viajero

Of Grinding Lolas, Belting Mayors and the Kindness of Caramoanons

“Kuya Ced, nilalamig ka ba?” asked curiously by Joy one of our youthful guides. It was close to dusk and I was sitting near the banca’s bow absorbing each and every splash as wave after wave pounded our wooden vessel. Without the benefit of a rain sheet, I was also being drenched by a freakish late afternoon downpour. “Minsan. Halimbawa, ngayon.” I delicately replied. At last, after a really long day, we finally parked our boat in Daraga, a small ...