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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A Message to the Universe

Published by Action and Fitness Magazine, 2008.

Wrote a letter to the universe and mailed it via the South China Sea from Batanes.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen.” Like him, I believe that if I want something bad enough, the winds will waltz with the waves to deliver my granted wish. But how do I let the wind know of my whims? How does the ground beneath my restless feet know where I want to go? Some may shout it out to the world at the top of a mountain. Others may sit in a space of silence and whisper their desires to God, while I, well, I send a message in a bottle.

This is why our wedding invites were in bottles.

While some people collect seashells from their travels, I collect bottles. It has been an obsession of mine since I first saw a green bottle on the beach of Obella. I like the idea of a lonesome bottle carrying a precious message, travelling through oceans and time to an unknown destination, and finally into the hands of a perfect stranger. He might or might not care, but for that brief moment, when he unscrews the cover, slides out the note, and reads my thoughts and enters my head, we’re connected. The anonymity of it all only adds to the romance, plus the idea that once you’ve thrown it out to the sea, it is no longer yours, the same way you surrender your dreams to the powers that be and wait for them to be thrown back, granted.

My first letter carrier came from the Marshall Islands,

washed up on the shore from the Pacific Ocean.

I don’t know what happened to the bottle I found by the bushes in the shore of Obella. It was colored emerald green with Japanese inscriptions at the base.  I figured it was washed up on the shore from the Pacific Ocean. Obella is a tiny island in the Marshall Islands in Micronesia, inhabited only by lonely sea turtles and old ghosts roaming the deserted cemetery at the heart of the jungle. Ironically, the cemetery is the only sign of civilization in Obella.

Answered wishes? We were surrounded by empty bottles

in our tiny hut at Little Corn (Nicaragua).

 

Surrounded by impossibly clear waters, Obella can be reached by boat from the nearby atolls that surround a lagoon. On low tide, you can literally walk from a neighbouring island to Obella. If you forge through the thick vegetation, you will find a small cove jealously guarded by a throng of pandanus and plumeria trees. Here, if you lie still for a moment, on a white stretch peppered with powdery crystals flirting with the sun’s rays, you will hear the breeze whisper secrets of old, when the Americans fought against the Japanese to claim ownership of this paradise several full moons ago. I’d like to think that the bottle was discarded by a Japanese soldier while hiding under the shelter of a plumeria tree, waiting for a G.I. to wander past. More than likely the bottle could have been thrown by a drunken fisherman tottering on a Japanese fishing trawler that came through the Central Pacific a few days earlier.     

Off to deliver our message to the universe.

Pacific Ocean

Choosing the former as my bottle’s origins, I wrote down my wishes on a piece of paper, put the paper in the bottle and screwed the cap tightly back on. On our way back to Roi Namur, the island where we came from, with the boat running at an even speed, and Tom Petty belting out "Into the great wide open”, I threw the bottle into the Pacific Ocean. The waves eagerly lapped at the bottle, wanting to know the wishes contained inside. 

My best friend lounging by Obella, Marshall Islands.

I wished that I would spend the rest of my life with my best friend who was driving the boat then. I prayed that we would have many adventures, travelling together. Just a few months later, after travelling to six provinces in twelve days, he proposed to me on top of Calvary hill in Leyte, Philippines with the statue of the Sacred Heart looming over us, standing witness to our whispered promises.

Photo by Bern Mejias

Since then, every time I travelled, I would look for an empty bottle on the shore, waiting to deliver another message.   A few years back I found a clear bottle with a rubber cap  hidden between rocks at a beach in Sabtang, Batanes in the Philippines. This time it had Chinese inscriptions on the cap. Batanes lies where the Pacific Ocean and the South China Sea merge. I imagined the bottle came from Taiwan, Honk Kong, or China. When I opened the bottle, the sharp scent of gin escaped from the rim.

Roi Namur, Marshall Islands with my best friend. (photo by Kerry Young)

 As usual I wrote down my wishes on a paper, sealed it into the bottle, and then threw the bottle back to the sea. Later, a little commotion ensued by the shore. There was excited chatter from my caravan, crowding over something they found brought in by the tide. Some of them took pictures, excited by the fact that they found a “real” message in a bottle, perhaps cast by someone stranded on an island somewhere. Before they could open it, I ran and swiped my precious bottle away, ruining their fantasies altogether.

We are always surrounded by bottles.

I zealously held on to the bottle as our boat crossed the treacherous South China Sea. We spent a good twenty minutes by the shore as our boat battled against the waves, refusing to let us go.  We haven’t even left yet, but half of our group was already suffering sea sickness. We were finally released but not before a huge wave crashed over our boat, rocking it like a plastic toy and causing some of the passengers to scream and beg our boatmen to head back, but they ignored our pleas. It was an intolerable thirty-five minute ride as I braved the screaming wind blowing through my drenched clothes and the splashing seawater burning my eyes. Holding down the fear that threatened to surge from my throat, I looked out, never taking my eyes off the lighthouse from afar, a sign that land was close, then I realized I was still clutching dearly to my bottle as if it were a life saver. I threw the bottle into the dark waters, praying under my breath that I might live to see my granted wishes.

