Honest Ignorance

I had the best experience with backpack travellers for a good three years but realised that there will always be a feeling of betrayal. I have to be honest, not all nationalities I get along with and expected the villains of my personal adventure to come from them. Well, one was and I had nothing against him because it was expected. I hated his kind since I was a sperm. What hurts is those coming from those you always thought Had always been nice. One shook my bed in the middle of the night for eating crisps because he was more concerned about work next day than exploring the good things about people beyond the fences of your forest cottage (ok fine, that might have been my fault lol). The other was a couple who were more concerned about their opinions than exploring other people’s point of view. She was a Vegan but so was I (lasted a few weeks, lol) and still believe in Animal Rights. I just don’t want to rub it in to other people who don’t. I was the head chef of a student accomodation for indigenous Australians who were proud of their hunting culture. She got fired together with her boyfriend for not properly feeding the business clients but not before pissing me off. Every night, she would demand for a separate staff meal that was Vegan. I always thought that I would rather kill a human being than an animal but it was the first time I wanted to stab an animal lover who would save Animals at the expense of a human being … Me! They never lasted with other travellers from the last time I saw them. They finally bought a van and travelled on their own. Tsss! Where is the fun in that?

Anyways, I am mystified how some travellers find it difficult to get fair treatment even from societies we may consider inferior. Perhaps it’s the way they carry themselves? Are they not being nice? I had always been warned to stay away from the regional areas of Australia for they say that people there are intolerant of foreigners. I have been to three regional areas branded as “racist” but I have never experienced the foretold. In fact, I carried on the travel trail from these areas with love affairs left behind (sorry, this online journal includes flirts, lol). But maybe, I haven’t seen nothing yet. Anyways, the point is maybe I was carrying the right attitude compared to other travellers who were cocky? They say that they are just being honest but it is easy to be so when you are ignorant.

When I first arrived in Australia, I couldn’t be bothered to drop my use of “sir ” and “ma’am” and my Filipino (American) English. I insisted on flashlight, trash can, faucet, elevator, omitting the letter “u” in the word colour and pronouncing the “r”. I changed when I bumped into another Filipino cashier who was arguing with a local how to pronounce things. She insisted that she was using American English. Well sister, you are not in the Philippines anymore and what is the point of leaving the country if you were so at home in there that you wanted to bring it with you wherever you go?

My advice is that when you travel, leave everything behind but bear necessities, meaning Leave your comfort zone and bring nothing but a desire for fresh perspectives and universal language of acceptance and smile. Travel is all about experience, not comfort. It is not about what the place doesn’t have that your home does but experiencing how other people live. And best of all, try to talk to people. Who knows, a lightning might just strike.

Under 25 Dollars

It’s more fun in the Philippines. It’s not an Asian country nor is it totally European, American or Hispanic. It is an artificial nation carved out by capitalist patriots in 1898 as a result of the Secularization Issue, Reactionary-Liberal Wars in Madrid and ideals of the French and American Revolutions. Ironically, the Filipino colonists seceded from The Spanish Empire by means of war to create their own Spain in Asia, a better one that is based on the ideals of equality, liberty and justice (Egualidad, Libertad y Justicia). As a result, there was no process of de-hispanisation but rather a full speed of the process, a product of which was the Marcha Magdalo (music for the national anthem) was intentionally made by Julian Felipe (the composer) to sound like that of the one sang in Madrid and Spanish chosen as the sole official language. In 1902, the Ilustrados, that is the patriots and rising courtiers of Imperial Manila, lost the Philippine – American War and became an American colony. The de-hispanisation job was a result of American Rule but in fairness just died a natural death in the 1980s and totally replaced by American English and pop culture by then. The 1990s was a renaissance of Tagalog Culture (Manila). It is already 2014 and no where near an Asian country. So what is Filipino?

Teodoro Agoncillo, a leftist Filipino historian defined Filipino Culture as those practiced currently that are obviously not Spanish or American. The figures leave us with only 1 percent of what goes on in their daily lives. Filipinos eat hotcakes, bacon, hotdogs, longanisa, tocino, tapa, eggs, Sardinas Seccas (Tuyo or dried sardines), muffins, garlic rice, Pan de Sal, Champurado or corn flakes for breakfast. All of them are of Settler or American origin. The truth is that Filipino Food is anything that locals eat regularly, regardless of origin. Like we said, it is an artificial culture but with a local flare. Longanisa is chorizo with a local taste and McDonald’s serves garlic rice. KFC provides unlimited free gravy, a typical sauce in the Filipino Palette in addition to ketchup, soy sauce and sugar cane vinegar.

