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On caparisoned elephants who marked the path with giant mounds of “ellie dung”, we made our way up through the 7 kilometer-fortress walls passing the Sun Gate till the courtyard of Amber Fort. Swaying left to right then back, I dared not use my monopad for some selfie shots for fear I’d drop it in that noble beast’s mound. Yay!

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Most everyone seems to be having a great time. Giggling as they “slide” while the ellie sways, on this square space atop the beast that seats 2 people. I had a good look on the beast’s painted face and felt guilty. I bet these animals didn’t relish all these facepainting. Nor did they enjoy going back and forth through the serpentine cobbled pathways and ramparts ferrying camera-toting tourists from all corners of the world

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High up on a hill, this 17th century fortress palace in terracotta looks impenetrable. Absolutely a top attraction of Jaipur although it is situated in Amer a town some 11 kilometers from Jaipur, the Pink City. Inside, there are halls with ornamented pillars, doors made of sandalwood and ivory, beautiful mosaic work in glass.

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The story goes that the beloved queen loves starwatching so much that the King had the Sheesh Mahal built. This top attraction and many visitors’ favorite has walls and ceilings carved with beautiful flowers made of pure glass. Thus, a singular light — like from a candle — is reflected around the Hall like thousands of stars.

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Wow, you can say the Mughal Emperor Akbar knew how to live once you get here. But then of course, what do you expect from this great man with over 300 wives? Nearly one for each night of the year! But I do wonder about the lives led by the wives and concubines. What occupies their minds? How do they spend their time in this royal fortress- residence? I bet there’s a book to read about this. Curious, Curious!

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Some photos on this spread were grabbed from the albums of Maricel and Chit. Thank you, dear friends.


Soon after breakfast, we drove from Delhi to Jaipur, the Pink City. All of 6 hours. Bad for my back. Thank God lunch did not disappoint. Amidst all the hassle, dust and dirt of Jaipur is this oasis for the soul. Completely unexpected and charming, you forget all that rubbish as soon as you climb up to enter the gardens. Hey, the air suddenly smells differently here as if one’s transported to another part of the world. A world so self-contained, nearly intimate.

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We were tired. We were hungry. But the charming elegance of the nearly two centuries-old Samode Haveli made us forget about our grumbling bellies. This royal family manor is now a luxury boutique hotel that blends Rajasthani and Mughal art and architecture. I hear the 1984 hit HBO TV serial adaptation of the novel “The Far Pavilions” was filmed here and in the Samode Palace. I’ve read the book but remember more the Omar Shariff and Christopher Lee-starrer.

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The courtyard garden is pretty at noontime. I can just imagine how lovely it looks by nightfall with lighted corners and illuminated pomegranate and jasmine trees. I can likewise imagine the flowery aroma wafting through the garden with every passing breeze. A patio looks out to this garden, and it looks every inch stylishly elegant and atmospheric.

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The dining hall evokes a royal ambience with its ornate, handpainted murals from floor to ceiling. My, those are damn good artisans! The colors remain bright and vibrant, and I wonder how much restoration work was done here, if any. I would have felt quite happy just being here and settling for “mediocre hotel food” but I was in for a pleasant surprise.

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A buffet of seriously ethnic and authentic Indian cuisine satiated our senses even before our spoons and forks reached our mouths. Maybe we were really hungry. Famished even. But I know my dahl and mutton curry. And I had my best dahl (lentils) and mutton curry in this place. There was a good selection of flat breads, chutneys, the ubiquitous palak paneer (a popular spinach-based vegetarian dish) which I love.

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By the time we rolled out of the former royal dining hall, we were simply too happy. Our senses were completely satiated. Food for the soul; bellies fed. NAMASTE!

