THERE are certain times of the year when home is missed even more for particular reasons. This very moment, I can name one; the weather. As of present writing time, the temperature outside is 99 degrees Fahrenheit with zero percent precipitation, 56 percent humidity, and the wind at a measly 8 km/hour. Or to put it in a language I can very well understand—oh so very friggin’ sweltering hot!
It’s summer and a desert summer is like all the summers put together. There’s no escaping the oppressive heat of the Arabian sun. A few steps away from the comforts of the nippy air-conditioned room and sweat starts forming at the roots of your hair, trickling down your back, soaking your undergarments and then ultimately leaving you like a wet puppy—but not a shivering one. This is what I get to experience everytime I’m outdoors nowadays.
It’s summer and a desert summer is like all the summers put together. There’s no escaping the oppressive heat of the Arabian sun. A few steps away from the comforts of the nippy air-conditioned room and sweat starts forming at the roots of your hair, trickling down your back, soaking your undergarments and then ultimately leaving you like a wet puppy—but not a shivering one. This is what I get to experience everytime I’m outdoors nowadays.
At the other end of the world, my sister just painted up an entirely different scenario. She just left to meet up with her friends for a cup of native coffee and boiled sweet potatoes. Before that, she was telling me that it’s constantly raining in the afternoons and there was not much to do but to stay indoors and get cozy with a movie and a steaming hot plate of whatever. Now this is what I really miss! The cold mornings of Baguio, the rainy afternoons of Sagada, my hometown, and all the warm, fuzzy things that come with this weather in the highlands.
Baguio City has always been famous for its cool and temperate climate. One always wakes up by wanting to stay inside the warm covers further. Which makes the idea of freshly-brewed and steaming hot coffee even more enticing. Coffee shops that are cluttered around the central business area are always teeming with people who like to indulge in a cup or two. Add a fresh waffle on the side plate and it could be one of the most fulfilling delights. That or a fat, coarse pancake in the public market’s carinderia or a mobile stall’s fresh cup. Doesn’t really make a big difference, it’s native-grown coffee at its finest.
Higher up the mountains, Sagada has also long welcomed the rainy season. It’s the lean period for tourism but it’s a productive time for some local produce. Growing up, the rainy season for me was equivalent to fresh corn on the cob and camotes as mainstays in the dining table, and separating sacks and sacks of beans from their pods, ready to be dried under the sun once the rainy season is over. It also meant classes being suspended every now and then. It’s that time of the year for rubber boots, raincoats and sturdy, giant umbrellas. For puddles and mud, of shovels to make the ditches deeper, of moldy smelling clothes, of constant power interruptions, early bedtimes and late risings.
Who knew I would be missing these big time. But here we are, braving the desert summer during the Ramadan month when everything seems to be extra heatedly difficult. I could only worry about our Muslim brothers who are currently fasting in observance of this holy month. This unforgiving heat combined with the sacrifice of bodily necessities could be detrimental to the health if not properly prepared. I can only hope they’re observing some basic musts to ensure they can have a comfortable fasting cycle.
As the summer’s enduring heat force me to wash-and-use my permanently sweat-soaked handkerchiefs, I could only long pensively of the highland rains and that steaming cup of coffee.
Baguio City has always been famous for its cool and temperate climate. One always wakes up by wanting to stay inside the warm covers further. Which makes the idea of freshly-brewed and steaming hot coffee even more enticing. Coffee shops that are cluttered around the central business area are always teeming with people who like to indulge in a cup or two. Add a fresh waffle on the side plate and it could be one of the most fulfilling delights. That or a fat, coarse pancake in the public market’s carinderia or a mobile stall’s fresh cup. Doesn’t really make a big difference, it’s native-grown coffee at its finest.
Higher up the mountains, Sagada has also long welcomed the rainy season. It’s the lean period for tourism but it’s a productive time for some local produce. Growing up, the rainy season for me was equivalent to fresh corn on the cob and camotes as mainstays in the dining table, and separating sacks and sacks of beans from their pods, ready to be dried under the sun once the rainy season is over. It also meant classes being suspended every now and then. It’s that time of the year for rubber boots, raincoats and sturdy, giant umbrellas. For puddles and mud, of shovels to make the ditches deeper, of moldy smelling clothes, of constant power interruptions, early bedtimes and late risings.
Who knew I would be missing these big time. But here we are, braving the desert summer during the Ramadan month when everything seems to be extra heatedly difficult. I could only worry about our Muslim brothers who are currently fasting in observance of this holy month. This unforgiving heat combined with the sacrifice of bodily necessities could be detrimental to the health if not properly prepared. I can only hope they’re observing some basic musts to ensure they can have a comfortable fasting cycle.
As the summer’s enduring heat force me to wash-and-use my permanently sweat-soaked handkerchiefs, I could only long pensively of the highland rains and that steaming cup of coffee.