Stories of town explorations.
You know you're in trouble when you're 80 miles from home, sitting in a badass barber shop that looks like a rockstar club, and you suddenly realize you have absolutely no money to pay.
• That was me yesterday at Texas Barber Bros in Abilene—80 miles from home, no car (I asked someone to drive me there), and a head of hair that had been falling over my face during 12-hour hospital shifts for weeks. I booked a 3 PM slot, showed up early at 2:14, and watched every person who walked in after me get called first because nobody told me about the secret attendance sheet rule.
• My barber was a cool Black dude who sang rap and blues the whole time like I was getting a free concert, though I couldn't understand half of what he said—street slang or just my hospital-ruined ears. Then came the kicker: no cash, no card (left in Snyder), and I had to embarrassingly track him down in the back room mid-cigarette just to tap-to-pay on his phone—stupid, humiliating, and absolutely the hilarious haircut story I've had.
ONE HAIRCUT IN 6 MONTHS. AMERICA DID THIS TO ME.
DEAR DIARY
It’s been six months since I moved to America for good. My fate led me to West Texas, where everything is big, wide, and far. For the very first time since arriving, I’m writing a blog about my life here.
Snyder is my hometown in America. I wasn’t born in this town, but it’s where I settled and started a new life from scratch—well, not really from scratch. It’s more like a reset. I’m in the process of blending into and immersing myself in this new community, carrying with me a baseline checklist of what I need to survive and thrive in this new country.
Six months after moving to America, I’ve only had one haircut. After that first cut, I realized I hadn’t gotten a second one in the past four months. I felt like I’d become too busy and forgotten to take care of myself. Growing your hair isn’t necessarily a sign of self-care neglect—but letting it grow too long isn't the real me when I’m not busy.
Busy? I don’t think so. My train of thought is getting complicated now. My 12-hour shifts make me a busy person daily. However, having seven days off within a 14-day period has also given me ample time to rest and enjoy a work-life balance. I’m busy during my shifts, but I’m also extremely free on my days off—something I never enjoyed back in the Philippines, where I only had one day off a week. This American setup I’m navigating now feels like an oxymoron at times. Is it hard? Generally not. Is it interesting? Always, definitely.
I CAN'T TOUCH MY HAIR AT WORK. I ALSO CAN'T GET TO A BARBER.
Back to my hair—I’ve noticed how my jet-black, straight Asian hair has grown. It now covers my face because it naturally falls that way, and it's becoming uncomfortable. When I’m taking care of my patients in the hospital, my hair drops forward. When that happens, I don't want to touch it while actively caring for patients, because I might introduce infectious or contagious elements to my hair. I have to wash my hands thoroughly first before fixing it. My hair has become more of a liability than an asset.
When I first moved to America, I didn’t know how to drive—and I didn’t have a car. I quickly found out that a car is a necessity in Snyder, not a luxury. There is no public transportation here—no bus system, no taxicab. I’ve heard that Uber is present in Snyder, though I’ve never tried it, and some people have told me it’s not always reliable or available.
Not having my own car has also become a hurdle for getting some personal fixes I need—including a haircut.
For my last haircut, I hitched a ride with a fellow Filipino who was also going to a barber shop. That was my first haircut in America. Since that day, I haven't had another one.
Now, I need to get a new one. I contacted another fellow Filipino and asked if she could drive me to a barber shop nearby. But instead of staying in Snyder, I got this idea in my head: what if we looked for a barber shop outside Snyder, for the sake of "going around" and exploring West Texas? She agreed! Unfortunately, it took three more weeks before that plan became reality. I grew a few more centimeters of hair in those three weeks—and no, I’m not Rapunzel yet.
COTTOM FARMS VS. WIND FARMS—AND SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN, A HAIRCUT
So yesterday (2026-08-08) was the day. My Filipino folk drove me to where? Abilene! It's a city I have been hearing a lot about because we transfer some of our patients to this city. It sounds very familiar. It's also the subject of a popular country song, "Choosing Texas."
