Obsessed with the grocery stores of the world

Wet markets vs. Supermarkets

The term wet market doesn’t have the best connotation these days. We don’t really need to get into why that is. I’m sure your own recent memories of world events will do the trick.

But the plain definition of wet market doesn’t always refer to unsanitary hubs where wild, endangered animals are bought and sold. A wet market is simply a marketplace selling fresh foods such as meat, fish, produce and other consumption-oriented perishable goods in a non-supermarket setting. The most probable reason why it’s called a wet market is because the ice used to keep fish fresh often melts all over the floor. Ironically, a measure of food safety.

The stigmatization of wet markets is pretty harmful, given the fact that a very large portion of the world relies on these markets for food and income. And on my visits to places like the Mae Sot Refugee Market in Thailand or the Mercado Central in Guatemala, I’ve found them truly fascinating. Teeming with activity.

While it’s easy to think that wet markets will eventually be abandoned in favor of modern supermarkets as countries get wealthier and life gets easier, this isn’t necessarily the case. In some cases, like in parts of Vietnam, people found it harder to trust supermarkets without the relational history that the wet market invited.

That made me curious, what are the pros and cons to wet markets versus supermarkets and what leads people to prefer one over the other?

This is the subject of my newest video, one that was filmed across four different continents, as well as the grocery store down my street.

Where the world gets its food…

My fascination with the grocery store in various countries began early… on some of my early trips growing up. I remember being fascinated by the widespread availability of rabbit in Spanish supermarkets and the junk food aisle at an Australian grocer. None of it was too particularly different, but I would stare at the rows of Smith’s crisps and endless varieties of TimTams and think about how the simple detail of what junk food products were familiar would look totally different if I had grown up here.

Since that point I’ve gone grocery shopping on every continent that has a grocery store. Shoprite in Zambia, Lotte Mart in Korea, and Billa in Austria. It’s gotten to the point where I consider a trip to the grocery store as essential to visiting a place as seeing its most famous landmark. After all, I travel to get a sense for how people live around the world, and locals don’t tend to hang out at the landmarks. A grocery store on a weeknight, though? That’s where you get a glimpse of the most ordinary settings. People’s daily rhythms.

If you want to get to know a place well, you should visit its market. Whatever that looks like.

As a student in Italy, I found myself enamored with a Conad Express right outside my front door. If you’ve spent some time in Italy, there’s nothing exceptionally glamorous about Conad, and the one I lived by happened to be a bit small and tight. But it had the most impressive selection of cheeses, breads, and the kinds of things you’d find in a charcuterie. Being able to throw together a simple but satisfying baguette for lunch was so delightful. The wine section of this supermarket was also impressive, selling fantastic chianti at very basic prices. It felt like a truly Italian flex.

I often say that Italy was where I learned how to cook. That’s because the grocers there sold things in such small quantities I could manage to drop in daily and simply pick up what I needed, without worrying that all the extra zucchini I had leftover would go bad. The food did go bad quicker than I was used to, which also helped me realize the amount of preservatives in the things I usually consumed.

Less than a year after this experience, I found myself living in Argentina, with yet a totally different experience. In most ways it felt closer to the large-quantity oriented groceries I was used to back in the U.S. I discovered where the pre-made milanesa was kept, though, and I loved being able to make one of the local favorites on my own.

In the middle of one of these grocery runs, I let myself pause for a moment and just take a mental recording of the people shuffling in and out. Buenos Aires on a weeknight was full of urban hustle, and the grocery store offered a bit of warmth during spring temperatures that were starting to cool off.

I was a foreigner to the country, a newcomer to the city, but in that little moment, I felt a strange sense of belonging. I felt like I was part of the scene, and even though I was taking this short grocery run all on my own, what I felt was this strong sense of connection. I’ve heard others describe these scenes of being alone but not lonely, and they often just sneak up on you when you don’t expect. Usually in semi-crowded areas of very ordinary spaces. The subway. A plaza. The grocery store.

The grocery store uses the exact same scene to show us that we’re all pretty different from each other, and that we also have so much in common. It’s the great paradox that every traveler comes to befriend.

Climate misunderstandings

“What do you think is the most misunderstood thing about climate?”

I’m excited to be doing a lot more speaking on climate change this year, with EarthX this month and TEDx in June serving as two especially big opportunities on the horizon. Giving talks is one of my favorite things to do, and climate is one of my favorite topics.

But with that being the case, I should probably be a little bit more prepared for questions like one I got from a fellow speaker at one of these events.

“What do you think is the most misunderstood thing about climate?”

It’s not that I had a hard time coming up with an answer… but that I could probably come up with too many.

The things that people misunderstand about climate are all over the place. There are people who aren’t taking the issue seriously enough. There are people who take it seriously, but who are so frozen by a sense of dread that they’ve resigned all hope.

Both are common misunderstandings that require opposite counter-messages.

There are some concepts that aren’t necessarily misunderstood, but that I think are vastly overlooked and should be getting more attention. Like the way most climate actions have so many co-benefits that investing in them should be a no-brainer. The way planting trees on farmland helps prevent famine for subsistence farmers while also soaking up carbon, for example. Or for a more urban example, the way walkable cities not only reduce emissions, but make for more fun social environments where I’d actually want to live.

Then there are the conversations where people frequently get hung up on. Like the tension between being able to do something as individuals while acknowledging that the action we need in order to prevent climate disaster sits at a more systemic level.

See what I mean? So many conversations within the broader climate conversation deserve a closer look.

With that said, I think I can settle in on what might be the most dangerous misunderstanding when it comes to climate change. We often believe that we’re unable to do something that actually matters.

It’s easy to get fatalistic about climate change. You read the latest reports and they often only seem to confirm your worst fears. We are running out of time.

Perhaps at another time you were more motivated to do the simple things. Recycle. Use coral safe sunscreen. But then you realize most of the things you tried to recycle were probably shipped off to Malaysia. And your coral safe sunscreen didn’t do much with 1.2 million tons of oil being spilled in the same ocean that same year.

I’m not surprised many people have felt disempowered by this experience. But there’s a reframing of things that I find really helpful.

Our planet is basically one giant interconnected community. Within an ecosystem, every part affects all the other parts. That’s why when you introduce or remove a new predator or food source, things quickly get thrown out of whack. Everything is interdependent, and our current understanding of how the atmosphere works drives home this reality even further.

My daily choices have an effect that extends all the way to rural communities at sea level in Ethiopia or Bangladesh. Their impact may be diluted, averaged out with all the behaviors of the rest of the world, but it still contributes.

This interconnectedness doesn’t just apply to environmental things like emissions and hydrology. I think ideas and behaviors can spread out and influence our world similarly. And just like our environmental impact can be positive or negative, our social influence can be as well.

When it comes to climate action, I do believe influence works. There’s something about seeing somebody commit to a behavior or action with joy, enthusiasm, or earnestness that spikes curiosity.

Conversation works. Being able to honestly and healthily express your concerns for the planet can stop the human imagination from getting siloed.

Finally, pressure works. Taking it to the streets, the airwaves, TikTok, or the mailboxes of elected leaders pays off. It might not always feel like it, but it does. I can’t not acknowledge the uptick in climate action since the student climate strikes really took off in 2019. Right before the U.S. ratified the Inflation Reduction Act, our strongest climate legislation to date, young people staged hunger strikes at the White House, and sit-ins in Senate offices.

We don’t have to worry so much about whether or not we can singlehandedly change things. Singlehandedly, we can’t. But as members of a community? We can’t not change things. Our very existence changes things. We simply get to choose what changes we’ll try and lean into.

