Eliezar Wamar & Northern Mindoro (Feb. 5?)

Eliezar, man of the world, always grinning, always happy

I skipped blogging Legazpi, maybe the most significant part of the one week excursion with Gordon, Norlyn, and Aries. It looked like an intriguing city at the end of the road, three days from Manila, or one kinda short flight to the southeast end of the Bicol region. The truth is, after our first night there, once we got settled into a really nice Bed n Breakfast type lodging, I got in one of my moods where all I wanted to do was chill (while the rest of them went out on the town) or went four wheeling—something that didn’t really ring my bell. I just wasn’t in the high energy mood I thought the day was going to take. But admitted, I was impressed with the relatively nice sized city the night before. We drove around for two hours, kinda frantically, looking for something—-I don’t remember what, a type of restaurant, a part of town, some sort of entertainment, I don’t remember what. I was tired of looking, tired of driving, and just wanted to call it a night. It was one of those places where the stay was scarcely long enough to catch my breath, but I could tell it was a unique city.

The next day, Norlyn caught a flight out of Legazpi for Manila at an ungodly hour in the morning to catch a high school re-union—the last event of her life in the Philippines before her family moved to the U.S.A, and then the remaining three of us began our long ass drive back. We somehow squeezed three days of driving into about 18 hours and finally arrived at Manila around 11 PM that night. Wow, long and painful though truly scenic. I think I spent the next day with Gordon in Makati where I then bid him farewell for the next 5 weeks. Early the next day, I was off for the bus station in Buen Dia (Manila) where I then headed to Batangas to catch a ferry northwest to Abra de Ilog, no man’s port to what I call the “far side of the moon” in the province of Mindoro Occidental. I was headed to Paluan, Monette’s town that I’ve known about for years. Paluan, not to be mistaken for the province of Palawan, a completely different and rather exotic bird.

The timing wasn’t terrible. I had about an hour and a half to wait. Most of the ferries were headed south to Sabang, city of diving sin, and Puerto Galera, port first settled by the Spanish maybe around 1600. The port of Abra de Ilog was up the mountainous coast in the north, but not accessible by road (yet). In Abra, where the ferries disembarked the forlorn headed into Mindoro Occidental, a bus or a van would be waiting there to take wayfarers on their way to the southwest side of rural and mountainous Mindoro. I was lucky, Monette was going to meet me in the first big town, Mamburao, the junction leading to where she lived, or at least the town I believed she lived in, Paluan.

Northwest coast of Mindoro—you can see a portion of the road winding its way down the coast from Puerto Galera.

I was sitting peaceably in the front row of the huge ferry terminal when a Filipino around my age sat down next to me. After about 45 minutes he spoke to me in understandable English. It didn’t take long for us to spark up a bit of conversation. He was a garrulous fellow, and very friendly. The time flew and before we knew it, we were boarding our ferry. Eliezar was a retired second engineer for Norwegian Explorers and was a guy who had traveled all over the world, many times over. He was quite the adventurer in my mind. Aside from his overt friendliness, there was something I really liked about him. Before I knew it, he was buying my beer, and our three hours crossing of the Maricaban Strait on the large Montenegro ferry went rather fast. It was a sunny, pleasant day, and the mountains were green, high, and remote. I could see the the seven miles of distant coastal road the government was still working on to complete the perimeter highway of Mindoro. Mindoro is a special place in my mind. The first word I think of is: remote. We each had three beers and I was rather buzzed by the time we reached Abra.

Turned out, he lived in barangay Wawa on the coast just north of Abra, still considered a part of Abra de Ilog. He kept pointing his retirement house out he painstakingly built over the last nine years to me as we came to port. I wasn’t sure which one it was, but it wasn’t one of the nipa huts all up and down the beach. We formed a quick friendship and I told him I would quite possibly come to visit him soon (with Monette). He got me on a bus headed for Mamburao before the bus was even off the ferry. We bid each other farewell and that was that.

