The Traveler

C'est si bon! Eating healthy in France

2010-07-02T15:33:00.007+08:00

In his book, French Lessons, best-selling author Peter Mayle writes that historically, the French have paid extraordinary attention to what they eat and how they eat it. He attributes two factors for this extraordinary trait; the gift of nature and the army of outstanding chefs. The outside world associates haute cuisine with the French, but can one actually eat healthy while in France? Indeed, yes. Let me show you what I mean.

My adventure with French cuisine begins with a French tradition, Sunday lunch. After attending the Gregorian mass at the Notre Dame Cathedral, we come upon a café called La Rosace situated across the street from the Cathedral. As we sit down in the cafe, we could smell the waft of fresh crepes frying in a nearby stand. Delicious, cried my stomach.

On top of my list is the French Onion Soup, and for salad, I chose Salade Parissiane. My friend Aida orders Spaghetti Carbonara, aside from French Onion Soup. My sister Joan who is suffering from colds, orders French Onion soup as well.

The waitress comes back with a basket of bread, the baguette. This is what I like about France, the bread is on the house, with butter. Fresh baguette is crusty on the outside yet soft on the inside. I learn that it is made from wheat flour (farine de ble) which is grown in many parts of the country. Like baguette, a pitcher of tap water (carafe d’eau) is also on the house, but one must request for it Otherwise, they will offer and bill you for bottled water, gas or no gas (Perrier, Evian or Vittel).

Soon our onion soup arrives, steaming hot in a bowl. The broth is a medium shade of brown, topped with bits of baguette and melted cheese. The fragrance of the caramelized onions, beef stock and white wine fill my lungs with healing warmth. Strangely, I am reminded of home, family dinners and busy kitchen. The soup is flavorful, and in a sense, still traditional with the presence of real onions, baguette and bits of cheese. This is how the French serve it – you could see the broth and pieces of baguette, and cheese on top. It is not a pureed soup, the caramelized onions are still present. I'm glad the French prepare it the traditional way of cooking since it is not too rich in cheese.

In her book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, author Julia Child recommends that onions need a long, slow cooking in butter and oil, then a long, slow simmering in beef stock for them to develop the deep, rich flavor which characterizes a perfect brew. It is fascinating how a soup made from onions could be so elegantly transformed and yet remain healthy.

Next is the Salade Parissianne. My order came in a big plate! Aside from the usual contents of lettuce, spinach, arugula, tomatoes, French green beans, slices of hard-boiled egg, it contains green grapes, a fruit that is in abundance and cheap in France. Topped with a little dressing of warm butter, garlic and lemon, I begin my healthy eating in France. Aida's spaghetti carbonara arrives. I try to sample it. I can distinctly taste the excellent quality of fresh eggs, milk and cheese. No wonder Aida is happy with her Carbonara. It is light, and the amount of Italian ham or pancetta is just enough. Soon, it is time for dessert.

There are many kinds of crepes and we order crepes with banana and chocolate Nutella. The French crepes are slightly toasted to a golden color, folded in a plate and, lightly topped with melted Nutella dark chocolate sauce. The bananas are tucked discreetly within the folds of the crepes. I would have liked it heavy with chocolate sauce but I will soon learn that French cuisine is never too much of anything – not too sweet, not too sour, not too salty or spicy. All in moderation, as in subtleness, a trait which best describe the French.
To continue my healthy eating in France, I deliberately order fish or seafood and not beef whenever we eat out. In a restaurant in Montmarte, Au Cadet de Gascogne, I see a couple on the next table order a plateful of steamed mussels (Moules) which intrigues me to order the same. The shells are black in color while the Mussel is so tender and fragrant with wine and herbs. It is an exquisite experience, made more alive in an artistic ambiance that only Montmarte could give.

I would encounter the Mussels again in Collioure, a seaside town in the south of France. Here, the mussels are very large, and are served in many different ways but the best we like is baked Mussels with aoili, a Provencal Garlic mayonnaise.

The freshly-made mayonnaise, consisting of mashed bread, garlic, egg yolk and olive oil, is a perfect topping to the tender flesh of the mussels, and I learn that aoili has to be made the traditional way, using mortar-and-pestle to pound it to a smooth, thick paste.

At the corner of Rue Cler and Rue Grenelle, Paris, there is a restaurant of reputable fame called Café Roussillon which is usually crowded. Here, I order the fish of the day, grilled, fresh cod with vegetables on the side. Golden-brown on the outside, the fish meat is juicy and white. One has to add salt and pepper though as it is cooked on the bland side. On three other occasions, I will taste fresh trout, fresh tuna or fresh sole fillets which are cooked on the bland side but still very fresh and crisp. I dare not ask for salt or pepper, as the chef might feel slighted and a dash of fresh lemon and fresh orange did the trick. I note that fish is always served with fresh vegetables on the side.

There is a regional soup dish in the Catalan region in the south of France called Cassoulet. It is composed of white beans cooked in a confit (preserve) of goose or duck with fresh tomatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, herbs, a piece of fresh sausage, and some pork crackling. Did you know that the goose and duck fat are closer in composition to olive oil than it is to butter or lard? As the old saying goes, balance is the key. On a cold rainy day, like the days we would spend in Lourdes, a Cassoulet is very filling and heartwarming.

What country has 365 kinds of cheese to try? Bien sur, France. For a low-salt, low-fat cheese, the French chevre (goat) cheese is fresh and tasty in a wheat bread sandwich, or a green salad. Another is the fresh mozzarella. From our friend Rachel, we learn how to make the Tartine, a French open-faced sandwich, composed of slices of baguette drizzled with olive oil, tomatoes, Italian sweet basil and topped with mozzarella cheese which are toasted untill the cheese melts. It is perfect with pasta, salad or fruit. Aside from grapes, one must try the oranges in France. They are very sweet and large and are imported from Spain. It is no wonder the Valencia oranges are renowned worldwide.

Also in the south of France, a Catalan-inspired dish called paella is very popular and another healthy option. In our hotel in Lourdes, La Cascade Brasserie, the owner makes the paella himself, and it is tres, tres bon (good). I like the fact that paella is a complete meal by itself; the rice, seafood, sausage and vegetables are mixed with saffron that makes it yellow and exotic in taste. With the Mussels and homemade sausage in it, this southern version is as good as the ones we had tasted in Barcelona, Spain.

A little dessert is still a good way to end a meal. A traditional French pastry, the macaron is made of egg whites, almond powder, icing sugar and sugar. It’s like a meringue cookie, and it comes in different flavors such as dark chocolate, coffee, raspberry, pistachio, almond, or caramel. The newly baked macaron is crunchy on the outside and is moist, chewy, and full of flavor on the inside. It comes in a small size so one can control the portions. The Chocolatier is the place to buy it. Another delicious cookie is the Madeleine, a scallop-shaped cake popular in France during tea time or snack. How about a scoop of glace or french ice cream? Berthillon in Ile St. Louis, is famous for its home-made, fresh ice cream. It is soft and flavorful, almost like the Italian gelato. Did you know that gelato has more milk and less fat in its content? My favorite is the dark chocolate and coffee. The best part about our French ice cream experience is that we could walk along the Seine River eating our ice cream off. I could forget about the chocolate truffles for now, as it is too rich and fattening.

Boracay: Progress in Paradise

2010-04-05T22:26:00.026+08:00

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Club Astoria Boracay work in progress March 19, 2010

An advantage of traveling on a domestic plane is the view from the clouds. I didn't realize it until the Cebu Pacific plane took off from the international airport in Pasay City, Philippines. Our journey to Boracay island began in the clouds. The sky was clear and the sun was bright from my window seat in row 2. Suddenly, I realized we were flying over Taal Lake, and I could see the famous Taal Volcano in the distance. At 21,000 feet, the plane flew directly over the crater of the adjacent Volcano Island, and for the first time, I glimpsed the blue waters of the Crater Lake. It was a glorious sight that only God could create. From that moment, I couldn't go to sleep.

Instead of heading south to Batangas, the plane steered eastward towards Quezon province in southern Luzon. The mountain ranges along Tayabas Bay were thick with green forests, while further inland the mountains were barren and brown. Soon the emerald waters came into the scene, and we were flying westward towards Panay Island in the Visayas.

Kalibo and Caticlan

In less than an hour we were approaching Kalibo International Airport on Panay island. From the plane, I could see a lot of green - rice fields framed by coconut trees and a few nipa huts. I was reminded of the rural paintings of National Artist Fernando Amorsolo. The runway was right smacked among the rice fields. I loved it.

From the airport it is a 90-minute bus ride to Caticlan jetty port. My mother, whose birthday we were post-celebrating, preferred to ride an Airbus plane to Kalibo rather than the smaller planes that landed in Caticlan airport. The "two-way" main road is concrete and cuts through rice fields, "chocolate" hills, mountains and towns of Kalibo. As we neared Caticlan, the ocean road afforded us views of Sibuyan Sea that got us excited for Boracay.

The jetty port of Caticlan has a new harbor where the Montenegro Lines and other jet speed boats dock. The scene at the harbor was pulsing with many outriggers and smaller fishing boats. It was already mid-morning, and the blue-green waters were buoyant. I was glad it took only 10 minutes to cross the channel to Boracay via the Montenegro Lines as the winds were strong and the boat was rocking from side to side.

Boracay

Soon we docked at the new jetty port of Boracay island, near the Manoc-Manoc Poblacion. It used to be that outriggers docked along the White Sand beach (station 1, 2 or 3) but no longer. From the new port, it was another twenty minute van ride through the Main Road to Central Boracay where most of the resorts were located.

Many things have been written about Boracay and they are still true. The fine-powder sand, which are actually corals, are broken only by shells and algae. The seawater is alive with fishes. Palm-fringed beaches, sunset views, starry nights, sailboats and para sailing.

