual travel journal - PART 6

2009-08-26T11:09:00.009+08:00

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

* * * *
June 2, 2009 "Madrid and Salamanca in Pictures"

A major financial hub of the Iberian Peninsula, Madrid is like New York - complete with the overpopulation (it's the third most populated in the EU), the restaurants that never close, the ethnic diversity, and the gentrification. Of all the first-world cities I have visited, I am most likely to survive here. The pace of this urban jungle is very me -- very fast and very impatient. Everything is within walking distance or just one Euro away (the metro is cheaper here than in Paris). The language is very similar to Filipino, and even if you didn't take Espanol 1 in the University of the Philippines seriously, you will still be able to get directions and order food....or at least yell, "Ayudame!!!"

While it is not as artsy-fartsy as Barcelona, Madrid enjoys close proximity to the Salamanca area, where you will find Avila and Segovia. Having studied in an exclusive all-girls high school whose patron saint hailed from Avila, the day trip was quite meaningful to me.

I'm too lazy to narrate everything that transpired in the week that we were there, so I'll just post photos and short captions.

This is the view from our room at night. We stayed in the mid-priced Hotel Regente, which is strategically located along the upscale Gran Via, giving us the best of high-and-low/luxurious-and-affordable experience. Right across is a ZARA store, which is apparently very cheap in Spain. I don't shop in Zara, which I consider to be a "middle" brand. I like things either very cheap or very expensive. Prada or Greenhills tiangge. You know what I mean.

The very next day we found ourselves in Salamanca, which is about an hour and half from Madrid. This is the Segovia Cathedral.

Another well-preserved chapel in Segovia.

The Segovia Aqueduct.

Within the walls. We had lunch with the Dutch lady on the right (in orange). She speaks very good English and is very well educated. She knows so much about the Philippines. She is also apparently very cultured. She says she owns a house in Malaga (Spain). EU citizens can buy property freely. We also had lunch with an Australian nurse, who said that this trip to Spain was her great escape. We later ran into her near a museum in Madrid. She was always a bit drunk and a lot of fun :)

This is a real castle. It served as an inspiration for many Disney recreations.

The walled city.

I couldn't take a lot of pictures inside St. Theresa's chapel, but I managed to sneak in a few.

I love these balconies. So simple and honest.

Quaint little souvenir shop in Avila.

* * * *

Back in Madrid, we did a lot of walking, eating, sitting around in parks, museum visits, and basically just soaking in the vibrant city rhythm.

This is the cafe where I started this journal. I sat here on our last full day in Madrid, while MSP roamed the streets figuring out how else we can maximize our stay. We later decided to try our luck in buying tickets to the bull fight.

We frequented TAPAS bars around the city. Beer + tapas = heaven. And it's a cheap way to eat, too.

The market is VERY CLEAN, like the rest of the city.

Locals love to eat outside.

More locals, just being themselves. Madrid is very unpretentious. It really IS clean. Even the non-touristy places are extremely well-kept.

In the afternoons, we stop for churros con chocolate - the REAL thing. Suddenly, Dome's churros taste... substandard.

We had to buy bull fight tickets semi-illegally :) We overpaid by 16 euros each, but got relatively good seats, considering how jampacked the stadium was. We were seated in the shaded side. No need for a hat.

The stadium from the back row. This was an hour before the bull fight. The place was just starting to fill up. By the time the show started, you could hardly move. People were sitting on my feet (for real).

A beautiful nightmare.

lemonade - the movie

2009-08-13T09:28:00.002+08:00

What happens when recession forces creative people out of their jobs? How creative can they get in their own lives?

Watch this trailer:

b/millionaires who don't look the part

2009-08-09T21:35:00.004+08:00

"Mark Zuckerberg's appearance is every bit the geek. He wears a zippered brown sweatshirt, baggy khakis pants and Adidas sandals. He walked into the room eating a bowl of cereal from a paper bowl with a plastic spoon. He still resides in a rented apartment, with a two chairs, a table and a mattress on the floor. Mark walks or rides a bicycle to the office every day." Source

Mark is the founder of Facebook, and though there is still controversy on whether he really is a billionaire (at least on paper) or not, there's no doubt that he is rich (even if reports state that Facebook has not met revenue targets and that Mark really owns only 30% of the company now).

And yet, he is so simple - almost a geek-hippie. Incredible.

READ:
Mark Zuckerberg Lives Like a Hobo

OR IF YOU'RE LAZY, THEN JUST WATCH THIS:
Zuckerberg on 60 Minutes

welcome to plan B

2009-08-05T12:17:00.010+08:00

EDIT:

My condominium unit was featured on the popular decorating website, Apartment Therapy!

Yey!

* * * *

Have you ever met people who dislike traveling and cannot seem to go out on a whim because they are worried about who will look after their house? I have. And I NEVER, EVER want to be like them.

