Chaos & Coffee

Vietnam is the second largest coffee producer in the world and it has a unique way of serving coffee: In a personalized coffee maker, condensed milk is placed at the bottom of the cup to which brewed coffee slowly drips. When the cup is full, stir, then drink. It’s Vietnamese coffee, a taste like no other. And there is no better way to taste it than at the downtown market. But to get there, we had to pass through traffic…. of the Vietnamese kind. Take a look.

Sub-Human Earthlings

Chuck Yeager, the test pilot who paved the way for supersonic flights has an extraordinary pair of eyes. A perfectly normal eyesight is 20-20, and the higher the number, the poorer one’s eyesight becomes. Chuck’s is 20-10. Mere specks in the horizon are clear objects in his vision! This ability was his advantage in dogfights that sent enemy planes spiraling down back to earth in WWII. Similarly, Manny Pacquiao, Boxing’s current pound for pound king has the extraordinary gift of quickness. Being repeatedly hit blind, his opponents become apprehensive as to where the next blow will come from. Knocked down on the floor they wouldn’t know what hit them until shown the footage of the fight!

Let’s watch him again on November 13, 2011 for a third bout with Mexican’s pride Juan Manuel Marquez! It’s a human fighter extra-ordinaire versus a sub-human earthling with the quickness of lightning! The earth will tremble!

25 Cents Twice Over

When I was in elementary school I had 25 cents to spend for recess. This was a time when 10 cents can buy an ice candy and another 10 for a banana cue. The remaining 5 cents will be for hard candies, which you can buy for 2, sometimes 3. My two sisters and I would line up from the counter in our store to show Mom and Dad our recess money of 25 cents. At the time there were two kinds, one being smaller than the other. The bigger one has the Lady Justice engraved on one side, which can effectively conceal the smaller coin under it. That’s how I came to school twice richer than my sisters. This went on for a while until one morning: We lined up again with me being last to show my open palm. As fate would have it, I stubbed my left foot on the edge of a cabinet, lost my balance, and the two coins clanked on the floor! It sounded like a thunderstorm and I felt my heart jumped off from my chest. I don’t remember much after that as everything happened in slow motion, and suddenly things were hazy as I was involuntarily lifted when my left ear got twisted. But there was one thing I remember clearly: for two weeks I was denied snack money - one week for each coin I smuggled from the counter….

Flags of Our Fathers

South Korea. Today I am with my friend Jean-Christophe from Denmark. After going around Dongdaemun, we sampled dishes in an eatery in the downtown market. In contrast to Filipino diet of basic 3 meals a day, I learned from him that Danes eat 6 mini but full meals including natmad, a snack eaten before going to bed.

As we talked, his eyes fell on my shirt which had a big Philippine flag printed on it. Feeling patriotic, I painstakingly narrated how Agoncillo sewed the pieces of cloths together and what the sun, stars and each color stand for. Then he told of his flag’s story which goes like this: During the Battle of Lyndanisse (near Estonia) in the early 13^th century, the flag suddenly fell from heaven; King Valdemar II took it and rallied his troops to victory…. I was silent for a while uncomprehending the lack of drama. “You are joking, right?” I rebuked. He wasn’t. Then he told of Vikings with emphasis on the bravery and fearlessness of exploration. Remarkable yes, but I had no parallel story to tell of my people! Not one to be outtalked, I said, “You know Ferdinand Magellan, right? He was out to conquer and prove the earth was round? Before completing the voyage, we killed him!” It’s a historical fact of course, but told not in an academic way historians do, but with the fiery stance of a debater!

Don’t get me wrong, this was a friendly exchange on culture and history but, well, ok, also in the spirit of competition. So we brag a bit and lie a little, but we enjoyed each other’s company nonetheless. Filipinos and Danes are breeds apart and I realized how different we were, but at the same time, how so much alike! He drank water while I bottomed the last gulp of Coca Cola. In unison we said, “Lets go!” 

Dad

Dad’s a big time Matt Monroe fanatic but he also had a soft spot for another crooner, and only his one song – Jerry Vale and the song If. Dad was a friendly guy. If somebody chanced to smile at him he smiles back and starts talking, and there is no letting up. I remember him visiting us in Cebu. He was gone for a while in the morning. Afternoon came and somebody knocked at the door looking for him. I quizzically asked, “You know my father?” “Yes”, he said. “We had a drink by the store just across the street.” It was the first time father ever came to the area and now somebody was looking for him as if they know each other for a long time.

