After spending one night in Iloilo City, we drove with Jeoffrey and Fatima up to his hometown of San Dionisio (san-din-E-she-o), about 100km north. The trip took over two hours as we passed through countless small villages. We also made several stops along the way, loading up with fresh fruits, vegetables, and even live catfish. We were commended for bringing the good weather with us: the skies were deep blue with big dramatic clouds.
Roadside stand selling bananas and sweet potatoes
We planned to spend three nights at Jeoffrey’s house, before returning to Iloilo for the Dinagyang Festival. He inherited the pre-war house from his grandparents (his grandmother is still alive and living there), and is slowly in the process of renovating it in the gaps between his seafaring contracts. It’s very much a work in progress. The original wood-framed kitchen had recently been torn down and replaced with a safer, yet still-unfinished concrete structure (walls, ceilings, counters and all). Most of the actual cooking happened outside over an open fire under a bamboo structure. We were invited to come back in 3 years (ok, maybe 5) to see the house when all the renovations should be complete.
Prepping the mussel-like “rambit” in the outdoor kitchen
In addition to Jeoffrey, Fatima, and his grandmother living there, they also employed a husband and wife with three young children who lived on-site to oversee the day-to-day needs of the house (cooking, cleaning, laundry, maintenance), as well as a late-teen who ran errands. It was a strange juxtaposition, being in a house that had clearly deteriorated over the years, and yet being served on like royalty. I’m not used to having other people cook and clean for me, but it made sense, given how hard it was to do those things without labor-saving devices like washing machines and dishwashers. It seemed to be a mutually beneficial arrangement for both parties, and they were very much treated like part of the family.
Stephanie shows off the giant conch-like “berican” shellfish
For a change, we were the only foreigners around, which though amusing to us, was all the more surprising to the locals, who weren’t used to seeing white people walk in their midst. Dropped jaws and double-takes were common. Schoolkids giggled, waved, and occasionally practiced their English. We had become the talk of the town. Jeoffrey’s mom told us that the people who saw us kept remarking “They’re so young!”, which confused us at first, but essentially meant that of the few Americans they do see, the majority tend to be much older (due in part to the US military bases stationed in the Philippines that were closed in the early 90s). Most people seemed happy to show us around, and I’d like to think it gave them a sense of pride knowing that two outsiders had come all this way just to visit their town.
A little over three months after saying our final goodbyes to Jeoffrey from the Cap Cleveland we met him and his fiancee Fatima at the Iloilo City Airport on January 18th. He had taken care of all the arrangements during our stay, so we prepared ourselves for a whirlwind final week in the Philippines.
On the bridge of the Cap Cleveland with Jeoffrey (October 2010)
At first we had to attend to some immediate needs: a much overdue haircut, probably one of the best I’ve ever had—and for only 70 pesos (or about $1.50), the cheapest. [Editor’s Note: For the record, I’ve been reminded that the cheapest haircut I’ve ever had was at “Salon de Soleil”. I stand corrected.]
Justin getting his hair cut
That night we went to a bar in the Smallville district that prided itself on having an extensive selection of beers from around the world. It was certainly the most we’ve seen so far outside the US. I treated myself to a Rogue Dead Guy and a Stone IPA, Steph had a Boont Amber Ale. We felt right at home. I wanted to order some homemade chicharon (fried pork skins), but they were out. So Jeoffrey ordered some chicharon bulaklak (literally, “flower chicharon”) and wouldn’t tell us what they were till after we tried them: deep-fried pig intestines. Chewy, but pretty tasty.
Afterwards we went searching for some lechon, which several Filipino friends back home had suggested after our babi guling experience in Bali, but we had trouble finding. Eventually we drove out to Tatoy’s and got our fix, along with some tasty kinilaw, a sort of local ceviche, and barbecued pork belly, which seems to come with every meal.
Stephanie and I wanted to treat ourselves to a nice meal on Christmas day, but weren’t interested in the numerous turkey dinners being offered for the tourists in Ubud. Somehow I got it in my head that we should try to find that Balinese roasted pig I’d heard about.
As it happens there’s a now-famous eatery in Ubud that specializes in it: Warung Babi Guling Ibu Oka. Partly famous because apparently Anthony Bourdain went there for their babi guling, or spit-roasted suckling pig, and proclaimed it the best pork he’s ever eaten in his life, or something like that. I haven’t seen the show, but that endorsement alone was enough to cause one intrepid traveler to book a flight to Bali to seek it out. For us it was a little easier. We just had to walk up the street.
