Born and raised in southern California. My career exodus has taken me to Arizona, Oklahoma, Arkansas, South Carolina, Virginia, and Washington, DC. And as of 23 January 2005, Seoul, Korea. Married with 6 grown children (blended family). First grandchild is in the oven! I created this blog to document my adventures as an expat living and working in Korea. I'm also pretty confident that I will on occasion feel the need to express my views on current events and other matters I find of interest.
A commenter on my previous post said something about my walk pace doesn’t add up. I’ve long held the idea that I take 7,000 steps an hour (on flat ground). This is based on the readings from three generations of Fitbit smart watches I’ve worn for the past several years.
I recently downloaded an app to my phone that primarily measures distance traveled. It indicates that I walk right around 5K per hour. My commenter thought I must walk faster than that, as he gets 5K with only 6,000 steps an hour. Hmm. I chalked it up to variances in the way the app and my Fitbit do their calculations. So today I thought I’d try a calibration exercise.
I started with my morning dog walk by syncing the devices (I had to deduct the steps the Fitbit had already recorded as I moved about the house). Anyway, when I returned from Buddy’s exercise my Fitbit said 2.4K in 28 minutes (Buddy poops and pees a lot) and 3100 steps. The fitness app on the phone said 2.1K in 30 minutes (it doesn’t measure steps). So, they aren’t exactly in sync, but not that far off either.
Later this morning I took a 8+ kilometer walk, again on flat ground. My phone app said (yes, it has a woman’s voice updating at each KM) I was averaging a KM every 11.48 minutes. Just slightly better than 5K per hour.
On the day, my Fitbit shows 14K walked in 160 minutes for a total of 18,500 steps. If I’m doing the math right (well, using my calculator phone app) I get this: 115 steps per minute and 6938 steps per hour. It takes me 1320 steps and 11.42 minutes to walk a KM.
So actually both the Fitbit and fitness app are giving me similar measurements. I’m not sure what all this means except I’ve obviously got too much time on my hands!
Sitting on this barstool talking like a damn fool Got the twelve o’clock news blues And I’ve given up hope for the afternoon soaps And a bottle of cold brew Is it any wonder I’m not crazy? Is it any wonder I’m sane at all Well I’m so tired of losing- I got nothing to do and all day to do it I go out cruisin’ but I’ve no place to go and all night to get there Is it any wonder I’m not a criminal? Is it any wonder I’m not in jail? Is it any wonder I’ve got
Too much time on my hands? It’s ticking away with my sanity I’ve got too much time on my hands It’s hard to believe such a calamity I’ve got too much time on my hands And it’s ticking away, ticking away from me
UPDATE: Well, I was also “doing the math” last May as I counted down the days until making the big move to the Philippines. Time flies!
“The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to be defenders of minorities.”–Ayn Rand
I thought of this quotation when I read The Big Hominid’s post about the collective loss of a sense of humor amongst many of the fellow travelers on the left. It’s sad really but I remain firmly in the mode of “if you can’t take a joke, fuck you!”
Get over yourselves, bitches!
Now, here’s a funny story for you. Yesterday I’m out walking My Bitch to get an accurate distance check for when I set trail as a Hare. I’m about halfway through my hike cresting a hill and I encounter a couple of hikers on the intersecting path. An odd couple indeed. I mean, I rarely see anyone on trail, and when I do it’s usually a Filipino wielding a machete. I always try to reassure myself it is for whacking bamboo and not my head and thus far I’ve been right about that.
Anyway, this was an older white couple wearing flip-flops. They asked me if this was the way to Baloy Beach. I bit my tongue to avoid saying “you can’t get there from here” although technically that’s correct. Instead I told them I was taking the trail back to Alta Vista subdivision and Baloy is an easy walk from there. So they followed along. The guy was familiar in an “I’ve seen him around in a bar town somewhere” kind of way, although I’d never spoken with him. We talked as we walked and he told me he was a Czechoslovakian, a country that no longer exists. Now he lives half the year in Canada and the other half here. I had assumed the white western woman with him was his spouse but she told me they had met here in the PI last year. I’m not sure who comes to the Philippines to meet an old ugly western woman, but hey, whatever rocks your boat.
I asked them what they were doing on the mountain and was told they had been visiting friends on Rizal Extension and they were told this was a “short cut” back to Baloy. Hmm, well technically it is shorter in distance than walking the road, but that assumes you know where you are going. The couple had been advised to “stay to the left” as they walked to find their way. Same instruction I had been given and it took me like five tries before I could ever successfully find my way. I’m thinking to myself, some friends you got there.
I assured them they were in good hands and I would see them safely to Alta Vista as I had walked this path many times. And then I managed to get us lost. Not sure how that happened, but the trail does tend to take on a different look what with leaves and stuff falling on it. Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention. I felt like an idiot though. Now, I wasn’t “lost lost”, just not on the right trail. And the trail we were on was new to me. And where it came down the mountain (on the opposite side of Alta Vista) it was very steep and treacherous looking (big drop off on one side). My company didn’t have on appropriate hiking footwear either. Plus the woman was complaining about her knee hurting. Damn it, but retreat seemed the best option.
