Location, Location, Location (Hong Kong)

Published by AsianTraveler Magazine 2010
Photos by Nana Arellano Aoyong

It’s a mantra for real estates agents and applies to many establishments, especially for hotels. Of course it’s also about service, amenities, and other features. But with Marco Polo Prince Hotel, which sits right at the heart of the city’s busiest commercial and business hub, location sure contributes greatly to its success.

Tsim Sha Tsui is like an oriental version of Times Square.

Located along Canton Road in Tsim Sha Tsui, Marco Polo Prince Hotel and its other sister properties (Marco Polo Hongkong Hotel and Marco Polo Gateway), form part of Hong Kong’s largest shopping complex and are next door to some of HK’s major tourist attractions. Prince is part of Harbour City, a shopping zone of about 700 shops including 50 restaurants. Behind it is Victoria Harbour, offering guests an almost surreal view of the city at night. On the other side, guests can walk towards Salisbury Road for some education at the Cultural Center, the Space Museum, and the Museum of Art. Everything else is a ferry or an MTR ride away. It seemed like when the city was planned, the Marco Polo group got lucky and got first dibs on the center of the Hong Kong universe.

Fair warning

Marathon shopping tip: hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!

The Prince’s location, coupled with its multi-star service and amenities, has propelled it to strive and thrive in spite of the economic downturn. In fact, Prince was named Hotel of the Year at the recently concluded Marco Polo Annual Awards by Marco Polo Hotels.  It was a grand slam victory for Prince General Manager Philip Lim and his team, with the hotel bagging a total of three awards (Hotel of the Year, Most Competitive Hotel, and Hotel with Most Improved GOP Performance).

1881 Heritage, an ode to the Victorian Era and big name brands.

 “I would look for a hotel that is in a very good location,” shares Philip, but he was quick to add that “a hotel in a good location that is branded is plenty, but the difference is the service. We always try to create additional value for our customers, taking the extra mile.” 

A budget shopper's heaven.

And this was exactly what I was looking for on the day I revisited Hong Kong. With my feet itching to go a-walking, and my heart longing for some retail therapy and a little wine sousing on the side, I found what I was looking for at the Prince Hotel. And so yes, I blame location for the calluses on my feet, the extra pounds around my waist, my thinning wallet, and the excess baggage. Consider this a warning. If you are dieting, saving, or looking for some downtime, Prince Hotel is not the place to book. However, if you are up for some gastronomic fun and retail adventure, then you would be happy with Prince.

NY in HK

Outside the Prince’s cool confines (it seemed like they always set the air conditioning at freezing point inside the malls and the hotels. I heard this keeps people wide awake, which doesn’t really make sense what with everything that the location has to offer), the energy is almost electric. Fire-red taxicabs whizzed by between buildings that scream of colorful marketing and commerce: Cotton On, DBS, Tax Free, Sony, Marrionaud Paris, Tsubaki, Sale, S. Square Cafe Cozy Lunch Set and several other signs in Chinese which I’m sure either promised porcelain skin or the best pork suckling in town. The signs are big and colorful, some sparkle and pulse. They reminded me too much of Times Square in New York, only the signs were mostly in Chinese.

New and cheap!

At rush hour, the place transforms into Wall Street oriental. Asian men in business suits and women in stylish high heels rush home in packs. A sprinkling of Caucasians and other races walk alongside them. They walk lost in their thoughts. Some talk in their hands-free sets, brushing past us, seemingly not noticing us. A mass of bodies, they move almost mindlessly, flowing efficiently and with purpose, crowding escalators and filling trains. I am almost scared. Feeling much like a country mouse lost in a rat race, I was afraid they would trample me, but the frenetic energy brings a tingle to my flesh.

‘Tis the season to spend

Love in the midst of madness (photo by Nana Arellano Aoyong)

The air had a crisp quality to it that was somehow odd in a place crowded with buildings and roads choked by cars and buses. It was a familiar exciting feeling: the anticipation of Christmas. We walked farther along Canton Road and soon we came upon the houses of Hermes, Channel, and Gucci. They were like big gift boxes with glittery ribbons. When we neared the flagship store of Louis Vuitton, we noticed a long queue by the door. People were actually lining up to get into the store. It’s the season for giving, after all. People were eager to spend.

