IT HAS BEEN, for me, failsafe and foolproof to always carry my paraprayernalia when I travel wherever. My treasury of prayers reassures that any travel is light. And right.
Therefore, I made sure that the Divine Mercy Chaplet (from Ate Amy), Rosary (from UtoLiza), and Novena to St. Joseph (from Kuya Boni) were in my suitcase before I left the house to join Joy, my niece, and my other niece Nette, and their brothers, my nephews, in our flight to Cagayan de Oro. But before that, the back story.
The original plan was Bicol (Legazpi, to be exact) which was hatched when they invited me to join their outing again (after the Ciudad Villa caper) on the 40th day since Ate Hermie, my cousin their Mom, passed. Being my first foray into their fun-filled bonding, my senior stamina for libation could not keep up with their stupendous capacity for drinking me under the table. Even submerging in the pool every now and then could not help me hold my liquor. So I was an “uwihi” without as much as a by-their-leave. Apparently, even with my disappearing act, they liked my company. Ergo, the invite to reunite with majestic Mt. Mayon.
But Murphy being a law, Noy Peter’s Kia broke down and would not be fixed in time for the trip. His other van could not accommodate us all so Bicol was cancelled. Then GeneRummuell Perez and his family offered an alternative – their recently obtained Cala-Cala Resort in Cagayan de Oro. Perfect place for the cousins – and their tag-alongs (me, particularly!) included. Noy Peter shocked me with the news at the reception of Baby Atom Rivera’s baptism and, before I could recover, booked my ticket. The rest is a euphoric weeklong history.
Untechie, I was thankful they were with me whenever the submission of digital requirements arose. On one hand, this is my first air travel since I quit overseas employment ages ago. On the other, we hurdled the domestic airport protocol easily but we never expected stringent boarding procedures at the pier going to Camiguin but this is going ahead of the CDO leg.
Rummuell’s (Nong to his cousins, my blood kins) welcome transport was waiting when we emerged out of Laguindingin airport. Amid our cheerful, interminable chatter, we boarded and prepared to put up with the ride that would be longer than our flight. I have learned to appreciate my no-dull moment company so the two-hour-trip was a cinch (albeit ass-softening). That GenNong’s (my coined endearment for this unassuming military) resort was not a palatial place did not disappoint. It only confirmed his upright reputation which is a rarity nowadays, especially in the armed forces, although he is already retired. His repute not only preceded him; our driver, a soldier, was of a character akin to his master. He was taking us to the resort for the first time but only asked for directions (from GenNong himself on the phone) when we were already near the destination. Halfway through the trip, we were stopped at a checkpoint. We were anxious that, because Chachi and Ella, our bubbly overgrown babies (other than the real ones Ember and Atchoy) were huddled in the front seat, we might be overloaded. But the sentry simply asked for his driver’s ID, inquired where we’re headed and, their soldierspeak done, let us through.
But back to upright, the resort is still underdeveloped, being just recently purchased from the Norweigian owner and his Filipino wife, but did not preclude GenNong and wife Amabel, sons Niño and Buds, and sibling Baby, from extending an invite for his cousins to visit. (We’d soon find out that his aunts Bina, Emma, and Nena, siblings of his Mom Rose, were also guests.) If that’s not reception, call me a curmudgeon. No one was certainly expecting Ritzy accomodations but the sea alone was sufficient to soothe the slack land travel took. (Personally, it proved to be a balm whenever I’d rise at dawn to say my lauds, its gentle slap-slapping sound counterpointing the chirping of early birds and occasional drizzles.) I’d have tossed and turned in my bed if we were treated like royalty. Nothing really beats family. The warm welcome did not wear out until our last night. But I’m not going there yet.
The Binalongan Pier part of our staycation tried to dampen the situation but Noy Nolan didn’t let it. Cool, collected, and assuming captainship of the clan, he took charge of what could have been a killer of joy but turned out to be, clearly, a continuing enforcement of pandemic protocol. It was understandable for Peter (laden with moody Marie and charming Cassandra, who sometimes sympathizes with her elder sister and joins her mood swings; half of his parental patience is credited to Arianne) to exclaim the rules are not tourist friendly (the others agreeing albeit saying they are more hungry than angry) but Nolan would not budge so made Shakespeare proud that all ended well. The only apparent fly in the ointment was that we were falsely warned that alcoholic beverages would be confiscated on the ferry (they were not) so Boyet and I had to leave our bottles with Inday at the eatery. Nolan lucked out in that he forgot that he, too, had a bottle with him, and brought it back undrunk. As a token of appreciation, I gave Inday the bottle of Lime Juice, which she appreciated as storage fee.
