The city is a masterpiece in itself - Rome, Italy (3)
Relatively speaking - during our city exploration that day, I was practically torn between being hypnotically fixated to a stunning piece of architecture I was seeing and having to reluctantly drag my feet away to see the next one.
walking along the cobblestone street of Rome
each sculpture, a masterpiece
street-artist's rendition of talent
As far as the likes of individual who earn a living strutting their talents off of the streets of Rome, man, they're impressive! I actually had to stop in one of the streets just to see an artist - with a 6'x6' paper laid on a pedestrian lane, sketching in charcoal a scene of gladiator-fighting, and beside him were scattered coins probably thrown in out of appreciation to the artist; the enigmatically all-white and fully-shrouded mime who had the most disciplined and robotic movement I've seen, to the point of being nearly freaky; and how can I forget our encounter with the brawny Roman soldier? Who - at mere five Euros, can unbelievably be cooperative at any photo opportunity he can be at.
Inside his rich ancient army attire, coupled with a squinted look coming from his eyes and his sun-burnt complexion - myself, being relatively 'un-army-like', 'emaciated', and short wouldn't dare challenge him for a sword fight, ha ha! In other words, I only had to settle for a picture taking with him, ha ha! TO BE CONTINUED.
From Great White North to Down Under - Sydney, Australia (1)
(Sydney, Australia)
I almost thought the last couple of hours before landing in Sydney was not going to end. We've been airborne for the last 12 hours since it took off from Vancouver. Throughout the long flight, my feet had become familiarized with the number of steps needed to make a whole round and back inside the double-aisle Airbus.
Aside from forced exercise I imposed to myself, few of the consolations I got inside the pressurized cabin was to look OUT the window only to see an equally distinct cast of time-line manifested oddly from the space: to the left side wing, a pitch darkness; to the right side wing, the brightness of the sky...and DOWN the window only to imagine we were lightly gliding on the immense thickness of the slumbering clouds. But then you get bored. Casting a glance beside my sleeping wife, I followed her through.
I woke up from the captain's announcement that we're landing in close to an hour and a half time. I guess we're still few thousands feet above, and the vista - more vivid in colour and outline, are the expansive cobalt blue ocean brush-marked with multiple white crests rushing toward countoured shores and cliffs.
There was still an apparent trail of scare from West Nile virus at that time when we arrived to Sydney. The fumigation process was done a few minutes after the aircraft finally parked at the tarmac. Afterward, everyone deplaned. The weather on that first day of July down there was relatively fair. A point for you, Australia! Unlike in Canada, where the weather can hover on both extreme ends: an intense heat wave at the peak of summer or a relentless snowstorm enveloping, at its worst, from east to west of the country.
At the onset of this trip, I committed to myself one thing - among others, which is to negate (or otherwise) Bart's claim: toilet flushes in counter clockwise direction Down Under. Ah, a phantom curiousity lingering with me since the early seasons of The Simpsons. Time has come; I can prove it now, firsthand!
I found customs officers to be diligent and inquisitve, yet at the same time they had demonstrated a fair amount of their amiable personality. As a matter of fact, one older officer even chatted with me for awhile about our countries, and on how he'd like to visit Canada one of these days - which was fine, only it took us some time by going to another queue probably because it's our first time visiting Australia.
From the customs officers, a ticket attendant, city train passengers, to a kind passerby whom we've met along the way leading to our hotel; all of them were courteous. These particular encounters and others that I will write later on, were of a complete turnaround from the event I watched at the hotel lobby TV unfolding at that time about a scuffle in Melbourne. Apparently between young locals and South-Asian students. TO BE CONTINUED.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/arvtar/sets/72157626014395938/
"At the onset of this trip, I committed to myself one thing - among others, which is to negate (or otherwise) Bart's claim: toilet flushes in counter clockwise direction Down Under. Ah, a phantom curiousity lingering with me since the early seasons of The Simpsons."
I almost thought the last couple of hours before landing in Sydney was not going to end. We've been airborne for the last 12 hours since it took off from Vancouver. Throughout the long flight, my feet had become familiarized with the number of steps needed to make a whole round and back inside the double-aisle Airbus.
 |
Aside from forced exercise I imposed to myself, few of the consolations I got inside the pressurized cabin was to look OUT the window only to see an equally distinct cast of time-line manifested oddly from the space: to the left side wing, a pitch darkness; to the right side wing, the brightness of the sky...and DOWN the window only to imagine we were lightly gliding on the immense thickness of the slumbering clouds. But then you get bored. Casting a glance beside my sleeping wife, I followed her through.
I woke up from the captain's announcement that we're landing in close to an hour and a half time. I guess we're still few thousands feet above, and the vista - more vivid in colour and outline, are the expansive cobalt blue ocean brush-marked with multiple white crests rushing toward countoured shores and cliffs.
There was still an apparent trail of scare from West Nile virus at that time when we arrived to Sydney. The fumigation process was done a few minutes after the aircraft finally parked at the tarmac. Afterward, everyone deplaned. The weather on that first day of July down there was relatively fair. A point for you, Australia! Unlike in Canada, where the weather can hover on both extreme ends: an intense heat wave at the peak of summer or a relentless snowstorm enveloping, at its worst, from east to west of the country.
At the onset of this trip, I committed to myself one thing - among others, which is to negate (or otherwise) Bart's claim: toilet flushes in counter clockwise direction Down Under. Ah, a phantom curiousity lingering with me since the early seasons of The Simpsons. Time has come; I can prove it now, firsthand!
