Good Morning Vietnam, Day 1

We—my husband Nubs, daughter Indie, friend Rosene and myself—landed in HCMC at midnight. Masks on our faces, we went from immigration to baggage briskly and proceeded to get ourselves some dong. It was actually a lot of dong, no loads of it! I exchanged a couple hundred USDs and became an instant millionaire three times over and more!
We were collected at the airport by the driver of a local travel agency and immediately transported to our 2-star hotel along Mac Thi Buoi St. in the Dong Khoi area in District 1. I discovered Thang Long through the internet and chose it over many other budget hotels simply because it was negative review-free on Trip Advisor and other similar sites. Our room, bathroom included, was spotless when we arrived. It was cramped but it was cheap so no one complained.

We unpacked, slept around 2 am Vietnam time (1 hour later than Philippine time) and woke up by 10. Complimentary breakfast, on the top floor, was a choice between bread or pho, plus a drink. Save for the bread which was very good, it was nothing great but filling enough.
We walked along Dong Khoi. This was roughly equivalent to our Makati as opposed to Pham Ngu Lao, the backpackers' district that was more like our Ermita. By Makati, I meant the Sheraton was there; there was a Gucci, a Versace, a Marc Jacobs and a Louis Vuitton among others; the restos were on the uppity side, with food prices more or less similar to those in Greenbelt; there were rows upon rows of mid- to high-brow shops selling embroidered accessories, art, apparel, silk scarves and ethnic bags among others.Of course, Ho Chi Minh was, correct me if I'm wrong, about two or three decades lagging behind us. Our MOAs, Gloriettas and Ayala Avenue skyscrapers were unheard of in these parts. All the same, HCMC was not provincial, possessing a touristy bustle that seemed both healthy and promising.
For lunch, we walked thru a dark alley of a hundred parked motorcycles you'd think this was the hideout of some Vespa mafia. It was deceiving, naturally, for hidden in this alley was a classy Thai restaurant with gorgeous Old World interiors and world-class cuisine. We had Catfish Salad (with green mangoes on top), Vegetables with Grilled Pork, Red Chicken Curry and sticky rice to go with everything. Deeeeelicious!

We spent our first afternoon in the city in Ben Thanh market where we bought an ao dai and traditional Vietnamese hat for Indie and souvenirs to bring home. Haggling was the norm. It paid to pretend to walk away to get the price you wanted or at least close to it. Generally, it was cheaper to buy from outside stalls where they sold goods at fixed prices versus those inside where everything was more expensive—I think it didn't matter if you haggled hard for them.
From Ben Thanh, we moved to Saigon Square for the overrun selection the prices of which, according to Rosene who was there three years ago, rose in direct proportion to HCMC's popularity among tourists. Oh, by the way, cab-hopping within District 1 should cost you 12,000 dong only, anywhere higher than that and you probably flagged a not-so-scrupulous taxi driver.

It rained in the middle of the afternoon so the night was thankfully cool. We had dinner at a restaurant aptly called Vietnam House that catered to a Caucasian market. There was a certain grandeur to the place: high ceilings, chandeliers, yellow hotel-ish lighting, ambient indigenous music played by a group of four ladies in national costume.

We had spicy beef pho, prawns in honey and grilled pork chop. The meal was soooo good but hey, what could we expect from people who once hosted former Presidents Cory Aquino of the Philippines and George Bush of the USofA!

Dessert was Banoffee Pie in Jaspas, a few blocks from Vietnam House in the company of two of Rosene's Saigon-based Filipino friends. The pie was fantastic, rivalled only by the banoffees of the now closed Area Café back Home.

After dinner, Rosene and friends headed for a night of clubbing in Pham Ngu Lao while Nubs, Indie and myself walked backed to our hotel to let the little tourist rest. Good night, Vietnam....

The Thing About Flying on a Budget

Our trip to Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC) was our first time to fly on a budget airline. It was one of those major Cebu Pacific seat sales that I chanced upon three months ago while surfing the net. Total for the three of us, my husband Nubs and our four-year old Indie, was just a little over Php14,000. So, together with our good friend Rosene, we grabbed the offer like a lifesaver to a drowning man. And it was a breeze! I could get addicted to online booking, really.

