To hell with grease, grime and rust.

I stayed late last night after the fellowship party thrown for the media by the newly-installed PS and former chairman of the agency I’m working for. After a long wait for PGMA, who undoubtedly never came, I accompanied a national correspondent, who happens to be the mother of one of my closest friends, to Marco Polo to finish off a story in connection to the recent release of the kidnapped reporter and her TV crew. It’s another freebie, so why not, I told myself. But since prices are usually astronomical in these kinds of alta sociedad places and being the modest person that I am, I ordered milk, which is still at a staggering 88 pesos.

No, I’m not letting you in for the scoop.

While Tita was talking to a reliable local official of the ARMM and I was waiting for the boiling milk to cool down a bit, I was talking with the driver and owner of the Starex Van that she rented.

After casual exchanges about work, I became enthused when Kuya told me that he has already traveled most parts of the world. He is a seaman and has traveled to Brazil, Argentina, Chile, US states and most of Europe including Sweden, Denmark and Switzerland. I just salivated as he dropped the names of countries he’s gone to. Currently he’s off work but told me that he could actually go back to being a seaman if he wills to. He used his savings to put up a taxi and van rental business here. I found out that the company he’s working for is actually a big international shipping company with new investments operating in Northern Mindanao.

But he says he misses his family and that it is hard when you are pamilyado because you always think of your family, especially in moments where you have to “break the ice”. The work is tough too. Contrary to some perceptions that seamen are like guards who man the ship, their job is much harder than patrolling. They actually do the “dirty” job – cleaning the ship’s gears, taking off rust, having to endure that scorching heat of the ship’s bottom.

I can do that, I said. Being a seaman is the perfect cure to wanderlust, I thought. I’ll save up and could probably take two years off to study marine transportation or maritime technology, pass the board exam, go through the icky medical checks, have the right connections, probably hook up with Kuya because I could probably work in the same ship and then dock in the same cities Kuya mentioned -- dock in London, visit the Westminster Abbey, ogle at the Big Ben, dock in Hamburg, drink German beer and gobble chocolates. To hell with grease, grime and rust.