Eliazar, boarding the ferry

Within 45 minutes, I was in Mamburao and Monette was in the (outdoor) terminal, happily awaiting me.

A few days later Monette, my sweet heart going back 7 years, and myself met up with Eliazar

Mountainous and remote Mindoro

A Few More Shots of Busay Falls (Early Feb.)

One of our two guides (keeping an eye on me?)

Gordon sizing up a swimming hole

Aries, up the slippery trail

Slowly, carefully down the trail. No one wants to break their neck.

Aries enroute to Legazpi. Cigarette break. Those precious sunglasses were lost on the Busay Falls hike.

Norlyn, in a moment lost in reverie to her childhood country. How strange it must be leaving one’s homeland so many years in the past.

Back into Southern AZ. (Mar. 24)

Santa Rita’s in Madera Canyon

I’m gonna cheat. I’ve got so many Philippine blogs finished and unfinished alike. And now that I have relative order back in my blogs, I am going to catch up, close the gap, so to speak, as quickly as I can. I am back in Arizona. And I am busy. I’ve been hiking as can be expected. And Spring is here. It’s not ideal weather, but there is almost a warmth in the mountain island air, despite the wind and intermittent rain. And anybody who knows me very well, knows that I am eager to start seeing my reptilian and amphibian critters again. The mountain air is a tad too cold for most cold blooded creatures, but close to the ground, in the nooks and crannies being stroked and heated by the sun, the temperature is comfy. Things will venture out, though they are not highly active. They might snatch a fly here and there, but they are not going to move a lot.

Spiny Mountain Lizard taking in the sun

I’ve been getting my hikes in, testing my condition since I was pretty lazy in the Philippines. There, the heat and humidity discouraged me from taking on rugged challenges for the most part. I had hoped I would be more active than I was, but not so. But here, I am going for it. When I hike, I keep my eyes open. The other day Russ and I were doing a 5 1/2 mile loop through the Tucson Mountains and a fat, fast terrestrial garter snake jumped out in front of me. I was too slow, waiting, hoping it would pause and I could close in on it but it kept moving until it was beyond my grasp. But I was encouraged. It is warm low to the ground so pay attention.

The warmth of flat, sun-facing rocks!

Yesterday, the two of us went for a 6 1/2 mile hike. It was cold. But I know a 3 1/2 mile trail that is highly exposed to the sun and the ridge of mountains blocks the wind which makes for good spiny mountain lizard habitat early in the year. Of course I don’t tell Russ because he can only take so many lizards in a day. But, it was early in the year, March, and we have only gotten in so many hikes since I’ve returned to the Philippines. And it was brisk yesterday—what were the odds?

The lizards are almost black after being in the deep chinks of rocks all winter.

Well, it turned out pretty good. And Russ was somewhat patient. Once I saw my first lizard, I suspected it might be a good day. It was early in the season and the lizards were lazy. No one wants to run for their life when they are cold. They lie on a rock, flattened to the sun, tolerant of a guy like me creeping around, trying to get in close on them; they don’t want to move. It’s Russ that is restless. But yesterday, he was tolerant. Now I owe him a hike in his territory—the Ariz. Trail, or the lower, desert mountains in the Tucson area.

A fine, healthy female I suspect.

So as far as I am concerned, the “season” has begun. The only conflict I have now, is my desire to go back to the PI before the price of airline tickets doubles. June is when it rains there, and that means the big snakes come out, the pythons…and the venomous snakes, cobras. But the price of tickets is prohibitive in June. And I really want to see Monette. Whatever shall a boy do?

Busay Falls (Feb. 3)

It doesn’t take long before you are fighting for your life to get up the “trail”

A little adventure must befall even the sedate at heart. We left Caramoan at some god awful early hour headed for Legazpi. I have no idea what I am getting involved with. Gordon is way ahead of me: he is organized, he has a plan, he knows how to read his tech info. He’ll live to be 100 years old baring the unforeseen. Myself, I take every year one at a time. My goal is 72 right now. My step grandpa Floyd lived to 72—that is my goal, to tie Floyd.

