JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

On Saturday Cookie was up at 0600 for the Island-Hopping Tour of Honda Bay. “You drive to the wharf and get on a boat. Then you go to an island and hang around the beach, swim and snorkel. Then you get back on the boat and visit another island. Then another island.”

“Sounds fascinating. Buh-bye,” we said, and went back to sleep. We were too lazy to go to the restaurant for breakfast or even to dial room service. A few hours later we got up and had an instant coffee. We had bought sachets at a sari-sari store because the hotel does not have complimentary coffee or tea in the rooms. (Or provide extra towels even if we need them for our hair because between us and sister we have enough to make wigs for a barangay of bald people. (They charge Php50 for an extra towel.) Or have a mini-bar so we can store snacks. Or have a tub or wifi at usable speeds. Otherwise it was fine.)

Then we went back to bed and spent the next few hours drifting in and out of sleep and channel-surfing on cable. We decided that we’re not missing anything by having no cable at home. Each station has maybe three programs on repeat the entire day. How much Walking Dead and American Idol can a person stand?

At 1500 it occurred to us that we had not seen any local handwoven fabrics (Binuatan doesn’t make textiles) so we texted our fabric guru Rene in Makati to ask for recommendations. He gave us the address and number of Rurungan sa Tubod Foundation, which operates a weaving center in Puerto Princesa.

Cookie returned a half-hour later and reported that she’d gone snorkeling. “But you do not swim,” we pointed out. Apparently the tour operator had a guy who could take non-swimmers snorkeling: you hung onto him and he went into the water, dragging three or four passengers. Like a human bathysphere.

“The tour was fun!” our sister recounted as we had a room service sandwich for lunch. “The beaches are unspoiled, and the sand is different on every island. You would have hated it.” We told her about the weaving center and she asked if they were open Sundays.

They weren’t. And they were closing at 5pm. We asked them not to close till we got there, then we shot out of the room and jumped into the nearest tricycle. The driver did not know where Rurungan Compound was, but he knew the way to Abanico Road. Thirty minutes later we were on a concrete road in a densely wooded area with few houses. It was like going into the woods, and if we’d been in Manila it would’ve been scary. Fortunately we were in Palawan, so this was normal. Twenty minutes later we saw a lady emerging from a compound and asked her for directions. She pointed to the next gate. We had reached our destination.

According to Laida Lim’s essay in HABI, the guide to Philippine handwoven textiles, a “rurungan” is a group of women living and working in proximity and pooling their resources. The 15-year-old Rurungan sa Tubod Foundation (RTF) creates jobs for women on the island by training them to weave tepiña.

Tepiña is pineapple cloth woven from raw silk and fiber from the Spanish Red pineapple. The weavers learn the textile production process from growing the pineapples to stripping the leaves and knotting the fibers.

Apart from tepiña, they make a heavier twill textile and a fabric that feels like corduroy. Filipino and French designers have used tepiña in their couture and home decor collections.

We bought several of these pretty wallets and small clutches to give away (and then decided to keep them haha). Prices at the Palawan store range from Php90 to 160. Dammit we should’ve bought more. The large bags cost about Php800. We found baskets with fabric straps that make excellent tote/book bags—we’ll post the photos later.

They also have dresses, blouses, neckties, toys. If you’re in Palawan and wish to visit Rurungan Sa Tubod, call +639178514081 and ask for Beth or Janet. In Manila, you can arrange a private product viewing at their showroom by calling +639175532728.

We’re glad we got out of bed.

Our main event for Saturday was dinner at KaLui, the most famous restaurant in Puerto Princesa, listed among the top restaurants in Asia by the Miele Guide. A reservation is required. As is taking your shoes off at the entrance, so your feet can enjoy the beautiful wooden floors.

Making a choice seems like a lot of work when you’re in vacation mode, so we just pointed to the Special of the Day Set.

Every table was taken. The place is charming—even the washrooms are tourist attractions. There’s a small art gallery and a gift shop selling jams and preserves, bags and wallets…from Rurungan. Same prices, but the weaving center has more merchandise.

For starters there was “lato” seaweed salad,

and vegetables done tempura-style.

There was juicy tuna steak

and fish rolls in coconut cream.

For dessert there were slices of fruit, which was just as well because we didn’t have space left for sweets.

A day well spent, despite extreme indolence.

The renowned Italian shoe brand Santoni has opened its first boutique in the Philippines on the second floor of Shangri-La Plaza East Wing in Mandaluyong. It is distributed by Lucerne, local purveyor of Patek Philippe, Breitling, Breguet, Panerai, IWC and other luxury timepieces. If you’re so fastidious about what goes on your wrist, you can’t wear just any shoes, no?

