Nestor “Nono” Felix worked in various capacities for an international NGO for more than 25 years before retiring in 2011. From 1997 to 2010, he was the corporate planning and M&E (monitoring and evaluation) manager covering Bangladesh, Cambodia, China, India, Indonesia, Laos, Nepal, the Philippines, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Timor Leste and Vietnam.

His work also took him to other countries to attend corporate seminars for training and skills development and forums for policy making and networking. These included Canada, UK, US, and regions between point A to point B, like the Silk Road. This travelogue is a reflection of his journeys, capturing the essence of diverse cultures, landscapes, and the indomitable human spirit.

As a Filipino national with a keen observant eye, his perspective is firmly rooted in his culture and heritage, but profoundly enriched by the myriad experiences across continents. He is never at a loss for words to make an incisive commentary about the day’s moments. From savoring fish and chips in London, making friends with workshop attendees from Israel and Palestine in Ottawa, joining a safari in Kenya, surviving a 24-hour flight from Thailand to Bolivia, to experiencing racial discrimination in Minnesota, and many more, each destination has left an indelible mark on this traveler from Bicol.

This collection of memories is not just a chronicle of places Nono Felix visited but a testament to the personal connections made, the lessons learned, and the beauty found in the most unexpected corners of the world.

We thank Nono Felix for his generosity in sharing his travelogue with our readers. It is dated January 2024 and his experiences date back to the mid-1980s and 2010s, but the articles nevertheless are timeless. There are 17 chapters, and we plan to publish the travelogue over the coming 6 months.

The header collage image features Siem Reap, the gateway to the ruins in Angkor Wat (credit: Living in Cinnamon) and Downtown Ottawa with view of Parliament Hill (credit: Ottawa Tourism, Independent UK)

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Good evening, Neanderthal!

My granddaughter has recently come to comprehend the vastness of our world, comprising various countries and continents. Intrigued by the places she reads about or sees online, she often inquires, “Have you been there? What’s it like?” Unable to understand that I never took photographs or videos during my foreign travels, she humorously agrees with her Achi that she has a Neanderthal for a grandfather. Nonetheless, she is delighted that I diligently recorded travel notes, such as the one I am sharing with her now. This is in preparation for the expected deluge of questions, including her recent inquiry about the absence of “The Philosopher’s Stone” or “Order of the Phoenix” among the J.K. Rowling books I brought from a sidewalk bookshop in Islamabad, Pakistan.

During my initial visit to the Golden Triangle, my thoughts drifted to the mysterious disappearances of ships and planes. However, my attention was soon captured by the roadside lined with Bermuda grass on the way to the Mekong River.

In Siem Reap, it wasn’t the ancient temple of Angkor Wat that fascinated me, but a stretch of the highway from the airport. On both sides, hotel buildings were sprouting up simultaneously, most of them prefixed or suffixed with “River.”

Standing motionless in front of the Terra Cotta army in Xian, I found myself captivated by the individual facial expressions of the thousands of clay soldiers or warriors paying little attention to the horses.

My fastest international trip ever was from Nepal to India. It took me mere seconds to cross the road bisecting the two countries on a rainy and beery night.

In Thailand, I discovered that tamarinds were much sweeter than those in the Philippines though the same couldn’t be said for mangoes. The world’s sweetest fruits are not exclusive to any rich or poor country.

Everywhere I dined out in Surrey, the meat cuts, especially chicken, were oversized. Although suitable for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I consistently opted out, unsure of how to use the term “doggie bag” in a sentence.

Recalling the 14-hour train ride from New Delhi to Rajasthan, my thoughts often revolve around how many times I watered the rail tracks through a hole in the toilet bowl, perhaps setting a record for the Guinness World of Records.

The boundless love of the emperor for his wife led to the creation of the magical Taj Mahal in memory of his one true love. Yet, it was the optical illusion at the back of the palace that left the strongest impression on me, as the interiors failed to capture my interest.

In a quaint hotel in Phnom Penh catering to development workers from around the world, I overheard at a nearby table how their last weekend in Bangkok’s red-light district had turned out to be a disaster.

During a visit to a South Asian country, I experienced a stomach issue. The guard informed me of bacteria on the elevator buttons, although I had always used the stairway for exercise.

On a lengthy land trip from Dhaka to the north of Bangladesh, I found myself in dreamland right after the van left the city during the height of the monsoon. My uninterrupted sleep was only interrupted for lunch at a roadside eatery, where I momentarily felt transported to a bus journey from Bicol to Manila amidst floodwaters, ordering a combo of plain rice and pork adobo.

In Dili, Timor Leste (East Timor), shortly after the rampage of the Indonesian militia, many buildings and residences lay in ruins. I stayed in one of the well-appointed rooms, formerly a garage, equipped with air conditioning and cable TV. Australia showed reluctance to leave the oil-rich Timor Sea for a second.

I always looked forward to exploring remote villages in Vietnam, relishing the local wine offered to guests. However, the exotic taste was later recalled at a snake restaurant in the city.

Booking a bed and breakfast in Ottawa, I discovered a welcome note with step-by-step instructions on the front door. With no front desk and no other guests, I only met the owner on the day of my departure. Breakfast was consistently ready each morning, with the same menu throughout my stay.

However, the person setting the table remained a mystery though I had no complaints.

United Kingdom

During my first visit to the UK, I stayed at an old quaint hotel in the outskirts of Surrey. It was walking distance to the international office of my employer. I was there for a workshop on corporate planning, monitoring and evaluation. It triggered the subsequent UK workshops that I joined every year until my retirement.