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Slept after a leisurely walk around the pond and the pool from where the illuminated City Palace — now part Museum, part Hotel — stands in view across silvery Lake Pichola. After a gruelling bus ride from Johdpur through Raknapur to more quiet, cleaner Udaipur, I felt soooo rewarded with a most comfortable sleep. Can’t even recall if I managed to switch off the TV, but I do remember staring blankly from the room window and waking up to the same majestic view this early morning.

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The birds woke me up as they chorused around the Lily Pond made even more famous in the 1983 James Bond film “Octopussy”. Too late for yoga lessons now as I went in search of my new friends. I can do with some stretching and more relaxation but it can wait till tomorrow morn. The Octopussy pond with all the chirping birds beckons and I promptly obliged.

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Praveen and Lekha of Taj Lake Palace Hotel are my new friends. You know you get good service when you sit under one of those colorful umbrella tents by the pond and someone quietly serves you your double espresso without being told. You linger longer without going in to check the breakfast buffet and you’re presented with a bread basket, jams and marmalade. A menu was left on my table, where I easily picked Eggs Benedict to start my day. No one pushed me to get more from the sumptuous breakfast buffet. Praveen and Lekha knew I was savoring the moment. My friends either still asleep or stretching on the rooftop terrace while catching the morning breeze. Me? I enjoyed the solitude. Praveen and Lekha, good early morn companions, should there be any need for human interaction.

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By the 2nd morning, I was ready for yoga lessons and a full breakfast after. Someone has already claimed my fav prized spot by the pond but I found a choice seat inside with a full view of the lake and this long boat in vibrant red nearly framed by the arched window. Post-yoga, I was famished. Couldn’t decide between an Indian brekkie or Continental fare, so I had both. Poori, that deep-fried unleavened bread, all crispy and golden, and all those excellent dips compete with my fav cheeses and cold cuts. Happiness. Gluttony wins!

Poori!

Poori!

Fresh Almonds for Brekkie! lavash and some cold cuts and cheese.

Fresh Almonds for Brekkie! lavash and some cold cuts and cheese.

My only regret here in Taj Lake Palace was dining in the same dining outlet for breakfast and dinner. There is this posh Indian Restaurant within the hotel that I should have tried. Plus I should have ordered a bottle of wine (rather than my beer) till I’m so drunk I’d crawl back to my hotel room via this long corridor mindful I don’t stray and fall into the pond. Pipe dreams!

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Lovely morns at The Taj.

Lovely morns at The Taj.


I love to read, write and listen. A good story is never wasted on me. But sometimes, I am simply overwhelmed by the truth. That’s when incredulous me sneaks in. And it happened a lot in India. 

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Or perhaps the many truths about the Indian way of life compel me to overthink and digest each and every morsel of truth at times so incongruous with modern times and practices. Like I can’t help feeling pity for the poor Indian widows left at the mercy of parents and inlaws, at times reduced to praying at the temple for a measly sum of 7 rupees. Or dealing with 20,000 rats in a Rat Temple (we didn’t go there, but shrieked just the same at this trivia). Twenty thousand! Must be some maternity hospital for busy, pregnant mice. Our guide said that when one dies in the village, a new mouse is born. Really. Another story goes that a sickly child fully recovered soon after drinking milk from the same milk plate fed to the temple rats. Incredible!

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And how about those burning bodies sent afloat in the Ganges River where many faithful bathe themselves and more? Was the tradition an offshoot of this beautiful lady (Ganga) who threw all her 7 babies (believed to be demons) into the same waters? So many tales. So many traditions. Cultural practices preserved through many generations.

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In a country where eunuchs are commissioned to bless houses, Incredulous Me gaped in misbelief upon learning that some men actually undergo surgery to be a eunuch. Eunuchs NOT by birth, but via surgery? How could anyone even consider chopping off that part of the body, pray tell? Why would someone wish to acquire such unfortunate deformity? Do these eunuchs truly absorb all negative vibes like a magnet for ills and misfortunes? (The idea is for them eunuchs to rid or bless the house free of bad luck)

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Then there’s the Jains. Followers of Jainism believe every living thing has a divine soul. They don’t venture out of the house come nighttime for fear they’d step on a bug or any living thing. When we reached Raknapur’s Jain Temple — marvelous marble temple where no 2 pillars are the same — we had to leave all leather stuff because they come from cattle or some other animal.

