Finding the right partner to travel with

Some people say I am quite fortunate to have traveled far and wide, not only in my own country but to other countries as well. But in most of these travels, I was alone, with no companion to even talk with while waiting to get inside the plane much less someone to hold hands with when the plane takes off. Now that is what I call really an unfortunate situation to be in.

Unfortunate because I think I must have missed out on a lot of fun stuff related to traveling with someone. When I say someone, this can either be a he or a she, a colleague or a friend (most of the time can be both) or a partner. Anyway, one very good friend I traveled with on a business trip from Manila to Marinduque, which is an island province 3 hours away by boat. Another very good friend I traveled with on a holiday trip to Cebu City and Bohol. Well we were not actually alone (as a couple) as we traveled together with two other friends. This one was more fun and more romantic. But of course, it was not enough to sustain the relationship. At least I know how it feels to hold your partner's hands while the plane is taking off and touching down. As this was the first plane ride I took after I developed that fear of flying, his reassuring clasp was more than enough to make me survive the flight.

Anyway, I have found out from traveling that having at least one travel companion is more fun than traveling with a group of friends. When I went to Hong Kong in 1998, I traveled with 3 other female friends. It was a near disaster as we almost gave up on each other and even thought of saying goodbye to each other as friends. From that time, I told myself 'never again' will I travel with a group of friends. After two days, we were practically finding it hard to be civil to one another.

So next time I traveled with someone, I went with a very good female friend to Boracay. Remember Boracay from an earlier posting? Now this was more fun and lots of wonderful memories. Unfortunately, our plan to travel again together to Palawan (the island province known as the last frontier because of its very good biodiversity) came to naught as we could not find a common schedule.

After her, I never found again another soulmate as far as traveling. Until this very energetic, always on the go, wandering soul from Barcelona joined the Foundation. Instantly, we connected as we realized that we both have a penchant for going to new places, be it here in Singapore or outside of it. Aha, at last a perfect travel companion. No frills, cost saver, she epitomizes what I have always wanted to find in a travel partner. First time, we took off and explored Malacca. Next we went and hid ourselves from SARS-affected Singapore and went to Bintan. She is near perfect anyway!

Well, I hope she would remain in Singapore for a little while. At least with her around, I would most probably be able to visit Bali, which I have always been dreaming about as well as some other islands of Malaysia. But since she has used up all her leaves for this year, we would have to wait for another long weekend unless she decides to forego a day's pay. Well if she remains true to herself, then she would most likely do the latter option.

Anyway, we both have two moles on our left foot, something we both agree is a good excuse to travel again together soon!

The fear of flying, chocolates and God (necessarily in that order!)

Let me start by saying that yes, my two moles on my left foot are still there, hence all that nonsense justification for being always on the go, but that does not mean that I love flying. Well not as before anyway.

When I started traveling, I used to love flying. I like the feeling of being on the airplane and looking outside of the cabin window when the plane goes off and when it touches down. I remember my first flight took me from Manila to Zamboanga City (a Muslim dominated city located in Mindanao region). I was supposed to travel together with another colleague. Since I was so excited, I was at the airport quite early and was one of the first to check in. When the flight was being called and everybody was getting inside the plane, I could not get up and follow them. I was waiting for my colleague to turn up and check in. But of course since he was well known for being late and sometimes missing his appointments, that afternoon was not an exception. So all the while I was just sitting there waiting for him to turn up and I did not get up and enter the plane until my name was being called as the last passenger. I did not know what to do. In the end, I took the courage to approach the flight stewardess and informed her that yes, I am the passenger they are trying to locate. In a whisper I asked her if I can see if I had missed my companion. I told her that I dare not get inside the plane without him because I do not know where I am supposed to go when I land at Zamboanga City airport. And it was my first time to fly! She was so kind to allow me to get inside the plane and take a peep at everybody while she called out my friend’s name. But he was not inside. Quickly I had to make a decision, should I go or should I stay? I do not know where I got the courage to proceed inside, hiding my face from everybody on board, while I walk down the aisle and quickly sat down at my seat. There I was seating having a very good view of all the islands we passed by but was so embarassed for being the cause of the delay. It was my first time to step in Mindanao region and in a Muslim dominated province with no one I know. At least I had the courage to locate the man who was supposed to meet us at the airport and introduced myself and explained why I was alone.

