Ahoy Matey!

#42: See You in Sydney

I've just settled back into the rhythmn of things here in the Philippines (well, that is apart from the fact that I'm still finding myself awake till 4 am and refusing to wake up before 12noon) and guess what, I'm itching to fly off again.
(I guess that's what happens when you can eat pasta and pizza again and rice is no longer a scarce resource.)

Next stop (at least personal one, not business) is Sydney. I've got a very cool and very willing companion (who wouldn't be mistaken for my fiance or husband. Come on, at this point, I think I've had about enough of traveling with my brother), a string of public holidays in 5 months, and a good friend in that port.
What could possibly go wrong? (Okay, don't answer that.)

But hey, if you wanna find out, you're welcome to join us, mate!

Where Does Patience Lie?

"The strength of patience hangs in our capacity to believe that God is up to something good for us in all our delays and detours." (John Piper)

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Thank you dear friend for lending me this.

Bridge of Sighs (back), Bridge of Smiles (front) 

Incredible HELP!!! 

Catch Me If You Can

#41: Catch (My Breath For Me) If You Can

I have to leave for Bangkok tomorrow. It's 1:34 a.m. and I haven't packed. I'm thinking that since my flight is at 2:40p.m., I won't need to be at the airport till 11:40. That means I won't have to leave the house till 11a.m. We'll get back from church around 10 so I still have a full hour to pack tomorrow. Lots of time. (Yeah, lots of time to panic and end up leaving critical stuff like my passport or laptop or something that will make me want to cry.)

My head is still not screwed on correctly. I'm working on the VivaGlam Europe HyperEdition Newsletter (to be released soon, I promise) while going through each of the 600ish pictures I took during the trip to weed out sub-standard shots. (In my incorrectly screwed mind, I'm preparing entries to an exhibit plus hoping that at least a couple will be good enough for this photo contest.) Call it Multi-Tasking, call it driving myself to my wit's end, I don't know. I just know that this Bangkok meeting is not giving me enough time to meet up with friends and yak about my European trip complete with visual aids and all the crap I usually bring. It's not even giving me enough time to have the pictures screened and printed. In fact, it isn't giving me enough time to fully absorb the impact of the fact that I'm back to reality and supposedly ready to wrestle with work again.

Last night, I met up with a couple of dear friends. I call them dear because I scheduled the dinner for 8pm but work wouldn't let me leave the office till 9:30pm. By that time, I was already imagining them walking out of the restaurant huffing and puffing at my disregard for the value of their time or something icy like that. But they stayed on, even checking from time to time if I've managed to get through the horrible Makati Friday traffic already, asking if I'd like them to already order my food so all I have to do when I arrive is eat and yak. Sweet things like those. When I got there, they were all smiles like I hadn't wasted 2 hours of their lives in waiting for what turned out to be midnight snack instead of supper. And my garlic rice, sisig and lechon kawali were all there, ready for me to jump into. (Yes, I seriously requested for greasy Filipino food - food which I surprisingly really really missed.)

They asked if I brought pictures with me already. I hadn't. I didn't even bring their pasalubongs. Why? Because I haven't really unpacked my Europe bags. Quite embarrasing, really. But it was all okay with them. They still listened eagerly to my stories. They still spent time with me, even going for a Starbucks session of lounging around and being lazy over a cup of glorified coffee till 1:00 a.m. We even did that "hang-out-at-the-parking-lot-by-the-car-because-we-still-have-a-lot-to-talk-about-even-though-we-all-should-really-get-going" thing. I drove home with a grin. (Very tired, very sleepy with very unreliable eyesight and a very high likelihood of getting into an accident BUT with a very big satisfied grin.)

I don't know if I'm just becoming a sentimental freak but I just loved last night. And I loved that I was able to spend this "Travel Gap" time with such wonderful people. Love them to bits.

It's close to 2am. I'm still refusing to pack. But unlike 30 minutes ago, now I know why. It's because I'm extending this "Travel Gap" period as long as I possibly can. Maybe, just maybe, by doing this, normalcy will be able to catch up with me before I leave again.

