Eternally yours, Roma

I knew that I wanted to travel to a major "bucket list" type destination this year. When the gloom and gray of August began to depress me in a major way, I decided it was time to bring out the big guns. Thus our mid-September trip to Rome.

Rome proved me wrong about quite a number of things. I thought mid-September would be cool enough to get just a bit of sun without crossing over into debilitating heat; I was wrong. I thought it would be hard to find a great, non-tourist menu meal; wrong again. I thought I wouldn't do any shopping, having not factored it into our four-day itinerary... hah! Finally, I'd heard a lot of complaints about how rude, chaotic, touristy and overcrowded the Eternal City could be, and thought I might hate it; again, I was wrong. 

I really loved this trip, and this city. I've realized that I'm no longer a big fan of big cities, and almost booked a trip to Cinque Terre instead. But Rome was so worth it.

I had booked our accommodations via AirBNB in Prati, a residential, middle-class district north of Vatican City and (by choice) a fair distance from the big tourist hotspots. Marlon and I got up at nine on the first morning and set out on a leisurely meander to the historic center. This long walk was when I first started to fall in love with the city.

To get to the Centro Storico (historic center), we had to walk a little over 4km and cross the Tiber River. 

One of the first, most vivid images of Rome I ever saw was in a Childcraft encyclopedia when I was about six or seven. (I still remember it was Volume 10, Places to Know.) It was the Castel Sant'Angelo, Hadrian's tomb turned papal residence and fortress, connected by an covered passageway to the Vatican. So I was thrilled to learn that we would be crossing the Tiber River at this historic landmark. I couldn't believe I was actually seeing this vivid image from my childhood—I was so excited, I actually ran towards it. And I don't run.

That morning walk was pretty awesome. I wish I wasn't so shy about taking photos of people, because I now really regret not taking more photos of the super fierce and molto chica locals we saw that morning.

The Romans struck me as positively petite (short, yes, but super skinny) and classically stylish. Think men in crisp, perfectly fitted suits in 35℃ heat, tanned women striding across uneven, gappy cobblestones in five-inch wedges, and aristocratic-looking grannies buying vegetables in sleek updos and linen dresses. I particularly recall an architectural, electric-pleated black linen dress that I would have killed for. If there was ever a time in my life when I seriously considered becoming a mugger, it was every time I saw a Roman dressed in some achingly covetable article of clothing. It was a crime of fashion, Your Honor!

Heck, in Rome even the doors are fierce. Check out these metal studs:

A few thoughts on dreams

Parang kailan lang, ang mga pangarap ko'y kay hirap abutin...

These lyrics from Florante's Handog leaped out at me from a video posted by Will, from the current Glee Club, on my Facebook wall this evening.

Bigla kong naalala na noong kaedad ko sina Will, pangarap kong tumira sa Europa. Hindi ko alam kung paano ko gagawin, pero lagi kong iniisip na sana, balang araw, makabalik ako at makatira dito.

So ang ibig sabihin, dahil nandito ako ngayon, nagkatotoo ang pangarap ko.

Kiddies in Prague, 2001. Slight digression: why did I think I was fat?

I sometimes lose sight of the fact that I'm living a dream fulfilled: when it's cold, rainy and gray for what seems like the umpteenth day in a row; when I see other people living in fantastic locations; or when I'm slogging through a ten-page immigration document written entirely in Dutch.

How easy it is to forget that my dream came true. So when I do remember, the realization can hit so hard it sometimes brings tears to my eyes.

Though it may seem like it to people who don't know me or Marlon very well, it may seem like I got to Europe by latching on to a jet-setting expat type (or an expat-to-be) with a career that would take him around the world. But I'll tell you something not a lot of people know.

When Marlon and I first started dating, the plan was very different. I was dead set on living in Europe (how, neither of us knew... but I was going to do it!) and Marlon needed to follow me, somehow. That was why he took his overseas job with a multinational company in the first place: because he thought it would give him the best chance of following me wherever I decided to end up.