We were to depart at 11 o'clock p.m. at the recently opened NAIA 3. The flow from travel tax payment to check-in to terminal fee payment to immigration was confusing. Order was simply not the order of the day. We had to walk back and forth from one counter to another. It was a good thing we were two hours early and there were very few travelers to congest the place.

Apart from the lateness of the flight which was not very ideal when venturing out of the country with a little person, we soon found out the inconvenient truth about cheap fares. It took Indie but a few minutes on her chair to realize that these seats were certainly designed without comfort in mind. And the legroom? Maybe those people who built planes like this forgot one important thing—passengers do have legs.

Now the pilot seemed to know a great deal about what he was doing. We landed on Vietnam soil smoothly and thirty minutes ahead of schedule. We were quite impressed, aching backs, calves and all.

P.S. After the plane ride, the mere mention of the word "airport" sent Indie into fits of crying and I had to ask her repeatedly what was wrong, to which she finally answered, "The airplane was too small!"

So, is this the end of budget flying for us? It all depends... on the budget. Seriously.

Where Did That Come From?

In the car on our way to lunch with my nephews who came all the way from Batangas...

ME (38): Where do you want to eat guys?

MOJO (7): McDonald’s—

BUBBI (11): Hey, we didn’t go this far just to eat at McDo!
                  (pregnant pause)
      I learned that from my fat ass dad!

Okay, so where did that come from?

To Be Brit Or Not To Be Brit

If I were given a second chance and a second choice at my race, maybe I'd pick to be Brit. They brought us New Wave for Christ's sakes! (Can you honestly imagine growing up in the 80s without punk rock?) And the Beatles before that! And there's Hugh Grant. Plus Jim Sturgess. And for many others, Robert Pattinson. And who doesn't love Brit humor? Think Notting Hill, Bridget Jones, and, yes, Simon Cowell. And never forget about the bloody accent. Isn't it lovely?

But coming from yesterday, I am only too happy there are no such things as second chances and second choices at race. The Brits have all of the above alright, but they do not have Manny Pacquiao.

PacMan Proud

We have been called a lot of things. Maids (by the Webster dictionary and, most recently, by a HongKong-based writer). Petty thieves. Mail order brides. One cannot blame our Filipino brothers abroad for sometimes having feelings of shame about the race they are born with. No, it's not because of the domestic helpers, the internet brides, the petty thieves. It's the bigger thieves sitting in positions of power in their homeland, hounding them with news of corruption even as they work their butts off in strange lands because their country cannot provide for them.


Today, Pinoys all over the globe should savor the moment. They should go out in the streets and tell everyone they come across with they are Filipinos—with pride, without the old feelings of inferiority, without bowed heads and downcast eyes. They should do it now. While the victory is still fresh. While the world is still in awe. And at the end of the day, they should thank God for men like Manny Pacquiao.

Pinoy Food Lab

Since the New Year kicked off I have been experimenting on my favorite Filipino dishes guided by a cookbook I inherited from my sister Odie who is blessed with loads of talent in the kitchen, who in turn inherited this talent from an old maid aunt who passed away long before the "birthing" of my so-called interest in cooking.

The recipes are simple and idiot-proof, thank God, that even kitchen ignoramuses like me have no recourse but to do everything right. The only drawback here is that everything is written in Filipino—Tagalog, actually—and I have, on several occasions, encountered unfamiliar words that I just try to decipher through the context that they are used. Of course, it doesn't help to have an Ilonggo for a husband. 

My first attempt was the picadillo. It's a dish of Latin American origin that has been Filipinized by Maya (meaning, the olives, capers and chili have been omitted) and family-ized by Odie who added malunggay for nutiritional value.  

The almondigas was not entirely new to me. I tried cooking it as a college kid but it never turned out great. I'm proud to say things have changed for the better...

My nilagang baka was good enough except that we had quite a hard time chewing the beef. My fault. I should have used the pressure cooker but I had no idea how it worked!

My pork sinigang was better than all my other experiments. Yum!  

But my twice-cooked adobo was the best of them all! The toasted garlic were so delicious I couldn't believe I ate them!

Now I think I'm beginning to fall in love with my lab. And the conclusion? I'm slowly losing my fear of the kitchen but surely gaining weight in the process!

Two Negatives Do Not Make A Positive...

Never mind the mathematical equation. And that rule on English grammar.


The fact is I am not pregnant. About that I am positive.