After crossing the finish line at the Galaxy Manila Marathon, my friends and I pointed the Ford Everest Titanium+ north toward La Union.

The 12-inch touchscreen glowed softly in the dark, and our playlist connected wirelessly before we even reached the expressway gates.

Adaptive Cruise Control took over the repetitive parts of the drive not long after. We were cruising toward the coast, and for the first time in recent memory, I had nowhere else to be.

That lack of urgency might sound unremarkable. To me, it felt foreign. My life runs on calendars. There’s always a race to train for, a campaign to launch, a production to wrap, or a deadline waiting somewhere down the road.

Even weekends tend to arrive with a checklist. A long weekend with no race, no deliverable, and no training block doesn’t happen naturally. It has to be chosen.

When Ford Philippines handed me the keys to the Everest Titanium+ and suggested a road trip, I said yes almost immediately.

I spent the following week wondering why saying yes had felt so effortless, but I packed my bags regardless. I brought along three companions who have witnessed nearly every version of me over the past decade, sharing in my victories, heartbreaks, career milestones, and constant reinventions.

With 30 approaching next month, I wanted this trip to hold all of that. A celebration of who I’ve been, and a look at who I’m becoming.

What followed was the most complete weekend I’ve had in years. The Everest was exactly the right car for it.

Taking the open road

The route from Manila to San Juan covers hundreds of kilometers of expressways, provincial roads, and coastal highways. On a clear Saturday, the Everest handled it with enough ease that long drives stopped feeling like something to get through.

Ford’s Co-Pilot360 suite earns its keep on stretches like this. Adaptive Cruise Control maintained speed and distance naturally, while Lane Centering offered gentle corrections along the long runs of TPLEX.

For someone who spends most days managing too many things at once, it’s genuinely comforting when a car removes some of that mental load.

I’d planned to use the drive to process everything from the weeks before. Instead, I watched the landscape change. Concrete gave way to open fields. Fields gave way to mountains. Mountains eventually led us to the sea. For once, that was enough.

My friend, Echo, shared driving duties while Kelly and Noela drifted between conversations and naps. Up front, Echo and I turned the cabin into a private concert.

The B&O sound system filled the space without overwhelming it, and the insulation kept road noise distant enough that the outside world felt like a silent movie playing through the glass.

Our phones stayed charged the whole drive; the wireless pad handled that quietly, the way good technology should. With everything running through SYNC 4A, navigation and music just worked. The less we had to manage, the more we could enjoy the drive.

Luxury of staying put

Arriving at Casitas in San Juan, La Union, we settled in Villa Nikholai which felt less like a resort and more like a friend’s rest house in the province.

We didn’t rush out to explore and instead, settled around the dining table and talked about nothing in particular. The good nothing; the sort that fills a whole afternoon without you noticing.

The older I get, the less I want to maximize every trip. We used to try to squeeze every attraction into a single weekend.

These days, we trust that places will still be there when we come back. We spent the afternoon unpacking far more than just our luggage. Marathon stories, life updates, a decade’s worth of reflection over comfort food from Tagpuan.

Later, we watched Good Girls on Netflix until sleep won. No arguments. No suggestions of something else to do. Nobody felt guilty for resting.

The falls as the destination

Sunday morning took nearly two hours to start. Nobody seemed concerned. That collective patience felt like a small marker of growth.

We drove from San Juan toward San Gabriel, where Tangadan Falls was waiting. The road narrowed as we climbed, the scenery shifting into layers of green and winding mountain paths.

What the maps don’t tell you is that the last stretch — about 27 minutes from the municipal hall to the jump-off point — is steep, narrow, and in some sections, right beside a cliff with no guardrails.

We were careful the entire way up. And the entire way down. But we always knew where the car was, and that made the difference between a stressful drive and a manageable one.

At the jump-off, it’s a stairway down to the falls now; the original route through the boulders and river is closed. The climb down doesn’t prepare you for what’s waiting.

The falls are cold, loud, and completely indifferent to how long it took you to get there. We swam and didn’t say much.

A few years ago, I’d have been looking for the next thing the moment we arrived. This time, getting there was enough.

Uninterrupted sunset

Back in San Juan, we returned to our easy yet different rhythm. Noela had another beach outfit ready. Kelly rotted on bed watching Good Girls.

Echo alternated between napping and watching the same episodes. He’s a man fully committed to the art of doing nothing, which, I realized, was the whole point of the weekend.

So I uploaded photos, cleared a few work emails, then gave up on productivity and went outside.

As the afternoon light softened, we drove to a spot near the shoreline and settled in. We didn’t have any agenda or urgency. Nowhere to be after this.