I found customs officers to be diligent and inquisitve, yet at the same time they had demonstrated a fair amount of their amiable personality. As a matter of fact, one older officer even chatted with me for awhile about our countries, and on how he'd like to visit Canada one of these days - which was fine, only it took us some time by going to another queue probably because it's our first time visiting Australia.
From the customs officers, a ticket attendant, city train passengers, to a kind passerby whom we've met along the way leading to our hotel; all of them were courteous. These particular encounters and others that I will write later on, were of a complete turnaround from the event I watched at the hotel lobby TV unfolding at that time about a scuffle in Melbourne. Apparently between young locals and South-Asian students. TO BE CONTINUED.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/arvtar/sets/72157626014395938/
Doubting Thomas
The past two years, I turned out to be less bolder of insisting to myself what I desire to do. We've traveled quite a bit, but I chose not to keep a written record of each sojourn. It was a moment of almost self-serving my ego, hence geared to other direction. In other words, I felt ecstatic outwardly; my eyes and senses were satisfied, but my inner self was not totally at ease, something's amiss: I needed to write. Be it mumbling or rant to others, I needed to write! But I was an old fool to myself. I kept the hunger lingering.
The desire became stolid, the eager left-hand emaciated. Continuing on my denial has taken it's toll on myself. While mentally capturing breathtaking beauty of a new-found place in order to satisfy my inner hunger, I drawn out superficial laughter to show how much I liked the adventure. It was not enough. Inside, I sensed I was mocking myself. Since when did I turn back myself away from it? I used to love tapping my fingers on the keyboard while my mind floats to sea of ideas. I weave words in my dreams. I shape-up stories in my room.
More than two years has passed. Within those couple of years, I was admittedly busier. Hard-pressed with almost everything and loaded with all the realities of life had to offer. It worried me because I was being deceitfully busy. Lately, it appeared in front of me, haunting me, asking me like an orphaned child to his keeper: "Why did you neglect me? You're supposed to feed me, yet you continually ignored me. I have been here all along. Please nourish me!"
If there is indeed a talent or the lack thereof, then I am in denial of it. Yes, I weave fabric of words. But are those adequate to shroud (or not) critical eyes whose every set is set to judge the ability? Or the stories I built up from scratch. Will they satisfy and stack-up to them that 's been flying off of the shelf soon enough? I guess not. I guess not.
In a brief epiphany lately, the ingress of desire has turned out quite strongly. Consequently, a renewed self -commitment was settled: the orphaned needs to be nourished; the fingers has to be more alive; halfhearted laughter has to be reconciled with genuine appreciation of both the ability to admire each travel experience and the courage to write adventure of each sojourn. Doubt has to subdue. I will find time to write.
The desire became stolid, the eager left-hand emaciated. Continuing on my denial has taken it's toll on myself. While mentally capturing breathtaking beauty of a new-found place in order to satisfy my inner hunger, I drawn out superficial laughter to show how much I liked the adventure. It was not enough. Inside, I sensed I was mocking myself. Since when did I turn back myself away from it? I used to love tapping my fingers on the keyboard while my mind floats to sea of ideas. I weave words in my dreams. I shape-up stories in my room.
More than two years has passed. Within those couple of years, I was admittedly busier. Hard-pressed with almost everything and loaded with all the realities of life had to offer. It worried me because I was being deceitfully busy. Lately, it appeared in front of me, haunting me, asking me like an orphaned child to his keeper: "Why did you neglect me? You're supposed to feed me, yet you continually ignored me. I have been here all along. Please nourish me!"
If there is indeed a talent or the lack thereof, then I am in denial of it. Yes, I weave fabric of words. But are those adequate to shroud (or not) critical eyes whose every set is set to judge the ability? Or the stories I built up from scratch. Will they satisfy and stack-up to them that 's been flying off of the shelf soon enough? I guess not. I guess not.
In a brief epiphany lately, the ingress of desire has turned out quite strongly. Consequently, a renewed self -commitment was settled: the orphaned needs to be nourished; the fingers has to be more alive; halfhearted laughter has to be reconciled with genuine appreciation of both the ability to admire each travel experience and the courage to write adventure of each sojourn. Doubt has to subdue. I will find time to write.
Ito ang palad ko (Tagalog)
Magmula nung ako ay nagkamalay, sa mga nakita ko noon sa magulang ko at sa nakatatanda kong mga kapatid, nagkaroon na ako ng ideya kung ano ako sa mundong ito. Mahirap, masikip, at magulo ang kinalakihan kong buhay. Yung maitim kong balat ang makapagsasabi sa iyo kung gaano kasangsang ang lugar na kinalakhan ko. Sa pagdaan ng panahon, nasanay na rin akong tanggapin kung ano ako. Ngunit madalas pa rin sa minsan, pakitingin ko ay mababang-uri kami sa iba.
Mistula kaming busabos. Palagi kaming nang-aapuhap may masimot lang na ipangtawid-gutom. Isa sa mga natatandaan ko noon, sa maliit na isdang bangus na nakulimbat ni nanay doon sa lugar na kinalakihan namin, kadalasan pinag-aagawan pa namin itong magkakapatid, at dahil ako ang bunso at pinakamaliit, lagi akong nauubusan ng makakain. Malamnan lang ang tiyan ko, sinisimot ko na lang ang tirang pagkain nila. ‘Yung mga nakatatanda kong kapatid, basta bundat na wala na silang pakialam sa akin.
Sa totoo lang, tinabangan na rin ako sa kanila…noon. Pero nung nangawala na yung iba sa kanila, mas natanggap ko na kung ano ako at ano ang layunin ko sa buhay. Samakatuwid, mas kilala ko na ang sarili ko ngayon at nauunawaan ko kung bakit ganoon ang ugaling-likas ng aking mga kapatid.
