🌿 Our Final Stop

Ashland was our fourth and final stop, and by the time we arrived, we were ready for a slower pace. We settled into the charming Historic Carriage House, hosted by Julia — a cozy, welcoming space that felt instantly like a place to exhale. Between all the goodies Opel sent us off with and the supplies Julia provided, we were set for dinner and several breakfasts. She even left us eggs, a thoughtful touch that made us smile.

Our friends Mark and Cindy live in Talent, just a short drive away, so this part of the trip was all about reconnecting and enjoying time together.

🎭 OSF — Come From Away

Our first outing with Mark and Cindy was to see Come From Away at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival,(OSF). Jay and I had seen it before in Newfoundland with Elizabeth and Hughie, so we were especially excited to share it with them. Both productions were wonderful in their own ways, and experiencing the story again with friends who would appreciate it made the evening feel even more special.

The musical tells the true story of how the small town of Gander, Newfoundland welcomed nearly 7,000 stranded airline passengers on 9/11 when U.S. airspace suddenly closed. The show follows both the townspeople and the travelers as they navigate fear, confusion, kindness, and unexpected friendship. What makes the production so moving is its blend of humor and heart. In the middle of a global crisis, people find small moments of connection — sharing meals, music, stories, and comfort. The townspeople open their homes, schools, and community spaces, and the travelers slowly begin to feel safe again.

It’s uplifting without being sentimental, and it reminds you how extraordinary ordinary people can be when the world turns upside down — and honestly, this kind of generosity is simply the norm for Newfoundlanders.

After the show, we went out for a nice Mexican dinner — excellent food at a place we’d never visited before, and our first meal together on this leg of the trip. We settled in early afterward, happy and full from the day.

🌞 Friday With Everyone

Friday was our full day with Mark and Cindy — and the day their daughter Ellie would arrive from Eugene. We hadn’t seen her in many years, so having her there felt like an unexpected gift. We spent the entire day visiting, catching up, laughing, and playing Zilch, the dice game with an array of rules, including Uncle Bob’s rules. It was one of those easy, comfortable days where time slips by without you noticing. That evening, Jay and I went to see You Are Cordially Invited to the End of the World! at OSF

🎭 You Are Cordially Invited to the End of the World

The play was quirky, funny, and surprisingly touching. It follows Greg, who receives a terminal diagnosis and becomes obsessed with climate change, convinced that his fate and the planet’s fate are intertwined. His wife Viv wants to savor their remaining time, while their grown child, M, narrates the story with humor and heart.

One moment stayed with us long after the curtain fell. The characters debate whether saving a single empty plastic water bottle actually makes any difference. It seems like such a tiny act — almost laughably small in the face of global environmental problems. But the play doesn’t let you dismiss it. Greg argues that individual choices matter, while others point out that the biggest environmental damage comes from large corporations.

It becomes an ethical dilemma you’re left thinking about: Does saving one bottle matter? Or is it symbolic — a reminder that we’re part of something larger?

The play doesn’t give an answer. Instead, it nudges you to sit with the complexity, to consider your own choices, and to recognize that both personal responsibility and corporate accountability shape the world we live in.

🍑 Saturday — Peach Pie & The Scorebook of Honor

Saturday was our peach‑pie day. We headed back to Mark and Cindy’s house and spent the day talking, laughing, cooking, and even making a trip to the farm to get more peaches. Ellie was still there, which made the day even sweeter.

Cindy made a beautiful peach pie for my birthday, served  with vanilla ice cream — absolutely perfect. We played more Zilch, and this time both Jay and  I won. They keep a “scorebook of honor,” a notebook where everyone records their victories, and we got to sign it. A small thing, but it felt like being welcomed into their traditions.

We stayed as long as we could, savoring every moment with the three of them before heading back to the Historic Carriage House to pack up and get ready for the drive home in the morning.

🎨 A Sweet Goodbye

On the day we left, Julia, our host , came over with her daughter to say goodbye. Her little girl brought us a beautiful painting she had created, and she also brought along another painting made by her younger brother. He didn’t come to the house, but he sent a video message wishing us safe travels home. Both children were adorable, and Julia was truly one of the best hosts we’ve ever had. I would absolutely stay at the Historic Carriage House again.

🚗 The Drive Home

The drive home felt familiar — a route we’ve taken many times over the years when Ashland was our annual getaway for OSF shows. I have actually managed to see all 39 plays in Shakespeare’s canon over the years — but please don’t ask me to enumerate them. Still, knowing I’ve seen them all adds a little sparkle to every OSF visit.

The drive also gave me a chance to replay the moments of the trip in my mind, grateful for the people we saw, the laughter we shared, and the gentle rhythm of days well spent.