The Activism of Going Slow

Activism. The word itself conjures up intense images. Fists in the air. Feet marching in unity. Maybe off the streets, it looks a little something like donning a suit to try and directly persuade lawmakers.

Either way, it’s got an intense, high-energy ring to it.

My own work in activism has long matched this tempo.

I remember the first internship I worked after graduation, advocating for refugees. I remember 14 hour workdays in an industrial garage that had been turned into an office. I remember bringing work home, my reading list full of memoirs about child trafficking and human rights. There was a buzz to it all. I found it exciting and life giving. All at an age where energy and idealism needed that sort of outlet.

A greyscale definition of the word activism simply means an organized course of action directed to achieve political or social change. And I’ve learned it can look a lot of different ways.

People can apply skills like accounting or administration to a cause, even though this doesn’t fit the immediate mental image.

People can be activists in non-work settings like parenthood or friendship.

The hundreds of farmers I’ve met over the years who teach their neighbors their favorite regenerative farming techniques? They count too.

Activism isn’t always about burning it all down. Sometimes it’s that slow, gradual chipping away at an institution so deeply normalized in our world. Maybe it’s living in a way that challenges a commonplace but harmful assumption.

After I watch a great documentary, I often find myself asking: am I really doing everything I can to stop this from being a reality in our world?

But lately, I’ve been stepping back from a lot of things and slowing way down. Partly because I’d rather not watch my kids grow up in some sort of turbo-charged warp speed while I have my hands tied up with work, and partly because at the end of last year, I felt burnout in a way I never quite had before. My trip to the Philippines and opening up to new, unplanned, unscripted space in my day has done wonders.

And while it’s looked like less activity, I’ve actually found that slow living is a great fuel for actual activism, the organized actions focused on change. Here’s how:

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The Activism of Going Slow

Also... get yourself some tickets to my TED Talk

PHILIPPE LAZARO

APR 11

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The Activism of Going Slow

Activism. The word itself conjures up intense images. Fists in the air. Feet marching in unity. Maybe off the streets, it looks a little something like donning a suit to try and directly persuade lawmakers.

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Either way, it’s got an intense, high-energy ring to it.

My own work in activism has long matched this tempo.

I remember the first internship I worked after graduation, advocating for refugees. I remember 14 hour workdays in an industrial garage that had been turned into an office. I remember bringing work home, my reading list full of memoirs about child trafficking and human rights. There was a buzz to it all. I found it exciting and life giving. All at an age where energy and idealism needed that sort of outlet.

A greyscale definition of the word activism simply means an organized course of action directed to achieve political or social change. And I’ve learned it can look a lot of different ways.

People can apply skills like accounting or administration to a cause, even though this doesn’t fit the immediate mental image.

People can be activists in non-work settings like parenthood or friendship.

The hundreds of farmers I’ve met over the years who teach their neighbors their favorite regenerative farming techniques? They count too.

Activism isn’t always about burning it all down. Sometimes it’s that slow, gradual chipping away at an institution so deeply normalized in our world. Maybe it’s living in a way that challenges a commonplace but harmful assumption.

After I watch a great documentary, I often find myself asking: am I really doing everything I can to stop this from being a reality in our world?

But lately, I’ve been stepping back from a lot of things and slowing way down. Partly because I’d rather not watch my kids grow up in some sort of turbo-charged warp speed while I have my hands tied up with work, and partly because at the end of last year, I felt burnout in a way I never quite had before. My trip to the Philippines and opening up to new, unplanned, unscripted space in my day has done wonders.

And while it’s looked like less activity, I’ve actually found that slow living is a great fuel for actual activism, the organized actions focused on change. Here’s how:

Slow living connects us to creation and place

I’ve learned the most from farmers, working with rural farmers the past several years has taught me the beauty, challenges, and significance of belonging to the land and having a relationship with creation.

So much of the change I’ve been working towards in these years is towards a more sustainable world, one with a healthier future than what current projections have us steering towards. And yet, it’s not just about “fixing the world,” it's about reorienting our relationship with the world.

It’s when you’re in a hurry that you get the most disconnected from your surroundings. For most of human history, we’ve lived with this consciousness that our own well-being relies on the well-being of our environment and our surroundings. It still is, but we’re far more out of touch with that awareness.

Slow living, especially when its connected to some practice that relates to caring for the earth, can root our activism in a sense of belonging.

Slow living rejects the belief that our value is in our utility

A consequence of industrialized life is that we’ve put such a strong emphasis on productivity… to the point where we associate people’s value with their ability to be productive. However, this ends up being extremely harmful for the most vulnerable members of our society.

Once you see this pattern, you see it everywhere. The way we underinvest in children’s safety. The way senior citizens often become the forgotten members of society. The lack of accessibility for people with disabilities in shared spaces, and so on. This underlying belief also manifests itself internally, as that feeling of living with a constant sense of urgency around your to do list, or staying so constantly busy as a proxy for purpose or connection.

Slow living helps us break from that constant sense of urgency. Most of what we tend to label as urgent isn’t really urgent when you look at the big picture. We often tell ourselves that because we’ve associated urgency and busyness with being important and having value.

Slow living reminds us of our limits

The thing that slow living forces us to confront is that, we’re actually not all going to get it all done today. We’re not really going to get it all done any day.

This is one of the ideas Oliver Burkeman so effectively challenged me with in his book 4,000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals. We often fill our lives and our schedules with activity because of the fear that we’ll run out of time to do all we want, and the reality is that this is probably true. Sometimes our overscheduling woes comes from a refusal to accept that reality.

Slow living requires the acknowledgement that I’ll do what I can with the day in front of me, making the most out of each activity, and being present. When your work surrounds a cause that so badly needs to be advanced– whether that’s climate action, gun safety, or racial justice– embracing your limits reminds you that you’re not going to create this change on your own, and that it takes a community.

We need each other, and that reality frees us from the individualism and savior complex that may be side effects of our activism.

Slow living, especially in a frenetic world, can be an easily overlooked force for change. But it can help sustain us for the long haul while challenging assumptions beneath an unjust world.

Justin & Justin

The invitation to stir up good trouble is always here. It always comes at a cost, but always ends up worth it.

Never get tired of doing good.

Love the way Justin Pearson put it on Easter Sunday: “Resurrection is a promised prophecy to a persecuted people! So do not grow weary amidst persecution for speaking out against policy that continues to perpetuate gun violence, or poverty, or environmental injustice. You can be assured that resurrection and restoration is coming!”

Iloilo

We came for the ordinary and we love it

My visit to the Philippines was oddly timed. As soon as we got out of the airport in Iloilo, we were greeted by a roar of drums so loud I had to shield the kids. The traffic was ten times worse than I’d ever seen it, noise was scattered throughout town, every hotel room was booked, and the local authorities kept deliberately shutting off wifi and cell service.

It turns out that’s what it’s like for the Dinagyang… the biggest festival of the year. Oh, and this one would be the first one in two years because of the pandemic.

The festival is a celebration of indigenous life and Baby Jesus, there are costume contests, drum circles, and parades. For something that aims to highlight precolonial culture, its origins only really go as far back as the 1960s. However, its name literally translates into merrymaking. As in, “don’t overthink this, just get loud!”

After dealing with an hour long taxi ride to get between the grocery store and home and not knowing how to get in touch with my family when the cell signal shut down, I had been inconvenienced by this festival in so many ways. (I would later learn that the signal shutdown was to prevent terrorist attacks, but I wonder if cutting off people’s means of communication might potentially start more trouble than it prevents.) Anyways, I had enough of being inconvenienced by the festivities, I wanted to partake.

On the main day of the parades, Deanna and I, guided by our friend TinTin made our way to the center of Iloilo.

The energy in Iloilo around the Dinagyang festival was electric. The electricity was sporadic. See more in my newest video.

