Life's Ultimate End
Death.
It might most probably be that I’m a Christian that I do not fear the subject of death. It might also be that I have the most beautiful idea of what Death looks like, thanks to Sandman, that I am at peace with the idea of having to inescapably meet her in the end. She is the coolest of the Endless (comprised of seven anthropomorphic beings) after all, in character and judgment, unlike the mercilessly cloaked and scythe-wielding counterpart of death’s more popular depictions. She is portrayed to just be there when something or someone dies. A lifespan is not hers to dictate. She is there like an usher to lead the dead to the after-place or a guide sent to tour and make the dead feel at ease with the transition to something beyond life.
Sure, it is fiction but it is somewhat assuring to face something scary if the idea is conveyed to us in a fairly subtle, thus, acceptable, manner. By Death being perky, attractive, intelligent, young, level headed, fashionable, and cool has made me look at death in a more positive light. I do not crave the experience, not by a thousand light years, so don’t get me wrong. I love life, with or without love-life, and I would wish to have more years on my lifetime than the average human being, with fairly heightened intellect and healthy internal organs to sustain me in the years to come.
I pondered on the idea of why most people fear death and personally came up with several notions:
1. Fear of the unknown
2. Anxiety of leaving family, friends, and loved ones behind
3. Unable yet to experience a host of many possible things in life
4. Greater personally-set expectations which one still hopes to live up to in a lifetime
5. A lifetime led ordinarily hoping the years would bring about excitement
6. Weak spirituality
7. Wishing to correct mistakes made in the past
8. Absolution from those whom we have done wrong
9. Not really giving the subject much thought thus giving the person some vague and scary notion which could be traced back to reason #1
10. Loose-ends here and there
I could not offer any general consolation on the matter. As I have said before, I am no psych-major. Having a fairly acceptable idea on why most people fear death is as good a start as any in making us loosen up and enjoy life rather than dread its end. Here’s an idea that somewhat rang true, at least for me: what if we liken life to an abandoned fully-furnished house that some thief had discovered. For months of careful observation, the thief had quite certainly established that the house is a goldmine waiting to be abused. The thief goes in the house and steals one valuable thing at a time, at his own leisure. As the days go by, the thief had sacked the place until one day where there is nothing left to take. I like this analogy better than the more popular
"like a thief in the night" story where the thief just takes everything else with him in one swoop. By this analogy, an ultimate death where the heart stops beating is a result of days or years of small deaths until the big whooping one.
There was this episode in
Sandman, from issue #42 if I’m not mistaken, on a man of several hundred years old dying from an accident while he was nonchalantly walking along the sidewalk as some wall or debris fell on his thin frame. The apparition of the man’s soul rose from the rubble. At first he thought he had survived yet again. But a very attractive young woman approached him and said it was time for him to take her hand. The man said something on living so many hundreds of years and not one single moment thinking that it would end in an unglamorous manner as dying on falling debris. Death, who happened to be the very attractive young woman, replied,
“you get what everyone else gets: you get a lifetime. No more, no less.”
I met someone I knew from childhood, our neighbor, and my sister Zhan's grade school classmate, in Glorietta yesterday. His intro was,
"nabalitaan mo na? Ang Nanay..."
Of course I knew at the back of my mind that he was about to say his mom died but I acted all naïve. I did not know Aling Chit suffered from breast cancer until Ford answered my question on the cause of her death. She was my youngest sister's god mother. I remember her teaching and practically doing her children's assignments while they were in grade school. She is soft spoken, helpful, caring, and responsible. She is an accountant by profession, just like me, but she chose to practice on her own, running her one-man firm alone thereby contributing much to seeing her children off to college.
"Bakit? Anong nangyari?"
"Wala na sya. Kahapon ang libing. Kayo lang ang walang representative doon."
"Paano?"
"Yung dating breast cancer nya."
"Naku, pasensya na. Di ko talaga alam. Di nakarating sa akin ang balita."
"Ok lang, di ka naman namin nasabihan kasi naiwala ko number mo. Sinabihan nga ako ng Ate. Sorry din."
“I’m sorry for your loss. Sasabihan ko na rin ang Nanay, di rin nun alam, sigurado.”
“Thank you. Andito nga rin pala ang Tatay at ang Ate, nagiikot lang.”
“Pasabi na rin sa kanila na ibabalita ko nalang sa amin. My sympathies, Ford.”