Warung Babi Guling Ibu Oka in Ubud, Bali
We arrived around 1pm, which was a little worrisome, as I’d read that they close shop when they run out of pork. I don’t know if it’s due to the Bourdain mention, but apparently people start lining up at 10am—a little early for us. We had no problem finding a seat at the counter overlooking the street, and just as we were sitting down, we were treated to the arrival of a fresh babi guling.
Fully roasted babi guling arriving
Was it the best pork I’d ever had in my life? Not really. Maybe I’m just lucky, having lived in both North Carolina and Texas, two places that really know how to cook a pig. The spices were good, and the white meat was alright, if a little stringy—a difficult proposition in a place where the standard utensils are a fork and a spoon. Stephanie ended up with more fat than meat. The skin was probably the best part. The people next to us specifically asked for “extra skin” but were turned down because there wasn’t enough. I didn’t care for the blood sausage, that’s a taste I haven’t acquired, but the what-part-of-the-pig-did-that-come-from crunchy bits were fun. I’d definitely give babi guling another shot, perhaps at a warung out of town, just to compare.
Plate of assorted pork bits from Warung Babi Guling Ibu Oka
After 10 days in Ubud, we decided to break free from the tourist throng and head to the sleepy northeast beach town of Amed. Of course no sooner had we’d checked in, than they asked, “You have program today? You want go snorkeling? Japanese shipwreck? Massage? What time massage?” Maybe it’s that we’re long term travelers and not looking to pack every moment with activity, but I wonder if they think it’s strange that we don’t want to commit to anything right away. We need time to unwind, catch up on blog posts, dip in the pool, read, and get our bearings.
A pool with a dramatic view at dusk
But by our second lazy day in Amed, we figured we had to do something, so we scanned the list of activities, and one caught my eye: jukung boat fishing—180,000 rupiah (or about $18). It’s not that I have much interest in fishing per se, but I do like to eat fish, and Amed is a fishing village, so it seemed both unusual and appropriate. Stephanie was thinking the same thing, and she’d been wanting an excuse to get out on one of the traditional boats.
So last Wednesday we set the alarm for 5 in the morning, got up before the roosters, and met our local, non-English-speaking fisherman at the gates that led from the bungalows to the beach. We helped him drag his jukung boat—a long, narrow, and deep sort of canoe with outriggers on both sides—down the volcanic black sand beach to the surf, got in, and we were off. We didn’t go too far from the shore, or too far from where we’d put in, which was comforting as this was not a “safety talk and lifevests” sort of outing. This was a real Balinese fisherman, in a real handmade, patched-up fishing boat.
Our jukung, one of Bali’s traditional fishing boats
During our first weekend in Ubud, there were two things we wanted to do: sign up for a cooking class and find a new place to stay. Regarding the latter, we stumbled upon Gayatri Bungalows, which was cheaper (~$25/night), cleaner, included breakfast at a nearby cafe, had a great pool with a view of some rice paddies, and had free wireless internet that reached our room. Granted it wasn’t the Ritz: the room wasn’t exactly pristine, there’s no A/C at that price, and the flat sheets used in place of fitted sheets would untuck during the night, but over time those were just minor quirks, and the charm of the place and the people working there won us over.
The lovely Gayatri Bungalows pool
In our walks around town, we saw several restaurants advertising cooking classes, so we picked one run by the Bumi Bali Restaurant because it included a guided tour of the traditional market in Ubud. I can now tell you that if a recipe calls for galangal, you can safely substitute ginger, and that fresh turmeric is an inexpensive stand-in for saffron.
Dried fish and peppers at the traditional market
I’ll admit I was initially hesitant about taking a cooking class—it seemed so touristy! But after our first and only such class, I’m a total convert. There is no better way to understand what goes into the dishes on the menu in a unfamiliar place than to take a cooking class there. Not only did we learn some basic cooking techniques, but we also learned a variety of common food words, e.g. ayam = chicken, ikan = fish, nasi = rice, mie = noodles, goreng = fried, bakar = grilled, etc., that make it so much easier to parse the menu in any Indonesian restaurant.