This is the first step that the man of my dreams took in making my dreams come true. He believed in me. He saw me as a person who could, and would, achieve some whacked-out dream like that. Never mind that I had zero plans. Never mind that every time I thought about what I wanted, I wanted it so bad and felt so far from having it that I easily wound up bawling every time. He simply believed in me.

Over the course of the next four years, he took another simple but very difficult step. I can sum it up in four words: he stuck it out. I mostly mean the long-distance thing, but there are other, bigger things that nearly blew us both in separate directions. But he just hung in there. And because he did, so did I.

Then, last year, when I started getting itchy feet and questioning our life in Singapore, he did one last thing that bridged the gap from there to here. He listened. It wasn't easy for him to consider such a big change, with the career he had built and the comfort we enjoyed. But he listened, and that single act encompasses so wonderful things. Being someone I felt I could talk to about anything, enough for me to open up in the first place, is one. Sharing my sense of adventure and love for travel, valuing what we agreed our marriage would be, and not being bound to money or comfort, were others.

And this is why I—why we—are here.

Thanks to PKF for the photo!

There are as many dreams as there are ways of making them come true. All I'm saying, really is that this life, and the man I'm living it with, has been one of mine.

Turkish delight

The past few weeks have given me soooo much to blog about, such as:

• My first choir audition since the age of 17
• The start of autumn
• Four fabulous days in Rome
• Dutch lessons
• My foray into baking and sewing

But first, I've been itching to express my delight about the speedy, hassle-free process of applying for a tourist visa for Turkey. 

A few months ago, I met a Turkish national who was horrified to learn that a tourist visa is required for a visit to Turkey. "What?!" she gasped. "Why do they do this? Why don't they just make it easy for people to visit our country?"

Philippine passport holders all know what it's like to constantly battle for that all-important stamp called a visa. Since putting off this trip in May, I had been  mentally bracing myself to slog through the usual pile of paperwork, coupled with a typically tight-lipped interrogation and finished off with that now-familiar nerve-wracking waiting game. 

So I was quite pleasantly surprised to acquire a visa via what probably is the fastest process I've ever experienced. Standing at the entrance of the Turkish consulate, I joked, "What if when we get inside, there's just a box marked TOURIST VISAS: GET ONE?" Till that sweet day arrives, this is about as close as it gets.

Step 1: Begin the usual way, i.e. by preparing travel documents. Marlon and I prepared passports, residence permits, booking confirmations for both flight and accommodations. Because we're praning, we also prepared bank statements and our triple-certified marriage contract.

Step 2: Download the application form from the Turkish consulate website, attach a passport photo and fill it out.

Step 3: Get on a train to the Turkish consulate in Rotterdam. This was probably the biggest hassle of the entire process, since Rotterdam is an hour away. We also had to go at the crack of dawn because Marlon had to be 

Step 4: Go through security and get a number from the information desk.

Step 5: Wait for about 10-15 minutes. In my personal scale of waiting times at government offices, this is not long.

Step 6: This is where the fun begins. Hand over your documents and prepare to answer... wait for it... not one single question about your visit, employment, residence status or financial capacity! The visa officer at the counter barely even glanced at the stack of papers under the application form.

Step 7: Pay the visa fee of €44 to the cashier and present your receipt to the visa officer. There is no queue at the cashier.

Step 8: This is the climactic moment. You will be told to come back for your visa between 3-5pm... wait for it... one, just one working day later! We applied on Friday morning and were instructed to collect our passports the following Monday. Unbelievable!

Step 9: Return to the consulate at the appointed time. Collect passport in less than 5 minutes. No number, no queue, no waiting time.

Step 10: Turn eagerly to the page upon which your crisp new visa is stamped. Feel only the faintest cotton-candy wisp of loathing for your Philippine passport, which is easily trampled over by your mounting excitement for your trip. Wonder why other countries can't just make things this simple. 

Saan ka pa? Turkey na!

Almost Belgium

One of the things that my friends and I miserably failed to do during their visit here was go on a day trip to Belgium, which is only three hours from Amsterdam by train. Instead, "Belgium" became our new code word for snoozing/puttering/lolling around lazily at home, e.g. "Nag-breakfast na ba sina Pia? Mukhang hindi pa, nasa Belgium pa sila." LOL!

