From Digital Demos to Dusty Tiles: My Colorful Journey Through Ozamiz, Jimenez, and Oroquieta

I was standing at the entrance of San Juan Bautista Parish Church in Jimenez, staring at a darkened marble basin. The holy water stoup had an inscription: Pueblo de Jimenez 1878. Dona d Ygnacio Tamarong.

I ran my fingers along its smooth edge, weathered by time. There was something grounding about that moment, like the past reaching out to say, "You made it."

Who was Ygnacio Tamarong? And what had he done to have his name carved into a church's memory?

I didn’t expect this moment. I came to teach about AI, to help small businesses digitize and automate. My session wrapped up around 4PM, and instead of winding down, the day led me to something else entirely.

We took a drive to Jimenez, a town I had long dreamed of visiting. It wasn’t in the itinerary—it was a side trip born out of instinct and opportunity.

The Town I Had Long Dreamed To Visit

I’d always wanted to see Jimenez.

Not the kind of place you see on vlogs or trending TikToks. Jimenez is quieter. Unassuming. But beneath its silence is a deep pulse of history. Over a hundred ancestral homes. The most intact Spanish-era church in the country. And a vibe that makes you feel like you stepped into a history book left open in the middle of a page.

We arrived late in the afternoon, the golden hour light spilling across the town’s edges. It felt cinematic in the most honest way. The kind of light that doesn’t just illuminate but reveals.

Jimenez isn’t like Vigan. There are no curated streetlights that frame every corner for tourists. Here, history lives raw. Shadows fall quickly. But still, the town waited.

Rizal Came Here?

Inside, everything was awe. The woodwork darkened by decades. Floor tiles uneven from time and prayers. Ceiling paintings from 1898 still intact. A pipe organ that once played hymns during revolutions. And the light—oh, the light. Late afternoon rays slicing through stained glass, painting the pews in blues and golds.

And then, that marble stoup.

Engraved: Ygnacio Tamarong. A name I didn’t recognize.

Later, I learned that Rizal traveled to Jimenez to operate on this man. During his exile in Dapitan. Rizal wasn’t just a statue or a chapter heading. He walked these streets. Practiced medicine. Gave his time and skill to someone whose name I now couldn’t forget.

It made the moment heavier. In a good way.

Houses With Their Own Heartbeats

Still feeling the weight of the church visit, we walked through the quiet streets of Jimenez, watching the colors shift as the sun slowly dipped behind the old rooftops. With no itinerary and no guide, I let the town lead.

We passed by the Bacarro Printing Press, where emergency money was printed during World War II. We paused at the home of Jose Ozamiz, Mindanao's first senator. There it was—his family’s coat of arms above the doorway, still intact after generations.

Every house seemed to hold a secret. A whisper. A ghost of a memory waiting to be asked.

You don’t just look at old homes in Jimenez—you listen to them.

Oroquieta: A City With Layers

After all that, we passed through Oroquieta.

Once called Layawan, the "place of stray animals," it has evolved over centuries into a charming capital. Its heartbeat is calm but steady.

At the Boulevard, we walked along the sea. The smell of grilled street food. The laughter of locals enjoying a slow day. No malls, no neon signs, just stories.

I bought shawarma from a small bike-cart hybrid stall. Only ₱59, but full of flavor and surprise. The vendor smiled when I complimented it. Moments like these are why I travel.

My 75th & 76th Province

April 11 afternoon, I said goodbye to Jimenez and hopped into the official DTI vehicle around 3 PM. At the wheel was Sir Mateo, DTI’s resident kwento king, whose stories covered everything from provincial politics to which carabaos belong to which councilors (and where the best suman is...really!).

I shared the ride with none other than PD Luz, the head of DTI Misamis Occidental. She carried herself with a quiet authority and warm energy—the kind of woman you could both admire and trust with a big life decision. Being in that car felt like I had unknowingly been invited into the inner circle of this region’s heartbeat.

We arrived in Ozamiz (75th province) and I checked into Golden D Inn, a humble but comfy stay recommended by one of my workshop students. That gesture alone made me smile—small towns really do pass on good things by word of mouth.

Later, Sir Michael from Hermis Bakery (yes, another student from the DTI sessions and owner of one of the city’s oldest bread suppliers) picked me up like we were old friends. We drove straight to Panguil Bay Bridge, where I stepped onto the other side which is Lanao del Norte—marking my 76th province in the Philippines. It felt symbolic. Like a quiet nod from the universe saying, “You’re back traveling again... huh?”