My alarm goes off at 1 in the morning.

I get out of bed, throw on whatever’s closest, and open up my laptop to take a Zoom meeting.

It’s not my favorite part of my temporary routine, but 1:00 AM in the Philippines syncs up with 9:00 AM the previous day in California, which happens to be my most frequent meeting time. In less than an hour I’ll be able to hop in bed for a couple more hours before working again at 5:00.

This is perhaps the least glamorous part of my life in the Philippines, but it’s a cost I’m willing to pay in exchange for being able to stay here for several weeks. These days, the kind of travel I really want to do is slow travel. I’m turned off by the prospect of having to rush from activity to activity to make everything fit in a week. Instead, I want to experience a taste of everyday life in my new setting, and though I’m already pretty familiar with life in my corner of the Philippines, this would be my first time experiencing it in this new chapter of my life, where kids, remote work, and ongoing creative projects are all part of the picture.

Contrary to what the early morning Zoom calls and interrupted sleep might suggest, it's actually an incredibly restful time; a relaxed pace that feels like a huge reset button deep down. Towards the end of last year, I started feeling burnt out in a way I never had before. But it felt like every minute I spent in the Philippines was restoration in progress.

The tropical warmth is a blessing on my skin.

There are two easily identifiable things that help make my life in the Philippines so restful and nourishing.

The first one is simple: we can afford an incredible amount of childcare support.

We were able to hire three nannies to help with the kids. The cost of living was so accessible that we were even able to bring them with us to more vacation-esque sites on side trips while we were there. And they did an incredible job with our babies.

Our yayas (nannies) were all either people who had worked for some of my family members, or were direct references and connections from others who they’ve worked with before. 

If you’re not familiar with settings around the world where having domestic helpers -even for middle-income families- is commonplace, it can feel a bit unusual and awkward. On my visits here as a kid, I found the power dynamics and social conditions that go into that kind of system hard to comprehend.

The harsh reality is that income inequality really is bad enough where I can pay three people at the top of the pay scale plus a little extra and still feel like I’m getting a good deal in comparison to my daily life. I try to say that in a way that isn’t a flex, but a sobering glimpse of inequality and privilege on my end.

Acknowledging the inequity at the macro-level, we were able to turn our visit into a win-win. Our yayas had been vouched for by my cousin, and they all enthusiastically accepted the job. My hope was that it could be a real positive opportunity for them too, and it turned out to be one.

On our end, this enabled us to leave the kids at home a bit more while going on date nights and more grown-up excursions.

Beyond the help with the kids, however, there’s another aspect that I find deeply revitalizing.

Island time. The Filipino sense of peace when it comes to obligation and production.

Filipinos are as industrious as it gets. The main export of the Philippines is probably migrant labor. But there isn’t the frantic worship of work that I’ve grown tired of in the U.S. Even though the need and demand to find some means of income is probably higher over there, the big difference is that people don’t see that as a validation of their identity quite as often.

Instead, you have a culture that prioritizes relationships, and acts with abundance when it comes to time.

It can be frustrating, for many Western visitors, to deal with people unaccustomed to matching your sense of urgency. But on deeper look, this helps remind me that most of the urgency we live with in our daily lives is basically made up.

Ironically, by moving slower and taking your time, it feels like time is in greater abundance. The Western tendency is to try and get more done in less time, thus freeing up more time on the back end. The strange thing is, this only leads to a greater sense of clock-consciousness, and the feeling that time is always slipping away.

It’s been so good to step back from that for a bit.

When the day starts and I finish up my tasks, I’ll go play with the kids for a little bit. I might visit family, venture out into the market, or take everyone out for a walk. There will be time for beach visits later in the week. I’ll continue on my quest to have mango juice every day.

This all feels right.

The mountain exists. Now can I scale it?

My attempt to reach the top of Panay's second highest mountain.

Continuing my climb of Mt. Napulak…

The story of how I tried to climb this mountain ended up being long enough to make into a two-parter. In case you missed the first go-round, here you go.

The TLDR, previously-on-the-show summary is that Mount Napulak is the second highest peak on Panay, but my online search for how to climb it didn’t inspire a ton of confidence. It was unclear where the trailhead was or how to get started. I came across a blogger’s account of how he climbed, but on a site that looked a little outdated. Thankfully, all the info held up, and after a taxi ride through several towns, registering at a municipal hall, and hiring a few motorbikes, we finally made it to the outpost at the foot of the mountain where we met our guide.

Our guide for this mountain was young, slender, and fair-skinned. He motioned where we should follow him out of the office.

Right outside, we could see the peak of Mount Napulak, the pinnacle everybody referred to as “the nipple.”

We set off from the outpost as a party of four. Myself. Deanna. Joseph the guide. Lamer the taxi driver. When I say that Lamer is the taxi driver willing to do it all, I mean it. I’ve never taken a taxi on a wild goose chase for a trail, only to have the taxi driver then join me on the hike. But I guess now I can say that.

At the start of the trail, I found a curious gumball quarter machine that apparently dispensed minutes of wifi.

Anyways, the beginning of the trail was already gorgeous. The first half hour of the hike gave us a series of switchbacks that went around a series of farms located at the base of the mountain. I’m not used to hikes starting off so scenically, but because Mt. Napulak was situated right across from Panay’s highest peak, Mt. Taripis, every turn offered a spectacular view of the valley in between.

I’m also not used to the beginning of the hike being as strenuous as this one. Despite all the switchbacks, it still felt like a pretty ambitious uphill climb at each leg. I tried pumping myself up mentally by telling myself that the climb wasn’t that bad. I was just out of shape after a year of toddler parenting and having no room for physical activity. I tried convincing myself that if Joseph could do all this without breaking a sweat, I should be able to handle this. 

Here’s a pro-tip, though. Never compare yourself to a hired guide. It doesn’t matter if your guide looks to be about 80 years old and five feet tall. It doesn’t matter if your guide is also carrying a full box of pizza and a six pack up the mountain. If they’re a guide, they’ll climb their turf with ease. Joseph himself took at least three smoke breaks on the way up. Vitamin S he called it. I think hiking Napulak was just too easy for him, he had to take up smoking to spice it up.

While Joseph was having the easiest time, and Deanna and I were huffing it, Lamer also seemed to be doing pretty well. He was pointing out all the coconut trees and assessing their climbability. Apparently, he was quite the tree-climber in his youth.

Everytime we passed by a farm or house, I imagined what it would be like to live on this particular mountain. A long climb from anywhere. I met one farmer letting his cows graze and felt the warmth from his quick greeting. We would often stop at the edge of farms to take a breather, each time feeling a welcome breeze cut through the Philippine humidity.

Open in app or online

The mountain exists. Now can I scale it?

My attempt to reach the top of Panay's second highest mountain.

PHILIPPE LAZARO

MAR 31

CROSS-POST

Continuing my climb of Mt. Napulak…

The story of how I tried to climb this mountain ended up being long enough to make into a two-parter. In case you missed the first go-round, here you go.

The TLDR, previously-on-the-show summary is that Mount Napulak is the second highest peak on Panay, but my online search for how to climb it didn’t inspire a ton of confidence. It was unclear where the trailhead was or how to get started. I came across a blogger’s account of how he climbed, but on a site that looked a little outdated. Thankfully, all the info held up, and after a taxi ride through several towns, registering at a municipal hall, and hiring a few motorbikes, we finally made it to the outpost at the foot of the mountain where we met our guide.

Our guide for this mountain was young, slender, and fair-skinned. He motioned where we should follow him out of the office.

Right outside, we could see the peak of Mount Napulak, the pinnacle everybody referred to as “the nipple.”