We continued on towards Nathan Road but were quickly sidetracked by small boutiques that sold dresses and shoes that were more within our budget. I found a light wool dress in heather, and with it I imagined a pair of black tights and a white Christmas. The tag said 69 Hong Kong dollars. I quickly did the math in my head – Php 417. It was going to be a very happy holiday indeed. In another store, I chanced upon a creamy golden light coat with a puffy collar and sleeves.  The tag, which read, HKD100 made me hesitate, but then Nana, my shopping buddy, said I looked like someone who just stepped out of the JFK airport. That erased all doubts. 

Come to Manila, and you won't have to fall in line to spend big.

Shopping was such a joy in these little streets between Nathan Road and Canton Road. The only real downer is that fitting clothes are prohibited in most stores. “No fit! Cannot! Cannot!”

Our hands full, we decided to unload, which was not a problem because Prince was conveniently just around the corner. After unloading, we found another store with the following treasures: a vintage-looking locket watch - HKD39 (our host, Janice, said I could have gotten it for HKD20, but I couldn’t let her burst my bubble), a Chinese silk fabric covered notebook - HKD29 (“You could have gotten that for 10!”), little bolanggus (toy drums) with birth animals printed on them - HKD15, and a memorable shopping experience - priceless. There were also bracelets, porcelain China dolls, silk bags, and other inexpensive baubles that would be perfect under the Christmas tree.

sparkly stocking stuffers

I had to pace myself because we had the Night Market in our itinerary, and I knew that prices would be even more festive and that haggling would be fun. Unfortunately, things had changed quite a bit since my last visit at the Ladies Market in Mongkok, an MTR ride away from Tsim Sha Tsui. The merchandise lacked the luster that I thought they used to possess. In fact, I was reminded of the goods that they sold back in Divisoria or the bazaars in Manila. There was really nothing new, and I quickly got bored. The bartering, though, was still extremely entertaining. 

They look as cheap as they cost, and that's why I wasn't happy.

Janice taught us to negotiate for at least a 70% discount. If they refused, we could do the walk-away technique, and she guaranteed they would relent. True enough, after turning our back on them, feigning disinterest, they would grab for our arm. If we tried to extricate ourselves from their desperate grasps, they would plead. “Missy, how much you want? How much you want?” From then on, the bargaining power was ours.

Get ready to haggle.

Back at Canton Road, just a short walk from Prince, is Heritage 1881. Here the atmosphere is less manic. The stores are a little bit snobbish and uppity. Saleswomen don’t run after you. They offer a smile at a safe distance as you carefully walk around their displays. The brands – Tiffany & Co., Cartier, Mont Blanc – were not the things that delighted us. It was the building that housed all these expensive names. A building of unique Victorian architecture, Heritage 1881 used to be the headquarters of the Hong Kong Marine Police in the late 1800s. Today, it stands as an elegant structure, a reminder of Hong Kong’s rich colonial history.  

Symphony of taste and design

Behind the Marco Polo chain is the Victoria Harbour where you can turn your back away from Canton Road’s beautiful chaos. Prince, for instance, sits by the Ocean Terminal. It is directly connected to the Ocean Center which features balconies and viewing decks for weary shoppers or for those who simply want some sun and a whiff of the salty sea. Here we sat beside a snoozing local to watch the silvery waves reflect the glass and steel of the skyscrapers.

Taking a break at the Summer Palace.

At night the view completely transforms into a different world. The water turns a deep black; its edges give off a golden glow from the street lights. At Cucina, one of Marco Polo’s most celebrated restaurants, we sat by the glass walls, watching the city’s lights twinkle like stars submerged in the water. A traditional Chinese ship passed by while we sipped on our smooth white chardonnay. Its red sampan sail rig stood out, glowing in the dark. It flowed past, quiet and majestic, reminding us of Hong Kong’s proud living tradition amidst all the modernity.