I told them to rest in the shade while I backtracked to look for the right trail. I did find it about half a click away, and went back to fetch the old folks. The gal was moving real slow at this point and taking frequent breaks. I gave her my walking stick to use which seemed to help. About 30 minutes later we arrived at Alta Vista. And in a small miracle, an empty trike was passing by, so they loaded in and headed off to home. What a relief to be rid of them!
So, I downloaded a new measurement app on my phone and it shows my trail at just around 6K. That’s good enough for the walkers. This morning I went out and walked an extended version for the runners that adds an additional 3K. If they don’t like it, too fucking bad.
I also learned that on flat ground I walk right at 5K an hour (59 minutes to be exact). In the hills yesterday I slowed to around 16 minutes per kilometer. So my trail should be just under two hours. That ought to work.
What else? Well, I’m still enjoying views like this from my upstairs patio:
The retirement vista I dreamed about.Much better than my outlook on life when I was living in Anjeong-ri one year ago!
So now it is time for me to head out for the Friday dart league. I may not have everything I want but I have everything I need. Life is good enough for me.
I will hazard a prediction. When you are 80 years old, and in a quiet moment of reflection narrating for only yourself the most personal version of your life story, the telling that will be most compact and meaningful will be the series of choices you have made. In the end, we are our choices. Build yourself a great story. –Jeff Bezos
UPDATE: Well, shit. I just used “Lost and found” as a title back in January. Oh well. At least it was about my journey of discovery on My Bitch.
But anyone can write a poem, even me! Especially a bad one. Well, it’s been a long, long time since I put verses on paper but back in the day I was a poem writing fool. I had cause to be reminded of this fact when I opened “the box of memories” I brought back with me from the last visit to the USA.
An old wine box. But after reading some of the crap inside, it might be more apt to call it a whine box.Photographs, cards and letters, and lots of original words on paper–a journal, some short stories, and some bad poetry. All authored by yours truly back in the early 1970’s. Yep, the contents were still dripping with teenage angst even after all these years.
I was somewhat taken aback at how similar some of those emotions I was expressing back then are to ones I still sometimes experience. And the opposite is true as well, I found my self shaking my head at the sad and petulant young man who fancied himself a writer. Geez, and here I am overcoming that shame by sharing some of those words here with you now. Ha! Finally published after all these years!
Okay, I’m not going to edit or rewrite this crap, but some of it will be excerpted so you’ll get the flavor without having to suffer overmuch. Let’s start with a twofer–a sheet of notebook paper dated December 14, 1972 with these two poems:
The Only Way
Perhaps the best way Is your way Maybe the best belief Is not to believe Maybe the only answer Is no answer And maybe the only time Is this time... And yet, Why can't our love Be the only love?
Alone
Alone in my fantasies Alone with my dreams But when I wake with the dawning One sullen fact remains That I am alone in my love for you--- The sun doesn't shine, it rains.
Well, I warned you. Let’s try this:
I wrote this for my creative writing class in my junior year if I recall correctly. My teacher was a bit of a prick (he called a sonnet I had worked hard on and was proud of “extremely corny”), so this was high praise coming from him. Yeah, I was a full-on anti-war protester back in those days and wrote several Vietnam themed poems. I am not proud of the sentiment expressed in this one. I think it may have been prompted by the My Lai massacre, but it was wrong then and so was I.
Here’s an excerpt from a poem called New Year’s Eve which I assume I wrote on New Year’s Eve. Not sure which New Year’s Eve, but given my history of ill-fated love, it could be just about ANY New Year’s Eve.
You never even took the time To see what you were using And you were shocked when you found out It was you who did the losing
And you really can't help looking back Was it all just another game? You pretend it doesn't matter But you've never felt quite the same
And when it's finally all over Will you look at your life and be sad? Will you remember the people and places And the love you could have had?
I had a typewriter and a hippie mentality back in those days. Geez, this one makes me cringe. And I’m pretty sure the punctuation is all wrong. I’d usually get A’s and B’s on content and D’s on composition. I have no idea why I took to calling myself John Mark McCrarey II. I’m the first and only. I guess I thought it looked cool. Geez.
Alright, I’ve tortured you just about enough I suppose. But before you go, let me share a short essay that just so happens to be the oldest thing in the box, written in my sophomore English class on October 22, 1970. It’s called: Love? Hah!
People are really fools but nobody ever seems to notice this, not even me, until recently. A couple of days ago a friend of mine came up to me and said, “John, I’m in love with Joyce.” I held back from laughing out of friendship, but inside I was thinking “you’re just as dumb as the rest of them.”
Not many people realize there’s no love in the world anymore. Why? Well, for one thing, nobody seems to have time for love in a modern society. Yeah, a lot of people say they’re in love, but they are only fooling themselves. Love is only in the mind. People like to think they are in in love, I guess it makes them happy. I’m not knocking love, how can I? There’s no such thing!