The Main Road is now fully concrete with a paved pedestrian lane on each side. Like a scene in Bali, tourists in flip flops walk along the pedestrian lane to go to the beachfront and the main transport in the island is a pedicab - similar to the tuktuk, it's a larger version of the urban tricycle.

There are many hotels and resorts that have been built over the past five years, from five-star hotels like Shangri-La Boracay Resort to budget accomodations. But something special is opening this summer that would make tourists, especially Club Astoria members and RCI time shareholders, happy and it is called Astoria Boracay.

Astoria Boracay

Astoria Boracay is in station 1, where the former Boracay Gold Crowne was located. It sits on a 3,000 square meters piece of land that includes a beachfront and stretches all the way back to the Main Road. The two-story facade facing the beachfront features a sunset lounge and bar on its second floor, as well as function rooms. A Coffee shop and restaurant is on the ground floor.

As Club Astoria members, we had a private tour of the resort with its Resort Manager Danny Molina who welcomed us with hospitality and fresh coconut juice. We started from the second floor where we could see the beachfront and sunset, then onwards thru the lobby towards the direction of the outdoor swimming pool that included a kiddie pool. The pool is 22 meters long and four meters wide and at night, the waters changed colors via spot lights. Surrounded by a landscaped garden, the pool ran the length of the property, and the rooms are located in different cluster-type villas amid the gardens.

The highlight of our tour was the ultra-modern de luxe room good for four that featured two queen-sized beds with hotel-quality linens and pillows, airconditioning, LCD television, cable TV, internet access, telephone, refrigerator, sdb, spacious bathroom with bathtub and amenities. It was almost like being in a hotel room! From Mr. Molina we learned that there are a total of 39 rooms with a floor area ranging from 26 to 50 square meters. The de luxe room is the smallest at 26 square meters. There is also a room for the disabled. Hotel rates are inclusive of set breakfast, taxes and service charge.

Looking at the avant-garde design, modern facilities and good location of Astoria Boracay, I was sure it would be popular once it opens later this month. Another Gold Crowne rating of service similar to Astoria Plaza Suites in Pasig City. I shall definitely return someday.

It was difficult to leave a paradise island like Boracay but even dreams can't last forever. At Kalibo International airport, I recognized the group of suntanned tourists queuing at Mandarin Airlines bound for Taipei. I was amazed to learn that there are direct flights from Kalibo to Incheon, Hong kong, Bangkok, Ho Chi Minh, Guangzhou, Jakarta, Kota Kinabalu, Kuala Lumpur, Macau, Shanghai, and Singapore. Progress had finally arrived in paradise.

Japanese Flowering Cherry Tree

2009-08-30T19:15:00.004+08:00

My timing was perfect, even if the place was not as I imagined. How could two cities be so different yet share something so distinct as to make them like sisters in a family? There was no doubt in my mind that it was the cherry blossoms that created the illusion before me - an illusion of something Japanese, in a place as American as New York City. Today was the annual Sakura Matsuri or cherry blossom festival at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden where more than 200 cherry trees were in full bloom. I remembered the Japanese because of the cherry trees.

In this shimmering spring day

Ah, with ever anxious heart

The blossoms are falling…

Ki no Tomonori

Japanese waka poet

What could be more joyful than this moment, when all the Japanese flowering cherry trees or Sakura were bursting with pale pink and white blossoms? I could see the delicate blossoms falling to the ground even before withering out, as if someone had shaken the cherry trees and thrown the petals in the air. The scent of cherries wafted the cool breeze in the garden, blending like a symphony with the laughter of the people who posed under, besides or in front of the cherry trees.

The radiance of cherry blossoms

Their scent, ever fresh with every passing year,

So man grows old, eternally.

Ki no Tomonori

Japanese waka poet

Like any tourist, I admired the cherry blossoms for its aesthetic value, not knowing the Sakura symbolized something more profound to the Japanese. The falling leaves or blossoms are a metaphor for death in Buddhism. That’s because the Japanese compared the short life of a cherry blossom to the life of a samurai or warrior who was fully prepared to sacrifice his life in the cause of his master. I thought the samurai was rather like a Christian martyr who was fully prepared to sacrifice his life in the cause of his faith in Jesus.

Myriads of things past

Are brought to my mind –

These cherry blossoms!

Basho Matsuo

Japanese haiku poet

A few days ago, we were at the Senso-ji Temple, in Asakusa, Tokyo, Japan where I noticed the cherry blossoms within the courtyard of the famous Buddhist Temple. Our good friend Yachiyo explained a little about the cherry and Buddhism.

“Those are not real anymore but made of plastic,” she said. “They are there all year round so that people could hang their prayer petitions under the trees. We don’t have a mass like you do. We don’t worship a God like you do.”

Yes, I did notice several sheets of paper (with characters on it) hanging under the shade of the cherry trees. It was something that even I could relate to. The scene reminded me of how the Jews inserted prayer petitions between the bricks of the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Even Catholics have prayer petitions thru lighted candles or written paper that are burned after praying.

From a Buddhist’s perspective, however, the cheery tree is a deity and each petal of cherry blossom is a person who sacrifices himself for a certain mission or ideal. It is as simple as the flower will wither, the warrior will die, and the world will fade away.

The rains poured down as we sat to eat our bento lunch underneath a large tent. Surrounded by cherry trees, I understood how people see the world from the perspective of their own faith but regardless of faith, I sensed the connection of mankind to nature and to a higher power above. Yes, immortality was never meant for man on earth but how beautiful it is to know that we have a purpose to strive for and like the Buddhists, we could live well at the moment with eternal spring in our heart.

This year on, forever,

It’s all gravy to me now-

Spring arrives.

Issa

Japanese haiku poet

Views of downtown Tokyo from the Tokyo Tower

2009-08-27T18:49:00.004+08:00

Getting to know Japan with haikus

2009-06-28T19:29:00.055+08:00

The wind from Mount Fuji

I put it on the fan

Here, the souvenir from Edo.

Basho Matsuo

Haiku poet (1644-1694)

Being Catholic, I didn’t realize that Mount Fuji was a sacred mountain for the Japanese who are mostly Buddhists. To them, Mount Fuji is the home of the great kami-sama or gods. They believe it is a mystical gateway between heaven and earth. Pilgrims would climb Mount Fuji’s 12,388 feet (3,776 meters) to reach the top and read haikus while contemplating the scenery. In literature, a haiku is a poem usually containing three unrhymed lines, which have 5, 7 and 5 syllables respectively. A haiku presents a pair of contrasting images, one suggestive of time and place, the other a vivid but fleeting observation.

I can understand the sentiment of the Buddhists. Even for Catholics, a high mountain is the closest place on earth to pray to God in heaven, as exemplified by Jesus in the Mount of Olives. Since I wasn’t able to “climb” Mount Fuji while in Japan, I could only hope to glimpse its peak from the train station in Odawara, which is near the Hakone National Park. On our sixth and last day in Japan, we were rewarded with a sunny, clear day and the perfect, snow-white cone appeared like a painting in the sky. What a beautiful souvenir from Japan! My feelings at that moment could be expressed by this haiku:

The older we get

the more easily tears come

on a long day.

Yoshi Mikami Issa

Haiku poet

It is true that when we travel to a place for the first time, we are seeing it thru the eyes of a child, absorbing everything that we encounter. If my last day were sentimental, it’s because my first days were a wonder. If I were to describe my experience in Narita airport toilet as a haiku, it would sound like this:

I sit down slowly

and see buttons on one side...

a shower in spring.

Yes, the toilet-bidet combination with seat warmers, called washlet, is very popular in Japan, even in public places. Next came the trains. There was something soothing in the soft, humming sound of a modern train as it chugged along its path. Through the wide windows, I saw many Japanese houses that looked the same, mostly painted white with brown colored tiled-roofs.

Next stop was Shinjuku station, where we made a train transfer. It was a blurr of black stockings over mini skirts, leggings, boots, trench coats, pashminas, folded denims with stilleto heels, black coat and ties, chic hairdos. Need I say more about Tokyo fashion? Luckily for our stomachs, we bought a bento box meal from the Ekiben (station bento) and a hot green tea bottle from a vending machine. Yes, local fast food Japanese version.

Just to say the word

home, that one word alone

so pleasantly cool.

Kobayashi Issa

Haiku poet

Have you ever tried sleeping on a mat on the floor? How about eating on a low table with your legs warmed underneath the floor, as in a kotatsu? The part I liked most was wearing Japanese pajamas called yukata, it’s almost like a kimono but made of cotton. I was at home drinking green tea and sipping miso soup, eating dried tofu, pickled ginger, maki, sushi, dried local fish and sticky rice. There was so much to learn about Japan and its culture, and thanks to my “foster parents” in Japan, I was home away from home.

How can the heart hold

something to last a lifetime...

long conversations.

Museum of the Filipino People

2008-05-03T18:32:00.025+08:00

There it is, underneath a glass case. A memorabilia - a handwritten letter - by Jose Rizal, national hero of the Philippines. Written in German in the late 1800s, Rizal thanked his friend, Ferdinand Blumentritt for the gift of two books.

"Jose Rizal loved to go to museums," recounts John Silva, senior consultant and tour guide of the National Museum. "When he was studying in Europe in the late 1800s, he visited the museums and described in handwritten letters all that he saw to his family in the Philippines. So I tell children today, if you want to be like your national hero, you must love the museum!"

Our tour group is in the archaeological section of the National Museum. The memorabilia is under the heading, Rizal, the Ethnographer. Did you know that Ethnography is the study of living culture? An Ethnographer observes, records, and analyzes the culture of a people. It is actually a branch of anthropology.

One of Rizal's observations, for example, is that "Filipinos lost their ancient tradition and learned an aesthetics different from their climate and ways of feeling. Thus, they became ashamed of what was their own. Their spirit became dejected and surrendered." A lost culture? Surely, we could find it here inside the National Museum.