Jay did what he had done on our drive from Idaho to Washington State — he watched the final FIFA game on his phone, keeping up with every play. It added a little excitement to the ride, a modern twist to an otherwise familiar journey.

We’ll spend the rest of the summer at home with family and local events — our granddaughter Keira’s graduation party, birthdays, and all the small celebrations that make summer feel full.

I wish everyone a happy summer!

🚗Stop 3 — Vancouver, Washington

After breakfast, we got on the road and began our drive toward Vancouver, Washington. Tim had told us earlier that once we passed Baker City, the scenery would get a lot better — and he was right. As soon as we reached Baker and continued west, the landscape opened up and the drive became one of those stretches where you can’t help but look out the window a little longer.

To our right, the Columbia River ran wide and steady, with Washington State stretched out along the opposite bank. The water caught the light in that soft way rivers do, shimmering like brushed silver as it stretched alongside the highway. For a moment, I thought of our friends Joe and Leonardo. They had just finished a Columbia River cruise, sailing along this very same stretch of water we were now driving beside.

I could picture them on the deck in the early evening, probably enjoying one of their favorite cocktails, taking in the scenery as the riverboat glided past the cliffs. They had told us how peaceful the cruise was, how the river seemed to slow everything down, and as we drove, I imagined them savoring that moment the way only they can.

Since I was driving, I couldn’t take any photos myself. But the beauty was so striking that it didn’t matter — it etched itself into my mind. It reminded me of the old days, when you’d be out with a film camera, run out of exposures, and have no choice but to memorize the scene. That’s exactly what this felt like: a picture taken without a camera, held in memory instead of on film.

🏨 Settling In — Sonesta ES Suites

After the long but beautiful drive from Idaho, we arrived at the Sonesta ES Suites and settled into our room. We had dinner, then took the rest of the evening to unwind, grateful for a quiet moment after the long drive. It gave us a chance to rest and recharge for the next day, when we would meet up with Opel, Monette, and Sean, who already had our itinerary lined up for the next few days — and from the looks of it, the schedule was packed with fun. They had thought everything through: places to go, things to see, little surprises tucked in here and there. It was clear they were excited to show us more of their corner of the world that we did not see last year and that made us even more excited for the days ahead.

🌄 Morning at the Proto‑Cathedral, Farmers Market & Moulton Falls

Before heading to the farmers market, we stopped at the Proto‑Cathedral of St. James the Greater and caught the tail end of the morning Mass. When the Mass ended, we stayed for a while, admiring the beauty of the place — the warm light, the stained glass, and the sense of history that settles into old churches like a gentle hush. It was a peaceful way to begin the day.

From there, we continued to the farmers market, which was part of the day Monette had thoughtfully planned out. The market was lively and colorful, full of fresh produce, flowers, handmade crafts, and that easy weekend energy that makes wandering fun. We strolled through the stalls, stopping whenever something caught our eye, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together.

We found lunch right there at the market, each of us choosing something different. After finishing our meals, we lingered a bit longer, looking for the cookies that Jay spotted earlier but they were sadly sold out. The moral of the story is: buy them when you see them!

Before heading back to the hotel, we made one more stop — Moulton Falls, tucked into the forest near Yacolt. It was a quick visit, just long enough to step out of the car, walk toward the bridge, and admire the waterfall spilling steadily below. The cool shade and the sound of rushing water were a gentle shift from the lively energy of the market, a brief moment of calm folded into the day.

After a few minutes, we headed back to the hotel to rest. Stretching out for a bit, recharging, and knowing we had the evening concert ahead made the downtime feel even sweeter.

🎻 Evening Concert — Aaron Meyer

Later that evening, we all met up at the park to enjoy the Sunday Sounds concert featuring Aaron Meyer, the rock violinist whose performances blend classical technique with the energy of modern music — a perfect choice that Monette had thoughtfully included on our itinerary. Aaron Meyer plays with a joyful intensity, the kind that makes you feel the music even before you recognize the melody. His violin doesn’t just sing; it moves, lifts, and dances, pulling the audience right along with it.

The park was already filling with people — families spreading blankets, friends settling into lawn chairs, and kids running around before the music started. The warm evening, the open-air setting, and the anticipation of hearing Aaron Meyer made it feel like the perfect way to end our day in Vancouver. It was one of those nights where everything lined up just right — good friends, good music, and a beautiful summer atmosphere.

After the concert, Opel dropped us off at the hotel, and we all agreed that Tuesday was going to be a packed and exciting day. Monday, on the other hand, would be our chance to relax — a quiet day to unwind, maybe spend some time at the pool, and simply enjoy a slow morning before the fun picked up again.