I was only in love once and that’s how I found out about the whole phony thing. It doesn’t make any difference though; people will still foolishly go on searching for something they will never find, something that doesn’t exist, something they call love. Hah!
Hard to believe I was so cynical about love at the tender age of fifteen. Hmm, the more things change, the more they remain the same.
We climbed the black rock mountain today. I’m not sure, so I don’t want to take it for granite.The gals went out on a ledge to get a better photo opportunity. Made me a little nervous.The guys called this the “San Isidro Valley” so I will too. We hiked across it to get to the mountain we climbed.And then we stopped for lunch.
Daytime done. Darts on tap for nighttime. Tomorrow there will be poetry!
I don’t brag on the kids much here at LTG, but every once in awhile I just can’t help myself. Daughter Renee sent me this video clip of a commercial featuring her younger brother Kevin:
Who says the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree? It obviously did in this case!
It was a big move for Kevin giving up his broadcasting career for a more stable and family oriented work environment. I’m really pleased he’s doing so well in his new professional life. Of course the success I’m most proud of is the generous nature of his character. Well done, son. Well, done.
Meanwhile, Renee had one of those rare “full circle” events recently. Her daughter Gracyn is big time into volleyball. And she wound up playing a match at the high school Renee and Kevin attended.
Ha Ha! I accidentally uploaded this image of Gracyn as a newborn! She’s only 6 months younger than LTG!“Hey Mom, look what I found!”The fruit DID NOT fall far from the tree in Gracyn’s case!
Anyway, that’s enough bragging for one day. I didn’t have much to do with how great my kids turned out anyway. I just got lucky I suppose.
The bus ride from Barretto to Cabangan wasn’t as bad as anticipated, only about an hour and 15 minutes.
Yesterday’s SBH3 outstation run in Cabangan is now Hash history. As promised, the Hares did in fact set a flat trail. I was frankly surprised because it was so out of character for Leech My Nuggets. I asked him about that later and he said it was because they were unable to find any paths leading up into the surrounding mountains. Pity that!
Anyway, I opted for the medium hike of 8 kilometers. That was about right because it was a pretty hot day with no breeze and little shade. I was a little surprised that I made it back on-home to Samantha’s Resort before the runners who did the 12K hike, but I do make decent time when I’m walking on flat ground.
About that flat ground. It was mostly through farm country and frankly it was a little boring. Not much of interest to see and not all that challenging. Until the surprise the Hares had in store near the end of the trail. Not one, but two of the most rickety bridges over the river that I ever did see. I was so relieved after successfully crossing the first one. I hadn’t even finished congratulating myself for not falling into the water when the second bridge appeared. I made it across that one as well, no thanks to the punk ass kids who got on behind me and bounced around making it all the more difficult to keep my balance. The water wasn’t deep and the bridge wasn’t very high, so probably the worst that would have happened was getting wet and ruining my phone. Honestly, had the bridge been higher I wouldn’t have been able to do it given my fear of heights. It was tough enough as it was. I guess it was instant Karma for my boring trail thoughts. Ah well.
I’ve got pictures, lots of pictures, so let’s relive the journey, shall we?
The trail…The bus what brought us and deposited us at the trail head. (I said “what” on purpose because I thought it was kinda cute. But given my propensity for typos I feared my intentional misusage would be misinterpreted.)And we are “on-on”. Always nice to walk behind a sweet ass!We began on the banks of a mostly dry river bed.And then out into the open fields. The goats thought we were nuts I suppose. They might be right about that!This bridge was no challenge.A question of balance.Are you lonesome tonight?Those wide open spaces…Hash Gash on the trail (Gash is what female Hashers are called. I can’t imagine why…)“Green Acres is the place to be….”“…farm living is the life for me…”“…land stretching out so far and wide, keep Manhattan just give me that countryside…”Man and beast working the fields…And then there was this motherfucker…Not as easy to cross as it may appear…Just got to take it one careful step at a time…Once across you breathe that sigh of relief and then look up to see this…and even longer so-called bridge.One false step and you are going to regret it.Looking back after a second successful crossing. As far as I know no one fucked up. Wouldn’t want to try and cross after a few beers though…Speaking of beers, it’s always great to make it “on-home” for some much needed re-hydration!Samantha’s Resort is owned by an old-time Hasher and is situated on a pretty nice beach…I chilled out and sipped my beer in the shade of this beach side Nipa hut.While these lovely sea Filipinas frolicked in the ocean.And then it was time for the Hash circle. We did not have our customary blocks of ice, so we improvised with a bag of ice. We also did the deflowering ritual for the three Hash virgins in attendance…And then the sun set on another fine day of Hashing.Oh, and here are the Hares, Anal Receptive and Leech My Nuggets, posing on their instrument of torture.
We are doing an outstation run in Cabangan today. Never been, but looking forward to seeing some new sights, notwithstanding a two hour bus ride to get there.
The Hare advises that there will be flat trails of 4, 8, and 12 kilometers. We’ll see. I’ve never know Leech My Nuggets to set a flat course before, but maybe there ain’t no mountains out that way.
I’m liable to take some photos along the way so stay tuned!