Unknown to many, the Museum of the Filipino People is the last refuge of the ancient culture of the Philippines before the coming of the Spaniards in 1521. In the archaeological section, for example, elephant bones, limb bones and tooth were discovered in Palawan, Cagayan Valley and Rizal provinces. Elephants in the Philippines? Unlike Thailand, Elephants are nowhere found today in the country except in zoos. John continues to explain about the Austronesian ancestors of present-day Filipinos.

"Our ancestors ate a lot of shellfish," said John, pointing to a shell midden in one section of the diorama. A midden is a large dump created by ancient human beings. Skeletal remains dated 22,000-24,000 BC were found in Tabon Cave, Palawan. Known as "Tabon Man" this is perhaps the earliest recorded human existence in the Philippines. Next, John points to a small, wooden breast mask composed of several breast-shaped corners.

"Our male ancestors were also obsessed with breasts." he says. It seems to me that time hasn't changed man's biological instincts, hasn't it? Nor has time changed the Filipino's typical diet of fish (or shellfish) with rice.

But there is one thing that time had virtually erased in the Philippines - an ancient script known as Alibata or Baybayin. Filipinos once wrote on tree barks, palm leaves, bamboo and rocks using this ancient script. Think of the Thai script, the ancient Baybayin looks a little like it. Today, the museum visitor can see this ancient script next to the English signs inside all sections of the museum. Alas, this ancient script is alien to modern-day Filipinos as a result of colonization and conversion to Christianity or Muslim.

Spaniards introduced the Roman numerals and the Latin alphabet to Filipinos when they colonized the country for nearly three hundred years. It was not so when they first arrived in 1521. At that time, almost all the natives could read and write in the ancient Baybayin. Unlike in Thailand, China, Japan or Korea, ancient Filipinos used the Babayin writing system mainly to communicate and write poems, and not as a means to record history, science or politics like in a monarch state. Thus, it is easy to understand how this ancient form of writing would be extinct by the late 18th century under Spanish rule.

Now that the Philippines is a free country, surely Filipinos could learn more about their ancient script and culture without persecution and punishment from colonizers? John recounts an anecdote about a group of women from the Bagobo tribe of Mindanao visiting the museum one day:

"The women were very surprised to find their tribal clothing displayed inside the museum. According to them, their ancestors were forbidden to wear such clothing when the Muslims conquered Mindanao because it was considered sinful to have parts of their bodies exposed. It was a sad thing to know that a culture had been lost. Six months later, a group of young boys and girls from the Bagobo tribe came to the museum and asked that they be allowed to touch the clothing of their ancestors. So I opened the glass case and allowed them to get up close. They told me afterwards that they were studying the beading patterns of the ancient clothes so that they could learn how to make them! Imagine, there is hope after all."

There is so much to see and understand about the Philippines inside the Museum of the Filipino people. From the award-winning painting of national artist Juan Luna (called Spolarium) to the genius of young Filipino painters as shown in the Philip Morris Art Awards section (see photo) of the museum. An artist, like a writer, paints his own view of how he sees the world. An event like the arrival of the Spaniards in the island of Cebu can be seen in two different perspectives; whether as an acceptance of Christianity (as painted by Carlos Francisco) or with resistance or rebellion as in the case of the Muslims in Mindanao (as painted by Manansala). The tourist may not easily see the culture of the Philippines on the streets as he may see it inside museums. Indeed, even Filipinos discover their own culture inside the museum. Such is the impact of the Museum of the Filipino people.

Bahasa Indonesia

2008-02-15T20:44:00.020+08:00

I still remember the day clearly. We had gone early that morning to the village of Kintamani where we had a commanding view of Mount Batur and Batur lake beside it. On our way back, we were delighted to find fresh passion fruit sold by the roadside, and fresh spices such as saffron, coriander, cardamon, etc. in a farm in Temon village, a new local attraction.

We had wanted to see the rice terraces but it had started to rain. As soon as our van halted, the Balinese hawkers approached our windows.

"Payong, payong," cried the hawkers, brandishing out their umbrellas.

"Payong!" I exclaimed. "It means umbrella?"

"Yes," said Ngurah, our Balinese driver. Again, we had found another word that was common to our national language Pilipino, the official language of the Philippines based on the Tagalog dialect.

We were actually enjoying the language "discovery" ever since that first day when we had visited the foreign exchange, P.T. Central Kuta. There was a sign at the entrance door that read Buka.

"Look at that sign Buka," said my sister Joan. She looked at Ngurah. "It means open?"
"Why yes! How come you know?" Ngurah looked puzzled.
"It's almost the same. In our language, it's Bukas, with an s. It means open."

After that, I started making a list. It seemed incredible that our two Malay languages, while not tonal languages, shared many words in common. Consider the following:

Bahasa Indonesia................................Pilipino (based on Tagalog)
tolong (help)..........................................tulong (help)
sakit (pain).............................................sakit (pain, sickness)
sabun (soap)...........................................sabon (soap)
bendera (flag).........................................bandera (flag- Illongo dialect)
aku (me)..................................................ako (me)
kamu (you)..............................................kamu (you - Illongo dialect)
ini (this, that)...........................................ini (this - Illongo dialect)
itu (that/those)........................................ito (this)
kami or kita (we).....................................kami or kita (we)
ulu (head).................................................ulo (head)
manuk (chicken).....................................manok (chicken)
beli (buy)..................................................bili (buy)
bulan (month)..........................................bulan (month)
batu (stone)..............................................bato (stone)
bukit (hill).................................................bukid (hill)
dua (two)...................................................duha (two - Illonggo dialect)
lima (five)..................................................lima (five)
empat (four)..............................................apat (four)
enam (six)..................................................anom (six - Illonggo dialect)
kanan (right)..............................................kanan (right)
jalan (street)...............................................dalan (street - Illonggo dialect)
selamat (greeting)......................................salamat (thank you)
hati ( heart).................................................hati (half)
meja (table).................................................mesa (table)
lumpia (spring roll).....................................lumpia (spring roll)

And the list could go on. Everytime we drove back to the hotel, my dad would read aloud his favorite Bahasa Indonesia word, "Parkir" which means parking. It does sound like two English words "Park here" combined, doesn't it? Parkir always made his day!

Another favorite word in Bahasa Indonesia is bankrut, which means "bankrupt". Dad found this word handy whenever we went bargain-hunting at the flea market.
"How much?" Dad wanted to buy Bali souvenir tee-shirts.
"65,000," said the lady vendor.
"45,000?" I asked.
"55,000." Her voice sounded final.
"Bankrut! bankrut!" cried Dad.
"Nah, no bankrut," said the Balinese vendor, pointing to herself. "Bankrut!"
So, the joke continued. Who bankrupted who?
"How was your shopping?" Ngurah asked after every shopping spree.
"Bankrut!" cried Dad. "Time to go home."

Have you heard of the geko, considered by the Balinese as sacred? In Bahasa Indonesia, the geko is called toke while in Pilipino it's toko. Whether its toke or toko, it was in Bali that I saw a real geko for the first time. It's actually a large lizard with colorful spots, but seeing a geko for the first time was amazing because I used to be frightened of it when I was a little girl. It was in Antonio Blanco's garden that I saw them roaming among the rocks.

Despite differences in the religion of both countries, we realized that Bahasa Indonesia and Pilipino were so closely linked, perhaps because of the geographic proximity of the two countries. Ironically, Filipinos have the Spaniards to thank for this language preservation. They never imposed the Spanish language on the Filipinos despite three hundred years of rule. It was their way of keeping the Filipinos ignorant and divided as a people. The Dutch, on the other hand, didn't allow missionaries to come to Bali when they colonized it, thus preserving the exotic culture and Hindu religion of the island. Despite differences in the colonization of the two countries, many Spanish words were adapted in Pilipino, and many Portuguese words were adapted in Bahasa Indonesia, which increased the similarity of both languages.

At the airport in Bali, while we were getting ready for departure, the Indonesian porter asked the nth question, 'Where are you from?'
"Philippines," I replied.
"Ah, same. Like Indonesian." He gestured the palm of his hand over his face.

It was then that I had my lesson on perception. In Bali, I looked Indonesian. In China or HK, I looked Chinese. In Bangkok, I looked Thai. If I go to Japan, I will look Japanese. Asians had a strange way of sizing up other Asians.
A frenchwoman once remarked to me, "You don't look Filipino."
"Do I look Chinese?" I was almost sure she would say yes. It was often the case in the Philippines among Filipinos.
"No, the eyes are not the same. No." She replied unexpectedly.
Perception, unlike language, is relative, isn't it?

Bali High

2007-11-08T09:59:00.001+08:00

I am writing this memoir from the perspective of a tourist from the Philippines. Before coming to Bali, I thought that Bali was another beach destination, like Boracay or Phuket. No, it seems that I was mistaken. Bali is much more than a beach. Let me show you.

Light enhances art, one cannot isolate a structure from its natural environment.

I remembered this paraphrase from a movie the minute we arrived in our hotel, Royal Bali Beach Club in Jimbaran. As we sat down drinking our welcome drinks, my eyes were drawn up to the thatched roof made of alang-alang (cogon). Three levels up from the ground floor lobby, the bamboo poles and burnished wood frames formed a geometric design that glowed in the warm lights. Hindu stone carvings, intricate wood carvings on the walls, frangipani flowers in vases, Balinese masks, gargoyles & water lilies all combined with the thatched alang-alang roof to create a tropical, Balinese ambiance. Despite my fatigue, I felt stimulated by so much artistic expression.

On our way to St. Francis Xavier church in Kuta the next day, I finally saw Bali in the daytime. I found it strange that nearly all the structures (except those with thatched roofing) had the same tiled roofing in terracotta color. I can almost believe the Balinese deliberately created a themed, unified look like what the Parisians or the Israelites in Jerusalem did. I think this gives the city its unique character. Did you know that Bali has the longest art street in the world?