It is evident even in their cuisine. The Michelin-rated menu of Cucina is a clever mix of Asian and international dishes, both traditional and contemporary and concocted by highly celebrated chefs: Graeme Ritchie, Au Yueng Chung Kei, and Ryan Zimmer. Even the table is set to display the elegant marriage of the modern and the old. The traditional crispy suckling pig skin sitting on a soft white pastry is served in an ultra-contemporary table setting that is both minimalist yet decadent. The Amadei dessert – rich dark chocolate fondant with a sprinkling of popcorn and tofu and caramel gelato on the side – sits on a slab of black marble. On another plate is a curious capsule that breaks into gooey strawberry and rose filling that spills over yoghurt cheesecake. The capsule is formed using liquid nitrogen, making the dessert a complicated dish that is just as delightfully complex in the mouth. To cap it all was a generous helping of strawberry balsamic ice cream (made from scratch of course) served in a bowl of ice, the cold crystals sparkling with the reflection of the city lights. Around us are black wooden lattice panels, marble, glass, and rich fabrics. With everything combined, it was almost an otherworldly experience. Or maybe it was just the chardonnay.

At the roof top of the Island Shagri-La, HK.

If Cucina is everything elegant, the Spice Market at the Prince is a trip back to the markets of old, alive with the scents and tastes of Southeast Asian cuisine. Lunch and dinner time, the crowd is as hectic as the markets of Hong Kong. People crowd the buffet tables for the steamed fish, stir-fried noodles, Peking duck, dim sum, tandoori, and a host of other Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese and Singaporean favorites. Every day they also have specials and on our first visit, they served the most special of all specials: the Typhoon Shelter Wagyu. The most tender and succulent Kobe-style beef is served on a small plate of stir-fried vegetables. The melt-in-your mouth experience almost made us forget about the other items on the buffet table. The waiters happily obliged. Plate after plate of wagyu was delivered to us, so we didn’t feel the need to stand up. We were perfectly happy where we were. We had, after all, the perfect location.

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The Hilot is In

Published by Balikbayan Magazine, 2010. View the original article here.

The wonder of nature and technology combined.

It’s funny how a little flutter in my tummy can totally change my views about health and wellness. Before, I would chug down a can of soda without a second thought, but now that I am expecting, this quickening in my midsection now serves as my conscience. Am I taking in too much saccharin and endangering my baby? Is this too much caffeine? The questions nag with every sip, slurp, and munch. And with all the talking heads yapping around me (the internet, books, well meaning mothers, doctors, elders), I become paralyzed with fear. It does not help that many of the suggestions are contradicting. Do I listen to the elder who has grandchildren that can collectively make up an entire soccer team and fill up the bleachers, or do I heed the advice of a pregnancy expert with a PhD? 

Popping the pill is the quickest and easiest remedy but is it the safest?

When it comes to medical care, Filipinos find themselves on middle ground: between the advancements of science and technology and the so-called time-tested practices of our lolas.

Caught in the middle, I reach out to both sides to discover what is best for my little wonder who is blissfully unaware in my bulging abdomen.

Online consultation

With the Internet a click away, it can both be a boon and a bane not only for expecting mothers but the clueless seeking immediate medical advice. It is after all, more practical and economical to search for treatments online than to seek professional help. This however presents several problems, one of which is the dangers of misdiagnosis and self medication. What may seem like a harmless headache can turn out to be brain tumour or aneurysm. We pop a pill hoping for it to go away, and before we know it, we’re being wheeled in the emergency room for brain bleeding. 

Our medicine cabinets are stocked with bottles for every kind of ailment.

On the flip side, online information can inspire paranoia. Heart burn may make one’s heart beat a little bit faster as many sites suggest that what may seem like a harmless acid indigestion can mean the onslaught of a heart attack or congestive heart failure. In any case, the false alarm can indeed quicken your heartbeat and lead you closer to a cardiac arrest.

But then again, we cannot completely dismiss the benefits of unlimited and available information in the World Wide Web. It can provide quick relief especially if the doctor’s appointment (or for some, the pay check) is still a few weeks away.

I don't think I'll be able to convince him that lagundi can help ease colic.

I remember receiving my results for all the routine tests that my ob-gyn required. Before my doctor’s appointment, I took a peek and found out I was positive for Rubella. I went through waves of emotions from anger to fear and hopelessness. My doctor’s appointment was a few days away, and the quickest relief was to go online. It didn’t help much as Rubella, also known as German Measles, is proven to be harmful to the fetus. It wasn’t fair, I thought. Apparently without my knowledge, I was infected, and now my baby had to suffer for it. 