Get out of town, think I’ll get out of town, Get out of town, think I’ll get out of town. I head for the sticks with my bus and friends, I follow the road, though I don’t know where it ends. Get out of town, get out of town, think I’ll get out of town.
‘Cause the world is turnin’, I don’t want to see it turn away.
UPDATE: Damn, third time I’ve used the “get outta town” title for a post. Once last year about a journey up to Seoul, and a 2015 trip to Bomunsa Temple on Seokmodo island with Jee Yeun that just makes me sad now.
As I mentioned in a post here awhile back I want to write about the lives I’ve lived within this lifetime. The ultimate vanity project to be sure but I just can’t seem to help myself. So here goes.
I guess the obvious starting point is where it all started. The life I led as a child. As I’ve looked back on those times it seems an overstatement to call childhood the foundation on which the rest of your life is built. Obviously I can only speak for myself in that regard, but I just don’t think anything that happened in those “formative” years has been a hindrance or burden to overcome nor can I see anything in that distant past that led me to become who and what I am today. Sure, it’s all about growing up and learning but I’m not sure I had enough self-awareness to have been shaped or scarred for life by childhood events. Hell, maybe I just got lucky!
Which is not to say that I had a particularly easy time of it back then. I’m still keenly aware of growing up in a working class family in a wealthy upper middle class environment that was Orange County, California in the 1960’s.
Garden Grove, my first hometown as it looked back in the day. I was technically born in Los Angeles, but we lived in Garden Grove and Westminster throughout my childhood.
I want to make the distinction between working class and poor. We always had food to eat and a roof over our heads. It may have been ground beef and chicken and our house was old and not in one of those fancy new subdivisions, but we got by alright I suppose.
And we had love. Tough love, as neither of my parents brooked much bullshit. I recall my dad in particular taking off his belt and saying before a (usually deserved) whipping “this is going to hurt me more than you”. It never really felt that way to me though…
My father managed a fast food restaurant called the “Rite Spot”. Up until McDonald’s opened a franchise right across the street. He then took up work as a route salesman delivering food items to the catering houses that served the booming construction industry. My mom worked as a carhop at a drive-in restaurant and later as an assembler on the night shift at a manufacturing plant. My grandma Pernie was always around to take care of us kids while we were growing up.
Hanging out with the bros. Ignorance can be bliss, and it took awhile before I was made aware that our family was “different” by community standards.
We vacationed every year. Usually on the Kern River a few hours away in San Bernadino county. Camping and fishing of course.
Dad always had money for beer and cigarettes, so we weren’t doing too bad. And damn, if you’ve never gutted and pan fried a rainbow trout right out of the river, well, you don’t know what you missed! And I guess maybe all those camping trips instilled in me a love of the outdoors that I satisfy today with long ass walks in the local mountains.My dad only got one week of vacation a year, but on some weekends he’d load us up in the pack of his Jeep pickup truck and drive us out to the desert. Good times!
Our street, Milton Avenue, was sort of a mishmash of 1940’s era homes surrounded by new housing developments. Well, we were bounded on one side by the newly constructed Interstate (the 405 if I recall correctly). So all my childhood friends were similarly situated, economically speaking. And we always found a way to have fun. Playing sandlot baseball, building hideouts and forts, and riding our bicycles. Me and my buds would often ride the 8 miles or so to the beach and hang out all day. We had a lot of freedom back then, sort of a “be home when the streetlights come on”, until then we were left to our own devices. We pretty much stayed out of trouble, and collected pop bottles for the deposits to give us some spending money. I have fond memories of the community spirit we developed.
When I was 11 or 12, one of the neighbors invited me to his church, a small evangelical house of worship. Well, my grandma was Assembly of God so I had been exposed to all of the craziness (like speaking in tongues) from an early age. Anyway, I wound up getting invited to join the church orchestra and choir. I didn’t play an instrument, but no problem they provided me an old lap style steel guitar. I didn’t read music, but they just numbered the frets on the guitar and put corresponding numbers on the notes of the sheet music. So, I just plucked away and used the slide accordingly. It seemed to work, or at least no one ever complained about my “music”. I’m a notoriously bad singer so they called me a tenor and stuck me in the back row. And later that summer we actually did a tour across the western U.S. states. Random church families would takes us in for the nights we were in town. I was one of the youngest members of the group and I recall not being entirely comfortable with the situation. Everyone was nice to me though, so nothing traumatic to report.
In school I was an average student at best, mostly due to laziness I suppose. I always hated homework. But it was in school that I became acutely aware that I was not like my peers. I didn’t wear the same nice clothes, didn’t live in the nice neighborhood, didn’t hang out with the cool kids. That kind of thing. And yes, kids can be cruel and they were. And so can adults. I’ve actually written a little about this before in a post called “A working class hero is something to be”.
Two incidents stand out. One day the kids were all laughing at my shoes. Which admittedly were ridiculous. A gift from my uncle who was a shoe salesman. Probably a couple of sizes too large. But they were new and so I was compelled to wear them.
They looked something like this.