On our way up to Ubud which is considered the cultural and artistic center of Bali, the "art street" passed through several towns that specialized in different arts: Tohpati (batik), Batubulan (stone carving), Mas (wood carving), Celuk (silver & gold), Ubud (paintings and galleries, art market), Sukawati (art market). It's an artist's haven! Three days were not enough for us but we were happy with our souvenirs, especially in Windu Sari (Batubulan), Body and Soul and Just Jeans factory outlets in (Seminyak), and in Sukawati market, all with discounts. Always bargain in Bali, as much as 70% if you can otherwise walk away and see if they will give in.

Did I mention that ricefields and rice terraces surrounded these art towns? The Balinese originally built their rice paddies to surround their water temple, and thanks to the subak irrigation system inherited from the Hindus, rice is planted all year round. We couldn't forget those ducks quacking in the rice paddies though. Why, they were the same ducks that were deep-fried in Indonesian spices and landed on our lunch plates! Yummy. Interestingly, the Indonesian bebek (duck) tasted different from its Peking duck cousin. If you do come to Bali, a visit to Bebik Bengil in Ubud for lunch or dinner is worth it. The Balinese gardens, rice fields, traditional Balinese bamboo music are as exquisite as the duck special and fried ice cream for desert, at reasonable prices.

At first, we were not so crazy to rush to the beaches as we were familiar with fine sand or coral beaches in the Philippines. However, on our third night, we headed to Jimbaran beach for a seafood dinner and got hooked ever since. Who could resist eating grilled seafood outdoors at night with the crashing waves nearby, sand under our feet, candlelights, twinkling lights in the far distance and stars shining in the sky? On our last night at Fortuin restaurant, there was a Balinese wedding reception next door. We witnessed a traditional Balinese dance, a modern belly dance, a fire dance, and heard some Balinese songs and English songs like Autumn leaves. There were Hindu-Balinese decorations among the tables and chairs and, according to the waiter, the wedding happened the day before but the celebration will be for several days. A foreigner and a Balinese were getting married so perhaps they had two different kinds of celebration?

Speaking of beaches, there is one beach that is not found in any Bali map. It's called Dreamland and owned by Tommy Suharto, the ex-president's son. As the name suggests, Tommy got the best beach in this massive real estate project called Dreamland. Situated between Jimbaran and Uluwatu, Dreamland beach is more picturesque, its sands finer than the ones in nearby Jimbaran, Kuta or even Nusa Dua (this last one came from Ngurah our driver.) It was in Dreamland that I saw surfers up-close. It was fascinating to watch them glide in and out of the waves because they made it seem so easy. Did they experience an athlete's "high" surging over those waves? Maybe. In my experience as a runner, it was always exhilarating to run at top speed with the wind blowing all over my body.

Soon, it was sunset. Watching the sunset in Kuta or Dreamland beach was a special event for our family since we live in the city which is far from any beach. We were glad that the beaches in Bali were free and not crowded with people. I can't explain why but it felt like food for our soul to catch a sunset by the beach.

For me, Uluwatu in southwestern Bali had the most dramatic cliff views over the Indian ocean. The 70 metre cliff scene was a little like the Twelve Apostles in Melbourne, Australia which faced the Southern Ocean. After half an hour of walking by the trail we were rewarded with spectacular views! There were many monkeys around, but don't be fooled or frightened that the monkeys will steal your stuff. That's what the locals will tell you but I refused to leave my sunglasses behind as my eyes were sensitive to the sun. Well, they were cheap sunglasses anyway but hey, at least I didn't frown in our photo shoots and nothing happened to us.

Let's see: beaches (for surfing, water sports, or swimming), mountains, lakes, national parks, rice terraces & fields, longest art street, Hindu-Polynesian architecture, Hindu temples, Buddhist pagodas, Balinese dance and theater, Balinese gardens, Indonesian spices, designer boutiques, beachfront hotels & restaurants, and an international airport found in ONE island? Incredibly yes. Nowadays, when I'm in the mood to remember Bali, all I have to do is pluck a frangipani flower from our garden, put it behind an ear, play a traditional Balinese bamboo music in my CD player, read a book about Bali or try a recipe from a Balinese cookbook and voila, it's Bali again. I think I got the Bali High fever.

Collioure will always be Collioure

2007-09-27T20:36:00.001+08:00

In France there is no sky as blue as the one in Collioure...I just have to close the shutters of my room and I have all the colors of the Mediterranean before me. - Henri Mattise, French painter.

Matisse probably wrote this a century ago, when in 1905, he came with fellow artist Andre Derain to Collioure. Today, Collioure is attractive and inspiring as ever.

It wasn't part of our plan to visit Collioure in the south of France (near the Spanish border) but we had the good fortune to meet a Belgian couple named Gordon and Hilary during our trip to Carcassonne. They encouraged us to visit Collioure by bus on our own. Most guidebooks would not give tourists the tip of taking the regional or local bus which is a cheaper option for independent travelers like us. Gordon and Hilary were full of praises for the beauty of Collioure and if they were able to go there by local bus, so could we. And if we could do it, so could you. (See below How to get there from Canet)

It was high noon when we finally arrived in Collioure. As soon as we got off the bus, the sea breeze filled our senses, and looking towards the direction of the chateau, we glimpsed the Mediterranean sea in the distance. From the Centre Air Mer Soleil bus stop, we crossed a small bridge and strolled over cobblestone pavement, taking in the scene before us. It was beyond our expectations! To our right stood an ancient castle by the Mediterranean sea, and there were sailboats anchored to its rampart. Straight ahead of us is a small beach, and in the distance we could see the outline of sloping hills dotted with houses.

To our left is the Old Quarter (of Moure): narrow streets with cobblestone pavement, apartments in colors of pink, yellow, peach, or cream, terracotta roofs, green or brown window shutters. Outdoor cafes under blue, green, white or yellow awnings, red and yellow chairs lined the length of the beach. An ancient church with a bell tower frames the village by the sea. No wonder Matisse fell in love with Collioure! He later wrote: Working before a soul-stirring landscape, all I thought of was making my colors sing without any heed to rules and regulations...

There is a strong Spanish flavor to this French town, and we saw many stores in the village closed for siesta (rest after lunch). Aida and Rachel found a store that sells hand-sewn espadrilles, casual sandals with a sole made of rope. Colorful pottery, designer Spanish fans, postcard recipes of Catalan cuisine, and tapas on menus of cafes can be seen everywhere. In the summer, there are even local bullfights and Sardane dances.

In his book, Toujours Provence, author Peter Mayle encountered anchovies from Collioure in an open market called Les Halles, in Provence. A sought-after treasure of Collioure, anchovies are used in many Catalan dishes such as tapenade, a spread consisting of black olives, capers and anchovies in olive oil. According to the fish lady in Les Halles market, one could live to be a hundred years old on a diet including tapenade everyday! It's really sad that we missed this information about Collioure. Nevertheless, the succulent taste of baked Moules (mussels) with alioli, garlic-flavored home-made mayonnaise with herbs de provence made up for what we missed. Ah, c'est la vie!

A visit to the Chateau Royal is a must if only for the fantastic views over the Mediterranean sea. What could be more peaceful than gazing at God's glorious blue sky, blue sea and rugged coastline? Or feeling the gentle wind against our bodies and hearing the sound of the waves in the distance? It calmed our soul, soothed our senses and lifted our spirits to see life in a different perspective. Our problems suddenly seemed trifle viewed from up there.

As in Carcassonne, the Royal Castle of Collioure was built on Roman foundations. It is said that in the 13th century the Knights Templar (crusaders to the Holy Land) built the chateau walls. There were many legends as to the treasure of the Knights Templar. People speculated where the knights buried the treasures taken from the churches in the Holy Land. Perhaps they were buried in the Royal Castle? In 1642, King Louis XIII came with 10,000 men, including Turenne, d'Artagnan and musketeers to occupy the hills of Collioure. Did you know that Alexandre Dumas' novel, The Three Musketeers, was based on the memoirs of d'Artagnan? Collioure could have been in d'Artagnan's memoirs; I don't know why but i found the castle by the sea romantic and enchanting.

Collioure has been immortalized in many paintings and in the chemin de Fauvisme, one could trail the 20 reproductions by Matisse and Derain on the exact spot where they were painted. It would have been an experience to see this had we known of it. As it was, we were contented in browsing through the many art galleries and shops in the Old Quarter, with truffle chocolates melting in our mouths. I agree with the motto of this town - Collioure will always be Collioure. Maurice Chevalier's song, Paris will always be Paris, is also true for Collioure. It is truly beautiful, historical, and peaceful. Perhaps someday I might just be back for those anchovies and Mattisse's reproductions.

How to Get there from Canet: My advice would be to secure the bus schedules of Compagnie transports (Canet-Perpignan) and the regional bus, CG66 (Cerbere-Perpignan) beforehand so you can plan ahead and not miss any connection. Line 1 Companie transports bus travels from Canet to Perpignan Gare SNCF and vice versa (2 euros for a return ticket or 1.10 euros for a single journey). Take the Line 1 bus to Perpignan and get down Vauban stop. Walk towards the direction of the Gare Routiere (bus station) along General Leclerc street. Take the regional bus, CG66 to Collioure (Bus #37), 6.60 euros single journey or 13.20 for a return ticket. Get down at Centre Air Mer Soleil bus stop in Collioure. Don't forget that the last trip back to Perpignan via CG66 bus is at 6:30 pm. After that, you must RUN to catch the last bus trip to Canet at 7:47 pm at the Palais des Congres (and not Vauban!) stop... Isn't it exciting?