I believe there is no limit to the number of wishes you can make

In your lifetime. The universe is generous.

I have yet to see the bottle again. Often I search for it in the landscape of my dreams, around the edges of my adventures and on every crevice of the lands I explore, never once losing faith that my message will soon be delivered.

If you find one of my bottles washed up on your shore, will you email me at travel@anaviajera.com?

The universe answered our prayers at the San Agustin Church, Malate Manila.

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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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Siquijor: Bewitched by her Fire (Central Visayas, Philippines)

Published by Action and Fitness Magazine, 2008

Be warned: Siquijor can bewitch.

 Her name is Siquijor, a powerful and beguiling enchantress. She is known for her curses, black magic and powerful potions. Considered as the marine paradise of Central Visayas in the Philippines, Siquijor can be reached by sea through the provinces of Cebu, Dumaguete or Tagbilaran in the Visayan region. Before my visit, Siquijor was an island I would never have dreamed of visiting. The fear of being cursed had little to do with it. It was simply because I had no reason to see her. Siquijor was a fearsome and mystical island because she was distant. For me, she was nothing more but a name that was uttered in dramatic whispers. 

Charmed by Cambugahay Waterfalls.

But fate would conspire with the elements to change my mind, and the wind took me to La Isla del Fuego, or Island of fire. In the 1600s, the Spaniards first set foot on the virgin island and called her the island of fire because of the eerie glow that surrounded her.  Siquijor’s radiance, a glowing mist around her head, turned out to be the light from clouds of fireflies that swarmed the numerous molave trees on the island.

I was enchanted. She bewitched me not with magic potions or curses, but with her quiet beauty and charm. Circling the small island in one day - the lush roadsides, the clean quiet streets occasionally disturbed by crossing chickens, the archaic churches sitting on rolling hills, reminiscent of old European structures, the charming locals, the verdant mangroves in the middle of the beach and the calm pastel sunset - showed me a different kind of Siquijor.

Looking out from the St. Isidore Labradore Convent,

                      the oldest in the Philippines.

    La Isla Del Fuego revealed the beautiful face of magic and witchery, the kind that is calming, spiritual and in no way fearsome. Her fire burned my picture of a western witch with long claw-like fingers, a sharp crooked nose and a black pointy hat. Instead, I saw a sorceress that is one with nature. She works not with toad’s eyes and human fetuses but with the whim of the wind and sea. Her powers are not brewed in cauldrons but in the force of her waves, the light of the moon, the energy of her sunsets and the secrets of her caves. She does not cast spells to covet or harm, rather she protects and heals. Beautiful, nurturing and beguiling, Siquijor offers a respite away from the horrors of the metropolis.

Open and inviting, Siquijor is not only an enchantress, she is also a mother, embracing her citizens and guests in her bosom, characterized by hilly and mountainous terrains and bordered by tranquil beaches. She protects her people from the full force of typhoons and blesses them with bounties from the coast. White sandy beaches make up most of her 102-kilometer coastline. But Siquijor shies away from the noise of typical commercial white beaches. She doesn’t flirt with loud club music and fancy resorts, rather she beckons with quiet mysteries I have never seen in any beach in the country before. Once, during low tide, she invited me to walk far into her beach with the water reaching only up to my ankles. On some patches of sand, I found army crabs. They skittered on the soft ground in organized groups, burrowed, then disappeared all at the same time. It was a strange but astounding phenomenon. I stood still for a few more seconds, and a new batch surfaced from another direction.

St. Isidore Church sits on a hill in Lazi.

Vast blue skies serve as backdrop for Siquijor’s tranquil beaches. Generous mangroves sprout in the middle of its waters. At sundown, I sat in the water, kissed warm by the sun. It was like a therapeutic bath as I watched the day disappear in swirls of pinks, yellows and blues. From a far distance, fishermen’s children sang joyously about how life is more colorful with a bowl of vegetable soup.

Enchanting Siquijor offers more than just the idyllic life. Her coral reefs are also ideal for water adventures like snorkeling and diving with spectacular wall drop offs, sloping terraces and World War II dive wrecks. Siquijor has two known dive resorts, Kiwi Dive Resort and Coco Grove. Kiwi offers quiet charm and personalized service while Coco Grove boasts of high-class commercial amenities.   

Warmed by the water and the setting sun.

 To explore Siquijor’s various terrains, all we needed was a day and a little jeep that runs on gas sold in Coke bottles. The driver often also serves as the tour guide. We started out the tour at the little town of Lazi, located at the southern tip of Siquijor. Lazi, with its small town charm and quiet appeal, keeps a big secret. The St. Isidore Labradore Convent, the biggest convent in Asia, sits atop a hill in Lazi. The low rise two story structure was once used as a vacation house for friars and priests. Built in 1857, St. Isidore is also known to be one of the oldest convents in the Philippines. A walk inside the ancient building told of its age and history. The ground floor is made of thick stone while the second floor is made of hard wood panels.  It was a precarious walk   on the second floor where some of the wooden floor planks were missing. Bright light, coming in from generous windows, washed the stained stone columns with some colour, bringing life into its otherwise sagging condition.