After this flight, I became such a regular flyer of Philippine Airlines (at least for its domestic routes) that I developed such a penchant for taking the window seat and calculating enough time just to be at the airport, not too early and not too late. I also cultivated the art of flying alone, meaning without any colleague to accompany you. I avoided being on the same travel itinerary as this guy who was supposed to accompany me that first flight. I did not want to go through the same experience ever again.

As years went by, I became a seasoned short flight traveler, hopping from one city to another, from one island province to another, never minding the take off, the touch down, the bumpy ride, the turbulent moments especially when we encounter typhoon up there, or the rains outside or the thunder from time to time, while on the plane. I usually can sleep all throughout the flights. I even was fondly called by my colleagues as a ‘sleepy head’ because the moment I take my seat inside the plane, I start dozing and will only wake up when the plane has landed, unless I know that the food they are going to serve is nice. But since 1989, when I took my first flight, I saw the evolution of airplane food from a full meal of either breakfast lunch or dinner to a measly peanuts’ snack and a juice or cola drink.

I also remember in the early 90s when two new local airlines became operational and competed with PAL. One was Air Philippines, where pretty girls wearing very short skirts became the vogue of the airlines fashion. Of course, most guys preferred to fly using this airline. The other was called Grand Air. Their gimmick was to have some parlor games while on flight and passengers get to win stuff like t-shirt, caps, and what have you if you got the correct answer. If I had my choice (since 99% of my travels back then were official of some sort) I always choose PAL over the other two new entrants to the industry. But if I do not have a choice, then I take whatever they give me. I only tried to join this parlor game one time and my answer was wrong, so I dare not join again after that. I rather preferred sleeping on planes. At touch down I feel a whole lot better.

All these confidence and comfort in flying ended abruptly one day. When a friend died on one of the flights from Manila to Cebu back in 1998, I did not realize how much impact it would have on my psycho emotional well being in terms of flying and most especially in terms of being inside an airplane. This friend died when the airplane he was on crashed in the mountains off one of the islands in the Visayas region because of very low visibility due to a strong typhoon. I thought I would not be affected that much. He was not really a close friend. He was more a friend of a friend. But I guess what made the impact stronger was because I was with him two days before his tragic death. He was a lawyer who teaches part time at Ateneo de Manila University. Not having met him prior to that Friday night, he invited me to give a short lecture to his class. I obliged as he was a friend of so many other friends. After the lecture, he treated me to dinner as his way of paying me for giving the lecture. He went so far as to bring me home that night since I live quite so far from the campus. In short, we became instant new friends as we realized that we have so many common friends and we have been serving the same Jesuit brothers for so many years. I remember at that time, when I told my other friend about this lecture and the dinner afterwards, she was happy and even kidded me that he was an eligible lawyer who did not have a girlfriend then. I told her I am not sure if he would find me attractive as he looked so nerdy and also a rich boy. Two days after, I read from the papers that a plane crashed somewhere in the Visayas region. As plane crashes was not something new, I did not give it a second thought. Until this same girlfriend of mine informed me that this new friend of mine was one of the passengers of that ill fated flight. I remember we were all waiting for some news to hear that his body has been found among the wreckage. I guess what made it more tragic was after two weeks, even his family gave up in the waiting game as his body was never found.

After that, flying by plane was never an easy experience. No matter how much food is served or how much I look forward to visiting a new country or how much luxurious the plane is. The moment I step inside the plane and it takes off, I can never sleep, despite being so tired and sleepy. I have difficulty reading even if I brought a much awaited new bestseller from a favorite author. Not even if the flight was a short one. I dare not sleep again and was most of the time, feeling sick, inside the plane, all throughout the flight. I would suddenly feel so cold, wanting to vomit, wanting to go to the loo, sweaty palms and feverish head. And the only food I can take that helps me a lot were chocolates, in all its form, a bar of chocolate or a biscuit or a candy. It is only by eating chocolates that I felt able to endure being on a plane ride.

Imagine to have developed a fear of flying at a time when I started taking longer flights, from 3 hours (within the ASEAN region) to 10-16 hours (to and from Europe). It was always such a horrible time for me. I was always so fearful of suddenly crashing while inside the plane that I always keep awake and took lots of water and can finish two bars of chocolates.

