|L-R: me, my cousin Dylan, and my mom.|
I had high expectations for this year’s Holy Week because it was the first time in a long time that my mom and I would be going out-of-town together. Let me end this paragraph by saying that it was, hands down, the worst vacation I have gone on so far.
It started out okay. After the bus ride to Lipa and a long jeepney ride to San Juan, we had lunch at a small cafe called Cafeño.
|Dylan, my mom, me, and my Tita Bebe (who I call Mommy)|
What used to be a Mobilgas gas station in 1948 is now a cafe which serves, among others, barako coffee and pastries. We liked it because it had a unique vintage look, thanks to the wooden floors and walls, black-and-white newspaper clippings.
|They used a sewing machine as a base for their table. Cool, eh?|
Then we took a very uncomfortable jeepney ride to Laiya: the passengers were not only people, but luggage and big sacks of vegetables. An old woman actually asked the driver to stop the vehicle because she wanted to buy some bread from the roadside store. DAFUQ? Maybe it was common practice there, but to an urbanite (or raging selfish misanthropist) like me, this was wildly inconsiderate.
When we finally got to Casa Remo Apartelle, we were disappointed at what we saw. We were misled by the pictures (I always think photographs are big fat liars, and I was right!).
Mommy in particular was indignant at the lack of cable TV, which the site specifically promised. A man from the office explained that their cable had broken down because someone used the satellite dishes as a clothesline. Major WTF moment.
|DO NOT BE FOOLED.|
More disappointment ensued when we saw the beach. There were barely two or three meters of sand before you could reach the water. It seemed that the locals built their houses too close to the water. The sand was gritty, rough, and stony—I couldn’t walk on it barefoot without cringing in pain every few minutes.
|Tita Ninang, Dylan’s mom.|
The most fun we had was riding the pedalboat. We had such a hard time steering that Dylan almost had to jump out and drag the pedalboat to shore, lol.
It was after this that my mom informed me of all the activities that we weren’t doing:
- Banana boat-ing
- Getting a body massage
She could have just said, “We won’t be doing all the things you wanted to and made us promise to do!”
Afterwards, we ate at Kappe Brako, where we all agreed that the food is not worth the money. It’s too damn expensive.
After a nap that did not improve my mood, we went to eat at Lomi House, a nearby carinderia. Batangas is known for its delicious lomi; however, at the time, I really really badly wanted some goto. And guess what? They didn’t serve goto! I felt like yelling, “Goto is the only friggin’ thing I want right now! What does the universe have against me?”
Maybe thinking that the sea air would put some life into my dejected shell of a person, my mom suggested a nighttime stroll by the beach. The low tide left a very large portion of sand exposed, where we were free to walk and write stuff (here is where I would say, *~I wrote your name in the sand but the waves washed it away~*).
Maybe this is just the high-maintenance princess in me talking (even my cousin says I am high-standard, and I accept that I can get too maarte), but I am not going back here.
Also, I find it hilarious that we’re all smiling in these photos when all we did there was complain about how we are never, ever going back to the place.
|I couldn’t put my full weight on the tire swing because I’m scared the tree branch would fall off . Shame. I love tire swings. 😦|