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My, so many stories. I’d add more here as I remember more. Meanwhile, let me review my notes on KAMASUTRA. KAMA = love. SUTRA = tied together. Kamasutra = 84 ways to express love. And they say it’s NOT all about SEX. Dim lights. Love sounds. Longer kisses. Think EmperorAkbar with his more than 300 wives. AHEM.

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I feel useless with my cam. No photo does justice to the vision in front of me. Incredible India, indeed. The monarchs of the olden days then had it real good. The fortresses, palaces, temples as well as the erotic imagery expressed in some architectural bits, friezes, and at times, columns all point to a royal’s life of leisure and pleasure.

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Pure hedonism? Who’s to say? Based on what I’m seeing now, I see EXTREMES. Dirt. Poverty. Even negligence? Juxtaposed against the remains of a palace’s grandeur. Incredible indeed. In India, there’s symmetry even in the prevalent chaos. I need to brace myself for the next few days’ surprises.

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From the time we waited for our small boat that ferried us to our palace hotel in the middle of Lake Pichola to the moment we rested our backs in beds inside rooms with windows facing the City Palace across the lake till the time we ungrudgingly woke up for early morning yoga sessions….. it was dreamland.

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Built in 1746 on a 4-acre rock foundation, it was initially called Jag Niwas. Its founder Jagat Singh intended this architectural masterpiece as a resort palace for his descendants. In 1961, this white-washed island palace on a manmade lake was converted into a luxury resort and expanded in 1971 to house 83 rooms. Undeniably among India’s best, it is now ranked among the world’s top 10 hotels.

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It’s hard to describe our Taj Lake Palace experience without sounding like it’s an exaggeration. I confess I was so looking forward to a luxurious experience…… and got it! Upon arrival, we were accompanied to our room and shown around in a hushed, low key, quiet elegance. On our way to our room on the 2nd floor, we could hear the birds flitting from one tree branch to another, reminding us to proceed with serenity. I knew then I would want to stay longer than the 2 nights we booked here!

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Watch this page. The Taj Lake Palace Hotel adventure continues. (Thanks Ernie Albano & Bien Anupol for a couple of photos on this spread)

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My second morning here. Another glorious day in Incredible India. Perfectly timed while I turned 60+1 in this Pink City of Jaipur where Maharajas of the Mewar Dynasty once lived. You may ask: Maharaja (Sanskrit)  or Maharana (Hindi)? Both mean “great king” or “high king”.  In my book, either refer to royalty. The Mewar Dynasty is one of the oldest dynasties in the world, having produced 75 rulers from 600 AD to 1947. Quite a feat, especially with the many forts and palaces built during their reign. But what history lessons for the young Indians. I couldn’t even remember a few monarchs’ names, so I can imagine how nerve-wracking it is for Indian youth to review their history lessons. 

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The Lake Palace. In JAIPUR. Lovely, isn’t it?

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The highlight of today’s trip is the ride on caparisoned elephants up to Amber Fort in Jaipur —- reminiscent of the Royal lifestyle of the Maharajas of Rajasthan.

Pink is the Rajput color of hospitality. Where I stand (rather, sit “rocking” on an elephant) now, I see Pink. Not really pink. It’s more like faded terracotta or my fav SALMON PINK hue splashed on Rajasthan’s lovely Jaipur with its many hill forts and series of palaces I could hardly commit their names to memory.  Also called Amer Fort some 11 kilometers from the city of Jaipur.  Its sheer location tells you this is a fortress palace with an encompassing view of the entire pink city.  Built in 1592, the hues range from honey-colored to salmon pink to terracotta orange. Not exactly pink, but NEAR PINK.