Hindi ko lang matanto kung sa pangatlong kabilugan ng buwan ng taong yun nang huli kong makita si tatay. Hindi na siya bumalik, bata pa kasi ako noon kaya walang namutawing hinanakit sa loob ko, pero siyempre bata, hinanap-hanap ko pa rin ang presensiya niya ng mga ilang araw matapos ang hindi niya pag-uwi sa amin. Dinadala na ni nanay sa tiyan ang mga nakababata kong kapatid noong nawala si tatay. Pero pakiwari ko, tila hindi naman dinamdam masyado ni nanay ang paglisan ni tatay.
Batid ko sapul magkamalay ako, sa buhay namin kailangan kaming magbanat nang buto at magsumikap (na makipaglaban) para hindi kami magutom…
Nalimutan ko pala, kailangan mo ring maging matapang at matigas dahil sa lugar namin, paglalamya-lamya ka, ikaw ang talo! Minsan nga sa katangian pang ito nakasalalay ang buhay mo. Totoo yun, walang biro.
Ilan nang kasing-idad kong kabarkada sa lugar namin ang nakita kong nakalutang sa me tabing-ilog noon, walang buhay at pinagpipistahan ng mga kauri ko. Nakatihaya, butas ang tiyan, yung mga mata dahil malambot, inuka at wala na.
Wala naman akong pinagkaiba doon sa sawing-palad kong mga kabarkada, lilisan din ako. Yun nga lang, ako matitigok para sa kasiyahan ng mga tao. Sabi nila kinyentos pesos ang kada timbang namin, at depende rin sa laki namin.
Kagabi pa pala itinali ang mga sipit ko - matapos akong pinawin sa maputik at masangsang na pispand na kinalakhan ko, nung mag-amang nagbebenta sa amin (natiklo kasi ako at nakasama sa lambat nang pawalan at igahin nila ang tubig palabas sa pispand). Ang hinala ko ginagawa ito ng mga tao tuwing makailang buwan ng taon, kapag sapat na sa timbang at puwede ng ibenta iyung mga kauri kong bangus at sugpo.
Kanina pa ring umaga ako ipinag-aalukan at nakabitin sa mahabang dos por dos na kokonat lamber dito sa tabi ng highway pa-Maynila at dahil sa init ng araw, panay na ang bula ng bibig ko. Ang lintek na binatilyong tindero, inihian pa kami! Paliwanag kasi sa kanya, at narinig ko, ‘yung ihi daw ng tao ay kahalintulad ng tubig-alat kaya mas magtatagal pa kaming buhay at sariwa! Kasama ko sa bungkos ay yung dalawa kong kapatid at yung matandang ina nung kahabulan ko noon dun sa maputik na ibayo ng pispand.
Yung kaninang bumaba sa kotse ay ang kuripot na intsik na interesado kaming pakyawin! Panay na ang tawad sa presyo, panay pa ang sulyap sa malaman kong sipit! Ang dalawa kong kapatid, ayun hilo na sa ilang ulit na kaba-baligtad ng walanghiyang singkit na yun para siguruhin lang kung babae o lalaki yung kapatid ko. Ha ha ha!
Siguro habang binabasa ninyo ito ngayon ay naihagis na ako sa kumukulong tubig sa kaldero ng intsik na yun at ang maitim kong balat ay napalitan na ng pulang kulay; ngunit ganoon nga ang silbi namin sa mundong ito. At siguro kung may “seafoods heaven” ay nandoon na ako ngayon, kasama ni tatay at ang mga nakatatanda kong kapatid (na naunang nabitag sa lambat, piho ko), at ng iba pang mga kauri kong lamang-dagat…
Salamat,
Ang binatilyong alimango
Mistula kaming busabos. Palagi kaming nang-aapuhap may masimot lang na ipangtawid-gutom. Isa sa mga natatandaan ko noon, sa maliit na isdang bangus na nakulimbat ni nanay doon sa lugar na kinalakihan namin, kadalasan pinag-aagawan pa namin itong magkakapatid, at dahil ako ang bunso at pinakamaliit, lagi akong nauubusan ng makakain. Malamnan lang ang tiyan ko, sinisimot ko na lang ang tirang pagkain nila. ‘Yung mga nakatatanda kong kapatid, basta bundat na wala na silang pakialam sa akin.
Sa totoo lang, tinabangan na rin ako sa kanila…noon. Pero nung nangawala na yung iba sa kanila, mas natanggap ko na kung ano ako at ano ang layunin ko sa buhay. Samakatuwid, mas kilala ko na ang sarili ko ngayon at nauunawaan ko kung bakit ganoon ang ugaling-likas ng aking mga kapatid.
Hindi ko lang matanto kung sa pangatlong kabilugan ng buwan ng taong yun nang huli kong makita si tatay. Hindi na siya bumalik, bata pa kasi ako noon kaya walang namutawing hinanakit sa loob ko, pero siyempre bata, hinanap-hanap ko pa rin ang presensiya niya ng mga ilang araw matapos ang hindi niya pag-uwi sa amin. Dinadala na ni nanay sa tiyan ang mga nakababata kong kapatid noong nawala si tatay. Pero pakiwari ko, tila hindi naman dinamdam masyado ni nanay ang paglisan ni tatay.
Batid ko sapul magkamalay ako, sa buhay namin kailangan kaming magbanat nang buto at magsumikap (na makipaglaban) para hindi kami magutom…
Nalimutan ko pala, kailangan mo ring maging matapang at matigas dahil sa lugar namin, paglalamya-lamya ka, ikaw ang talo! Minsan nga sa katangian pang ito nakasalalay ang buhay mo. Totoo yun, walang biro.
