Alright, one last post from the Philippines before shooting over to Singapore.

As I mentioned a couple posts ago, the trip to the southern island of Mindanao to visit the place my parents married went south due to a bout of food poisoning.  Still, I thought I’d show a few pics anyway.  Some they took back in the 60’s.  Some I took this week.  Here they are with the priest:

And here’s the view out my hotel room window of a cement wall–the extent of my sightseeing once the food poisoning kicked in:

Here they are at the site of the wedding:

For some strange reason it was at an orphanage.  Even my mom doesn’t quite remember why.  She does remember though that prior to the wedding the priest made my father go in for confession.  Apparently he was in there longer than expected.

Here’s the view out my door:

There’s my mom having a post-wedding dip near Davao:

 

Here’s me at the Davao airport where I caught my two hour flight back to Manila after having seen none of the places I set out for in Mindanao:

Oh well.  Sponteneity can work both ways.

On the plus side, I’m eating solid food again.  Albeit, I’m a little gun-shy about what I put in my mouth.  Not gun-shy enough though…seeing as I tried Comote Durian Roll.  It’s a local dessert that looked benign enough but turned out to be quite possibly…no make that…the absolute, clear-cut, not an argument to be had, most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.  I could French-kiss your dog right now, and be happier than if I had another serving of the stuff. 

But I recommend it. 

Really.

I mean, sometimes something can be so supernova bad, that it has to be tried.  Like watching a terrible, yet oddly addicting B-movie you can’t turn off.  You’ll be hard pressed to find something as horrid tasting as this; I promise.  I mean, it has to be a joke pulled on tourists.  Has to.  It was like eating old sock-infused playdoh (and I don’t mean to be slagging Filipino food.  In general, the food’s been delicious).

It was so bad that I asked the waiter to write the name of it so I wouldn’t forget.  To my horror though, he took this to mean I must love it and he told the cook who immediately sent me out a second serving on the house.  She was so pleased I was enjoying it, because, well, actually none of the tourist usually like it. 

What could I do?

I put my head down, dug in, and finished off my second plate of old sock playdoh.

—

Back to their wedding… 

Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of the telegram they apparently sent to tell my mom’s parents that she was going to be getting married on short notice halfway around the world.  I like to think it went something like: 

“Just Married.  Stop.  No, not Bill.  Stop.  A Mexican dude.  In the Philippines.  Stop.  Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?  Stop”

I do have the first note Hector Senior wrote to my mom’s parents’ a few weeks after the wedding that starts off:

“I am sorry I haven’t written you before as I should.  I suppose that you are my first in-laws isn’t really an excuse, but…”

Not bad when you crack wise in your second or third language.

All in all I loved the Philippines.  Knowing it was where they married and started their time together, made it a place that stood out in my mind all these years.  I’m a little bummed I didn’t get to see where specifically they were married but I met a ton of fun Filipinos and had one crazy night of gambling around the outskirts of Manila that I think the old man would have gotten a kick out of. 

And besides…there’s always next time.