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Road Trip
Rainy days and Sundays
An artist's home where food is a masterpiece, and a Swiss chalet nestled on Antipolo's hills make a perfect afternoon even rain couldn't drench
Words by Jenina Alli; Photography by Chino Acosta
We wanted the road least traveled. That threw North Luzon Expressway off the table. South of the tollgate was even more clichéd. So for this month’s road trip, our compass pointed East. (Well, to be accurate, I pointed East; the two boys on board for the trip—Top Gear staff writer Dinzo Tabamo and photographer Chino Acosta—simply didn’t have any better ideas to protest with.)
The itinerary was sublimely simple: Brunch at the famed Angono eatery Balaw-Balaw, then double-back to Antipolo for coffee and dessert (sunset on the side) at Vieux Chalet.
Let there be light...
And there was none. That’s because when Sunday morning rolled in, a huge storm cloud sat its fat gray bum on our heads and tagged along with us the entire way. But we had at our disposal the perfect 4x4 SUV to negotiate slushy streets, off-kilter weather, blind curbs and mountain passes.
Now, since I am a certified road-trip enthusiast with solely passenger status (i.e. I wouldn’t know what the hell torque is if it came up to me and bought me a drink), Dinzo attempted to indoctrinate me with basic petrol-head knowledge. According to him, the Ford Escape may not navigate city traffic as sprightly as a sedan can, but it’s got the height and mettle for when Manila’s signature floodwaters rise. On another hand, unlike its barge-like brethren, the Escape’s got smaller hips so that it’s not as much of a bitch to park. It’s the perfect vessel for the wandering city-dweller.
After loading up on gas and resetting the trip meter at the Calle Industriya branch of Total, just off Libis, we wheeled off to Ortigas Extension. Past C5 and Junction, the road forked and we veered right, heading to the Taytay-Angono-Rizal artery of towns.
Now, although summer beach-bound road trips make for fine digicam fodder, there’s a different coolness factor to pushing past the city limits during weather that allows you to sleep through and avoid asking the one question that turns most passengers into roadkill.
'Are we there yet?'
But such bed weather shouldn’t compromise safety. As much as we wanted the road trip to be a laid-back feat, we couldn’t risk the driver nodding off to the soothing beat of bossa-jazz ditties one usually hears while sipping overpriced coffee. So we concocted a mix CD that would keep anyone from dozing off. Now, it’s not just about noise. You can’t have too many rock tracks playing consecutively because the ear gets comfortable with them, and all you end up with is a 180bps lullaby. So you throw in a bit of Fiona Apple, then cattle-prod everyone into wakefulness again with an amped-up version of “Tainted Love” by Dishwalla, before going full-throttle with a track from the Killers.
Notwithstanding photographer/driver Chino’s whiny protests against the music selection (something about why no one brought any Nina or MYMP CDs), our audio adrenaline streamed through the stereo with enough ambient weight to feel the music subtly course through the seats while still making modulated conversation possible.
Noise insulation was also topnotch so that, barring the sight of rain dollops belly-flopping against the glass pane of our sunroof, we couldn’t tell it was raining cats and dogs (and wombats and hyenas) outside.
With camera gear and wet umbrellas tossed back at the spacious boot, we were ready to hang loose as the Escape whizzed its way to our much-awaited brunch.
Chow time!
The trip meter read 22 kilometers by the time we parked in front of Balaw-Balaw, Angono’s famed eatery-cum- art gallery. We ordered the bouillabaisse, a cream-based seafood stew made popular by the French, and Balaw-Balaw’s specialty, the Minaluto—a gastronomic smorgasbord of rice, inhaw na talong, crabs, crispy cat fish, lechong kawali, fried chicken, calamari, binagoongan na okra, and itlog na pula, among others—all served in a round bamboo trough reminiscent of those huge-ass siopao steamers.
The second floor was home to a showcase of Spanish-era furniture and icons. One foyer within the gallery exhibited paintings, while another stored the huge, paper-maché higante heads Angono is known for.
Our food arrived and we readily abandoned art for chow. It was perfect rainy-weather fare, the velvety warmth of the bouillabaisse followed by heaping spoonfuls of rice and lechon kawali. It was a race to who got their arteries blocked first, and none of us seemed intent on losing.
All guts, whose glory?
Heading to Antipolo was just a matter of heading back the way we came until we hit Ortigas Extension, from there taking the Antipolo-bound road, and finding Sumulong Highway—a long stretch of asphalt that led to those popular roadside, ‘overlooking’ watering holes like Padi’s, Tabu, etc. But the last time any of us drove up Sumulong was during our college days, which were more presidential administrations ago than we care to mention.
The good thing with the boys in our little band of three was that none of them had the male chromosome responsible for refusing to ask for directions. The run there, however, was that we ended up with three sets of directions that didn’t at all sound like they led to the same place.
The trip pushed on with the wet panorama of downtown Antipolo getting more and more quaint as the Escape ate more pavement (Read: Nawawala na kami). Once we found ourselves wedged between two sari-sari store awnings down a narrow and steep incline, we reverted to just getting back on the main road—any main road…
Barring the few kilometers that set us off-course, getting lost was a nice way for the Escape to really flex its muscle, exhibiting a steady power that could clamber up steep inclines without any jerky throwback or the constipated feel of a weak engine trying to egg on a huge chassis. The final leg of the route was angled like that ominous climb a roller coaster takes before going on its the death plunge. But our four-wheeled steed wielded it with more ease than expected given its heft.
Built on a cliff side, the 21-year-old Swiss restaurant had that Eastern European log-cabin feel—in male parlance, it was absolutely pang-date. We plopped down, ordered coffee and dessert, ate, and ordered again because we had completely forgotten to shoot first and gobble later. We had a nice Italian brew and carrot cake served with fudgy ice cream. We could smell a fondue pot of melting Raclette cheese a few tables away; we averted our noses when the jangling of loose change in our wallets made clear that dinner was going to be a combo meal.
And so after a good hour, we packed up and made our lazy way back to Manila, still reeling from the good meal we had, with full bellies kept buffered by a cushy ride from the increasing number of potholes that told us we were definitely close to home.
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Top Gear Philippines - September 2006
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