Carcassonne Dreaming

2007-08-31T19:03:00.001+08:00

"When Charlemagne stood before the gates of Carcassonne with his troops, the castle army existed of only one person, Madame Carcas. She gave the illusion that many men were still on the walls. When Charlemagne wanted to starve the castle, and Dame Carcas heard of his plans, she threw a pig over the wall, filled with sweet corn. This made Charlemagne believe that there was still enough food left, so he packed up and left. On the site of his retrieve, she triumphantly blew her horn (Carcas sonne)."

So goes the legend of Carcassonne. Carcassonne is located in the region known as Languedoc in the south of France - a land full of legends and mysticism, from King Arthur to the Holy Grail. A stone statue of Dame Carcas now stands at the entrance to Carcassonne and whether she is real or a stuff of our imagination, there is no denying the romantic charm of this medieval fortress.

These thoughts cross my mind as we enter the city's towering gates and cross a stone bridge over a moat. Walking over cobbled-stone pavement and sand, I remember the old city of Jerusalem, built with limestones quarried in the city. Under the light of the sun, the walls of Carcassonne have the same golden color as the sand on our feet. These walls are a legacy from the Romans who built them in the first century BC, much like the walls in Old Jerusalem which were built under King Herod during the Roman Empire.

Seeing an ancient castle for the first time is fascinating and enlightening. It does look romantic on the outside, but as soon as we pass through the courtyard into the confines of the chateau, the experience turns challenging. The four of us - Aida, Rachel, Joan and I - walk through narrow, dark passageways, pause to view the modern village beyond the castle walls and watch a video presentation on the history of Carcassonne. The challenge lies in not getting lost among the maze of dark passageways and rooms in the chateau, because we have no maps or a guide to help us. After the chateau, we pay a short visit to the ancient Basilica of St. Nazaire which is being renovated. Like most ancient churches in France, there is a huge pipe organ located in the second floor of the church, stained glass windows, gargoyles, naves, arches and stone walls darkened by time.

By contrast, the village shops in Carcasonne are very modern and attractive behind their stone facade. Shops selling chocolates, cookies, confectionaries such as marzipan, herbs de provence for cooking, souvenir tee shirts and postcards, soaps that smell of the sea and various herbs, woodcrafts and porcelain figurines are just some of the attractions. Soon it is time for lunch.

At La Taverne du Chateau, Joan and I order the regional dish known as Cassoulet, a soup consisting of kidney beans, foie gras, pork sausage and vegetables. Aida prefers French Onion Soup with Spaghetti Bolognese while Rachel opts for the Entrecote (beef) sandwich, all choices for 12 euros. Sitting outside under a canopy, our conversation turns from food to dream houses.

"You're all invited to visit my house here in the south of France in the future." I begin half-jokingly. I don't even know why I said it, it just came out. It's good to have a belly laugh with friends once in a while.

"Yes, I can imagine you here," says Aida, "you would be perfect in this place."

"And with a French hubby," adds Rachel, her eyes gleaming. "My dream house would be somewhere near the sea or a lake, as both my husband and I love to snorkel and scuba dive."

"I prefer to live in Paris, in the 16th arrondissement near La Tour Eiffel," says Aida, "with French balconies from the living room to the masters bedroom. I'm a city girl."

Only Joan is silent. But if I know my twin its because she's not thinking of just one place. She'd like to see the rest of Europe like Austria, Germany, Switzerland, Czech Republic, or Spain. Maybe go back to Italy again.

I call this chapter in our lives the Carcassonne Dreaming, a paraphrase of the original song, California Dreaming. Someday in the future, we will look back to this day, and remember how we dared to dream as only young people can.

We journey back to Canet en Roussillion via the scenic route through the Gorges of Galamus, passing through the countryside full of vineyards and I wonder if the Jewish people really started the vine culture in France. In his book, A Year in Provence, author Peter Mayle writes that he would never be able to drink another glass of wine without remembering all the tremendous labor that went into making it.

I recall the words of French aviator & writer Antoine de Saint-Exupery at the end of our wine tour in Canet: One cannot understand what an estate is unless one sacrifices a part of himself, fights to save it and embellish it. An estate is not the sum of benefits. There lies the error. It is the sum of all the gifts.

In other words, the value of an estate lies not in what one can get out of it, but rather it lies in the love that has been poured into it. The value of a land lies in the work of the many hands that labored to toil it, embellish it and sustain it for the community so that future generations can enjoy the fruits of the land.

Food tripping in Barcelona

2007-08-27T20:16:00.001+08:00

Despite our scary experience at the train station in Barcelona, we couldn't complain about Catalan cuisine. It was like eating at home, away from home. Let me explain. By virtue of our birth in a former Spanish colony named the Philippines, we were all familiar with Spanish food, tradition, language and Catholic faith. It was our first visit to our former motherland Spain and we only had one full day.

Naturally, eating paella was on top of our list. Paella is a saffron-flavored Spanish dish with rice, vegetables, meat, chicken or seafood. Secretly, I wanted to taste a paella made in Spain. As expected, the paella was delicious in a peppery way. I guess the Spaniards like it with a lot of peppers - red, green, jalapeno. We all finished a whole paella each, scraped the toasted bottom of the pan, and drank our sangria. What better way to spend the Spanish siesta time but to eat?

Little did we know that we were in for a better treat for dinner. As we strolled along La Rambla, looking at menus of restaurants, who but a Filipino waiter would approach us.

"Filipinos?" he asked with a knowing look.
"Why yes!" The four of us - myself, Joan, Aida and Rachel -were all surprised.
"Dito na kayo kumain," he continued. (Eat your food here.)

So that's how we ended up in Amatxu, a restaurant along La Rambla. We felt at home at Amatxu, because the manager, cooks, and waiters who served us were mostly Filipinos! For tapas or appetizers, we had pan con tomate (which is crusty bread brushed with olive oil, garlic and tomato), puntillitas (battered and fried baby squid), calamares and vegetable salad. For some reason, the pan con tomate and puntillitas never made it to Philippine shores which is a pity.

For our main course, I had paella again, this time with chorizos (Spanish sausages). It was interesting to note that since the cook was a Filipino, it did taste like a paella made in Manila - not hot with peppers, but a little wet on the sauce and with generous toppings. For the first time, I ate a fresh Spanish chorizo which was not smoked nor red in color. I can't decide which paella version is better, because both tasted delicious in its own way. For our dessert, it was the Spanish flan called Creme Catalan, vanilla custard with caramel sauce. It's sweet and light, it must be the fresh cream or milk they used. A perfect ending to a delicious, full meal.

As recommended, we visited Moka Cafe (along La Rambla) the next day for breakfast. Thanks to Rachel, our food enthusiast, we got to try churros con chocolate made in Spain. Along with tapas like calamare, Iberian ham and cheese, we feasted on Spanish churros dipped in thick Spanish chocolate. Superb! The Spaniards cook their churros to a crisp, clean pastry, devoid of any dusting of sugar or cinnamon. The secret lies in the thick, rich, dark, Spanish chocolate. When you dip the churros in the hot chocolate, the combination is perfect - rich, dark Chocolately taste. No wonder the Spaniards drink chocolate morning, noon and evenings! I also got to try something called tarta de patatas (potato tart) which I confused with torta de patatas, which is a Spanish omelette filled with fresh potatoes. Nevertheless, the tarta de patatas was creamy and filling. I learned the Spaniards also topped tarta de patatas with melted Spanish chocolate. Ay, deliciosos!

Close encounter in Barcelona

2007-08-26T14:51:00.000+08:00

It happened so fast. We arrived in Barcelona Franca train station past 10 pm from Perpignan, France. Darkness had fallen and all the passengers headed quickly for the taxi stand at the exit of the station. Barcelona Franca station was deserted at that time of the night, and there was an air of nervousness among the tourists.

On the street, we were standing in line for the taxi when i first noticed them. Two young men dressed in black leather jacket, white shirt and denim pants came to stand a few meters from our line. I found it strange that they carried no luggage and didn't seem to wait for anyone in particular. Gypsies? They were lean, had black hair, black eyes, and aquiline noses. I stared at them but they evaded my eyes which added to my suspicion. I looked at my friends Rachel, Aida, and Joan, my sister, standing in front of me. Since they were facing the street, they didn't see the strangers. Except for Aida who carried her bag on her shoulders, we left our luggages on the ground besides us.

Suddenly, a taxi arrived. An argument ensued between the taxi driver and the would be-passengers. In that split second when everyone's attention was distracted, we heard a loud shout. I saw a young Japanese or Chinese, ahead of us in line, run after the stranger in black leather jacket who was walking away with a luggage! Was he a thief or a pickpocket (carterista)? The stranger in black jacket, realizing he was caught red-handed, dropped the luggage and continued to walk as if nothing happened. What a nerve! Everyone grabbed their luggages in fear. It was our first encounter with Barcelona's dreaded gypsies. It taught me to trust my instincts, and warn my friends next time. It taught everyone to be on the guard always.

The problem was, we didn't know that there was a connecting train from Barcelona Franca (the train line from Perpignan, France) to Barcelona Sants (which goes to the heart of Barcelona) so instead we took a taxi to go to our hotel, Renaissance.

"It would have been more dangerous," said Aida, "what if we were the only four passengers waiting to board the Barcelona Sants train? Or worst, if there were only a few passengers on board the Sants train?"

Yes, it could have been worst and we thanked God, the Blessed Mother and our angels that we were not the victims of the carteristas. I don't know what we would have done. I believe that we were there at the taxi stand for a reason, and not on a connecting train. Our ignorance may have been a blessing.

Chanson francaise

2007-08-04T15:57:00.001+08:00

We are en route by car to Paris from Giverny when our French driver/guide Patrick plays the songs of Edith Piaf, legendary chanteuse of France, from her latest album, Eternelle.

“My favorite song is Je ne regrette rien,” says Patrick, “which means I regret nothing.”

I nod my head in comprehension. My favorite is La Vie en Rose, or The Life in Pink.

“The good and the bad, I regret nothing,” continues Patrick. “That’s what Edith Piaf said at the end of her life.”

