Chasing The Skies Across England

I first noticed the skies on that glorious first day in London. We were walking around Covent Garden, just off of a well-deserved buffet at Mr. Wu after a 16-hour flight. As we were strolling around the Piazza looking for the perfect red photobooth, I looked up to see the sky with nary a cloud in sight. London is notoriously known for its bleak weather. It's "grey-ness" and dreariness. But on that first day, it was the opposite. The skies spilled with my favorite color as if welcoming me home. It was a vast space of perfect seamless gradient blue blanketing the city, the color progressing from electric blue to a muted shade of cornflower. It was akin to staring at the ocean if it were hanging above you instead of beneath you. Back at Ludgate Hill, the cross-topped dome outline of St. Paul's Cathedral poised against the cobalt blue. The English baroque church stood pale and resplendent, with its stonework looking incredibly whitewashed by the afternoon sun. 

St. Paul's Cathedral viewed from King Edward Street

Strasbourg: A Doorway to Nostalgia

Prelude:

One of my favorite things to do when I was a little girl was read this book of fairy tale collections my dad had bought me. It was a book with a tale for each day of the year. No matter how many times I’ve finished and run through the book--whether religiously keeping up with the fairy tale of the day, or reading with total abandon finishing an entire month’s worth of stories in one night--I would always go back to it and re-read it. Being sickly and socially awkward, I didn’t have the patience for any other more ‘active’ play then, so reading became my most favorite thing to do. That fairy tale book survived a lot of relocation and house transfers. I still have it on my shelves. It contained most of my favorite stories from the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen, made alive only by the overactive imagination of 8-year old me. I casually browse through every once in a while when I miss my dad.

Earlier this year, I first stepped into Europe when we arrived in Paris. It was a surreal experience, hopping off the plane with a bag full of expectations. Paris was an urban artsy jungle: bigger, badder, and more flamboyant than I originally anticipated. Frenzied but a happy mess. However, nothing had prepared me for what followed when we visited northeast of France.

Strasbourg is the capital of the Alsace Region. It straddles the border of France and Germany, which makes it an interesting blend of French and German influence. When we stepped out of the Gare de Strasbourg after a 2-hour train ride from Paris, what immediately hit me was the cold. The temperature during our visit was 4°C. I tightened the scarf around my neck and buttoned up my coat. The day had just begun and I could already hear my limbs creaking and stiffening from the cold.

Strasbourg, France

As we walked from the station to the Centre-République, I can already see the traces of German influence from the surroundings. Although, it was still predominantly Gallic with its old French elegance--mansard roofs, jutting dormer windows and faux-balconies. But as we drew nearer to Ponts-Couverts, everything gradually turned rustic. The cream colored buildings were replaced by ones with richer reddish-brown walls and roofs with bellcast eaves, white and delicate exterior window shutters were replaced with ones in timber. Romanesque in style, characteristics of 17th-century Germany. Houses that reminded me of The Elves and the Shoemaker, and towers that, oddly enough, reminded me of Rumpelstiltskin.

A Kiss of Paris

I hauled my heavy luggage out of Ourcq station, and up the Metro stairs. It was starting to rain. Fat drops pelting against my glasses with increasing intensity. I was bone-tired and unprepared. The 18-hour flight made my vision blurry, and all the sugar I've ingested made me fidgety. I looked towards Borgy already struggling with multiple bags. A soft-eyed gentleman making his way up the Metro offered me a hand with carrying my luggage, but I politely refused, not wanting to cause any trouble for anyone. I dashed across the pavement dragging my damp bags. The brown awning of Le Concorde gave us temporary shelter. We looked out at the empty avenue. Hardly any cars passed the street. Only a few people were around, a handful in parkas and coats bent over and, like us, running to the direction of restaurants' awnings, trying to escape the rain. Belatedly, I realized that this dreary day is the first real look I'm getting at Paris.