On a sunny day, these waters are as sublime as they get

So we’re on our way to Legazpi. It’s a special city. But nobody drives into Legazpi. That’s three days from Manila. Three, slow days down winding mountain, coastal roads, dodging washes and flood sites. In the distance there is a volcano. This volcano has been in my view for two days. It’s kinda like the perfect volcano—-cylindrical, steep, a mountain begging to be climbed. It is buried in clouds 9 months out of the year because that’s what high mountains in the tropics do, hide in cloud cover. Nobody has seen the peak for 9 months, but this looks like the week where it may show its top.

You could see this volcano for two days of driving windy mountain and coastal roads

As we approached the second half of the day, Gordon mentioned some falls. He didn’t seem to know how far this hike would be. Maybe a half mile each direction, maybe a mile and a half each direction. I am thinking there is a trail—a normal trail, maybe with switchbacks. I don’t know why I am thinking switchbacks because I know better than that, they don’t exist in the Philippines. All trails are steep, muddy, or stoney, and switch backs don’t exist—that is so first world, with rangers, signage, etc. In a third world country, a trail is some place where the jungle foliage has been beaten back.

It took all of fifty yards before the trail turned muddy and indomitable

We arrive at the end of the road, barely. Things look normal. We can do this without a guide. No, Gordon hires two! What! I am not paying for that! We can follow this trail on our own.

We hire the guides and 50 yards into the hike the quality of the trail goes south. From that point on, basically every foot is earned. If it is not steep, it is shamelessly stony or muddy or overgrown. And what did not seem that hot and humid suddenly becomes miserable. My sweat has drenched my clothes.

Me, sweating like the proverbial stuck pig. The thing about green and luxurious tropics is a photograph does not capture heat and humidity

Gordon sizing the “trail” up, deciding now which way to go.

Somewhere on the trail I got separated from Norlyn, Aries, and Gordon. They are with one guide, I am with another. They decided to swim below a fall. I go up above with a guide accompanying me making sure nothing happens to me. We plod along. Even he is not sure where the trail is. I am thinking, “man, I am glad we have a guide”.

Gordon and Norlyn being waylaid by an inviting pool

About twenty minutes farther up the trail, which way to go becomes a total mystery. We eventually all collect at a spot where it just looks impossible to push on. Aries has lost one flip flop and his hat or sunglasses or both, I don’t remember. My boots are soaked because we continually are wading in, out, across, up, and down the stream and I can’t just keep taking my boots off. This is the second time this trip where I have had to just give up and let them get soaked.

Onward Christian soldiers. Thank you Gordon for hiring these guides. They were worth every bit of the $2 we paid for their help

Gordon and Norlyn basking in the last “easy to reach” spot in our hike

We have gone as far as we can go without using a machete to push on. So we we catch our breath and commit to fording our way back down the mountain. Thank god we have these two guides to help us. At one point I asked one of the guides if anybody ever got killed doing this hike. “O-o, Yes,” was his answer. “Last year we lost someone,” he attempts to explain in very broken English.” “They slipped off the trail”. I understood that part. For some reason, that did not surprise me. What surprised me was that they had only lost one person. That seemed amazing to me.

Gordon (and Aries following) with the guide’s help, proceeding over slippery, steep rock

So for forty five minutes we worked like sled dogs to stay on the trail, not slip into the stream and go over a fall, to avoid every spot that looked made to order for slipping and going over a ledge. I was thinking, “I am getting too old for this kind of thing”.

Norlyn tackling another steep spot (again with the guide’s help) and fat me, about to put my climbing prowess to good use

Aries taking group shot with our two guides, as nimble as cats. Note, I am drenched from top to toe in sweat and river water

Loose Photos (Early Feb.)

A fine meal in our Caramoan Bed & Breakfast

I’ve always got dozens of side photos I hate to disgard. They are just odds and ends of quick pictures I snap. Herewith a dozen or so:

Ripe mangoes, all you could eat.