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A snake charmer hides his prized pet when we tried to take photos. A dollar for a photo, please. But we managed to sneak a few.

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It’s a rocky ride as the elephant sways left and right, and sometimes sprinkles some water (?) on its back, reaching its unsuspecting passengers.

The pink shade of the stone used exclusively in the walled city is a major attraction by itself. Same with the City Palace. Now throw in the beautiful filigree screens, the myriad honeycombed and latticed windows bathed in the special glow of the afternoon light, and you feel like walking into a period movie set. Bollywood, baby! I wonder what movies or TV series were filmed here.

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As soon as you get off, the interiors of the fortress palace compel you to wander around to view the city from all angles, and to check out the many pillars and latticed windows.

Pink takes on a variety of shades here depending on the time of day. The colorfully clad Rajasthanis complement the big picture of this truly fascinating place.  The only sore point is the unrelentless sun on this humid day. Lines were manageable, and a good time to sneak a few shots of the elephants queuing to climb up. 

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Another shot of the climb up the fortress palace on caparisoned elephants.

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Rajasthans, no. But I couldn’t resist posing with these sweet young things in our newly-purchased saree. Perfect for our Diwali Festival Night at the Diggi Palace.


POSTSCRIPT: Prepared this while preparing to attend the Diwali Festival in Jaipur’s Diggi Palace. Uploaded using iPhone cam shots on the coach ferrying us to the Fest. Please revisit this blog as I upload better photos from my and my friends’ cam 😄


Those extra 2 1/2 hours mattered. We arrived in New Delhi just as I turned 60+1, Manila time. The morning after, I had a birthday candle to blow just before we rolled out towards the pink city of Jaipur. And that was just breakfast time. Sweetness!

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My First Breakfast in India is my Birthday Breakfast!

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And this is my Birthday Lunch in Samode Haveli, a former 16th century royal palace now functioning as luxury boutique hotel with a fine restaurant serving authentic Indican cuisine.

No amount of polluted air, dust and incessant horn-blowing could deprive us of a lovely day. It’s a long drive broken only by a sumptuous lunch in a former palace hemmed in by pomegranate trees. The group counted 16 of us where the average age is pulled down by 3 pretty young ladies who have amazingly acquired a high degree of tolerance towards giggling “young once”. Giggling, and in awe, of this former royal residence not too far  (40 kilometers) from the pink city of Jaipur.  The interiors will floor you, with its display of Mughal and Rajasthani art and architecture. 

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Pretty Sabrina under the lovely arches counting several hundred years of history. I hear the HBO TV serial adaptation of The Far Pavilions was filmed here.

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I wonder how old these pomegranate trees are? That’s me enjoying the courtyard gardens — just a tiny square within the entire complex that seems ideal for late afternoon coffee or tea, and a good book to read.

We had to put the rest of Jaipur “on hold” today. Diwali Festival happens tomorrow and dinner was arranged in Diggi Palace. A saree is simply too tempting to buy. Surely, we can forgive ourselves for just dining, wining and shopping today. We had a good preview of the Pink City and we can wait till tomorrow. (Let us off on this one, ok? It’s my birthday!)

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This patio looking out to the courtyard hemmed in by pomegranate and jasmine trees let that exotic aroma waft in while you comfortably sit yourselves like royalty here.

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The Master Photographer and his Muse. I’m lucky to have Ernie and Yola Albano in our travel group. Ernie allowed me full access and unlimited authority to use his photos. Surely, I won’t waste that chance.

Sarees, gems, carpet were the order of the day. The bazaar displayed many colors of the beautiful Indian sarees. If only I could learn how to wrap them around me.  (I did learn. Wrapped it in 5 minutes flat. Not exactly perfect, but I just realized I have the aptitude for this. )  Oh, don’t forget the doll gifts from the puppet show I got for my birthday…… and another birthday candle (and some glasses of wine) to blow just as my birthday ended. This time, India time 😄

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This lovely stairway leads you to the courtyard. I can imagine myself walking , ever so slowly, in my saree of vibrant blue ( I got a pink saree too!) to enjoy some solitude in the gardens.

