My love story

Published by Pinay.com

I once met a Spanish dreamer who said that “travel is a love story.”

My husband and I had just arrived at her little rustic inn hidden by trees from the rest of Little Corn Island, and she had asked me what I did for a living.  I told her I was a travel writer which started her waxing poetic. Watching her looking out at the sea, her eyes reflecting the quiet ebbing of the waves, she got me thinking of what we had to go through to get there.

Sitting on the edge of the Caribbean, Little Corn Island is one of Nicaragua’s best kept secrets. To get there, my husband and I had to get on a 10-seater plane from the city of Managua. After lurching and wobbling through the clouds for one and a half hours, it got us to Big Corn Island in one piece.

At Big Corn, a cheerful Creole drove us to the dock where we waited for our boat at a restaurant by the water, observing dark-skinned fishermen clean their catch on the shoreline. We watched the fish being gutted and its blood streaming like a dream into the water. Our ceviche was as fresh as could be.

The boat was larger than our plane, but we were packed like excited sardines baking under the sun. It rocked uncertainly under our weight. When we finally arrived at Little Corn, the journey was far from over. We walked for 30 minutes, dragging our heavy bags along a roughly cleared path through the jungle.  Coconut trees nodded overhead as if to say, “welcome,” but I hardly noticed. I was thirsty, tired, and my shoes were digging blisters on my heels. I wanted to blame my husband for choosing a place so difficult to get to. Instead I bit my lip, because I could hear him cursing under his breath, having to carry my extra load.

 

Read the rest of the story here.

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Summer 2012

For the first time, this banner was shot on my actual desk.

Just recently I met a Spanish dreamer in the Island of Little Corn in the Caribbean who believes that travel is a love story. As someone who lives to explore, I can’t agree more. I'd also like to think that love is a travel story. After all, love is a journey of joys and sacrifices, a trail of triumphs and trials. And I believe that my love story is an amazing continuing journey.  My husband and I just celebrated our wedding anniversary which explains the message in a bottle on the desk. It is actually one of our wedding invitations which we delivered in bottles. Read more on how the universe received our message in a bottle and granted our wishes here.

Our wedding invites were delivered in bottles. Photo by Bern Mejias.

Spring left us too soon; I think. Time passes quickly when you’re having fun. But I embrace summer. I welcome the sun and the chance to bare my shoulders again with my eensy-weensy yellow polka dot bikini. I’ve always wanted one just because of the song alone, and I got to wear the one featured on the desk in our advance summer adventure in Little Corn in Nicaragua. 

A farewell to spring.

Also on the desk is my pair of Jambu Vegan trail shoes. I wore them throughout my trip to Nicaragua, and they’re the most comfortable travel shoes ever.  They’re partially made of recycled material, so it makes not just my soles but also my soul feel good, knowing that I’m being kind to the environment. I also love the fact that they don’t look clunky like most hiking shoes. They almost look like ballet flats, and the mesh material allows my toes to breathe as if I’m wearing sandals. I heard Samantha Brown was spotted wearing them, so I guess I can say this pair has been travel tested well (it’s hearsay so don’t quote me on this).  Yep. I just might feature more travel gear in my next posts.

I highly recommend these Jambu Vegan shoes for travel.

You can read more about my Nicaragua trip in my TravelOkcitycolumn or in my travel memoir with Leisure+Adventure Travel out soon. The map on the background is a city map of Granada which served us well during our trip to the western part of the country.

Last night I dreamed that I was in a perfect world.

I woke up to find myself in the Caribbean (Little Corn).

It may seem silly to bring a book during a vacation. Why wander into another world when you are currently in an exciting new place that is waiting to be explored? But there are days when you are sitting on a little cliff overlooking the vast blue with a Flor de Caña rum coke in hand, and nothing feels better than to be rocked by the sound of gentle crashing waves and the song of a good book. For this trip, I brought The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy, a debut novel that won the Booker Prize in 1997.

This is the life: rum coke and a good book by the beach.

At first the book seemed rather contrived. I found the language superfluous and meandering (like my own writing tends to be sometimes), but after I got over the hump of the first few pages, the words flowed and flowered for me. I almost liked reading the novel just for the utterance alone.  But it would not do justice to say that, because the story in itself is powerful. So powerful that it made me wonder about the characters after the conclusion.  It made me wish for them well, although they may be fictional, hoping that in their fictional world that they had found healing and that their childhood memories would finally bring for them joy.

~Spoiler warning~

As much as I hated for the story to close, the ending was something that I consumed ravenously satisfaction. The conclusion was a scene pulled from the middle of the story and ended in a hope and a promise. A promise encapsulated in one word: Tomorrow.