Until my Christian colleague-friend told me one day that in order to overcome this fear of flying, what I should do is the moment I enter the plane, I should touch it and utter a short prayer. God please be the pilot of this flight! That was all she said I should do and my fear will leave me. Of course, she was very much correct. During my first trip to India this year, I did what she told me and I found out that flight was the best flight I had. Never mind that the Indian guy who was seated next to me had the audacity to put up his feet, facing me, while he slept on the two chairs. Never mind that there was one baby boy who kept on crying all the way from KL to Delhi. Never mind that the food was not that great tasting. And never mind that I had mixed feelings torn between excitement and edginess as I was not too sure if Amarjeet would meet me at the airport.

But for the first time again in my fifteen years of flying and traveling, I felt so secure and so fearless and so comfortable again that I ate all the food served to me. I finished the book that Carmen lent me. I was able to watch two films that I did not catch on a regular screening here in Singapore. And for the first time, the memory of my lawyer friend who died on a plane crash was forever erased in my psyche. Never again will I fear flying and being on a plane. Not while I know that a very benevolent God is out there taking care of every travel that this wondering soul takes.

Taking MRT across the globe

An angel friend of mine inspired me to write about MRT. Whereas I love MRT and I always look forward to seeing one in every country that I go to, my friend does not like it. She says she always hates it when she has to take one to go somewhere. The other day, on her way to our date, she commented of ‘smelly people and crowded MRT’ and she even said that I should be thankful that she has decided to endure the MRT ride just to meet me.

Her comments have prompted me to share all my wonderful experiences with being on MRT. Well, perhaps by reading this, I would be able to convince her to become more kind to my favorite mode of transportation.

Let me start by saying that MRT or the mass rapid transportation came to my country only in the 80s. It was called Light Railway Transit (LRT) and was imported directly from Belgium. The first one to be built in Manila was a line that connects three major crowded cities: Pasay, in the south, Manila in the central part and Caloocan in the north. I remember the first batch of trains did not have airconditioning so during summer months it can really be such a nightmare to be riding it.

But since my university campus was not along any line of this great public transport system (we lived in Manila), I was also spared a lot of the not so nice smell and the pushing and shoving in the morning and in the afternoon. Though in times of rainy season when everywhere you turn you see waters on the street and it reaches up to your waist, I envy my classmates and friends who are able to take comfort in riding in a high mode of transportation.

Lest you think that we have not caught up with the rest of the world, now all the trains that ply this same route have airconditioning and the second route that was built that connects the other south-north line (traversing the major highway of the now famous Epifanio De Los Santos Avenue or EDSA for short) is much better and more comfortable. In fact when this became operational I was one of the first who bought a ticket and brought my then 3 year old nephew for a joy ride.

My first recollection of a funny incident involving MRT was here in Singapore back in June 2000, during my second visit to this city state. I was supposed to meet a very good friend at the Tanjong Pagar station. I was then staying near Raffles Hotel. So he gave instructions on how I could hop on a train from City Hall and then go down at Tanjong Pagar. So of course, since I have been here once before and I used then the MRT a lot (as I used to stay with my two college friends who live in Tampines), I thought that it is going to be an easy ride. What I did not reckon and I never had an experience before was that Tanjong Pagar is one of the few stations of MRT that has so many exit routes. I only realized it when I was standing outside one of them (the one in front of International Plaza) and apparently my friend was on the other side waiting for me. Horror of horrors! I did not have any handphone at that time so I was forced to go down and find a phone booth. I was so angry with him and was so pissed off that I was almost yelling at him when he answered his phone because I was so hungry as well. And the nerve of him was that since he did not see me, he had already eaten with another friend of his. He thought that I had decided not to go. Men! I only calmed down when he said that since I had not eaten yet, he instructed me to cross and go to Starbucks and he would be with me. Hmm, I can see you now angel telling me, ‘see see MRT is not fun.’ In this instance, I would certainly agree with you one hundred percent.

The second unforgettable train ride I took was in Oslo. Yes, angel I braved riding the MRT in a city which does not speak English and all signs are in their own language. I remember I was feeling a bit at a loss of where to go for another day in Oslo, so I decided to call up this Norwegian lady whose name and contact details I got from another friend. She was very nice because after just introducing myself over the phone, she promptly invited me to visit her at her home and to stay the night so I would not feel so alone in this very cold city. But to be able to get to her place, I would need to take the train. Grabbing a map of the MRT line, she gave me the instructions which station to get off and how to go up and proceed to her house. I did not realize that unlike Manila where stations are not that far from each other and the MRT is only short nor Singapore where riding the MRT means being able to visit the whole of Singapore, the trains in Oslo seems to take you from one end of the city to the rest of the country. So there I was huddled in my jacket as it was so cold in Oslo, inside a train where I am the only non-white and Asian person, trying my best not to miss the station I am supposed to go down. That was the longest train ride I think I must have taken as I remember going down with some light (meaning the sun was still up there) and then when I went out, it was already dark. And the funny thing is, in Oslo, the train allows you to pay in cash and you just drop it in a box and if you do not want to or you do not have enough money to pay, you can always get away with it. Yes, angel, the Nordic people are really one of the best as far as welfare system is concerned. My friend told me that their train works on ‘honest system.’ You pay according to your ability to pay. I thought back then, wow, that is socialism at its best mode.