So, this is how I live - in a spartan, 322-sqft, no-fuss, low-maintenance, lock-and-leave condominium unit with white walls, exposed beams, and a 12-foot -high ceiling. Welcome to the bunker.

Now that the glass dividers are finally up, it's less chaotic when MSP, whose official title is "Episodic Overnight Guest and Eater of The Cereals," stays over. And when I am alone, I can section off the bedroom, crank up the air conditioner, and freeze at 16 degrees celcius in a matter of minutes.

Living gracefully in a small space can be challenging, but I try. Luxe linens and good coffee makes it much easier.

Now that I'm older, I realize that big homes aren't for me. Paring life down to the essentials results to a certain freedom unavailable to a person who lives in a bigger house but is saddled with more stuff to maintain, more corners to clean, and a bigger mortgage to pay. By living in a condo, I get access to the luxuries of a huge house - like a pool, a gym, and a garden - without the stress of maintaining them.

In this bunker, I worry less, and I live better. I am also forced to go out, jog, get a tan, read in the garden, and even stare at the pool (as I can't swim). And during rainy holidays like today, I can retreat to my books, to the internet, to my fluffy bed, or to the trashy reality shows that I so love. I can enjoy the visual silence of my white walls.

Living here also makes economic sense. It's a home that is conducive to building wealth. It also enables financing of the one luxury I cannot give up - travel. It frees up money that would otherwise go to mortgage fees, maintenance, and real estate taxes. And because this bunker is low-maintenance, it does not eat up energy that could otherwise be spent on more important things.

So, this is how I choose live. Some people call it "bare," but I call it "light."

Like any other place, this is a temporary home. But if I have to live here for a few more years - even if MSP becomes a mainstay - it should be enough.

(Until I get bored, which happens quite often.)

i know i shouldn't have.....

2009-08-04T08:26:00.005+08:00

....but it's 100% cashmere, and it was on sale (practially given away). I'm allowed some indulgences.

Okay. Back to simple living.

not your usual travel journal - PART 5

2009-07-25T15:44:00.012+08:00

Me, walking in Barcelona

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

* * * *

May 29, 2009

"Flavors of Catalonia"

IT'S OFFICIAL: Barcelona is my second favorite city. (My first is still Hanoi.)

This I decided when I tasted the wonderful tapas of the Txakolin (C/Marques de l'Argentera 19), a bar which served unpretentious Basque-style tapa selections like cured ham, crab salad and everything in between (baby eel included). Of course, there were anxoves (anchovies), escopinyes (cockles), bunyols de bacalla (salt cod fritters), calamars a la romana, panadons d'espinacs, pernil (seasoned pork), pescaditos, popets (baby octopus), and many more.

**CLICK PICTURES TO APPRECIATE**

Because I was sitting amongst the real locals, served by a friendly waiter named Pablo, and holding hands with MSP the love of my life, everything imperfect about the old tapas bar seemed just right -- the cheap homegrown wine that went perfectly with everything we put in our mouths, the odd way we had to save the used sticks in a small shot glass (to be counted later for la cuenta or the bill), and the constant laughter of half-drunk Catalonians who hang out here after a day at work.

"Importante!" said the other old waiter who spoke no English, pointing to a piece of bread I didn't eat. It was essential to the tapa experience, he seemed to motion. This bully of an old man was both scary and endearing, and I quickly stuffed the toasted pa amb tomaquet in my mouth. Two hours and some 30 euros later, MSP and I were drunk. We walked back to our hotel, helplessly inebriated and feeling really, totally free.

"We're drunk in Barcelona!"

* * * *

A night of tapas and wine was the perfect cap to a whole day of sightseeing, which wasn't hard to do in a beautiful city like Barcelona. Everywhere we went, there was art.

To maximize the day, we took the Bus Turistic (21 euros per adult), which enabled us to see the whole city from a top deck in about an hour or so. Once we decided which stops were worth checking out, the real fun began.

The first stop was naturally in the Eixample district, near our hotel. CASA BATLO was one of Gaudi's most popular structures. The beautiful facade (the curved iron balconies and those fantastic chimneys!) was unlike anything; it looked like a dragon, as it was meant to commemorate St. George's dragon-killing spree.

Casa Mila as seen from the top deck of Bus Turistic

Everyone who knows me know that I am a minimalist in favor of "visual silence." Gaudi???? I was ready to get appalled. But surprisingly, there is nothing "gaudy" about Gaudi's works. In pictures they look overdone and tacky, but in person, they are actually meticulous and tastefully executed. Even MSP (who is apathetic when it comes to architecture) was floored. As true converts to Catalan Modernisme, he and I braved the lines to Gaudi's most prominent work, the Sagrada Familia.

Gaudi devoted what was left of his life to this magnificent structure, which gives me goosebumps. After he had put all of his money into trying (and failing) to finish it, he went from house to house begging for more. Twelve years later and it still wasn't done.

It was during construction in 1926 when Gaudi was killed by a tram. Some people say that he was run over because he suddenly stepped back, admiring his work.

