But trips to Pundaquit do end. Here I am again, home safe and sound. A fine final day and morning on the beach is now nothing but a memory. And a blog post. Wednesday was much like Tuesday, with a nice hike and a newly discovered restaurant to enjoy. I’ll let the photos do most of the talking:
After the hike, we settled into the normal afternoon pastimes.
Back to the hotel after our meal, and the other Wave Song guests were having a party outside. Jeff added his music box to the festivities, and this being the Philippines, some karaoke broke out. Since the neighbors joined in the singing, there was no one left to complain. I didn’t stay long as I was whacked after a long day, but I fell asleep to the sound of music. The hills were alive with it.
Finding breakfast this morning turned out to be quite an adventure. The place we intended to visit was closed, so we continued down the road to Monty’s Riverside Resort, a venue I have enjoyed many times in the past. The place was open but deserted. As we approached the outdoor food court, no one was there to greet us. Finally, a woman shyly came from indoors, and I asked if they were open for breakfast. She said they were, so we all sat down. I saw her dusting off menus, which struck me as a huge red flag. Then the woman disappeared back inside and just left us sitting there. We waited a few minutes, said “fuck this,” and walked out. Just shocked at how what used to be a popular resort has gone to shit. Maybe it is just a low season thing, but something ain’t right.
We were less than ten kilometers from our favorite San Narciso hangout, Mope Resort, so we headed that way. Then we passed the FRA (Fleet Reserve Association), another place I’ve always enjoyed. I convinced the group to give it a try and we were not disappointed. Good food and good service made the breakfast trek worthwhile.
An uneventful drive home (just the way I like them) and I’m ready to resettle back into my Barretto life until next month’s excursion to Angeles City.
My father died on May 28, 2011. I honored his passing with this post from the LTG archives.
Speaking of drinking, I’m blessed to have not lived in the days of the Old West saloons. I like my beer served cold for one thing, and the other conditions described in today’s YouTube video might have made me a non-drinker. Yeah, hard to believe, I know.
Here’s a smile from me to you:
Anyway, that’s where things stand with me. Let’s see what happens next.
Imagine you blow him a kiss and he is like “Stop ticklin me bollocks, ya blimmin kazoo player!” and calls you up on stage to give him a reach around and you are like “No way, fella, I have a loving wife and daughter. Plus you are a yucky ginger!”. And he starts crying on stage and announces this is the worst rejection since the time Lars kicked him out of Metallica (I bet you didn’t know he was in Metallica, luv!) and the show is over, and all the metalheads in the crowd go onto their BlueSky accounts to post that some Nazi needs to be punched, and someone (but not me) should do it!
You will be in hella trubs then, mate!
Ya Kid, I’ll have to take you word for it, because I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.