Anyway, the teacher came out to see what all the commotion was about. Someone said “look at McCrarey’s shoes!”. The teacher looked and burst out laughing too. I think she felt bad about it though.
The other incident that is seared into my memory involves my 7th grade math teacher, Peter Boothroyd. I’m sure he’s dead by now so I won’t begrudge him. Much. I was being my usual smart ass self in class one day and he called me out on it by saying “Keep it up McCrarey and you’ll wind up selling jello out of a truck like your father”. Ouch. Well, as it turns out I did for a time wind up working in route sales (sandwiches, not jello). But I’m proud to say that I went on to bigger and better things, beyond anything a pea brain like Peter Boothroyd could have imagined possible. Hmm, I guess maybe I am still a little bitter.
But seriously, so I grew up poorer than most of the community that surrounded me. And that maybe resulted in me being an outsider. Perhaps it impacted my self-esteem some. Honestly, I’d say that makes me luckier than many people. I certainly had no great tragedy or trauma to overcome. And if anything if provided me more motivation later in life to make sure my kids had the kind of life I did not.
Bottom line, my childhood life seems to have little or no relevance to what I became or who I am now. I would wager that is true for most people. I think the next chapter of my life had a far greater impact on my future. A future I could just as easily have lost. Stay tuned for the next installment!
Pretty much. But I’m going to keep writing anyway.
As soon as you’re born they make you feel small By giving you no time instead of it all Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all A working class hero is something to be A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school They hate you if you’re clever and they despise a fool Till you’re so fucking crazy you can’t follow their rules A working class hero is something to be A working class hero is something to be
That’s what I did today. Well, everyday. But this time I joined the Saturday walkers. Such as we were. Five of us all told. It was a goodly long hike though. I led the way for the first half, mostly just doing Monday’s Hash trail in reverse. Gunter took over for Part Duex and as is his custom had us do an almost straight up climb. I know I was muttering “never again!” all the way up.
Three of the five. The German Dieter was lagging behind with his cute little Filipina girlfriend and missed this photo op.The obligatory view from the top. I never get tired of it. I was tired at the conclusion of our travels this afternoon though. The key thing to note is “the floors”. I did 25,000 steps yesterday on my own, but only 44 floors. Uphill is a motherfucker!
I drank four bottles of water during the hike today. And four bottles of beer at the conclusion. It’s good to keep things in balance.
Once upon a time you could find posts here at LTG that did not revolve around me and my so-called life. Hard to believe I know, but I had a pleasant reminder of this yesterday from long time reader and blog buddy Kevin Kim.
Kev, who still writes on issues of substance, recently posted here regarding the socialism induced bankruptcy of the government in Finland. In response to a comment I left on his post, Kevin said it was the future I had predicted some time ago on my blog. I had no recollection of that but he came back with this post I’d written 14 years ago! Well, what I had to say back then wasn’t exactly rocket science but it impressed the hell out of me that he remembered it at all and that he was able to ferret it out from the sewer of my archives. Thanks for that Mr. Kim!
Anyway, I don’t bother arguing politics much these days. It seems pointless since I doubt I’m going to change any minds. I still follow along with what is happening back in the USA and it both makes me sad for my country and glad that I’m not there to experience it up close and personal. So what I’m saying is this blog will continue to serve as a reminder that no man is totally worthless–he can always serve as a bad example! You’re welcome.
Yesterday I was able to briefly step out of my pathetic self-centered life with my monthly visit to the King’s Fil-Am orphanage.
The director had provided me a shopping list of needed items and I was happy to oblige.There were no birthdays to celebrate this month but I brought along some pizzas for the staff to serve the children.Who doesn’t like a pizza party?
The kids all seem happy and well cared for. And the little bit of help I’m able to provide each month seems appreciated. The director sent me a thank you email that made me smile:
God bless you as you continue to share your blessings to these unfortunate children, but fortunate enough because of your love.
To God be the Glory!
Well, I’m not a religious man at all, but if a God I don’t believe in is helping these kids by using me as a tool, more power to Him! I know it is kinda of gauche to make a public display of charity, but being the self-centered bastard that I amI can’t help myself it fulfills in part one of the goals I set when moving here: to make a difference. I’m not changing lives or doing anything all that meaningful or significant, but I’m at least making things a little bit better for a few folks and I’m happy about that. It takes some of the edge off the guilt that comes with living large amongst people who have so little.
Speaking of making things better:
The baby back ribs I prepared last night might be the best batch ever! The meat was falling off the bone tender (8 hours in the crock pot will do that), the seasoning was flavorful, and the oven-baked BBQ sauce crust came out just right.
Oh, and last night across the bay someone was trying to burn down a mountain.
Selfish bastards.
Life marches on! Hope you will come back for more nothing of substance soon.
One of my big dislikes here so far is the willful trashing of the environment. People litter the streets and rivers with impunity. I’ve never seen folks with such a disregard for keeping their own community clean. It’s really quite astounding to see individuals from all walks of life nonchalantly chuck trash out of their car window, dump garbage into the water, and leave crap all over the beach after a picnic.