Patrick is referring to the latest movie, La Mome (or La Vie en Rose to the English-speaking world), which is based on the life of Edith Piaf that is showing in Paris on this merry month of May. Though he isn’t keen at first, in the end, Patrick is deeply moved and teary-eyed. I should watch the movie, he says, and buy the album.

I glance back at my three companions. Joan, Aida and Rachel are sleeping like a baby! I guess the long drive, fatigue, and Edith Piaf’s powerful voice must have lulled them to sleep. There goes the movie, I thought. At least, I could still buy the album in Paris, composed of two CDs at a special price of almost 10 euros.

I am to discover that Edith Piaf’s music is known as chanson francaise or popular French music that emerged at the end of the 19^th century and in her case, in the late 30s, 40s, and 50s. It’s the kind of music where the lyrics are more important that the melody, with a sentimental hymn that could reflect a social commentary or a personal experience. Did you know that the classic 1952 song, If you love me (really love me) is based on a French song, Hymne a l’amour which had been popularized by Edith Piaf?

I’m glad that I took Patrick’s advice, as well as the advice of the assistant at the Laffayette store. Edith Piaf’s protégée, actor/singer Yves Montand is very popular in France, he says, and his male version of the song, Autumn Leaves is tres bien. Montand first sang the French song Les Feuilles Mortes in a 1946 French movie and the song became the basis of the 1949 English version Autumn Leaves and the theme song of the 1956 American movie, Autumn Leaves starring Joan Crawford.

Did you also know that the popular song, Beyond the Sea is based on the 1946 French song, La Mer by pre-World War II singer Charles Trenet? Trenet also composed the classic 1942 French song Que reste-t-il de nos amours? or more popularly known in its English version, I Wish you love. Even the famous 1969 song, My Way, lyrics by Paul Anka and sung by Frank Sinatra had its origins in the 1967 French song Comme d’habitude by Claude Francois and Jacques Revaux.

After our trip to France, a friend lends me two music CDs: Accordion de Paris by the Streets of Paris Orchestra and Paris Midnight Album by Liane & Boheme Bar Trio. Both albums feature French popular songs from the era of the 1950s and 60s and listening to them, I feel transported to a café in Boheme Paris.

“Why does music sung in French (or Spanish & Italian) sound more romantic than its English version?” I wonder aloud one day.

“That’s because you cannot separate language from culture,” says Ms. Edith Buñag, my former high school teacher. “Music is a reflection of the historical experiences of a people.”

It is a fascinating explanation, and I think Ms. B (as we call her), is truly wise in her observation. For many centuries, poetry and song were closely related in France and song is an important part of French literature. Many poems were made into songs. I discover that one of my favorite songs, Claire de Lune (Moonlight) is actually Claude Debussy’s depiction of the poem by Paul Verlaine (1905). There is much we can learn from chanson francaise and a little background of French is a good way to start. Bonjour!

Paris Fashion

2007-07-23T21:20:00.000+08:00

"There is a difference between a six-euros sunglasses and a 300-euros sunglasses," my friend Rachel tells me.

"Are you sure it's not psychological?" I ask. We burst out laughing.

"Really, there is a difference. One looks beautiful, and rich." Rachel reveals.

"Yes, like a millionaire," I agree. Rachel looks fab in Prada sunglasses. Aida, walking to my left, looks fab in Gucci too. I love the initials on the side of the glasses. I'm glad to see them both happy, they worked hard to save for this trip to Paris.

In Paris, it is not surprising to see a woman walking down the streets wearing an attire straight out of a fashion magazine. Designer hat, boots, bag, dress, sunglasses. They can pull it off, of course, because they have the perfect ambiance. Paris! At the Louis Vuitton store along Champs Elysees, young Asian tourists (Japanes or Chinese) walk out of the store carrying bags of LV purchases like its an ordinary shopping day.

It's Wednesday morning, in early May, and we have to wait in line outside the Champs Elysees LV store as a group of Japanese tourists arrive before us. This is the largest Louis Vuitton store in the whole world, posh and beautiful as you can imagine. We accompany our friend Aida who wants to purchase a monogram Vernis style LV bag in white color (cost: 900 euros). Tourists get a 12% rebate on purchases over a minimum amount in euros, depending on the store.

While waiting for Aida, I hover over to the sunglasses section of LV. They range from 300 euros and above. I try on several styles and look in the mirror. Maybe Rachel has a point, i thought. I do look good, it fits me perfectly. Maybe its the shape, or the materials they use. I do look rich wearing it. I sigh.

"What are you doing? You're not going to buy any of those," says Joan, my twin.

"Of course not. I just want to see how i look," I assure her, "next time i buy, i'll know what style suits me." The best part about traveling on a budget is not having to worry what to buy as one cannot afford it anyway. Appreciating and looking are enough for me.

Why are women crazy about designer brands? I honestly don't know. It's suppose to make a woman feel good, and add to her confidence. It's an expression of her own individual style, and the more famous, the more stylish and beautiful she feels. Or it could be psychological in a way. Have your pick. It doesn't matter. In Paris, you can express yourself in any way you want and you will still blend in. That's the best part about Paris fashion.

See you in Paris

2007-07-15T13:13:00.001+08:00

In his book, A Writer’s Paris, author Eric Maisel writes about the practise of flanerie, the French invention of strolling as an art form. The flaneur, according to Eric, is an observer who wanders the streets of a great city on a mission to notice with childlike enjoyment the smallest events and the obscurest sights he encounters. It is in Paris, says Eric, that the delicious, dreamy strolling of the flaneur can be perfected. So what can a first-time visitor to Paris observe as a flaneur? Here is my list which you can compare with yours:

Carousel – it might surprise you but Paris is also a city for children. There are a number of Carousels throughout the city, in almost every park and public square as well as in tourist places like the Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Montmarte, Trocadero, Tuilleries, Luxembourg garden, Champ de Mars, or Jardin des Plantes. It is said that the Carousel is a French invention which started from Louis XIV as an entertainment for his nobles during an equestrian festival. The French Revolution made the carousel accessible to the masses at the end of the 18^th century.
W. C. which stands for water closet or toilet in England. For some reason, the French have adopted the English initials for water closet and not toilette in public signs. My guess is that the W.C. is a more discreet way of announcing public toilet. Then there is the matter of flushing. If you can’t find the string that needs to be pulled up (and not pushed down) to flush, the flush could be on the floor which means you need to step on it. If it’s a lever type of flush, it works opposite the American way. You need to lift the lever up and not down.
Sounds of Paris - if you would like to hear some classic accordion music, head for the Notre Dame across the Seine River. At the bridge, you might chance upon an accordion artist playing classical French songs. Another good place is at the Metro (where you can hear various artists) or at the steps around Sacre Coeur in Montmarte. It is also interesting to note that announcements at the train stations (Gare) are preceded by a short musical sound, before the “Madame et Monsieur,” spiel. Finally, I like the “musical” sound of the police siren or ambulance that you’ll often hear in the city.
Street food, fast food – the crepe with Nutella is the popular street food in Paris. It is made from wheat flour (farine de ble) which is grown in many parts of the country. The French baguette is best eaten fresh, when it is crispy and flaky on the outside, and soft, slightly moist on the inside. Better yet, try the baguette with a pate. Other breads or pastries to try are the croissants which are buttery delicious, brioche, beignet, galettes (which are made from buckwheat flour), macaron (meringue soft cookies in different flavors), Madelaine and Galette cookies from Monoprix, a local chain of supermarket. For fast food look for the local chain named Quick, which serves delicious burgers made from top-quality wheat bread, French cheese and beef.
Monochromatic Paris – at the time I visited Paris in spring 2007, black was the color of the season. At boutiques, mannequins were dressed in classic black dresses, and for those legs, the mannequins sported designer fishnet black stockings. For a spring-inspired look, though, there were navy blue striped shirts. At the Solaris store at Champs-Elysees, the retro look among black sunglasses was in vogue – big, chunky, with designer labels at the side. Parisians and chic tourists wore their skirts with black boots that reached their knees while a favourite among locals was the ballet-style black-colored shoes. When it comes to day dressing, Parisians prefer plain, neutral colors like black, brown or white as opposed to printed designs. A beret is not a common sight but the scarf, pashmina or trench or leather coat is.
street cafes and cafe – with the exception of Asian or ethnic restaurants, most restaurants in Paris look like a café, although there is a difference among bistros, brasseries, creperies, salons, and restaurants in Paris. Sitting on the outside of a café means people-watching and costs more. It is interesting to note, especially near a popular tourist spot, that the French actually turn their seat facing the street, and sit side by side rather than across each other. The French, unlike Americans, mix their coffee with warm milk while a hot chocolate comes with a small piece of dark chocolate on the side. At Maison Eymard where we stayed, almost everyone drank their coffee in a bowl that is equivalent to two cups with sugar cubes. I didn’t see any Starbucks in Paris though; perhaps it simply cannot compete with the many cafes that serve gourmet hot meals in their menu, aside from coffee.
Le Metro – if you are staying in Paris for a week, it is best to buy the carte d’orange which starts from Monday and ends on Sunday of the same week. Going in and out of the metro will be a breeze, as opposed to carrying a bunch (called a carnet) of the metro ticket which can be confusing once validated. A word of advise: do not throw your ticket until you exit on to the street or you will be fined at least 25 euros. The Metro station is like a maze of tunnel, where one can transfer from one subway line to another (called correspondence) with only one ticket that needs to be validated when you enter, and one exits via a side door without need for ticket validation. But beware, ticket inspectors could lurk along the maze of corridors just before you exit to the street. It’s not a case of checking the tickets during the actual journey but after the subway journey.
Pour homme, pour femme – which means for men and for women. It should come as no surprise to find a whole building dedicated “Pour homme” as well as “Pour femme” in Paris. Frenchmen are equally well-dressed, well-poised and vain about their looks. They only expect the best in their stores, from perfumes, clothes, accessories, etc. You won’t find the French walking in shorts and rubber shoes in the city unless they are on the beach or exercising. They are rather conservative but stylish when it comes to clothes. And you won’t hear loud, boisterous chatter in cafes either. It’s a case of being seen but not heard from a distance. Etiquette and politeness are traditions that are still alive in France, thank goodness.
Lights of Paris - for me, the lights of the Eiffel Tower at night are breathtaking. Seen very near and afar (from the Trocadero) it is an awesome, spectacular sight that warms the heart. Wait until the lights start to blink and twinkle, and it’s even more beautiful. No wonder there are many souvenir shirts that have the Eiffel Tower as designs, key chains, souvenir spoons, scarves, etc. It is only when you have seen the lights that you will understand this fascination for the Eiffel. There’s nothing like the real thing, in the City of Lights.
Original and reproductions – One of the best things about visiting a museum in Paris is seeing an original painting, and buying a reproduction of it at the souvenir shop. For instance, at the Marmottan Museum, I finally saw the original painting of Claude Monet’s Impression Sunrise. I first saw a reproduction of this painting in the Getty’s Museum in LA, USA but it didn’t make any impression on me then. Later on, having purchased an art book of Monet, I discovered that it is best to catch the light reflected on the painting. From a distance, the silvery waters of the painting glowed and gave the impression of moving. What brilliance! You can imagine my happiness at seeing the original painting and finally purchasing a reproduction for 4 euros. Nothing online can compare with seeing the original painting.