It was with that conversation in mind that I decided to write about death. Or
Death, rather.
Rest easy, Aling Chit.
To Alcoholism: Cheers!
It was a Friday night I spent sitting with officemates and their friends, who were drinking beer while I had water, over at Cena. I was proofreading my previous entry via GPRS when an officemate turned to me and said: "know what? My ex-boyfriend once said to never trust the guy who doesn't drink." It was probably the fourth time I found myself being slapped by the same line by the same person who's had just about the same amount of SanMig Light. "Well, but he's the kind of person who could drink a keg and still stay sober," she added, now casually leaning towards me. I gave a shrug. I didn't know the ex but knowing this woman, she often use her inuendos to start tearing on your personal space's protective sheath if you are not on the lookout. "There is so much reality in the work place," she continues. "When you go home, there's too much reality with your family. When you travel from your home to elsewhere, you will see the harshest reality of all, which one of our expats had noted, that the poverty in this country is UNbelievable!.... Unbelievable!... Do you know that one of the most purchased consumer goods in the country is alcohol?...The reason being: to detach yourself from these realities. An altered state. A necessary state of mind. Now, how do you go about making for yourself this state of mind if you don't drink? Even socially?"
There goes the clincher. Right on cue.
I force a smile and said, "I challenge my body physically by doing weekly wall climbing. I work my mind up by writing. Luckily, I have, for company, friends and family with sound minds whom I could talk and discuss just about anything with without my need for alcohol. That way, I get to face the realities head on instead of escaping with the need for your so-called altered state of mind."
That line. “Never trust the guy who doesn’t drink.” Maybe the author of this bullshit of a quote is an avid fiction reader. Too paranoid that the non-drinker would maybe poison everyone else, get them drunk and rob them, ultimately sexually assault everybody, and rule the world in the process. One of those or whatever. Point is, it’s pointless. It’s totally bullshit if used in my context. It being an addictive substance and granting the argument is valid, then I should have a strong contention in saying all non-smokers are wimps. Come on! We are in the Age of Aquarius when diversity is normal, natural, and beautiful!
Often, people who have problems live with a state of mind that cooks up a defense to justify their offense. The guy who doesn’t drink should NOT be trusted. Now I’m the bad guy. A pity.
I don’t drink because it’s my choice. The write-up "What Kind of Drinker Are You?" (an article from Georgetown University Health Education Services) affirms that the non-drinker chooses not to drink most likely because of personal reasons. Mine is more on family history because I consider my father to be an alcoholic and I still see him as one and I made a mental note never to become one. I also have very low tolerance on anything that has alcohol which manifest as palpitation, hyper ventilation, and skin rash. A lone shot of tequila gives me all of these symptoms five minutes tops after I down the drink. Although many derive pleasure from drinking, and I do see people loosening up a notch when under the influence (and I find it good and not unpleasant, in a way), I don’t see my need for it to socialize. I could stay up all night by drinking water or soda as everyone else get piss-drunk. I interact just like the others. I don’t get heightened satisfaction in seeing people wasted. The reason is not that perverse. I don’t drink also because it gives me a hard time recovering the morning after. I have nothing against social or binge drinkers. Nothing against alcoholics. I only think it is appropriate that the socio-cultural demographic I belong to be granted the same empathy.
Lucky for me, I don't think she'll remember any of my retort come Monday. I sure hope so because the officemate I’m referring to happens to be my boss. Monday came and I gave her a recount of what happened last Friday which she practically begged off me. I told her the line she gave me to which she reacted, "might be that I was only trying to get you to drink."
Whatever.
Goblet of Fire
in theaters everywhere starting November 16, 2005
I have a strong feeling that the new Harry Potter movie would earn more bad reviews than good, there being more bloggers now who would rather pounce at a popular subject to react on rather than have a day pass by and not have anything to write about. I just finished reading one so-called review, for want of a better irony, and I just had to do this post or suffer puking my gut out. For all eternity.
Here's the thing: I've read all the books (so did several million others). I started with the first book even before the first movie started filming (so did several million more). And, to set a reliability threshold at what I am about to say, I have impeccable taste. Now, bite me.
Bitch.
