Missing Saigon

It was a moment that will forever be embedded in my memory: a swarm of countless motorcycles rushing towards our lonely little cab, all coming from the opposite direction. Any one of those motorcycles could have collided with our vehicle. I should’ve been terrified.

But all I felt was excitement.

See, I had been warned about this, about the supposedly chaotic streets of Saigon. Anthony Bourdain described this in great detail in “A Cook’s Tour”; he thought he was going to die from the onslaught of vehicles.  A lot of websites and travel blogs say mostly the same thing. Everyone I know who has been to Saigon told me about the traffic.

To prepare myself, I kept in mind a friend’s words about surviving Saigon: I am the rock, and they are the stream. Sure enough, I witnessed that firsthand when the sea of motorcycles parted around our cab without leaving so much as a scratch.

With that mantra in mind, I felt confident enough to cross the streets of Saigon. With a couple of companions and a map, we walked around the city in search of Bourdain’s Lunch Lady, who supposedly serves the best beef noodle soup (pho) in the city.

It was not easy to find. The thought “this better be fuckin’ worth it!” crossed my mind a few times, especially after that first hour of walking. We had to ask some (thankfully very helpful) policemen for directions. Finally, after nearly two hours–we found it. I swear I could hear the faint sound of angels singing hallelujah in the background.

I had never been so happy to see a noodle stall in my entire life

I had never been so happy to see a noodle stall in my entire life

The place was packed, mostly with Caucasian tourists. We overheard a guy in one table actually talking about how much Bourdain raved about the food.

Was the pho worth the long and tiring walk? Lemme put it this way: I couldn’t and didn’t want to talk to my companions for what must’ve been a good half hour after the noodles were served.

Heaven in a bowl

Heaven in a bowl

 

"Lunch Lady" Nguyen Thi Thanh with her happy customer

“Lunch Lady” Nguyen Thi Thanh with her sweaty, dirty, but happy customer

I miss Saigon and its old-world charm. I miss its cheap, delicious food and its friendly people. I want to explore it again, and other parts of Vietnam as well.

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A Week in May

This is how a typical day of vacation in Singapore would go for me.

I’d wake up around 8 a.m., breeze through a few chapters of whatever ebook I’m reading at the time while waiting for my family prep, spend a few minutes making myself presentable, and then walk with them to the nearby hawker center to have breakfast.

A typical breakfast would consist of the following: meatball soup (S$2.50, or roughly 75 pesos) which has some pretty tasty meatballs; the always refreshing iced Milo (around S$0.90 I think); and grass jelly drink (around S$0.70) which my dad would always buy.

hawker breakfast

More often than not, he’d buy roti prata, too–those fried flat pancakes served with mild Indian curry–but I’ll only take a bite or two. They’re not bad and I’m a big curry fan myself, but I’m not too into having curry in the morning.

Instead, I’d walk a few meters to a little bakeshop around the corner that makes amazing waffles to go. Just the scent of the batter forming and bubbling up in the waffle-maker is enough to make my stomach rumble even though I’ve already downed a lot of noodles and meatballs. It’s that good.

I’d order one waffle–with kaya, please (S$1.70 if I remember correctly). There are other choices for your waffle spread–chocolate, peanut butter, hazelnut, butter, and cheese, but I always go for their kaya which has just the right amount of sweetness.

After stuffing ourselves with cheap good food, we’d walk back to the flat and prepare for the rest of the day’s agenda: most of the time it would involve going to some mall, trekking at some park or swimming at the clean Olympic-sized public pool in the sports complex (S$1 entrance fee per person). Mostly local stuff. After spending the past three summers or so in Singapore, we’re mostly done with touristy activities like going to Universal Studios in Sentosa (although if I were to be completely honest, I would be thrilled to go on that Transformers ride again).

I was still amazed at the tourist spots we went to, though. Gardens by the Bay, for one, was a sight to behold and reminded me of Pandora from Avatar.

gardens by the bayThing is, I used to dislike Singapore. The first time I went there as an adult, everything looked perfectly polished—-a stark contract to the chaos and grit of Manila. The perfectly lined trees along the roads, the beaches in Sentosa that looked perfectly thought-out—-two summers ago, all of these seemed artificial to me. Everything looked flawless, and in my view then, therefore soulless.

But I’ve come to appreciate SG, especially after this latest week-long trip. Maybe it’s because of my new perspective about traveling and eating courtesy of Anthony Bourdain. Maybe it’s because I badly needed a break from all the election stress at work. Or maybe I’m just growing up, becoming a proper adult who can appreciate a good country when she’s in one.

Anyhow, I sincerely admire SG now. They make the best of what they have. Everyone seems to work hard. They do the kind of landscapes and architecture that I can only dream of seeing in my own country. And, most of all, I can openly use my phone in public transportation without fear of getting robbed.

This trip had been good for my body, mind, and heart. Although I was a bit sad about leaving, I left a happy, enlightened girl.

jam

Bits and Pieces

My life is almost completely devoid of culinary adventures.

I’ve long been aware of the fact that I’m not very adventurous when it comes to food, and it has never really bothered me–until now. Reading the first few pages of the insider’s edition of Anthony Bourdain’s “Kitchen Confidential,” which I bought after (belatedly) discovering what an interesting person Bourdain is, has truly put me to shame.