At some point I realized I hadn’t checked my phone in hours — not because I was being disciplined about it or because I’d set some boundary for myself. I’d simply forgotten.

The sun was changing the color of the water. People moved in and out of the shoreline. Waves kept their conversation with the sand going, indifferent to all of us.

I sat with that longer than I expected. A genuinely restorative weekend doesn’t really announce itself. It arrives quietly, while you’re watching the tide, or while you’re noticing light on the water. It arrives while your phone is at the bottom of your bag and the world isn’t asking anything of you.

The rain came in before evening. We rushed back to the villa, which by then felt entirely ours. I jumped into the pool while it poured and sang Taylor Swift at a volume that required my friends to develop selective hearing. Nobody tried to stop me. That’s fourteen years of friendship.

I’m choosing to take that as love.

On the drive home…

Monday arrived slowly. We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, lingered by the shoreline, and appreciated a peaceful version of La Union that felt deeply nostalgic. Devoid of the typical weekend crowds, Urbiztondo reminded me of the serene province I used to visit years ago.

While we seriously considered extending our stay for another day, reality eventually won because we had obligations waiting in Manila and an absolute lack of fresh clothes. That evening we loaded the Everest and drove home.

Echo and I split the night driving again. Along the dark stretches of TPLEX, my mind drifted. The last time I was in La Union, I was standing at the edge of something much harder: a reconciliation with someone who’d broken my heart.

The province had offered space for that. The waves listened while we said things neither of us knew how to say anywhere else.

That was three years ago. My life looks almost unrecognizable now.

This trip wasn’t about any of that, though. It was about gratitude. For friendships that have survived every version of who I’ve been. For growth that tends to happen quietly, without announcing itself. And for reaching a point where rest doesn’t feel like something to be earned.

As the Everest carried us home, I realized the weekend had given me exactly what I needed. Not an adventure or a revelation. Just a reminder that sometimes the greatest luxury isn’t arriving somewhere extraordinary.

It’s having nowhere else to be.

The Foro Italico looks different when it’s ringed by Vespas, as seen when the iconic landmark hosted the four-day festivities of Vespa Roma 2026 — 80 Years of an Icon.

Mayor Roberto Gualtieri led the ribbon-cutting ceremony, and for four days, the Vespa Village makes the loudest argument anyone has ever made for scooters as cultural objects.

Opening day did not ease into things gently. First, the Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato unveiled an official commemorative coin.

Soon after, Poste Italiane marked the occasion with a first-day cancellation ceremony for a special anniversary stamp.

Meanwhile, at the Stadio dei Marmi, curator Giacomo Bretzel opened 80 Years of an Icon – The Exhibition. This photographic account traces the remarkable journey of the vehicle.

Specifically, it shows how a basic scooter graduated from the factory floor to global cultural shorthand. It evolved from simple personal transport into a cinematic protagonist that people now ride across entire continents.

Only 1,946 of them

The number is deliberate. The Vespa Edizione Ottantesimo is limited to exactly 1,946 individually numbered units, one for each year the original rolled out of the Pontedera factory.

Vespa built it on the GTS 310 platform, which puts 25 horsepower through a single-cylinder 310 hpe engine, making it the most powerful Vespa in current production.

That mechanical upgrade sits inside a design that is genuinely doing something. The finish mimics raw, unprocessed steel. It’s textured and rough in a way that references the original load-bearing body before decades of refinement and lacquer softened everything.

A specific shade of green — pulled from the earliest single-color production models — accents the saddle and wheel rims. The rear seat comes with a removable hard cover that matches the bodywork. A direct callback to vintage racing fairings.

The wheels reinterpret the pressed sheet metal of the 1946 Vespa 98 with a diamond-cut channel finish.

On the side panels, a three-dimensional green numeral 80 sits inside a hexagonal bolt contour. The bolt shape itself highlights how artisans originally built these machines by hand.

A numbered plaque rests inside the under-seat compartment, and a matte grey helmet ships with every unit. None of these design choices are purely decorative. Instead, they each trace a straight line directly back to 1946.

Modern enough to use every day

The Edizione Ottantesimo features electronic traction control and ABS to handle unpredictable city roads. These safety systems adjust your grip before you even have time to react.

Meanwhile, full LED lighting keeps the road perfectly sharp after sunset. Up front, a 5-inch color TFT display runs the intuitive VESPA MIA connectivity system. Consequently, your route and incoming calls surface on the dash without you reaching for your pocket.

Beyond the display, a keyless ignition system allows you to simply unlock the scooter and go. Vespa even considered the smaller details to maximize daily utility. For example, courtesy lights illuminate both the rear shield and the under-seat compartment. This layout ensures you stop fumbling in the dark for your helmet and gear.