We set off from the outpost as a party of four. Myself. Deanna. Joseph the guide. Lamer the taxi driver. When I say that Lamer is the taxi driver willing to do it all, I mean it. I’ve never taken a taxi on a wild goose chase for a trail, only to have the taxi driver then join me on the hike. But I guess now I can say that.

At the start of the trail, I found a curious gumball quarter machine that apparently dispensed minutes of wifi.

Anyways, the beginning of the trail was already gorgeous. The first half hour of the hike gave us a series of switchbacks that went around a series of farms located at the base of the mountain. I’m not used to hikes starting off so scenically, but because Mt. Napulak was situated right across from Panay’s highest peak, Mt. Taripis, every turn offered a spectacular view of the valley in between.

I’m also not used to the beginning of the hike being as strenuous as this one. Despite all the switchbacks, it still felt like a pretty ambitious uphill climb at each leg. I tried pumping myself up mentally by telling myself that the climb wasn’t that bad. I was just out of shape after a year of toddler parenting and having no room for physical activity. I tried convincing myself that if Joseph could do all this without breaking a sweat, I should be able to handle this. 

Here’s a pro-tip, though. Never compare yourself to a hired guide. It doesn’t matter if your guide looks to be about 80 years old and five feet tall. It doesn’t matter if your guide is also carrying a full box of pizza and a six pack up the mountain. If they’re a guide, they’ll climb their turf with ease. Joseph himself took at least three smoke breaks on the way up. Vitamin S he called it. I think hiking Napulak was just too easy for him, he had to take up smoking to spice it up.

While Joseph was having the easiest time, and Deanna and I were huffing it, Lamer also seemed to be doing pretty well. He was pointing out all the coconut trees and assessing their climbability. Apparently, he was quite the tree-climber in his youth.

Everytime we passed by a farm or house, I imagined what it would be like to live on this particular mountain. A long climb from anywhere. I met one farmer letting his cows graze and felt the warmth from his quick greeting. We would often stop at the edge of farms to take a breather, each time feeling a welcome breeze cut through the Philippine humidity.

The trail did not get easier, however. Steep climbs take a lot of energy. Deanna started feeling something odd going on with her heart. We’d later narrow it down to a probable side effect to a medication. We tried to take more frequent breaks to keep her heart rate lower, like that one Jason Statham movie in reverse. In the end, though, we decided the wise thing to do would be for her to head back with Lamer. Joseph and I decided to keep taking a shot at the peak. Supposedly we were about halfway there.

I’m proud of Deanna for taking those cues from her body, and it proved to be the right decision at the right time. The trail got narrower and steeper, with occasional streams of water interrupting it.

I talked to Joseph a little bit more. He let me know that trail guiding was just his hobby, a side gig. Of course. His main endeavor was as an electrical student, learning how to be a technician.

He soon steered me in the direction of one stop I requested: Labaong Falls. I saw a poster of the waterfall in the municipal office where we registered for the hike, and I asked if it was along the way. Sure enough, it was just off the trail. As soon as we split off, we immediately started climbing down the steep mountainside. I managed to lose my footing a number of times, hoping the waterfall itself would be worth the treachery.

We reached the very bottom, and I saw the streams I had to cross in order to get to the waterfall. Unfortunately it was here where my foot slipped and I banged my ankle fairly hard on a corner of rocks. It was not the worst injury, given that I could still walk on it… just a sweet bruise, scrape, and a wet shoe to contend with for the rest of the hike.

After a few pictures of the waterfall, we climbed back up to the trail. On to the peak.

I asked Joseph how close we were. We were maybe around 3/4ths of the way there. We kept climbing, a little more silent this time around. I was definitely winded, but I felt determined. Looking right across at the side of the mountain that wrapped around, I could tell we were getting closer and closer to the top.

I had been hoping to see some rafflesia, the world’s largest flower, and a rarity only found around Southeast Asia. The very short bloom time (half a week) relative to a long budding process (nine months) makes it a very unlikely encounter. I did run into one! Unfortunately, it was dead.

The ground got rockier. I would frequently hear rocks fall down the mountain after being loosened by my feet. The trees got taller as well. The mosquitoes were more aggressive. I felt a sense of excitement that the peak was imminent.

Until it wasn’t.

We were greeted by three dogs, then the farmer we saw that they were with. Joseph and the farmer exchanged words in a dialect I couldn’t understand, but soon enough they reported back.

It was a honey harvest on the trail. Basically, I couldn’t pass through because the bees were swarming. 

Joseph went back and forth with the farmer a bit, but you can’t really bargain with a swarm of bees, I’m afraid.

The farmer offered to show us an alternate way. We followed him around a corner well off the path. The dogs also helped lead the way. He had to clear quite a bit of brush with his machete. The ground was extremely steep and unstable, however. Rocks and clumps of dirt would crumble beneath most of my steps.

I still felt proud of myself for keeping pace with this brush-hacking farmer for a little while. But I knew I couldn’t do this forever. I kept banging my knees and shins on all kinds of things, twisting my ankles when losing my footing, and choosing just to shut off the pain and keep going. There was a point where to break a fall, I tried to grab a tree branch. It immediately snapped, but I managed to grab a second branch. This too snapped, and I found a third. That one brought down a large bough of the tree on top of me.

I let Joseph know I was actually pretty content with the day’s adventure. After all, I started the day not knowing if I could reach the trailhead. Instead, I nearly reached the peak, and most likely would have… if not for a honey harvesting schedule I was oblivious to.

I reminded myself that the honey was more important to these farmers than the summit was to me. I then headed back down the mountain to rejoin Deanna and Lamer.

We found them at the original outpost where we hired Joseph. I made Deanna take a picture of my legs which were a fantastic set of colors; black and blue from all the rocks and branches I’d been bumping up against all afternoon, accented with some pink and purple mosquito bites. I bought a bottle of Coke from the restaurant behind the place and downed it. I very rarely drink soda products, but after a mountain, you tend to be a lot less particular.

Despite the many, many mishaps, I was truly satisfied from this trip. I took a chance on this mountain and was met with a rich adventure. Between starting the hike with my taxi driver and finishing it because of a honey harvest, I could claim a lot of firsts on this journey. I loved it.

Hala Bira

This has easily been my most labor intensive drawing. They don’t usually take me anywhere near this long. But I like how this came out.

You’ve got all the fine details in the elaborate costumes of the ati-atihan dancers. The vibrant green giving electric jungle. The beads and feathers. The thundering drums that carry through an entire town.

One of the most revealing things about a culture is what it celebrates.

The energy in Iloilo around the Dinagyang festival was electric. The electricity was sporadic.

So does the mountain even exist?

Following scraps of directions to Panay's second highest peak

Finding a route up Mt. Napulak

It’s always felt a bit odd seeing travel vlogs from the Philippines where people get lost in jungles, trek up mountains, and find pristine coasts all on their own.

Of course, none of this should be unusual. The Philippines is full of natural wonders. The weird part is that I’ve been to the Philippines around a dozen times, and that’s not what my visits have looked like.

To be fair, the majority of those visits were as a child, so I wouldn’t have exactly been scaling mountains. I’ve also spent the majority of my past visits staying with family. My mom’s side of the family, and her generation of siblings in particular, aren’t exactly the most outdoorsy. Most of my childhood visits have been set against the backdrop of shopping malls, hotels, and restaurants.

But I’ve always known that the Philippines is chock full of natural wonders. And as someone who managed to grow up into an outdoor enthusiast despite the lack of a family influence, I wanted to make sure my next visit gave me a taste of Filipino nature.