In February of 2014, I went back for a short holiday from a holiday (from Adelaide, South Australia, Australia) to Manila on a budget travel starting with a budget airline, that is Air Asia, ridiculously AUD600 return trip ticket compared to the AUD1,400 that Qantas or Philippine Airlines was selling. Naturally, they landed us on a budget airport (instead of the brand new NAIA III Terminal) in the rustic Manila Domestic Airport Terminal. Manila is quite new to the sudden increase in tourism and air traffic. As a result, the plane parked in the middle of the airport far from the already rustic old Manila Domestic Airport Terminal and had to be fetched by a bus which would take us to the arrivals. They finally brought the concept of Jeepney all the way to the first point of contact to the country when the “conductor” shouted at us to push back all the way to the end like sardines just as they always did with a Jeepney.. They were cramming a full load of Boeing 777 in a single bus! It was 2:30 AM and we finally arrived at the terminal just to be told that the customs official was still sleeping! We had to wait for him to wake up and finish his morning coffee (a good 25 minutes) while we packed like sardines in a small waiting area without chairs. The locals were giving the security officers an ear bash for being nincompoops while others explained politely to the poor tourists (many for the first time probably) what was going on. It’s more fun in the Philippines. My brother says “Well, you get what you pay for, you saved AUD600 plus my dignity for free to pick you up in the crappiest airport in the city instead of picking you up from the brand new NAIA III Terminal!” Lol. God bless my brother! My advice at this point is enjoy the journey and not the destination. Fly Air Asia. It is cheap, it is shit but more fun, lol. Otherwise, it’s just another AUD600 for a proper airline and modest terminal to arrive in.

The good thing about Manila is that you have a choice between a traditional Filipino Cuisine which will cost just almost as much as dining in Australia or street food as long as you can stomach it, – $1 for a can of coke alone. The prices have changed a lot since I left, almost 300 percent inflation. A bottle of coke in the “bangketa” used to be less than PhP10 or 30 cents and a full meal at PhP20 or $1.50. The bad thing about Manila is that the food scene is no place for a tramp, unlike Singapore or Malaysia where their best traditional food is found in cheap hawker stations.

It’s been five years since I lived in Manila as a local but I did remember surviving on PhP3000 on brunch, dinner and beers with office colleagues after work practically every day. When I came back two months ago, this amount only lasted me three days. With an inflation of let’s say 300 percent since 2009, let’s just do the math and multiply by three and narrate to you what a typical local on a budget eats throughout the week back in 2009:

AUD1 = PhP35 (Circa 2009)

Breakfast

McDonalds
Sausage Muffin and Coffee, PhP55
Pancakes and Sausage with Coffee, Big Breakfast, PhP55
Big Breakfast with Coffee, PhP75
Hash Browns, PhP17 each
Longanisa, Garlic Rice, Eggs with Coffee PhP89

Jolibee
Longanisa, Garlic Rice, Eggs with Coffee PhP89
Hotdogs, Garlic Rice, eggs with coffee PhP69
Tapa (beef jerky), Garlic Rice and Eggs with Coffee PhP89
Corned Beef, Garlic Rice and Eggs with Coffee PhP89
Bangus (Garlic Marinated Milkfish), Garlic Rice, Eggs with Coffee PhP99

Brunch
To save, I skip breakfast and lunch and combine the with a brunch at 10am during my morning coffee break at 15mins

Makati Jolijeeps
Double Rice, Sisig, Coke PHP40
Double Rice, Pork Chop, Coke PhP60
Double Rice, Pork Barbeque (skewer) PhP12
Note: choose Makati jolijeeps wisely. The ones behind Paseo de Roxas are awesome but still dirty but cheap! Lol