We capped the day with dinner at NM Gohantoboru, a legit Japanese spot owned by Ms. Mae (yet another workshop alum doing big things). The place? A dream if you're an anime fan. It's decked out in a full One Piece theme—wall art, memorabilia, and tiny details that made my inner otaku squeal with joy. As someone who grew up on Luffy and the Straw Hat crew, it felt like eating in a place that understood my weird mix of tech, travel, and fandom. The food? Insane. A big, steamy bowl of ramen that could rival top joints in Manila—but at a cool ₱265. The broth was deep, the noodles perfect, the ambiance unpretentious.

We laughed over misadventures, swapped dreams, and talked shop—how to scale their businesses, how to make AI less intimidating, and how passion can be your best branding.

Ms. Alison—pastry queen and another DTI gem—joined us too. She brought a firecracker energy that pulled the whole night together. Conversations like that make you forget you're technically working. It felt like family.

Bakal Gyms, Coffee Overload, and Heartfelt Encounters

This day was mine to wander, sweat, sip, and simply be.

I kicked it off with a visit to Muscle and Curves Fitness Gym, one of those classic, no-nonsense "bakal gyms." You know the type—equipment made from raw iron, no air conditioning, just the sound of metal clanking and sweat hitting concrete. It smelled like determination and dust. I loved it. The energy was gritty, real. It reminded me of why I started working out in the first place—not to impress anyone, but to stay grounded.

Post-pump, I rewarded myself with caffeine therapy at Occidental Kape at Pan, a café recommended by Ms. Alison. I started with their infamous Espresso Sunrise—espresso over orange juice. A bold choice. Did it taste like sunshine and adventure? Kinda. Would I order it again? Probably not. 😂 But what followed made up for it: a cup of their house Puro blend and an espresso latte that felt like a warm hug from a fellow caffeine addict.

The café owner, Patrick, had a vibe—chill but passionate. We talked about his coffee journey, his collab with Alison (she supplies the pandesal), and his dreams for the café. And let me just say—his sourdough? Probably the best I've ever tasted. Crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside, with that perfect tang. Legit. I threw in a few marketing ideas he jotted down like a student hungry for growth. There’s something beautiful about creators helping creators.

Next, I headed to Raan-Day-Vu Cafe for lunch. I saw a guy clearing tables and asked if I could set up for a client call. Turns out? He owned the place. He smiled and said, "Sige lang, sir," then surprised me with a custom coffee brew while I worked. That was coffee number four, by the way. I was basically running on espresso and joy at that point.

As the sun dipped low, I felt the craving hit: eggs and rice. So I made my way back to NM Gohantoboru—my comfort zone for this trip. Their Omurice Tonkatsu was calling my name, and I answered like a loyal fan. The fluffy egg, crispy pork, rich sauce over rice—it was comfort food dressed in a kimono.

Sometimes, your best memories aren't made in the grand moments, but in the gentle collisions: a gym full of strangers, a café that remembers your order, a smile from someone who didn’t have to be kind but chose to be anyway.

This day? It was full of those moments. Small. Honest. Beautifully human.

What These Towns Reminded Me

I arrived in Mindanao to talk about the future—AI tools, digital transformation, automation. But these places reminded me that growth isn't always about speed. Sometimes it's about remembering.

Remembering how wood creaks when you walk into a church older than your grandparents. Remembering how food made with intention tastes different. Remembering how one name etched in marble can shift your understanding of a national hero.

Not all data comes in spreadsheets. Some comes in smiles, in brickwork, in coffee served with care.

Real Talk (Where I’m At Now)

I didn’t expect this trip to hit so deep.

Jimenez reminded me of heritage. Oroquieta reminded me of warmth. Ozamiz reminded me of connection.

It all reminded me why I do this—why I share, why I show up, even when I’m tired.

There are stories worth collecting that don’t go viral.

And that’s okay.

Because maybe, just maybe, presence matters more than reach.

Take the Walk

Take the detour. Talk to the shawarma guy. Ask the old woman at the 7-11 how long she’s worked there. Sit in the back of a bakal gym and sweat beside strangers.

Ask who built that house. Who painted that ceiling. Who brewed that coffee.

Because you might just find yourself staring at an old marble basin, tracing a name, and realizing that what you needed wasn’t a new tool—but an old truth.

Till the next trip,

G