Yahoo for Dumaguete!

Wow, it seems like forever since my last post and since I've read any of my favorite blogs. No, I haven't forgotten nor abandoned any of you! How can I? I just haven't had as much extra online time as I used to since the other stuff that makes up my daily life slowly started to creep up on me threatening to bury me alive if I continued to neglect them. So lately I've been juggling my time between work of course which takes up most of it, wading through unread piles of books and magazines, trying to put in more hours at the gym and boxing, TV series' I'm addicted to, more dinners with friends and out of town trips to the beach and farm with family, and finally nurturing my passion for photography. I'm usually exhausted at the end of the day to do anything more than lift my book up to eye level before the sandman whisks me off.

But anyway, here I am! I still love blogging so there will always be time for that. And so for my first post in what...wow, three weeks is a long time for someone who used to post twice a week or so... I'd like to share some news my dad shared with me during breakfast a few days ago which came in the form of newspaper clippings. It seems we're not the only ones who think Dumaguete rocks!

The first article was entitled: "Foreigners say RP among top 20 best places to live - DOT" by Mayen Jaymalin; published in The Philippine Star last Sept. 19, 2007.

The Department of Tourism (DOT) yesterday reported that Americans and other
foreign travelers have actually listed Negros Oriental as among the top 20 best
islands in the world to live. Tourism secretary Joseph Ace Durano said Negros
Oriental joined the list of other exotic places such as the Grand Cayman, Gozo
in Malta, Carriacou in Grenada and Vieques in Puerto Rico, which all offer a mix
of indigenous culture, friendly neighbors, uncomplicated living and adventure
attractions.

Durano said the deciding factors considered by the respondents included weather, languages spoken, ease of immigration and accessibility to hospitals. Located in Central Visayas, Negros Oriental offers divers colorful and teeming marine life around Apo Island, which is home to the Negros Oriental Marine Conservation Park. Tourists can also chance upon playful dolphins and pygmy sperm whales in Tanon Strait at Bais Bay. But more than the attractions, Durano said the people play a big role in giving a warm welcome and creating a positive impression among travelers.

The other article entitled "Yahoo: Manila is passport-worthy" was published the very next day Sept 20, 2007 in the Manila Standard Today.

Manila was listed at no. 10 in the list of "10 passport-worthy locations thousands of Yahoo! users chose as the very best". While Yahoo cited problems such as traffic and pollution in Metro Manila, visitors cited it's friendly people, excellent nightlife, historical sights and some of the most cavernous shopping malls in Asia.

This was the second time Philippine destinations figured prominently in the listing of top destinations in the world. Last month, Islands Magazine based in the United States listed Negros Oriental and it's capital Dumaguete as one of the 20 best islands in the world to live on.

The magazine, one of the most widely circulated and most trusted travel publications in the United States, included Negros Oriental with its capital Dumaguete as among the best islands in the world where expatriates may settle based on the following criteria: flip-flop wearability, strong expat communities, and affordable real estate.

Hurray for the Philippine Islands! :)

Related sites:

http://travel.yahoo.com/p-promo-18721943

Summer & Sardines

the Dumaguete Belfry,

St. Catherine of Alexandria Cathedral

To conclude this series on Dumaguete, I am posting this article written by my cousin, with her permission of course, which was published in the July 2006 issue of MetroPost, a local weekly paper in Dumaguete. Here she speaks fondly of one of my favorite childhood memories, playing Sardines with cousins and friends, as she laments how the city has changed over the years.

Summer & sardines
By: Jacqueline

Summer was always my favorite time of the year. It wasn't just the fact that school was out for two whole months, I also looked forward to all my cousins vacationing in Dumaguete. Every year, for as long as I could remember everyone came over.

Then, they just stopped coming over. Most of my cousins' parents realized that Dumaguete was no longer safer than wherever they came from. The kids now had to be kept inside… or nearby. This really defeated the whole purpose of coming to Dumaguete -- and that was to "relax". I thought then that they were all paranoid.

"Sardines" was the name of a game. Almost every night after dinner, all my cousins and friends would gather at our front gate. There would be about 20 of us (ages 13 to 26), and we'd each have to select a partner. We'd map our boundaries around our house covering three entire blocks -- that would be east until the Rizal Boulevard, south to Locsin St (Red Cross Bldg), north to San Jose St (Sans Rival Bakeshop) and west to Sta. Catalina St (UyMatiao Construction office). This was our playground.

All pairs, except for one, would run off and hide. We'd crouch behind the seawall, climb the Perdices' tambis trees, sneak into the parked UyMatiao trucks, or curl up inside one of the abandoned vendor's trolleys beside the Red Cross.

The last pair would have to find all of us…each "found" pair helps look for the others until all pairs are accounted for. The game would take more than an hour, and then we would start all over. This would go on until midnight. That was so much fun -- and safe.

Today, I am not even sure if I'd allow my nieces/nephews to play the same game. Would it still be safe? Every time Dumaguete's safety and security are discussed, those summer nights come to mind. I would tell that story to anyone who'd listen.