Snacks
Street Squid Balls PhP10
Street Kwek-Kwek (fried battered quail eggs) PhP10
Sky flakes (local biscuit brand) PhP4
Chippy (local corn chips) PhP10
Street Taho (tofu tapioca syrup drink) PhP10
Street Chicharon (pork rind) PhP5
Maxx Candy or Rolly Polly Magic Candy PhP2 for 3 pieces
C2 Green Tea (bottled ice tea) PhP10
Yosi (street slang for cigarette, hehe!) PhP2 each Malboro, Winston

To share:

Pizza Hut PhP500
Shakey’s PHP500
Yellow Cab Pizza PhP750
Pancit Palabok PhP200

Lunch

7-11 or Mini Stop

Hot Dog on a Bun and C2 Green Tea PhP30
Siopao Bola-Bola and C2 Green Tea PhP30
Fried Chicken and Rice and C2 Green Tea PhP100

McDonald’s, Jolibee, Cindy’s, Wendy’s

Budget Burger Meal (called Burger McDo in McDonald’s) PhP45
Modest Burger Meal (i.e. Mcdonald’s Quarter Pounder or Jolibee Champ ) P150

Burger Machine or any street burger vendor

Burger plus Coke PhP25
Hotdog on a bun plus coke PhP15

Brother’s Burger (The Best Local Burger!)

Hamburger, Onion Rings, Coke PhP200

Dinner
Gweilo’s, Gerry’s Grill, Pier One, Dencio’s, Catering to moneyless fresh graduates and yuppies
(Once a week only or you’ll go broke if living under 25 dollars a day)

Beers PhP60 per bottle (San Miguel Light or Pale Pilsen)
Sisig (Crispy Pork Mince, rind, onions, garlic on a sizzling plate ) PhP120
Gambas (Spicy Mixed Seafood, bell peppers, paprika, cayenne on a sizzling plate) PhP120
Gourmet Pizza (Marinara) PhP150
Crispy Pata (Crispy Pork Knuckles and leg) PhP220
Kare-Kare (Ox Tail and mixed vegetables in Peanut Stew) PhP220
Chicharon Bulaklak (Crispy Pig Offal) PhP100 per order
Garlic Mushrooms PhP60
Chicken Lollipops PhP120
Rice PhP10 each

Drunken Dinner
That feeling when you are drunk, didn’t get laid and looking for a substitute for sex, lol

Chowking

Congee PhP50
Tapsilog (Beef Jerky, Garlic Rice, Eggs) PhP65

Yahoo! In Ortigas Center
Rice and Lechon Liempo (Roast Pork Belly) PhP65
Rice and Lechon Manok (Roast Chicken) PhP70

At Home:

Canned Corned Beef PhP10
Canned Sisig PhP10
Hot Dogs
Fried Eggs
Salted Duck Eggs and tomato
Fried Chicken
Rice
Swamp Cabbage
Green Beans

Of course, as a general rule you spend more if you dine out every day. Nothing beats cooking at home and save your money on beers with friends, a reasonable night life and out of town trips to Calatagan or Puerto Galera on long weekends.

What was mentioned above is a typical local’s menu on a diet. Most of them are contemporary, meaning recently invented for the commoner’s palette save for the Kare-kare and Crispy Pata which have been a part of the Filipino kitchen since the colonial period. Traditional Filipino Food is found in restaurants at PhP 1000 to PhP1500 per person ($25-30). The really old fine dining restaurants dating back to the times charges more. Some of them are as follows:

Modest:

Barrio Fiesta
Max Fried Chicken
Dencio’s

Fine Dining:

Alphaland Member’s Club
Casa Isabel
Ilustrado

Like any artificial nation, Manila is not so crazy about traditional cuisine but more on new contemporary inventions inspired by traditional Filipino, Spanish, American and European Classic Cookery which they learn from culinary schools. As of present, the places to go are Greenbelt 5, Burgos Circle and Bonifacio High Street. In reality, traditional Filipino Cuisine is hard to find and is a dying cuisine that only their grandmothers could cook. Maybe someday, an institution will be established to preserve their colourful food culture or perhaps a book written about it.