The third unforgettable train ride I took was in KL. I had to interview a SEAGEP client who lives outside of KL and can only be reached easily by riding the train. I was told that no taxi would dare take me that far. So I told myself that would not be that hard as KL is in Asia and I could always pass for a Malaysian. But what I did not realize was that going to his place meant transferring from one MRT line to another and then taking a smaller train (the traditional and what I call the real one). This of course meant that at some point I almost got lost in the maze of trying to decipher which side of the line I should wait on and which train goes where. So I arrived at his doorstep panting, thirsty, so tired and was almost not in the mood to talk to him much less interview him formally. That was when I realized that being in Asia and passing for a local does not mean a less bumpy ride on the MRT.

The fourth unforgettable MRT ride I took was in Belgium. I stayed the weekend over at my former boss’ brother’s house in the suburbs and had to be in Brussels on a Monday morning for some official meetings. And of course, though he owns a car, most of the time he says he does not drive to the city as Brussels has some very strict traffic regulations. So on that Monday morning, we walked from his house down to the train station. He was very nice as he was trying to explain some of the things we were passing by. Then just as we are about to cross the street to go to the station, he realized that we only had a few minutes before the train arrives. So he told me to hurry and we had to literally run inside the maze of entrance and exit routes and went up two flights of stairs. Yes angel, we got in just as the train was opening its doors. But this meant that I did not have the opportunity to even take note of anything lest I had to take the same train ride going back to his house. Anyway, good thing was that I had to move to another friend’s house. She lives within Brussels and she owns a car, so I did not have to memorize that route again. So train ride in Belgium was a bit hazy for me.

The fifth unforgettable MRT ride I took was in Bangkok. After the KL experience, I dare not ever again take for granted the fact that I am in Asia and I can pass for a Thai. Here in this city of horrible traffic (like Manila) and where only a few English speaking people, I promised myself to learn the MRT line better and faster. What is unforgettable here was that every time I was in Bangkok, I always stayed at a five star hotel (courtesy of the Canadians and one time by the World Bank and ADB). And both these hotels were outside an MRT line. So there I was staying at this luxurious hotel, having a very nice room that overlooks the river and I always took the MRT ride. Well, by the third time, I realized that the best way to go around Bangkok and not get lost or mugged or late for your appointment is to take the MRT. I told myself if I was able to survive all those train rides I took in Europe, then this was peanuts. That is why I know Bangkok so much, well at least from the MRT point of view.

The sixth unforgettable MRT ride I took was in Madrid. Ah angel, by this time, I feel such an expert in riding and deciphering the MRT. What I did the first day I arrived in Madrid was not go around to shop nor see any fabulous tourist site. Rather I spent my first afternoon in Madrid by taking the train and testing my expertise in deciphering how to go from my hotel which is located within the city proper to the convention center which is located outside of the city. Whereas in Valencia where I was with my boss, so that meant that most of the time, I was riding with her and I do not have to be responsible for myself. She was the one who took me around and MRT is not her normal mode of transportation. In Madrid, she and I were separated as she was staying at a five star hotel and I was staying in a hostel with the rest of the HelpAge International delegates. As an aside, the hostel was not that bad, at least it was comfy and it was conveniently located at Plaza Mayor, which is one of Madrid’s central areas.

So after two days of taking the MRT and experimenting with the various lines (in the afternoon) after attending the conference, I was like a local Spanish woman who knows her way around the MRT. So much so that on the third day, when this whole bunch of HelpAge staff decided to take the train with me, they were amazed to find me the one leading them where to enter and where to get out. They thought I had been to Madrid before. I think what also helped is the fact that I speak a bit of Spanish so I can read and understand the signs, as most of them anyway remind me of names back home.