The arrival of my son has made me rethink my beliefs on science and medicine.

Refusing to accept this fate for my first offspring, I decided to dig deeper and find the answer that I wanted to hear, or read in this case. This is another problem in itself: our quest to ease our minds by ignoring the answers that don’t sit well with us and seeking a second opinion – the pill that’s easier to swallow, never mind that it’s not the correct diagnosis.

But I digress. In this case, my search for a second opinion turned out to be the right thing to do. My research allayed my fears. To be tested positive for rubella meant that I’ve successfully been vaccinated in the past and am therefore immune to German Measles. I thank the high heavens for Google.

Can I trust Ibuprofen to ease his aches safely?

We can also thank the internet for cheaper home remedies. The problem with homemade remedies is the availability and the appropriateness of these treatments in the Philippines as most of these sites are authored by foreigners. For instance, a webpage suggests a home remedy for dry hair using burdock root, comfrey, elderflowers, and stinging nettle. It may be an effective concoction, but do we have these ingredients readily available here? Do we even know what burdock root is (I most certainly don’t, but let me consult Dr. Google.)? And assuming we’ve found these ingredients, will they work in our kind of climate and with our type of hair? Finally, after computing the cost and the hassle of getting all these ingredients together, we may come to realize that it is betterto reach for a bottle of Pantene.

All that quackery

On the complete opposite of the spectrum, is our Lola or Yaya who strictly forbids a bath when we’re running a fever, greatly contradicting the modern medicine practice of administering iced baths to lower down temperature. Still on the subject of water, it is a common Filipino belief that we get sick when are caught under a drizzle. My husband, who is American, in case you

haven’t surmised this yet (yes my surname is pronounced as “likes” not “lee-kes”), would no doubt scoff at this idea.

Choose your poison/

It is for this reason that when our baby starts hiccupping in the future, I will quietly lick a piece of paper and stick it on his forehead just to test this old timer’s remedy. If that doesn’t work, I heard the wet string works as well too.

Yes, with my somewhat old fashioned influences, raising a baby with an American may prove to be challenging. He has at one point questioned why Filipino toddlers run around with hand towels on their back. He probably would tolerate having his child wear a cape if it will absorb sweat and prevent pneumonia or the sniffles, but he will object to rolling talumpunay leaves into a cigarette for our child to smoke in case he is afflicted with asthma.

Raising a "half-blood" with a westerner can be challenging.

Unfortunately, my hubby will soon have to accept that the medicine cabinet of Filipino remedies are fully stocked. For instance we have the malunggay (moringa oelifera) leaves, and although it is still relatively unknown, this plant is considered as the miracle vegetable by the World Health Organization. Then we have alugbati leaves for abscesses and boils; luya – the Philippine’s power herb - for cold, cough, fever, and sore throat; and the lagundi (vitex nigundo) for dyspepsia, colic, rheumatism, worms, boils, and leprosy. The lana, local virgin coconut oil made of 90 day old coconut flesh, is used as a hair tonic, a massageliniment, or a facial mask. Some drink it to restore body balance and harmony and promote rejuvenation and body thermogenesis. It may be the potion of our grandfathers, but it already has gained respect in the modern world for its high content of monolaurines or lauric acid, vitamin E, and other anti-oxidants. And although the average Pedro would much rather grab a bottle of expectorant or a packet of lozenges, countless Filipinos still prefer these herbal remedies over conventional medicine. Researchers after all have backed up some of these traditional cures to be absolutely effective.

Although paracetamol is unheard of in the US, my husband has learned to appreciate its effectiveness.

And so some, if not many, have decided to marry the old and the new when it comes to health practices. For instance, while many chug down vitamin C and stock up on cold reliefs they also drink salabat (ginger tea) to ease the burning throat. 

Lemongrass tea is not only refreshing, but it is also a safe alternative medicine.

Taking advantage of this trend, the enterprising ones have repackage the old into the new. We now see malunggay leaves in capsule form, along with the ampalaya and the lagundi just to name a few. Others have made these traditional remedies into more fashionable fares with trendy boutique cafes offering refreshing tonics like salabat iced-tea or pandan tea.