🧌 Tuesday — Visiting Ole Bolle

Tuesday was one of the most memorable days of our Vancouver stay, thanks to Monette’s wonderful planning. She had suggested we visit the troll — Ole Bolle — and it turned out to be such a fun and unique outing.

Ole Bolle is one of the giant wooden trolls created by Danish artist Thomas Dambo, built from recycled wood and tucked into the landscape like a friendly guardian. When we arrived, we stood there for a moment just taking him in — his huge hands, his expressive face, and the way he seemed to be quietly watching over everything. Monette, Opel, and Sean even noticed details in the carving they hadn’t seen before.

There was something magical about the whole scene. It felt like stepping into a storybook, and we couldn’t help but smile as we walked around, noticing all the little details in his design. It was playful, surprising, and exactly the kind of adventure that makes a trip feel special.

🍽️ BBQ at Opel’s

After visiting Ole Bolle, we headed to Opel’s house for a backyard BBQ, and it turned into one of the sweetest, most comforting parts of the day. We sat out in her backyard while she cooked, enjoying the mouthwatering smells drifting from the grill — kabobs sizzling, chicken browning just right, corn getting that perfect char, and of course pansit.

In true Opel fashion, we were banned from trying to help — she made that very clear. The only exceptions were Jay and Sean, who were permitted to clean the corn we’d picked up at the farmers market. They took their assignment seriously, while Monette and I sat back, laughed, and enjoyed the show. It added a playful note to the afternoon, the kind of moment that makes a gathering feel even more like home.

When everything was ready, we gathered around and enjoyed the feast she’d created. The food was delicious, but the company and the atmosphere made it unforgettable — a perfect ending to an already wonderful day.

And, staying true to Filipino hospitality, Opel prepared enough food to feed an army — and even shared plates with her immediate neighbors, a gesture rooted in generosity and community. It was such a lovely touch, and it made the afternoon feel even more warm and welcoming.

🌆 Farewell for Now

After the meal, we tried to help clean up — at least as much as Opel would allow, which wasn’t very much. She waved us off with that familiar “I’ve got it” confidence, and we knew better than to argue.

She walked with us back to the hotel, leftovers in hand “just in case we got hungry later.” As we walked, I found myself thinking about how remarkable it is that we’ve only known these friends for four years. Compared to the lifelong friendships at our other stops, that’s hardly any time at all — and yet it feels like we’ve known them forever. Some friendships settle in quickly, like they were always meant to be part of your life.

🧳 Packing Up for Ashland, Oregon

Back at the hotel, we began packing up again, slipping into that familiar rhythm of getting ready for the next stop. Each time we repacked, our load grew a little lighter — not because we were losing things, but because we were leaving goodies behind at each stop, sharing treats and small comforts with the friends we visited.

We even joked that we could finally put one of the back seats upright again, now that we had dropped off so much pasalubong along the way. Pasalubong is a Filipino tradition — gifts brought from a trip, meant to show thoughtfulness and strengthen connections. Carrying it with us from stop to stop made the journey feel even more meaningful.

With our bags lighter and our hearts full, we settled in for one last quiet night in Vancouver, ready for the road ahead and our next destination: Ashland, Oregon.

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We reached Ellen and Tim’s place just before dinner, the same easy timing we’d had in Dayton. Before anything else, we unloaded the car — bags, coolers, and all the food we’d brought for the visit. One cooler was packed full of champagne mangoes, the kind so sweet and soft they practically melt. They hadn’t tasted them before, but I knew they would be a hit.

We carried in the ingredients for the Filipino dishes we planned to cook together, along with the fresh tomatoes our neighbors Cora and Rene had sent with us. It felt good to arrive with something to share, and even better knowing we’d have time to cook and eat together over the next few days.

Once everything was inside and tucked away, the pace softened. Their backyard was quiet and open, the kind of space where the sky feels bigger. We sat outside for a while, watching the clouds drift and the birds move through the evening light, catching up in that familiar way that only happens with people you’ve known since the 70s. Inside, dinner was already simmering on the stove — Ellen moving around the kitchen with her calm rhythm, Tim nearby, everything feeling settled and welcoming.

We didn’t rush into plans that first night. We just enjoyed their company, the backyard breeze, and the comfort of being with people who’ve been part of my life for so many decades.

🌉 Twin Falls — BASE Jumpers and a Change of Plans

The next morning, we decided to drive out toward Shoshone Falls in Twin Falls. The plan was simple — see the falls, enjoy the view, and make a relaxed afternoon of it. But plans have a way of shifting in the best possible ways.

As we crossed the Perrine Bridge, Ellen and Tim suddenly spotted BASE jumpers climbing over the railing and leaping toward the Snake River, each one aiming for the little circle or target marked below.