Father loved deeply. It goes for us as well as to his friends. He was generous and genuinely cares. One of his best buddies was Liyong, a blacksmith. We often visited his shop, which also doubles as his home. They felt like family to us. We would talk, and laugh for hours. There was always laughter. This is how I remember those visits: As we talk, Liyong fires the furnace to smelt steel. It was a coal burner stoked by a pedal-powered blower turning the coal orange-hot. Sparks fly as the coal is stirred by a metal rod. Steel is strong but malleable when heated. When the furnace is hot enough, steel is set on the smoldering coal. When it glows red, it is placed on the anvil. Liyong and two of his sons alternately hammers it to flatten the metal and they have to do it fast because steel can lose malleability if exposed too long in the burning furnace. Liyong finishes the process by pounding some more to attain the desired shape, mostly long bolos and knives. He then comes back to the conversation. “As you were saying?” More often than not, the talks and laughter continue long after the embers have cooled.

Another of Dad’s friends was Tinong, a tinsmith. His shop is just in front of mother’s store in the market. Tinong specializes in making sinks, water tanks, rain gutters and chimneys, all made of GI sheets. The process in making these items is more or less the same as that of Liyong’s, the blacksmith, but Tinong’s equipment is much smaller. It’s just a torch, but powerful enough to turn metals red.

Everyday, his shop buzzes with clanking and hammering. Whole GI sheets will be cut into strips by metal scissors. The strips will be joined together by molten lead and a clamp is used to hold the sheets to be joined. Then a metal rod is torched, turning it super hot. It will be used to melt the lead stick and pressed directly on the surfaces to be joined. But before that, the fiery rod is quickly soaked in sulfuric acid causing it to sputter, like a hiss cut short.

But Pascual I guess is Dad’s favorite. He owns a vulcanizing shop. He mends flat tires while puffing his cigarettes. I often watch with curiosity the work of this tire virtuoso. First, he takes off the inner tube to find the holes in it. To do this, the tube will be filled with air then soaked underwater (a metal drum vertically cut in half holds the water). The pressure pushes air out through the hole in the tube, which is made visible by bubbles escaping from it. A little stick (a toothpick for example) is used to mark the spot. A special clamp topped with a cuplike container filled with used engine oil is lighted to heat it. The inner tube with a rubber strip pasted on the hole is wedged between the clamp, then heat and pressure is applied. After a few minutes, the rubber bonds with the inner tube. Pascual fills it with air again, then soaks it underwater to check for bubbles. Finding none, he puts it back inside the tire, pulls the rim in, and finally filled with air. And that tire is ready to roll on the road again.

Pascual’s shop is just across the street. In the afternoons, one wink between the two meant let’s have that drink! Their wives would smirk, but understand. After another day of honest work, these boys needed those rum shots!

Two Brothers And Flight Attendants

I remember this story of two brothers from an in-flight magazine. There once lived two brothers. One was a drunkard, while the other shuns alcohol altogether. When asked about their opposite state of affairs both replied: “Because our father was a drunkard.” I figured, the situation does not make the man. It’s what he does out of it that makes him so.

A few years ago, I took an American Airlines flight from Burbank in Los Angeles to San Jose in Monterey, California. A tall and full-bodied African-American stewardess caught my eye. Instead of stooping down and carefully placing the items, she was throwing peanuts and napkins at empty seats. I was surprised. And since I wasn’t exposed to black people, this incident has left a bad impression on me towards them. The following year, I was in an Etihad Airlines flight from Manila to Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris. I can’t help but notice this black flight attendant who had the spitting image of a young Naomi Campbell. “May I have a glass of water please.” I managed to ask. “Do you want it cold?” She replied with an enchanted smile. I said “Yes” and was instantly charmed by the warmth of her character. I realized that color is irrelevant, it’s the attitude that defines a human being….

Charade

Sexy German Girl was a little tricky. The sexy girl part was easy, but how to act out the German word gets everybody going nuts! Then I suggested the Fuhrer salute. I guessed nobody else noticed my suggestion but Roman, and he is German. We locked eyes. His pleading and embarrassed look squashed my heart, and I understood, feeling shame for being unmindful of the sensitivities of others. “Nazism is a shameful German past”, quips Ina who is half-German, half Russian and lives in Kyrgyzstan. “Europeans harbor a kind of quiet animosity towards us since German forces destroyed much of Europe during WWII.” This often leads to inconveniences when traveling around the continent, she confessed, so when asked about her nationality Ina replies, “Russian.”

