Putrajaya has a dreamlike aura – perhaps because of its colossal mosques that somehow evoke scenes from fairy tales and Arabian Nights or maybe because of its futuristic bridges and towering skyscrapers that remind us that even the loftiest dreams can come true. The ‘jaya’ in Putrajaya means success and that perfectly makes sense.
.With barely a car or pedestrians in sight as we drove through its avenues, it’s as if security had blocked off traffic and we were some diplomats visiting the Prime Minister 😂.
We can’t thank enough, Azi, a lovely Malaysian lady from Kuala Lumpur, for bringing us here, among other things, and that includes opening up her cozy and dollhouse-like home to us. This trip had been so memorable because of her. How we wish we could stay longer. My friend Jane and I still can’t stop talking about how she’s such an amazing person. She’s somehow like Putrajaya. 😊
She looks too buried in her thoughts but I betcha, she’s just dismayed at how could this place not serve ais kacang when it’s 33 degrees hot outside. 😁
Just kidding, Penang Hill has an elevation of about 800 meters above sea level which makes the temperature here way cooler than the rest of the island of Penang. With that atmosphere, it’s actually a good idea to indulge yourself in fresh air while sipping teh tarik and maybe scribbling on your journal or drowning yourself in a good book after an hour-and-a-half of an entertaining and informative walking tour in the morning down in the heritage area of Georgetown which is lined with centuries-old shophouses with Chinese architecture on the first floor and European architecture on the second floor with the funny and articulate Clement as your guide who loves to make self-deprecating jokes and intentionally mock Chinese people because obviously he is Chinese himself.
In fact, that is what we actually did, sans the sipping the teh tarik part or journal writing (because I did that every night when I couldn’t sleep) or reading a book (because I was already done with the book that I brought with me) since we were too eager to climb The Habitat and witness the sun set over Langkawi Island which could be seen from afar on a clear day if you are lucky. We were lucky.
When you’re practically alone on a train en-route to the airport and you somehow start to realize that you got into the wrong train, there’s no WiFi, the only other passenger doesn’t speak a bit of English, and your flight out of that country, the connecting flight to your flight back home is leaving in an hour. You try to walk the long train aisle, finally see the train crew and fortunately, one of them speaks perfect English. You then become aware that one of the train stations on the way to the one you are supposed to arrive at is undergoing repair. You actually got into the right train but need to make more train transfers. He gives clear directions but it would take you a minimum of 30 minutes to arrive at the airport. Left with no other options, you just try to calm yourself and follow his instructions. You would later arrive at the airport 15 minutes before boarding, grateful that you actually made it. What a crazy eight-hour layover. I would still choose to do it again, but next time, I would always allocate extra time for getting lost. Like maybe an hour.. or two.. Ah, but the Koln Cathedral was really all worth it.
Perhaps one of the craziest things I did while traveling solo was using the public transportation in Italy without a ticket thrice (yeah not just once – two bus rides and one tram ride) and getting away with having to pay a fine of fifty euros or a total of a whopping one hundred fifty euros without even being aware of it. I remember somebody from Venice telling me that I had been so lucky that day. Would I do it again? Most probably not. What was one crazy thing you did while traveling?
Time Check: past eleven in the evening
Temperature Check: below 10
Eiffel Tower: Shimmering
There are two train stations near the Eiffel Tower – the Champ de Mars-Tour Eiffel via the RER C and the Trocadero (from which this photo has been taken from) via Metro Line 9. The former is still a bit of walk to the Eiffel Tower. The Trocadero is actually nearer and I’d prefer it when going there in the evening. During daytime, I suggest taking the Champ de Mars route. If you follow this way, there’s a garden you’d easily spot near the tower which is usually not crowded with tourists. It’s one of the best spots for taking photos with the iconic tower.
This garden by the Eiffel Tower is closed during the evening. It’s the perfect spot for taking photos during the day because it isn’t usually crowded. There are also benches where you can sit, read a book, daydream, or just stare at the tower while munching on some croissants or crepes. Beware though of people who would usually approach you, papers on hand, asking “Speak English?” Ignore them or just shake your head or say “no” in the best French accent you can muster. They’re scammers who’d force you into signing some petitions and eventually take money from you.
Princess Diana could have looked like her hadn’t she died young.
“Oh, you’re only here for two days…” The blonde immigration officer said,
handing back my arrival card and Australian transit visa with a friendly smile,
without any hint of sternness, her accent reminiscent of Harry Potter movies.
“Yes. I’m actually going to New Caledonia.” I answered back with a smile.
“New Caledonia! What are you going to do there?” That Hermione Granger
accent again. And the excitement on her face. It mirrored the excitement in my
I’m attending a film festival.” I answered almost pensively, trying to contain my excitement.
Her eyes sparkled with much enthusiasm as she exclaimed. “Great! Good for
you! Welcome to Australia!”
I could almost hear the faint sound of the Australian immigration stamp as it touched my passport. With barely two days to explore Sydney and with a connecting flight to New Caledonia after that, I’d have to make the most of my time in this vibrant cosmopolitan city.
Right under my nose, a fellow passenger on a van from Catarman to Calbayog City had stolen my umbrella. He could give Lupin the third a run for his money- the umbrella was gone in a jiffy! But still, I wanna thank him for not including my backpack.