Yet I insist that my first-ever ferry ride was significant. The Ro-Ro (roll-on roll-off sea transport) had 3 decks; we tried all and settled on the topmost where there was a full view of the sea; we all retired to the floor on the return sail. My Ro-Ro ride was well worth it in that a ship is not so distant a prospect and makes my ultimate Holy Land dream slowly assume optimism.
Amabel (GenNong’s gracious wife) was up to see us off. With the GeneRummuell’s Family, you forget that Cala-Cala (or any other part of Cagayan de Oro) is sleepy (especially the soporific sea). Their disarming hospitality and infectious enthusiasm kept us alive and awake all the while we were snugly holed up in their haven.
Basically, our drinking sessions were rife with reminiscences of the past (which I could relate to even if I was vaguely a part of it, my age being of Glenn’s bracket), essentially essaying the wild oats they sowed. One memorable night gathered us in GenNong’s garage, his spanking videoke allowing us to exhibit the bloodline’s vocal chops but, in the end, conceding that only Joy’s youthful covers can match the owner’s new-wave renditions.
The bonfire drink-out on the beach deck was a riot. Artist Noy Boyet acted out an executioner’s role to Ella’s virginal sacrifice. To the delight of the libating spectators. Even Cha, Mabel, and Ate Fe could not contain their hilarity.
Moving on, Hidden Suites was a low-budget hotel Noy Nolan was resourceful enough to discover. Its owner was low-keyed Teddy, whom we mistook for the maitrê D for he was so efficient yet simple. And humble as to personally deliver the gas tank when the kitchen ran out. He also owned nearby Alex Restaurant, where we dined that night to celebrate Cassandra’s second birth anniversary.
Aside from producing the inarguably sweetest lanzones in the country, Camiguin boasts of White Island, a sand bar that is visibly white at low tide, and ideal for snorkeling (which Coach Nolan and wards Cha and Ella did) and surfing, which we didn’t have time (for some, talent) for. No worries, a human drone of a photographer regaled us with his trick shots. Which made us recall the lady tourist guide at the Hibok-Hibok Church Ruins whose forte was vertical panoramic photography.
Mention must be made of Malaybalay, Bukidnon, in particular its veritable bestseller, Dahilayan’s 20-hectare Forest Park (said to be owned by the Paras Family). I ditched the rides and feasted on the climate and scenery, which was curiously cold and pine-tree plenty, like Baguio. I was with Mabel, GenNong’s Mom and her three sisters, and Ate Fe, their in-law, and we made do with the owner’s vintage car collection while Manay Nena kept busy selfieing with the life-sized animals about the area.
On the way out, with lunch as the foremost focus, GenNong took us to Del Monte Plantation Restaurant fronting a members-only Golf Course. Mabel thought that they left Batik, their cuddly Princess Shi Tzu, in the car. She quickly dashed to the counter, asked if he may be brought in, and was relieved that they saw no reason to object. Mabel’s convincing powers entitle her to sell airconditioners in Alaska. All told, the steak house thankfully had noodles on the menu some of us preferred the Pinoy staple to the gouty specialty.
I cannot forget, however, the banana plantation we passed, the orchard field bursting with fruits, oddly wrapped in blue covering. Forgettable because the pineapple chunks they served were only a mite less sweet than the Camiguin lanzones.
Our homeward flight was early the Perezes assigned us to their house in the city proper. In deference to their solicitousness, we made our last night libation-less. Especially since they appointed a barbecue – without the bubbly – for our dinner place.
Expectedly, the flight to Manila was less noisy and bereft of expectation (in Noy Nolan’s words, “back to (ab)normal.” We parted at EDSA and I lugged my suitcase listlessly until I arrived home.
In the toilet (only one of my prayer places), the thought of inheritance insisted as a spur, too precious not to pursue, so I put up with it. The thought had to do with the just concluded staycation in the Perez’ paradise. I was, like, thankful my poor parents did not leave us anything rich except my Dad’s literary legacy and my Mom’s Madrid blood. Because I am able to write about my amazing nephews and nieces (and their influence on the integrity of their similarly moral relations, recently evidenced by our hosts, the incredibly hospitable Perez Family), and the continuing overflow of the saucer I’m drinking from.
Like Noy Peter said (and I’m still choking up with it), each member completes the components of family. His sentiment is echoed by Glenn, Henry, Nette, Benjie, Boyet, Nolan, and Joy. And shared by the world that their generosity touches only always.
This gem of a gargantuan germ will pleasantly haunt me for the rest of my senior stay in this beautifully blessed earth.
Amen.