Jinggoy

Cebu, my first immersion in a society so far from home. At the time, I was a freshman living in a boarding house of over 70 students coming from different parts of the Visayas and Mindanao. One particular boardmate I admire was Jinggoy who was in his senior year. He has the quality of a natural-born leader. He was soft spoken with a distinct sense of humor. Everybody was drawn to him. He has that kind look as if he understood people. He only has to smile at you and you trust him at once. I didn’t have an older brother and I longed for one to teach me a thing or two, so Jinggoy was the older brother I never had.

One time, I guess it was during a semestral break or the start of the new semester I can’t remember exactly, but at the time there were only a handful of us in the boarding house, Jinggoy invited me to come with him to have beer by a roadside joint. We didn’t talk much. We just drank beer and watched people passing by. It was relaxing. A kind of situation where you don’t have to do anything, and it’s all right. This was a long time ago and I wonder where Jinggoy is now.

There is such a thing as a man’s man. The You-want-people-to-know-you-are-friends-with-this-man kind of man? He is that kind, my friend, Jinggoy.

Mixed Eating

We were having dinner in a restaurant. I was seated in the same table with one who has strong convictions on not eating pork, and another who absolutely shun beef. Both meats are prohibited by the edict of their respective religions. The trouble was that, small slices of pork and beef were grilled in the same sizzling hot plate on opposite sides, and since this was a Korean restaurant, spoons, forks and knives were unavailable, so we were forced to use chopsticks. As we were eating, my eyes shifted back and forth between the two diners. Quite expectedly, both tried to avoid eating meat close to the middle of the pan. However, since their chopsticks work were lousy, morsels of beef and pork jumped off, and flew, then ended up on the wrong sides! They were stunned, except us who found it wickedly amusing. “No worries” I said while carefully picking the errant meat then plopped it to my mouth.

Great Grandma

She sells tobacco in the market. She had a table there with a drawer where she keeps her sales money. She sits on a stool and every time I come to visit, she’s always dozing off. I would slowly pull up a bunch of tobacco leaves from under her sprawled arms. It doesn’t startle but enough to wake her up. She smiles. I would shove an open hand in front of her face, and she gives me 5 cents after jokingly squeezing my arm or pinching my belly.

Great Grandma stays with us in the house. She’s the kind who likes to give presents. She brings a pack of biscuits every time she comes back from work. It’s not much really but the thought of getting a treat always fills us with longing and anticipation. So when a tricycle stops in front of the house at dusk, we would run towards the gate to meet Grandma. After kissing her hand, she hands over the pack and we start munching on the biscuits like our lives depended upon it.

The Bridge

The Golden Gate bridge which spans San Francisco bay is a sight to behold. Its total length including approaches is 8,981 feet, the middle span is 4,200 feet, a width of 90 feet and clearance above the high water of 220 feet. It is immortalized in song and romanticized in films. But unbeknownst to many, this icon is much more tragic in reality than its romantic myth. As depicted in this sensational documentary The Bridge by filmmaker Eric Steel.

Everyday of the year the whole bridge is painted orange starting from one end to the other. But as soon as the last square inch of metal is coated, it needs repainting! So back they go again to do the brush strokes on where they started (38 painters working continuously along with 17 ironworkers who replace corroding steel and rivet). Next time you pass by Golden Gate, look for telltale signs. You will likely see platforms and ropes, and acrobats in overalls hanging on their harnesses retouching the bridge with a brilliant orange hue. If you do, and did see, come back here and do tell!

Revolution

Gaddafi is dead. But it’s just icing on the cake. The real story is the revolution that happened a few months ago. People held mass rallies and captured one city at a time. Gaddafi held on to power. His men plowed the streets with tanks and Kalashnikovs. But the protests didn’t let up, the country descended into civil war, and lives were lost but victory was won.

We had the same revolution many years before but I was too young then to participate in mass protests. On TV, we saw millions of people came out in the streets in the capital city of Manila. But they sing and held hands. There was no bloodshed. And people were giving out food to soldiers and placing roses on tank nozzles. In its aftermath, we installed a new president and she had her own cabinet in a few days time, and people went about their business, then things kind of return to normal.

Now that Libya is freed after 42 years, what’s next? How’s power turned over? It should learn from Egypt, which also had its own revolution a few months ago. After the successful uprising a holdover military junta became the takeover government, but it wasn’t functioning right and the whole country fell into anarchy, which is a prelude to chaos. And right now there is chaos in Egypt. People fear for their lives. Lawless elements are empowered to loot and steal and destroy property. Crimes are exploding everywhere. Libya seems to be heading in that direction since there is no apparent takeover government.