For one, he was food-tripping in France and tasting freshly-caught oysters when he was in fourth grade. What was I doing at that age? The only gastronomically risky move I can think of was trying out suspicious-looking cafeteria food. And that was because I had no choice.

Let me further illustrate just how picky I am with food.

I don’t eat anything raw. I don’t find sushi or sashimi appetizing. It’s a shame, really, because Japan is my dream destination, and–if my mother’s claim about my great (great, great?) grandparents is to be believed–I am part Japanese. Okay, maybe just, like, 1/16th Japanese, but still.

A couple of years ago, I went to Little Tokyo with some friends. It was supposed to be my first foray into Japanese food, but all I ordered was some sad chicken katsu. To stop a friend from pointing out how boring I am, I agreed to taste the salmon sashimi she had ordered. I grimaced at the raw fish for like half and hour before finally, quickly, shoving it into my mouth. The taste itself wasn’t bad, but the feel of the raw fish as it slithered down my throat almost got me barfing.

The only meat I consume on a regular basis is chicken, and I’m not even sure that counts as proper meat since chefs apparently think chicken is boring. If you count the ground beef in burgers, pizza and bolognese pasta, I guess you can say I eat beef regularly too, but that’s about it.

I am not very fond of pork. I can actually no longer count the number of incredulous looks and lectures people have given me after telling them I find lechong baboy disgusting. I find the idea of eating pig skin repulsive. I wish I can say my aversion to pork is due to health reasons, but it’s not. Maarte lang ako.

I don’t eat a lot of vegetables, much to the chagrin of my boyfriend who grew up in Baguio City and therefore subsisted on pork and veggies. I like non-green, starchy vegetables though. Especially potatoes. I swear, some of the best things in life are made from potatoes. Potato salad, baked potato, mashed potato, French fries, potato chips…

Anyway, I’m now halfway through “Kitchen Confidential” and the more I read, the more I become painfully aware of how much I’m missing.

I wish I could say that it has thoroughly changed my perspective about food, but that would be lying. It did, however, make me want to expand my food choices. I’ll probably eat–and cook–more beef and pork from now on. I’m going to try that French resto that a friend keeps talking about, and I swear I won’t order chicken.

Perhaps I’ll even give sushi or sashimi another shot. Maybe just one piece. Or two.

Mixtape

Just thought I’d post videos of some of my favorite songs and  recent Youtube finds. Most of the songs aren’t new, because I’m really a 45-year-old stuck in a 25-year-old’s body.

1) Temple of the Dog’s “Hunger Strike.” Chris Cornell + Pearl Jam members before they were Pearl Jam. This song gets me every time.

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Classic

Walang tubig, walang pagkain, ‘di magsayaw na lang tayo” is probably the most memorable line from the 1980 cult classic “Temptation Island” by Joey Gosiengfiao. Here’s a clip of the scene where Azenith Briones delivered that immortal line:

Then again, it’s so hard to choose which line from “Temptation Island” is the most memorable, because there’s so many to choose from! I’m glad the remake, which I watched with friends last week, retained most of the lines in all their campy glory.

This is not a film review, so lemme just a post a picture of me and my friends at the post-movie dinner where we concluded that the original film was amazingly ahead of its time:

Loss

You’d think it would be easier to accept a loved one’s death when you’ve been warned about it, but that’s not the case. Even if you’ve spent years bracing yourself for that person’s death, the loss will still crush you when it finally happens, and it will leave a gaping hole in your heart that will probably never be filled.

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Isabela

A little over a week ago, I flew to Isabela along with a handful of other reporters to cover President Noynoy Aquino’s visit to areas hit by typhoon Juan.

Behind me is a Philippine Air Force plane

When we went to a disaster-stricken community in the province, I saw scenarios that I had also witnessed during my typhoon Pepeng coverage in Pangasinan last year: trees torn down, houses and various other buildings damaged, and hungry families gathered in a hall as they waited patiently for relief goods.

As we waited for the arrival of the officials who were visiting another area, a fellow reporter and I looked around for a restroom.  There was a local health center nearby, so we entered and asked if we could use the restroom there.

The 30-something woman inside, an evacuee, let us in with a smile, and then apologized profusely because there was no water in the toilet.  It was a painfully touching situation: there she was without a home and without food to feed her family, and yet she was apologizing for not being able to clean up the toilet for us visitors. We immediately told her there was no need to apologize.

I’m not sure if many people in Manila realize how lucky they are that our region doesn’t get hit by typhoons very often, unlike some provinces in northern Luzon. Some students here complain that their classes were not suspended on time, but other Filipino children are not even left with the option to go to school because their buildings were either flooded or damaged.

As a reporter I get to witness disasters from various perspectives: officials’ and volunteers’ and victims’. It’s always the last that gets to me.

I don’t know how to end this post without sounding inappropriately self-righteous or preachy, so let me just share an excerpt from something I wrote after I covered Pangasinan last year:

I met so many:  fellow media practitioners out to get the news no matter what, ordinary citizens braving the flood just to go to their jobs that will put food on the table, children dancing in the rain.

I got a glimpse of how disasters can bring out both the worst and the best in some people. The worst, in some of those who pushed even mothers carrying their hungry, crying babies as they scrambled for food and relief goods. The best, in the countless volunteers and officials who took the time and the effort to go into the most remote parts of the province just to extend assistance to those in need.