Worth the Splurge: A Taste of Kobe, Japan

I was high on butterbeer, and that delicate rhythm of Hedwig's theme carried my feet away in an intoxicating stupor. I closed my eyes and shook off from the trance. I know the experience will live with me forever, but I need to be onto the next important thing--dinner. :D

Borgy led me to the train station, and asked me where I wanted to go next. "What time is it? Is it still open?" I asked him. He already knew what I was talking about. We've been discussing this place way before we landed in Japan. He was initially worried that I was too tired from fangirling my heart out at USJ, and I might not have enough patience and energy to travel to Kobe. I assured him I'm okay, and I really wanted to have my birthday dinner there. We still had two hours, but I still worried if we'd make it. But faith, he had. "We'll make it." And so began our long train-ride towards Kobe. 

A few hours and my birthday will officially end. While on the train, I did a mental recap of my day. The tingling sensation of being inside WWHP (The Wizarding World of Harry Potter) slowly crept back to me. I was away from the place for only half an hour, but I was already missing it--how I seem to have floated the entire day while I celebrate my inner Ravenclaw. An announcement jolted me back to the train ride. I looked at my phone and checked where we were. I realized, we were still at a considerable distance from Kobe. I started to panic. I told Borgy we might not make it--that Kobe was still so far away; that it might still take an hour more before we reach the Kobe-Sannomiya station. Borgy assured me that we'll make it. And after another half hour, we sure did. :)

Alighting the train at Kobe-Sannomiya station, we were greeted with an atmosphere more "business-like" than that of Osaka. Buildings are taller; facade's are sleeker and more modern. There were more people carrying briefcases and dressed in suits. People there walked a little faster--they seemed busier. Kobe is the sixth largest city in Japan and is home to more than 1.5 million people. The location of Kobe made way for it being the busiest container port in the region. It's a center for foreign trade and a metropolitan where cultures of Japan and other foreign countries diverged.

Emotional and Esurient at Ebisubashi-suji

I woke up with a feeling of excitement and tugging at me like an inevitable flu is the feeling of melancholy. It was our third day in Japan, the last full day Borgy and I will have before we depart back to Manila. We had no plans for the day. Actually, we never really had a proper itinerary for our Japan trip. All we've decided while we were still in Manila was that we had to go to USJ for my birthday and to eat Kobe beef at Steakland Kobe (that's for my next post). Probably the reason why we've enjoyed the trip so much--we weren't stressed out from following schedules to the dot; we just decided to wing it and went wherever our feet (and our tummies) would take us.  

On our third day, after preparing, Borgy and I went directly to the Daimaru department store to have our currencies exchanged to yen. Tip: on weekdays, you can get your dollars exchanged at their post offices. Days prior, we had our dollars exchanged for yen at the Osaka Minami Post Office, since it was just a few blocks from our AirBnb apartment. It was the same post office that directed us to Daimaru when we were looking for a currency exchange on a Sunday when the post office wasn't open.

At Ebisubashi-suji Shopping Street

Dotonbori: An Overture to Osaka

"It's not as crowded as I originally thought it would be," I thought to myself as I stepped through the famous "Doutonbori Street" sign, and unto the cobbled dimly lit street one cold Thursday evening in April. It was half past ten. Some shops were already closed. Their roller shutters lowered down, but their dazzling neon lights shone persistently, inviting late night tourists like us to draw close and admire their impressive signs. A bicycle is casually parked in the middle of the street, leaning on a street light post. No evidence of its owner around, and yet no one is giving it a second look. A few steps within the district, a few more unattended bikes lined a railing. Borgy and I went further down the street, intent on  taking in as much of the place as we can.

Dotonbori Street

Falling In Love Further North: Ilocos

Aside from Baguio, Ilocos was one item on my travel bucket list of year 2013. And it was such an amazing experience having to cross that item off of my list with the funniest (and the most "gentle" and "non-raunchy") bunch of friends I have ever met.

And yes, I am very painfully aware that I am posting this blog more than a month late but in my defense, I was busy...procrastinating. And dealing with writer's block, which I haven't fully recovered from, mind you.