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And this is just the BAZAAR! Look at that chandelier, ceiling and balconies. Too exotic for your taste?

Thank you, Chikie and Ernie for some of the photos on this spread. And thanks everyone for celebrating with me.

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Pretty Joyce beats everyone else in her saree. So resplendent in its shining blue hue.

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And here are the dolls from the puppet show. The puppeteer kept referring to them as Romeo and Julia.

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All of 26 1/2 hours to celebrate birthday breakfast, lunch and dinner. Thank you my friends!


Lazi Convent proudly stands across the pink-ish late 19th century church built by Augustinian Recollects in Lazi, Siquijor. The stonewalls echo a deep history of this convent used as “rest and recreation” of the Augustinian friars then. A collection of sorts is housed in the 2nd floor which now serves as a museum that impresses as well as breaks one’s heart.

 

 

 

 

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Lazi Convent. R & R. In late 19th century for men of the clergy.

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Centuries-old acacia trees line the road separating Lazi Convent from the Saint Isidore Church. Siquijor.

 

 

Impressive that the same acacia trees still line the road separating the Saint Isidore Church and the Convent which has since been converted into a school and Museum. That the basic elements of the old structure — pillars, capiz windows and staircase — remain. Heartbreaking that there is no semblance of security and preservation concerns relating to the Museum. In the first place, the use of the ground floor as school premises doesn’t augur well in preserving this historical site.

 

 

 

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The corridors on the 2nd floor of Lazi Convent which now houses the Siquijor Heritage Museum.

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Capiz-framed window slides on the 2nd floor of Lazi Convent cum Siquijor Heritage Museum.

 

 

 

When we came across a tabernacle on display, it broke our hearts to read that the piece is a reproduction, a fake, a switched copy of the genuine piece which was earlier sent for restoration. Only time will tell how the other treasures within the unguarded museum would fare. God forbid.

 

 

 

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The FAKE Tabernacle. Siquijor Heritage Museum. Lazi Convent.

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Historical treasures inside Siquijor Heritage Museum. No glass encasing to protect them. Unguarded. Poorly maintained.

 

 

 

The 2nd floor with capiz-framed window slides reminded me of my grandmother’s house, except that these ones offered a view of the Lazi Church across the road. No wonder men from the clergy chose this convent for R & R. The church is beautiful and this convent equally so, as well as huge in size. A friend reminded me that Siquijor was then center of studies on herbal medicine during the Spanish time and that many scientists from Europe visited the island for research then. I may also add that religious men, many of whom are botanists and pseudo-scientists, may have visited for these same reasons. Rest and Recreation AND RESEARCH!

 

 

 

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Lazi Convent. Rest, recreation and research!

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Saint Isidore Church just across the road from Lazi Convent.


 

The 2 structures in the sleepy town of Lazi are the iconic landmarks of this 3rd smallest island province in the Philippines. It has more to offer but many visitors shy away from spending more time, if not nights, in this province which gained notoriety as the country’s black magic capital. The beach scene here is quiet, even secluded. And the waterfalls and cave sites offer more for the more adventurous. With more tourist arrivals, perhaps local government here will consider a more serious upkeep of the island’s historical treasures.

 

 

 

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The stonewalls on the ground floor. All original. Lazi Convent. Siquijor.

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Lazi Convent. Midday. Siquijor.


