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We’ve been using Pilot sign pens since the 1990s, starting with the Pilot V5 (in black, green or purple). Newspaper editors swear by them. Ten years ago we tried the Pilot VBall Extra Fine (always black), and it’s been our absolute favorite writing instrument since. In the mid-noughties we heard that this line was being phased out and we went into a panic. Happily it is still available at our local bookstores. We always carry 3 or 4 of these pens at all times (Our excuse is, we scribble for living) and use one up every week or so. Whenever we lose one we kick ourselves.

Recently we realized something about our beloved Pilot VBall Extra Fine. Our discovery does not diminish our attachment to this excellent apparatus, but we do worry for our clothes. You see, this pen has the tendency to explode in airplanes. (Haha Pilots on planes.)

On at least six occasions, the last one a week ago, we’ve opened a Pilot VBall Extra Fine in an airline cabin in order to write notes, only to find ink all over our fingers. The ink leaks out of the nib. In each case, the pen was half-empty (You can see the ink level through the transparent tube) or half-full if you’re an optimist. We figure the leakage has something to do with cabin pressure.

Fortunately the exploded pens have not leaked onto our notes or clothes, although we now have a couple of bags with Rorschach blots on them. (Obviously it’s the lambs screaming, Clarice.) We are devoted to these pens and will keep on using them, but next time we get on a plane they’re going in a Zip-loc bag.

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Esoteric nerd knowledge from Miguel R: “Pilot techpoints explode in planes because of the pressure difference. So when you take the cap off, kaboom! One solution I’ve read about is to invert the pen so all the ink is in the bottom when you take off the cap.”

Please try this on your next plane ride and tell us if it solves the problem. In return we will give you…Pilot pens!!!

Listen to this:
Singapore Indoor Stadium, 18 Feb 2012

The Full Sharapova

While the stadium goes berserk we’re taking notes and saying, “Hmmm, interesting.”

On the plane we were seated three rows behind the singer Engelbert Humperdick, who was traveling with his entourage. Our mother would’ve gotten a kick out of that; we’re always disappointed when the musician on the plane is not Anthony Kiedis. The flight to Singabore was exactly on time, and we had an interesting chat with the purser about the pusakal her kids adopted. The ideal flight: we fell asleep on takeoff, woke up for the meal, went back to sleep, then read a story by Somerset Maugham. We’re reading his Ashenden stories—brilliant. Ashenden, based on Maugham’s experience with British intelligence, was the first modern spy fiction series. We recognize him as a fellow over-thinker.

“Ashenden suffered from that distressing malady known as train fever: an hour before his train was due he began to have apprehensions lest he should miss it; he was impatient with the porters who would never bring his luggage down from his room in time and he could not understand why the hotel bus cut it so fine; a block in the street would drive him to frenzy and the languid movements of the station porters infuriate him. The whole world seemed in a horrid plot to delay him; people got in his way as he passed through the barriers; others, a long string of them, were at the ticket-office getting tickets for other trains than his and they counted their change with exasperating care; his luggage took an interminable time to register; and then if he was travelling with friends they would go to buy newspapers, or would take a walk along the platform, and he was certain they would be left behind…”

It took us 10 minutes to get out of Changi Airport—would’ve been faster if we had longer legs. The driver spotted us immediately; 20 minutes later we were at the Ritz-Carlton Millenia. Nice room, excellent view, bathtub by the window. One complaint: the bathrobes are for people six feet tall, they sweep the floor like a cape. On this trip we will pretend to be Ashenden on a mission to recruit an agent.

Now to find a channel that’s showing Law and Order or CSI. We suspect that the real reason we travel is to watch Law and Order or CSI in hotels.

Update: No Law and Order or CSI?? We had to make do with the second season of The Walking Dead. Mmm meaty.

We missed seeing Roger Federer at the Australian Open. Our Roger substitute: the Lindt Cafe. As you probably know, The Fed endorses Lindt’s Lindor Truffles (and Jura coffee makers, Rolex and whatnot). While walking up and down Collins Street in Melbourne yesterday, wondering what stores were open, we saw the Lindt sign. Chocolate! They also serve sandwiches and tea.