Sundown was past 8 pm, so I was amazed nighttime was always late. I would then take a relaxing walk along the Basingstoke Canal before dinner. It was a famous waterway snaking through the county. I stopped by picturesque cottages like those in my grade school English textbooks. One time I imagined seeing Jack and his beanstalk.

The sky was darkening by the time I was back at the hotel. At the small restaurant, I was ready for my usual fare of fish and chips. The dish fascinated me. It was not because it was cheap. I was entitled to a meal 20 times its price. It took some time to serve, but every time I was forewarned by courteous waitresses with bulbous boobs. The beer was superb like San Miguel Beer. The music was nonstop. There was loud laughter at every table. It’s the usual pub scene in a British movie.

On my next trip, I was billeted in an old and drab hotel within the city center. In my book, it was the worst hotel booking for me abroad. The front desk was not helpful. The room service was ludicrous. Meal trays were left on the floor by the door. At midnight, inebriated guests coming back from nearby pubs banged the walls and doors along the narrow hallway.

Although it’s a red-eye trip, the UK was my favorite destination even after so many trips. I was always looking forward to a UK sojourn. In London, it was like every nook and cranny was from a fairy tale. Once the plane was descending, I began to visualize Big Ben, Tower Bridge, Thames River, London Eye, Buckingham Palace, etc. The smooth taxi ride from Heathrow Airport to my destination. A squirrel scurrying from one tree to another. The explosion of colors from the clumps of trees in woodlands by the roadside.

And on departure, there was the mesmerizing Star Alliance airport lounge for frequent flyers. The cornucopia of international food and drinks made me think I was in an Arabian feast. It was also like a library with rows upon rows of magazines, etc. It’s the only airport lounge in the world where I saw passengers absorbed in the same best seller. One time I went around to confirm whether they were reading the same bestselling book Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. And my feeling was everyone would like to finish the book before they reach home.

Canada

In the early 2000s, I attended an international workshop on Results-based Management (RBM) in Ottawa, Canada. During this time, RBM was considered an advanced tool in program design and development. Arriving at the airport, I easily found the bed and breakfast I had booked online. Though it was old and tucked away, the taxi driver knew the neighborhood well. I later discovered his house was situated just across the street, which explained why he had been smiling throughout the journey.

During my stay at the B&B, I was the only guest for the entire week. The owner only appeared on the day of my departure. He had a humorous personality and asked if I had enjoyed my solitary experience. I hadn’t even noticed who had set the table each morning. The breakfast menu consisted of two fried eggs, pork and beans, toast, bacon and ham, and orange juice.

Every morning, I walked a few blocks to the workshop venue, which was located in a modest building resembling the post office back home. Despite this, the participants were dressed in their finest attire. In contrast, I attended in jeans, a polo shirt, and a jacket, feeling like the only person who appeared Third World. Nevertheless, the other participants were kind and friendly. I formed friendships with individuals from Israel and Palestine. Towards the end of the second day, they sought my assistance in finalizing their respective outputs. They were unfamiliar with the Logical Framework (Log Frame) methodology, so I used my own work to illustrate how it was executed. However, they expressed disinterest in utilizing LogFrame in their home countries, perceiving it as a sterile exercise lacking the perspective of the people they served. Regardless, they held high positions within international development organizations in their respective nations.

We once met at a pub late into the night. During our time together, we avoided discussing work, religion, or politics, instead focusing on tourism, environmental degradation, and sports, particularly boxing. They were avid fans of Manny Pacquiao, who had recently defeated Mexico’s boxing superstar Marco Antonio Barrera. One of the individuals from Israel even asked if I lived near Pacquiao’s residence so that I could send him a video of the Pacman during training.

The following day, we took turns escaping from sessions to combat sleepiness. This was a time of conflict between Israel and Palestine, yet there was no animosity between the two participants. In fact, they even peer-reviewed each other’s draft reports, demonstrating their unity. After the sessions concluded, they continued spending time together, but I no longer joined them. They planned to reunite in either Tel Aviv or Gaza in the future. Less than a year later, the Israeli participant emailed me to share the news that they were in a relationship. I responded by expressing my happiness for them and noting that their connection was not surprising.

Along the route to the workshop site, I was surprised to see piles of uncollected garbage, but there was no stench or swarms of flies. Instead, the scent of flowers wafted from the front yards of the houses. This made me think that First World countries are even excellent at managing garbage.

Every afternoon after the workshop, I would sit on a weir by a shallow river strewn with boulders. There I observed wild ducks flying low and the silhouettes of people on the other side. Many of them were women biking from the business district perhaps on their way home from work. But I would leave once the cool air began to lull me to sleep.

On the morning of my departure, I walked to a nearby mall to buy souvenirs. I did not have to bargain with the Filipina sales ladies as they promptly gave me big discounts. Most of them had been with the mall since its opening in the 1990s, and one of them was from ex-President Marcos’ hometown. However, she despised him for being a dictator.

While in a taxi on my way to the airport, I saw a church jam-packed with worshipers. On a small table by the doorway, there were freshly baked cookies and biscuits. I assumed it was someone’s birthday and was certain that the cookies and biscuits were not enough. Not long after, my cellphone vibrated with a birthday greeting for me from home. This made me reflect on another year spent in development, and I recalled what I had written on the workshop evaluation sheet: “Development is like traveling by air, land, or sea towards a destination that moves away whenever it seems within reach.”