Some traditional Filipino Dishes:

Afritada
Mechado
Morcon
Arroz Valenciana
Caldereta
Pinapaitan
Embutido
Sinigang
Bulalo
Tinola
Salpicao
Kare-Kare
Crispy Pata
Hamonado
Longanisa
Tocino
Tapa
Sardinas Seccas (Tuyo)
Bangus
Lechon
Adobo
Kinilaw

When in Adelaide

Just another interesting scene at The Adelaide Fringe

Adelaide is known as the Festival State. However, everything happens during a small window of late February to late March – Clipsal 500 (for the boring square Motor heads), Adelaide Fringe (Comedy Festival), Womad Festival (Music Festival). This time of the year is feels like home for the hippie and myself almost turned Vegan when I worked with a bunch of cool guys known as Gourmet Goon for the Womad Festival, a nomadic restaurant and takeaway place serving bush tucker, native Australian cuisine and everything from nature that is good for you. My favourite was their mixed berry smoothie.

In this picture, this man gets pissed at possible spectators just passing him by or those who did watch under the spell of NR (No Reaction). He decides to get a volunteer from the crowd who happens to be that poor guy lying on the ground. I’m sure they would have given each other a high five in the corner (probably knew each other well). Nonetheless, I was lucky not to have had the guy insured. I would be stuck with a bill paying premiums for years to come.

WORKING WITH THE GOURMET GOONS

The Gourmet Goon Menu

Gourmet Goons Jerry and Max

 

SUNNY’S BACKPACKERS ON FRANKLIN STREET

Sunny’s Backpackers

DRIVING BACK TO MELBOURNE

Driving to Melbourne from Adelaide. Farewell Adelaide, we will meet again. Thank you for the memories …

 

 

 

 

The Cafe of Memories

Dumaguete, Philippines

Against my will, I was assigned to Dumaguete in 2002 as a medical representative or territory manager, which ever term suits my eternally broken ego.  I joined the pharmaceutical industry hoping to enjoy the benefits of a new Toyota Corolla company car, corporate attire and serving the high falluting hospitals in Manila.  Instead, they sent me to the sleepy community of Dumaguete where national hero Dr. Jose Rizal himself was deported for subversion.  Well, that’s what I thought.  Dumaguete was a quiet community but its Siliman University gave it an interesting environment.  The students were pretty and fabulous in their own ways.  They came from different interesting cities like Cebu, Bacolod, Cagayan de Oro, Davao, Zamboanga and Cavite.  In fact, Miss Siliman was the most charming girl I’ve every seen.  Only that everybody thought she was a bitch.

Among my favorite places was the Cafe Memento, where I took the name of my Multiply website.  It was very rustic, a hole in a wall even, but intrinsically decorated with Spanish-Filipino art.  The owner was a Kastilaloy himself.  His father I would have combat drinking on certain nights together with his Kastilaloy buddies who looked like Bin Laden and someone else respectively.  Cafe Memento was located in a quiet street fronting the magnificent Siliman University and the ocean.  You could hear the splash of waves from there.

Cafe Memento is the cafe of memories.  Someday I will go back there and reminiscence the beauty of what once was a life I didn’t expect.

Saluda Dumaguete!

 

Originally written on Casa de Mementos (http://joshavinante.multiply.com)

February 10, 2009

 

The Sea Lion Who Lost The Sea

I was at the height of my quarter life crisis in 2006.  I was unhappy with work and love life. I had broken up with my first girlfriend (the first serious one, the previously none serious don’t count lol) and was then working for the International and External Relations Section of the Philippine Department of Energy. As glamorous as it may sound, it wasn’t the creative world that one would think and wasn’t an environment to meet interesting people. I was in a deep state of depression and my parents mistook it for a psychiatric case (yes, my parents are only many of that old generation that didn’t think out of the box).  Needless to say, they sent me to a psychologist who told them that I didn’t have a psychiatric defect after all and the cause for myself acting strange was justified.  She said the cause for my depression was my job which, like a domino effect, affected my social life, love life and nature as a person. Her prescription was resignation from work and a giant leap of faith to advertising. Was my psychologist out her mind? To make things worse, she didn’t give me any feasible advice on how to get into an advertising company which was not only competitive but next to impossible! But in just a few months, I managed to land myself in a job as a corporate communications and training officer in a real estate company and eventually an account manager for corporate public relations in a national affiliate of Edelman Worldwide.

My psychologist wasn’t really that ineffective. During one of the many consultations, she gave me a book about the pursuit of happiness.  The following story was taken from this book and will forever change my perspectives in life.