My visit ~this time with my wife and three kids~ was based out of Iloilo once again. Iloilo is my mom’s hometown, located on one of the central islands. It’s near a lot of popular ecotourism hubs like Boracay or Bohol, and in theory it boasts a lot of ecological appeal as well.

I decided to do a little advanced scouting using my favorite method: zooming in and out of Google Maps until I found things that looked interesting, which led to the discovery of two mountains. Mt. Taripis & Mt. Napulak.

The uploaded images to both looked fantastic. Taripis held the distinction as the highest mountain on the island and Napulak wasn’t too far behind. At 1,300 and 1,239 meters of respective elevation, it looked like they were beautiful and just the right level of difficulty to climb.

The only question was… how?

A quick search online about how to get to the Mount Taripis trailhead was incredibly futile, and Google Maps didn’t seem too clear about where we could park the car and set off on foot. The info on Mount Napulak was similarly cloudy. I found some posts and photos by people who’ve done the climb, but unfortunately none of them documented it thoroughly enough for me to find the trailhead.

Of the two, only Mt. Napulak was listed on AllTrails, but even that wasn’t much use. The listing described it as a 30 mile out and back hike that would take 15 hours… and placed the starting point right on the coast, with about 70% of the drawn trail representing the roads to the base of the mountain.

I did find a blog post that wrote out how one hiker took on the climb. It started at the Municipal Hall of Igbaras, where he was then assigned a habal-habal (motorbike) to the barangay (small neighborhood) at the foot of the mountain. It was from there that he hired a guide.

But would things actually go the way this blog post made it seem?

I had to talk to Lamer.

Lamer is a taxi driver, but he’s also so much more. He’s our family friend, and his versatile skill set has led to my family using him as a multipurpose fixer of sorts… he’s helped us grocery shop, been an impromptu wildlife guide, among other things. Basically, Lamer helps us get places and then some. I have yet to find a task he’s been unwilling or unable to take on.

I asked Lamer what he thought of the route, and we decided the only way to know for sure would be to try. He’d been to Igbaras before, so he couldn’t see why it wouldn’t work. We picked a day where the kids could stay with my family and their nannies all day, then we set off.

We started in Tigbauan, where we spent the night on some beachside cottages. From there, Igbaras wasn’t actually too far away. We drove through a sequence of small and mid-size towns before arriving in Igbaras, which was most recognizable for a large grassy town square with a playground (you don’t see a ton of those everywhere). The municipal office sat on one side of this plaza, and the public market on the other.

At least the blog post was accurate this far.

Lamer, Deanna, and I were directed upstairs. When we reached the appropriate office, we saw posters of both mountains and a few other surrounding waterfalls. A friendly attendant let us know we were on the right track and had us pay the environmental fee. She handed us a visitor book to sign and we added our name below some hikers from Germany.

We weren’t quite at the destination, though. We had to park Lamer’s taxi at a house where our motorcycle fleet would pick us up. We drove forward several miles as the roads got smaller and rougher, which made sense as eventually motorcycles would have to take over and do what a standard sedan could not. Finding the actual house took a few tries, and it wasn’t until Lamer had rolled down his window to quiz a few people we passed that we learned we drove a bit past our target.

We backtracked and found the right road. When we neared the last house on this road, Lamer seemed to recognize it. Bernado’s house!

Lamer had also told me he hadn’t been to Igbaras in about twenty years, so his recognition of this friend’s house was pretty impressive. (Well, maybe Bernardo’s more like a distant acquaintance at this point.) Unfortunately we never met the famed Bernardo. Someone else, a family member, we think, invited us in to change into our hiking clothes. Afterwards, we hopped out to find our habal-habals waiting for us.

There were three motorbikes, so each of us hopped on the back of a different driver. I’d never taken a motorbike on a road with this many climbs and descents, so that added a bit of a thrill before the hike even began. We rode for about ten minutes and climbed the hill to Barangay Bagay- the small town/neighborhood where the trail would begin.

We arrived at a large Barangay Bagay sign, on which was painted a blossoming rafflesia… the world’s largest flower that we just might encounter on the hike. To my surprise, this venture was going much more according to plan than I anticipated. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for secondhand online information to be outdated or just incomplete. With the exception of our bonus search for Bernardo’s house, so far, the blog post played out exactly as it was written.

The habal habals dropped us off in front of a small office, which was no bigger than my three year old’s bedroom and shared a wall with a chicken grill restaurant. We walked in to sign another guestbook, pay more one registration fee, and to meet Joseph.

It felt like a mission accomplished just getting to the trailhead, following random online searches thus far. But the actual trek was about to begin.

Oh snap, this is a long adventure. Guess we’ll have to do a two-parter. Stay tuned for the next episode.

I Got a Traditional Filipino Tattoo

What’s the meaning of my tattoo?

Overcoming. Strength from ancestry.

It represents the journey I’m on. Five pods of a canoe representing the five souls in my immediate family. Ferns representing the farmers and earthkeepers who’ve taught me along the way. Alligator spines representing ancestral strength.

I’d been looking forward to this tat for a couple years, derailed by children and lockdowns. I absolutely get why people say once you get some ink, it’s hard to stop! Well, having to save up for it might slow my roll a little but I can already envision extending the design further down and around my arm.

Getting my tattak.

I’ve wanted a tattoo for a long time. Actually, a good number of tattoos.

The thing is, they’re expensive. And I don’t think being covered in them head-to-toe is totally my style. When you’re that covered in ink, I find it a bit more forgiving if one small part of it doesn’t quite capture everything you want. You can simply add another. But given my style and budget, I’ve known that I’d need to be selective around whatever ink goes on my skin for life.

Queue three or four years of overthinking it.

Second chances.

Finding God in all things.

Trees and an abundance of life.

Then a few years ago, I started to discover the rich role that tattoo art plays in Filipino culture.

The reality is, if the Philippines were never colonized, I would most likely be covered in full-body tattoos. And it wouldn’t just be an aesthetic thing, either. Tattoos were given as marks of beauty, status, and accomplishment in a community. Patterns and designs would depict your role in society and your point of belonging. They might also tell the story of things you’ve done in life, challenges you’ve overcome.

Of course, a lot of contemporary tattoos across different cultures also commemorate moments and accomplishments, but groups like the Kalinga and Igorot people made a whole thing out of it. I discovered online graphics that revealed the meanings and associations of commonly used patterns, and I started to think of these tattoos as a whole language with which you could tell a person’s story.

(I soon discovered that these were created by Ayla, an Ilonggo tattoo practitioner based out of Maryland. Her tattoos and infographics are both incredible, and her social media profiles are rich with informational materials about the art.)

I started to really want a tattoo done in this Filipino style. But what design?

I wanted a fair portion of my upper arm covered, just high enough where I could still roll up a long sleeve shirt and keep it concealed… I never know when my travels just might take me to a rare spot where tattoos are generally unwelcome. That’s a good amount of surface area, so I saved up the funds.

Getting a tattoo was written firmly on my “Before 30” list of things to do.

Then came the pandemic. Lockdown arrived in California roughly six weeks ahead of my 30th.

There’s no need to rehash all the details of what happened next, but my version of the experience was also conflated with the arrival of three kids in two years. My “Before 30” list would eventually evolve into a “Before 33 Maybe” list.

The tattoo went on the backburner for a little while. But you know what didn’t? My exploration of Filipino culture.

The ramp up of hate against Asian-American communities only made me value that part of me more. And the more I explored Filipino psychology, mythology, and history, the more I came to appreciate the richness and inner-diversity of it all. Best of all, I started to understand that this abundant culture was not just located in my family’s past or on the other side of the world, but deep within me.

Because of lockdown and all, a lot of this exploration was done online. I found videos about Apo Na Wang. I learned from historians like Kirby Araullo. And I discovered Brandon Tenedora’s tattoo studio.