For the reality check part, the movie is a book adaptation. Read it if you haven't yet because it is a film for the heightened appreciation of those who have read it. End of discussion. Discarding portions of it is a necessity dictated by constraints like budget, time, resources (like CGI process detailing, manpower, integration capabilities, etc.). It may be common knowledge but reiterating seems in order since hordes of director-and-movie-critic-wannabees would as much as claw at each other just so they could be the first to enumerate in full numbered detail which part of the book, complete with page and chapter name and number, were either left out, added on, misquoted, or misinterpreted. Then there would be another category where the wannabees would do a full disection: telling which parts should come first, how the film should have shown scenes in the order that should be, and how Hagrid and Madame Maxine's passionate love scene up in the owlery should have been done with subdued lighting. If it gets you off, brother. By all means.
The film, in its entirety, was just spectacular, simply put. The directing has been handed to Mike Newell who managed to marry both style and substance rather well.
Daniel Radcliffe,
Emma Watson, and
Rupert Grint have all matured, not just by their looks and real age, but in acting as well. Notable is how Daniel and Rupert gave life to Harry and Ron's falling-out-of-friendship and how real they made the awkward moment of having to reconcile seem. As for Emma, that scene at the ball, bursting with elation and admiration and later shifting to dramatically portray sheer disgust, hopelessness, and worry (at the scene where she hugs Harry for the first task) was something which just admirably grew in her in time.
Ralph Fiennes did the role of Lord Voldemort well. Every bit as sinister, cold, terrifying, and monstrous as what we have all imagined him to be, and more.
Brendan Gleeson also gave the "F" in the freak that was Mad-Eye Moody, whose portrayal was far greater than those given to the character in print. On the sidelines, but who also did rather well for the roles, are those who played the repulsive Prof. McGonagall, apologetic Cho Chang, enchanted Viktor Krum, thankful Fleur Delacour, provocative Moaning Myrtle, ensnaring Madame Maxime, stoic Igor Karkaroff, irritating Rita Skeeter, underconficent and emotionally distraught Neville Longbottom, eager-to-please Peter "Wormtail" Pittigrew, and good ol' Albus Dumbledore (the adjective being the part where they had most notably delivered in the film, except for the "
good ol'" for Dumbledore because he did ok by just being old, and, um, good) .
The way emotions were portrayed to be as real as they could get was the real magic that earned the movie my overwhelming satisfaction. Note how sorry Cho really looked at the owlery. How Harry shook in frustration and anger and hatred and remorse as he held on Cedric's cold body while crying uncontrollably. How Hermione exploded in sympathy over the nostalgic Neville who stood and watched helplessly at the power of the Cruciatus Curse (thereby reliving the spell that did his parents in). How Cedric was genuinely thankful on Harry's stopping to save him from the obstacle in the maze. How the three friends parted ways in end, holding on to promises of getting in touch through letters.
Then, there are the kickass CGIs and sequences. From the great Quidditch World Cup openning, the magical entrance of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, the complexity of how the tasks of the Triwizard Tournament were shown, and the power-packed duel between Voldemort and Harry to the vividly intricate settings and backdrops.
We were lucky to have gotten tickets on the first screening night. Go catch the film and relive the magic yourself.
Poster from http://www.movieweb.com/movies/HARRY POTTER and all related characters and elements are trademarks of and © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. 2005
New ATM Syndicate
Habang nakapila ako’t magwi-withdraw sana sa ATM sa BPI na malapit sa bahay namin, nakita kong antagal ng naghihintay nung isang mamang nauna sa akin. Naka-fatigue syang uniporme. Tamang militar. Mukhang nag-hang nanaman ang hayup na ATM. Pagkatapos siguro ng mga dalawang minuto eh nag-luwa din ng resibo ang ATM. Mukhang walang na-withdraw ang mama. Minabuti ko na munang magtanong habang pababa na ang mama sa hagdan palayo sa ATM patungo naman sa bandang kinatatayuan ko.
Fritz: Offline po ba?
Navy Seal : Ah, hindi ho...
Fritz: Parang di ata kayo naka-withdraw.
Navy Seal: Ah, required po kasi kaming kumuha ng ATM print-out para pruweba ng oras ng pagbisita namin sa mga ATM ng bangko. System check lang ho. Taga-BPI po ako.
Fritz: Ganun ba? Salamat po...