I was more excited about the town exploration that would happen than getting a haircut, because traveling gives meaning to my life, but getting a haircut is nothing but a routine human personal fix—nothing exciting about that.
We took US Highway 84. We started from Snyder, passed through the wide cotton farms of Hermleigh, Roscoe, Sweetwater, and smaller villages in between. While the cotton farms get their space of the road-side show, the West Texas wind farms are also competing for the highway view spotlight.
So I searched Google for barber shops in Abilene, and I saw Texas Barber Bros. I called them to inquire about availability, and the one who answered my call advised me to book an appointment. He did not give details on how to book, and I did not ask. I rechecked Google for the details and found a booking button on the search page called Booksy.com. I registered using my Google account and booked a 3-PM appointment. Why 3 PM? Because we left Snyder at 1 PM. While the distance from Snyder to Abilene is little more than an hour, I wanted to add an additional time safety net just in case we wouldn't make it to Abilene on time.
📍 ABILENE
My first photo of Abilene, taken on 2026-August-08 at 02:12 PM, was not a trendy coffee shop, not a historical landmark, not a pretty park, but a random barber shop I found on Google.
📍 ABILENE
This is the view of the Texas Barber Bros as seen from the North Mockingbird Lane.
I did not pay anything on the booking website. I just booked an appointment.
We made it to the barber shop at 2:14 PM. So this is Abilene. I traveled here for a haircut. If not for this long hair, I might have not visited Abilene at that time.
The barber shop is located along North Mockingbird Lane in Abilene. I don't think it was a busy street by Filipino standards of traffic. The exterior of the barber shop looked like it was a club for rockstars. The vibe outside was very masculine—hard coded enough for straight dudes that women, gay men, and transgenders could not probably relate.
I entered the barber shop, and the interior made me feel like I was inside a rap battle club. It was cool. I saw several barbers inside, and all of them looked badass, but friendly—badass friendly.
THE SECRET ATTENDANCE SHEET THAT ALMOST COST ME MY HAIRCUT
I inquired with one of them about how the booking works, and someone approached me to show that my 3 PM appointment was confirmed. I waited on the bench inside. While waiting, more and more clients came in, and they were signing a piece of paper that felt like an attendance sheet.
I waited up to 3 PM until I realized that those who came later than me were called first. I raised my eyebrows and asked what was happening. The barber calling names was looking at that paper — the attendance sheet. I had booked online at 3 PM, but apparently, booking just guarantees a slot over walk-ins. The actual queue? That paper.
📍 ABILENE
I waited on the bench inside. While waiting, more and more clients came in, and they were signing a piece of paper that felt like an attendance sheet.
I asked one of the barbers if I needed to register even though I was already booked. He said yes. I hadn't known. He was kind about it — politely asked me to write my name, circled it, and wrote "NEXT."
No complaint, really. A black guy approached me personally — no general announcement, just a subtle personal summon to the barber seat.
BADASS HAIRCUT, HUMILIATING PAYMENT-A PERFECT COMBO
My barber was a cool dude. He was a black man who sings well—rap and urban genre. He sang with the music in the background. He was in tune. He did the runs well. He could also rap. My black guy barber was singing while he was cutting my hair.
He asked me something. I said, "What's that?" I couldn't understand what he was saying. Was that a black slang? It seemed to me that he was rapping while he was talking to me. There were words I couldn't understand. I thought they were slang, but everyone in the room understood it. Without understanding the context, I just replied with "No."
In the background, I think I heard someone saying, "He's Asian." Meanwhile, another one seemed like he was saying, "He's probably Hispanic." My peripheral hearing, super-activated by the beeping sound of medical machines and hospital alarm systems, couldn't exactly hear what they were talking about in the background. However, I knew that the guys were friendly. I think I was the problem. As a new immigrant, I couldn't understand barber shop slangs yet, or probably, those are street slangs for cool dudes? I don't know.