 

Once upon a time there lived a sea lion who had lost the sea. He lived in a country known as the barren lands. High on a plateau, far from any coast, it was a place so dry and dusty that it could only be called a desert. A kind of coarse grass grew in patches here and there while a few trees were scattered across the horizon. But mostly, it was dusty and sometimes wind, which together make one very thirsty. Of course, it must seem strange to you that such a beautiful creature should wind up in a desert at all. He was, mind you, a sea lion. But things like this do happen.

How the sea lion came to the barren lands, no one could remember. It all seemed so very long ago. So long, in fact, it appeared as though he had always been there. Not that he belonged in such an arid place. How could that be? He was, after all, a sea lion. But as you know, once you have lived so long in a certain spot, no matter how odd, you come to think of it as home.
There was a time, many years back, when the sea lion knew he was lost. In those days, he would stop every traveller he met to see if he might help him find his way back to the sea.
But no one seemed to know the way or the least care.

On he searched, but never finding. After years without success, the sea lion took refuge beneath a solitary tree beside a very small water hole. The tree provided refuge from the burning rays of the sun, which was very fierce in that place. And the water, though small and muddy, was wet, in its own way. Here he settled down and carried on as best he could.

The sea lion was not entirely alone in those parts. For it was there he met the tortoise. Now this tortoise was an ancient creature, so weathered by his life in the barren lands that at first, the sea lion mistook him for a rock. He told the tortoise of his plight, hoping that this wise one might be able to help him. “Perhaps”, the tortoise mused, “this is the sea”. His eyes appeared to be shut against the bright sun, but he was watching the sea lion very closely. The sea lion swept his flippers once against his side, gliding to the end of the water hole and back then said,

“I don’t know, it isn’t very deep.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Somehow, I thought the sea would be broader, deeper. At least, I hoped so.”

“You must learn to be happy here”, the tortoise told him one day. “For it is unlikely you shall ever find this sea of yours.” Deep in his old and shriveled heart, the tortoise envied the sea lion and his sea.

“But I belong to the sea. We are made for each other.”

“Perhaps. But you have been gone so long now, the sea has probably forgotten you.”

This thought had never occurred to the sea lion. But it was true, he had been gone for a long, long time. “If this is not my home, how can I ever feel at home here?” the sea lion asked. “you will, in time.” The tortoise appeared to be squinting, his eyes a thin slit.

“I have seen the sea, and it is no better than what you have found here.”

“You have seen the sea!”

“Yes. Come closer and I will tell you a secret. I am not a tortoise. I am a sea turtle. But I left the sea on my own accord, many years ago, in search of better things. If you stay with me, I will tell you stories of my adventures.”

The stories of the ancient tortoise were enchanting and soon cast their spell upon the sea lion. As weeks passed into months, his memory of the sea faded. “The desert”, whispered the tortoise, “is all that is, or was, or ever will be. ” When the sun grew fierce and burned his skin, the sea lion would hide in the shade of the tree and listen the tales woven by the tortoise. When the dry winds cracked his flippers and filled his eyes with dust, the sea lion would retreat to the water hole. And so the sea lion remained, living his days between water hole and tree. The sea no longer filled his dreams.

It was in May that the winds began to blow. The sea lion had grown used to wind, and at first he did not pay much heed at all. years of desert life had taught him to turn his back away from the direction which the wind came and cover his eyes with his flippers so that the dust would not get in. Eventually, the wind would always pass.

But not this time. Day and night it came, howling across the barren lands. There was nothing to stop its fury, nothing to even slow it down. For forty days and forty night the wind blew. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The sea lion lifted himself to have a look around. He could hardly believe his eyes.

Every single leaf had been stripped from his tree. The branches that remained, with only a twig or two upon them, looked like an old scarecrow. Need not I tell you that there was no longer any shade in which to hide. But worse than this, much worse indeed, was what the sea lion saw next. The water hole was completely dry.

Three weeks after the wind ceased to blow, the sea lion had a dream. Now as I told you before, there were other nights in which he had dreamed of the sea. But those were long ago and nearly forgotten. Even still, the ocean that filled his dreams this night was so beautiful and clear, so vast and deep, it was as if he was seeing it for the very first time. The sunlight glittered on its surface, and as he dived, the waters all around him shone like an emerald. If he swam quite deep, it turned to jade … cool, dark and mysterious. But he was never frightened; not at all. For I must tell you that in all his dreams of the sea, he had never before found himself in the company of other sea lions. This night there were many, round about him, diving and turning, spinning and twirling. They were playing.