I have long postponed this visit to Siquijor. Blame them tales about sorcerers and voodoo magic. Poor Siquijor. The urban legend spun by the locals themselves worked to dispel evil forces represented by pirates then, but somehow the “horror stories” stuck through the years. Obviously, the residents of this tiny island were good storytellers. Good enough to scare off the sea pirates who used to pillage the former Isla de Fuego. The island was then called Isla de Fuego or Island of Fire by the Spaniards in the 16th century because of the glow created by the swarms of fireflies found on the island. Who would have thought it would later earn notoriety as a haven for witchcraft and nest for sorcerers?

 

 

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From Dumaguete Pier at the end of Rizal Boulevard, an Ocean Jet can whisk you in 45 minutes to the tiny island province of Siquijor!

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We left the Dumaguete Wharf just before 8am and our Ocean Jet
reached the “voodoo capital of the country” some 45 minutes later. A hired van fetched us from the pier and we were soon on our way to visit the top island attractions after a brief stop at the 18th century Saint Francis Church. The church doors were adorned with rope curtains to keep the birds off. Ingenious.

 

 

 

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The Saint Francis Church is the first island attraction to welcome you in this island. Nearby is a centuries-old belfry.

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We likewise visited the Capilay Spring Park at the base of another church. Then the ancient balete tree (teeming with more urban legends) where a local vendor has on display various bottles of “herbal medicine”. I bought one not exactly knowing what it was for. Inside the tiny bottles were tree barks soaked in coconut oil which oil can be anointed on any ailing part of the body. Or so I thought. Until my friend read the label : the oil is used to drive away bad elements much like what “evil eyes” in Turkey do for you.

 

 

 

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The Balete Tree of Siquijor. More urban legends here. Listen up!

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The Lovely Saint Isidore Church. Siquijor.


 

Soon we reached the Lazi Church (St. Isidore Church) and Convent, allegedly the biggest convent in Asia. Lovely centuries-old structures facing each other across a road lined with  acacia trees. The church interiors and the 2nd floor Museum in the Convent can do with some repairs, but it’s fascinating to find such treasures in this tiny island of just over 80,000 residents. Browsing through the Museum collections, I was reminded of Baclayon Church. Great treasures. Hardly a museum guard. In great need of repair in the name of preservation for future generations to appreciate. 😦

 

 

 

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Inside the Lazi (Saint Isidore) Church in Siquijor.

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Lazi Convent. R & R of men from clergy then?

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I wonder who painted this Last Supper mural inside Lazi Convent.

 

 

 

My eyes were drawn to a mural of the Last Supper. Painter unknown. Then
to this piece of art that told of a sad story. Sent for restoration, replaced with a fake reproduction. Such crime only thrives where there are unconscionable peddlers and willing, just as dishonest if not outright criminal moneyed buyers disguised as art collectors.  A sob tale. But we know it happens everywhere to a point I wonder over the pleasure of buyers keeping such treasures off-display, hidden, for their personal, exclusive viewing. Sucks, right?

 

 

 

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The FAKE Tabernacle. Siquijor’s Lazi Convent-Museum.

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Cambugahay Falls. 135 Steps. Up and Down. 270 in all.

 

 

 

Cambugahay Falls is just 2 kilometers north of Lazi and is a great prelude to our next stop: Salagdoog Beach Resort where we had lunch. Cambugahay requires a bit of hard work though as one goes down 135 steps, then climbs them back up. As for Salagdoog, some of the areas damaged by Typhoon Sendong were since restored but paved. I’m not a big fan of cemented walkways, but I’m awed by a couple of slides I spotted ending right into the sea!

 

 

 

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Care to slide straight on to the sea? Salagdoong Beach Resort.

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Salagdoong Beach Resort after Typhoon Sendong. Siquijor.