Water Walk # 8, Lourdes

2007-06-30T11:35:00.001+08:00

In Jerusalem, a crowd of paralysed, lame and blind – invalids as we call them today, used to gather around Bethesda pool which was very close to the Temple. Rumour had it that, from time to time, the water was stirred up and whoever steeped in first afterwards was then healed.
Jesus comes to this place where misery and hope meet. He sees a man who has been crippled for 38 years. This man has no hope left. Misery is his lot.
- Do you want to be made well?
The sick man answers him:
-I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is rising.
Jesus is not going to put him into the pool. He only says to him:
-Stand up, take your mat and walk! (John 5:1-9)

This man is old. He is an invalid and has no one. He would like to be healed. Otherwise, he would not be there. But he has no hope left. When Jesus asks him the questions: Do you want to be made well? He does not dare answer “yes.” He does not want to be disappointed, once more. As the prophet says, “you are this man.” Like him, we tend to be disillusioned men and women, without help, without hope.

But Jesus arrives unexpectedly. He gives the word which frees. After that, it is up to the invalid to believe the word of Jesus, obey his order and get up. If we do not walk further on God’s paths, it is because, deep down, we have given up. We do not believe any longer that God can revive our tired souls.

It is interesting to have used the name of Bethesda here, on the Water Walk in Lourdes, since Jesus did not plunge the invalid into the pool. This is to keep us from a magical interpretation. The water is a sign, but the reality, it is the grace of God. When Bernadette was questioned about the miracles, she said that they were not to be attributed to the spring itself, but to faith and prayer.

Whatever the sites of Apparition, Mary never appears as an old woman. She is not old because as George Bernanos said, she is “younger than sin, younger than the race from which she is descended, she is the youngest of the human race.” Today, by her Assumption into heaven, she has entered God’s Eternity.
Eternity is an everlasting youth, an inexhaustible spring, like that of the Grotto.

Water Walk #7, Lourdes

2007-06-25T16:01:00.000+08:00

If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you: “Give me a drink,” you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water. (John 4:10)

How could she have known, this woman of Samaria, who Jesus was? Jews and Samaritans did not mix, and if they did, they mixed rather badly.

Jesus surprises everyone when he addresses the Samaritan woman. The woman is not going to believe him straight away. But at least, she stops; she answers; she argues. As we come to this fountain, this is the first grace we should ask for: that again Jesus disconcerts us and that He may not let us go until we answer.

Jesus continues: Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again. But those who drink of the water I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life. (John 4:13-14)

What is this water? It is the Holy Spirit. Jesus states it very clearly in Saint John’s gospel: Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said: “Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.” Now He said this about the Spirit, which believers in Him were to receive. (John 7:37-39)

The woman from Samaria had not understood all that. She had been so disconcerted that she had left her jug there and then, and had run away to tell the people of the town.

All her life, Mary will have been surprised by her Son: from the visit of the angel, to the Cross. She did not understand everything straight away. But she kept everything in her heart and she believed; she hoped. She, who was full of grace, is to be found again in the Cenacle, with the disciples, when the Holy Spirit gives them the strength to risk their lives to proclaim the Gospel of the Resurrection.

Mary, Our Lady of Lourdes, Our Lady of the Living Water, “Abode of the Holy Spirit,” make us ask for the Holy Spirit, Your Son assured us: the Father will not fail to give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him.

Water Walk #6, Lourdes

2007-06-25T15:54:00.000+08:00

When visiting Nazareth, one cannot miss the “Fountain of the Virgin,” and just beside, the corresponding spring situated in an orthodox church. Nazareth reminds us of Mary, as she daily collects the water at the fountain, like all the other women of the village. Nazareth reminds us of Bernadette. On the day of the Annunciation, Mary was probably not much older than Bernadette in 1858: 14 years of age. The beautiful lady first appears to Bernadette as “a little demoiselle,” not much taller than herself.

Thirty years after the day of the Annunciation, Jesus left to announce the Gospel. In Saint Matthew, his first words are: “Blessed are the poor in Spirit; blessed are the meek; blessed are the pure in heart; blessed are you when people utter all sorts of evil against you falsely on my account.”

The Beatitudes are the portrait of Jesus, but are also the portrait of Mary and, to a lesser extend, of all Christians. They are also the portrait of Bernadette. She was poor, in spirit and in worldly goods: and she always wanted to remain so. She had character, but she was gentle with the sick. Nowadays, she is venerated by everyone, but, at the time, many treated her as a liar.

Blessed are you, my Lord for sister Water, which is so useful and so humble, and so precious and so chaste. These words of Saint Francis express so well the spirit of Nazareth, the beatitudes of the purity of spirit, according to the Gospel. At this fountain, let us drink of the Spirit of the Beatitudes. May it refresh us in body and spirit.

Our Lady of Lourdes, Our Lady of Beatitudes, “Gate of Heaven,” make us enter into your humility. In Nazareth, you kept, in your heart, all that the Lord did. Teach us to be grateful and to give thanks to the Lord.

Water Walk #5, Lourdes

2007-06-22T22:40:00.001+08:00

It was a time of desperation. Jerusalem had been taken over, the Temple destroyed and the population exiled. But the prophets are there to announce that God has not said His last word. The people will return to His land. A new temple will be built.

What is the use of a Temple? To gather the faithful on days of celebrations. In the new Temple, however, the prophet Ezekiel (47:1-12) promises that a spring will gush forth and that water will flow through the dessert to the Dead Sea. As it flows away from its source the river will continue to swell. Thanks to it the dessert will flourish and the sea, which deserved to be called “Dead” will wriggle with countless fish. When they returned from exile, a temple had been rebuilt in Jerusalem for the gathering of the faithful. However there was neither spring nor river. The true new Temple is Christ. Destroy the Temple, and in three days I will raise it up. But he was speaking of the temple of His Body (John 2:19)

When he is raised on the cross, “is exalted” as Saint John says, Jesus allows blood and water to flow from his side which was pierced by a spear. It is His love which is different. His Spirit which is poured out onto the earth, the sacraments which give life, the proclamation of the Gospel which announces the Heavenly Jerusalem with: “the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb,” (Revelation 22:1)

The spring which Mary showed to Bernadette is the symbol of the spring of living water which Christ brings forth. Here, in Lourdes, the water from the spring flows generously for all those who come to drink it or bathe in it. But it is also taken to the whole world as a sign of health and salvation. It is Mary who showed the spring to Bernadette. Mary is the first Evangelist. She went to meet Elizabeth. It is the Visitation. Everywhere in the world Mary is loved and venerated. She opens the way to the Gospel.

Water Walk #4, Lourdes

2007-06-22T22:03:00.001+08:00

In the Holy Land, the Dead Sea is really a desolate place. The name is meaningful: “Dead” Sea. It is one of the lowest points on the earth. The weather is very hot and the water is dreadfully salty. Local memory recalls that Lot’s wife was changed into a statue of salt. The smell is unpleasant as in a chemical laboratory. And suddenly, on the side of the Dead Sea, thanks to a spring which comes from the mountain, there is a splendid green oasis. The flora and fauna proliferate. It is as if life is taking its revenge.

In the bible, En-Gaddi is synonymous with beauty, happiness and profusion. The women liked to adorn themselves with the flowers which grow there. The beloved of the Song of Songs, says that for her, her beloved is more valuable than the flowers of En-Gaddi.

Mary, the Immaculate Conception, is an oasis of purity in a humanity stained by sin. As for the bride of the Song of Songs, it is her Beloved which makes her beautiful and gives her joy: in Mary, everything already comes from Christ. Let us regain confidence as we drink the water from this fountain. The purity that Mary has never lost is ours to receive and acquire by the grace of God, as we journey towards innocence.

Mary, Our Lady of Lourdes, Our Lady of Joy, “Cause of our joy,” help us desire the grace of a beautiful, luminous and fruitful life. May there be no more Dead Seas in our lives, but a refreshing oasis, as in En-Gaddi.

Water Walk #3, Lourdes

2007-06-22T22:00:00.001+08:00

We are still with Moses. But Moses is no longer on his own. With him, under his leadership, all his people came out of Egypt. The water is running short for both people and animals. Tomorrow, without water, it is certain death. Today it is fear. All turn against Moses: Why did he lead them out of Egypt if it is to die in an agony of thirst? Behind Moses, it is God Himself that the people blame: they suspect God is taking them on a path that leads to death. On God’s Order, Moses strikes the rock and the water gushes forth, the people drink and recover their taste for life. Centuries later, with a spear, a centurion will pierce the side of Jesus, our rock, the corner stone of our faith. The water of life will gush forth, the water he had promised to the woman of Samaria.