D.K. Ambrosio 2004: Rome 

D.K.Ambrosio 2004: Trevi Fountain, Italy 

D.K. Ambrosio 2004: Piazza Republica, Italy 

It ain't falling down, trust me. 

Wings of Victory above. Chili Wings below. 

I fell from Eiffel...  

Fancy an LV Bag? 

Feels Like Home

#40: [Day 14] Feels Like I'm All the Way Back Where I Belong
Changi Airport, Singapore 3:05pm

Yes, those are lines from some song from somewhere at the back of my brain. Hmm. Probably the Dawson's Creek soundtrack I bought close to ten years ago. (Yeah, shoot me. I have something "Dawson's Creek.")

Anyway, from Heathrow, we arrived in Singapore at 2pm local time yesterday after 12 hours of brain-numbing air travel. It felt so good to be back in Asia. Everyone is dark-haired and I am "tall" again. I embrace the fact that Asia is warm and humid. My flesh can finally stop shaking and I can start living without those dang-fangled gloves. Plus my little nose can be proud again (instead of always being on the verge of either falling off or flooding the environment with nasty runny fluid.)

I'm almost out of minutes. I'm just so glad at this point to be heading back home, I just needed to say it before they stuff me back into my 2 sq ft of space and feed me unidentifiable plane food.

Catch you guys in Manila!

Visiting the Queen 

Falling Down

#39: [Day 11] In London
Oxford Street, London 4:00pm

We arrived from Calais, Paris to Dover, England the other day. After an hour and a half, we found ourselves at Kensington Hight Street in London and getting dropped off at the Hilton. Yes, from Paris to Hilton. How bizaare is that?

Hmm. I have nothing much to say about London apart from the fact that among all the countries we've visited, it's the one that has fallen below my expectations. I don't know if it's just because I had previously had romanticized notions of this city that I found myself saying, "And this is London?" or if it's just the fatigue settling in after x days of travelling.

5 Things I don't like about London:
1. The gloomy weather. Skies are always gray and on the brink of bursting into a fullblown shower.
2. The bricks on houses are always damp. And they always seem to have moss. Ick.
3. Englishmen aren't as dashing as they are made out to be in movies.
4. Store attendants, ticket sellers, bus drivers and conductors aren't too pleasant. They don't answer. They either bark or growl. (Heck, if I had this kind of weather all year long, I'll end up growling a lot too.)
5. There's a smell I can't put my finger on. It's like some damp piece of clothing sprayed on with some cheap deodorizing spray to mask the smell. I don't know. Maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe that's just my nose. Maybe that's the smell of my nose now that moss seems to have grown in it too. (Eew. Now that's disgusting.)

Anyway, since I'm making it a point to always see the positive side of things, I'd like to say that seeing a lot of Boots stores all around at every turn makes me smile. Not many people are exposed to this corporate brand back home so when they ask me where I work, it's always a mess trying to make them understand that I work for BOOTS. No, we don't make shoes. And no, it's not spelled as B-U-T-C-H. Come on.

I actually set out to shoot a fabulous photo of a Boots storefront here in London to make the base for the mural I've been asked to do for our new office lobby. Honestly, I haven't got one decent shot. Know why? It's that horrible weather. (On top of the heavy foot traffic.)

London Bridge isn't falling down here in London.
It's rain. Heaps and heaps of rain.
They should change the lyrics.
(You know, just to manage expectations.)

V for Victory 

Excuse My French

#38: [Day 7] Or Lack of It
Paris, France 9:36 pm

Before I begin, let me just say that French keyboards are worse than Swiss ones. Numbers, letters and punctuation marks all over the place, it's a miracle I still haven't tossed the keyboard out with a quick, "Bah. Not worth it."