I realize now that I must sound the way my elders did when they'd recount the "good old days"; how they'd drive to Bais from Dumaguete (to attend a dance) on their cousin's jeep, with two of them seated upfront holding flashlights which functioned as headlights; or my aunt's story about playing "cowboys and indians" at the Boulevard when they were children: My aunt "captured" a six-year-old cousin, and tied him to a tree (just like what she saw on TV). About four hours later, a very frantic yaya came looking for the cousin. They'd forgotten all about him! Rushing to the boulevard, they found the boy still tied to the tree, taking his siesta.

Or the very amusing story about my grandmother Emilia receiving a letter from her former employee which the postman promptly delivered to her home. On the envelope was written "Inday Laling, Dumaguete City".

After college, I worked outside the Philippines for eight years. Coming back after my first year abroad, I was excited to get on my bicycle (which I rode to school sometimes). It didn't take long for me to drag my bike back inside our house.

Sadly, I realized it was no longer practical to go around the City on a bike with
motorists crowding the roads, overtaking from the right-hand side, buses
speeding, tricycles loading and unloading passengers left, right and center,
etc!

And the noise level was terrible! Would you believe only 10 years ago, we could actually hear the Silliman University bell every 7 am all the way from our house -- a good four blocks away from the University?! Each time I came back for a visit, a negative encounter/experience made me feel like Dumaguete was slowly being taken away from me.

During one of those breaks, I woke up early to watch the sunrise at the boulevard. Walking to our front porch, I was surprised to find our wrought iron furniture gathered on one side, and locked together with a large chain! My uncle later explained that the original set had been stolen (all four heavy pieces), and this was a replica I was looking at.

There was that other time I bought a newspaper from a sidewalk vendor downtown. As I took some coins out, someone bumped into me which made me drop my purse. A friendly-looking man squatted beside me to "help" pick up my belongings…then he casually walked away with my P500 bill!

Walking home after that incident, I passed by an old refrigerator repair shop, now closed. Stopping right in front, I recalled one of the scariest days of my life. A stranger was following me walk home from school. When I turned the corner to this ref repair shop, the old man (who owned the shop) and his three sons were seated outside. I rushed to their side, and explained what was happening. All four men sprang from their seats, and "took care" of the stalker as I turned to run home.

I wonder where those men are now. Kindness and helpfulness were so common then, I had forgotten to thank them. We see, read, and hear about them every day….the strangers and dangers (everything from fraternity fights to pedophilia) …lurking about our once-gentle surroundings. Now I wonder if coming back to Dumaguete -- to live here, and to raise my children here -- was the right move.

Are there enough Dumagueteños speaking out about our unsafe streets and demanding that something be done about it? Does our leaders' vision include
leaving behind a Dumaguete that their great grandchildren would still like to live in? Can their grand kids share their own "in the good old days" stories to the younger generation of the future?

There are still things, places, events, and characters in Dumaguete that reassure me... … The comforting acacia trees at the boulevard and Silliman campus; the Rizal Boulevard itself; panulo at Piapi Beach (spear fishing in ankle-deep water at night); caramel-covered banana cue sold behind the SU Ballfield; the annual writers' workshop which is the pride of many Dumagueteños; my ever-reliable neighborhood seamstress; tartanillas; the efficient Silliman Medical Center staff; Makiling's chicharon; the well-organized public market; hard-working Amor who comes to our office daily selling home-made merienda; Sumalinog ice cream; the Ms. Cambagroy Pageant (basta I enjoy it); the melts-in-your-mouth silvanas of Sans Rival; the offering of fruits and eggs to the Carmelite sisters and requesting them to help us pray for a specific intention; the knowledge that most of the ingredients we can't find anywhere else in Dumaguete is just stocked at Times Mercantile.

Big shoes to fill

Mamaita's handwritten recipes

I mentioned before that my grandmother, or Mamaita as she was fondly called, was an amazing cook who was famous for many dishes. Gaining at least 5 lbs. every summer was a given. We couldn't help it, the house was always filled with food, everything revolved around food, even the family business. Some of her delicious creations were available in the restaurant and the hotel she used to own and manage.

Just like the old days: home-made chorizo, bulad and maize

Every morning, we would wake up to the aroma of home-made bulad (salted dried fish) and chorizo frying in the kitchen, staples on our breakfast table. Squeezed around the table, my cousins and I would stuff ourselves silly. Eating the bulad and chorizo with either garlic fried rice or maize and our choice of sunny-side up or scrambled eggs. There was always hot pan de sal (bread rolls) accompanied by assorted jams and butter and of course, budbud kabog.

Diets and restraint were unheard of then; healthy meals and light eating were things of the future. The kitchen staff, well trained by Mamaita, cooked with careless abandon and we ate in the same fashion. If breakfast was a feast, lunch, merienda and dinner were no different, perhaps even more so. Desserts were aplenty, there was never just one but a variety. Hot chocolate was available any time of day, the super thick kind, none of that watered down stuff.