We pulled over and ended up spending more time than expected watching jumper after jumper float down toward the river. Some drifted gracefully, some spun a little in the air, and every single one made our hearts lift just a bit.

Then Ellen and I decided to go for a little shopping, hunting for silver ribbon for my hair; yes, I am still in the braid era! While we browsed, Jay and Tim wandered across the street to watch the jumpers get ready, chatting with a few of them and taking in the whole scene from a different angle.

By the time we all met back up, the afternoon had slipped away. It was getting too late to make it to the falls, so we decided to save that for another visit and instead found a cute little restaurant nearby for a quick bite.

On the drive back to Mountain Home, Ellen pulled out her phone and, with her usual calm efficiency, made the reservations for our next day’s adventure — river rafting. By the time we reached their house, our early‑morning plans were officially set.

🍲 Cooking Together — Pansit, Adobo, and Mangoes

Once home, we rolled up our sleeves and started chopping vegetables, getting everything ready for our dinner of pansit and chicken adobo. The kitchen filled with the familiar smells of garlic, soy, and simmering broth, and the evening settled into that easy rhythm that only happens with old friends — cooking together, laughing, and feeling grateful for the kind of day that unfolds exactly the way it wants to. We sliced up a few of the champagne mangoes too,and it knew they would be a hit

🚣‍♀️ Rafting Day — Mountain Home, Idaho

We were all up early the next morning, the house still quiet except for the soft clatter of coffee cups and the hum of the coffeemaker. Breakfast was simple — leftovers from the day before and a couple more slices of those mangoes. Once everyone had their fill of coffee, off we went.

When we arrived at the rafting center, we were thrilled to learn that it would be just the four of us in our raft — no strangers, no crowd, just our little group and a guide who immediately won us over. His name was Aidan, charming in that effortless, genuine way that makes you think he’s exactly the kind of young man you’d want your daughter to marry.

At the riverbank, Aidan gave us our instructions — how to paddle, how to lean, how to listen for his calls. Then we carried our raft down to the water, the cool air rising off the river as we stepped in.

The ride started out easy, almost gentle. The raft glided along the surface, and for a moment it felt like we were simply floating through a quiet morning. But rivers have their own personality, and before long we hit the first set of bumps — small at first, then bigger, splashing up and over the sides until all of us were soaked. We laughed through every hit, holding tight to our paddles as the raft bounced and dipped.

Aidan kept encouraging us to ride shotgun — that front position where you take the brunt of every wave — but none of us were willing to take a chance. We were brave, but not that brave. Each time he asked, we just smiled and shook our heads, and he laughed right along with us.

As we floated closer to the end of our run, Aidan started chatting about food. He told us about a little place along our route that served soft‑serve huckleberry ice cream, the kind you remember long after you’ve finished it. He mentioned that he had recently taken his girlfriend there for a treat, and the way he talked about it made all of us smile.

After we wrapped up, dried off, and climbed back into the car, we headed toward Mountain Home. Somewhere along the way, Tim spotted the little place Aidan had mentioned, tucked off the road just enough that you’d miss it if you weren’t looking. We pulled in without hesitation.

It turned out to be the best ice cream we’ve ever tasted — cold, creamy, perfectly sweet with that bright huckleberry flavor. The kind of treat that makes you pause for a moment just to enjoy it. I still think about it, and I know Ellen and Tim will stop by for a scoop or two the next time they drive through that area.

🌙 A Quiet Day and a Night Under the Stars

The next day was a quiet one — the kind of day you only get when you’re staying with old friends. We rested, did a few chores around the house, did laundry, and prepared for our departure the following day. The plan was to spend the evening at the Bruneau Dunes Observatory to stargaze and see what planets were visible that night.

Before heading out that evening, Ellen and Tim prepared smoked salmon for dinner, perfectly seasoned and cooked just right. We had it with a delicious baked potato, and my only contribution to the meal — grilled lettuce salad. It was simple, fresh, and so good.

When we arrived at the observatory, there were several telescopes, each one pointed at something different — planets, clusters, distant stars. At one point, we even saw the International Space Station streak across the sky. It was another memorable evening, quiet and beautiful, the kind that stays with you long after the trip is over.

Afterward, we headed back to their home for the night, feeling that soft ache that comes when you know it’s your last evening together for a while — grateful for the time we’d had, and already missing it a little.

🌅 Departure Morning

The next morning, we sat outside with our coffee, enjoying the cool air and the quiet one last time. It was the kind of simple moment that feels bigger when you know you’re leaving soon. After a while, we went inside and enjoyed a wonderful breakfast Ellen prepared — easy, comforting, and just right for our final morning together.