My main complaint about France is not that people only speak to you in French whether you understand it or not (with "not" being signified by a dumb touristey look - furrowed eyebrows while trying to keep the eyeballs from wildly rotating in different directions); it's that it always rains when we're checking out the good stuff. It was raining like mad when we went up the Eiffel Tower. With winds at 80 kph and fat, cold drops slapping your face, it's not that easy to enjoy our visit there. At Champs-Elysees, as we were taking night shots, the sky started pelting us with, say it me, fat cold drops of rain. We had to practically dive underground and jump into the Metro to keep ourselves from taking an unscheduled shower. Heck, if the Louvre didn't have such a nice roof, it would've rained on us while we were viewing the Mona Lisa too.

So here I am. I just popped out of the subway. We still have 2 blocks to brave before we get to our warm beds. We're actually waiting for the rain to subside lest we catch pneumonia and die. (Although I know there are some people who would rather do just that - catch pneumonia and die- than learn the French language.)

Dinner is (er, will be, as soon as we get to the hotel), takeout from the nearest Vietnamese place selling semi-French food and being manned by an Indian guy. How sad is that? (And to think that this is our last night in Paris!)

Anyway, Paris is beautiful. No amount of rain will change that. And I will definitely want to come back... if only to see how it is in drier weather.

Remind me to learn French before then.

Eiffel Rain, Eiffel Winds, Eiffel Tower 

Loving Lucerne 

Luzin My Bearings

#37: [Day 5] Loving Luzern
Lucerne, Switzerland 5:14pm

Okay. I'm about to go crazy. Apart from the prices of things here in Europe being insanely sky-high, all keyboards here in Lucerne (or shall I say "Luzern" in true Swiss fashion?) are set up to drive the rest of the PC-using people of the world nuts. The Z is mixed up with the Y. I can't figure out how to make the number sign appear on the screen, and the location of the question mark poses such a big question for me. But I'm doing quite fine.

On to more interesting things. Can I just say? Many people rave about Italian men. Oft have we heard the term, "Italian Stallion" but I surprisingly didn't take any liking to them, seeing instead plain horses. Oops sorry. That was mean. They just didn't look clean enough. They could use a good scrubbing. And whatever they're drinking that's making them red, they better lay off that too.

The Swiss men on the other hand are different. In my limited circle, I've never quite heard of anyone saying how gorgeous Swiss men are. But I'm pleasantly surprised to see that they are. Very tall with very smooth pale skin. They have this kind look about them. As if they'll run to you with bandages and a Swiss Army knife if you happen to bang your forehead on a post because of staring too long at them. If Italian women are too beautiful for their men (the Italian women are in a class of their own), Swiss men are too beautiful for their women.

On our first day in Venice, this Italian guy in a cream trench coat approached me as I was photographing the fabulous sights in Piazza San Marco. He was dashing but I didn't see any reason to extend the conversation beyond basic pleasantries - i.e. Buon Giorno. For one, he didn't speak a word of bloody English. Another, he was good-looking but he looked like a mighty playboy who flirts for a living.

This morning, as I was walking along this strip of shops in Lucerne, this Swiss guy said "Hi Madame" but I was too stupid to have that line register in my brain early enough. Hence, I was already more than a couple of feet away when I realized he was being friendly. Now I'm sitting in this Internet Cafe blogging while mentally scratching my head. "Where's a bloody post to run into when you need one?"

Singapore Star

#36: [Day 0] Singapore Stopover

I have less than ten minutes to write this update. I am tensing up in stress. How is my brain supposed to work when I'm on my bleeding feet? (Bleeding because I chose to wear good-looking non-comfortable shoes for the airport segment of our trip.)

I'm in Singapore now. It's almost 11pm. We have two more hours before our plane leaves for Rome. 7:51 minutes. Dang. These Free Internet thingies at Changi are more stressful than my job. (Not!)

Gotta run. My mother is literally on my back asking me to hurry up so we can look for my dad and brother. Day 0 and we've lost them.

Anyway, if you're ever in Singapore, roam under Starhub. They've got cool deals.(I know, I know I probably sound like a traitor coming from Globe (which Singtel partly owns) but hey, Starhub gives free internet access PLUS local charges on Starhub to Starhub roaming calls. How cool is that?