My trip to Dumaguete included a mission: to copy Mamaita's precious recipes while I still could. I reminisced a lot when I was there, as you can probably tell from my previous posts, especially as I lay in bed in the dark. I was sleeping in Mamaita's room, something I hadn't done since way before she moved on seven years ago. Her room remained untouched, except for the presence of the high-back chair that used to be in the living room and the paint that was peeling from the walls.

Must handle with care!

But it was while I copied her recipes that I felt her close. I couldn't believe my eyes when my aunt handed me her recipes. It came bunched together and wrapped in plastic. The day before my uncle had joked that I would need to open the package in an airconditioned room and using tweezers and gloves to protect the paper from my bodily oils. I pulled out the notebooks and loose papers slowly, realizing he may have been only half-joking. The pages were brittle and stained with age and tiny fragments that had crumled over the years came spilling out.

My hands shook slightly as I lay them down carefully on the table in the corner of her room. Two notebooks, some newspaper and magazine clippings, scraps of paper with tasting notes, and a book on Cured Meats - a book that taught you pretty much everything you needed to know from butchering to cleaning to cutting and curing, dressing, canning and cooking pork, beef and lamb.

I slowly opened the notebook and felt a wave of nostalgia. I touched her familiar neat cursive on the yellowed page. They were rounded and leaned slightly to the left. At the head of the table, I watched her write so slowly and deliberately, as if time stood still for her. I found most of what I was hoping to find here. Some were written in Spanish and the rest in English.

There was the recipe for my favorite salchichon de pili, and the chocolate ice-box cake my mom made me promise to get, the tocino del cielo which I love so much, her flan, sans rival, food for the gods, maja blanca, lengua de gato, canonigo, tarta de fruta, banana brunch cake, cheesy cassava cake, bread pudding, - wait - these are all desserts. Where are the recipes for her different chorizos? And bacalao? Apparently, I am to learn the next day at the breakfast table, my grandmother never needed to write any of the savory recipes down because she had them memorized and she made sure Basil, our cook, had them down pat. My uncle was kind enough to give me his recipes instead.

So I went to work, burning the candle at both ends, copying the recipes. And as I tapped away on the keyboard, I imagined her speaking to me through the written words. In my mind I saw her patiently teaching me in her pale yellow kitchen while I stood on the chair next to her. She had her grey hair in a neat bun as she always did, and she carefully weighed each ingredient, describing each one to me as she did so. I heard her speak to me, explaining each step of the process while she worked with her skillful hands. And I did my best to write it all down, without missing a beat.

I'm a little nervous but very excited about trying the recipes. But while I would like to chronicle the attempts here, they've asked me kindly to keep the recipes in the family for the meantime. Although I am not the type to hide cooking or baking secrets and love to share great recipes, I totally understand and respect this request because most of the recipes were used in the family business and may possibly be used for that purpose again in the future.

This is a picture of Mamaita in her 20's. I hope I make her proud. :)

PS: I just found out my dad has become a regular reader of my blog and is especially enjoying all these posts about his hometown and his mom, so HI DAD!! :)

Jo's Chicken Inatô

In the past, going out to restaurants for lunch or dinner was not something we did very often in Dumaguete. This is largely due to the fact that, for the most part, restaurant food could never compete with the meals so lovingly prepared at my grandmother's house. We didn't have it for the rest of the year, so we enjoyed it while we could. If we weren't eating at home, that usually meant we were enjoying other home-cooked meals in a relatives house. That was just the way it was.

In the recent years, however, and with all the new restaurants that have opened around the city we find ourselves venturing out more often. My cousins took me to Jo's Chicken Inatô in the town of Sibulan on our way back from Lake Balinsasayao. I was told the founder and owner of this famous barbecue chicken restaurant chain, Josephine Ng, lived just across the street.

The word inatô means 'to feel at home with' and that's exactly what it felt like dining here. The staff was warm and friendly and the ambience was rustic and very casual. The restaurant was by the sea, and we chose one of these tables outside (pic above) so we could enjoy the sea breeze and the view. The tables here were shaped like bancas (canoes) and the seats were the "outriggers". Very cute.

There are other items on the menu but we all ordered the house specialty which is grilled chicken served with puso (rice packed and steamed in coconut leaves) and atchara (pickled papaya strips). It looked just like Bacolod's chicken inasal and even tasted similar. At least until you dunk the chicken into their dark, special sauce and then it totally blows your mind! The achuete oil of chicken inasal has nothing on this. I don't know what's in that sauce and if by some stroke of luck someone that knows reads this, I beg you, please tell me.

Puso (rice packed & steamed in coconut leaves)

Not only was it delicious, it was darn cheap. A little over P 100 ($2) for a chicken leg, one puso and a Coke. It's no wonder then that since it's inception in 1985, at least 10 other branches have opened in other cities such as Iloilo, Cagayan, Roxas, Cebu and even Manila! Why is it I had never heard of this before? There's supposed to be a branch in Jupiter St. Has anyone been? I gotta check this out soon.

