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What drives my incessant wanderlust? The answer originates from my formative years, sparking an insatiable fervor within me. There was no sorcery involved, nor mystical elixirs. Yet, there lies a correlation with poultry.
My Extensive Travels
Presently, our whereabouts are in Honolulu, Hawaii. Even at 75, my voyages continue, albeit at a less frenetic pace. Initially, our journeys spanned the entirety of twelve months. Engaged in full-time RV expeditions across North America, as chronicled in my tome, Carolina: Cruising to an American Dream. Upon settling in Phoenix, the frequency dwindled to 60%. Departing the desert during winters and summers when the heat was overbearing. Today, it stands at a steady 40%.
This still amounts to a significant amount of travel. What impelled me? A period where professional obligations necessitated international jaunts for insights on pioneering IT implementations, subsequently to be applied in the Philippines. Prior to that, affiliations with multinational corporations dispatched me to diverse nations for enlightening sessions. While being gifted with such remarkable excursions was gratifying, it wasn’t the catalyst.
It couldn’t solely be attributed to that. Upon retiring and finding my lifelong travel companion, a profound awakening transpired. Liberated from expeditions dictated by employment, my global exploration knew no bounds. I traversed the globe far and wide, unshackled.
Maternal Influence
In delving further into the past for answers, it harks back to how I witnessed my mother embark on her global escapades. Commissioned to various destinations, commencing with securing the Philippine government’s scholarship to study the education methods for the hearing-impaired in the US, subsequently to be adapted back home in the Philippines.
During her Stateside sojourn, she corresponded with us detailing her scholastic pursuits. A transformative juncture in my life. A striking memory ensues when she mailed us a collection of dry golden, yellow, orange, and red maple leaves shed during autumn. Intrigued, I pondered, “Could she possibly send us snow next?”
Undoubtedly, my mother wielded a profound influence on my life. More than work and her voyages, she inundated me with copious servings of chicken wings. Embracing the prevalent belief in the Philippines during her era that this would furnish me with the metaphorical “wings” essential for traversing the globe. A plethora of chicken wing dishes became a staple: adobo, nilaga, tinola, afritada, steak, curry, inasal, arroz caldo, and, naturally, fried. I cultivated a fondness for all variants stemming from chicken wings.
Personal Revelation
The cultural tapestry of the Philippines bore significant Chinese influence, alongside the Spanish and American colonial legacies. Chinese settlers traversed my homeland in sizable numbers. The inaugural Chinatown globally resides in Divisoria, Binondo, Manila. Within its dim sum establishments, I encountered Phoenix Claws (perhaps foretelling my eventual sojourn to Phoenix?).
An epitome of Chinese delicacies, chicken feet swiftly became a personal favorite, overshadowing the more mainstream siopao, chow mien, egg rolls, among others. Challenging to prepare (and acquire), I unfailingly order it each time I patronize a dim sum eatery. Before scoffing, a taste test is imperative. A gelatinous confluence of sugar, soy sauce, and spices awaits.
As chicken wings bestowed upon me the “capacity” to soar, chicken feet conferred a motive to “explore” the terrains. Alas, they no longer feature prominently on my roster of “Culinary Delights” within my predominantly plant-based Longevity Diet. Hence, the decline in my travels.
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