A few more months before the Egyptian revolution (after 30 years under Hosni Mubarak) Tunisia hugged the headlines when a man burned himself to death following police brutality. It sparked protests (against unemployment, corruption and repression) that culminated in a revolution and triggering what is now called the Arab Spring. Today 23 October 2011, Tunisia is holding its first free elections after 23 years of Totalitarian rule by Zine El-Abidine Ben Ali.

There is agitation in the entire region, and beyond. There are civil uprisings in Algeria, Morocco and Mauritania, major protests in Syria, Yemen and Oman. Ditto with Bahrain, Jordan and Lebanon. Saudi Arabia will suffer the same fate if not for newly installed reforms. A few months ago the right of suffrage was bestowed on women for the first time, and just recently women are now allowed to run for public office. In the recent past, women were considered second-class citizens and constrained to hide behind their burkas in public places. Will the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia be spared from this string of revolutions that gripped North Africa? It now creeps across the Sinai Peninsula towards the Middle East. Like the plague, revolution spreads, fast and furious!

Samurai House

Erected on a foothill, we stayed in a century old Samurai House. It has two-foot thick grass roof and sliding wooden windows and walls pocked with small square openings covered in white paper. It has low beds and low tables, and on one corner, a sword.

At night we shared stories back home. As an archipelago, the sea naturally separates the Filipino islanders, I told Sudarshan, one of the more colorful characters in this motley group. He is from Nepal and speaks a heavily accented English. In time, things develop apart and distinct from one another like the languages we speak. As I came to know, a parallel situation is true of Nepal, which straddles the Himalayas. Though only a strip of land on a map, the tall mountains isolate groups of people from one another making it possible for multi-cultures to flourish including diverse spoken languages.

Ana joined us after hearing our mountain talk. She was particularly fond of pictures with mountain backgrounds, and when she clicked the Rice Terraces folder in my computer, she was totally blown away! Small wonder she is from Tallinn, the capital city of the Baltic state of Estonia. She said that except for humps and mounds here and there, her country is totally flat. In fact the whole area (eastern shores of the Baltic sea) which includes the republics of Latvia and Lithunia, and the Russian enclave Kaliningrad are flat places. It is topographically the European equivalent of African prairies. I promised her that when she come to visit Philippines I’ll show her all our tall mountains, carved mountains, and mountains with hanging coffins! She was thrilled, and then gasped hearing the last one. 

It was already late and a chilling wind blew from the mountains. Somebody must have come in and didn’t close the door. I closed it while Ana put out the paper lanterns. Then I heard a loud noise. Somebody was snoring already - Sudarshan!

Mavericks

 Mavericks 

Now that winter is coming, it is almost time for the mavericks Invitational happening at Pilar Point in the bay Area. In this picturesque seaside village of Princeton-By-The-Sea, just a few miles north of Half-Moon Bay is the menacing Mavericks for the serious big wave surfer. It routinely crests at 25 feet and top out at over 80 feet! Big wave surfing seems fun but with one wrong calculation at Mavs, a mountain of water from the Pacific Ocean crashes on you. The resulting turbulence shakes your wits out. If it isn’t scary enough, the thundering waves spin and turn you over, and scrape you towards rock bottoms and hard corals. Your red blood will stain the blue sea. You gasp for air. You are smothered. Then you die. It’s a sport no more. It’s suicide! But I didn’t think so until I have seen the monster myself with my own two eyes. It’s scary as hell! I prefer the friendly waves of La Union. When the time is right, there will be swells and offshore winds churning out 5-foot glassy waves for the ultimate afternoon session long enough to catch some stokes chased at night by beach party and cold beer! 

Imagine

Imagine, the one song that immortalized John Lennon was sang by this man. And man, did it fit, and poignantly so! You can’t watch it without choking. He lives in Australia, in his twenties now, born at a time Desert Storm made landfall in his native country Iraq. He has a handsome face, twisted limbs, deformed body and walks askew. He has no birth certificate and no identity, only a haunting image! The singing wasn’t great though, but the message soared across the performance hall then on to the world wide web! He instantly became a poster boy - of humanity torn by war, a poignant reminder of what we have become as citizens of the world. And what have we really become? Imagine….

Easily my kind of homie! This slang got mainstream all over X- Factor. Just got out of rehab, hauls trash for a living and got to raise a 2-year old kid, so the interview goes before the audition. On stage, he told it again – through the lyrics of a catchy song he wrote himself! It was so current as if he just picked up the song out of thin air seconds before the actual audition! After swaying and nodding to the beat, the judges can’t help but get a little melodramatic for him to go clean and sober all the way. “What are you trippin now?” my homie Chris Rene!