I really enjoyed myself, using my hands to pull the meat off the stick, dunk it in the sauce and to pop it into my mouth, followed with a pinch of rice. I licked the sauce off my fingers, sighing contentedly with the sound of the waves lapping against the shore in the background. What I would have done for a banig (woven mat) to crawl into right there for a nice afternoon siesta.

Click here for a list of Jo's Chicken Inatô branches.

Manang Siony's Tocino

Manang Siony's was a little tocinohan (place that sells tocino 0r cured pork) two blocks away from our house in Dumaguete. It was nothing more than a makeshift charcoal grill set up on the sidewalk but it was famous. Manang Siony and her slivers of tocino on bamboo skewers were legendary around these parts.

During those summers when we were already spiking our Cokes with Tanduay rum we relied on Manang Siony for pre-dawn nourishment. We'd troop to her little spot on the sidewalk and stand there with a puso (rice packed and steamed in coconut leaves) cracked open in one hand and three, four or five tocino sticks in the other. The combination was perfect. The tocino straight from the grill was juicy and tender, and addicting. It was easy to have ten in one sitting. The puso was always steamed just right, not too sticky but not dry at all (I don't like my rice dry and separated).

Until recently, Dumaguete was a place that time forgot. She was like that loyal, dependable friend who you knew would still be the same the next time you saw her. Though Dumaguete held on for as long as she could, her growing popularity made progress inevitable. The cityscape remains free of high rises, there is still only one movie theater and Lee Plaza still stands proud as the city's biggest department store. But now McDonald's has opened and Robinson's Dept. Store has broken ground. Foreigners have moved in and set up camp, opening resorts and even restaurants such as Le Chalet for fine Swiss cuisine and deli products (of course this I am happy about). And where the tartanillas (horse-drawn carriages) once dominated the boulevard, sadly you will be hard pressed to find one today. This last one broke my heart the most.

With each new development comes new job opportunities of course, which is always good. But I feel that with every new place that sprouts up and with every old haunt that disappears, a piece of me goes along with it. On top of this, many of my cousins and friends who used to live here have relocated elsewhere for reasons of their own. So it may have been a subconscious effort on my part to hang on to the old days when I went to visit Manang Siony for some tocino to take home for dinner.

My aunt suggested I take Nelfa, our long-time household staff, with me to guide me there because she had moved her business a couple more blocks down from its original location. Imagine my surprise when I pulled up into the driveway of a two-story structure with not one, but two, brightly lit signages on the facade claiming that this was now Manang Siony's! I felt so proud of her. It's so inspiring to see how far she's come from her humble beginnings on the sidewalk (I am told she used to sleep there too, under the table). She now has a dining area for her customers and offers a wide variety of grilled meat including chicken, pork and gizzard. Out front is the grilling area and where the pusos are cooked. Though the building lacks a coat of paint and the second floor is still under construction, it is a far cry from the original.

left photo: the new grilling area

middle & right photo: puso steaming in the pots

With one look, Manang Siony knew instantly from which family I belonged and I was surprised that she actually remembered me. From behind the tall counter where she weaved various types of raw meat into bamboo skewers and arranged them neatly on trays in front of her, she told Nelfa and I that she will always remember my mamaita with fondness and could never forget her "blond" grandchildren.

Manang Siony

While I waited for the rest of my order, I took a stick of tocino out of the first batch and slid a piece of meat into my mouth. A rush of memories came flooding back, happy ones mostly, but also a slightly scary one - I had a bad motorcycle accident in front of her stall once when I was driving. The meat was still tender and delicious (though just like the tapsilog in Rufo's it somehow tastes infinitely better after imbibing some alcohol), and I smiled. Happy that though nothing is constant except change, some things are above that law.

Manang Siony's Original Tocino

Lower Luke Wright St. , Dumaguete City

Tel. (035) 225-1125

Cell phone: (0920) 435-0224

Picnic in the forest

Picnicking and swimming in the river was something we did a lot of when I was younger. This is one of life's most simple of pleasures, a back-to-basics activity that is so rewarding and enjoyable. We didn't need much, a small basket with basic picnic fare, a cooler for our drinking water and sodas and Mother Nature.

The Forrest Camp is a 2 hectare property situated along the Banica River which flows clean and pure through Valencia (a municipality about 9 kms west of Dumaguete City). Before this resort was opened to the public in 1990, my dad would take us to his friends private property through which this same river cut through further upstream. I loved swimming among the rocks and playing with my cousins in the current. Sometime in the late 90's I took a bunch of my friends from Manila up there to experience this simple joy, and they loved it. For most of them who knew only what it was like to swim in man-made pools, the sea or a lake, it was a truly an unforgettable experience.

On the morning of Easter Sunday, Basil (my grandmother's loyal cook) and my aunt prepared a picnic basket for us and we set out to Forest Camp where my cousin had reserved a hut for us by the river. There was pancit, pork chops, puso (rice packed and cooked in coconut leaves) and brownies and assorted beverages. We picked up a box of sans rival cake and half a date & walnut dacquoise from Sans Rival and off we went.

