Cebu: Lechon and Everything After

In an earlier post, I said I would be posting pictures from my overnight trip to Cebu, and seeing as how four years of college have hammered the phrase "journalistic integrity" (I think it's journalistic integrity... it could be ethics. Or something like that. You know what I mean.) into my brain, I am compelled to provide you, dear reader, with a visual tour of Things Gaby Saw/Did/Ate.

First up, the main reason I was given a couple of days out of the office and sent to Cebu, the Radisson Blu hotel. The result of a partnership between the SM Corporation and the Carlson hotel chain, it is an unassuming business hotel with fabulous service, speedy WiFi, and really delicious dessert.



The hotel's facade

It's also a stone's throw away from what Wikipedia says is the world's 18th largest mall. Of course I had to go. And yes, it's just like every other SM in the world, with the exception of the newly-built (renovated?) North Wing, which features the higher-end stores. On sale. It took an inordinate amount of will-power -- as well as the realization that I had to fly back to Manila with about ten kilos added to my luggage if I gave in -- that kept me from shopping. I have a disease, I tell you.

Fine, I'll admit, I got a pair of really cute shoes. Twenty percent off. Win.

The hotel opening and ribbon cutting was this massive affair, with corporate moguls, CEOs, and pretty much the VIP of all Philippine VIPs right now:



Yep

President Benigno Simeon Aquino III. Not only Kris' older brother, but more importantly, the fifteenth president of the Republic of the Philippines. He snipped the ribbon, gave what I'd like to think was a very good address, and then left for another meeting. And I thought my schedule was hectic.

I just wrote about the president on my blog. How cool and serious is that? Anyway, moving on.



My view

I should start making this a regular feature. "Gaby's Room (With A View)" or whathaveyou. Too commercial, I think, but whatever. It's a work in progress. This picture is pretty hilarious though. Half tropical paradise, half paved parking lot. Joni Mitchell would have found this hilarious, no? ...Maybe not.



Sample-size sweets.
I was, however, momentarily distracted by this plate of desserts so thoughtfully placed in my room. All were delicious, particularly because they were all mine. I also have two notorious soft spots –and a separate stomach-- for chocolate, in any form, and carrot cake.

Dinner, the next morning's breakfast, and then dinner before leaving for the airport, were at the hotel's restaurant, Feria.



It was there that I realized just how much I'm aging; years, even months ago, buffets were my domain, my specialty. Now, a buffet --particularly one that is separated into stations for appetizers, entrees, dimsum, and dessert -- has turned from a smorgasbord of delights into an overwhelming array that short circuits my brain.

Because I'm a horrible journalist, I totally forgot to take pictures of the party celebrating the opening, which took place the night we arrived. Was way too reliant on the SLR-toting members of the group. Whoopsies.

The next morning, a surprisingly upbeat and fresh group began a tour of Cebu. Our first stop:



Kenneth Cobonpue's showroom and workshop

I'm not the biggest fan of minimalist design, but some of his stuff was just undeniably pretty. See for yourself:



A bed inspired by the architechture of the Hagia Sophia. Awesome.


Lighting is important. Kenneth Cobonpue knows this, apparently.


I'm not sure if this is the piece they were referring to, but the chismis is that Brad Pitt owns one of these.


Cuteness. This.




I like beds, can't you tell?



For lunch, we were taken to where they make The Greatest and Best Pork in the World. Blogger Marketman, or Joel, which is about as much as Google knows about his real name, made some of his infamous Zubuchon, along with some other non-porky dishes for the group.




Dude. Duuuuude. Duuuuuuuude. The lechon was like... like if traditional Cebu lechon and lechon kawali had babies. Flavor from the bones, with crispy skin because they make hundreds of tiny little holes in the pig prior to cooking.

Duuuuude. And the little one? Truffle lechon. I'm going to say that again: truffle. Lechon. The man is insane. Like, seriously, who thinks of this stuff? It's like bacon ice cream. But, you know, good. Or lechon sinigang. Stuff you'd never put together.




Oh. Wait a minute. That's lechon sinigang right there. Cue a round of maniacal laughter.





The aforementioned non-porky stuff

After lunch and what can only be described as a food coma, the group was shuttled off to, um, a jewelry store. That makes pretty things. Like rings and pendants and bangles. Yeah. But the real highlight of the trip lay outside the factory:




Sheep. On someone's front lawn. There were two, actually, but this one was closer. Too bad he wasn't looking.

The rest of the trip was pretty much downhill from there. Because really, sheep. Sheep.

I should end all posts with images of sheep.

For more non-sheep-related information, you can call the Radisson Blu Hotel at +63 32 402 9900 and look for Ms. Mary Joan Danao, who is a lovely, patient person, who managed to deal with a group of 20 squealing journalists for a full day without wanting to stab any of us, or so I'd like to think. Tell her Gaby sent you. You can also visit the hotel's website if you want to make your own blog post of what [Insert Your Name Here] Saw/Did/Ate.

Whoopsies.

Remember how I said I'd try to post "once a week"? [See: first blog post.]

Yeah, I lied.

But if it's worth anything, I have been doing some non-blog writing, since - irony of ironies - I am now employed, a productive member of society with a Social Security number, a bank account, and all the trappings of the yuppie archetype I was so ready to hate all of two weeks ago.

Best thing I can do, I suppose, is to just keep calm and, well, carry on. I'll pretend this little blip never happened.

In other news, it's Sunday night, and I have two stories due tomorrow. It's not that I don't like writing it's just that, seriously, at this moment, I would much rather be where he is:

The Elements of Style

If someone sat me down several months ago and told me just how hard it would be to get a job, I would probably have done one of two things: panicked, and signed up for the first post-graduate course that would take me, or laughed right in their face.

After all, with youth comes acne, sartorial misadventures, misguided, lost loves, a complete belief in personal infallibility, and a sense of idealism that would put Andy Dufresne to shame.

It is this very last quality that has left me completely unaware of the difficulties involved in finding a job that (a) I would like, and (b) would pay if not well, then decently. This isn't really saying much though. I am a writer, and we aren't really known for our 401Ks or whatever it is that the corporate kids talk about every weekend at the country club. Half our pay lies in the hackneyed, old cliche, "Do something you love and you'll never work a day in your life," I guess.

Lately, the hunt for a company that would take me from the realms of the unemployed led me to the offices of several networks and publishing houses. For the uninitiated, movies, television shows, and magazines are just about the pinnacle of glamour but, the reality is, where the images of style and luxury are created are decidedly the opposite. Where one expects to see a shiny indoor composition of steel and Lucite and leather, one finds instead a dense maze of cubicles, depressingly gray chairs on wheels, and mountains of cardboard boxes filled with hundreds of back-issues. All this opulence is, of course, lit by that most depressing and unflattering form of lighting, the white fluorescent bulb.

This is where this season’s It bag or must-have lipstick are chosen. This is where names like Galliano, McQueen, Lagerfeld, and Slimane are thrown around like they were friends about to drop by for coffee. This is where the decision between a skinny belt or a wide one is a matter of life and death. This is where blue is never really blue, but rather, cobalt, azure, turquoise or aquamarine. This is where the hours are long and unpredictable, where the pay is often bad, and where, when all the couture has been put away and the makeup washed off, nothing will ever be taken seriously if you haven’t squeezed it from the deepest recesses of your soul.

This is also where - despite the seemingly solitary purpose of superficiality and glorification of the ephemeral - I can and am allowed to make a difference, no matter how small. This is, despite knowing the sacrifice that the world of the perfectly arranged demands, what I want my future to be.

And to think I could have taken up business in school.