Now you know why I love taking the MRT and why I think it is one of the best inventions, next to computers and handphones. Nothing beats riding it, be it here in Singapore or in Oslo or Madrid. The only regret I had was I did not have the opportunity to take a train in your own home country (India) and in that city quite down under (Auckland), primarily because both cities, despite being former British colonies, do not have MRT inside the city. And I thought we (in the Philippines) were the last ones to acquire and get to know this wonderful mode of public transportation.

A journey to my past

Visiting Spain last April 2001 was one dream fulfilled. I had been planning, plotting and arranging to visit Spain since 1998, when the Philippines was celebrating its centennial celebration as an independent nation. I, together with 3 other colleagues and friends at De La Salle University got a project from the Spanish government to do an evaluation of their project in the Province of Camiguin (one of the southern island provinces of the Philippines). We thought that with the money we got from this project, we should be able to go and visit Spain after submitting the final report. Lo and behold, the only place we were able to visit out of this project was Camiguin, which turned out to be as memorable and also a beautiful island province with seven volcanoes, several hot and cold springs and an underwater church.

Going back to Spain, I was so happy to learn that part of my orientation in my new job here was a trip to this country for two weeks. I never felt so excited and so happy. But of course all these feelings I had to downplay lest I wake up and find it is just a dream.

Well, it was not a dream. It really did happen. The only thing I did not like, is again, the fact that despite the advisory from various web sites that it is supposed to be spring in Spain already, it was not. It was still very much like winter alternating between 5 during the day and 0 degrees at night. And it was raining as well all over Spain, from Valencia to Madrid to Toledo.

I think I am really destined never to see Europe in spring only autumn and winter. Never mind, at least I was able to fulfill a lifelong dream.

Visiting Spain was like going back to my roots. Having been a colony for four hundred years (yes, four century) of Spain meant that a big part of our culture and our way of life is similar to theirs. I was very much reminded of this the moment I stepped on its airport where I was forced to recall and utter Spanish in stilted voice as I tried to ask how to go from the international airport to the domestic airport.

My visit was also significant as Real Madrid (which will turn out to be my favorite of all European football teams) was celebrating its 100 years as a football club, so memorable as well.

Valencia, the first city I saw was not that cosmopolitan and so quiet and serene. I think it did not help that I arrived on Easter Sunday, which meant that as a Catholic country, all families in Valencia were at home, observing and enjoying this religious holiday. It is also here that I had one of the shocking truths about Spanish life: they do not eat dinner earlier than 9 PM. Ayyoo, my first night was spent trying my best to hold back the pangs of hunger until one of the local restaurants open at exactly 9 PM. Of course, we spent another hour ordering and waiting for the food to be prepared and cooked. So next night and all the nights I was in Spain, I made sure I have eaten some food in the afternoon to last me until dinner starts.

I tried to inquire the main reason for this late dinner and was told different versions. One version says that the Spanish do not eat early because they always watch first football between 7 until 9 PM. Which means that they are all glued to the TV, so no one eats before the game is over. Does this mean then that all those players from Real Madrid, Barcelona, Real Mallorca and other Spanish football clubs also do not eat? Oh poor guys, running around Bernebeu Stadium without any food in their stomach. Or are these players the only ones allowed to eat dinner before 9 because they have to kick the ball hard?

But can you imagine if your team loses? I would not have a good appetite then for dinner. Perhaps this is why I saw quite a good number of Spanish men and women skinny.

Or perhaps like us, Filipinos, they eat merienda sena (or afternoon snack food). Actually, I think this was one of the things we inherited from them. That is why we Filipinos eat five times a day: breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, after dinner snack (while watching our favorite TV shows).

The other version was that as Spanish are not that known to be punctual and they always start work later than the rest anywhere, then they also go home quite late, which means they could only start dinner at 9.

Well whatever it is, it sure was one of the kicks of this trip. Imagine being so hungry and so cold at the same time. Well that was how I looked and felt most of the time while I was in Spain.

But the best thing about Spain is really all the sites. From the Real Madrid (Royale Palace) to the El Escoriel to the walled cities and the preserved ‘middle finger’ of St. Theresa of Avila, everything looks very similar to some of our architectural designs in the Philippines, most especially the Catholic churches.

The visit to Spain was part of the completion of my journey to my past. And from there I moved on to visit other countries (India, Malaysia, New Zealand, and Indonesia), all different and all of these visits as memorable as the rest.