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

#35: Salute to a Super Stylist

Good shoes for miles and miles of walking: Check
Good fall clothes for looking good during the trip: Check
Good hair for good pictures:..... Uhm...

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Less than a week before our departure for Europe, there I was just arriving from another business trip with many more things undone - turnover of certain projects, presentations etc. How could I possibly find four free hours to get my hair done by my stylist? (Yes, it's really four hours. And no, I'm not being a primadonna. I have long rebellious hair and the process really has to be:
1.Shampoo like there's no tomorrow
2.Treat with things that come in vials
3.Color with no less than three shades they mix in a pot
4.Shampoo like there IS tomorrow and it's actually still for shampooing
5.Treat with more things that come in vials
6.Blowdry like you'd blowdry a diva
7.Finishing touches
Really.)

So I decided to devote my Saturday to the Salon.
Saturday: "Sorry ma'am, your stylist is in Sydney. She'll arrive tomorrow."

Fine. Sunday afternoon then.
Sunday: "Sorry ma'am. Her flight from Sydney will be arriving tonight."

This can't be happening. There will be no time between today and Thursday that I'll be able to find four straight bloody hours to devote to my hair overhaul.

Panic.
And then came the stupid thing that usually follows panic.

Against my better judgement, I went to another salon to have my hair colored. Bad move. Bad color too. I now look like that orange-haired girl in Scooby-Doo. Yeesh.
And with such bad hair, I really needed Ms. Sydney to rescue me with an awesome cut.

You see, Ms. Sydney is the best stylist I've ever met. (Of course my world is limited. I am neither from fashion nor from showbiz but for some strange reason, I am able to sniff out good salons and good stylists.) The first time I came to her and submitted myself for a cut, she asked me what length I was comfortable with, then proceeded to do her magic without that look of perplexity which usually accompanies the awkward phase of the client trying to explain that she wants to look like a movie star while the stylist is thinking, "Heck, there's no way your hair can salvage what's left of your face."

She double-layered my layered hair and did an asymmetric part I originally had a hard time imagining pulling off. The following morning, I was expecting to look like some rock band reject. Surprisingly though, I looked good that day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Not only was I able to to pull it off, I actually enjoyed wearing it (swishing it from side to side from time to time too!) This stylist was a keeper.

So far, she's done such cool stuff with my hair that I sit in front of her mirror perfectly and comfortably surrendered to whatever she'd want to do. There was this time she just got back from Paris and she wanted to experiment with this new color. I ended up looking like a Mulatto surfer chick and I actually found it cool. There was this other time she just felt like patterning my hair after Julia Roberts' - middle part with a soft veil of hair flowing on both sides. When I walked out of the salon, I felt like remaking My Bestfriend's Wedding... just to improve it, you know? Hah.

Today, she decided to do this chunky, slicey thing I couldn't understand. While she was cutting my hair, she was telling me this story about one of her clients who cried after she snipped off a huge portion of her hair. When the girl was in Paris however, some stranger walked up to her just to ask where she had her hair cut because it was "sooo HOT." Well, I didn't have to hear that story. For one, I wasn't planning on being some hotsie mama. I just want to look good in my Europe pics, that's all. And another, I trust her enough to let her dice my hair without as much as a wince.

I must say that once more, she has dazzled me. She cut my mermaid-length hair to a more decent length. Snip by snip, she turned my crappy wig-like mop into something I can flip from side to side to ape shampoo commercial models. And she did this while yakking away about her many travels and about seeing me at the airport on Thursday (We're both going to Italy. She's going to Milan. I'm hitting Rome first.) She finished off by saying, "I did a Catherine Zeta-Jones on you," followed by a satisfied smile. I grinned. There was no way I was seeing Mrs. Michael Douglas in the mirror but I sure was seeing Gucci Stardust in one helluva good hairstyle.

Great Hair for Great Pictures: CHECK!

Live

#34: And Let Die

The more I live, the longer I leave this journal lying dead.