After breakfast, we did our last‑minute packing. Then, with hugs and that familiar mix of gratitude and a little sadness, we headed out toward our third stop — Vancouver, Washington.

Leaving Rio Vista, we started out on the busy freeways before the world slowly opened into the long, curved drive along State Route 50. The mountains rose around us, and green trees dominated the scenery, giving the morning a fresh, bright feeling. Eventually the landscape began to shift, the pines thinning out as we entered the desert — soft colors, wide stretches of open land, and that quiet sense of the West unfolding in front of us. Somewhere along the way, we noticed signs that simply said “horses.” We weren’t sure if they meant wild horses or ranch horses from nearby farms, but the mystery added a little spark to the drive.

By the time we reached Elizabeth and Ben’s, the Nevada light had settled into that soft, late‑day glow. Gunny took a few minutes to size us up — protective of Elizabeth and very serious about his job — but once he decided we were safe, he settled right in. Abby, older and gentler, welcomed us right away with her easy, friendly energy.

Their backyard was the perfect place to unwind after the long drive. We sat outside catching up while Ben moved in and out of the kitchen, making sure dinner was coming along just the way he planned. He had spaghetti simmering — and it turned out to be the best spaghetti, simple and comforting after a day on the road.

Gunny kept a close eye on everything, occasionally leaping into the air to catch the ball with all the enthusiasm of a dog on duty. Abby didn’t jump around like Gunny; she simply carried the ball proudly in her mouth and trotted alongside him, happy to be part of the game in her own way.

Inside, their twenty‑six‑year‑old pet bird stayed near its cage, quietly wandering around its space. When we peeked our heads in, it didn’t chirp much — just offered a calm little presence, like an old friend who prefers to observe rather than perform.

It had been years since we last saw Elizabeth and Ben, but the conversation flowed easily — the kind of friendship where time doesn’t get in the way. Elizabeth showed us photos of the wild horses grazing right on their front lawn, heads down in the grass like they owned the place. Seeing those pictures made me even more eager to spot them for myself.

We slept well that night — the kind of deep, simple sleep you get after a long drive, good food, and easy company. And before we left in the morning, Ben treated us to wonderful, hot cinnamon rolls, fresh from the oven and every bit as delicious as his spaghetti the night before.

As we said our farewell — not goodbye — we knew we’d see each other again, and sooner this time. We’d just discovered that Dayton, Nevada is only four hours from home, close enough for a quick visit or even a meet‑in‑the‑middle lunch somewhere along the way.

And as we headed out, we finally saw them — wild horses moving across the open land, just as Elizabeth had described. It felt like the West giving us a gentle send‑off for the miles still ahead.

The Friends Along Our Passportless Loop

This road trip is a passportless loop through the friendships that shaped my life — and now Jay’s too. As we follow the highways of the West, we’re revisiting people from every chapter: friends from my early workdays, friends we met together while traveling abroad, and friends whose stories have become part of both our lives. Each stop is a reunion, a memory, and a reminder that the best journeys don’t always require borders — just the open road and the people waiting along it.

In Dayton, Nevada, we’ll visit Elizabeth and Ben. Elizabeth and I worked together at Alta Bates in Berkeley years ago, and after she retired we lost touch for a little while. But thanks to the power of social media — and a lucky moment on LinkedIn — we found each other again, picking up our friendship right where it left off.

Next, in Mountain Home, Idaho, we’ll visit Ellen and Tim. Ellen is my oldest friend in America, not by age but by how long we’ve known each other. We met back in the 70s while working together in a nursing home in Concord, and she’s been part of my life ever since.

Further along the loop, in Vancouver, Washington, we’ll reconnect with Opel, Monette and Sean, friends Jay and I met together during our travels overseas. They’re the kind of people who become part of your story instantly — easy, warm, and full of shared memories from places far from home.

Our final stop will be Ashland, Oregon, where we’ll visit Mark and Cindy. The three of us worked together at Kaiser Walnut Creek, and those years built a friendship that’s lasted through moves, changes, and all the chapters that followed. We’re really hoping to see their daughter Ellie this trip as we missed her last time.

These are the people waiting for us along the way— each from a different part of our lives, each ready to welcome us back as we make our passportless loop through the friendships that shaped us.

When I look back at this journey, it doesn’t feel like a single trip. It feels like a tapestry — woven from people, places, reunions, and moments that found us along the way. From the day we left home in January to the final embrace in the Philippines, each chapter carried its own meaning, its own lesson, its own quiet imprint.