Spirits in the medicine cabinet

After Lola, we also listen to Tatang, the neighbouring spirit doctor. Filipino ideas of wellness are after all tightly entwined to mysticism, spirituality, and the supernatural. If something ails us, the spirits have something to do with it. I remember how my brother suffered a stage of sleepwalking when we were young.

I don't care what his temperature is, but he's taking a bath.

Science would have written it off as a sleep disorder, but our resident quack doctor read the melted wax droppings on the water as something else – a creature, that is not of this world, has possessed my dear sibling to wander out at night in his pajamas.

Similarly, the Sudden Unexpected Death Syndrome (SUDS) has been heavily cloaked with superstition. Researchers have linked SUDS to acute hemorrhagic pancreatitis while folklore explains suffocation to be caused by an otherworldly creature defecating on the victim’s face. Somehow, for most Filipinos, bangungot is easier to understand than an acute hemorrhagic pancreatitis. 

This happy smile is brought to you by anesthesia and sedatives.

We hear of fever afflicted children brought to manghihilots (traditional healers) or the tawas reader. Before the patient enters the door, the manghihilot already has a diagnosis: pilay . The tawas reader would claim that the child was “nabati”or “namatanda” (terms that suggest that the patient has brushed upon, and perhaps offended, a spiritual being). Immediately a prayer to gods unknown is uttered and a piece of luya is pinned on the child’s clothing.

Oftentimes, the ailment goes away after a day or two. It’s either that or the malady gets worse and the child ends up in the emergency room. Still many prefer the resident quack doctor, perhaps because of our inherited beliefs in the god of the air, the wind, the water, and the earth, or maybe more realistically, because it’s much cheaper to see a quack than a real doc. After all, a donation is only worth as much as P 100. A doctor’s professional fee? At least P 350.

A new oasis

Spas are no longer just places to get a massage, they're also an oasis for rejuvenation.

The evolution of the spa as a new watering hole in the country has also brought about trends in wellness integrated with the old practices. Although most establishments offer state of the art techniques, they also include ancient healing traditions in their menu, hilot being the most popular one. Hilot,the centrepiece of Filipino traditional medicine, according to Dr. Jaime Z. Galvez Tan, Vice Chancellor for Research of the University of the Philippines Manila and Philippine health expert, is an “eclectic mix of indigenous traditional massage techniques from seven major ethno-linguistic cultural areas of the Philippines.” The therapeutic massage treats the veins, arteries, bones, and muscles to relieve pain, fever, sprains, immobility, and arthritis, and even to

re-orient the uterus. Again spirituality is associated with this treatment ashilot is believed to be an armour against curses, hexes, witchcraft, and possessions of elemental spirits.

Getting ready for my spa treatment at Angsana Resort in Bintan, Indonesia.

Dagdagay is another authentic Filipino therapeutic massage adapted from the Igorots that is now being offered by modern spas. The tribal foot massage uses bamboo sticks to target deep tissues and stimulate nerve endings of the feet. Then we have paligo, a rich bath of air-dried tropical and indigenous aromatic leaves and flowers with medicinal properties that is proven to be more beneficial than the rose water or milk water bath of the west. 

A flower foot bath before my massage in Hua Hin, Thailand.

There is a long list of traditional treatments that many establishments have incorporated into their packages, and although some of them sound archaic, many are actually based on science including kisig galing (directly translated as energy heal), biomagnetic energy healing, and tapik kawayan, the use of bamboo (kawayan) sticks to tap (tapik) body parts, identified through hand palpation, to have biomagnetic energy blocks. Couple thesetreatments with advanced technology and you have a holistic approach that an average Filipino – who believes in the modern and yet has not completely turned his back on the old – can accept.

Before my massage by the beach in Boracay, Philippines.

This integration of the new art and science with the traditional is known as Integrative Medicine or Complimentary and Alternative Medicine according to Dr. Tan. What does this mean exactly? It means that our generation is fortunate to be afforded the best of both worlds. It also means that on my due date, I will most probably listen to my elders and boil a certain fruit seed to help ease the birthing process on top of the epidural that I will most definitely take.

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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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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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