Oh, how he hated to wake from that wonderful dream. The tears running down his face were the first wet thing he had felt in three weeks. But he did not pause even to wipe them away; he did not pause, in fact, for anything at all. He set his face to the east, and he begun to walk as best a sea lion can.

“Where are you going? ” asked the tortoise.

“I am going to find the sea.”

 

In 2008, I became a food and lifestyle journalist writing for online media and glossy magazines. In the same year, an opportunity presented itself for myself to pursue a culinary career overseas. In 2009, I flew to Australia and landed on a Valentine’s Day. My life was to be as interesting as I realised that what made me happy was an environment that could never be found back home. I have been destined to be a traveller after all.

 

Free At Last! – Snowy Mountains of Dinner Plain, Upland Victoria, Australia

Freedom comes at a price – Nomadic Life in the hostels of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

Dancing Under the Pale Moonlight

Omnia Vincit Amor, meaning “Love Conquers All”. Virgil. Ironically, love could lead to disaster and end yourself up dancing with the devil under the pale moonlight, wreaking havoc on other people’s lives and yours too, until you find someone who will turn your world upside down. And when that happens, a place so sinister and foreign suddenly feels like home. And if that relationship fails, you reset to the beginning, the cycle repeats and you end up dancing with more devils. And as the kwentong bartender from Big Sky Mind goes, “Carry on compadre!”

My cool and wicked brother has asked me about drinking in Australia so let the story begin. Well, people drink for many reasons and besides that of seeing and being seen under the pretense of chilling out, you have to admit that it is actually to prey on something exciting to happen. For me, I had no choice. I’m back to dancing the devil although this time under the protection of the Almighty. I know now why he had to suffer which is to prove to us that he loves us and that we need not worry. So here I am dancing with the enemy without worries, well a little bit. But hey, danger comes in any form of excitement.

Castle Hill is a suburb some 60 minutes away from the city and of acceptable elegance. It is surrounded by other suburbs ending their names with “Hill” or “Hills”. They call us the Hills District. Hills is home. The good thing about Castle Hill is that there is only one place to rendezvous for drinks and that is the Hillside. On Fridays and Saturdays, clubbing happens upstairs at a very affordable price of AUD5.

Hillside Hotel is probably where I’ve met the most insane of people. Insane meaning cool. There is Ryan who lived a significant period of his life in South America. He calls me Fish because I drank his whiskey like one, and the name “Marlo” sounds like it apparently. One time, we all went to the Tavern from Hillside and got sloshed over too much beer and bourbon coke. He was kind enough to take me home in a taxicab, which I fucked up with orally thrown out Vaginal Brew (VB or Victoria Bitter) and cost him AUD270. Poor thing. Ryan is a very nice guy. Lesson, don’t throw up in a cab, no matter what happens! Not in Sydney!

There is Chris Bar, the fisherman, with his fixation on Icelandic chicks and Cricket. Actually, Chris works in a large fishing vessel and has an amiable circle of friends, including a guy eternally clad in a suit. Chris is great with stories to tell and has a kind heart too.

There is David, my awesome housemate, awesome because he calls me awesome too. Well, we do have to reciprocate a compliment. David is a gentleman in a big bike and works at the Hillside Hotel. He would invite me to have drinks with his friends when they visit the house once in a while. On certain days that I felt weary, he offered me a couple of beers from his eskie, eskee or however they spelt it in Aussie English. His girlfriend is a very nice brunette chick who would always say hi to me whenever she visited David in the house or saw me at the Hillside. She is lucky to have David and vice-versa.

There is the sea witch, that is the landlady, who eternally breaks into other people’s lives, in particular, OURS! She looks and sounds it. We all hate her but what can we do, she is after all the landlady! She is kind to me sometimes, brings me Flip food once in a while. She makes me mow the lawn which I get to do only during my very rare free time – that is when I’m not in school, away at work as a dish pig, or wasting valuable time procrastinating, HAR! HAR! She insists I missed a week’s payment which I know I didn’t. May the Holy Spirit enlighten her and save my beer money, errr … textbook funds, from disintegrating. Hush! Hush! MiJ! Hehe. But seriously, that money is set aside for two new textbooks I need for the upcoming assessments.