Our first stop in our 1 week trip: Norlyn always had to buy fresh tropical fruit

Just another river

Always shy

The muddy sea at the end of the rainy season

Caribou grazing

Girl bathing in the river

Norlyn

The sweet manager of our favorite Karaoke bar

A neighborhood walkway through the edge of town

A kindly gal supervising the Sari Sari store managed by her family in a back neighborhood of Caramoan. The #1 way many Philippine families make ends meet.

Caramoan (Jan. 31) Part I

(First attempt to document Caramoan around Feb. 1)

We come into this place after dark, it’s raining torrents of cool cups of tropical raindrops. There’s really not a whole bunch to the town. I thought we were headed to a city, but it is a town maybe a quarter mile wide somewhere in a forest. We take a nameless, narrow turn—-a place only Aries can find—-and muscle our way through some tight ass turns through pools of standing water. No cars or tricycles anywhere. I’m thinking we shouldn’t even be back here or we are going to get stuck. Aries keeps pushing the van. I’m tired and just want to see what kind of a place we are staying at. We are at the edge of a jungle. Frogs are resounding through the woodlands. Toads are out there in Biblical proportions. But that part is good, in my mind. How did Gordon find this place? “On line,” he responds.

Caramoan it’s a pretty backwater place and we are in a nice backwater ‘bed and breakfast’, but please don’t envision anything modern or familiar—-it’s dripping wet and isolated. it’s been raining, raining, and raining a little more. it’s surprisingly cool, and off and on very foggy. (Later in the night, Aries is trying to break a plastic coated wire behind a rusted gate while he stands on an iron grate, so he can park the van and somebody shouts in a panic that he’s going to get electrocuted—-it’s a live wire feeding the bed n breakfast. “Oh,” we both respond).

Once we finally get settled, We end up heading out into the soggy night looking to see what is going on. No Philippine town is ever dead. We find a place to eat and do karioke, or at least two members of our four member group did karioke, as we chowed down on homemade pizza—very good I might add—-we guzzled our share of beer, got wild and crazy, ate fish, garlic rice, taro leaves—like spinach kinda—something else, and something else. we ate, they sang, we celebrated the night with liquor to join in the spirit. it rained all around us, and that has been the story of Caramoan.

okay, i am going to try and send. i haven’t been able to email ANYONE. i am frozen in time, though the gods let me see what my friends and family send. They don’t know i can read their emails so it won’t be long and I’ll hear nothing from them. okay, so now i try and send, pray, pray, pray

That didn’t work. I’ll just keep adding as the opportunity presents itself and I’ll eventually send when I can. Caramoan. Where the heck are we. And Gordon has us booked for 3 nights at the edge of a soggy forest, but who cares? The alternative is sitting home watching Netflix.

Caramoan (Feb. 2) Part III

The beach, with all the bancas beached during the storm

I don’t know if I have my days in order. Between my senior memory and weeks and weeks of time passing, I can’t remember if I have my days straight. I do know this: we had three nights in Caramoan, and each day was a little adventure in itself. It’s not like the old days where I was getting drunked up, chasing women, and then diving the next day. Now I just like getting drunked up, flirting a little, and going for a walk/hike that might test me a little. I am much more sedate than the old days. But I do like seeing things that give me an uncommon perspective on life. That’s why I like Gordon, because he is the same way. We both need to push our boundaries a little. I fight memory, energy, balance—both literal and metaphorical. Anyone who knows me, knows I am an “unbalanced” character. I’m not a bad guy, but I am a little outside the box. No telling where I will find my thrill. The unusual always catches my attention.

Typical limestone cliffs and I have no idea where this “walkway” is going or coming from

One day we were in Caramoan and we drove to the coast. It wasn’t a long drive, but we could always count on Aries finding the way. Good old, wild and crazy Aries. It’s hard not to appreciate a guy like him. We went down to a beach. From what we had been told, this was a special place, but we were still a little early in the season. Storms were still lashing the coast. In a few weeks, things were supposed to settle down a little and the local (Filipino) tourists were going to start showing up. But as of this date, things were still a little unpredictable.