As bad as that is, I think this pisses me off more:
People are constantly burning brush and undergrowth almost everywhere. I saw the above fire when I was walking Buddy this morning. Three hours later it is still raging. All that smoke really fucks up the air quality. It’s been quite a few days since my view hasn’t been obscured by haze.
Smoke filled air ain’t too good for my diminished lung capacity either. Anyway, nothing I can do but go with the flow…take a deep breath (*cough*, *cough*), relax, and accept the Filipino way. I don’t have to like it though.
And speaking of Buddy, what a crazy dog he is. I’m not even sure if he knows he’s a dog. He’s taken to sleeping on my bed. Like this:
Sweet dreams, my friend.
And there you have the good and the bad. I’ll spare you the ugly for now.
Only three showed up today for the Wednesday walkers group. I seized the opportunity to take on the leader role for the hike. My two compadres are also not into those massive and difficult trails so I felt confident in showing them some of My Bitch and the route I’m developing for my debut as a solo Hare.
As we passed through my Alta Vista neighborhood at the beginning of the hike, Bimbo pointed at a house and said it was where one of our newest Hashers lives. A recent widow by the name of Heidi. As we neared the residence Bimbo started calling out her name and a very cute young woman came out. Not Heidi, but apparently one of her friends. Heidi soon after come downstairs and invited us in for a quick tour of the house. It was massive and beautiful. Including a rooftop bar! Heidi told us she rents out rooms on AirBnB. After a quick visit we continued on our way. I felt an instant attraction to the friend and Heidi was also an attractive woman. I may have to make an effort to get to know my neighbors better!
So we did my trail and then took a lunch break on my back patio. My house is nothing compared to Heidi’s, but the guys liked it too. The trail came in at around 6K, so I’m getting there. I saw a couple of new paths I’ll investigate over the coming days to see if I can’t get another kilometer or so added.
As is our Wednesday tradition, we finished our walk at Cheap Charlies where we re-hydrated ourselves with some refreshing cold brews.
Cheers!
And oh yeah, here’s a fun little song that explains the attraction of Filipinas…
What a day it was yesterday. Full of highs and lows. Here’s the first part of the story.
A very good Hash. Interesting trail as the Hare (Demolition Derby) worked hard at finding paths that have not been used for any recent Hashes. I was disappointed that included a trail I had been scouting for future use, but I still had to give Derby credit for his discovery. One steep climb and two moderate ones, took me two hours to complete all told.
We did have to work our way around this obstacle. The carabao looked pretty damn horny to me.A view from the trail.
After the Hash circle was completed I went home where the day turned to shit. I’m not quite ready to talk about it yet as I’m still working my way through it in my head. This illustration will serve as a little foreshadowing:
What’s love got to do with it?
Oh, here’s a group photo from the Hash Bash. I’m off to the right.
Good times!
Life goes on. And you have to eat. Here’s my dinner for one tonight:
Tried a New York cut of New Zealand beef. Was actually comparatively tender compared to the crap I have been buying. Tasty too!
And now I reckon it’s time to go out and try to drown my sorrows.
UPDATE: Hmm, I used the Peaks and valleys title once before in 2014. I didn’t have a clue back then what was in store for me.
I had to Google to see if it was “A” or “An” historic day. The consensus was “A” so I went with it, although truthfully I like the way “An” sounds better. Anyway, it is a special day of remembrance for me because 41 years ago my son Kevin was welcomed into this world.
The years haven’t changed us a bit.
Kevin was actually born on his due date. I had gone through the prenatal course so I could be in the delivery room for that special moment when he drew his first breath. It was quite an experience for all involved!
Kevin grew up successfully despite having a wayward father. He spent many years in broadcast journalism before leaving for the more stable working hours and better pay of the insurance industry. By all accounts he is doing quite well–a great wife, a great house, a great daughter, and three wonderful step daughters. He’s definitely a great daddy and I’m obviously very proud of him.
Kevin and daughter Sydney. I love them both!
Otherwise things are back to normal around here. An uneventful flight home (unlike the unfortunates on Ethiopian Air). Marissa slept most of the way and only woke up when the wheels touched down. The look of surprise and confusion on her face was priceless. Good times.
Buddy was happy to see me again. He’s got a big heart, that’s for sure.
This morning he was outside meeting the goat neighbors. He was nose-to-nose with the kid but mama chased him off before I could snap a photo…He’s a good dog but sometimes he can be a pain in the ass…
What else? Well, I had a good time explaining to my breakfast waitress what “SOS” stands for…
We both had a good laugh about that…I kept it simple for lunch…
And that’s about it. Time for me to get ready to Hash.
Life is good. Keep smiling!
And oh yeah, today makes 10 months of living in the Philippines. So far so good.
Yesterday’s Hash may have been the best one ever for me. And the reason in large part was we spent a lot of time on perhaps the best beach I’ve ever seen. It was stunningly beautiful.