We stepped onto a 33‑day cruise not knowing what awaited us, and found ourselves surrounded by people who quickly felt like family. Hector and Oilda and Tammy and Andy— new friends we met on the ship — brought warmth, laughter, and a sense of belonging that surprised us in the best way. We hope to stay in touch with them, because some friendships arrive gently and unexpectedly, yet feel as if they were always meant to be part of our story.

Along the way, the ship became a bridge to old friends and new memories. In Tauranga, we spent the day with Katrina and Phil and their family — a reunion that felt effortless, as if no time had passed at all. In New Plymouth, we visited Rochelle and her family, where the cows, the land, and the generosity of their welcome became one of the trip’s most unexpected joys.

When we reached Sydney, the journey shifted again — from sea days to city days, from ship friends to lifelong friends and family. We spent precious time with Mae and Jo, moments I will always hold close. We reunited with Shenna and Winny, whom we met years ago in Israel, and with Debra and Warren, our Antarctica cruise companions whose friendship has followed us across continents. And of course, Kazune and Michael — she first came into our lives as a ship photographer, later reunited with us in Tokyo, and this was our first time meeting her husband in person. She surprised us with her pregnancy news during our visit, a joy that made the reunion even sweeter.

And then there was the Philippines — the final chapter of this long, beautiful journey. It was the longest part of the trip, and the one that settled deepest. Seeing cousins I had not seen in fifty years, the meals, the kindness, the generosity, the way the Minimo family opened their homes and their hearts — it reminded me of the Philippines I once knew, and the Philippines that still lives inside me.

It was also Rica’s first return in fifty years, a homecoming layered with meaning. Watching her see the Philippines again — not as a child of four, but as the woman she has become — added a depth to this journey that I will carry with me always.

Travel ends, but its imprint doesn’t. It becomes part of the way we see the world — and part of the way we see ourselves. And whenever people ask me what my favorite place has been, I can never choose just one. Every place is beautiful in its own way, but it’s the memories that stay with me — the people we meet, the meals we share, the laughter that fills the spaces in between. Those are the moments that linger long after the journey is over — and those are the memories I hold closest to my heart

Olongapo

I’ve mentioned Olongapo many times throughout this journey, but I’ve never really stopped to explain it — not the place itself, and not what it has meant to me over the years. I’ve referenced it in passing, hinted at memories, brushed against the edges of what it once was in my life. But I’ve never taken the time to sit with it, to look at it closely, or to acknowledge how deeply it shaped me.

Maybe that’s because Olongapo has always lived in two versions in my mind: the one I knew in my young adulthood, and the one I returned to fifty years later.

The Olongapo I carried with me all these years was a place of rhythm and familiarity, a place where the streets made sense and the days felt open. The Olongapo we visited on this trip was louder, busier, more crowded, and in many ways unrecognizable. Yet beneath the noise, I could still feel the faint outline of the city I once knew — like a memory pressed under tracing paper.

This chapter isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about acknowledgment — of time, of distance, of growth, and of the quiet ways a place can stay with you even when it no longer looks the same.

The Emotional Contrast Between Past and Present

When I was young, my mom’s restaurant sat in front of a living aquarium — a natural reef alive with bright corals and fish in every color. I can still picture it clearly: the water so clear you could see the movement beneath the surface, the flashes of blue and yellow, the way the sunlight hit the corals just right.

Now that entire area is covered in volcanic ash — the long‑lasting imprint of Mount Pinatubo’s eruption — a landscape nothing like the one I grew up with.

At night, I used to look up and see stars — a sky so open and dark that the constellations felt close enough to touch. Now, instead of stars, the skyline is filled with hotels, neon lights, and loud music spilling into the night. The quiet darkness I once knew has been replaced by a brightness that never seems to turn off.

I remember fishermen pulling in their nets when they spotted a school of fish, their silhouettes moving in rhythm with the tide. That scene was part of the heartbeat of the place. Today, the shoreline is filled with jet skis cutting across the water, the sound of engines replacing the soft pull of nets and the quiet conversations of men who knew the sea.

I wouldn’t say it’s bad — it’s simply different. But it isn’t the Olongapo I carry in my memory

Standing Between Then and Now

I wasn’t trying to step back into the past. I was learning how to stand in the present, even when it didn’t match my memories. Seeing Olongapo as it is now made the old version harder to protect, and the sadness of that hit me harder than I expected — the kind of ache that comes when you finally recognize what’s been lost.

I stood on the edge of the now‑sandy beach, looking out toward Grande Island — the one view that hasn’t changed — and in that moment I understood something important: the Olongapo I loved still exists, just not in the physical world. It lives in memory, in the girl I was, in the moments that shaped me. And even through the ache, I felt a quiet kind of belonging, different than before, yet still real.