Forest Camp is a lush tropical oasis that would make a nature-lover weak in the knees. All the huts are built with indigenous materials such as bamboo and nipa, and come with picnic tables and chairs which you can rent for a small fee. Available also are provisions for grilling. Aside from the picnic area, there are also cottages and guesthouses for overnight stay, camping grounds, a main hall which can accomodate up to 250 people, a tree house, a restaurant and a mini suspension bridge. All of this is surrounded by natural pools, a waterfall, towering coconut trees and bordered by wild forest. It is obvious they took great care in preserving the natural surroundings and built around what was already there. For the more adventurous, Forest Camp offers guided treks to Casaroro Falls and Lake Nailig as well as ATV rentals.


Despite the large Easter Sunday crowd, the experience was almost Zen-like. The green landscape so soothing on the eyes, the hypnotic sound of the leaves on the trees rustling in the wind (albeit pierced by the occasional squeal of a kid splashing in the river) and birds chirping merrily, the experience heightened by the sound of the cascading water. Oh and the delightful food too, of course!

I happily nibbled on a bag of juicy sineguelas, (this and duhat/lomboy are fruits I will forever associate with summers in Dumaguete). Even after our heavy brunch and sinful desserts, I couldn't resist ordering a buko halo-halo after seeing it being enjoyed by a group of people near the restaurant. I love halo-halo and having it in a buko (coconut) is a treat I don't have very often. It was the perfect ending to our lovely picnic in the forest.

Buko Halo Halo

The Forest Camp
Telephone: (035) 423-4017
Telefax: (035) 422-7027
E-mail: forestcamp@mail.com ; website: www.theforestcamp.net

Sans Rival Cakes & Pastries

Sans Rival Cakes & Pastries

I mentioned before how my family would spend summers in Dumaguete with the rest of the clan and it was a time of year we always eagerly awaited. Under one roof, four big families were squeezed in and when we were not at the beach or by the river, we found ways to entertain ourselves in my grandmother's house. My older siblings eventually formed other groups to hang with, made up mostly of cousins (it seems everyone is related to each other over there) who they would go to discos with. Not long after I followed suit. I spent less time in my grandmother's house and more time on the streets with my group.

We did a lot of things together, moved around in our posse of motorcycles and jeeps letting the wind take us where it wanted. We enjoyed the company so much it didn't matter where that day would take us. I especially loved riding on the backseat of a motorcycle cruising along the coast or climbing mountains and chasing sunsets. But mostly we just kind of happily hung around.

delicious silvanas

Without trying, we formed a daily routine. In the mornings after breakfast, time was dutifully spent playing with the younger cousins, making a mess helping out in the kitchen, reading, chatting on the front porch with family and restlessly pacing the house. After lunch with the family, usually by 2:30, my 2 cousins and I would stroll out the old wooden gate and head down the boulevard towards Speedmeals - my grand-aunt's cantina which had become our meeting place and hang-out. But first, we would buy packets of my grandmother's peanuts from her restaurant North Pole which was just 2 houses away, stuff them in our pockets and continue along.

Usually we were the first to arrive at Speedmeals but by 3pm, the rest of the gang would show up. Their motorcycles and cars would noisily pull up outside, each arrival announced by a slam of the screen door. For the next few hours we'd be surrounded by laughter and a constant stream of food: flan, spaghetti, burgers, and avocado or mango shakes. Then we'd hop on the bikes and cars and drive to Silliman University to hang out outside Luz Auditorium for a while.

Still the best sans rival I've ever tasted

Before dark, we'd all head back home with a promise to see each other again after dinner. But not before making a quick stop at Sans Rival Cakes & Pastries, my tita's bakeshop which is only two blocks from home. We'd peruse the glass cabinet for whatever would tickle our fancy that day, but more often than not, we'd walk away with either a slice of sans rival or a sylvana wrapped in wax paper or foil which we would put away before we reached home. We were still dependent on our parents for money, so we had 'signing privileges' in all three places. At the end of our vacation, they'd send the bill over for our parents to settle.

Though Speedmeals and North Pole now exist only in our hearts and memories, Sans Rival still remains. What was once a tiny take-out bakeshop by the garage is now a homey and bright cafe that now also served lunch and merienda (afternoon snack). I was impressed with the variety of cakes on display and with the efficient ordering system they had in place, and then pleasantly surprised when I saw Annie, my tita's loyal staff, still behind the counter taking orders. Being the creature of habit that I can sometimes be, I ordered silvanas and sans rival. Yes, both. I can never decide between the two, I love them both equally! Silvanas are the cookie verison of sans rival, both are made with delicious layers of crunchy meringue, rich buttercream and cashews.