* * * *

In Motjuic, we stopped by Fundacio Joan Miro, where we got lost for hours just looking at his Surrealistic style. Every painting had vivid colors and fantastical form. The museum has a restaurant, where we enjoyed modern Italian-style comfort food. I came home with a Miro print for my bestfriend's aunt, a former United Nations employee who lent us maps and materials for this European adventure. We also got a windup Pintacuda :)

Barcelona is a compact city, making it great for walking. We particularly enjoyed Les Rambles (or La Rambla), the historic avenue leading to the sea. It was a nice respite from the tiring shopping MSP did in an airsoft shop (airsoft in Barcelona?? Who knew right???).

MSP figuring out if the fountains are just for dogs. It turns out, they are for humans, too.

La Rambla was the heart of the city. There were entertainers, flower stalls, vendors selling caged birds, and news-slash-souvenir stands along the tree-shaded central walkway.

A performer in La Rambla

Another performer

We passed Mercat de San Josep (La Boqueria) - a nice, clean marketplace selling fresh fruits, meats, fish, and everything you'll ever need to feed yourself. There was also the Gran Teatre de Liceu, which is Barcelona's opera house. When it started to get dark (which is around 10pm in Spain), we decided to treat ourselves to a more proper dinner in a restaurant serving perfect paella.

Our Barcelona schedule was jampacked but pleasant. Of course we also passed by Placa d'Espanya, the Estadi Olimpic, Barceloneta, Port Olimpic, Monument a Colom, Futbol Club, Parc Guell, etc., but we didn't linger and instead chose to spend more time in the places we had real interest in. It would have been nice to go on daytrips to Catalonia (Montblanc, Girona, etc.) but we didn't have time, and we had to stretch funds for three more cities - Madrid, Avila, and Segovia.

That would be PART 6 - the last leg of our GREAT EUROPEAN ADVENTURE. I will be all about:

a. castles
b. flamenco
c. churros
d. and of course...BULL FIGHTING!

not your usual travel journal - PART 4

2009-06-27T15:24:00.021+08:00

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

* * * *

May 28, 2009

"The very long road to Barcelona"

I don't trust the French transport system.

We have been sitting in our first class Eurail coach for almost 4 hours now, and the train stops several miles from Montpellier, where we are supposed to take a connecting train to Barcelona. Someone jumped on the tracks to end his life. The police made all French Eurail trains stop as they investigate. God knows how long this will take. We have a train to Barcelona to catch, and if this takes longer than 30 minutes, we're going to be left behind.

In a French town we know nothing about.

With no hotel.

This is not good.

* * * *

It has been 40 minutes. We are still in the train, in the middle of farmland.

I consoled myself with some hot chocolate and Vittel mineral water.

A young French guy with a Macbook and a yellow unicycle (really) is translating for us. He says that Eurail management may arrange either a hotel for stranded passengers, or at the very least another train.

I decide to panic.

* * * *

(Two hours hour later....)

We are sitting on our bags in the tiny Montpellier station, and the Spanish train has left. It is unclear how we will get to Barcelona now. The station smells awful. Too many people are breathing.

At least we are not alone. We are in the company of our new multinational friends - travellers who, like us, are trapped by the inefficiency of the joke that is the French train system, and are also going to Barcelona. There's:

(a) an affluent, semi-retired Australian couple
(b) an Australian tax collector
(c) two backpacking Malaysians, and
(d) a young Dutch woman.

Each of them has a story.

The Aussie couple just sent their kids off to college, and are now doing what empty nesters do - they travel. A week before visiting France, they spent time in Italy, which they described as "a place you should never visit without an interpreter." They are not new to the inefficiency of the French train system; apparently all their Eurail trips since the start of their vacation have been delayed for some reason or another.

The two backpacking Malaysians (both girls) are younger than us - just fresh out of college. They have been backpacking around the EU for a month now, after a short stay in Turkey. Like me, they think that Paris is overrated. They are so happy to find out that I am Asian, and want to team up with MSP and me in figuring out how to get out of France. They have no faith in the intelligence of other genetic stocks, and would prefer that we Asians stick together and leave the others behind. Yes, they are somewhat racist, but also very smart. A Malay racist is always more interesting than a Caucasian racist, don't you think? :)

Meanwhile there's the Australian tax collector, who is also a mom to two boys. This is her "great adventure." She says that this trip is part of her prenup - that is, she and her husband agreed to let each other take some time off (alone, away from each other and from the kids) whenever they want. She has always travelled as a single woman, she says, and cannot survive without taking off every few years. I like her. She's cool.

Finally there's the Dutch girl, who is a student and a part-time waitress. She says she had to negotiate with her boss and other colleagues to get a week off, and is very excited to see Barcelona. Lotsa cute guys, she says. (She was right). This delay is eating up her very short vacation. She wants to cry.

