A lot of lemons were thrown at us lately so I made lemonade by taking only airconditioned buses when [1] we received the order for a CT scan-guided biopsy from a conjurer in San Jose City that I tried chasing away with a Monday night adobong tofu, [2] retrieved scanned images from the conjurers of Cabanatuan City that I marked with a Tuesday beer, and [3] upgraded my Pay Maya app while having a meeting in an airconditioned bus to finally seal the dates for the Vang Vieng National Dialogue and subsequent flight bookings to Bangkok and Vientiane.
We took the first Solid North trip to Baguio on Wednesday for a breakfast of Balajadia Kitchenette's classic sinanglao and pork tinuno overload (Sobresaliente!) that helped us endure an 8-hour wait for a private room in the company of a gangrenous man, a pale woman and what must be her concerned husband, a hysterical woman who apparently works in a bank, a white man who the next bed said was given preferential treatment on room assignments, and a baby with a possible gatroenteritis at the Notre Dame De Chartres Hospital's Emergency Room which is a paradox since it does not seem to operate in an emergency sitiuation.
We stayed in Room 1 for a succession of CT scan conjurings that revealed benign cysts but what-we-must-know will only be disclosed after 10 days and for that I pleaded to Our Lady of the Atonement for mercy, in my bare feet and knees, and received holy communion after a long while before charging into the soft rain of Session Road for a recovery take-out dinner of mami and siopao from Luisa's Cafe (Bien but not in the level of Ma Mon Luk) and getting discharged the next day to the haunted halls of Casa Vallejo, a thanksgiving visit to the Baguio Cathderal, and a dinner at Hill Station (Notable alto but pricey).
The ghosts of Casa Vallejo were apparently absent because we almost did not make it there due to an Agoda debacle and broke a glass jar of bath gel too so we searched for Baguio Masonic Lodge No. 67 before enduring breakfast at a Cafe by the Ruins (Insuficiente, ruinuous, disappointing and overrated!) that was somehow mitigated by a criterium and sparring boxers in Burnham Park, and three approved Fridays off in lieu of my first meeting with CANSEA and a weekly I-JET PMU catch up on why Jonas Vingegaard outsprinted Tadej Pogacar in Stage 11.
After 3 days of conjuring and a day of recovering, I finally snatched a smoke in the toilet of a vegetable stall along Kennon Road, almost 3 hours before entreating Apo Baket Manaoag for her divine intervention.
The kinigtot, pigar-pigar and grilled boneless bangus at the Kainan sa Kubo Ningnangan Ed Manaoag rocks but their dinakdakan, sinigang na salmon belly and pinakbet Ilocano sucks.
That is my conjuring back in Bakal 2 where the beer freezeth over a weekend of birthday sessions...
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