With the help of e-Philippines travel (Brian Sacamos, our agent, and Kuya Allan Ong, our driver and tourist guide), we were able to smoothly buy a package tour for Vigan, Laoag, and Pagudpud of mid-December last 2013. So, thank you, Sir Brian and Kuya Allan! :)

So, what fascinated me about Ilocos? What drove me to put it on my travel bucket list? The place is a cultural gem. When I think of Ilocos, I think of Spanish colonization, Ferdinand Marcos, romantic and lovely lamp-lit streets lined with Spanish-style houses, "dinengdeng", and bagnet. My father is an Ilokano and although, I do not speak the dialect, I was raised eating dinengdeng, bagnet, and pinakbet. Of course I wanted to visit this place of interesting food names and a common household flavor. Of course I wanted to visit the hometown of many of the most famous politicians of the country. Of course I wanted see it in person, to experience it, to live it. The allure, the romance, the charisma of hearing the place "Calle Crisologo" alone was enough to transport me to a scene of a beautiful Spanish-inspired wedding. I was resolute. I was pee-my-pants excited with the mere thought of it.

So without further ado, here are the places we've visited in Ilocos Sur and Ilocos Norte! :)

By the way, guys, photos are mine, otherwise duly credited. So, please don't steal them.  ;)

Places

Click on the pictures! :)

Bantay Belfry and Church

Burnayan Pottery

Baluarte

Marcos Mausoleum

Church of Paoay

Malacañang of the North

Fort Ilocandia

Bangui Wind Farm

Saud Beach

Calle Crisologo

Cape Bojeador

Food

Click on the pictures! :)

The Hidden Garden of Vigan

La Preciosa

The Ilocos region offers so many places worthy of visit; so many food hubs worthy of a try. There were still a lot of places in both Sur and Norte we wanted to visit like the Pagudpud Viaduct, Paoay Sand Dunes, Crisologo Museum, and a lot more. But because of our limited time, we only have to prioritize a few. So, if you plan on going on an all-out Ilocos vacation, do yourself a favor and do it in a week or more if you want to. If you're going to explore the place, live it and love it! :)

Battles in Bantay

It was a glorious Friday morning when we arrived at the warm province of Ilocos Sur. The skies are bright with a few clouds here and there.

After 9 hours of travelling and finding impossible sleeping positions in our rented van, it was a relief to finally get some fresh morning air. Thankfully, along with fresh air is a majestic view.

Baguio's Keepsakes and Mementos

Filipinos are familiar with buying souvenirs and pasalubong whenever vacationing out of town. Since Baguio is one huge treasure trove of cool relics and mementos, we looked for the best and memorable souvenirs we can find.

Technically, it's not a souvenir but still, it's an authentic Baguio experience. For the first time, I've tasted the strawberry taho or soy pudding (a Philippine snack food made of fresh silken tofu, syrup and flavoring, and tapioca pearls)! :) I bought strawberry taho twice: first time was when we went biking around Burnham Park and; the last time, when we went to the Pink Sisters Convent. There were a big difference between those two taho I've tasted. The first one was extremely sweet that, I think, majority of what I've tasted was the heavy syrup. The second one was better. You can perfectly taste the flavor because it has strawberry bits.

Strawberry Taho at Burnham Park

Strawberry Taho at Pink Sisters Convent

Baguio, An Artist's Haven

Baguio is known as one of the best-loved home of the country's free-thinking artists. Ben Cabrera, Butch Perez, Kidlat Tahimik, Narda Kapuyan and Kigao, to name a few. Maybe it's the climate or maybe it's the amazing mountain setting which gives you an astonishing vantage point of nature every day. Probably it's because of the Baguio Arts Festival held annually. Whatever the reason, the city has been an artful delight for travelers and art enthusiasts.

Among the various places where Baguio's artists have established their outlets of creativity, Borgy and I have visited the most popular and frequently featured Tam-awan Village and BenCab Museum. 

Spirituality in Baguio

A vacation wouldn't be such without any sight seeing. As accustomed by many Filipinos, due to our religious disposition and the country's plentiful hirstorical and religious sites, a trip to at least the nearest or most famous church in town is always included on our travel plans. And because of the unequalled landscape and climate of Baguio City, religious sites are even more interesting.

Baguio's Evergreen

Ever since I can remember, Baguio has been known by (aside from its amazing climate) its luscious parks and cultural landmarks. Thus, any time I hear Baguio mentioned, I automatically imagine the distinctive green of Burnham Park, Wright Park, Mines View Park, and even Camp John Hay.