Ilan nang kasing-idad kong kabarkada sa lugar namin ang nakita kong nakalutang sa me tabing-ilog noon, walang buhay at pinagpipistahan ng mga kauri ko. Nakatihaya, butas ang tiyan, yung mga mata dahil malambot, inuka at wala na.
Wala naman akong pinagkaiba doon sa sawing-palad kong mga kabarkada, lilisan din ako. Yun nga lang, ako matitigok para sa kasiyahan ng mga tao. Sabi nila kinyentos pesos ang kada timbang namin, at depende rin sa laki namin.
Kagabi pa pala itinali ang mga sipit ko - matapos akong pinawin sa maputik at masangsang na pispand na kinalakhan ko, nung mag-amang nagbebenta sa amin (natiklo kasi ako at nakasama sa lambat nang pawalan at igahin nila ang tubig palabas sa pispand). Ang hinala ko ginagawa ito ng mga tao tuwing makailang buwan ng taon, kapag sapat na sa timbang at puwede ng ibenta iyung mga kauri kong bangus at sugpo.
Kanina pa ring umaga ako ipinag-aalukan at nakabitin sa mahabang dos por dos na kokonat lamber dito sa tabi ng highway pa-Maynila at dahil sa init ng araw, panay na ang bula ng bibig ko. Ang lintek na binatilyong tindero, inihian pa kami! Paliwanag kasi sa kanya, at narinig ko, ‘yung ihi daw ng tao ay kahalintulad ng tubig-alat kaya mas magtatagal pa kaming buhay at sariwa! Kasama ko sa bungkos ay yung dalawa kong kapatid at yung matandang ina nung kahabulan ko noon dun sa maputik na ibayo ng pispand.
Yung kaninang bumaba sa kotse ay ang kuripot na intsik na interesado kaming pakyawin! Panay na ang tawad sa presyo, panay pa ang sulyap sa malaman kong sipit! Ang dalawa kong kapatid, ayun hilo na sa ilang ulit na kaba-baligtad ng walanghiyang singkit na yun para siguruhin lang kung babae o lalaki yung kapatid ko. Ha ha ha!
Siguro habang binabasa ninyo ito ngayon ay naihagis na ako sa kumukulong tubig sa kaldero ng intsik na yun at ang maitim kong balat ay napalitan na ng pulang kulay; ngunit ganoon nga ang silbi namin sa mundong ito. At siguro kung may “seafoods heaven” ay nandoon na ako ngayon, kasama ni tatay at ang mga nakatatanda kong kapatid (na naunang nabitag sa lambat, piho ko), at ng iba pang mga kauri kong lamang-dagat…
Salamat,
Ang binatilyong alimango
The Square makes up for the interior (Basilica's) - Rome Italy
chilly morning
After alighting from our bus, we walked towards Saint Peter Square, the place where we supposed to meet our contact. It was just in early morning, so the chill was still in the air. The early sun did not help to alleviate the cold breeze caressing our cheeks; its rays were being blocked by these massive pillars standing in a semi circle array forming an impressive colonnade on both sides of the Square.
St. Peter Basilica backdrop
West side colonnade
From among 11 cities we visited with this tour, Rome somehow topped the list with the most volume of visitors; Paris and Venice numbers may pale in comparison, I suspect.
crowd rushing in
Soon, we met our kababayan guide. Realising the huge amount of time we would spend to explore the whole city, and our slim chance to be back in the afternoon to Florence, I asked if he could help us find a hotel to stay for the night, just in case we run short of time. As always, same-day booking could cause a fortune in Rome; we, afterward were offered a hospitable accommodation at his apartment instead. TO BE CONTINUED...
"Only three days?" - Our trip Down Under 1 (Auckland, NZ)
Auckland, commonly known as the City of Sails; was later explained to me by a shuttle bus driver who picked us up from our apartment on our second day that it has to be called by that name as New Zealand has the highest sail ownership per-capita in the world.
Auckland, the City of Sails
Our intention was to travel to Sydney, but later decided a side-trip to Auckland would be neat. From a grueling 14+ hours flight (but safe) across the Pacific, our first stop-over was Sydney. It took us another four hours or so before Qantas 737 landed its gears to Auckland Airport.
Judging from queued passengers at Customs counters, there must be a hiatus of Auckland International Airport-bound aircraft at that time. Only a meager two dozens or so passengers were at the queue waiting for their turn at the customs counter.
"Only three days?" exclaims a lady Customs officer to my wife as she squinting labouriosly at our filled-out visitors card tucked between the pages of our passport when my wife answered three days is our intended stay in the city. The Customs officer wondered if we would have enough time to explore Auckland.
My wife and I looked at each other and instinctively would have came up with the same answer: "Highly unlikely, Ma'am!" The heavy-accented officer nevertheless stamped our passports for a three-month stay.
On the way out, a gentleman offered to take us picture, apparently amused as my wife and I were switching places to take picture behind a 'Welcome to Auckland' signage; as well as the woman who helped us getting transit ticket from a machine dispenser. These individuals - more or less - gave us the impression of pleasant experience we would have in our brief stay at Auckland - which we did, as a matter of fact, except for one poor service we received from a particular barbeque restaurant.
where we stayed
After a quick shower that evening, we were on our way out to find a place to dine in. Though later, we had in our paper bag a green salad, a couple of burger, and grilled lamb meat. We opted to take out our foods back to the apartment instead and had quiet dinner to ourselves afterward. The persistent jet lag was still present at that time. TO BE CONTINUED...