~Spoiler ends here~

One of the things I love about changing banners is that it allows me to blog. I know that sounds silly since Ana Viajera is supposed to be a travel blog, but in case you haven’t noticed, all of my content are my published articles. AV is really intended to be my professional portfolio (and so far it has helped me bag two more writing gigs). Secondly, I am a lazy blogger. Somehow the idea of writing and not getting paid for it (or the thought of it not being published) loses the appeal for me. But every now and then I would feel the urge to get more personal and even more self-indulgent (after all, travel memoirs, I believe, have a tendency to be so), and the banner essay allows me that. It gives me the venue to write about anything, including book reviews which I have taken a fancy to lately, because in between my travels, books afford me the chance to visit another world. Consider these mini book reviews as my ode to my quick round-trip tickets to different worlds.

Lovingly dedicated to my beautiful web developer and friend

in celebration of another year of her fabulous life.

I’m featuring 2 more books on my desk, Travel as a Political Act by Rick Steves (you can read more about it here) and The Shack by William Young. The latter is not something I would readily pick off the shelf, but my Aunt Tracy asked me to read it, and how could I say no? 

Another addition to my growing collection of signed books.

At the risk of sounding like a snobbish reader, I admit that I have the tendency to look at the craft when reading a story. With the Shack, the voice and tone became a big distraction for me. I thought the language to be trite and a little corny. 

 

The premise of “what if God was one of us” is on one hand interesting (although this has been tackled numerous times in other stories), a thought provoking supposition, but again, I felt that the author stayed in his comfort zone of clichés. God or “Papa” is portrayed by a woman. Surely that is going against the grain of common belief, but she is also large, loving, cheery, nurturing. She has the air of someone whom you would want to run to for a hug. No surprise there.  If the author portrayed God, say, as a hippie who likes to sit by the porch with a reefer and addresses his children individually as “kid”, then  I’d be more intrigued. 

I was never a fan of Rick Steves, but here I am.

 

The lessons were almost forced. I use the word “lessons” because that is what the book seemed to be, didactic. This is one of the reasons why I shy away from stories that blatantly claim that it is a story about God or the search for meaning and existence.

I celebrate God in every step I take.

Clichés aside, the book took me to some interesting paths that I have never ventured to before. According to the book, everything in life is good.  It was our choice, our need for independence (eating from the tree of knowledge), that pushed us to label things as good or evil. Therefore even cancer or calamities, in its very essence, is not evil  (in a sense that they have a higher purpose that we cannot comprehend). It is only our separation from God that causes us to fear these supposed evils. If we returned to God, then we would be able to trust him fully and know that the Supreme Being only wants the best for us. It’s a thought that’s hard to swallow, especially when you’ve suffered from cancer or calamities, but somehow, I digested it well.

And so continues Ana Viajera's leaving of footprints.

The Shack also gave me the idea that God does not need us to prioritize him, to form hierarchies. He does not want an hour a day of our time. Not even two, or three. Instead, he wants all of our time, all of us, everything. He does not want an hour of devotion but a 24/7 relationship.

I translate this as taking him in with my every breath, lifting everything that I do to him, even something as mundane as doing the laundry. God does not want worship, he wants a relationship. The thought is liberating. It frees me from the guilt of not spending enough time on devotionals that I have to admit, can get boring. And as I breathe him in and praise him with my every action, I know  that I am worshiping him.

Why hello there, summer!

May this summer be all about fulfilled tomorrows and constant devotion. Oh, and ice-cold lemon water and sun kissed shoulders.

***

As the seasons change, so will my desktop banner. I will be adding little touches to it, moving the items around, and customizing it for the season. I will archive its transformation on My Desk. 

Read more about how I put the banner together and how my real writer's desk looks like at My Desk. And tell me how your desk looks like, and I will tell you who you are.

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In Search of the Perfect Ceviche (Nicaragua)

From my TravelOkcity column, May 2012

Still life in Little Corn Island, Nicaragua

Bright red slices of tuna, firm pink slivers of salmon, and tender flaky grilled marlin - these were the things we dreamed of everyday, weeks before our trip to Nicaragua. Because of the country’s expansive coastlines, with the Pacific Ocean to the west and the Caribbean Sea to the East, and because it is home to the largest lake in Central America, we anticipated a fish and shellfish fiesta. We tasted succulent shrimps and crunchy fish tacos in our mouth every time we discussed our itinerary. And did I mention the lobster? Sweet whole lobsters in shiny red shells danced before us, haunting even our waking moments. Then we landed on the Corn Islands, east off the Caribbean coast, and discovered that it was not the season for lobster. In fact, there was hardly any seafood to be had.