Limestone mountains and islands. Very impressive countryside, when the season permits passage

Aries took us to a beach that had been beaten by wind and storm. It was very pretty, but there was no way we could go out in a banca and visit the surrounding islands—our intention. The coast guard had (wisely) shut all the waters down. No one was allowed out at sea.

Aries and I before we start down the beach

The coast line was gorgeous albeit gray and stormy. The ragged cliffs were limestone and covered with jungle. It would have been a great little excursion, but it was not meant to be. So we walked the beach, each at our own pace, in our own thoughts. We probably spent hours trekking about. This was a special part of Luzon that normally goes unmentioned. Gordon had flown down to Leguzpie years before, but he had never driven this long, winding stretch of tropical road before. One of the reasons I like traveling with Gordon is he is always tuned into adventurous stretches of territory no one has ever heard of. You go with Gordon, you will have a bit of an adventure.

A group of “teens” at the end of the beach, curious about me, and vice-a-versa.

Eventually, we all hooked up together again, and headed back to Caramoan where we did one more night of Karaoke at our favorite little outdoor bar. I must admit, I was kind of falling in love with the manager there. There was something special about her, but I had to remind myself, things had changed since getting together with Monette in Sabong. I told myself, “no! Don’t go down that road”. And I didn’t. I don’t know what it is about the Philippines.

Two little girls wondering what a guy like me is doing hanging around their “neighborhood”

So we sang (not me), we drank, we laughed, had a good time before heading back to our Bed n Breakfast, where we had to prepare for an early departure to the famed volcano city of Legazpie. It was a long drive, but this was a city quite popular for it’s beauty, volcano, sea coast, and potpourri of tropical fruits. It was almost time for us to move on.

Back at the Karaoke bar, a nice guy, celebrating his birthday. So typical of the Philippines—everybody friendly.

Sabang 2023 (Feb. 1) Part III

Cherry from years back, spotting me from Reynaldo’s

This blog was written, i.e. spanked out by thumbs on my cell phone more than a month and half ago, with a little recent editing, so I am just squeezing it in chronologically to some degree, as I begin “publishing” them, now that I have reliable Wi-fi. I began my “Sabang” blogs months ago, so it seems, so now I will just pick up where I left off.

Sabong began to feel a little more familiar. Monette and I were walking down from the hotel—Sabang hills, and I heard my name called. I looked up and from Reynaldo’s lodging, an old dive friend, Cherry was calling my name. Wow! That felt good. Somebody recognized me—I hadn’t changed so much that I was unrecognizable. Cherry worked at the old dive shop Sky Teller owned. I spent many weeks there, if not more, diving every day. Cherry was a unique younger woman, maybe 30’s or even 40 who kept the office organized and eventually became a dive master. We talked and exchanged information. I am thinking maybe I will stay at her father’s place, Reynaldo’s, in the future. It looked good and the price was right. I remember blogging a story on Cherry years ago.

There was another place down on the water where I became friendly and took many of my meals. Monette and I ate there then went on in to Sabang. I wasn’t a quarter mile into town when I heard my name mentioned. I turned and looked and it was Amil the lead dive instructor at Sky’s place. I forgot to mention, sadly Sky died of some kind of cancer about 3 years ago and everybody working his shop scattered to the winds. When a typhoon went through central Mindoro years ago, it tore one-third of Amil’s house off and I had made a small donation to him to help the cause. Amil looked great. He was the lead diver at another shop and we exchanged info and he told me he would personally give me a refresher course on diving should I return. Certainly something worth considering

Great dive instructor—-Amil Saludares

Monette and I settled into one of Gordon’s favorite restaurants, I believe it was called Tourettes, but my memory is so unreliable, I wouldn’t bank a nickel on that being a fact. As we sat and had our beers, who should spot me from the new promenade but Wally, the ever-eternal, always present Wally. He seems to find me all over the peninsula. I don’t know how we he does it. We talked, and I did the unthinkable and bought a pearl necklace from him. I don’t know why—to help him, to give as a gift to Monette, because I had a couple of beers in me, maybe all of the above.