The black guy asked me a question that I didn't understand. I wasn't replying. I didn't know he was talking to me. He looked at me face to face. That's when I realized he was talking to me. I said, "What?" After two clarifications, I realized he was asking what type of haircut I preferred. I showed him a photo of me when I was 25 years old, and he exclaimed, "You looked badass there." Then he laughed cheerfully. I laughed with him. It was a friendly exchange.
📍 ABILENE
Instead of facing the mirror, he cut my hair the other way around, so I couldn't see my face and the progress. After the session, he took a smaller mirror and showed me my hair. I was impressed. At first, I was afraid my hair would turn out ridiculous because my hair when I was 25 is way thicker than now that I'm 38. I have had funny experiences in a barber shop where the barber himself laughed at his own work because my thinning hair is no longer as flexible as before in terms of different haircuts. I might look funny when I try to get a barber cut because my thinning hair would really emphasize my receding hairline.
For my barber at Texas Barber Bros, he did a good job! I liked the result.
When it was time to pay, I had a very embarrassing moment. I realized I had no cash, and I forgot my card in Snyder! I panicked. I didn't know what to say. I called my Filipino friend who drove me to Abilene for a rescue, but she had no cash. I'm screwed! I'm in trouble!
My friend had her card with her though, but that's weird! Someone has to pay for me using someone else's personal card. Also, I was the one who asked her to drive me to Abilene, and yet she is the one paying for the whole trip! My bad!
I politely asked my barber to wait a little because I was waiting for my friend to come. I told my barber I had no cash, and I left my card. He instructed me to just leave the cash at his station and left the area. My friend arrived without any cash though. She only had a card, so I had to wait for my barber to come back.
It was taking a while. It was a big inconvenience for my friend to also wait a little longer. With all my might, confidence, and courage, I opened that backdoor that seemed to be private and not for unauthorized people like me to search for my barber.
Well, I saw my guy sitting there, having a chill vibe, puffing on his cigarette. I told him that I would pay him with a card, and then he brought out his phone and I found out that I could tap the card through his phone to pay.
📍 ABILENE
That was my haircut experience in Abilene. While I get too excited exploring new towns and cities, I also get dumb at times.
📍 ABILENE
After that haircut, we navigated downtown Abilene. This navigation was way easier than navigating a situation where I don't have money to pay for my bills, 80 miles away from home.
It was a memorable experience though. That haircut put me through a lot of trouble and embarrassment, and that made my Abilene visit stupidly memorable, but definitely one for the books!
After all that—the 80‑mile drive, the rap concert haircut, the backdoor cigarette hunt, and the tap‑to‑pay save—I finally walked out of Abilene looking like my 25‑year‑old self again, only to realize I’d spent the whole trip so worried about my hair that I almost forgot to actually explore the town I came to see. So I guess I didn't just pay for a haircut—I paid for the most expensive reminder that my sense of adventure still has a few blind spots, and apparently, they're all in West Texas.
NAGUSTUAM DIAY NABASAM/NAKITAM? MABALIN MO MET I-LIKE.
Stories of town explorations.
We told Mom we were just heading to a resort down the road—that was a lie, and by the time we reached Bessang Pass with numb fingers and no extra-warm jackets, I realized we'd stumbled onto a battlefield we never even learned about in school.
• The sun was scorching in Vigan that morning, but hours later, shivering at the top of a mountain in June, I kept waiting to see my own breath while standing in front of pine trees that had no business being in our province.
• I borrowed my late aunt's cheap digicam, we took off with nothing but a tiny scooter and empty stomachs, and somehow ended up at the Great Wall of China—except it was just a winding road in Cervantes, and it was the most beautiful accident of my life.
WE LIED TO OUR MOM. WE ENDED UP IN A BATTLEFIELD.
The road wasn't supposed to lead here—but in 2010, my brother and I rode straight into a piece of history we never learned in school.