Crucially, none of these additions change what a Vespa fundamentally is. The chassis remains narrow enough to split lanes and light enough to park anywhere. Ultimately, these premium updates close the gap between a 1946 icon and a machine you want to ride every morning.

Beyond the Handlebars

To complement the vehicle, each Edizione Ottantesimo ships with an exclusive coffee table book from Assouline. The volume draws from the Piaggio archive to document eight decades of design, film, and travel.

Furthermore, owners can extend the package with premium accessories. Available add-ons include a color-matched 36-liter top box, luggage racks, side bars, and an anti-theft system.

Vespa Roma 2026

Currently, allocations are open online at edizioneottantesimo.vespa.com. Vespa strictly capped the total count at 1,946 units, and that number will not go up.

When Superman premiered last year, it was carrying over a decade’s worth of baggage from the ultra-gritty Snyderverse. It held the promise of a fresh superhero world that emphasizes fun. Now, Supergirl is no different. Whereas Superman was tasked with restarting a dying cinematic universe, Supergirl wants to prove that the former wasn’t just a one-hit wonder, and it does exactly that amid a few struggles.

Though David Corenswet’s Superman does make quite a few cameos in the film, Supergirl is about Clark Kent’s titular cousin. It’s also based on the award-winning book, Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, written by Tom King.

Celebrating her 23^rd birthday, Kara Zor-El travels to planets with a red sun, the only places where she can get drunk as a Kryptonian. In one planet, she meets Ruthye Marye Knoll, who, after seeing Supergirl’s resilience, asks Kara to hunt Krem, the leader of the Brigands who killed her whole family. Kara initially refuses, but when Krem poisons Krypto, her dog, she goes off on her own to find the Brigand.

A classic tale of revenge

As with the original book, Supergirl is a tale of reluctant revenge instigated by a child desperate for it and a more mature mentor who knows better. Despite Kara’s nihilistic tendencies, she believes that revenge isn’t the right path for Ruthye.

It’s your standard fare of a revenge tale, somewhat bordering on a classic Western. In essence, it follows much of the structure of the original book. There are, however, some interesting changes, which may or may not be helpful to the story.

By switching to a more traditional plot structure, Supergirl trades away the book’s fleshed out relationship between Kara and Ruthye. Though Kara still cares for her young protégé, Ruthye has unfortunately been reduced to a fiery platitude, telling people who she is and how much she wants to kill Krem. At one point, Kara even makes fun of her little speech.

Krem, on the other hand, feels much more ferocious. Though the book’s Krem was evil in his own right, he was more of a mundane type of evil, just-an-average-Joe evil. The movie’s Krem is the type you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. He looks like he took a few too many steroids.

On the one hand, these changes make for a smoother film. Though the movie starts off slow, it eventually rolls towards a superhero-level fight at the end. On the other, it loses the message of the original story about the complexities of revenge.

On James Gunn’s universe

Normally, it’s a compliment to have a movie comparable to a James Gunn movie. There is another side to the coin, though.

Despite being tagged as fundamentally different from the tone of Superman, it’s clear that Supergirl was influenced by Gunn’s vision. There are jokes, random aliens, and a liberal use of older songs. On a micro level, it just doesn’t hit as hard as a Gunn flick, though.

For one, in a Gunn movie, each unnamed alien has so much character that you’d hardly believe that they’re just extras. In Supergirl, background characters, even those with speaking roles, don’t lift up from the screen. They just blend into the background. Likewise, the Brigands, despite how much eviler their actions are, don’t look like anything beyond generic sci-fi villains.

On a larger scale, keeping up with Gunn’s vision makes sense. Supergirl’s take on Kara’s story complements Superman’s story so well. Kara’s origin, explored in the film, contrasts with Clark’s. Ultimately, it helps turn Clark and Kara into fully fleshed out characters, rather than the tired stereotypes of Mr. Goody Two Shoes and his apathetic sidekick.

It also helps that Lobo, played by Jason Momoa, adds an interestingly cosmic element to the universe’s growing cast of characters. Finally spreading his wings away from Aquaman, Momoa has finally found a role perfect for him. He steals all the scenes that he’s in.

Should you watch Supergirl?

Supergirl is not on the same level as Superman. While the latter is Gunn at his absolute best, the former is a Gunn-esque film that drops the original story’s message in favor of a plot friendlier to the big screen.

That doesn’t mean that it’s a bad movie. In fact, it does well to expand the lore started by the first film. Supergirl is still a worthy, albeit smaller, addition to the growing DCU oeuvre.