DUMAGUETE AND THE 106th ANNUAL COMMUNICATION

The Diplomats did not embark from London's Winfield House.

Nor did they booked a Transatlantic flight from Marseille.

For the first time, delegates from more than 350 Masonic Lodges converged in Dumaguete, arriving by plane, motor vehicles and boats for the 106th ANCOM.

I came via a delayed PR 2355 to be dispensated with the authority of wearing the apron and circular jewel of a Junior Grand Lecturer and, with our District Deputy Grand Master, added a milestone to the history for our Lodge.

Nothing more than that although an adventure in Siquijor is in the works, and perhaps some Utagaki time too. 

At the Grand Master's Night, chunks of lechong baka at baboy hurriedly torn off from the roasting pit by a hungry horde were washed down with a sea of warm beer, and there was enough to be smuggled out to fuel two nights of debauchery at the Heart Hotel where Salome catered to a basketball team that was already pickled with free whiskey from the Grand Master's Banquet.  

The night after, I finally got what I came for: coagulating humba and and lukewarm batchoy from Eden's Kandingan, a serving of bland Dumaguete Express from Lab-as, a tiny slice of Sans Rival from its outlet at the Port of Dumaguete, and an amazing spread of chicken inasal, pork tocino, chorizo de Bacolod and talaba from Rizal Boulevard.       

The night after, the sleep deprived and hung-over delegation from Nueva Ecija East and Aurora walked through the Dumaguete Belfry, the main gate of Siliman University, Mt. Kaladias No. 91's Masonic temple, and the Negros Oriental provincial capitol. 

There is not much to see in Dumaguete but there must be a lot in Siquijor.

There were no bike tour packages in Dumaguete and Siquijor but I had two pre-ANCOM rides in Korokan and CLSU, and Tuesday's tiim na manok to send me off...

THE CHEF (not the movie)

She may look to be on the verge of crying but Chef Aoy is a kisser.

And she worked the tongue longer than usual, her Moneyball in setting up the Holey Artisan Bakery right where the Phantom Biker tripped near the Bangkokian Museum many Saturdays ago. 

There, she plays the Hunger of the curious with a menu of Aling Inday's pork barbecue on Tuesdays, Sr. Pedro's litsong manok on Thursdays, a Craftsman's lechon on Fridays, and a Saturday birthday special of kinilaw na bangus at kambing.

Her cry baby noodles made the visiting Oakland Athletics bawl like lost cows chanting the sabermetric method that inspired David Koresh to reimagine Waco, the American Apocalypse, in an affluent neighborhood of Gulshan Thana. 

Then a loud RRR!, like tricycle engines revving up in Bakal 2 and the sound of a broken quick-release axle as Bheem and Raju's combined superpowers tried to rescue Faraaz.

The fake blondes of Cabanatuan were snubbed but the Phantom Biker didn't care as hellfire descended upon the bike trails of the second cropping season...  

OF BLACK AND RED LABELS

So what's the Beef?

The bribed server piled plateloads of lechon baka at baboy from the pastures of Paxos for the gentlemen at Table No. 5 but did not malign the black and red-labeled ladies. 

Them ladies sold cheap brandy and wine from the vineyards of Calabasas but have nothing to do with registrations, financial reports and other baseless rumors.

 

He was the The Maestro in Blue shirt's chosen one but being a deputy is not in his stars so he opted to sit with the junior lecturers to incubate a reprisal.   

Who is the The Night Agent with the forked tounge then?

Under scutiny from the Thursday Group, Agent Sutherland testified that he intercoursed with but did not tounge Rose Larkin. 

Facing the penalty of drowning in a lake of kalderatang bibe, Orestis confessed he might have went down on Klelia at Camp David. 

Paul Cho admitted licking Amy Lau's crevices under her orders and was therefore fined with a tray of inihaw na tuna from Mang Inasal.

The Fugitive remains at large, his puppets installed as masters of the snake pit after the The Curious Case of Carlos Ghosn went through magnetic resonance imaging where a case of massive insecurity was revealed that was laughed off by the Mistahs who were diagnosed to be "happy lang" which the Phantom Biker captured in a reel of 5 biking days...

BIKES, BOOZE & BLOOD

Brandy and beer fall from palm trees to smash plates of inihaw na baboy with a Vietnamese Nocebo treatment, the holy Furie unleashed in Flemish roads as the Irish spy feed holy Broken Horses with The Scent of Burning Grass from Uruguay where the Feast of the Paschal Lamb was commanded to be celebrated in Korean amidst the Noise of pouring whiskey and pickling kinilaw na bangus, warm beer and canned tuna crucified for A Twelve Year Night at the Mexican border, Parasites mourning a Spanish river of tiim na bibe and extra strong beer because I Don't Feel at Home in this World Anymore except with Ruth, the resurrected perfect BBW who dine on brandy and sisig at the ruins of the Quang Tri citadel when 25-27 was called.

SAUSAGES AND BEER

I confess to once opining that Beerlao is the best beer in Southeast Asia.

I'm taking that back and sticking with San Miguel Beer but still, it's a close second in my list and the best pairing for sai oua, that delectable Lao sausage from Luang Prabang on whose oily crumbs I vowed to be my first meal should I ever set foot in Vientiane again.

Not really unfortunately since apparently, there are all kinds of burning meat at the Mekong Riverside Night Market except that on my Day 1 in Vientiane. 

But what followed is a Noir of excellent sai oua: twice at the Khambao Lao Food Restaurant for the second best in the world according to tasteatlas, countless servings at the Kongview Bar and Restaurant where I achieved a personal best of imbibing the most Beerlao in one sitting, and twice ordered at Khop Chai Deu during my longest ever bout with Beerlao. 

But really, sai oua and Beerlao (lager, dark, IPA) should be the main protagonists in the Night Market to add emotion into Sunday's tasteless beef barbecue and Monday's overrated grilled river prawn, and might have justified Tuesday's sleaze at a place in Vientiane called Yaowarat which in Bangkok is not sleazy at all.    

We got lost on Thursday but a huge Beerlao signage led us to the banks of the Mekong River where the lights of nearby Thailand bounced and danced as bottle after bottle was opened and poured, humidity and heat extracting sweet phermones from sweat glands to inspire the local band in playing the ballad of a distant memory who was noticeably absent in Friday's group photo.    

Ban Haysoke turned out to be a neighborhood of the Chanthaboury District where the best street food of Vientiane including the alleged third best sai oua in the world can be found, which Vin did and ate for two dinners, which I totally missed on my first try.

I went back the next morning but the monks who were sweeping the yard of the centuries-old Wat Ong Teu Mahawihan said I was too early even for coffee.

So I went back to Somerset Vientiane via Quai Fa Ngum where morning cyclists tempted me to book an expensive bike tour.

I did not...