The heat in Vigan that morning was brutal—the kind that sticks to your skin and makes your helmet feel like an oven. But the higher we climbed, the cooler it got. By the time we hit Bessang Pass, my fingers were numb; and I was dreaming to see my own breath. Snap, it was a tropical cold. Nah, my warm breath does not freeze on air. But... it was the coldest air I've ever felt during a hot month in our place—yeah, that was June... June 12th of 2010 to be exact.
Neither of us knew Bessang Pass was anything special. We pulled over because I saw a random road.
📍 CERVANTES
We took many photos, then we argued about moving forward or backing down. Nothing cinematic. Just two idiots riding on a small automatic motorbike, shaken, realizing we had to take a scooter with small gasoline tank down 60+ kilometers of mountain road with no cell signal.
That's when we noticed the pine trees. They looked out of place, like someone had dropped them there by mistake. Then we saw the markers—old war remnants, faded signs mentioning the Battle of Bessang Pass in 1945. We were standing on ground where soldiers had actually fought, and we'd only ended up there because we were too stubborn to turn around.
I don't have a neat lesson from that day. But sometimes, when I'm stuck in traffic or sitting through a boring meeting, my mind drifts back to that cold air, those sudden pine trees, and the quiet realization that we'd stumbled into something older and bigger than us—not because we were wise or curious, but because we were bored and were careless kids.
The mountain town I couldn’t forget
The road to Cervantes was a death sentence I'd always heard about—narrow, unpaved, one wrong turn away from a cliff drop. But when I finally took it in 2010, I found myself standing at a pine-clad mountain pass, alone with my brother, staring at what felt like my own province's secret Great Wall.
Oh yes... I'm from Ilocos Sur, and I had heard about the town of Cervantes several times. I always had the urge to go, but there had never been a chance; besides, it's too far from the city where I live.
I had always heard that the road going to Cervantes wasn't good. It was a matter of life and death! The roads were too narrow, with falling rocks from the mountain. The roads were unpaved; and a few steps away, it was KABOOOOOOOOOOM! You're falling off that cliff! If it rains, the town is literally isolated!
📍 CERVANTES
"Fifteen years later (rewriting and editing this story on 2026-July-10, five months after moving to America, I still catch myself drifting back to that random road."
📍 CERVANTES
My brother also lay on the concrete block, emulating what I had done. Using a cheap digicam I had borrowed from my late aunt, we were able to document our first experiences in Cervantes.
...that was before, but traveling through this road now is as smooth as silk. It is a beautiful winding road. If you're at a higher altitude, the road below may look like the Great Wall of China (or at least like what I have seen in photos). You may say, "I'm at the Great Wall of Ilocos!"
The highway was not busy. Most of the time, my brother and I were the only ones traveling along this highway. This scenario may change, though. Who knows? Cervantes might boom later, and the road will become busy. Lucky me, I witnessed it this way.
📍 CERVANTES
I love taking photos of myself. Sometimes, my self-photos become more important than the views. I took every opportunity to have my photo taken at each stop we made.
📍 CERVANTES
The first time I saw this marker of Cervantes, which was identical to the rest of the markers in all the towns in Ilocos Sur that year (a project of then-Gov. DV Savellano), I went over to have my photo taken
📍 CERVANTES
It was my first time seeing a mountain of pine trees inside my own province.
Although Baguio had already given me this kind of sight, it felt different to see pine-clad mountains for the first time in my own province. It was something I did not expect.
This was in 2010, when I was still new to this kind of traveling.
WE FOUND HISTORY BY ACCIDENT
They said the road to Cervantes would kill me—I rode it anyway and found my province's secret Great Wall.
Going to Cervantes that day was an accident. I just asked my brother to join me for a joyride. We reached Cervantes unexpectedly. We never thought we could.
We are not bad people, but we had to tell lies to pursue this adventure. We told our parents we were just going to a resort nearby because we knew they wouldn't let us traverse the highway. They said it was risky. One more thing: we were the only good-looking, boys-next-door in our village. The whole village was afraid its boys would get into an accident (this is my secret, keep it between you and me, lol—enough daydreaming).