And then there's us. Two Filipinos stranded in a train station in Montpellier, France. We own a small company, and this is our first time in Europe. We have been dating for eight years. We had to apply for a visa to get here - a process that took more than a month. The EU wanted to know everything - how much we were worth, what kind of people we were, what we usually have for lunch. With the money we spent to be here, we could buy a suburban house in the Philippines. This delay pisses us off, of course, but isn't this what travelling is about? New people, new experiences, same old baguette?

The next train to Barcelona will be tomorrow. NO, there are no free hotel rooms. NO, there are no "special" trains. We'll have to sleep in this dingy station.

At this point we decide to take the Malaysians up on their offer.

* * * *

We figure out that there is a bus to Barcelona. No one tells us this crucial information, as no one in the train station speaks English. We learn about it by brute force and a lot of hand gestures.

Here's the plan: We just need to take another train to another French town nearer the Spanish border, and there should be a bus to Barcelona from there.

Off we go. (We take everyone with us, even when the Malaysians wanted to leave them behind.)

* * * *

On the connecting train, we meet an elderly French woman who refuses to talk to us when she finds out we are from the Philippines. "Cultures très différentes," she says while signaling "NO" with her hand.

That's okay, old lady. We have nothing to say to you, either.

P.S. I also find elderly racists interesting, like Malay racists.

* * * *

It is almost 10pm and we are in a bus to Barcelona. Like everything French, this vehicle is anything but first-world. The buses in Manila are much better. This one is cramped and smells like moist socks.

I want to sleep, but the people behind me are talking too loud. A passionate Barcelonan is trying (and failing) to befriend a Japanese couple. A Nigerian is talking about how hard it is to find work in this continent. I can hear an American complaining. It's a f*cking circus.

* * * *
May 29, 2009

2:30am

MSP wakes me up. I fell asleep on his arm.

We're in Barcelona. My last memory was crossing the Spanish border. I must have dozed off right after.

* * * *

We walk from Estacio de Sants (Barcelona's central station) to wherever the crowd was going. The metro was closed, and we have to take a cab. The Australian tax collector agreed to share one with us, as our hotels were close by.

The wind is cold (it IS almost 3am, after all) and I feel the chill. I put on my red bonnet, and people look at me like I'm weird.

Now I understand the signs - even if they were Catalan. This country made more sense to me.

"¿Es esta la estación de taxis?" I find myself saying to a woman wearing the Barcelona futbol jersey. They just won an important match yesterday, and people here are still festive.

"Si, aqui," she replies. Oh my god I can live here.

* * * *

The cab driver is very polite. I already love Spain. Everyone is so nice, just like Pinoys.

We are not in France anymore :) Amen.

We expected another dimly lit, three-star hotel and completely forgot that we booked ourselves to a more posh establishment - the Ritz Barcelona. When I saw it, I wanted to cry. It was beautiful - certainly many many stars away from the dump we called "hotel" in Provence.

Our neoclassical-style hotel was built in 1899 was recently renovated. Hitler used to stay here a lot. It is right in the heart of the Eixample district, surrounded prestigious shopping and tourist areas. We can be in the avenue Passeig de Gràcia, the Plaça Catalunya, or the Las Ramblas in just a few minutes by foot.

While MSP and I resolved not to be picky during this trip, we appreciated all the luxury. After all, we just went through the hell that is the French train system.

The bathroom is nice and big. They gave us several bottles of shampoo and several bars of soap - unlike in France, where people never seem to shower. There is a huge flatscreen TV, free internet, and a 1000-count sheets. It reminds me so much of the condo back at home.

Viva Espana.

* * * *

Tomorrow we walk around Barcelona, taste the legendary TAPAS, and visit everything Gaudi ever made.

Good night!!!

not your usual travel journal - PART 3

2009-06-27T15:05:00.010+08:00

CLICK ALL PICTURES TO APPRECIATE

Part 1

Part 2

The Musee Rodin

The next three days in Paris was a dizzying succession of museums after restaurants after obscure street names. We were thrown in what seemed like a nonspatial confusion of buses that didn't arrive on time and signs that didn't make sense. Within 48 hours, though, we got the hang of it. Finding places became much easier. We endured queues to practically every touristy spot you can think of. We also got lost in the city's many narrow streets in search of Paris' "best baguette," and found ourselves lingering over hot chocolate in Le Cafe Pure. One afternoon, we somehow managed to get lost in the middle of the immigrant district, which resembled the local Divisoria.

"Best Baguette in Paris" Awardee

I didn't have time to write about everything, and the pictures - well, those I would really like to keep private, for MSP and I to enjoy. They remind us of chaos dotted by calm walks along the Seine river at 10pm - an experience that's only ours. No matter how disappointing the city, we would always have Paris :) The next entries were written using this Asus EEE laptop (which is my travel laptop) usually as they happen, or a few hours after.