Santoni shoes are valued for their handmade workmanship and rigorous construction. The store carries Santoni’s Man, Woman, Junior, and Accessories collections, including sneakers. The styles for women are vertiginous so we do not covet.

What we do covet are their bespoke shoes. For the discriminating client who is prepared to pay for perfection, Santoni has a fatto a mano su misura service (shoes made by hand and made to measure, it sounds more dramatic in Italian). The process of making shoes to your specifications takes at least two months. First your feet are measured and lasts—wooden models of your feet—are made. Then the shape of the shoes is decided upon and the hides and materials selected. Finally the color is chosen. You are involved in each step of the process. The long wait for your unique custom-made shoes is part of the pleasure.

The media kit included this beautiful leather keychain,

which we turned into a pair of mismatched leather earrings.

Being complete idiots about geography, we thought we could visit Calauit island and feed the giraffes on this trip. Wrong! Palawan is huge. As Cookie discovered while overthinking our trip, travel time from Puerto Princesa to Calauit is about ten hours. To do the safari thing, we’d have to fly direct from Manila to Coron or El Nido. We decided to stick to Puerto Princesa and its environs—fine by us, because we’re not a beach person. Mountains, caves, dungeons, troll holes, labyrinths: we’re there.

Cookie booked us a tour of the Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park, a.k.a. the underground river, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the world’s most important biodiversity conservation habitats. We expected there would be wading involved, so we wore flip-flops. Fortunately we had gotten a pedicure recently so we would not be mistaken for a gorilla escaping the forest. Also, being maniacally prepared, we put all our stuff in zip-loc bags inside our waterproof bags. At the last minute we decided not to bring a flare gun (It would have to be checked baggage).

By the second day we were in total vacation mode, and by total we mean “No Internet”. The wifi in our room could only achieve dial-up modem speed, so we decided to take a break from blogging. And down the slippery slope to sloth and idleness we rolled. It was great.

Pick-up for the underground river tour was set for 0630, so imagine our discomposure when the van turned up at 0600. Getting up at 0530 when your regular sleeping time is 0300 is one thing, but traipsing off to the limestone forest before you’ve had two coffees is another. But Hernan the preternaturally chatty guide did not seem to mind that Grungella the Grouch auditioning for The Exorcist was in the van, and he kept up a steady stream of patter that could not be stopped by our iPod wall of sound.

We learned many things, such as the length of Palawan, the differences between north and south (Primary economic activity in the north, fishing; in the south, farming. Preferred alcoholic beverage north, rum; south, gin), the ratio of males to females in Palawan, and signs of economic development in the area (great leaps in the last decade or so). The ride to the wharf in Sabang took two hours, some of it over rough terrain (“By the way, this is what we call a massage!”). We stopped at the karst (limestone mountain) where part of The Amazing Race was shot; beneath those caves was Smaug the dragon with his hoard of gold. No, the subterranean river.

As we queued up for the outrigger boats that would take us to the caves, Hernan the very knowledgeable pointed out improvements to the tour in the last few years. A system has been put in place so there’s no jostling or fighting for places (or passengers), standards have been set for the boats (the wooden ones used to get scraped on stalagmites and start taking in water), and the orange life vests have to be laundered regularly (the alternative would be gross). A 15-minute boat ride takes you to the trail through the forest, which is populated by monkeys. Visitors are asked not to feed them or open plastic bags, which they associate with snacks.

At the end of the trail we put on hard hats—stuff falls from the roofs of the caves, including bits of rock and bat droppings—and boarded another boat, manned by the effusive guide Piolo. “Not Pascual!” he announced, in case anyone was confused.

Into the bat cave we rode—”The mines of Moria!” Cookie whispered—the pitch black relieved only by the beam of light from the boat’s lantern. Despite our ignorance of geology, we were fascinated by the rock formations. And entertained by Piolo’s running spiel. “Look over there…it’s a T-Rex! Doesn’t that rock look like a T-Rex? And there, see the hair and the beard? It’s the face of Jesus! And there…an angel without wings. Up on the ceiling: bats! To your left, Balin, son of Durin! Next to him, Kit Harington’s abs…” Okay, we made that up. Periodically our boat would meet a boat carrying foreign tourists and Piolo would interrupt his humming of the theme from Titanic to cry, “Annyeonghaseyo! Opa gangnam style!”

The caves stretch for miles, and large sections have not been fully explored. Who knows what we may find in there: hominids, mermaids, dragons, Nessie’s relatives, mithril, Smeagol and the Precious. The Subterranean River cruise alone is worth a trip to Puerto Princesa.

Forty-five minutes later we emerged in dazzling sunlight and pale, powdery sands. Swimming is forbidden on this strip of beach.