I crossed the road fronting the convent and found the St. Isidore Church. The 19^th century church is made of coral and stone. The rust tinted roof and the moss growing between the stone cracks, gave life to a structure hundreds of years old. Inside, shadows hid several delightful surprises. Period pulpits, intricately hand carved renditions of the station of the cross on the windows and hardwood floors with herringbone patterns speak of the church’s old grandeur. Up in the belfry, the antique bells silently echoed St. Isidore’s pride. Outside, the grassy slope led us to a garden with gracious acacia trees hiding the path down to a mini amphitheatre.  In this green alcove, you can get lost in the past when Spanish friars and locals once tended the gardens while the image of the Virgin Mary silently watched.

Mystic Siquijor’s hilly terrain also has something for the adventurous heart.   Her rock formations had been gently shaped by the cold wind to form over a dozen caves, rivers, waterfalls and springs perfect for trekking and spelunking. The Cantabon cave is one of the most famous caves of Siquijor. It has a little bit of everything for the intrepid spirit. The one and a half trek took us on an uneven shadowed path beside mini streams and tiny waterfalls, through pitch dark chambers, and around protruding stalagmites and crystal white stalactite formations hanging overhead. Deep within the cave, a pool invited us to take a dip to wash off the grime we had acquired from the trek and more importantly, the worries and stresses of the city. Locals said that no one has ever ventured to go far into the cave’s bowels perhaps out of fear of dark spirits that may be lurking there.

Spirits seem to roam everywhere in Siquijor. I could feel them in the trees and in the wind, singing us songs of enchantment. At Tigbawan in Lazi, we took a refreshing stop at the Cambugahay Waterfalls, rumoured to be charmed with its multi tiered  water cascades. Then there was the century old Balete tree in the Campalanas area. The tree revealed hundreds of years of history in its roots and vines hanging from its branches. The knotty whorls on its bark, told of the magic it had witnessed through the ages. Below it, running water flowed, heading straight to a manmade stream.

On my way home, I didn’t stop to buy a bottle of Siquijor’s famous potions.  What I brought home with me was far more powerful than her concoction of roots, barks, leaves and fairy dust. I brought home her spirit, which will forever remind me that there is still such a thing as magic.

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When Success is in the Bag (Rafe Totengco and his designs)

Yes, Ana Viajera does fashion too. From Louis Vuitton private screenings to Garfield clothing fashion shows (my very first assignment as a writer, which never got printed!), I've done it all!

Published by Rektikano Magazine, 2010

An artist and a traveler: my kind of designer! (photos provided by Rafe)

Jessica Alba wears him. So does the Hilton sisters. Even Lindsay Lohan carries him around wherever she goes. Not bad for someone who started out by designing teachers’ school uniforms back in fifth grade.  

Spring 2010: Don't we still love the boho look?

Ramon Felix Totengco, a Lasallian student who used to design prom outfits back in La Salle Bacolod, is more known in the fashion world as Rafe Totengco: the most sought after bag designer based in New York. He has garnered several designer awards and credits his international success to his inspiring conversations with his namesake, Br. Felix, a lot of hard work, and a bagful of chutzpah. We recently had an interesting chat with Rafe, and he gave us a peek of what’s in the bag and the latest in accessories.

He travels for design inspiration! Chek out rafe.com for the latest collection and travels!

  

How do you think did your Lasallian education help in your climb to success?
I went to La Salle Bacolod, from prep to high School. I graduated in 1985. I was fortunate to receive the level of education that I received in La Salle. I’m certain that it opened doors for me when I moved to the US.

Who do you remember was most inspiring or encouraging back in La Salle?

My teachers were very encouraging and supportive of my talents early on. They allowed me to dream that everything was possible if I truly wanted it. My classmates were also quite special, because they always had my back. Growing up ‘artistic’ and ‘different’ was quite a pleasant experience for me, because I felt nothing but love and support from everybody.  Brother Felix always made me feel welcome to talk about anything, and he was never judgemental about our conversations.

Rafe Totengco is also a Lasallian!

Can you remember a project back in school that was a sign of the path you are taking now?
I’ve loved fashion since I was in fifth grade, so you can say it was pre-destined. I designed costumes for school plays, prom outfits, teachers’ school uniforms… you name it, I did it. I joined every art contest there was.  I believe one of my wining pieces still hang in the high school library.

Any advice to those who are just about to start with their own brand?

It’s a business first and foremost with real deadlines and calendar dates you must abide by.  Do something that is true to yourself, because at the end of the day that is what it boils down to.  Buyers can spot something that isn’t authentic a mile away.

Rafe has created a collection that imbues the easy-breezy, casual bohemian soul.

What difficulties or road bumps did you have to go through to penetrate the fashion industry?

Every day is a challenge, and there are fires to put out on a daily basis. It never ends. But that’s what makes it even more rewarding when you achieve something.

To what do you attribute your success?
Sincerity, integrity, talent, and chutzpah.

What are some of your proudest moments?
When I received the TOYM in the Philippines, when Target asked me to be their first accessories guest designer, and when American Express chose me to be in their advertisement.

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