Chalice of joy at Tranquilo Cafe, Little Corn

The Farm Peace and Love hosted our first dinner that night. An Italian lady was preparing an authentic Italian meal and on the menu: chicken. What else was there, we prodded, hoping for some mussels or shrimp in the pasta.  The answer:  primavera. Of course. 

All throughout our stay in the Corn Islands, we encountered a similar scenario.  One delicious disappoint after the other in the form of fried plantains and beef in tomato sauce. But on our last day in Little Corn, we found ourselves a sweet spot at the Tranquilo Café in front of the dock while we waited for our boat to Big Corn Island. Fresh Ceviche was on the menu.

A Creole cleaning his catch.

In most of Central and South America, the raw fish or seafood marinated  in citrus juices is known as ceviche, cebiche, or seviche. In Guam, it is called kilaguen. In most parts of the Philippines, it is kilawin. In the local regions, it’s kinilaw.  The Hawaiian version is poke. For us, dreaming of a seafood smorgasbord, it’s called: “I could eat this every day”.  It was our heaven in a goblet, everything we’ve dreamed of since we planned this vacation, served in a tall martini glass. It was the cup of promise, chunks of fresh kingfish marinated in lemon and spiced with chili peppers, onion, salt, cilantro, and pepper topped with a flaky cracker. Every bite was tender, juicy, and citrusy, full of the flavors of the ocean. If we couldn’t have the ocean bounty we were promised, we could have a spoonful of the sea anytime with ceviche. From then on, we searched for it in our every stop.

Our cup runneth over at Big Corn Island

At Big Corn Island we were served a helping of seafood salad: fish, shrimps, and lobsters. It went down well with a glass of margarita. We topped a cracker with a mound of the ceviche and enjoyed every morsel, believing that the piece of fish melting in our mouth had been caught just a few hours ago in the beach that we were currently looking out at. We thought it was the perfect companion while we watched the changing warm colors that the sun left on its wake.  Maybe it was the effect of the  sunset, bathing us  with an ethereal glow, or maybe it was because we had been so deprived of seafood after all the anticipation that made us think that it couldn’t get any better.

Back in the mainland, in Managua, in our effort to escape nightspots choked with cigarette smoke and blaring 80s disco music, we found the quiet Restaurant Gallery on top of the Seminole Plaza Hotel.

The perfect bite.

Beautiful white chunks of fresh water bass were brought to us lying on a lettuce leaf in a crystal cup. A slice of lemon on the rim indicated the promise of a refreshing experience. It did not disappoint. The briny sweetness of the sea spiked with a subtle tanginess and the surprising crunchiness of red and green peppers made us smile. Never mind that the fishy taste and smell lingered the entire night on our tongue and lips, the brand of guilty pleasure.

The peeling and weathered paint makes pictures look like Van Gogh paintings.

When we headed to the colonial city of Granada, every beautiful door opened to more fresh servings from the Pacific, the Caribbean, and Lake Nicaragua. Without a doubt, our cup runneth over. Again, never mind that the strong aftertaste haunted our senses. It even seemed like our fingers smelled.

In search of perfection by the Parque Central

At Nuestra Mundo by the Parque Central, we sat outside to watch the horse-drawn carriages while sipping on Coke and Flor de Caña rum and enjoying a generous  heap of ceviche.

Every day, it was one chalice of joy after the other. Could it be that every serving presented to us was perfection? We couldn’t decide which one we’ve had so far was better. Not one won over the other; each one had something slightly different to offer but always satisfying and always leaving us with that strong taste in the mouth that reminded us of the marine life of Nicaragua. 

A walk back in time.

Near the conclusion of our holiday, we discovered La Gran Francia right off the main square, a stately ancestral casona painted in yellow and accentuated by white washed balconies, wooden beams, and terracotta tile roofing, built just a few years after the founding of Granada in 1524. Inside is like a museum of colonial history. Massive paintings and relics adorn the walls and statues of saints look down with disdain on guests. We learned to ignore the ornamentations once the salmon Carpaccio was served at the table - a wonderful blend of smokiness, saltiness, and a whisper of sweetness that played with our palate.  We took our time before we ordered, looking out at the narrow streets of Granada, knowing that our reliable chalice of bliss would not disappoint. For a second it did though as we perused the menu, our eyes flying through many European dishes and then suddenly realizing with dismay that ceviche was not in the list. We looked at our waiter, Juan, perplexed. With a knowing smile he responded: “I’ll ask the chef to prepare one for you.

