Day 146, Ilocos, Philippines

We required more than a little nudge to successfully navigate the channel here in Ilocos. That big boy returned late afternoon to send us on our way to Taiwan.

What a wonderfully warm welcome awaited us at the foot of our gangway. A very handsome uniformed young man hung a ribbon around each of our necks, in welcome from the Department of Tourism. We have been greeted by brass bands, drums, tribal music & dances but nothing more heartwarming than the smiling faces of these young people.

All those many months ago when I signed up for this adventure, a visit to The Philippines was not on the agenda nor had I ever considered a visit here but world politics being what they are first China, then South Korea, then Russia, then Hong Kong, then Peru and finally Myanmar fell off the itinerary. Oceania did, in my estimation, a superb job in finding replacements for those ports. And that my friends is how I came to spend tw0 days in The Philippines. Otherwise, I would not have met all these lovely folks and I'll probably never know what I missed in those other places. Well I do know The Great Wall, but that just wasn't meant to be.

Today's excursion of choice was a culinary and heritage tour of Badoc and Batac, small inland villages. Once our police escorts were in place with ambulances bringing up the rear, we were off to see the sights. Our first stop was at beautiful centuries old San Juan Bautista Basilica and St Elizabeth Elementary School. School was not in session, but their presence was felt nonetheless.

Our next stop is still something of a puzzle to me. A very short time after leaving Badoc the bus stopped at an old yet well preserved house with flags decorating both the house and the streets approaching the house in all directions. Our guide dutifully explained that the flags were in preparation of a celebration honoring some guy named Luna. The house was a shrine to that man. Then she said "We have forty-five minutes here. Be back on the bus at . . . " whatever forty-five minutes later would have been. Okay, I collect my belongings to see what wonders awaited inside this house. Guide no longer in sight, I wander through a typical turn of the twentieth century house, fully furnished with some paintings hanging on the walls. I wander outside. Hmm. Nice gardens, but where's the guide?? Others were still milling around in the old house so I joined them. It was then that I started reading all those signs always posted in museums. Sure enough, toward the bottom was the English portion. What I learned from reading those explanatory signs was that the owner of this structure was a painter at least while residing in The Philippines. All the wall hangings were his creations. No Monet was he. Not even close, but maybe he was the best they had. Okay, Ruth, you are not an art critic so let it be. Then I read a sign beside a black and white picture (not a painting) of a pretty young woman and two or three children sitting under some trees. From what I read, I concluded that the woman was this Luna guy's wife and the location was somewhere in or near Paris. Before coming to this town, he lived with his wife in France, became depressed, decided absent any evidence to support his conclusion that his wife was being unfaithful to him with the help of her mother so he murders them. When apprehended by the authorities, he pleaded innocence on the grounds that he was only defending his honor. So, he went free. Not one shred of evidence of said affair was ever sought. Granted that was a different time, a different place but I decided very quickly that I would not be wasting any more of my time on this guy. So, back to the bus I went where the driver and I spent a most pleasant half hour listening to Kenny Chessney tapes. Great fun. At the appointed time my shipmates returned to the bus quickly announcing that the music was entirely too loud, so that ended that. Would someone please tell me why this guy deserves a shrine let alone a special celebration? For what? Murdering two people and going scot free? No further explanation was forthcoming from our guide.

Police escort in front of our two buses, ambulance bringing up the rear, we head to the village of Batac for a tour of the town and the promised culinary experience: a demonstration of the making of empanadas. After we watched them being made, we were each served a piping hot delicious pork empanada. Some veggies and other healthy food was also tucked inside. The complete meal. Profuse apologies were forthcoming when someone in the group inquired about the promised local wine. Sorry, she was unable to get any, she said. No worries, they had cokes. I'm good. In our group was the current guest chef from our ship. He gave the empanadas two thumbs up. I would not disagree. The empanadaan restaurant was in back of the world's smallest McDonald's. A teeny-tiny little space selling only drinks and shakes - no burgers or fries. Our bus parked in front of Batac Church built according to the dilapidated sign out front in 1587. The Church is beautiful, in perfect condition, however the sign has seen much better days. Literally directly across the intersection from the 16th century Church was the Marcos Presidential Museum. Yet, for our safety, we had to board the bus, cross two lanes of traffic, get off the bus to explore the museum. By this time some of my companions were tired and decided to skip the Presidential Museum. I, on the other hand, had to go inside to see if Imelda's shoes might be on display. Nope, no shoes, no closet for shoes. Oh well I had to look. Lots of political stuff, but that's it.

Lights flashing all the way, we arrived back at our ship safely and on time. The bulk of my tip on this day went to the driver. While it was not Kenny, he did play some really good music throughout the drive back, just not as loud. Here's to The Philippines and its people.

Today Is Someday! Enjoy It!