Couldn’t bring home Lindor Truffles though, fearing they’d melt in the checked baggage. They didn’t have those dry ice thingies they have for packaging at Royce and La Truffe.

Across the street is a big Dymocks bookstore carrying classic Penguins and Penguin merchandise. We also got P.G. Wodehouse and Christopher Isherwood books we’d been looking for in Manila.

Which reminds us: Where’s your homework?

At W.H. Smith at the airport we found this beauty:

View from the 20th floor of the Grand Hyatt in Melbourne, 27 Jan 2012

Flew out of Manila at 9pm Thursday, landed in Oz at 7:50 am Friday (Melbourne is three hours ahead) to the news that The Fed lost to Nadal in 4 sets. Aaaaaaaaa we thought we were going to watch that semifinal, having (stupidly) assumed that the big match would be played last (Sorry, Djoker-Murray fans). On one hand we’re bummed that we didn’t get to see the Federer v Nadal; on the other hand we’re actually relieved not to see Roger beaten when he was looking so good in the earlier rounds.

Federites are all too familiar with the feeling of dread that descends as a Federer-Nadal match approaches. Well it’s lifted and now we can enjoy our trip.

Ryan, we owe you brunch in Paris, see you at Roland Garros. Congratulations to the winner of our Roger-Rafa crystal ball contest; please declare yourself as the wi-fi in our excellent hotel is expensive (charge per minute). Speaking of charges, looks like it’s safe to email us—we disconnected the auto email thingy in the BlackBerry so we won’t get hit with a P25 (!) fee for every single email we receive.

While we’re at it, could you readers vote on the winner for the Cruel Rejections LitWit Challenge? Our schedule is packed. Please post your votes in the Comments section of that contest, here.

So it’s the Djoker-Murray match we’re seeing tonight, then the women’s final tomorrow. Can’t complain, esp since we’re sitting in the sponsor’s box. Vive Lacoste! It’s so much easier to write up a match when you’re not having ten nervous breakdowns on your favorite’s behalf.

Going to boil ourselves in the shower (As Teddy-wan Kenobi likes to point out, an airplane’s atmosphere is made of recycled farts, even if you fly business class) then we’re off to the stadium.

is made the old-fashioned Filipino way at Camiña Balay nga Bato in Iloilo. It’s so good, you can sit in a cafe in Brussels, Basel or Barcelona, try their hot chocolate and say, “Wala ba kayo noong tsokolate tablea sa Iloilo? With Alpine milk?”

See that pot of rich, thick chocolate?

It takes four of these white packages of tablea to make one pot. No wonder it’s so good, it is labor-intensive. You can buy the tsokolate tablea at Lola Rufina Heritage Curio Shop on the ground floor of the old house. The shop also carries traditional woven fabrics, pottery, baskets, accessories and sinamak vinegar.

If you’d like to tour the old house or have lunch or dinner there, you can make an appointment at telephone (033) 306 1927.

The stone house, built in 1865, stands on Osmeña Street in Villa de Arevalo, Iloilo. You can’t miss it.

Go to the side of the house. No matter how desperate your craving for tsokolate, don’t forget your manners. You’re in Iloilo, what’s the rush?

The lady of the house Ms Luth Camiña, president of Banco de Arevalo, had just arrived. “If I’d known you were coming I would’ve prepared a proper lunch,” she declared. “We have no food. Would you like lechon and red rice?”

Whereupon food started coming out of the kitchen.

She made a bowl of hanggop, a refreshing salad of tomatoes and coriander in a sinamak dressing. Why do the simplest vegetables taste better when you’re in the country? Because they were just picked that day and are practically alive.

Then came the lechon, left over from the fiesta the previous night when there were a hundred visitors in the house. It was served with laswa, our favorite name for a vegetable stew. It should always be served next to the Ilokano puke-puke (a misnomer since it’s made of eggplant and eggs. Puke-puke. Laswa!)

And newly-cooked red rice, a variety that’s available only at certain times of the year. It’s so chewy and tasty you don’t need anything with it. The secret, Ms Luth said, is the amount of water you cook it with.

Instant feast!

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Thanks to the My City, My SM, My Cuisine team Millie Dizon, Melody Bay, Nonie Cartagena and Cora Alvina of the Metropolitan Museum for making this trip possible.