COPYRIGHT RESERVED TO THE AUTHOR.PERMISSION REQUIRED TO REPRODUCE.
Auckland, the City of SailsOur intention was to travel to Sydney, but later decided a side-trip to Auckland would be neat. From a grueling 14+ hours flight (but safe) across the Pacific, our first stop-over was Sydney. It took us another four hours or so before Qantas 737 landed its gears to Auckland Airport.
Judging from queued passengers at Customs counters, there must be a hiatus of Auckland International Airport-bound aircraft at that time. Only a meager two dozens or so passengers were at the queue waiting for their turn at the customs counter.
"Only three days?" exclaims a lady Customs officer to my wife as she squinting labouriosly at our filled-out visitors card tucked between the pages of our passport when my wife answered three days is our intended stay in the city. The Customs officer wondered if we would have enough time to explore Auckland.
My wife and I looked at each other and instinctively would have came up with the same answer: "Highly unlikely, Ma'am!" The heavy-accented officer nevertheless stamped our passports for a three-month stay.
On the way out, a gentleman offered to take us picture, apparently amused as my wife and I were switching places to take picture behind a 'Welcome to Auckland' signage; as well as the woman who helped us getting transit ticket from a machine dispenser. These individuals - more or less - gave us the impression of pleasant experience we would have in our brief stay at Auckland - which we did, as a matter of fact, except for one poor service we received from a particular barbeque restaurant.
Souvenir picture of Auckland
For only a third of regular cab fee, we hopped on to a public shuttle bus going to Auckland's city centre. And from downtown's Queen St., we found half-kilometre away our accommodation to Nelson St. Our apartment is small, but it offered the best view of the Sky Tower - which happens to be few blocks away.
where we stayedAfter a quick shower that evening, we were on our way out to find a place to dine in. Though later, we had in our paper bag a green salad, a couple of burger, and grilled lamb meat. We opted to take out our foods back to the apartment instead and had quiet dinner to ourselves afterward. The persistent jet lag was still present at that time. TO BE CONTINUED...
COPYRIGHT RESERVED TO THE AUTHOR.PERMISSION REQUIRED TO REPRODUCE.
A free hug from Paris (err, no not Hilton)!
This is part five of my Paris travelogue and I may finally end it here, or not. With all the stunning places, if not grand, and things to witness in Paris - as a tourist, and one who is inclined to writing - I can still weave more words to describe our trip experience we had of the city including its beautiful people.
Paris, France (travel journal excerpt 5) -
“After a quick side trip to Montmartre area to see Sacred Heart Basilica on its superbly windy and highly-elevated location, and the very historic Moulin Rouge cabaret building located in once was the red-light district area of Paris, our next stop was Notre Dame Cathedral.
Our visit to this great cathedral was only planned to be brief as possible, and it proved to be so since there was an activity going on at that time inside the cathedral that prevented us from peeking the interior of the cathedral. Unlike Il Duomo in Milan, Saint Mark in Venice, and Sacre Coure Basilica du Paris where we both witnessed their magnificent interiors, this time we had to contend taking picture of its west exterior facade with its twin towers standing side by side. I wish I took time circling the cathedral because at the south side is where I would see more of its unique Gothic-type architectural details like the flying buttress design of its structure, which I’ve seen several times in History channel. Aesthetically speaking, this may not be as majestic as other cathedrals we’ve already seen in Europe, but suffice to say, it also has its place in history being the official seat of Archbishop of Paris in the past where church had massive influence in politics, decision-making, and power-playing.
The plaza in front of the cathedral was teeming with people. Among the crowd, I remember was a group of young teenage kids with them a cardboard with the words “FREE HUG” written on it. One of them, a young teenage girl - although a bit flush-faced yet seemingly unpretentious, still managed to approach us. Without saying a word and with only a smile on her face, she hugged me and the wife. You just got to admire these kids and their adorable welcoming gesture. We’ve been to several cities elsewhere, but that was the first time we experienced such a genuine gesture from a city I was least expecting it, and indeed as being one of several pleasant experiences we brought back home. This is why, if one can remember from my earlier travelogue how I had to take back my impression of French people as being too aristocratic; on the contrary, they are one of the most courteous.
Within the vicinity, I also saw a makeshift ice rink where many kids were playing obliviously amidst their busy surrounding. The “winter” scene in Paris that afternoon reminded me of how - in contrast, a Canadian winter can sometimes be unforgiving. The kids’ laughter and joyous shouting that filled the wintery air almost overpowered the occasional voice over at a PA speaker coming from a nearby merry-go-round operator.” To be continued…
Paris, France (travel journal excerpt 5) -
“After a quick side trip to Montmartre area to see Sacred Heart Basilica on its superbly windy and highly-elevated location, and the very historic Moulin Rouge cabaret building located in once was the red-light district area of Paris, our next stop was Notre Dame Cathedral.Our visit to this great cathedral was only planned to be brief as possible, and it proved to be so since there was an activity going on at that time inside the cathedral that prevented us from peeking the interior of the cathedral. Unlike Il Duomo in Milan, Saint Mark in Venice, and Sacre Coure Basilica du Paris where we both witnessed their magnificent interiors, this time we had to contend taking picture of its west exterior facade with its twin towers standing side by side. I wish I took time circling the cathedral because at the south side is where I would see more of its unique Gothic-type architectural details like the flying buttress design of its structure, which I’ve seen several times in History channel. Aesthetically speaking, this may not be as majestic as other cathedrals we’ve already seen in Europe, but suffice to say, it also has its place in history being the official seat of Archbishop of Paris in the past where church had massive influence in politics, decision-making, and power-playing.
