No, Really, I Am an American

I have returned home only to be stricken with insomnia. More about that in a moment…

Friday the 11th of November 2005:
Fog Rolling Down the Mountains

We left Baguio City today and I couldn’t help but think about how much I liked it there. Okay, yeah, I admit that I’m overly American on various different levels, but all in all, it is a beautiful place to visit.

That was definitely my impression as the fog came rolling through the mountains on the drive down. Despite the slightly overcast sky, I couldn’t help but wish I had a camera. But then again, I don’t know that a photo could really do it any justice. It’s something one has to see in person, me thinks.

All of this made me marvel at Mother Nature and all the seemingly impossible things that can happen because of Her. It encourages me to travel the world beyond concrete and skyscrapers.

Later that evening…:
“This is the life — they have an AirCon in the CR!”

We’re back in a metropolis of sorts. Technically it’s San Juan, a suburb of Manila. But truly, it doesn’t seem any different to me. Manila and its surroundings are such a contrast to the City of Pines. I think I preferred Baguio City a little more.

We’re staying with my Uncle Ben and Auntie Jo, who are in no way blood related to us but have been friends of my father so long they’re as close as kin. Unble Ben and my dad have been friends since the third grade and they met Auntie Jo in the sixth. My memories of these two generally involve shopping.

They have a big house in San Juan — as well a summer house we’re staying at tomorrow in Tagatay, another mountain city an hour away from Manila, and as I discovered later, a condo in the almost finished Shang Towers. The last time I visited, I was so impressed by it all - the house, the servents, the seeming grandeur this young American was unfamiliar with - that I exclaimed, “This is the life!” My recollection of this declaration is very vague, but it sounds like something my nine-year-old self would say.

We went to dinner at a seafood restaurant, very prisitine and decidedly Chinese. It was a newly built establishment and still had the “new building” look to it.

“They have an AirCon in the CR,” Auntie Jo tells me. Translation for you non-Flip Americans: “There’s an air conditioner in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” is all I can say. I’m not going to lie, that information didn’t really mean anything to me.

“This is very impressive,” Dad explains. At my still blank expression, Auntie Jo continues, “This is kind of third world and most restuarants in the Philippines only have an AirCon for the main dining area.”

I think about this for a moment. Yeah, I confess, there is a lot I take for granted.

I think about my mom’s side of the family in San Pablo down in Laguna and the way she was raised versus my father. If we had lived here would I have had an “Ate” like my cousins to look after me? Or would I have been reared by my actual kin like my mom’s side? The thought of having servants both delights and daunts me. I can’t imagine relying on someone to do menial tasks like making the coffee in the morning or washing the dishes, but at the same time, I’m not a fan of cleaning my room.

I wonder what kind of person I would have become…

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Saturday the 12th of November 2005:
My American Palate - “They put cheese in the ice cream?”

If there’s anything about this trip I’ve become decidedly aware of it is the fact that I have a very American palate. It ain’t completely turned off by the foods considering I grew up on most of these dishes…but yeah, I guess I would agree with Chris O on the fact that it’s all rather flavorful.

We spent the weekend in Tagatay, an hour outside of Metro Manila - the happy, smoggy, not-as-dirty part of the city. On the way there, we ate at a tourist hot spot called Josephine’s, a restaurante that overlooked the Taal Volcano (yet another of Nature’s marvels I could not help but reflect upon). The food was perhaps the five star of Filipino dishes…and I hardly ate a thing.

Funny thing to me about Uncle Ben and Auntie Jo — the word “no” is hardly in their vocaublary. I ate what I could of the dishes I did know and liked and managed m’self a decent fill…but then my uncle was convinced it was barely enough and insisted that we have “dirty ice cream”, so named because it was sold by a street vendor.

“They have two flavors,” Uncle Ben tells me. “Cheese and Ube.”

I mentally gag at the prospect of Ube, the purple sweet yam that is as common to a Filipino dessert tray as say chocolate…too many quirky childhood memories of mixed expectations of flavor. I politely follow him to the “vendor” stationed in the foyer of the restaurant.

I take a picture with the vendor and order a cheese ice cream. They put cheese in the ice cream…like real bits of cheese, of which vintage, I was uncertain. But it was cheese. It’s definitely not the flavor I expected. It wasn’t horrific or anything…just odd. In retrospect, we put cheese in cake and think it’s pretty grand, right? Same concept.

My American palate was satiated that evening. We traversed, and by “traverse” I mean drove, some crazy ass terrain to get to this exclusive and remote restaurant called Antonio’s. It was such an expereience!

The first thing to tip me off just how elite this place was was the fact that there was a gate at the frickin’ roadway to the restaurant and if your name wasn’t on the list, well, you just drove the way hell out of the way to look at a gate.

There was such ambience to the place. If it hadn’t been raining earlier that evening, the cover of the veranda would have been opened up more exposing the surrounding foliage and the open sky. The table setting reminded me of a very high class wedding or black tie affair…not that I’ve really attended scores of these types of shindigs…but you know what I mean. I certainly felt underdressed in my hipster Levi’s and button down white shirt…in my Nike’s no less…but there didn’t seem to be too much of a dress code considering I saw people in far more casual clothing than I.

The menu was just as classy - yes, there was escargot (which ain’t half bad) and it involved salad, soup, bread, main course, coffee and dessert. Antonio himself came out to greet the customers and shake our hands. He explained how he prepared some of the dishes and from what country he learned how to do so in. I ordered the prime rib, of course, and oh yeah…crepes for dessert. My dad said it was the most he’d seen me eat the whole trip.

What can I say, I’m tragically American.

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