Then, there is my best friend from Perth, Australia. She is my classmate and loves cooking as well. She has the same color of her mug as mine, pastel brown and into olives and Italian cuisine. During Friday class, we have Chef Darren, who is very good in teaching, like your watching a good cooking show on TV. He is bubbly, British and passionate about cooking. He has this bible of culinary terms including Rouille, which he says is a key ingredient of Soup de Poisson or fish soup. He seems to be into Bacardi because that seems to be the consequence of us fucking up in the kitchen. We have to buy him one if we do. I guess it will be cool to drink with him one time so I’d better think of a way to fuck up, perhaps “accidentally” pour gasoline on that bitch of a dishwasher or some emo fashion-clad classmate. Har! Har! Anyways, one time, Kate and another classmate of mine had a couple of beers, which we brought to the school parking lot. In the morning, Kate remembered that there were cameras all over that area. We have not received any notice so far. Safe!

There is my Filipina classmate but she doesn’t drink. So why is she part of my story? Well, she is nice. That’s all. Hehe! And she seems to be the favorite prey of my international classmates who is new to western culture and “shocked” with the liberated stories of Filipinas in Manila Society.

There is my cousin Anjo, who gave me a push into Hillside clubbing upstairs for the first time. He is an angel. His girlfriend is nice to me too. I met her with blonde hair but now sports something jet black. I teased her being inspired by the teenage flick “Twilight”. It is from Anjo that I was immersed into Mexican cervezas like Sol and Corona. Anjo also introduced me to Woodstock Bourbon Coke. It was very potent. Anjo always had supplies in the fridge and told me I can get from anytime. God bless you Anjo. Hehe!

The other night, I met The Beatles at Hillside, and in their early 20s at that. Actually, they simply introduced themselves as such out of fun. Two of them were Kastilaloys, bearing the name of Aldeguer and Alcazar respectively. The Aldeguer guy looked like Dino Aldeguer but he didn’t know him. It was Danny that I jibed with a lot, the Aussie guy who claimed to be John Lennon. He loved my pick up lines and probably would work in Australia, perhaps. “Are you a dictionary? Because you just added meaning to my night” or “Do I have a bruise on my forehead? Because I saw you and fell … in love”. HAHAHAHAHA! FUCK!

There was this hot Italian girl whom I met during the same night. She reminded me of someone special. She was clad in black party dress and tan boots. Her name was very Italian which I could pronounce but had a hard time spelling. I was chicken shit to get her number though she was the first to talk to me and showed some bit of interest. Her smile was like that of Jennifer Love Hewitt and her dimples, God save me from desire! I can never forget the way she looked at me. Malandi, haha! Perhaps I will meet her again.

Finally, there is that elegant person who reminded me how scintillating it is to be in love. I’ve forgotten who I was after my terrible break up some three years ago. She is the reason why this place so sinister and foreign suddenly feels like home. I met her in the early days of winter. She bore the name of my mother and grandmother. Oooh! Meant to be! So high school, haha! Unfortunately, I was too tactless and immature to take care of that relationship. She was right. I didn’t let her go, she left. I deserve it because I took her for granted and distanced myself. I never had faith in love because of my past experiences with women. In the end, that doubt destroyed us from within and we fell apart. And the drinking part? Well, she likes drinking. Haha! Beeyah (meaning beer in Aussie English) and red wine. Now I’m addicted to cabernet sauvignon, which is way cheaper than a 6pack mind you. I buy a bottle for AUD7 once in a while. Good for the heart.

So moving forward, I now know what I want to do. I knew I always did, but somehow lost it along the way. I am a party animal and I belong to hospitality. I love culinary and will finish this course then do my apprenticeship. The rest, we’ll cross the bridge when we get there. No more bitching, just happy thoughts. Have you ever danced with the devil under the pale moonlight?