Puerto Princesa’sNagtabon Beach. A nice drone video of the beach at the link.“Where the sun hits the water and the mountains meet the sand…”“…there’s a beach that I walk along sometimes…” Those buildings at the far end of the beach, Oliver’s Resort, was our on-home location. Only accessible by foot…
So, Nagtabon beach was an hour bus ride from our hotel in Puerto Princesa. That included a 15 minute delay when the lead bus broke down. The drivers did some roadside repairs, got a couple buckets of water from a nearby house, and refilled the radiator. Pretty impressive really. Once we reached our destination we off loaded Hashers and supplies and hoofed it the half kilometer or so down the beach to Oliver’s. The Hare (Wild Wolf) advised there would be three trails with durations of 7, 5, and 3 kilometers. And two beer checks along the way! Beer checks were quite common in my Korea kennel but this is only the second time I’ve experienced them here in the PI.
And then we were “ON-ON”, on the beach as it were.That’s Salty Cum enjoying a cold beverage at the first beer stop.And then it was on up the mountain. The climb was mostly on the road, but it was steep and hot.Looking back from whence I came.That tricky Hare made us climb up an embankment. Once at the top we saw that we could have stayed on the road which curved around just past that house. Oh well.And soon enough we reached the second beer check.Your humble correspondent taking in the view.The unobstructed view of Nagtabon Beach from the top. As is my custom, I opted for the medium length trail…….which meandered its way steadily down the mountain. My Hash shirt makes for good camouflage, don’t you think?The descent was not too steep but did get tricky in places. Salty Cum was taking a photo of me when a woman behind us took a good tumble. Those roots can be treacherous if your foot gets caught while falling. At first the woman thought she had broken or dislocated her ankle. Fortunately that proved not to be the case, just a severe strain. I let her use my walking stick and Salty assisted her the rest of the way back. Almost back down to sea level.This portion of the beach was nothing but rocks. And that made for some tough hiking the last kilometer of the trail.Still pretty though….…and I got to practice my rock climbing skills. Which are pretty much non-existent……but I just leaned into it and made my way back “on-home”.
And so ended my first ever Hash Bash. Lots of fun, lots of interesting people from all over the world and of course, lots of beer!
The Day 1 adventure is now history. As these photos illustrate.
I was anticipating a swingin’ good time.Standing around waiting to get started. Over 100 Hashers in attendance for this event. Let’s get this show on the road! A 30 minute bus ride to the trail head.And we are off!The beginning of the walker’s trail…7K start to finish…And we are ON-ON!Turns out there are mountains in the area. We stayed in the foothills yesterday, but rumor has it will be doing some serious up and down today.It was a nice change of scenery from the Barretto routine…It feels hotter here though than back home.I asked Salty Cum if it was better to walk on flat ground in the sunshine or uphill in the shade? She prefers shade. I tend to agree.One last hill to climb. Actually, the trail was not at all difficult compared to what I’m used to…Heading back down to the sea…The final half klick was on the highway….….which led us “on-home” at Kay’s Hot Spring resort….And yes, there was ice. And yes, I was required to sit on it. My sin was being a pain in the ass for registering late. After the on-home festivities were completed, we bused back to the hotel and prepared for our dinner at Chez Rose, an eatery about 300 yards up the beach. Where we were also entertained with a live band and fire dancers….
No San Mig Zero here so I’ve been getting a little drunker than normal. Need to work on pacing myself better I suppose. Anyway, time to get ready for Day 2. More to come….
I was sorry to see the news that Jan-Michael Vincent has passed away. We spent some intimate moments together back in the day (I wrote about it here).
He appears to have lived life on his terms which is admirable. He also had his flaws and made quite a few drug and alcohol fueled mistakes. No one’s perfect of course.
Greetings from Palawan. May the force be with you!
Let’s ketchup, shall we? Headed out early yesterday morning for the airport in Angeles City, about 1.5 hours away. Driver Donny once again managed to defy the odds and got us there safely. First time I’d taken a domestic flight from Clark, and the terminal really sucked. Still managed to kill the hour before boarding without too much discomfort.
Breakfasted on this hot off the griddle honey banana crepe. Almost as sweet as the gal who prepared it for me.
Then it was time to board our Philippine Air flight to Puerto Princesa. I was curious what kind of plane it would be since no checked baggage was allowed. When the bus from the terminal pulled up it turned out to be an Airbus 320. After landing, I noted some bags being offloaded so I can only surmise the “no baggage” was about my discounted ticket or some such. No problem, for a three day trip my carry-on was more than sufficient. I was just worried about whether my liquids (i.e. vape juice) would be confiscated at security, but I sailed right on through.
Oh, and I was accompanied by a first time air traveler:
It was kinda fun to relive the first time flying experience through the reactions of Marissa/Salty Cum. She seemed to really enjoy the rush of taking off. Once we reached altitude she admitted to feeling a little queasy. I handed her an air sickness bag but thankfully she didn’t need it.And of course she couldn’t take her eyes off the perspective of watching the earth pass by below. The change in pressure as we landed hurt her ears a little, but I taught her a couple of techniques to “pop” her ear.