Perfection

It stood tall and regal crowned with a purple frill of lettuce, sharply cut avocadoes, and firm tomatoes giving color to the precious white meat swimming in opaque water that almost looked like coconut milk. The first spoonful brought forth a swirl of flavors like rushing water in the mouth. The mild taste of fish was sweet and exciting with the piquant juice that oozed out of it, punctuated with a burst of cilantro sunshine.   Whether  it was the strong shot of lime or cilantro, I’m not sure, but there was hardly any of that pungent taste that seem to linger in the mouth. The experience was as spirited, smooth, and clean as the glass of mojito that we were having with it. The search was over, we thought. We had found the one. We asked   why such an exquisite dish was not in the menu. In broken English he replied, “It’s made on special request for preferred customers.”

The saints were smiling on us that day.

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Holiday Banner 2011

Again, thank you Cheriecity for helping me with this banner!

 

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Wherever I go, the holiday cheer is evident. I can smell it too, even at home. I decorated the house with garlands from our Christmas tree, and when you walk in, you could smell the distinct fragrance of pine. After our first real Christmas tree two years ago, I don’t think I can ever go back to plastic.  And while there are advantages to having a fake tree, nothing beats the fresh sweet smell that comes from a real one.  For me, having a fake tree is synonymous to decorating your home with plastic or silk flowers. But then, if we live back in the tropics, it would be an entirely different story. Maybe we can make do with a palm tree.

I love how the star seems to float over our tree.

But I digress. This is after all about My Desk and not about the tree. The garlands on the banner are some of the branches that we trimmed off the tree which I dressed up with pine cones and red balls. I didn’t want to go overboard with the Christmas decor lest we forget that this is still a travel site and not a store display window.

The gift that keeps on giving: Last year he was the best gift under the tree. He still is.

Aside from the garlands, the one recurring theme on the desk is the trains. The holidays is all about trains for me, especially since aside from the birth of our Savior and my mother (I wish I can just take the train to see her this Christmas), we are also celebrating the birth of our son. Since he came into our life, I had developed a fascination for steam locomotives. The interest in trains was further heightened by Paul Theroux’s (one of our favorite travel writers) The Old Patagonian Express, narrating his travel across the U.S. and Central America aboard different trains.

The inside of The Old Patagonian Express is the inspiration for my son's room.

The inner part of the cover, illustrating the route of the Old Patagonian Express on a map, is the inspiration for the nursery. In fact, one wall of the room is covered by an old world map, and all over the room are different modes of transportation, including choo-choo trains.

This Old World wallpaper which I also use for the banner is inspired by Paul Theroux.

The tiny choo-choo train across the journal is a vintage candle holder which I got for my son. The other train resting on the Amtrak  magazine is a Christmas tree ornament for this year. It will be a tradition to get a train ornament for him every year until the tree will be encircled with trains aside from the one on the floor.

This train in his room goes underneath the tree every Christmas.

Incidentally, the first part of Theroux’s trip was taken aboard the Amtrak from Boston. This is why I included the Amtrak Magazine (40^th Anniversary edition) in the banner.  We picked it up from the recent OKC annual Train Show, because we’re planning on a short trip in the next few months via the Amtrak. Perhaps to Fort Sill. This will be quite the adventure as I have never been on an Amtrak, and I haven’t been on a lot of train rides either. The most significant one so far is when we took the direct sleeper train from Singapore to Malaysia.

Every year we will get a train ornament for the tree. This one was from last year.

A longer trip to Nicaragua can be seen in the horizon, and I find it interesting that Nicaragua was one of the countries that Theroux skipped  from El Salvador because of the unrest that was happening back then. And so we will venture where Theroux did not dare go in his great train adventure. We chose Nicaragua because it offers two worlds: the colonial culture and the Creole and Caribbean culture. Of course all of these trips will depend on my son (If we can find someone to watch him for a couple of weeks or perhaps more importantly, if I can condition myself to be away from him for that long). Those of you with kids know that having children pretty much dictates your plans including your vacations.

Father and son at the Train Show.

Wherever we’re going in the next few months, I will be sure to take you with me. In the meantime, I hope you travel the path of peace and joy this Christmas.

All aboard!  

Aboard the Parlor Car at the Science Museum

***

As the seasons change, so will my desktop banner. I will be adding little touches to it, moving the items around, and customizing it for the season. I will archive its transformation on My Desk. 

Read more about how I put the banner together and how my real writer's desk looks like at My Desk. And tell me how your desk looks like, and I will tell you who you are.

Read More