Road trip.

It had been awhile since P and I went road tripping and we both decided to go to Subic for a bit of R & R. We stayed at the Subic Bay Yacht Club (our first time) and luckily got a room with a view of the Marina. Subic is a convenient destination. Something about its antiseptic look also appeals to us. On ordinary days, the place is quiet and sleepy, like a ghost town. The streets inside the Freeport zone are almost always deserted and everything, except some restaurants near the Boardwalk, promptly closes at 8 PM. There’s really nothing much to do in Subic except shop and eat, maybe engage in water sports like jet skiing, parasailing, scuba diving if one is inclined to do these sort of things. Honestly the beaches are not that remarkable, but they’re nice enough. I remember the time P and I went there for a day’s excursion. We just did the rounds of the Duty-free shops, ate steaks, then parked our car, windows down, under a tree, facing the sea. The serene environment made me prop my feet up on the dashboard as I allowed the cool sea breezes to lull me to sleep.



By 4 PM we were back again on the road, hoping that we’d reach the North Luzon Expressway before rush hour (this was during the construction of said road. Now, going back and forth to the North is a cinch). What makes the Subic experience even more spectacular is not just getting there, but the journey in getting there. For us the romance starts as we hit the expressway, that wide expanse of road, with the car cruising at the speed of 100 or more kilometers per hour, and driving by bridges that seem to stretch forever, while absorbing the beauty of rural Philippines—the rice fields, the small lakes and tentative waterways, the fruit orchards, the elevations (which never cease to remind me of the time when as a young girl traveling the early mornings with my tatay to visit family in Sta. Lucia or San Fernando, he pointed Mt. Arayat out to me, his voice low and happy, and I remember looking at its outline in the mist, my eyes still cloaked in sleep, and then turning to face my father to smile as if the mountain was a secret we shared), the mud crabs sold in makeshift bamboo stalls from Pampanga to Olongapo, the Razon and Mekeni stores, the various home and religious artifacts sold on either side of the road, each skillfully fashioned/carved by the crafty hands of Kapampangans, and P, energetically jabbering away next to me, telling me story after story, and me, smiling and laughing, my heart full, content, happy, happy.