Tita Trining Teves-Sagarbarria first opened her shop in Dumaguete in 1977. She always loved to cook and bake for her family and friends and her passion was evident in the cakes and pastries she would create. Her children inherited this passion and helped in the success and expansion of the business. Her daughter Chining now runs and operates Sans Rival Cakes & Pastries in Dumagute. Her son Cholong moved to Manila in 1978 with his wife Mary Anne armed with his moms recipes and took orders from their San Lorenzo village home. This was wonderful news for those of us who lived in Manila! I still recall visiting my cousin and how we would sneak silvanas from the chest freezers and take them up to her room. Because there was a large clamor for their cakes, they expanded with more branches of The House of Silvanas around the city and eventually opened 3 branches in California where they have since taken up residence.

If sans rival or silvanas isn't your thing, try their Brazo de Mercedes or Blitz Torte, cheesecake, Concorde or the amazing Date and Walnut Dacquoise! I loved the Dacquoise so much I bought an entire cake as a present for my cousin on her birthday and brought half a cake to a picnic by the river the next day.

Amazing Date & Walnut Dacquoise

Sans Rival Cakes & Pastries
#3 San Jose st., Dumaguete City ; Tel. 225-4440 / 422-9482

The House of Silvanas branches in the US:

Daly City: 2055 Gellert Blvd. Ste. 3, Daly City, CA 94015 ; Tel. (650) 878-8700
Carson City, CA: 21822 S. Main St. , Carson City, CA 90745; Tel. (310) 522-4509

For other branches in the Philippines, click here.

The Twin Lakes of Balinsasayao

I don't know why I had never been up here before. I thought that I'd seen all there was worth seeing around Dumaguete, but how wrong I was. The island is so rich in natural beauty that apparently much has yet to be discovered and developed for visitors.

It was my brother who had first told me about the Twin Lakes of Balinsasayao, and how I should make it a point to go this time. He had never been either, but had heard so much about it. So I sent my cousin a message and she agreed I shouldn't miss it. So she gladly arranged everything. It was too bad my brother couldn't come earlier to join us.

They picked me up at 9 am, armed with a bag of assorted junk food and a cooler filled with ice and drinks. We made a quick stop at the Swiss deli (a product of the surge in foreign residents in the city, I was pleasantly surprised with their items which would rival those of Santi's!) to pick up some sandwiches she had ordered for our brunch and we were on our way. The first half hour of the drive was familiar, it was one I loved. We drove north along the coast to the town of Sibulan, before turning west to ascend the mountain.

The view got more impressive the higher we went. I could see Cebu in the distance across the sea. It was a clear day with a few tufts of clouds here and there. In some places, it was hard to tell where the sea ended and the sky began. It took my breath away.

Chapel on the hill: Sto. Nino Cambaloctot

We stopped briefly at this cute pink chapel on the hill. It was empty. There are five rows of pews on each side of the aisle that leads to the altar made of rock. Behind the altar is a grotto with the statue of the Virgin Mary. I am told that the chapel is built on the very spot where a group who was doing civic work for the villagers in the area had seen what, for them, could only be explained as a miracle. The sun began to spin in a whirl of color, almost blinding them, spinning and growing bigger as if coming closer then receded again. Then the sun split in half momentarily before becoming whole again and continued to spin and dance. This went on for about 10 minutes, during which the group stood staring and praying. The entire story is also painted on a wall next to the chapel.

the grotto behind the altar

We continued our way up the winding gravel road for another 20 minutes. We drove past the sign pointing to the first of the twin lakes, Lake Danao,the smaller of the two. We arrived at Lake Balinsasayao soon after. Until only recently, one had to hike up the mountain to get to the lakes and depending on the hiker's stamina, the hike could last up to 2 days. No wonder I had never been up there before, there wasn't a road yet then.

We parked the car at the side of the road near a sign which was the only indication that there was a lake hidden beyond the thick forest. We were about 1000 feet above sea level and the air was balmy. As we trudged down the rocky steps, the lake slowly came into view. It looked like a painting!

My first glimpse of the lake

The lake was much bigger than I expected and so much more beautiful. From where I was standing, the view reminded me very much of the Swiss countryside. I half expected to see a chalet nestled among the trees across the water. In fact, I have a picture which I took from the train to Interlaken that looks just like that one above but with a Swiss chalet on the foreground. It was simply gorgeous!

There were only two other groups there aside from the local bankeros (boatmen) so it was relatively quiet and gave you the feeling of seclusion. There are kayaks, bancas (outrigger canoes), pedal boats and cottages for hire at very reasonable prices. We hired a bankero who, with strong and seasoned arms, rowed us around the lake while we sat back and relaxed. It was so peaceful with only the occasional sound of birds and the whoosh-whoosh of the oar in the water.

My cousin's husband told us about how he and his buds would hike up to this lake way back when and they would set up camp on the shores across on the other side where we saw the remnants of a camp fire. Some of them would sleep on their bancas, under the stars, lulled to sleepy by the tiny ripples on the water. They would have boat races in the nude just for the hell of it. Ahh yes, the days before Brokeback Mountain. Heehee.