Back in the bayan, we stopped at the mall to pay our phone bill. The shopping mall is new; another one is being built. We practically live in the mall, and it’s a great convenience, but we hope Puerto Princesa doesn’t become another Mallville. The laid-back, rustic, stress-free ambience is one of its main charms, and the profusion of small businesses ranging from family-owned restaurants to handicraft stores is another. Most restaurants don’t have air-conditioning, and they don’t need it—the air is clean, the breezes are cool, and motor traffic is light so dust and grime are minimized. Fine, there are too many renditions of the greatest hits of Bread, but they fit the relaxed atmosphere.

We found the Tiangge, a souvenir market crammed with every conceivable type of pasalubong. The cashews and other nuts are excellent.

You can get cultured pearl earrings for ten pesos and mother of pearl charm bracelets for twenty. There are miniature tribal wooden fridge magnets, woven bags, T-shirts and caps, beads in various configurations, wind chimes, dream catchers, wood carvings, and so many accessories, we shut up and shopped. The most expensive items are strands of real pearls which go for Php3,000.

Dinner was at one of PP’s best-known restaurants, Kinabuchs. Go early because by 7pm there’s a queue.

We had the crocodile sisig. It tastes exactly like regular sisig, though the very concept of eating (farmed) crocodile is badass.

Puerto Princesa reminds us of Bali, and like Bali it’s not very big on dessert. We wandered along the main thoroughfare, Rizal Avenue, until we spotted a restaurant called Euro Chef. They serve a Slovenian dessert called struklji—rolls of dough filled with cottage cheese, apple, nuts, raisins. It’s not too sweet, and it goes very well with coffee.

Back to the hotel, where we did absolutely nothing and then slept for nine hours. Vacations are dangerous.

We’d been feeling a little antsy so we decided to go on a trip. Our sister Cookie had vacation time amassed, and after we had agreed on a definition of “vacation time amassed” (“Not exactly, I just have leaves I haven’t used”—Cookie) we convinced her to take a long weekend. Neither of us had been to Palawan, which is always a good reason to go. (Though it must be noted that we’ve never been to the Crimea, either.)

We booked a flight to Puerto Princesa on Tigerair (two round-trip tickets, no checked baggage, total Php6,920). Our flight was at 1010; by 0715 we were at NAIA Terminal 4. Because Cookie is at least three hours early for everything. By 0730 we were sitting on the floor with our coffees, waiting for the counter to open. Fortunately we had trained for sitting on floors by attending UP Diliman.

The counter opened exactly on time, and the whole check-in process was done in 30 seconds. By 0825 we were at the boarding gate. With chairs!

The minute we buckled up we fell asleep. After the most efficient, stress-free flight we’ve ever been on, we landed at Puerto Princesa ten minutes ahead of schedule.

Cookie had booked us at a newish hotel called Acacia Tree, on a leafy street just five minutes from the airport. Immediately after we said “You choose the hotel,” we realized our mistake. The sister is maniacal about cost-efficiency and would happily book us in a lunatic asylum (“It’s been converted,” she assured us). Which she tried to do the last time we took a vacation together, in Prague. Luckily, the asylum had no vacancies.

Our room at Acacia Tree wasn’t ready yet, so we left our bags and went out to explore the terrain.

There are no taxis in Puerto Princesa. You could rent a van, or go around on a tricycle (or as we say in English subtitles, “motorcycle with sidecar”). Rates are negotiated with the driver. Puerto Princesa has clean air and clean streets, so you can take a tricycle without getting exfoliated by grit, dust and wind shear.

Our first stop was Baker’s Hill, which was recommended by various travel sites. It’s a sort of theme park devoted to baked goods and landscaping.

Baker’s Hill is designed for entertaining children and taking selfies next to life-size statues of cartoon characters. They also offer baking classes. At the restaurant we had lunch: grilled lapu-lapu and laing. It was okay. Metro Manila prices.

At the store we found all manner of breads and pastries, and stacks of hopia. We’re a bit of a hopia snob and require the crust to be of a certain texture. So this is not purist hopia, but it’s quite delicious. And at Php45 for a box of ten, it’s a steal.

Then we popped into the Butterfly Garden so we could report to butterfly enthusiast Noel. Noel had given us tips for getting photographed with butterflies: Wear bright colors like pink or orange, wear sweet floral perfumes, and stand still. Obviously we were not going to get photographed with butterflies. We did see a lot of them, and

these chrysalids or pupae, collected from the forest.

The Php50 ticket to the Butterfly Garden included admission to the Tribal Village, an indigenous Pala’wan forest house. A living exhibit. Made us uncomfortable, to tell the truth.

Down the street is Binuatan Creations, a traditional weaving center. The weavers use fibers made of local grass. They urged us to try operating the loom, but we declined in the interest of public safety.

The souvenir shop carries colorful bags, hats, placemats, home decor and other items produced on the premises. Cookie bought table runners and placemats. One can never have too many placemats.