The plaza in front of the cathedral was teeming with people. Among the crowd, I remember was a group of young teenage kids with them a cardboard with the words “FREE HUG” written on it. One of them, a young teenage girl - although a bit flush-faced yet seemingly unpretentious, still managed to approach us. Without saying a word and with only a smile on her face, she hugged me and the wife. You just got to admire these kids and their adorable welcoming gesture. We’ve been to several cities elsewhere, but that was the first time we experienced such a genuine gesture from a city I was least expecting it, and indeed as being one of several pleasant experiences we brought back home. This is why, if one can remember from my earlier travelogue how I had to take back my impression of French people as being too aristocratic; on the contrary, they are one of the most courteous.
Within the vicinity, I also saw a makeshift ice rink where many kids were playing obliviously amidst their busy surrounding. The “winter” scene in Paris that afternoon reminded me of how - in contrast, a Canadian winter can sometimes be unforgiving. The kids’ laughter and joyous shouting that filled the wintery air almost overpowered the occasional voice over at a PA speaker coming from a nearby merry-go-round operator.” To be continued…
The long, winding, and captivating road to Kelowna (2) - Okanagan Valley, B.C.
Summerhill Winery - Kelowna, BC
(cont'd...) During that time, the weather was starting to shift to being warm yet windy, and everybody must have been excited for the coming May long-weekend.
When I was asked and approached by my friend Raymond to the idea of accompanying his young family to visit Kelowna, and myself being that spontaneous sometimes, replied, "Sure! I don't see why not!".
Early morning the next day, after grabbing Tim Hortons coffee, we headed south of Highway 2 and eventually took Highway 3 going west. 
Being in that early hour, our driving went on smooth and quiet. The sun was just breaking from the horizon and it afforded me of enjoying both sides of the road which offered a very nice typical western landscape view - wide open farmlands dotted with occasional bunch of thickets; ranches where scattered cattles are in their typical day routine, they either were slowly grazing or just laying contentedly basking in the morning sunlight; and the long-line of lonely spruce trees standing along the highway without a single of them encroaching their solid perfect line up, for me, just resembles a series of stiff guard soldiers standing side by side in a military ceremony.
summerhill winery
Soon and still halfway to our destination, our long trip had taken a toll on me. With the aide of unassuming and seemingly hypnotic centre lines of the highway had further made my eyes stoically bored and tired. I cannot remember how many times - much to everyone's relief, we pulled out to rest and stretch. 
Deer I captured with my camera...
There were some interesting stops we made. Some of the most vivid and engagedly different point of interests I saw were a little chapel and mock up birds perched on top of a line post. Inside of this little chapel are an altar and little pews that even adults can sit. Its steeple is nicely done reproduction of real one in scaled down version. That extra large artificial birds we looked upon was okay. It was black, and the obviously fancy eyes had never suspected me once that it would fly away.
The periodic appearance of startled deer crossing the highway or the carelessly wandering black bear at the side ditches was fun to watch. I can't believe how rich and healthy the ecology is in this part of the country specially the wildlife. Relatively, the sad plight of a couple animal carcass I saw lying on the sides was compelling. If I remember it correctly, I encountered 12 to 15 sighthings of these amazing animals; mostly black bears, but I also chanced upon an elk, coyotes, and deer. TO BE CONTINUED.
...and so I walked the ground where Emperor treaded! (1)
We started hitting our way going to Rome at almost midnight; a schedule we chose for practicality and convenience reasons. As soon as we located our private cabin in the train and after putting away our luggage overhead, my eye lids surrendered to the heaviness of it. Within seven hours of travel from Venice to Rome in that wee hours of December, our bodies found a much needed rest, albeit temporarily.
With the train starting to slow down, I was able to glance at the terminal signage, "Roma Termini". It was between seven and eight in the morning. We were disembarking and heading eastward when I noticed the whole expanse of the train platform being bathe in morning sunlight.
We never escaped from it, but it worked out good enough nevertheless to help me brave a rather chilly winter breeze dampening at my exposed cheeks as if it was trying to welcome and assert its presence to every visitor of this glorious city. Once we refreshed ourselves, we went for light breakfast in one of the restaurants at the terminal. I found out later that we still needed to make one more inter-city connection to reach the city proper, and so we walked down further into this complex subway tunnel system until we reached the platform going to "Tiburtina" station. From there, we would begin treading the ground where Emperor walked and where Roman soldiers marched.
All the excitement was beginning to build-up within me eventhough I realised shortly that another ride from city bus was needed to get to St.
Peter Square. It was the initial place a kababayan had agreed to meet us to be our guide. The additional 15-minute ride from bus seemed so brief as I find real enjoyment as soon as I started seeing its centuries-old structures exhibiting grandiously their intricate facade reminiscent of its glorious past architecture. Even the crowd was a treat to watch: those group of veil-clad nuns with rosary beads on their hands crossing a pedestrian lane, a seemingly hurried tourist with camera dangling on his neck trying to catch a cab, a captivating busker demonstrating his musical prowess to layers of people around him, etc. You see, Rome is admittedly a city with multiple awe-inspiring historic attractions, but I still enjoyed in marvel looking at those busy scenes - this, while our bus slowly did its duty to bring us to our destination amidst the busy and crowded streets of Rome in that early morning. The sun had just moved up from the horizon, but not high enough yet for its sunlight to cover the wide open area of St. Peter Basilica Square, except of course from few rays of sunlight that was able to pass in between big pillars of the circular enclave of the plaza. TO BE CONTINUED...