Originally posted 9.9.2009

In a house party in Castle Hill, Sydney Area, New South Wales, Australia

In a house party in Castle Hill, Sydney Area, New South Wales, Australia

Under the pale moonlight at the Bull and Bush in Baulkham Hills, Sydney Area, New South Wales, Australia

Random moments with Kelly Anne Bewicke. Castle Hill, New South Wales, Australia

Random moments with Kelly Anne Bewicke. Castle Hill, New South Wales, Australia

The Road to Perdition

Originally written on April 22, 2011 at the World Square Hostel, Sydney, Australia

Today, I sit here at the hostel lounge waiting for check in time, which will not happen for another one and half hour.  Until then, its quite nice to sit in a couch again daydreaming, doing nothing and generally being unproductive.  The fast pace of life in the hospitality industry, excacerbated by an expensive Sydney lifestyle, has trained me to live like a horse, just running without looking backwards or sideways, just forward without you knowing if your horseman (life) is leading you to a triumphant march into a conquered city or a suicidal cavalry charge against a larger army.  Now that my horseman is on break, I can take off those wretched horse eye patches and reflect on what I need to do.  But then, you realize how dreadful the past few weeks have been and the coming more weeks with those cavalry charges without knowing where your horseman will lead you.  Is Sydney the beginning of my march to greatness or rather my road to perdition?

Bunk Beds at World Square Hostel in George Street corner Liverpool Street, Sydney, Australia

This Island of Reality

It was cold and raining in Sydney when I left that fateful day for an island in the Whitsundays hoping for a new start. Among the excess baggage I carried with myself was a prized red towel, a  jersey from a failed relationship, fear of people in the industry and most important of all, running into the same problem, that is people with a penchant for verbal abuse, those that have contributed to my feeling of self worthlessness. However, the first sight of this beautiful paradise shed away a few doubts, well at least as it appears to be. You can never underestimate the power of reality to search and destroy.

The welcome letter from the company gave me an idea that this would be a different experience. Indeed, the first sight, as we approached the harbour, was a group of enthusiastic GOs waving at us for our proper welcome. In case you wanted to know, GOs stand for Gracious Organizers (Supervisory Staff), to realize later that some disgruntled elements in the island would refer to as Generally Obnoxious, lol. Anyways, the chef de village himself welcomed my arrival with a firm hand shake, a warm greeting by knowing my name and where I would be working. The smiles on the faces of the islanders, that is the GOs and GEs (Gracious Employees) shed away more of that seemingly stalker of a doubt that had pestered me for since my encounter with insensitive elements of society. To my surprise, a fellow worker offered to take my luggage and carry it herself to my room. This was a very heart-warming welcome, not expecting such hospitality for someone like me who didn’t arrive as a guest but rather an addition to the oompaloompas of the island.

A member of the cuisine team, where I would be assigned, was there to personally welcome my arrival and take me around the island. I learned later on that he was using his most prized break to do this for me. As we took a walk into the places I need to know as a new GO, everybody was waving towards our direction from afar. I turned around to see if they were referring to someone they knew from my back. There was none. It turns out they were waving at me. I could feel my bottomless pit of self worthlessness filling up again.

Some people say that this island is Never-Never Land, or that mythical place inhabited by the lost boys who never grew old. Indeed, the lifestyle in this place is so far from reality as everyone enjoys life and the people around them unaffected by the pressures of keeping a home, having food on the table and other worries of big cities. It was a multicultural environment as well as people come from all over Australia and around the world. The only time that there is trouble in this paradise is when pirates occasionally assault the island with the corruption of grown-ups. These are times when islanders begin to compete for promotion, better accommodation and recognition. The abundance of alcohol, good times and parties also keep the islanders filled with youthful energy. Work was pretty much play. When they go out of hand, these are the times when grown ups assault the island with liquor bans, curfews and other disciplinary actions, the most popular of which is the NBO or Next Boat Out, or simply put – You’re Fired and back to reality you go!

Yet this island, I feel, is a training ground for reality. For in this paradise, you learn to discover  or rediscover yourself, acceptance of other people for who they are and deal with conflicts which are as common as death and taxes. Most importantly, it is a place where you realize that even the ever immortal Garden of Eden has an end. And this is accepting what is to come. It is accepting reality. I will leave behind memories, both sweet and bitter, and my soul will die along with this island when it sinks.

Ice Berg Dead Ahead!

Note: Club Med Lindeman Island permanently closed down in February 2012.  The Lifestyle Chef and Editor was fortunate to be among the last batch of GOs.

The Club Med Lindeman Island Cuisine Team

 

 

Neighbouring Hamilton Island