* * * *

May 25, 2009

“On the way to Nice, Canne, and Monaco”

4:00 pm

I'm on a train to Nice from Paris. It will be a six-hour ride. Jonas is sleeping, as always. I thought the train would be romantic, but it's not. The coffee cart is closed. People aren't that beautiful. Balding men, crying babies. I'm so bored.

The Gare Lyon station, where we took our train from Paris to Nice

Paris was underwhelming. It felt a bit contrived, like sentences rewritten to sound better. Champs-Elysees was polished to perfection, but the rest of the city was swarmed with underpaid immigrants / vandalized walls / dingy subways. The native French and the unwelcome colored people walk around each other, never quite meeting. I don't have to understand French to know they despise each other.

It is a city of tourists; it is for people who want romance so bad, they can find it in this dirty city. If you are pragmatic, then nothing of Paris is charming. The Notre Dame, the Eiffel – every supposedly historical site has been turned into an amusement park ride, with mile-long queues and 8-euro entrance fees to complete the experience. France's national income must be 80% from gullible tourists, 18% from Louis Vuitton, and 2% from truffles.

We paid P500,000 to see this part of the world. So far, only the museums have been worth the trip. This is turning out to be a bad investment.

* * * *

View from the bullet train / French countryside

We're exactly halfway between Paris and Nice now, three hours from each city. Out the window there is a castle on a hill. It overlooks the little cabins for peasants, just a few kilometres from a suspicious-looking factory. Welcome to the French countryside.

* * * *

At almost 11:30pm - an hour later than our scheduled time of arrival - we are finally in Nice. Never trust the French train system. Something ALWAYS goes wrong. To save money, we decide to walk from the station to the hotel. The scale of the map makes it seem doable; it is only after 20 minutes of walking - heavy bags slung on our shoulders - that we realize we should have coughed up the 10 euros and taken the cab, or at least the tram. And then it just appears on the forked road - Hotel Harvey. There is a Quick outlet right in front of it, where we buy an unhealthy dinner of burgers and fries. We are too tired to eat out. Nice will have to wait until tomorrow. The hotel is a dump, but livable. It doesn't matter now.

* * * *

May 28, 2009

The South of France is a laid back version of Paris,where everything is cheaper and people are warmer. It's quite a kick just sitting out in our balcony and watching this little city tick. And with the beach literally steps away, MSP couldn't be happier.

One of the public beaches in Nice, France

We could almost smell Italy from here (the Italian border is just one hour away by train). On most days we just eat authentic Italian pastas and pizzas from the neighboring ristorantes. We also feast on authentic BRETON crepes and $6 bottles of wine, which were surprisingly very good.

On the jampacked local bus to Cannes two days ago, MSP and I didn't get to sit together. A half-French half-Tunisian guy ended up sitting next to me, and he wasted no time chatting me up. He told me about his home in Cannes, his wife, and his daughter. I told him about our European adventure and about the Philippines. We also talked about food. All of this we did even though he spoke no English, and I spoke no French. Thank you, THE WORDLESS TRAVEL BOOK.

We got to Cannes a day after the Festival, so the festive mood was still palpable despite the lack of celebrity sightings. The drizzle didn't help. We wore raincoats throughout our walking trip.

The day after Cannes, we decided to hop on a bus to Monaco just to see the Palais Princier. Did you know that literally EVERYONE is Monaco is a millionaire? That's because even the smallest apartment here is worth at least 1 million Euros, and all Monegasques own their homes. That's the beauty of being born in the world's biggest tax haven. This hedonist city-state can make you feel poor.

View of Monaco from the Palace

Yacht club

In between, we basked in the Mediterranean sea, took strolls along Nice's quaint old-world streets, and enjoyed little treats (like real gelato).

Rose gelato

We managed to figure out how the tram works. Shopping was tempting and very high-end (there's a Chanel, Hermes, and Loewe near the beach), but we only stocked up on H&M and Longchamp - both of which are remarkably cheap here. Just practical stuff. (I have lost interest in shopping).

While MSP swam, I sat around, dipped my toes, read books.

* * * *

Tomorrow, we get on a train to Spain.

Espana, here we come :)

who is the middle class filipino / pinoy?

2009-06-27T09:42:00.003+08:00

We interrupt the travel journal series for some interesting data from the National Statistical Coordination Board. You can read the entertaining article here, or if you're lazy, just read my summary below.

- To be considered middle-class in 2009, you must earn between P 282,158 to P 2,296,582 a year

Quote:

"In 2006, the middle income class may be defined as those families with annual income ranging from P246,109 to P2,000,072. However, in 2008, a family needed an income that ranged from P276,626 to P2,251,551 to be considered middle class. And in 2009, you would need to earn close to half a million pesos (mean/median income) to be in the middle class."

Picture from Business Week (Philippines), "Middle Income Housing"

- The average middle-class family earns P 529,483 a year

- As of 2006, the average middle-class savings is P 100,047. The lowest savings rate is P 5,997, and the highest in the middle class was P 1,435,053.

- In 2006, 19% of Filipinos were middle class. This was BEFORE the crisis, of course.