It doesn’t get any better than this. An absolute stunner! A rugby coach? Yes she is! And the singing? Like the smell of flowers on a breezy summer day, and strawberry fields, and walks in the park. A classy act! “Think about it baby….”

Up On A Roof

“Dili man ko nimu pinangga!” (You don’t care for me!) my 3-year old daughter grumpily told me over the phone. “Ali na!” (come over quickly!). “But I have no visa yet, I replied. She fell silent. Then I said, “When I come, will you meet me at the airport? “Yes”, she agreed, “But in the house, you sleep on the roof.” Then I said “What if it rains, will you give me an umbrella?” To which she quickly replied, “Which color?”

A Temple And A Ceremony

Jiri Mountains 
  

An explosion of autumn leaves trailed our path southward until we coasted to a stop under the shade of trees with strange, orange sweet globules I call temple fruits. Perched on Jirisan, the temple’s main gate opens directly towards a saddle of two distant mountains, as if built for special visitors coming from that direction. In the morning, the sun rose exactly from beneath the saddle! I realized, whoever constructed it had the grand plan of incorporating nature in its architecture.

Then he summoned us to come. We were ushered into an airy room where we can see though the wide open windows the rolling terrain of verdant green grass. It was so peaceful and quiet that we can hear the murmur of the river in the valley below. There was a low table with a teapot, a thermos, dried leaves and tiny cups and various other ceramics neatly piled on it. The table was small but long enough to accommodate the four (4) of us. Our host was seated cross legged on the other side. His head was shiny. He was wearing a robe and a lingering smile that seemed to be part of the garment of this congenial man – the temple’s resident Chief Monk. We squatted just like him on throw pillows. There was something about the man, it’s the state he’s in that’s so palpable, the kind we’ve always wanted to achieve – a state of contentment. As he started to talk in a soft but engaging low voice, tea started pouring in.

The ceramic cups on the low table were tiny and contain only half a gulp of tea poured three times from cup to pot and back again. As he poured, he raised the pot higher and higher until an unbroken stream of golden liquid filled the tiny cup to a bubbly brim. He handed one to me and gestured that I drink it. I was only too happy to oblige. He filled other tiny cups in the same fashion while the others eagerly wait for their turn. As the conversation progressed, he made more tea: putting dried tea leaves in the pot, adding hot water, covering it, pouring tea on the tiny cups, pouring it back in the pot, then doing it all over again. Nothing is spelt. His movements were precise and rhythmic and flowing, but without missing a beat of the conversation.

We looked at each other in total amazement! This was tea ceremony performed in front of us! It’s an age-old tradition passed down from generation to generation in China, Japan and Korea to entertain visitors. But this practice has now become a rarity, and done only in very special, formal occasions. To experience it intimately, and in such an unexpected occasion is a humbling experience. I looked at the Chief Monk once again. He was an image of serenity and quiet bliss. We held on to his every word as we became deeply immersed in this old ritual, in a temple deep in the Jiri mountains.

The Queen and a Scorpion

The Queen Mary was an ocean liner plying the North Atlantic in the 1930s. It catered to partying heads of states, business moguls, celebrities and such people. Sans the iceberg, it’s in the same league as the Titanic. We checked the view deck, the Captain’s chamber, the gulley, boiler rooms, ballroom and the black and white photos of its loyal patrons. We imagined the lavish parties while munching on sumptuous sour dough and clam chowder. For classification purposes, the ship is categorized not as it is, a ship, (much less, as an ocean going vessel) but as a building! It has long been stripped of its propellers and engines, and decommissioned several decades ago. The Queen Mary now serves as a hotel and museum at Long Beach in California.

When we came out there was an ongoing weightlifting competition covered by ESPN, but I was drawn more to a shop selling KGB flasks and memorabilia of the once mighty Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (U.S.S.R.). And take this: Right beside the Queen Mary was the Scorpion, a Russian attack submarine! This sub is of the Foxtrot class which is among the biggest non-nuclear submarines in the world! It is shaped like a fat stick; equipments, wires, torpedoes, are slang, rigged and ran along its length. The bunk beds are so thin you can only sleep on it one way – sideways! Hollywood war films glorify the sub, but in the heat of things, I can imagine the pungent kitchen smell floating in the gulley and stinking soldiers and technicians yelling at each other. The Scorpion, like other war machines are a blight on civilization, but they make good tourist attractions especially when moored side by side an equally distinguished ship, the Queen Mary.