With the train starting to slow down, I was able to glance at the terminal signage, "Roma Termini". It was between seven and eight in the morning. We were disembarking and heading eastward when I noticed the whole expanse of the train platform being bathe in morning sunlight.
Each of the building has a character of their own
All the excitement was beginning to build-up within me eventhough I realised shortly that another ride from city bus was needed to get to St.
We just got off from a bus
At the Rialto bridge (2) - Venice, Italy
(cont'd...) I yanked the cellphone from my pocket and dialed David.
"Hey, Dave, we just arrived! What's your apartment's number? We..." I asked, but was cut.
"Don't worry about it, let me just meet you guys up at Rialto bridge!" replying abruptly with hint of a seemingly concealed grin on his end. That left me wondering. When we met afterwards, he explained to me that it's a lot easier meeting us in a popular public place rather that to try our luck in this unusually complicated narrow streets of Venice. He proved himself right later on. After our phone conversation, and while looking at the map our friend Manila had just purchased in an attempt to find our way to Rialto bridge, my wife and I agreed to walk instead of enjoying the leisure of waterbus.
We did the right decision.
I noticed most, if not all, streets do not have street signs, but only arrows pointing to some city's spot-of-interest (i.
Grabbing on-sale souvenirs from the market e. Piazza de San Marco). Except from what I perceived as blisters on my foot, we continued to enjoy exploring these narrow alleyways with little shops spread on both sides, occassionally stopping on arched bridges to take pictures of any gondola gliding smoothly through this meandering water passageway. The wife giggled with enjoyment everytime she hears baritone gondoliers sing their heart out. David had been at the Rialto bridge way ahead, waiting for us; he assumed that we had taken the faster water bus. Amidst the crowds filling the whole bridge, I introduced David to my company and we walked away to his place. TO BE CONTINUED...
"Hey, Dave, we just arrived! What's your apartment's number? We..." I asked, but was cut.
"Don't worry about it, let me just meet you guys up at Rialto bridge!" replying abruptly with hint of a seemingly concealed grin on his end. That left me wondering. When we met afterwards, he explained to me that it's a lot easier meeting us in a popular public place rather that to try our luck in this unusually complicated narrow streets of Venice. He proved himself right later on. After our phone conversation, and while looking at the map our friend Manila had just purchased in an attempt to find our way to Rialto bridge, my wife and I agreed to walk instead of enjoying the leisure of waterbus. |
| Before the opera |
Except from transient beings like us, I felt as if we were walking in a place so different from any present day civilization. Its ancient elegance to me is beyond description. A moment in time when your eyes get spell-bounded by what it sees, and your tongue fails to process words to describe it. In the end, it is the heavenly sensation your being feels that will testify to its impeccable greatness...and your camera, I guess.
We crossed numerous smaller bridge on our way to Rialto; each offering different views from the other. Vendors are everywhere, some straight-faced, others would offer their traditional greetings: "Buon giorno!". Beware not to negotiate prices with these vendors, you'll waste your time. Grabbing on-sale souvenirs from the market A continuation to my series of not so (un)fortunate events: I Guess We're Stuck! (3)
Mayon Volcano
After a few days we spent with my wife's, we were ready to visit my family. The neighbouring province which I grew up is only few hundreds kilometre away from my wife's, so it did not necessitate us to fly.
gloomy sky along the way
port being pounded by waves
The highway snags made our road travel longer than expected. For example, there were some spots where lanes were reduced into one due to floods caused by torrential rains. The town for our next jump-off point to reach our island destination was under heavy dark clouds when we got there. On our way to the seaport, pieces of loose trash and leaves were swirling violently by gusty winds along town streets, and the competing high waves breaking off of the sea wall outstripped my notion that it was only a minor typhoon coming.
We finally proceeded to town's sea port where my nephew, my niece, and her husband were waiting to fetch us up.
at the onset of typhoon
From the horizon - where the island is clearly visible during normal days, it somehow, at this time is being eaten by the descending heavy black clouds and shrouded to the point of disappearance by seawater swell generated ferociously with winds coming from the Pacific.
town's hotel
black out!
Onto Venice by train (1) - Venice, Italy
Continuing with our travel escapade, Venice was put out to plan that night. Good thing I brought my friend David's number who's been residing in Venice for years now. Different images were evoking as soon as I whispered to myself the word "Venezia". My eyes were glazed with tiredness, but my mind seemed to be happy about the excitement its creating hence, I kept the body restless to the annoyance of my sleeping wife beside me.
It was earlier than usual wake up time when I woke up to the whispers coming from the kitchen: the wife and our friend Manila had been quietly preparing our breakfast. After breakfast and all the preparations, the three of us were on our way to Centrale station.
I was surprised to the seemingly weak system of their customer service there. It took them 40 minutes just to show us the right counter to buy global pass tickets. Everything considered throughout this leg, that was only a minor glitz. Minutes later, we were on our way to main platform embarking onto TrenItalia's private cabin destination Venizia. Inside and while sitting comfortably, I gazed outside and did what any normal travellers would do. The series of mountain and villas nestled on top of them, the orchards that seem to never end, towns with attractive apartment buildings, etc. had hypnothised me for hours. They reeled swiftly before my fixated eyes, so much like our train bulleting on its way across occasional tunnels, plains, and valleys.