- "Between 1997 and 2006, ownership by the Pinoy Middle Class of DVD/VCD/VTR/VCR and air conditioning unit rose from 48.7% to 86.2% and from 9.8% to 28.6%, respectively. (Is it the middle class that supports the proliferation of illegal, pirated videos in Quiapo?"

not your usual travel journal - PART 2

2009-06-14T18:44:00.017+08:00

(PART ONE is available here.)

* * * *

May 21, 2009

"The First Day"

9:30am

We arrive in Hotel Berne, a three-star hotel in the Opera area. While it's clearly more posh than a hostel, it is small and has that bed-and-breakfast feel. This Hausmann building was probably a high-end apartment complex before it became a hotel.

There are no bell boys here; you carry your own luggage to your room, and the elevator can only fit two people (with two carry ons). Nevertheless it is quite lovely, and is very near Rome station on Line # 2 (Porte Dauphine-Nation), providing direct access to the Arc de Triomphe-Champs Elysées station Europe Line # 3 (Pont de Levallois-Gallieni). That means we are about 1.20 euros away from everything.

Our room is more spacious than we expected. There is a big bed plus a sofa by the window, where we sit for a whole hour to soak in the view and get our bearings straight. The street was quite narrow, so we can peek into the homes of locals living in the residential building in front of us.

Households in central Paris are mostly single-occupant dwelling. Apartments are minuscule, much like condominiums in Metro Manila. (Suddenly, our pad doesn't seem so small). In one of the verandas we see a stylish woman washing clothes. Out the gate below goes a car (a compact Renault). The driver is probably late for work. Not that he should be worried. The French are known to "work to live" rather than "live to work." They are slaves for only 35 hours a week (no overtime), and get about 9 weeks of paid vacation every year. Shops close early (compared to Spain or to the Philippines), and work starts late. Without the pressure to make and spend money, Parisians have more time to build and enjoy relationships, sit pointlessly in cafes for hours, and basically just be "French."

*CLICK PICTURE TO SEE INSIDE THE WINDOWS*

It is while looking at this view that MSP gives me a 36-diamond Tiffany celebration ring, which he hid carefully in his jacket. The ring, he says, is a celebration of our eight years, of the dreams we realized, and of our future. It is now official: We would travel the world together, I as the official translator, and he as the map-and-compass reader :) We would never get lost.

10:00 am

The front desk tells us that today is actually a holiday, and that only the Louvre and the restaurants are open.

With nothing much to do, we just walk around the Montmartre area to get a sense of our base in the city. The weather was nice and cold. We are literally on a hill in Paris, so it is chilly. I wish out loud that summer doesn't rear its head just yet. I want to enjoy spring.

We are standing in Opera. This formerly bohemian town is now filled with touristy attractions, not the least of which is Moulin Rouge (in boulevard de Clichy). But it wasn't so long ago that artists like Picasso and Van Gogh roamed the streets. I could almost imagine them tucked in one of the apartments, with the easels, going mad.

11:15am

The Paris metro is dingy and inefficient. The French may be great lovers, but they clearly aren't the best engineers. Signs contradict each other. Tunnels lead to unexpected platforms. Even Columbus could get lost here.

I expected "first-world" trains and waiting areas, but got ghetto instead. Coaches are mostly old and unstable. There was graffiti everywhere (as always).

*CLICK PICTURE TO APPRECIATE*

(Click to enlarge and see how dingy it is.)

Parisians are beautiful, however. They are slim, chic, and carry themselves well. They smell odd, but if you don't breathe, they are poetry in motion.

11:30am

We somehow figure out how to navigate the metro and find ourselves in our first touristy district: the Arc de Triomphe, Champs-Elysees, and Grands Boulevards area. Countless domestic dogs and their owners walk the street. The book says about 200,000 of these pets live in the city, which may explain the smell. I am just guessing here, but I think dogs outnumber children.

We have only half a day today, and we decide to get the shopping and touristy dining out of the way. Tomorrow we could be more "local," but for now, we would be tourists. Filipino tourists.

12:00 noon

And what do Pinoy tourists in Paris do? They eat.

Lunch was at the pricey La Maison de la Truffe (19 place de la Madeleine). We stand out front at first to check out what they sell.

*CLICK PICTURE TO SEE PRICE OF A KILO OF TRUFFLES*

Inside, the place is divided into two: a takeaway store, and a formal restaurant. The English-speaking waiter leads us to a nice table.

We go for the big time and order the elusive black diamond truffles sprinkled generously on ravioli and veal. The bill is 88 euros for two (no wine), and is totally worth it. We'll have to eat cheaply in the next days, but what the heck. We already paid too much to be here; we might as well stuff ourselves with expensive Parisian food.

1:00pm

After a very short walk outside, we see the Eglise de la Madeleine, which is styled like a Greek temple (complete with 52 Corinthian columns). Unfortunately the church is closed, so we couldn't see the frescoes, marble, and gilt decor in the interior.