 

 

 

Finally, our meeting with JennyLou. This young shaman got her “gift” from her late grandfather who passed on his “gift” (and stone) to his grandchild. Still under 30, Jennylou typically has busy days when visitors and “patients” drop in for a session of faith healing. Armed only with a black stone dropped into a clear mason jar and a straw-like cylinder, Jennylou promptly went to work. She put water to submerge the black stone in the jar and then moved the jar all over the patient’s body where there are ailments, aches and pain. All that while blowing into the straw-like cylinder to make bubbles. ( Bula Bula or Bulo Bulo? ) Jennylou replaces the water as it turns murky and continues making bubbles, as many times, till the water stays “clear”. Three of us tried it. The first “patient” didn’t find any improvement in her condition. The 2nd felt her body “warm up” but the back pain remained. The 3rd claimed his knee joint pains are completely gone. One out of 3? Not bad. Good score! We left Jennylou to get back to our wharf to take the ferry back to Dumaguete. We spent our time well in Siquijor. Easy circling the whole province in just a few hours. Do it as a daytrip next time you visit Dumaguete!

 

 

 

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Bulo Bulo is a faith healing method where the shaman puts a stone into a jar filled with water and bubbles through the ailing parts of one’s body.

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You can take the 5:30pm RORO (roll on, roll off) ferry if you want to spend more time in this mystical island province. Or take the Ocean Jet!


It’s not your regular flea market. This strip of stalls selling almost anything from dried fish to shirts to ropes to kitchen utensils to knives to brooms to fresh fruits to tin and plastic ware comes alive every Wednesday only. If you’re planning to visit Apo Island, you’d find your boat at the end of this strip where you can also take your breakfast al fresco.

 

 

 

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The Road to Malatapay

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Malatapay Flea Market. Only on Wednesdays.

 

 

 

While I hardly give any real travel tips in my blogs (mainly I offer musings and ramblings, in case you missed that), let me advise you here and now to time your Apo Island visit on a Wednesday. The sights, the colors, the smell and the variety of goods for sale here are to be experienced.

 

 

 

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An assortment of goods for sale. Malatapay Flea Market.

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Dried Fish from Malatapay Market.

 

 

And the sounds? I know they speak Cebuano here but I didn’t miss hearing many conversations in Chavacano. After all, Zamboangita (next to Dauin) is not called that for nothing. That, plus the sound of livestock up for auction. You heard that right. They auction off animals here: cattle, pigs, goats. I found cattle lined up in a fenced area where men whispered their bids much like they do in fish markets. The goats were pulled by their masters, seemingly oblivious of their imminent fate. But the pigs. Oh, the pigs. They made the loudest noise of all. Makes me wonder if they’re the smartest of the lot. These pigs behaved like they knew their destiny as soon as those men offloaded them from carts pulled by tricycles. 😦

 

 

 

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Cattle for sale. Live auction every Wednesday here in Malatapay.

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These little piggies went to market…….

 

 

 

It wasn’t easy shifting one’s attention from the wailing animals to the fruits and vegetables for sale. Piglets stuffed into sacks? Poor thing. It doesn’t help that there are lechon (roasted pigs) stalls near the breakfast area. I could have sat down for a lechon breakfast near the wharf if not for those scandalous piglets!

 

 

 

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I watched this man drag these pigs. My friends saw him put them — not without a fight — into sacks. So pathetic.

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Quite honestly, the veggies for sale looked “tired”.

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More dried fish. And so cheap!

 

 

 

Now, another piece of advice. Walk straight up to the end and ignore all the stalls. Have your lechon breakfast and savour the Malatapay version. There’s a table right in front of a Police Station where a local resident plays the saxophone while you’re having breakfast. For the win! After this sumptuous meal, go back to the market for the experience. (You’d feel guilty upon watching, hearing the pigs, but you’re done with the lechon by now)  Just don’t forget you have a boat to catch to go to Apo Island. Trust me, you wouldn’t wish to leave the island so late in the day to sail back to Malatapay. more so when it starts to rain and the wind blows stronger. Good luck!

 

 

 

 

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The goats go to market.

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Must be a MAMA pig. Malatapay residents are proud of their lechon.

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Fine dining? Music from the saxophone for the win!