Street vendor/friend Wally from 2015

I will stop here out of fear of losing everything. But the rhythm of blogging is slowing taking shape. It will return because I am determined to capture these past seven wild and cavorting, potentially life changing weeks.

Sabang and basically “motel” alley.

Caramoan (Feb.1) Part II

Norlyn, Gordon, and Aries on a coastal bend, up the lone highway

Norlyn, Gordon, and myself at the same bend in the road

Our highlight in this lonely town is an outdoor bar, really just a dive of a place with 3 rows of tables serving good pizza, cheap drinks, and playing loud karaoke. Karaoke is kinda the National activity in the Philippines. You can go anywhere and find it. Walk down an empty, dark street in a backwoods town fearful of getting rolled by ruffians or attacked by a pack of wild street dogs, and out of nowhere Karaoke will explode. Karaoke is the sign that all is square—-you are not going to get robbed by penniless thieves or attacked by marauding packs of mongrels. Instead you’ll probably be invited by inebriated and joyful singers to participate. And be happy if you can’t sing because half of the other participants can’t either and no one cares anyway; it is just the spirit of singing unabashedly.

Norlyn, Aries, and and a local enjoying the gin and the music

The next day we decide to take a ride outta town, through the woods on a lean, untraveled highway. Our intent is to stay within a few miles of town. There is a massive statue of Mother Mary of Jesus up on a forested mountain above the sea. It is pouring off and on. I have borrowed an umbrella so I think I am safe. Aries parks on a muddy rim above a shack of a house and I am thinking the van is going to slide down the mountain into the house. But it is the Filipino way. Just let fate take its course. We stick a baseball sized stone under each rear tire. That should do it. Then we proceed up the infinitely long stairway up the mountain. Just for fun I start counting the big cement stairs…one, two, three, four….eighty-five, eighty-six….two hundred twelve, two hundred thirteen…huff, huff, huff…five hundred nine, five hundred ten…Where’s Aries? For that matter, where is everybody else? Seven hundred! Wow! There she is, the fifty foot high Mary. It’s a typical Filipino icon built by the Catholic church.

Norlyn about to embark on her 750 steps up to Mother Mary. Norlyn left the Philippines as a 16 year old teen and has not lived in the PI since then. This is just one constant nostalgic journey for her.

Norlyn making her way up the stairway.

Me Kong! Gordon closing in on the finish.

Me, Aries! whipped and out of shape, also closing in on the final 750th step.

Finally we all collect at the statue almost at the top of the mountain overlooking the gray sea. The rain cuts loose and we try to work our borrowed umbrellas. The wind is swirling, the rain is slapping at us from all directions. Mary stands above us and she’ll probably be there for a thousand more years. But we made it; we can say we saw her. We take pictures, we celebrate life on a cool, soaked and gusty day; we can say we saw the Holy Mother Mary in southeast Luzon—I’ve always been curious about this part of Luzon. I had no idea it was so untame: endless steep mountains, coconut groves, banana plantations, rivers, patches of rice, wilderness, villages, and miles and miles of shoreline.

I never know whether Aries is going to produce a master piece photo ( he’s quite capable) or he’s going to cut Mother Mary’s head off a photo.

We start back down the stairwell. It’s impossible to stay dry with the wind swirling about. It only takes a couple of minutes and we begin to separate from one another, each maintaining his own pace, doing his (or her) best to stay as dry as possible.

It isn’t long and we are back on the road. We view the coastline when the road hits the right spot, then take a hairpin turn back into the woodlands. And always dark clouds and rain. Oh, how good it feels to get back to our Bed n Breakfast, change out, and head for our Karaoke “bar”.