A nice Parisian man offers to take our picture, but we do not need help. We have Joby :)

1:10pm

The jet lag + time difference is kicking in. We figure we need sugar and head to Fauchon.

*CLICK PICTURE TO SEE LOCALS EATING*

This black-and-fuchsia shop sells melt-in-your-mouth macaroons in the most inventive flavors. I could live here.

*CLICK PICTURE TO TASTE THE MACAROONS*

We eat the macaroons right outside the shop the moment we step out.

2:00pm

After more walking we stumble upon the Triangle d'Or, home to the historic haute couture flagships.

I am truly OVER shopping. Hong Kong still has THE best discounts even on French brands, after all. And shopping is boring now. I don't get as amused as I used to. But we're here anyway, so we might as well check out Chanel, Dior, Lacroix, Comme des Garcons, Givenchy, Hermes, Gaultier, Lanvin, YSL, and of course, Louis Vuitton. MSP's mom wants us to buy her one of the many LV bags. I am ashamed to even be in the store along with logo-hungry tourists (mostly Japanese), but what can I do? I get the bag she wants, patiently wait in line to pay, and hurry out. I make a mental note of just how much time we wasted queuing for the bag.

3:30pm

We walk around the extremely capitalist Champs-Elysees and its surrounds. I do not see locals - just foreigners everywhere. Interestingly, Parisians don't seem to be interested in the luxury labels they export.

Just when we thought Paris has turned into one big mall for gullible tourists, we see an antique street market - certainly a nice break from all the big brands in the other street. Here I buy vintage postcards to give to my friends.

4:30pm

The line to the top of the Arc de Triomphe (place Charles de Gaulle) is quite long, so we decide to just take pictures outside and come back tomorrow, when we already have the all-access pass.

We just sit under the Arc, read names after names, watch a military rite being performed, and observe other tourists.

This monument was constructed to commemorate Napoleon's victory at Austerlitz in 1805. It stands right in the centre of Etoile, the world's BIGGEST roundabout. To get to it, you need to the take the underground pedestrian tunnels, which are oddly enough not connected to the metro tunnels. (Inefficient).

6:00pm

It is time to deal with the Paris metro again. The confusing tunnels that lead to multiple platforms, violin-playing beggars, broke tourists asking for train money - only in Paris, I tell you. Of the very few ticket dispensing machines, only one is working. Take me back to Manila.

Here in the madness of the subway, we meet an intellectual gone mad. She is about 45 years old and has a big bag with her. She looks like she hasn't showered in days, but this is not enough to indicate that she is crazy (many normal Parisians do not shower). However, she has really bad shoes and scratches her head like a kooky. Something about the shift in her eyes tells us she's a lunatic.

She approaches me speaking French. When I tell her that I don't understand and ask (in broken French) if she speaks English, she replies:

"I am sorry. I was just asking if it was possible to get 50 cents from you." (Exact words.)

I am awed. The FIRST Parisian to ever speak to me in straight English, with perceptible but minimal French accent. Unfortunately I do not have 50 cents, and I have to turn her down.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," she says right away. A very cultured, very strange lady. I hold on to my Prada. She walks away.

MSP and I exchange curious glances.She then approaches three Spanish teens, also asking for 50 cents, this time speaking in Spanish.

AMAZING.

She must have approached five more people speaking in tongues. A linguist gone mad. I never thought I'd ever meet one.

6:05pm

Two drunk Parisians jump the turnstile. Apparently this is a normal occurrence, as locals do not seem bothered at all.

The metro can be a very scary place. Were it not for the comforting nonchalance of people who ride it everyday, we would fear for our lives.

Next stop: St-Germain des Pres.

6:10pm

I am shutting down. I have slept only 45 minutes in almost two days, and I am starting to dream while I sit on this broken-down bench. In the freaking metro. In the bowels of Paris. MSP props me up, putting his finger in my ear from time to time. He is convinced that annoying me will wake me up. He hardly succeeds.

6:30pm

There she is: Cafe Le Flore. Built in the 1880's, this was where Sartre and de Beauvoir set up office during the Nazi regime. It's quite pricey but definitely less touristy than the cafe beside it (Les Deux Magots). Besides, The Barefoot Contessa recommended that we try the hot chocolate and omelet for dinner. That's why we are here.

We order two types of omelet, some fresh pomelo juice for our immune systems, and hot chocolate. The nice waiter gave us free salad. The bill was around 30 euros. Not bad at all, considering the quality and quantity of cheese in each bite.

7:00pm

I am convinced that I will die in the metro. We get a little lost (again), and I am running on emergency battery. I do not die, of course, and about 20 minutes later, we are back in Rome station. Home sweet home. Shower, change into my big shirt, sleep.

10:00pm

I am awake again. Why is the sun still up? In Europe, it never seems to set. We better close the curtains.

Half asleep, I plan out the next three days.