The boatman tells us that by 5 pm the fog starts to roll in and the temperature plummets. All around us the water is different shades of green, like an emerald glinting in the sun. We see a heron swoop down low near the water's surface, barely skimming it before soaring back over the treetops. The lake is surrounded by lush vegetation and when we were close enough to land, I saw giant ferns, the biggest I'd ever seen. After about an hour, we stopped for brunch on the other side and ate while my nephew swam in the water. The water was cold so none of us waded in after him. We were content to sit on the rocks with our pastrami sandwiches and apple streudels and the view.

Local kids fishing

left: someone's lunch; right: our brunch - yummy deli sammiches

Malatapay madness

Oohh there it was, that familiar jagged coastline of Dumaguete. My heart did a little back flip. This is my favorite city in all of the country, my dad's hometown. Though discovering new places is thrilling, I cannot resist the lure of this place I have come to love as my second home.

From my window seat on the plane, I could see the long stretch of beach to my right where we spent many memorable Easter breaks. To the left was the runway we were heading for that jutted out into the water. That extended stretch of tarmac meant planes no longer had to screech to a stop within 2 seconds of touchdown. Now they can ease up a little and do it in 5. That extended stretch also meant we lost our little spot on the rocks at the edge of the original strip where we spent many nights stargazing and boozing up on rum cokes (the 'state drink').

It had been three years, but it may as well have been twenty. The airport was exactly the same. I walked on the blazing hot tarmac alongside the cart which held our luggage. There are no carousels here, just strong armed porters who take your claim tags and join the pack to rummage through the rising pile of bags on the floor.

At this point, as is always the case, the constant process of bumping into familiar faces in this small town begins. I counted three. It wasn’t officially Holy Week yet, after all. The throngs of people were not expected until the next day. My cousin was already outside, ready to whisk us off to our first order of the day, the Malatapay wednesday market. This was my special request and the reason I groggily stumbled out of bed at the ungodly hour of 5 am to catch the first flight.

I don’t remember precisely when I was at Malatapay last since it was so long ago, but I remember it well. Experiences like that are not so easily forgotten. Often when you revisit a place from your childhood, you are startled by how much smaller it seems to have become. Not this time.

Malatapay is located about 20 minutes south of Dumaguete in the town of Zamboanguita. On a regular day it is a relatively quiet patch of coconut trees and huts and a beach that serves as the jump off point for Apo Island. It is in the middle of the week when it springs to life, and like a sleeping giant whose slumber is disturbed, it awakens with a roar and rages on all day.

Apo Island in the distance

You can’t miss the junction of Malatapay. The first sign are the long lines of trucks and side cars parked carelessly on both sides of the highway. More trucks being loaded with cattle and then we arrive at the entrance to Malatapay. Locals, tourists, animals, pedicabs spill out from the now cemented path that leads through the market and down to the beach. My cousin slowly steers the car into this sea of chaos, careful not to harm any stray goats or pigs in the process, and immediately we are in the thick of it. I stare through the window in disbelief. When did it get so big?

No place for an animal lover like me

We finally get to the makeshift parking area where we parked under the shade of coconut trees and next to a man napping on the roof of his jeep which had a sullen looking cow tied to it’s rear. I walked over to a colorful display of native bags, hats and slippers and notice that here the crowd has thinned slightly. My ears pick up loud noises. I follow the noise with my eyes beyond the hanging abaca bags to a coconut grove where, apparently, the livestock auction is taking place. I see a large group of ranchers who appear to be shouting at once, standing amidst cows, pigs, goats and, is that a horse I see?

I bought the bulad (dried fish) on the bottom right picture for bacalao

You see that bread on the upper right?

That's tuba bread made with tuba (alcoholic drink from coconuts),

it's very dense, sweet and so so good !

We retrace our steps back down the path we came from this time on foot, eyeing the items proudly displayed for sale (or barter). People from neighboring towns, from villages up in the mountains and even from nearby islands bring their products here so there is a wide variety of items. Aside from the usual fare of fresh fish and meats, you there are also grains and feeds, dried fish, dried tobacco leaves, knives, ropes, mats, live chickens, produce, kitchenware, native handicrafts, farming implements, fishing implements, bread, shoes, and clothes. Somehow I was surprised, and yet not really, to see pirated DVD’s for sale, complete with a 14 inch TV for testing.

"Kitchen and dining"

The further down we went and nearer to the highway, the tighter it got and we found ourselves tiptoeing over stuff laid out on mats just to save our hiney from being run down by a truck or headbutted by a furious goat. Along the way, we shop for our lunch then head back towards the water to the shaded “dining area” where my cousin’s husband (incidentally, my source for the kinilaw recipe) has reserved us a table. He brings out his “sushi kit” and ceremoniously unzips it revealing the contents. From within he pulls out metal chopsticks which he distributes, cute little fish-shaped dishes, a bottle of pickled ginger, soy sauce, some calamansi (native citrus) and a tube of wasabi. This is so like him! He has the man there slice up some tuna for sashimi and instructs him on how to clean it.

fresh tuna sashimi

I see a lechon (roast pig) with skin that glistened in the sun, I could almost hear the skin crackling. I couldn't resist so I go buy some for our group of ten. We hand over our clams and fish to the manang for cooking and order some liempo (more pork!). These are brought over with mounds of rice and some beers. I sink my toes into the sand and my teeth into one of the most delightful meals I’ve had in a long time. Ahhhh...the island life! :)

Clams on the grill

Oink!