📍 CERVANTES
Fifteen years later (rewriting and editing this story on 2026-July-10, five months after moving to America, I still catch myself drifting back to that random road.
📍 CERVANTES
My brother and I stopped at Nakayang view deck, where we saw the beautiful valley of Cervantes. .
📍 CERVANTES
My brother was enjoying the view of the beautiful Cervantes valley from the Nakayang view deck.
It was a hot day in Vigan, where we came from. We just decided to go to candon City, only to find ourselves already reaching the remote town of Cervantes with our scooter. That day was hot, and the sky was clear. There was no time for rain drama. But even though it was summer, it was cold in Bessang Pass.
See the images below. The ambiance was really cold. It would be so romantic for lovers to hug each other while driving (Huh? That sounds crazy). This time, it was my younger brother with me, whom I love; but hugging him while riding on a scooter would have been suicide! BRAGGGG!
📍 CERVANTES
Looking at this photo, it reminds me how chilly this spot was.
📍 CERVANTES
We went further, until we already started to descend. The road went zigzagging down to the valley. The cold breeze was replaced with hot air.
📍 CERVANTES
MY Honda Beat just made it!
We weren't able to see the must-sees of Cervantes, because we had no tour guide. We didn't know where to go. In fact, Cervantes is so historical. It was where a battle during World War II happened.
The town has the Yamashita Cave, McArthur Tunnel, Bessang Pass National Park, and Gambang Falls, which are all part of the history of the Philippines! For us, however, the scene we saw along the Cervantes highway was already a must-see, and the romantic, freezing breeze and ambiance of the town was a travel bonus! To my surprise, there were pine trees! It was an awesome view. It felt like I was in Baguio minus the crowd and commerce.
📍 CERVANTES
We spotted this rice field in the valley.
While we were on our way, there was a bike race going up to Bessang Pass. Bessang Pass is the highest point traversed by any highway system in Ilocos as of now. It is foggy and cold.
Cervantes is the crossing for the four provinces of Ilocos Sur, Abra, Benguet, and Mountain Province. Rice terraces are present in Cervantes too!
We didn't find closure or answers of our stupid side that day—just numb fingers, a borrowed camera, and a mountain that kept its secrets. But fifteen years later (rewriting and editing this story on 2026-July-10, five months after moving to America, I still catch myself drifting back to that random road, not because it changed me, but because for a few hours, I was completely, stupidly alive.
PHOTO GALLERY
NAGUSTUAM DIAY NABASAM/NAKITAM? MABALIN MO MET I-LIKE.
Stories of town explorations.
No destination is unworthy. All places, touristy or non-touristy, are destinations that could help enrich your life, understanding, and perspective.
• I judged Bangkok hard and skipped it for years. One night there proved me totally wrong—touristy doesn't mean unworthy.
• I thought "real Thailand" meant avoiding Bangkok. My first visit taught me how silly that was.
BANGKOK: What Nobody TOLD ME
First night in Bangkok: I bought that tank top in Siem Reap, but I wore it in Bangkok.
Anyway, I intentionally skipped Bangkok on my past Thailand visit because I was too judgmental. It turned out that I enjoyed this city, and it made me realize that experiencing the real Thailand isn't just about exploring its less-visited provinces. Actually, that's a wrong notion. You also have to visit Bangkok and its other popular destinations to witness its amazing twists and evolution as a result of successful tourism.
All the old, new, traditional, and modern things in Thailand are all part of Thailand's bigger picture. Thailand now is not Thailand without its not-so-Thai modern additions as a result of mass tourism. So whether it's an old town or a modern city shaped by tourism, it's still the real Thailand.
CONCLUSION: No destination is unworthy. All places—touristy or not—are destinations that can help enrich your life, understanding, and perspective.
These were my thoughts on my first night in Bangkok. I would love to share more stories in the future.
PHOTO GALLERY
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NAGUSTUAM DIAY NABASAM/NAKITAM? MABALIN MO MET I-LIKE.
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