On Sunday we'll check out Marche Aux Puces de St Ouen and enjoy a local meal in Chez Louisette. But tomorrow, we better get the "big" things done - the Louvre, and the Eiffel. Then the Sacre Couer, then Dali Espace. We'll eat in the "best baguette in Paris" awardee resto, see Musee d'Orsay, the Grand Palais. Maybe we'll take the Seine cruise, and buy a book in Shakespeare and Company. We'll visit the Notre Dame, Sorbonne, Bastille Opera, eat felafels, find the Musee Picasso, Musee Rodin, and Le Cafe Pure (that cafe in "Before Sunset,"). I already saw the hop-on/off bus to take us to all these places.

For less then 30 euros each, it promises to take us to all the essential places in two days. Will it arrive on time? Will it arrive at all? I have no faith in the French transport system.

Back to sleep. The converted wine cellar in the basement offers a decent breakfast buffet starting at 7am. I can't wait.

To be continued

not your usual travel journal - PART 1

2009-06-07T00:24:00.004+08:00

June 4, 2009

This is a travel journal written semi backwards. Blame me for not keeping track of the most important trip of my life so far. I only got this 3-euro Miquelrius notebook yesterday at one of the many El Corte Ingles stores in the chic Serrano area, Madrid. Now I sit in the Van Gogh cafe in Moncloa, recapturing two weeks, nine cities. How do I start? I can't even understand my own handwriting.

May 20, 2009

“Getting There – MLA to BKK to CDG”

11:30 pm

The Bangkok airport is just like Manila's. Security is strict, and the transfer gates are easy to find. In the waiting area, we start to look like “minorities.” Everyone on this flight is white, except for a Thai lady wearing too much makeup. The room is filled with Europeans on their way home and some Australians on a connecting flight to Paris, like us.

Flying economy is no joy ride. I am not getting any sleep. Meanwhile, MSP is sleeping like a dog (he's talented that way). The French man behind me has his light on. He's reading a big book and encircling words with a pencil. The French woman in front wipes her armpit with baby wipes. The Thai airplane smells French. It's going to be a long flight.

May 21, 2009

“We Are in Paris”

7:30am

The CDG is an old airport. If it were in Manila, it would be called UGLY and SO-THIRD-WORLD, but this is Paris, where everything is “charming.”

Immigration is surprisingly lenient. There are no swine flu checks. We are never asked why our Schengen visas are Spanish.

Language instantly becomes a problem. We don't speak a word of French, and locals (even airport officials) don't speak a word of English. It takes us a while to find the train that links to the city. When we finally board one of the coaches, it becomes apparent why tourists are never made to take this train. It passes by the “real Paris” - those areas they never tell you about in glitzy brochures.

CLICK PICTURE TO ENLARGE - The "real" France, as seen from the train

8:20

This train ride should take 40 minutes. We are with locals on their way to work. Some are immigrants reluctantly heading to the grind of the city center. A few of them look at us curiously (what are these Asian tourists doing on this train? Don't they take the tour bus?), but most are apathetic. Today is their everyday; this is our once-in-a-lifetime.

To be continued

the euro leap

2009-05-19T14:28:00.006+08:00

Six cities, four travel books, one carry-on bag.

I hope I can get some sleep in the plane.

luxury pod in london

2009-05-12T07:52:00.005+08:00

Most of you know that I love small-ish spaces, and that I myself live in a tiny, efficient condo (322 sq feet). It's tight but it feels much more spacious because there's a lot of light in the AM and because the appliances are compact. Also, what it lacks in size, it makes up for in touches of luxury -- Egyptian cotton, hotel-grade sofas, engineered efficiency. Still a work in progress, but getting there :)

Well, they now have a term for small spaces like mine: "luxe pods." Apparently, this small-space trend has been quite popular in London for some time. Here's a London luxury pod - just ONE THIRD of the size of mine! Amazing!

I dont know about sleeping in a tiny "loft" (her bed is right on top of her door). I value my big bed. But still, given the square footage, this space is very cool.

Apartment Therapy interviewed the owner. Here are excerpts:

Name: Judith
Location: London, UK
Size: 101 sf
Rent/Own: Own

What is the advantage of SMALL? Small gives one the chance to use truly luxurious items. One can experiment with a range of innovative materials, such as leather floor tiles, highly reflective surfaces, painted glass, combinations of lighting effects and to source specialists to create bespoke pieces. If all goes wrong it is only 101sq feet to remedy (9.5 sq metres)! The challenge is to indulge the individual so much, that the size of the space becomes immaterial. It is the form and function of the space that outweighs the size.

Judith's kitchen (pictures below) looks a lot like mine.

My refrigerator and freezer are also tucked under the counter. I have a bar sink and induction stove, too.

how are you doing financially?

2009-05-11T09:49:00.003+08:00

There's a fun CNN money quiz here. You may have to convert your values to US dollars to get accurate results.

I got a pathetic B+.

How did you do?