Departing Sabang (Jan. 27)

After getting Monette onto the ferry headed back to Bantangas, no small city on the other side of the strait between Luzon and Mindoro, our turn to make the jump came up. In the meantime, Monette had to re-cross the strait and disembark in the port of Abra de Ilog. I always thought of Abra as an isolated locale where a few ferries put people on the northeast side of Mindoro where they could continue their journey into no man’s land, on the occidental side of Mindoro. They’ve been building a road around the perimeter of massive Mindoro forever. But from Puerto Galera to Abra it’s been an unfinished effort for at least seven years. Somebody told me the Philippine government has had three guys working on the road since time immemorial. (In the U.S. they would have 200 construction workers on the project and be done with it in a year or two). When the three guys die of old age, I imagine the government will hire three more workers. But now, a motorcyclist (and his girlfriend) can drive the unfinished dirt road the whole way, except in two spots where they still need to put bridges. The villagers will take the motorcycle and carry it across the ravines for a small fee, then the traveler can proceed. But, it can be done. Otherwise, you must still take the ferry.

Monette obviously couldn’t take the dirt road; she had to first cross over to Batangas, then re-cross to Abra de Ilog, farther up the mountainous coast to get to Paluan, her town. Ugh! Gordon, Gretchen, and myself were headed for Makati soon afterwards, that upscale part of Manila Gordon has turned into home base over the last 10 or 15 years. From there, Gretchen was flying home to Bacolod, the largest city in Negros, maybe 1.5 million people. Gordon and I were to then hook up with Norlyn, Gordon’s nice looking 69 year old Filipino American friend who came over to the Philippines with her family, all living in the U.S. these days, the same time Gordon came over, her intent to do a little traveling (some with Gordon) and to catch her 50 year high school reunion. We meet sweet and light hearted Gretchen for our week in Sabang. Then she exits in Manila and Norlyn meets up with Gordon for our Legazpi excursion. It’s a little wild and crazy, with people and feelings, relationships, co-ordinating connections, excursions, but who am I to try and understand what is going on. I know this: Gordon loves Gretchen (but would never ever get married), he cares very much for Norlyn, but keeps it platonic and is honest with her though in the Bay Area, they are like husband and wife (as friends) in my mind, but sometimes (often) feelings get messy. I keep my mouth closed. Gordon knows what he is doing.

Gordon and sweet Gretchen

In Makati we meet Aries, our van driver, the next morning. Aries is an interesting guy.: Funny, lighthearted, great sense of humor. He drove van for Sierran, Uncle Don, Ryan, and myself through a large swath of Luzon back around 2018, just before the pandemic, in our attempt to find Whang-Od, the now, 104 year old tattoo artist of Kalinga, Luzon, north of the world famous rice terraces. Whang-Od has been featured in National Geographic. Aries was a kick. There ain’t no better driver than he and he is a perpetual source of entertainment.

We finally found the road to Buscalon Village (back in 2018)

A shot of the back road we had to take to find Whang-Od, hundreds of miles into Luzon, driven by Aries, who is taking this photo.

Whang-od, 104, I question this, but so they say 104 years old. (Gordon sent this a week ago)

Ryan posing with100 year old Whang-od back in 2018, who happens to be the consummate flirt and delights whenever a young and good looking man plays the tease. (These were some interesting blogs)

Aries, a few weeks ago, 3 or 4 years after our Whang-od experience in central Luzon

We are off, on a long journey. It was basically a three day drive with a few errands attached to the trip. One of those “errands” was meeting up with a very talented artist, Nick Valenzuela, whom Gordon had somehow become connected. This young man was extremely gifted and did paintings highlighting Philippine life that somehow, somewhere on line caught Gordon’s eye and over the past year Gordon had become engaged in arranging a contracted couple of paintings, which would eventually be shipped to the U.S. It was all very interesting and it seemed exactly like something Gordon would do. Nick Valenzuela was the shy, highly talented upstart artist who had agreed to meet a sponser of sorts in the university town of Naga. Nick showed up with his entire family. Only in the Philippines would this all unfold as it did.