Brandon knew the symbols and what they stood for pretty well. I loved the style of his tattoos. He managed to take this art, which was traditionally maximalist and give it clean, sharp lines and definition, rendering a more contemporary look. This added a boldness to it, and it seemed to be the perfect meeting ground of the ancestral world within, and the modern world around me.

I knew I wanted a tattoo, and now I knew who I wanted it from. Still, what tattoo should I get, exactly?

It turns out, I didn’t really need to overthink that. Traditionally, the tattoo wearer doesn’t decide. The artist would divine a design, incorporating that person’s life story into their interpretation. Brandon would let me share the parts of my story I’d like to capture, and freehand it into a design.

Brandon’s studio, Kapwa, is located on Oahu. So scheduling an appointment would take some planning. Back in the fall, he announced some availability, and I made sure to reserve a spot. I already had plans to take my family to the Philippines in early 2023, and I figured Hawaii would be a convenient stop-over to cut the flight in half. Plus, I could get some ink while there.

I showed up for my appointment. Brandon’s studio was clean, open, and sleek, matching the feel of his tattoo art. We got talking and he explained how the process would go.

Traditionally, the tattoo recipient would bring food for everybody, a feast for the community. The artist would then perform some chanting, fortune-telling, and prayer. While I didn’t bring any food, Brandon did want to keep some part of the tradition alive by starting with a silent prayer. In lieu of chanting? A Fugees playlist.

I told Brandon the parts of my story I wanted represented. The strength and encouragement I’ve found by working with farmers and nature around the world. Overcoming health challenges with my wife to become parents of three incredible kids. Finding my place in the world through travel and seeing life as a journey.

And then he got to work. Four hours later, and I found myself with a linear, diamond pattern on my arm stemming from a sun.

In my newest video below, I go a little bit deeper into how the patterns connect to my story. The design is somewhat simple, but it does a lot of heavy lifting. Each element carries so much meaning.

I’m extremely happy to have this ink on me now, for the rest of my life. I also immediately understood why people have a hard time stopping at just one tattoo. I can easily imagine this design being extended a little bit.

It’s easy to think of ancestry as something that’s back then. In the past. And if you’re a child of diaspora, it’s also easy to think of ancestry as something that’s over there. And yeah, in some ways it is. But also, it’s within us. 

Exploring Vienna

Thanks to long lines at the Brussels Airport, I missed a flight and made it into Vienna a lot later than expected. I was super disappointed because that in turn led to me missing a train that was supposed to take me on my first visit to Hungary.

I think a few years ago, I would’ve tried to take the next train I was able to in order to make that visit happen anyways, but the current me realized that it would be way too short a visit and running all over the place for a half day wouldn’t do the country justice. Instead I accepted the bonus day in Vienna and ngl, I’m a little proud of myself for making that call!

It led to some great finds:

☕️ phil | Pretty spectacular coffee shop, book shop, and music venue where even the furniture was sleek and on sale.

🍺 Glacis Beisl | The spot for schnitzel, weissbier, and the best garden seating area.

🧮 Naschmarkt | Sweet part of town with an open air market and lots of Asian restaurants nearby.

I Got a Tattoo

Time to reveal!

My story, retold using the symbols and craft of my kin.

I’ve been wanting a Filipino tattoo for quite a while, and I finally got to fulfill this quest while I was on Oahu.

Traditionally, you don’t really design your own ink, it would be bestowed by the artist based on their interpretation or divination of your story, accomplishments, role in society, etc. I love that this part makes less about just the individual and more about belonging. And that’s basically how this design was born.

I’ve admired the work of Kapwa Tattoo Studio for a while. I got to share my story with Brandon and my tattoo is the outcome of his interpretation. Best believe I’ve got a video coming unpacking the motifs and symbols and how they relate to my journey. But lots of appreciation to @bt.tattoos for the great first session, silent prayer, and education on the tradition.

Ted Lasso

It’s been a minute, but glad you’re back.

Travel With Babies

I love adventuring with my kiddos. Whether its Rhys climbing all over Guatemalan ruins or Kai and Juniper taking a tuk tuk to the beach in the Philippines… I’m so glad I’ve introduced them to travel early.

Of course, it isn’t easy traveling with kids… and having three all three and under makes it all the more challenging. But there are a couple of things I try to repeat pretty often:

Shit can happen anywhere • Okay, there’s probably a more kid-friendly way to say that, but the truth is it’s kind of inevitable that kids will have meltdowns, kids will get sick, all that. It’s best to anticipate that up front so you can know how you’ll deal with it and won’t feel as overwhelmed when you’re in a new place. The fact is, that’s just what happens with kids no matter where you are, including at home. No need to let that be the thing that holds you back from a great bonding or growing experience.

It’s a lifelong adventure • You can’t travel at the same pace you used to, and you won’t do ALL the things. Don’t stress yourself out trying to make it all fit, and don’t stretch the kids so thin that everyone is miserable. It’s their experience too. Better to have one satisfying experience then quit while you’re ahead. At this early stage, it’s more about building a positive relationship with travel, exploring, and learning from the world.

Want more specific tips? My newest video is all about the things I’ve learned traveling with three very young passengers.

Don't Start With Hawaii

I was listening to someone- a well-versed traveler with over 60 countries of experience give advice to new travelers on how to begin the act of seeing the world with intention and purpose. He listed a few pieces of advice, but the one I remember best is this:

Don’t start with Hawaii.

Interesting.

I’ve been spending the past few days on the island of Oahu. Hawaii’s smack-in-the-middle-of-the-Pacifc-Ocean status makes it a perfect way to chop an overseas flight to the Philippines in half. I mean, sit for fourteen hours with a restless one-year-old on my lap who keeps trying to escape, or spend several days eating, exploring, and taking it easy around Hawaii? Tough choice, right?

Anyways, that traveler’s piece of advice might not be one you hear too often, but after spending some time on the shoreline of Waikiki, it actually makes perfect sense.

He wasn’t saying to avoid Hawaii. It truly is a kingdom of cultural and natural richness. But he was affirming that it might not be the best place to start.

See, Hawaii is actually where a lot of people start traveling. For a lot of people, Hawaii is the destination. It has the natural setting of a tropical island but the reassurance of still being within the United States. It isn’t uncommon for some families to return year after year.

If you hear the word tourist or vacation, I’ll bet many of the mental images that come up include Hawaiian shirts and leis.

While Hawaii has always been a popular destination, it’s probably a safe assumption that the majority of these visits are done with intent. What I mean by this is that a lot of tourism to Hawaii is extractive. People show up interested in how they can have a good time and see some beautiful scenery, without much investment in benefitting or learning from Hawaiians.

This results in some confusing takes. Ever since the start of the pandemic, there have been conflicting messages- some about how Native Hawaiians are begging mainland visitors not to come, and others about how dependent the state economy is on tourism. Both those things can be true. That said, the strongly worded social media campaigns to KEEP OUT seem to conflict with cultural practices of hospitality.

Things only get more complicated in the shadow of current events. During the heat of the pandemic, Hawaii’s more limited medical infrastructure (especially outside of Maui and Oahu) was stretched extremely thin. There’s an ongoing housing crisis that displaces many Native Hawaiians. Airbnbs and short term rentals have contributed to this housing shortage. Few things are as jarring as the contrast between the homelessness and extravagance that line the streets of Ala Moana and Waikiki.

The islands are economically reliant on tourism, with it representing about a quarter of Hawaii’s economy, but tourists aren’t always respectful of Hawaii.

Even with my best efforts to be a more conscientious visitor to Hawaii, I still found myself second guessing many decisions. Stay at an Airbnb? Hotel? I opted for the latter, which to my best knowledge seemed to be locally operated.