Akala ko eh kelangan ko nanamang lumayu-layo para lang maka-
withdraw. Ang
weird ng machine na to. Pumanik na ako sa ATM. Tumambay si
Navy Seal sa tabi ko, mga apat na metro ang layo sa bandang kaliwa ko. Nagsasalita pa rin. Ayaw akong tantanan bagama’t hindi ko na sya kinakausap.
Navy Seal: pag ganun pung transaction cancelled, di po kayo kailangang mabahala...pero po pagbumukas yung cash-slot tas walang lumabas na pera, malamang po dinadale kayo ng bagong modus operandi ng mga sindikato ng ATM nyan, lalo na ngayung magpapasko.
Tumangu-tango lang ako habang panandaliang lumilingon lang sa direksyon nya, tanda ng pag-galang, at habang kumukuha na rin ng pera ko sa ATM.
Tapos na transaksyon ko.
Paalis na ako eh nakabuntot pa rin yung mama.
Navy Seal: Pag nangyari po yan tiyak may maoobserbahan kayong naka-tambay sa labas ng machine. Nagmamasid. Tawag sa kanila eh Ruler-Gang.
Hinarap ko at tumigil na sa kakalakad, inulit ko ang huli nyang sinabi. Pakshet tama ba dinig ko...
Fritz (pinipilit na wag matawa): Ruler-Gang? (said to the tone of: you must be fucken' kidding me, man?!)
Navy Seal: Oho. Ginagawa kasi nila eh nilalagyan nila ng ruler na may pandikit sa isang side yung loob ng cash dispenser. Akala ng nagwi-withdraw walang lumabas na pera. Actually mahaharang yan ng ruler sa loob. Hihigupin ng machine yung cash dahil akala nito hindi nakuha ng account holder yung pera pagkatapos ng ilang seconds. Pero may ilang matitira dyan, didikit sa ruler. Pag lumabas kayo agad eh may papasok nyan sa machine tas susungkitin yung ruler sa loob na may iilang nakadikit na pera. Mainit po ngayon ang nakawan sa ATM lalo na’t magpapasko.
Fritz: Kung sakaling mangyari sa akin yan, halimbawa, tawag lang ako agad sa hotline nyo sa 89-100…
Navy Seal: Opo, itawag nyo lang po agad dahil kami rin agad ang pupunta nyan. Dati mainit ang BPI pero ngayon eh **** bank ang madalas nilang target nitong mga nakaraang araw.
Sa ikli ng pagbisita ko at sa pag-kuwang kukuha lang ng pera eh may nakuha pa akong tip. Ibang klase.
Kaya kayong nakabasa nito, isang babala. Mag-ingat.
Brush At Cartomancy
With nothing better to do and a fresh pack of playing cards just opened, we agreed to have our fortune read by our resident suomi who happens to know a trick or two on the process.
Cartomancy, or the act of divination or fortune telling through cards, started long ago when playing cards first came into existence. In those days, divination cards were called tarots. Diamonds, hearts, spades, and clubs were called pentacles, cups, swords, and wands, respectively. The four suits we have now then comprised only the minor arcana, complete with four court cards each, comprising of the king, queen, the knight, and the page. Quite similar to the cards you use for pusoy-dos, actually. The major arcana are comprised of symbols and images frowned upon as heretical and having occult roots and were thus subsequently discarded, except for the tarot sets that remained true to their original form.
The cards were shuffled. The willing subject was then told to think of a special someone for whom, together with the subject, the wheels of fate would tell its tale, limited to how the current romance is or how the future would most likely look for the the couple. Almost always, the subjects could only affirm how their romance is doing currently. There might be a reading on a third party but we could all only speculate. Nothing is really certain. Cards aren't entirely fool-proof. You can't really put up a fight saying "the cards told you were cheating, you two-timing cu*t!"
The future is blurry. It forks and branches into different paths, each consequent to current or past actions. The paths could also, somewhere along the way, converge with other paths, thereby creating the same resulting future for different past actions. The more actions these futures could possibly result from, the more foreseeable it is. The more
solid it becomes for the diviner. Their possibility being more certain than the other possible futures. As such is the case, these convergences could manifest themselves more via the medium of those practicing divination. The card or palm reader could then tell you how many children you could have, how you haven't met your soulmate yet, how it is that you are going to lose your house from fire in the next two years, or why it is that you should refrain from traveling by air within the year as much as possible, for want of better examples.