Our Turn to Say Goodbye

And then it was our turn to go to the airport — our turn to say goodbye. We hugged our wonderful family and friends, thanking each of them for the time, the generosity, and the warmth they shared so freely. It was a farewell filled with gratitude, the kind that lingers long after the moment has passed.

Arrival at Hundred Islands Guest House & Gardens

We arrived at Hundred Islands Guest House & Gardens to find Robin and Nora — along with their entire staff — waiting to greet us. It wasn’t formal or stiff; it felt like stepping into a place where people had genuinely been looking forward to our arrival. Their smiles, the easy warmth, the way they welcomed us by name — it set the tone before we even stepped inside.

And then there were the cats — not wandering freely, but resting in beautifully crafted outdoor enclosures that let them enjoy the sun and the garden without roaming. The cages were so thoughtfully built, making them look more like art than containment.

The first thing that came to mind was that I needed to show our friend Rob a photo of these enclosures so he could build something similar for our kitties back home. It was exactly the kind of clever, cozy setup he’d appreciate.

Hundred Islands — What It Is and What You Can See

The Hundred Islands National Park in Alaminos was formed millions of years ago, when ancient coral reefs rose above the water as sea levels changed. Over time, waves and weather carved the limestone into the rounded shapes seen today. At low tide, there are 123 islands, and at high tide, 124, scattered across the Lingayen Gulf like small green domes.

From the boat, the islands vary in size and shape — some steep and rocky, others soft and rounded, and a few with small beaches tucked into their edges. The water shifts from deep blue to turquoise, and in the shallows you can see coral, rocks, and small fish moving beneath the surface.

Hundred Islands is one of those places that shows the Philippines exactly as it is — bright, warm, natural, and full of life. Everywhere you look, there is something uniquely Filipino: families swimming, fishermen passing by in their small boats, and the quiet rhythm of the province shaping the day.

Main Islands and Landmarks

• Governor’s Island — known for its high viewpoint overlooking the entire park.
• Quezon Island — popular for swimming, picnic huts, and sandy areas.
• Pilgrimage Island — home to the large Christ the Savior statue, reached by a long staircase.
• Pope Francis Statue — facing the sea with open arms.
• Marcos Island — more rugged, with a cliff opening into Imelda Cave.
• Imelda Cave — cool interior, bats clinging to the ceiling, and a deep‑water jump spot.

Marcos Island and Imelda Cave

Marcos Island is more rugged, with a cliff opening into Imelda Cave, where the air is cooler and bats cling to the ceiling in clusters. The water below is deep and clear — perfect for jumping.

Ronell and Jay jumped into the deep water below — we have the photos to prove it, caught mid‑air at the exact moment they left the rock. As for whether I jumped… well, that remains a mystery. Some stories are better left for the reader to guess

Lunch on the Islands

We brought a simple picnic, but Buddy spotted a fisherman selling fresh crabs from his small boat. He bought at least five kilos, and they were cooked for us right there. We sat together, eating with our hands, cracking shells, dipping the meat, and enjoying every bite. It was the kind of meal that belongs to the sea — simple, fresh, and perfect for the place.

🌿 A Simple Wish

As we moved from island to island, taking in the views and the water and the heat of the day, I found myself thinking of Rica. I wished she could have been here to see this part of the Philippines — the true seaside Philippines, the one shaped by nature, by salt water, by sunlight, and by the quiet beauty of the province.

One day, I hope she’ll stand on one of these islands and see it for herself.

Meeting More of the Dolores Family

It always makes me smile when we travel with the cousins and I see luggage tags with ‘Dolores’ printed on them. For a moment, I think that’s not my bag — until I remember that on my mother’s side of the family, Dolores isn’t only my first name. It was my mom and uncle’s last name, carried on by all the cousins.

During this trip, I also had the chance to meet even more members of the Dolores family — All of their faces were familiar only through screens — nieces and nephews I had spoken with on FaceTime or through some other cyber connection over the years. Meeting them in person closed a gap I didn’t realize had stretched so far.

Two of the girls, Michelle and Clarissa, were especially meaningful to meet. Their dad was the same age as Anna and Rica but sadly he passed away almost 20 years ago. I had known them only through photos and messages, but here they were — grown women with families of their own.

Michelle was there with her daughters — Kelkel, Joy Joy, and cute little Inga — each one with their own spark and sweetness. Her partner, Bryan, blended into the gathering with an easy warmth, the kind of presence that makes a family event feel complete.

Clarissa’s son, Xander, stood out in the gentlest way. Sweet, quiet, and thoughtful, he carried a sketchbook with him — and learning how much he loves to draw made me smile. There’s something tender about a child who sees the world through lines and shading, and he carries that quiet creativity with such grace.