Dinner was at Baywalk, a collection of open-air seafront restaurants. The tricycle driver recommended Kinaboyet, where the seafood is very fresh and amazingly cheap.

Our dinner of squid and barbecued pork, plus soft drinks, cost Php100 each. In Puerto Princesa, one should always listen to tricycle drivers’ recommendations.

In January we admitted that our reading backlog had become absurd and declared a moratorium on book acquisitions until the number of unread books had been brought down to a manageable level. There’s nothing like being told that you can’t buy any more books till you’ve decreased your backlog to make you read faster. Book lust is a great motivator. One of our joys is complaining about how many books we still have to read, and how can we do that if the number isn’t growing?

Someday we might get through a Balzac novel without wanting to seek out the author and throttle him (It’s a good thing he’s dead). We had an easier time with The Human Comedy, a collection of his short stories—”short” is relative. These tales are voluptuously-written, fascinating and infuriating—often at the same time. Balzac will start a story with some juicy gossip about famous Parisian mistresses, and then veer off into a pompous disquisition on women that will have you nodding off half a page. When he isn’t being pompous, he’s riveting.

In The 400 Blows, Antoine Doinel adores Balzac and gets caught plagiarizing him so he runs away.

)
Weird to hear him in Spanish.

For a taste, read A Passion in the Desert, about a soldier who falls in love with a panther.

In Paris we wanted to read about Paris so we bought Paris Stories by Mavis Gallant. We couldn’t read it, we were not ready. There are books you have to read in childhood before your concentration is shot (Malory), and there are books that require a clearer perception of the varieties of human experience (Tolstoy). The news of Gallant’s death last month, at age 92, reminded us that we had this story collection. We started reading it and did not stop. This is in defiance of Gallant’s advice in the afterword to read one story, then shut the book and come back later. These stories are complex, graceful, and moving—they sneak up on you. You’re left feeling so much, and you wonder how she did it because she never calls attention to her technique. That would be tacky. Sometimes we don’t even know exactly how a story turns out, plot-wise, but we feel like we’ve been through something. Gallant is amazing.

The Goldfinch was our favorite book last year so we resolved to read Donna Tartt’s first novel, The Secret History. Reading The Secret History reminded us of watching Dead Poets Society, and not just because both are set in schools in New England. In both cases we were charmed and transfixed, but we also found them a little cringe-making. They’re rather precious and affected (Ang o-OA nila), they over-romanticize the academe and the nerd experience. The Secret History is about a group of very bright college students who fall under the spell of their adviser and professor of Greek. They’re so drunk on their syllabus that they end up committing murder—that’s not a spoiler, it’s right on the first page. Everyone is working so hard to be eccentric, and if you have to work at it, what you are is a hipster. Compelling read, though, shocking that it hasn’t been filmed.

If it weren’t by Nancy Mitford, The Blessing would be high-end chick-lit about an uncomplicated girl who marries a French aristocrat and moves to Paris, where she is shocked by the decadent lifestyle. Gasp, affairs left and right. However, since this is by the author of Love In A Cold Climate and The Pursuit of Love, it is wickedly funny, sophisticated, and understanding of human frailty. You know how Tagalog movies and telenovelas are obsessed with adultery and mistresses? Their writers should read Nancy Mitford so they can get over their little bourgeois hang-ups and actually enjoy life.

The way cats do. We borrowed this from our sister. It is the War and Peace of cat-centric comics.

If you’re in the mood for a wonderful love story but can’t commit to anything that takes longer than a day, this is your perfect nosh. Turn to a random page and find something that will split your vestigial heart in half.

Saturday we attended the reception for Ricky Villabona’s first solo show, Someone Left The Cake Out In The Rain. Yes, that is a disco reference. Other title considered: Dadooronron.

Moira Lang, Jay Lozada, Leo Abaya, the artist, and Paulo Vinluan. They are probably recalling the yellow cotton dress foaming like a wave on the ground beneath your knee.

(Right to left) Edd Fuentes is telling us he doesn’t think that he could take it, cause it took so long to bake it, and he’ll never have that recipe again, oh nooooo. He could’ve just asked Carlo Estagle, who plied us with cream puffs of bangus mousse, cheese muffins and rosé.

Between the parted pages Joey Samson, Jo Ann Bitagcol, Ivar Aseron and Ricky Villabona were pressed, in love’s hot fevered iron, like a striped pair of pants. Don’t ask us what that means, we didn’t write the lyrics.

Marlon Rivera and Ricky contemplate birds like tender babies in your hands and the old men playing Chinese checkers by the trees.

All the sweet green (or aqua) icing flowing down. Someone Left The Cake Out In The Rain is on view until March 20 at ArtistSpace on the ground floor of the Ayala Museum Annex at Greenbelt Park, Makati, near Lusso.