I didn't know about Maastricht when they were here, or else I would have suggested a day trip there instead. One of the oldest towns in the Netherlands, Maastricht is in the southernmost province called Limburg, and is within walking distance of Belgium and cycling distance of Germany. I first heard about it from my friend Leigh, who was positively rapturous about how pretty it was with its Belgian/French landscape and feel, as compared to your typical Dutch old town. "Maastricht has hills. Hills!" she raved. Yes, hills are worth raves in this flat-as-a-pannekoek country—and certainly pointed to a town worth visiting. 

Then I found out about Preuvenemint, an open-air food festival held in Maastricht during the last weekend of August. The promise of good food is one of the things that will get Marlon and myself to hop on a train and travel for two and a half hours, so we thought it was the perfect time to finally check out Maastricht for ourselves.

Preuvenemint was held in the Vrijthof, Maastricht's biggest and best-known square lined by old buildings, churches and cafes. Looming over the Vrijthof (aside from the ominous-looking storm clouds) are two huge churches: the Sint Janskerk with its distinctive red tower, and the Basiliek Sint Servaas.

The food festival has its own currency called lappen. (O kung tawagin sa atin ay chits. Very high school fair!) One lappen is equivalent to 2 Euro.

After a couple of rounds of the festival grounds, we came to the conclusion that Preuvenemint caters to a very well-heeled and mostly old crowd. The restaurant pavilions were filled with groups of very blond, very distinguished-looking Dutch who looked right out of casting for a Ralph Lauren ad campaign, swilling champagne and picking at tiny tasting portions of very elaborate dishes. 

Here, the lappen function as a very clever way of making you forget that you're paying twice as much for what is essentially a tiny portion. Most dishes were from 4-5 lappen (€8-10) each! Yes, I know what tasting portions are, but this wasn't what I was expecting in a food festival. There was definitely something lost in translation for me here. Maybe I was expecting something a little more... down-to-earth? Hearty? Festive? I guess you could say I was disappointed.

However, the trip wasn't a total loss. I managed to finally fulfill my craving for a crepe (not a Dutch pancake, a proper French crepe!), something I didn't have the time to do on my last visit to France. And for 2 lappen (€4), I had a hot, satisfying snack in the form of tuutsje, a cone of fried smelt fish with ravigote sauce and lemon.

This twist on Vlaamse frites, or Flemish fries (guess they're too proud to call them French fries around here!) harks back to the origin of French fries, or at least the origin story that's generally accepted in these parts. What we know today as French fries began as small fish, such as smelt, fried up by Belgian peasants. When fish proved hard to catch, strips of potatoes took their place... and thus Vlaamse frites were born. 

Disappointment with the food festival aside, we were both just happy to be in this beautiful town. It really reminded me of Belgium. We decided to walk around the historic center a bit, but eventually hunger got the best of us and we sat down for a full meal in a small square beside Onze Lieve Vrouwen Basiliek, or the Basilica of Our Lady. 

A horse-drawn buggy is parked outside the basilica. This is for the hourly city tours of Maastricht that cost €10. Maybe we'll do that next time. I know we'll definitely be back.

To go with the day's Belgian theme, I ordered a hot, steaming helping of moules frites. With a big swig of Affligem Blond, it sure hit the spot!

We'd both been obsessing about rabbit after Masterchef Australia used it in a couple of episodes. So Marlon opted for rabbit stewed Maastricht-style.

Maastricht is definitely on the pricier side, but the food was better than what we'd normally have in a Dutch cafe. (Or were we just hungry?) Whatever the case, we agreed that the day trip was a good idea and we were happy with the chance to explore a new place. Soon it was time to head back to Amsterdam.

This was the weather we had pretty much all day. I really have to accept that summer is over!

Belgium may have its own culture, (better) food and different architecture, a little of which we glimpsed without having to hop over the border that day in Maastricht. But they ain't escapin' this weather!