Cute local who was sitting at the next table
I loved her pose and couldn't resist taking a picture. :)

You can read my previous post about Dumaguete here.

Dumaguete and the now controversial budbud kabog

Leave it to Marketman to have the patience, determination and passion to make his own budbud kabog when no one else will. And being the generous man that he is, he even gives a blow by blow account of the whole learning process on his blog for the benefit of his readers, carefully detailing his mistakes and findings. What would we do without him?

Unfortunately, his post ruffled some feathers and took an ugly turn. How something so unassuming and which can trace its heritage to "the city of gentle people" can cause such a brouhaha could only be the result of a grave misunderstanding. But faster than you could say Makabuang gyud! (it's driving me crazy!- or something like that) it was all sorted.

Budbud kabog is a native delicacy similar to suman (sweet, sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves) but made from millet which is a whole grain used to make bread like chapatti and roti. In some Eastern European and African countries, millet is also used in porridge and as baby food. It has a sweet, nutty flavor and is known to be rich in fiber, vitamins and phytochemicals. One of those rare food that's both tasty and good for you!

My grandmother's house on the boulevard

I had been meaning to wax poetic about the budbud kabog and Dumaguete (my dad's hometown) for a long time now and was finally prompted by MM's recent posts. For me these two go together like peanut butter & jelly, like bagels & cream cheese, like Louisiana & crawfish, like Captain & Tennille, like ramma lamma lamma ka dinga da dinga dong chang chang changity chang shoo bop..... sorry got carried away there heehee. What I'm trying to say is, I can't think of one without thinking of the other.

top and bottom photos: typical day on Rizal Boulevard.

Both photos taken right across my grandmother's house

Ever since I can remember, every summer that I spent in Dumsville, we had an abundant supply of budbud kabog in Mamaita's house (that's what we called our grandmother).We always looked forward to that so she made sure there was plenty. We would have it for breakfast or merienda (afternoon snack) and unlike other sumans which I prefer to eat with some sugar , this is perfect as is.

I don't get to spend summers there like I used to for months at a time, but I still try to visit when I can. It is my favorite city in the whole country, naturally because it holds so many memories for me, but also for so much more than that.

The people are amazingly gentle, the seafood is fishing-net-fresh, the food in general is delectable, the beaches and waterfalls are exquisite, the pace is very laid-back, and the overall atmosphere is one of lazy charm. For many tourists, the lure of Dumaguete is the outdoors. So if scuba diving, snorkling, dolphin or whale-watching, caving, trekking, fishing, golf or just plain lounging and perfecting that tan is your thing then this is the place to be. Oh and by the way, if you are ever in town, make sure to visit Sans Rival on San Jose st., birthplace of the House of Sylvanas. Every afternoon we walked the 2 blocks there for our daily dose of sans rival or sylvanas. Just thinking about those slices of heaven is making me drool.

the sandbar in Campuyo at high tide

Mamaita was a wonderful cook! She was famous for her homemade chorizo (I vividly remember playing with those dried intestine casings, wrapping it around my neck like it was a feather boa and strutting my stuff on a pretend catwalk), bacalao, leche flan, callos, fabada, salchichon de pili and native delicacies like pichi-pichi to name a few.

She was also a very passionate woman who possessed admirable business acumen. With these qualities, it was inevitable it seems that she would go on to build and operate one of Dumaguete's hotel resorts, the North Pole. When I took a chance and looked it up on the net, I came upon this book written by Tara FT Sering which has a reference to the hotel. I thought that was pretty cool! :)

The hotel was soon followed by a restaurant of the same name along the boulevard (now named Mamia by the present owners). The hotel didn't last very long as tourism in Negros Oriental at that time was still pretty much non-existent. The restaurant, on the other hand, lasted much longer. It was a favorite hangout for my cousins and I because we had "signing privileges". The ballrooms of both the hotel and the restaurant were venues for many disco parties during my sister's time and my time. It was always so much fun because (or should i say despite the fact that) we were related to 95% of the people there. Not surprising as I think I'm related to most of the city's population!

Although my uncle still sends the occasional budbud kabog (and chorizo) packages, discovering it in the Salcedo Saturday Market c/o the Van Hovens was serendipity! I loved that I could get it so conveniently. Most of the time, I'd get there too late and all that would be left are the other flavored budbuds. Although they were certainly delicious as well, it was the bk I was after. So I persisted, trying to drag my sleepy butt out of bed earlier every Saturday, hoarding enough for myself and the rest of my family much to my dad's delight. Soon after I found the same stall in the Legaspi Sunday Market with an abundant supply this time.

If you live in Manila and have not yet tried budbud kabog, go go go! and make a beeline for them at the markets this weekend. I do suggest going very early though, as I'm sure MM's readers are planning on doing just that! :)