What should we do for fun with kids? The Dole Plantation seems fun. But isn’t that tied to Sanford Dole… AKA the guy who the U.S. installed after overthrowing Queen Liliuokalani? How do we feel about that?

Disney seems to have a popular beach for families… but can’t we just go to a beach on an island without being beholden to such a big corporation’s profit?

Of course, these questions aren’t unique to Hawaii, but something about Hawaii’s popularity makes it a bit harder to sift through. In many places, quick online searches can land me more genuine cultural experiences. What I get sometimes when searching for Hawaii often has the feel of the cultural equivalent of greenwashing. People want more authentic experiences, but that often simply nudges the bigger corporations to throw the words ‘authentic’ and ‘local’ in front of things that still economically disadvantage Native Hawaiians.

So yeah… trying to respectfully, meaningfully, and intentionally visit Hawaii can be harder. But it’s not impossible. I watch videos like Sam Potter’s Aloha Aina feature and remember… when done right, we can learn so much from Hawaiian wisdom while contributing towards expanded opportunities for Native Hawaiians.

We just gotta do our homework. 

Learn history. It’s ridiculous and sad that so many Americans visit Hawaii every year while being completely unaware of how it became a state; the role of missionaries, sugar companies, and imperialism, the overthrow of the monarchy, and the way culture was repressed in language and education. No judging, I learned about this stuff late, too. This explainer video is a pretty accessible entry point into that unfortunate part of U.S. history. Of course, I am also more partial to Native Hawaiian authored resources. Queen Liliuokalani has an autobiography I recently learned about!

Consider your impact. When you sign up for an activity as a part of your visit, or a homestay… who benefits from the profit? Does it create opportunities for Native Hawaiians or contribute to their displacement? I know companies don’t make it easy to look these things up, but everything you do has an impact. We can try and mitigate harm and increase the good.

Learn from native wisdom. Annie Daly and Kainoa Daines have a book called Island Wisdom that serves as a good primer before a visit. The foundations of love, land, stories, and family resonate with me deeply. Check out Sam Potter’s video. And of course, spend time talking to the people you meet on your own travel. And definitely don’t do most of the things from Season One of White Lotus.

Travel with kids isn’t easy, but its doable. Here’s everything I’ve learned.

It’s been 15 months since I’ve been a dad of three. My oldest is still a young three-year-old, meaning, yeah… my life has been a babytown of chaos. In spite of that, I’ve somehow managed to bring this crew to Guatemala, Alaska, Hawaii, and the Philippines within that time frame.

Ambitious journeys. Complicated journeys. But somehow, they worked out!

I want my kids to grow up well-traveled, and I want that to start pretty early. I’m okay with them being a bit more spoiled in that department, because I think exposure to different cultures and environments does a person that much good.

Here’s my mega collection of baby travel tips.

1. First of all, adjust your expectations. Traveling with kids is completely different than traveling solo, or with a partner or friends. You move slower, of course. You don’t totally get to check out of your routines. It can still be good, and maybe even better in some ways. Just don’t expect it to be the same.

2. The general rule of thumb is that kids fly free on your lap under the age of two on domestic flights. Internationally, you usually have to pay close to a full fare, but they’ll knock out some costs since they aren’t in an actual seat. (This is when you realize how much of a ticket cost actually comes from taxes, airport fees, etc.)

3. Some airlines offer kid discounts, even once they cross that 2-year-old threshold! Ones known to do this: Frontier, Southwest, American Airlines, Scandinavian (SAS), Qatar Airways, Air Tahiti Nui, British Airways, Virgin Atlantic, Japan Airlines, TAP Portugal, and Ethiad. Some of these aren’t always offered, but are frequently recurring promotions. This post has helpful details on that.

4. For the most part, other passengers around you will be nice and sympathetic. There’s always the exceptional curmudgeon, but I’ve only ever encountered one grump out of dozens of neighbors. Ignore them and don’t let them make the trip any harder than it already is. You’ve got bigger things to worry about. On the flip side, on my last flight, my two neighbors volunteered to hold my kid so I could eat. It helps that they were moms who once were in the same position.

5. My friend Gary’s trick: Bring a bag of Hershey Kisses to give out to your seat neighbors and the flight attendants. A kind acknowledgement that says “yeah, you got the short straw on this flight, but we see you.”

6. If you have a particularly long day of air travel, look up the airports you’ll be going through and see if they have kids’ play areas. I’ve seen these in Manila, Seattle, and Guatemala. Being a lap infant is a lot of sitting around. The more running around they do, the more likely they’ll sleep on board.

7. If your kid is still small enough to sit in a bassinet… many airlines have these on board! After you book the ticket, you’ll want to call the airline (I know, that might take a minute). Tell them you have a baby and you want a bassinet. They’ll put in you in that front row where you’re facing a wall. It has little knobs, where an on-board bassinet gets connected. It’s first come, first serve, but it’ll be really nice to have your hands free.

8. Two lap infants cannot sit in the same row- meaning if you’re a couple with twins, you’ll have to split up and maximize the amount of neighbors you irritate. The explanation is that there are only four oxygen masks per row.

9. I didn’t know until very recently that you can actually travel with more kids under two than you have adults! Of course, they can’t both be lap infants, so you’ll have to book the seat next to you and probably attach a car seat. You’ll be paying more to be more outnumbered by your kids, so I don’t think I’ll be doing this too much by choice. But if you simply have no other option…

10. Strollers and car seats can be gate checked… meaning your kids can be wheeled around until the very last minute you hop on the plane. And this is almost always at no extra cost! For kids in a rear-facing car seat, I love the Doona, since it’s a car seat that turns into a stroller (why aren’t they all like this?), saving you a piece of gear. Sadly, they don’t make a twin model.

11. The one bit of gear I recommend: the WayB PICO lightweight car seat. For kids who are in a front-facing car seat. This thing weighs eight pounds folded up. Car seats are so bulky and are one of the least convenient things about traveling with kids, so I love that this solves the problem. Many car rental companies also offer complimentary car seat rentals, so check to see if this is available before spending anything extra.

12. These days I’ve been more interested in hotels and hostels with private rooms than Airbnbs, but rental homes still seem to win out when you’re traveling with a large family with little kids. The common space, the prospect of a backyard, and the partitioned off rooms are a big win. You’ll be spending more time in your accommodations so think before going the super cheap route. Maybe book a place with the right vibes to make it more part of the experience?

13. Most nicer hotels have cribs available. The motels and budget accommodations are about 50/50, but you can call ahead of time. In fact, you should since they’re usually first come first serve. Heads up if you have twins– make sure to overcommunicate this fact, because it always goes over people’s heads when I reserve two cribs. If you’re in a group with multiple rooms, I request cribs in two of them to make sure.

14. Look to see if you can find baby consignment stores at your destination… easiest in North America and Europe, but sometimes in parts of East Asia or big cities in Latin America. This will save you the trouble of having to check in larger items like pack-and-plays or high chairs. You can sell your gear back at the end. You’ll lose some money, but not as much you would by paying check-in fees.

15. Diapers and formula are sold in just about every part of the world… and it’s very likely that your preferred brand of formula is also manufactured overseas. Yeah, rural parts of the deep Congo might be exceptions to this, but if you’re going there,you already like to play this game on hard…

16. Read up on the cultural attitudes towards children where you’re going. I don’t know how else to say this, but white kids get a TON of attention in China… which might be no big deal, but might make other families uncomfortable. Scandinavia tends to give kids a lot of space, whereas there’s more hand-holding in the Philippines. In many Asian countries, there’s a big divide between generations, but in France you might see more of an effort to integrate kids into broader society. Respect these differences for what they are, while still knowing where your levels of comfort and discomfort are.