Seeing them all together — cousins, nieces, nephews, and the next generation — reminded me how wide the Dolores family has become, and how deeply those roots still run, even after all these years and all these miles.

Meals with Onieh’s family

Our last week in the Philippines unfolded in small, meaningful segments, and one of the most memorable was the time we spent sharing meals with Onieh’s family. These weren’t just meals — they were moments that revealed the kind of care, generosity, and quiet thoughtfulness that stayed with me long after we left.

Buddy had accompanied us off and on during our journey, and we finally had a chance to visit his garden‑setting home. A fun little tidbit about Buddy: many years ago, when he lived in California, he worked at the same place as my daughter Anna. One day he approached her and asked if she knew a Marcela Darling. Anna said, “Yes — that’s my Lola.” Buddy smiled and said, “Well, her brother is married to my sister.” That sister turned out to be Onieh. It really is a small world.

Along with his sister Mayeth and his brother Isat, Buddy prepared a wonderful meal for us — the kind that makes you feel welcomed before you even sit down. During the trip, Buddy always found a way to ask what I loved to eat, and somehow it would show up — on the table, packed to go, or saved for later. It was the kind of thoughtfulness that didn’t need to be announced. You simply felt it.

And that small‑world feeling continued when we visited Doug and Josie — Buddy’s aunt and uncle — whom we also knew from California, and whose home we had heard about for years. Walking into their beachfront place felt like stepping into a familiar chapter we finally got to see in person. The meal waiting for us was a full spread prepared by Onieh’s brother Noel and his family — the kind of abundance that turns lunch into dinner without anyone noticing. People drifted into games of cards and Mahjong, others lingered around the table, and the day stretched out in that easy, unhurried way that only happens when you’re surrounded by people who make space for you.

After a full day at the beachfront pavilion, we spent the night at the home of Josie and Michael, whose warmth matched everything we had felt so far. Before I could say a word, they were already offering their rooms, making sure Jay and I were comfortable. Breakfast the next morning was another feast, and Jay and I thoroughly enjoyed our stay — so much so that Jay even offered to house sit when they travel to the UK in a couple of years.

I also found myself remembering the first time we met Josie in Singapore while visiting Mae and Ronald. That memory folded itself into this one, especially when we noticed she had a photo from that trip displayed in her home — and we have one from that trip on our wall too. Seeing it there, halfway around the world, made the moment feel even more connected.

And somewhere in the middle of all this — the meals, the laughter, the generosity — I realized this was the first time on the trip that I truly felt like I was in the Philippines. Not the city version with neon lights, honking horns, and crowded streets, but the Philippines of my young adulthood memories: quiet, green, open, with clean air and a slower rhythm. It felt familiar in a way I hadn’t expected.

As we prepared to leave, I thought about how deeply we were welcomed. Our time with the Minimo family was filled with kindness, generosity, and a genuine warmth. Jay and I were grateful for every meal, every shared moment, and every bit of time they opened to us.

Cashew Fruit

The cashew nut gets all the fame, but the fruit is the real surprise — soft, juicy, a little tangy, and absolutely impossible to find in an American grocery stores because it’s too delicate to survive long‑distance travel.

Camachile

A funny‑looking pod with a cottony bite, the kind of snack only Filipinos recognize instantly. You open it, taste it, and immediately understand why it never made it to Costco — the tree needs steady tropical heat, the fruit bruises easily, and there’s never been a big market for it outside the Philippines.

Balut

Jay tried it without a single complaint — already making him braver than most tourists. I won’t describe what it is; my Kababayan know exactly what I’m talking about. Everyone else… feel free to consult Google University if you want more details.

Daing na Bangus

Before the trip, the family asked what food I missed the most, and I didn’t even hesitate — daing na bangus, made with milkfish, the national fish of the Philippines. Not dried, just marinated and fried until the edges turn crisp, served with green mango as sour as can be dipped in anchovy sauce, and a yellow mango for dessert that I could peel myself.

Laundry Day

During our hike in the rice terraces, we came across a woman doing laundry by stepping on the clothes — basically the original agitation cycle, perfected long before washing machines tried to claim the idea. She was happily stomping away like it was just another Tuesday, while we stood there acting like we’d uncovered ancient laundry technology.

Church Fan

Inside a small church stood a floor fan so massive it deserved its own ZIP code. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.

The Mighty Tricycles of the Philippines

If jeepneys are the kings of the road, tricycles are the scrappy, unstoppable sidekicks — part motorcycle, part sidecar, part miracle of engineering, and entirely Filipino. You see them everywhere: buzzing through towns, weaving through traffic, and carrying loads that defy both physics and common sense.