My turn came. The cards were shuffled and I was asked to knock on the deck three times. A few cards were discarded and much remained. It was explained that I was represented by the Kind of Swords as my heart was the Heart of Swords. My precious would then be the Queen of Cups, her heart being the Ace of Cups. The cards were spread on the mat and the King of Swords was shown to be surrounded by so many court cards, so many royalties, what the hey?! Our self-representations were drawn apart. Our hearts even farther, separated by happiness, problems, even more court cards, distance, and money. The interpretation: "Fritz, you are surrounded and loved by people, whom you may love back, and you have found solace in them. That's a good thing but it also draws you away from possibly making romantic connections as evidenced by your being closer to other court cards. See these other cards separating you and your precious' hearts? These are problems ot tribulations, if you may. Money, distance, circumstance, differences. It needs work, and from the looks of it, you would need to do a whole lot." My interpretation: Either I'm surrounded by people whom I love or that I'm really very promiscuous! (The latter having a more remote possiblity than us having snow in Manila. In June!) I'm royally screwed! The part where I'm surrounded by people is a fact. My reality. A major truth that I have overlooked all these years. This suomi is good! She's got that aspect right!
The realm of fate is complex. Put the fortune-teller in the picture and watch the margin of error rise exponentially. The future is only as good told as the skills and capability of the diviner on interpreting how it is manifested in the cards or the palm or tea-leaves. The cards may have shown the most evident future but the reader may not be apt to pick it up or, much worse, tell a different tale from that told by the medium. It is thereby advised to be wary of fortunes. Keep an open mind. Treat the experience as mere entertainment. And just leave the following thought in your head:
you are such a wuss so get your lovelife in shape, as*ho*e! In the current age and time, there are only a handful who are still adept in the art of divination. The hunt is on to find them if you want to know what Destiny's book has written about you, that is, if you can't wait to find out for yourself once you are already there.
Vertigo Tarot image Copyright © 1995 DC Comics
Sagada Trip Sidelights
The bus trip to Sagada was long and tiring. As uncomfortable as it already were, there's this baby who kept on crying all through out the trip. At first it was cute as the mother would do some baby talk while nursing the baby via feeding bottle. Then, with impeccable timing, just as my astral self was about to set foot in the boarderlands of the Dreaming (complete with myoclonic twitches), the baby's helpless sob would do a sure steady crescendo until it reached a shrill, deafening aria (in that particular order and I would not have minded if it was actually as beautiful as most arias). It was bearable at 1am when my mind was still on its usual rounds, aimlessly wondering off with the trees along the side of the road while I stare blankly out the window. But by 3 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . 5:30 . . . 6 . . . 7am?! What the flying F*CK is WRONG?! More irritating was that the mother was obviously getting terribly impatient and was mumbling stuff like: "Arnnggg-nu bkkkkkkrrraaaa!!! KadedeDE mO Laaarrrnnnnggg!" The first line being: ano ba?! delivered with fury. I knew my tired but conscious mind could not have made me think of hearing stuff that did not really happen, so I knew I heard a gurgle in between sobs which only meant that Little Nicky (or Nicky for the purpose of this post) already had too much liquid in his mouth than he could possibly hold and swallow.
My two cents go:
To Nicky's mom: Ever heard of responsibility? Ever been patient even if it's just for show? Ever thought of not leaving the comforts of your urban home until the time your kid would have grown old enough not to be a pain in your and everyone else's ass when you travel?
To Nicky's dad: What the hell were you doing snoring all through out the journey, you LAZY F*CK?!
As a consequence, people within a 5 meter radius to from Nicky had no choice but to toss on their seats and groan in unison whenever signs of a sad sob seem to be in the works. The bus was about 10 meters long and the couple with Nicky were occupying the middle seat, right accross mine, actually.
As we got down the bus at Banawe, I told a companion: "I think we all just had our crash course to parenting our very own baby town cryer, and I swear I wouldn't want to have the FULL exerience soon."
After Much Labour...
After three rests of about a minute or more each. After months of constant visits. After our ultimate rock climbing experience at Sagada. The culmination of wanting to do greater feats. The highlight of it all. A first. A near-passing-out-because-of-exhaustion-in-trying-and-not-wanting-to-give-up-because-I'm-already-so-damn-close moment. Captured and immortalized. Ang OA na ng post na to! I conquered the feared mother wall. Kanina lang. Mainit-init pa. And here's the proof, as patiently taken by Ainna who would and could do it very soon, too.