17. You’ll spend a lot of time thinking about how much harder it is to travel with kids compared to by yourself. Balance this by also thinking of ways the experience is better. Kids are naturally curious and haven’t lost their sense of wonder. We can learn from that, and try to see our destination with that beginner’s mindset.

18. Can you get some help with the kids? Obviously this is the big question even at home, but the fact that we were able to invite my mom to our Guatemala trip was a game changer. In the Philippines, we were able to hire a couple nannies, allowing us to go on more adult excursions. (They had worked with our family before, and we stayed a month.) Are you going somewhere affordable enough to pay for a regular nanny you already work with? This just might determine where you end up going.

19. Scandinavia, Japan, Australia, the Netherlands, and Canada have pretty good infrastructure for young kids, but what makes a kid-friendly destination largely depends on what you want to do there. If you have one-year-olds and you’re drawn to Australia for the surf… you might get some serious FOMO unless you have a sitter with you. Maybe wait just a couple years so the kids can catch their first waves with you?

20. Car seats aren’t used in a lot of parts of the world… so see how comfortable you are with that. (In these parts, kids ride on laps.) Because of our quantity of kids, we chose Guatemala over Ireland for this reason… finding an Irish car rental that could fit three car seats and three adults was nearly impossible.

21. Know that shit happens, everywhere. Like… kids have meltdowns. Kids get sick. Kids fall down and scratch stuff up. That’s just life with a kid. My take is that this can happen at home just as much as it can happen when you’re overseas, so don’t let it be the thing that holds you back. Just solve the problem that’s in front of you.

22. Remember that this is just as much your kids’ experience as it is yours… and it can be a lot for them. This doesn’t mean your entire itinerary needs to be Legoland, but think about their interests and needs alongside yours. After an intensive travel day, they’ll probably need time to roam more freely. Combining an introduction to a totally new place with some free time to play with familiar toys is a compassionate, balanced approach.

23. Before a trip starts, know what you want to get out of it. Our most recent trip was to start the lifelong process of giving my kids a connection to their Filipino roots. In these early trips, one big goal was to build a positive relationship with travel early. We might not check off 100% of the things on our list, but if we’re moving towards that outcome, it’s still a win.

24. My favorite tip… get a balcony. On those nights where the kids are in bed and you wish you could just leave and explore the city, a balcony will at least help you feel more connected to your surroundings. Get some locally produced wine or whatever other treat the area is known for, and connect with your partner.

I brought the kids to the other side of the world

We stepped out of the airport at night , and on to the hectic strip of sidewalk where only the sketchiest dudes try over and over to hook you up with a taxi, despite being told for a sixth time, “nah, man. Ride’s on its way.”

Embraced by the car fumes thickening the already dense, warm air, I had to let it sink in.

We did it.

We’re really here.

I brought my very tiny crew (3 years, 14 months, & 14 months) to the other side of the planet.

They’ve had some practice, having ventured to Guatemala and Alaska at even earlier ages. Still, those are both only one country apart from us. Crossing the Pacific? A much bigger move.

We planned a stint in Honolulu to turn a 14 hour trip into two days of 7-hour travels. Then it was on to our home base for the next month.

The Philippines.

This would be my first visit back in nearly seven years, and a much happier one. In 2016, I spent two short days in the Philippines for my grandma’s memorial service after she had passed. Now I was arriving with the newest generation of our family.

Thanks to the blessing that is remote work, we are able to spend several weeks in the country. When my job first went remote a couple years ago, I excitedly looked forward to the time that would mean being able to travel slower… spending extended amounts of time in a place and developing an actual rhythm to life, rather than just hopping in for a week and sprinting to all the landmarks. This was my first opportunity to make good on wanting to travel this way. Plus, if you’re going to do long haul flights with infants on your lap, you’ll want to make sure you’re staying somewhere long enough to make that worth the effort.

It means a lot to me to take my kids to the Philippines. There have been a lot of things that have made me appreciate my Filipino ancestry more and more as I’ve gotten older. I love our mythology, our traditions as farmers and fisherfolk, the inside jokes, and the diversity of cultures and languages across the Philippine Islands.

The thing that most quickly accelerated this love, however, was becoming a dad.

My kids aren’t likely to grow up with the same proximity to the culture that I did, however. i grew up with trays of pancit and pinakbet at every family gathering. Constant exposure to at least three Filipino languages. Trips to the Philippines every few years. In school, there were always groups of Filipino kids who hung out together, cultural heritage clubs. I actually never participated in those since it already felt like my exposure to the culture was abundant.

However, my kids are a generation removed from the members of our family who actually grew up in the Philippines. My FIlipino isn’t quite good enough for me to use it as a primary language with my kids. Their mom and that whole side of their family is not Filipino. We currently live in San Diego, which has a sizable Filipino community, so we’ve at least got that going.

But I understand that if I don’t put forth real effort, being Filipino might not mean very much to my kids. So we’re spending some time over there.

The hope is that we can do this at regular intervals throughout their childhood. I must’ve visited about 8-10 times over the course of my childhood, and this is my fourth trip as an adult. For some reason, the interval of three years feels like a good pace. They’ll be at totally different stages of childhood every three years.

I figure, we can pair familiar places with parts of the Philippines I’ve never been to before. There are so many parts I’ve heard fascinating things about that I have yet to see. It’d also be a blast to pair future visits with other places of interest in the region: Japan, Vietnam, Indonesia have all been mentioned.

While this idea is attached to the hope of them having a stronger connection to their Filipino roots, I’ve got to be patient with those expectations. After all, it took me a good while to truly appreciate it myself.

But it all starts with the first visit, which should be the most difficult by a long stretch. The thought of traveling with two 3 year olds and a 5 year old seems heavenly compared to the double-strollered, diaper-and-formula heavy cargo we’re taking this time.  

We checked into our Manila hotel for the night. In another two days, we’d go onward to my mom’s hometown. My usual homebase in the Philippines. But for now, I had to admire the moment when we reached the end of a challenging flight to start making good on a dream I’ve had for my kids.

Crisis of Culture

"The climate crisis is a crisis of culture, and thus of the imagination.”
–Amitav Ghosh

I can never get over how when you put a map of where species of wildlife are most endangered on top of a map where languages are down to less than 100 speakers, you get almost total overlap.

Alaska, the Amazon Basin, Papua New Guinea and Indonesia…culture and conservation go hand in hand.

The Ethics of Flying Cheap

One of the most exciting moments for a 20 year old Philippe was the discovery of RyanAir and their unreal prices. I remember looking over their routes like, woah, I can really get to all these places for €15 or €20???

And so I did. From Paris to Bratislava, Brussels to Bordeaux. (I’m leaving out the best part… most of those trips were with an ex that I broke up with after booking everything. 🤷🏾‍♂️ Was not gonna let those cheap tickets go to waste though!) I mastered the art of layering every piece of clothing to stay under their single carry on limit.

As I’ve gotten older and more concerned with how my choices affect people and the planet, I’ve started to wonder if these bargain flights really were a good thing. Prices that are unbelievably low often reek of fast fashion or fast food, and other industries that aren’t so great for workers or ecosystems.

But what about budget travel? Turns out that isn’t so black-and-white. I did a whole deep dive into how RyanAir works for my latest video to see if it’s compatible with ethical travel. Check it out!

Before Sunrise

"If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt.”

–Julie Delphy as Celine in Before Sunrise

Probably one of my favorite movie quotes of all-time and it doesn’t need a whole lot of expanding upon. But this movie/trilogy has one of the most honest portrayals of a relationship I’ve seen while still being romantic.