I momentarily closed my eyes, and my thought allowed my senses to welcome similar and inviting Tuscan countryside scenes I watched from The Godfather film. So surreal and yet I was witnessing right there. I lost track of time and realised later on that we're getting close to Venice. On both sides of the rail underneath, I started noticing serene blue waters. "It must be the Adriatic sea!" I muttered. Yes, I found out later on that we were passing a railbridge across that gulf heading to the city. Along the horizon, those minute buildings from a distance were becoming prominent.
The Grand Station, as any other major travellers' hub - was busy during that noonday. Shops are everywhere with each window displaying pieces of what Venice are known for, Murano glasses and festival facemasks. The station is well located as it is adjacent to grand canal. We walked a bit towards the open area heading to the canal and I was awed to its welcoming appeal. The brightness of the mid-day sun on our arrival enhanced the city's undeniable beauty: the jade-coloured water, those water-buses docked close by, the arched bridge from a distance, a series of stunning centuries-old residences and buildings all lined up to the edge of the canal, etc. TO BE CONTINUED.
It was earlier than usual wake up time when I woke up to the whispers coming from the kitchen: the wife and our friend Manila had been quietly preparing our breakfast. After breakfast and all the preparations, the three of us were on our way to Centrale station.
Ardriatic Sea
Grand Canal
The Grand Station, as any other major travellers' hub - was busy during that noonday. Shops are everywhere with each window displaying pieces of what Venice are known for, Murano glasses and festival facemasks. The station is well located as it is adjacent to grand canal. We walked a bit towards the open area heading to the canal and I was awed to its welcoming appeal. The brightness of the mid-day sun on our arrival enhanced the city's undeniable beauty: the jade-coloured water, those water-buses docked close by, the arched bridge from a distance, a series of stunning centuries-old residences and buildings all lined up to the edge of the canal, etc. TO BE CONTINUED.
Water-taxi, anyone? (3) - Venice, Italy
(cont'd...) It must be the smallest elevator I've seen, only three of us were able to fit in going up to his apartment. There we exchanged pleasantries with his family and I was told that it's his birthday that day. After lunch, we continued our conversation at the balcony located on the upper floor. The location afforded us again of the wonders of its city - bird's eye view! From there, you wouldn't see any crowd, but only a blanket of red tisa (clay tiled roofing) capping every house and building; birds either gliding freely or perched on rooftops showing their territorial instinct to whoever is attempting to get close by; the occasional few steeples sticking out and the forbearing romantic afternoon sun so eager to rest, completed the city's wonderful art canvas.
After my second cup of tea and regaining our energy, we were out again set to explore the city by foot, the second time. As a matter of fact, if the utilitarian water-bus (vaporetto) or the romantic lavender upholstered seat of water-taxi (gondola) are not your fancy, walking is the ONLY alternative. No car or even bicycle ever roamed streets of Venice this is why it is almost pollution-free. It was getting dark and so those mini-light lanterns hanged overhead on the streets were turned on to the delight of our eyes. We walked aimlessly with the crowd - going to and fro into every direction, as we had no way of choosing a better route (but of course, we were prepared to get lost this time in this twilight stroll). And that's generally the whole point of travel: having to diligently explore new places and enjoy every moment of it.
We occasionally stopped at some shops and bought souvenirs. Surprisingly, every shop offers items that Venice is famous for: hundreds selection of Murano glasses and different type of Venice festival facemasks. Shops' souvenirs are relatively cheaper than those from street vendors.Everytime we are in a new place, both me and my wife make sure that we visit any place of worship, Venice was no exception. We are convinced that it is our humble way of giving respect to such town or city. As a matter of fact, we went in to this little chapel and sat for awhile. The atmosphere was nothing different from any church, but again it's those unique and intricate interiors that made my eyes wonder all around.
We stole another extra time to sit, reflect, and pray.
Back strolling, I started feeling a stronger breeze gushing before us; we're few blocks away from the open plaza - Piazza de San Marco. I can say that this is the biggest area-of-interest on the main island. There was no obvious decline of activities here: tourists kept strolling and taking pictures while pigeons on the ground mingled contentedly with them. Though there's few construction and maintenance going on in the area at that time, that did not prevent us capturing the stunning beauty of the place. I initially took notice of this beautiful St. Mark Basilica. It's so apart from some that I've seen because of its golden horse sculptures on top showing off their gallantry gait to observers. A half concave dome-shaped structure with mosaic profile of Byzantine at the centre augments attraction to the facade. TO BE CONTINUED..
...and more shop...
We occasionally stopped at some shops and bought souvenirs. Surprisingly, every shop offers items that Venice is famous for: hundreds selection of Murano glasses and different type of Venice festival facemasks. Shops' souvenirs are relatively cheaper than those from street vendors.Everytime we are in a new place, both me and my wife make sure that we visit any place of worship, Venice was no exception. We are convinced that it is our humble way of giving respect to such town or city. As a matter of fact, we went in to this little chapel and sat for awhile. The atmosphere was nothing different from any church, but again it's those unique and intricate interiors that made my eyes wonder all around.
We stole another extra time to sit, reflect, and pray.
Back strolling, I started feeling a stronger breeze gushing before us; we're few blocks away from the open plaza - Piazza de San Marco. I can say that this is the biggest area-of-interest on the main island. There was no obvious decline of activities here: tourists kept strolling and taking pictures while pigeons on the ground mingled contentedly with them. Though there's few construction and maintenance going on in the area at that time, that did not prevent us capturing the stunning beauty of the place. I initially took notice of this beautiful St. Mark Basilica. It's so apart from some that I've seen because of its golden horse sculptures on top showing off their gallantry gait to observers. A half concave dome-shaped structure with mosaic profile of Byzantine at the centre augments attraction to the facade. TO BE CONTINUED..