Which reminds me of the parishioners of St. Francis of Assisi Parish Church in the quaint town of Siquijor, Siquijor. With my ferry trip to Dumaguete delayed that morning, I meandered back into the town and stumbled into the olden church as a mass was about to begin. All of the churchgoers were in their best Sunday attires, I settled for the last part of the long rows of pews as I fidgeted in my capris and slippers. Communion rite later started and I was grateful for leaving my bulky backpack on my seat. Bags, purses, wallets were left on the pews as the mass attendees queued up to the altar.
Imagine the usual six-hour drive from Catarman, Northern Samar to Tacloban City cut short to only four hours. I check again if its Dominic Toretto aka Vin Diesel on the steering wheel and it’s not. This chauffeur’s just fast, not furious. I don’t even flinch on the passenger seat. Can I have this Lightning McQueen ride everytime I go home, please? (read: pwede ba makihitch lagi, sir?)
One dreadful thing about solo travel is the likelihood of sleeping in a musty-smelling hostel room alone much less a 16-bed cottage dormitory like this one in Misamis Occidental Aquamarine Park, Brgy. Libertad Bajo, Sinacaban, Misamis Occidental. One survival tip? Don’t watch scary movies at least a month before your solo trip else you’ll get crazy imagining the rest of the 15 white linen covered beds are occupied.
On a side note, the place has good security, and the airconditioned dorm (TV, wide veranda, 2 bathrooms and a mini-kitchen included) is all yours for only 150 pesos a night. 🙂
Oh, and the view outside is surely a delight for nature-lovers.
A sudden torrential rain, itchy plants, tiny blood-sucking leech-like creatures called limatok in the Waray dialect, supernatural tales, fordings on streams with slippery rocks, trail so steep we had to use vines for climbing, there were even times that there was not a trail at all. I knew the hike was going to be difficult. I just didn’t had an idea that it would be this treacherous.
But perhaps that is the beauty of an adventure – there will always be uncertainties and possibilities.
What awaited us in this risky trek was an overwhelming series of waterfalls. This had also been a surprise for me. I counted perhaps three mini-waterfalls and two big waterfalls when I was only expecting to see one. There were at least two more, our two local guides told us, if only Supertyphoon Yolanda/Haiyan hadn’t destroyed them.
cascading waters spread on huge rocks – the 1st big waterfall
Our ultimate destination was something like a 65-70 ft high waterfall. The sight of it makes you forget the ordeal you had just gone through. The feel of its surging waters massaging your body is of relaxation – a perfect communion with nature.
Some say that the Busay Falls experience would be incomplete without taking a slide on the upper middle part of this waterfall. It was risky but at the same time too tempting not to take the slide challenge. We each took turns. I happily did it thrice. I knew right then and there that the many waterfalls of Tambis are worth chasing and worth risking for.
Brgy. Tambis, Burauen, Leyte the location of Busay Waterfalls is also the source of the municipality's water system. Reaching the upland barrio means having to go on a 20 to
30-minute habal-habal ride on a rough terrain for a fare of 25 pesos. There are no fees to be paid but you have to ask permission from the barangay chairman who will then recommend you to at least two local guides. This is done as a safety precaution.
So this Torogan-inspired cottage perched on a hill on the farthest end of Marawi Resort Hotel is all to myself for a night. It’s spacious, two-bed, non-aircon (but who needs an aircon in MSU Marawi’s Baguio-like weather), with a leaky faucet (drip..drip..drip..), creaking doors and squeaking floors (freaky), and at three in the morning I get to wake up to a chilly breeze and the seemingly endless howling of dogs (awoooo!). The combination of eerie noise creates a perfect harmony which is, in an odd way, melodious to the ears. Were they singing a hymn to the moon? 😀
And as I felt the warmth of the lantern on my palms and released it to the skies, I whispered to the heavens a silent prayer of hope for us who survived, of justice for the oppressed and often neglected Yolanda victims, of compassion for those who have perished, and of thanksgiving for the outpouring of support when we needed them the most.
Meet Nur Shalyn, a sixteen year-old Tausug girl with a sunbaked skin and a warm smile. Stranded for four hours at the old bustling Chinese Pier of Bongao while on a boat bound for Simunul Island, I had a long conversation with this fellow passenger who was rather puzzled that I was alone on such a long journey. She slept soundly on the backpack on my lap for the entire duration of the trip while my stomach churned at the angry waves of the Sulu Sea and the uncertainty of my destination. I would later find myself in their stilt wooden house meeting her family and sipping my favorite buko drink which she herself prepared..
My dear beloved Leyte, it breaks my heart to see you so devastated this way. I thought that surviving supertyphoon Yolanda was enough, I should have known better, dealing with its aftermath is another story of survival. But still, I don’t want to leave you, my beloved home for more than twenty years. You have taught me to be strong, and optimistic somehow. Aren’t Warays known to be easygoing but tough people? It may be hard to fathom God’s reasons, but the trademark resilience of your people may probably have something to do in being chosen to be the bearer of the strongest cyclone to ever hit the world. We’ll get by, we’ll rise again, I know we can. We must, my dear beloved Leyte.