Yodeling Up North
NOTE: click on the highlighted words for the FULL experience
So it isn't actually the Himalayas. It ain't even a few thousand miles close to the shores that ultimately lead to Tibet. The 8 or so hours we spent on a public bus plus 3 to 4 more hours on a craggy jeepney, 1 or so hours of which on rugged terrain, paid off when we reached the fabled town of Sagada in the Mt. Province.
Cost: We initially estimated the cost to stretch to 6k pax (where I only got to bring 5k due to some ATM card problems I had prior to departure). Actual cost, however, was roughly about 4k pax (probably due to our missing several breakfasts and lunches depending on the activities we have planned for the day). If you are planning to go, please do bring the entire amount in cash. Bring some extra if you wish to buy more pasalubong stuff.
Possible activities: from the map locally sold for about P10 everywhere, you may psyche up the kind of things your group would like to engage in depending on the luxury of time you have and the level of adventure you are willing to subject yourselves into. All tourists are advised to go to the Municipal Hall where the Tourist Center is located (where you will be asked to register yourselves at a modest P10 fee per tourist). Ask the person in charge what the rates and available activities are (they have a tariff for each). The prices that the guides would charge depend greatly on the size of your group and the kind of activity you choose. Your group may be adventurous enough to try sight-seeing out on your own (like going around town and visiting traditional Igorot houses and communities) but do get the expertise of the guides for more physically challenging activities as caving, spelunking, and rock climbing. There are simple caving tours but do try out the Lumiang-Sumaging cave connection. Only a few dare do so as most guides claimed. We did.
Almost three hours after our initial descent towards the cave entrance at Lumiang, we reached and stood over a cliff looking snotty over the fact that we knew how hard we worked to get that far: going through smelly guano, being dipped to the head in icy waters, doing slippery squeezes, and hazarding jagged rock holds. Couple all of those with the haunting thought of imagining what could possibly lurk in the shadows of the rock formations beyond the reaches of the gas lamps wielded by our guides. Picture us looking down, just observing the shorter-route cum less-gutsy cavers as they scamper about in the safe, lower regions. They, in random awkwardness, begin tilting their heads towards the high wall at our direction. Our light catching their attention, making them feel so small over our accomplishing something they haven't. Something they would not ever admit to feeling, but a reality nevertheless. A non-apparent, indescript, soul-deep feeling of great defeat that no amount of future triumph can shake off. Losers! We just let them go about their petty business while we bid our time. Waiting. As the path somewhat cleared, we then, one by one, started our descent to their levels. Individually creating routes beyond those taken by our guides. Steps sure and steady. Our individual lights flashing everywhere. Egos larger than the great old darkness that envelope the space beyond the lamps' warm illumination. Our voiceless attitudes screaming, "out of the way, bitch! And kiss the ground we walk on while you're at it!"
What we did: Our reservations at St. Joseph proved futile. The room we booked via phone did not get reflected in their records. We got a referral for George guest house which is down the same street where the Municipal Hall is, a few meters away from the
Yoghurt House (really nice yoghurts) and Traveler’s Inn (quality banana with cream pancakes), and quite strategic should you want to go caving. We even saved a few bucks as the rate given us was cheaper than what we were originally quoted.
On
Day 1, we headed for the caves during the day and observed All Hallow's Night at the town
cemetary where
firewood were lit instead of candles. An
eerie yet marvelous
spectacle.
Day 2, we did
rock climbing, some
sight-seeing, and
trekked our way towards the
glorious Big Waterfall down in Bomod-ok.
Day 3 we prepared to go back home and did some rounds at
Banawe where we got to visit the
Creative Pagan Museum where
hundreds of sculptures and
crafts are showcased in sections (farming, ritual, tools, costumes, accessories, even an erotica section).
Tips from us weary travelers: bring a light-weight jacket; travel light; bring strong flash-lights; bring your cell and cam chargers; bring thermals.
Our bodies were thoroughly beat. Our knees hurt. Our cheek-muscles worked out with the funny antics and BS stories we nonchalantly throw at each other’s faces.
It’s a worthy while of spending a long vacation.
No itineraries.
Just fun magnified several fold.
All photos featured in this post are proprietary to the author. Copyright 2005 by Fritz Tentativa. Sagada Map copyright by P.M. Stephens. All Rights Reserved.