After exiting the airport our driver from the Blue Palawan Resort was there waiting for us. I had gotten an email a couple of days earlier advising me of the free hotel shuttle which was a pleasant surprise.
The hotel thus far has provided some of the best service I’ve experienced in all my years of travelling. Little touches, like some blue lemonade at check-in are nice welcoming gestures. Friendly and helpful staff go a long way to making a hotel stay pleasant. The food has been great so far as well. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a Monte Cristo prepared right. Well, this one could have used some honey for dipping, but I was hungry and couldn’t be bothered to ask. Tasted just fine without it. The room comes with a free breakfast buffet. I’m not into buffets at all, but this one was well done. And an egg chef cooked your eggs and omelets to order. It’s good that there is high standards for food and service here because the rooms are rather basic. Clean and comfortable, but without amenities I like to have. Like a small refrigerator and microwave. I’m also typing this post on the bed because I don’t even have a desk in the room.
I’m staying here because the hotel that is hosting the Hash event, the Seaview, was booked up. It’s right next door to the Blue so no problem.
In fact, the registration and welcoming event held last night were done here at the Blue. Easy peasy…I haven’t seen the rooms at Seaview, but it appears to perhaps be a bit more upscale.I really love the looks of this treehouse spa, although I haven’t tried it out yet…The “beach” in front of the Blue and Seaview resorts leaves a lot to be desired. I’m told it’s because “the tide is out”. Hmm, maybe.I guess there’s no denying that the water level can’t get much lower. I just haven’t seen much evidence of a recent high tide…The beach is what it is I suppose. I walked it this morning and it was pleasant enough for that purpose. Wouldn’t want to be wading in that nasty water though….If you are going to live on the beach, I reckon this is the way to do it!
Anyway, that’s where things stand as of now. Fixin’ to grab some lunch and get ready for the first Hash trail this afternoon. They have long (9K) medium (6K) and short (3K) options. We are busing out to the start point and have 1.5 hours to get back “on-home” at a place called Kay’s Resort, wherever that turns out to be. I haven’t seen any nearby mountains so maybe it will be easy walking. We’ll find out soon enough I suppose.
Anyway, more of the same around here. Did some exploring this morning looking for new mountain paths to incorporate into my trail when I go solo as a Hare. I’m shooting for May.
My efforts drew some blood but not the passage I am seeking. Ah well, no pain no gain!
Went out again this afternoon and finished the portion of the trail I missed two weeks ago.
I should have known better. Leech My Nuggets is notorious for his paths through creek beds. But I’ll give him credit, even after two weeks his trail was easy to follow. I’m going to learn from his example. Thicker powder and NO CREEK BOTTOMS!
Do not despair dear readers things are bound to get more interesting around here.
My first trail as a co-Hare was delivered yesterday more or less successfully. We had a large turnout of Hashers (47) and although not required of the Hares, I walked the entire trail again with the group. It was harder than the first time for me which I attribute to the afternoon start instead of early morning when I have more energy. Took me about an hour and fifty minutes start to finish, and as usual I was one of the last to complete the trail.
My overall assessment: I could have done a better job with the powder. Although the trail was pretty well marked, the chalk arrows are not always readily visible. You can see the powder from a distance which is helpful. Also, there were a couple places that were directionally confusing and some folks missed the true trail as a result. I should have laid better powder to make things more clear. Also, in the future when I’m a Hare I will walk the trail and put down powder on the day of the Hash. Even after only one day on the ground the powder lost its freshness and appeared faded.
During the trail feedback session of the Hash circle most of the criticism was fair I think, dealing with aforementioned lack of clarity at some trail junctions. Surprisingly, no one said the trail was too short, too flat, or too easy which are pretty standard complaints. A couple of folks even said it was too hard and had too many mountains. Well, we only did two climbs but I admit the second one was a tough slog. And I think given the terrain, the distance (6K) was just about right.
A little anecdote that made my day: I caught up with one of the Germans (Almoranus) about halfway up the second climb taking a breather. He asked if we were going all the way to the ridge line, and I responded affirmatively. I do believe he turned around at the point and shortcutted the trail. Which is fine, but he’s one of the guys that routinely kicks my ass on the Wednesday walks. I think in German the feeling I was having is known as schadenfreude.
And so it begins. The relatively easy first “on-up” of the trail.A view from the top of the second climb.Here’s a fun little story: I always carry two bottles of water so I can share with Salty Cum. She had taken her bottle during the second climb. Once we had reached the bottom I asked if she needed more water. She said “I finished mine”. So I said where’s the bottle? She responded “I dropped it”. Now, littering or theft on the trail is a serious Hash violation so of course I felt obligated to duly report the infraction during the Hash circle. And the standard penalty is being required to sit on the ice. And as we are wont to say at the SBH3, “when on Filipina sits, ALL Filipinas sit!” (In her defense, Salty said that she had put the bottle in her back pocket and it must have fallen out. Still littering though, just glad it was not intentional)Of course, as one of the Hares, I did my time on the ice as well. Once your ass goes numb it’s really not so bad.All in a day’s work. This includes my morning walking prior to the Hash.