“Meribah” means dispute. The people sought to quarrel with God. God forgave them but the people must not forget:

“O that today you would listen to his voice! Do not harden your hearts, as at Meribah, as on the day at Massah in the wilderness when your ancestors tested me, and put me to the proof, though they had seen my work.” (Psalm 95:7-9)

Mary, your faith had been tested. You were anguished when you sought your Son Jesus lost in the Temple of Jerusalem. You have been tested, but you did not doubt. You did not harden your heart. You cried over our sins, because they signify our death and because you love us as a mother loves her children.

Mary, Our Lady of Lourdes, Our Lady of Sorrows, “Refuge of sinners,” obtain for us the gift of tears. May we cry over our sins so that our tears may become gleams of light. “Happy are those who mourn, they will be consoled.”

Water Walk #2, Lourdes

2007-06-21T21:54:00.001+08:00

It was in the beginning of the church, Stephen had just been stoned to death and Paul was not yet converted. A eunuch, a pagan who sympathized with the Jewish people, was on his way down from Jerusalem to Gaza. The Holy Spirit sent the deacon Philip to rejoin him on the road in the same way as Jesus had rejoined the pilgrims on the road to Emmaus. The man was reading the passage of the prophet Isaiah talking about the Suffering Servant, the Sacrificed Lamb. A conversation starts.

-Do you understand what you are reading?

-How can I understand unless someone guides me?

The Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus. As they were going along the road, they came to some water: and the eunuch said: ‘Look, here is some water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?’ He commanded the chariot to stop, and both of them, Philip and the eunuch, went down into the water, and Philip baptized him. The eunuch went on his way rejoicing. (Acts 8:26-39). Philip was a catechist to that man and his teaching led him to be baptized. Mary was Bernadette’s catechist, and she started by teaching her how to make the Sign of the Cross. She will instruct her up to her receiving Communion on 3^rd June 1858, a few weeks before the last apparition.

At the hour of the Passion, Jesus gives a guide and a teacher to his disciples: the guide is the Holy Spirit, the mother is Mary, His Mother. Both speak as one voice because Mary, who is full of grace, is totally attuned to the Holy Spirit.

Mary, Our Lady of Lourdes, “Mother of Good Counsel,” Be our catechist, nobody knows Jesus Christ better than you do since you are His Mother and Our Mother. May the freshness of Baptism and the warmth of Confirmation be revived in us! Like Bernadette, make us love the Eucharist, the perfect gift of the One who became flesh in you.

Water Walk # 1, Lourdes

2007-06-21T21:36:00.000+08:00

The clans of Abraham and Abimelech practically fought over the ownership of the local wells. Today, on a universal scale, nations run the risk of billing one another for access to drinking water. However, in Beersheba, a miracle occurred. The adversaries made peace. They swore an oath and the well of Beersheba is the symbol of their mutual reconciliation. The whole story of Abraham is the story of a covenant. In him, a pact was concluded between God and a family destined to become a multitude, as numerous as the stars in the sky and the grains of sand on the beach. A covenant with God, a covenant with humanity: both go hand in hand.

Mary, you carried in your flesh the Word Incarnate. In him, a covenant was concluded forever between God and man. In his own flesh, on the cross, He conquered hatred. Hatred killed His body; it did not succeed in killing His love for us and His father. His heart was pierced, but from His pierced heart flowed water and blood, which foretold the sacraments of life.

Mary, Our Lady of Lourdes, Ark of the New Covenant, help us to become reconciled men and women, artisans of peace, sons and daughters of the new covenant.

Lourdes: A Pilgrim's Visit

2007-06-21T19:27:00.001+08:00

It is our first night in Lourdes, France. From the open window of my hotel room, I could glimpse the tiny flickers of candle lights slowly moving in the dark. The church bells are pealing loud into the cold night. Then, I hear the chanting of Ave, Ave, Ave Maria by a multitude of pilgrims.

I feel like I have gone back in time. Lourdes gives you that timeless feeling. Perhaps it is because the faith is fervently alive in this town; it is the central focus of life which, for me, is remarkable considering in this age of materialism.

No one comes to Lourdes by chance.

As soon as I enter my room at La Solitude Hotel and see Van Gogh’s painting, Café Terrace on the Place du Forum, hanging on the wall over the bed, I begin to understand why no one comes to Lourdes by chance. How can I explain the coincidence of finding the exact painting of Van Gogh hanging in my own bedroom back in the Philippines? It is no accident that I am here in Lourdes.

You were called by our Lady of Lourdes. She has a message for you.

For three days, we hear an English mass every 9:00 am at the Chapel of St. Cosmos and St. Damian. The mass is concelebrated by a number of priests, and on the first day I have the honor of reading the Gospel before an audience of many nationalities – American, English, Indian, Filipino, Australian, Canadian, etc. The priests in Lourdes are very passionate about their Catholic faith, and by God’s grace they enlighten the pilgrims with wisdom in their homily. Fr. Marian, the resident chaplain, tells us that no one comes to Lourdes by chance. We are called by Our Lady with a message. It is up to us to discern that message.

Penitence, penitence, penitence. Pray to God for the conversion of sinners.

Our Lady’s words to Bernadette still rings true today: Penitence and Conversion. Inspired by the sacrament of the Eucharist, my friends and I walk to the Reconciliation Chapel, where confession begins at 10 am everyday. We sit down to meditate on our sins, guided by a leaflet on the Sacrament of Reconciliation:

You have come to experience the Lord’s forgiveness and compassion. It is a very personal moment in your relationship with God. Sin is not merely a series of failures. It is also our sharing in what is actually evil: unbelief, indifference, selfishness, violence, contempt for the weak, eroticism, racism, neglect of the poor, money seeking, wastefulness, a spirit of pride and superiority. The call to reconciliation is part of the message of Lourdes.

Go and drink from the spring and wash yourself in it.

At the heart of Lourdes is the Grotto at Massabielle. Like other pilgrims, we line up to get close to the miraculous spring which Bernadette unearthed in 1858. I allow a Croatian pilgrim to insert in line so that she could touch with her handkerchief the rocks of the Grotto. I feel a drop of water land on top of my head. No, it isn’t raining. It comes from the crevices of the rocks in the Grotto. ‘Blessing’ says my friend Aida behind me. Seconds later, a drop of water lands on her shoulders. Soon, we come to the blessed spring which is visible through a glass plate on the ground. It’s an incredible sight! My heart swells with joy and awe at this heavenly wonder.

I have my heart set for the Baths but the next day my menstruation arrives, making it impossible to bathe. But I am happy because it’s a little miracle. I have missed my menstruation for some months prior to the trip. Too much stress, worry and work have taken its toll on my body’s normal cycle. Yet, it comes back when I am in Lourdes. So, we do the Water Walk instead, composed of several drinking fountains where one can wash or drink the same spring water, with biblical passages and prayers in each fountain. Despite the freezing weather and rain, my twin sister Joan and I decide to take photos of each fountain. I know it sounds silly but I wanted to bring home something from Lourdes. The biblical passages remind me of our trip to Israel a decade ago, and I wanted to remember the quotes for future meditations.

Tell the priests to let the people come in procession and let a chapel be built….

The weather in Lourdes is strange, according to the resident priests. Where other parts of France are sunny and cool in the springtime, Lourdes remains cloudy, rainy and freezing cold. Despite this every night we see many pilgrims, bundled up in winter clothes and carrying lighted candles, walk to the Rosary square for the Marian night time procession. The road to salvation isn’t easy, I thought, even for pilgrims.

We join them on our third night. How can I explain the feeling of belonging to a human race that loves God above all things? A gathering of souls who are devoted to Mary, the Mother of God? Imagine the darkness, thousands of lighted candles, the chorus of Ave Maria and Salve Regina, the rosary recited in different languages, the moving silhouettes, and the cold rainy weather. In Lourdes, the pilgrims really storm the heavens with prayers, night and day. The Marian night procession is an experience of a lifetime.

I am the Immaculate Conception…

We hear mass in French at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, built between 1862 and 1889. Sitting on the front pew, there’s no chance for us to admire the stain glass windows depicting the apparitions. The Basilica has only one nave, with many arches surrounding the altar and a tall, arch-shaped ceiling. Aside from the priest, only one man is singing during the mass, but his voice soars and echoes throughout the whole church. After the mass, the priest walks to an image of Our Lady of Lourdes on one side of the church, blesses it and everyone prays a Hail Mary and a short prayer to her. It is very touching, solemn.

The Rosary Basilica, beneath the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception and the crypt, contains all the fifteen mysteries of the Rosary in beautiful mosaics. Each mystery has its own altar, and I go to the Assumption altar to offer a rosary in thanksgiving for our birthday which falls on the Assumption. It is no coincidence either that we were born on this day.

This flame continues my prayer….

Near the grotto are candle stands containing rows of candles offered by pilgrims. I am struck by these words over the flames. If you ever wonder how heaven will feel like, you can almost imagine it in Lourdes. It is one of the few places on earth where God reigns first, where people of many races, and even religion, gather together in deep prayer and worship. As in any pilgrimage, it is not without sadness that one leaves such a holy place, but like the burning flames, it only takes a spark to invoke the spirit of God and the intercession of Our Lady. I hope that someday you can also go to or return to Lourdes.

Siam Magic

2006-11-23T22:51:00.000+08:00

In the semi-darkness, a spotlight focused on a half-naked man with his back turned against us. He whipped up an ancient instrument and delivered several mighty blows to the gong. With successive blows, he beat faster and faster, and the sound echoed in our ears. Several maidens, dressed in ancient Thai costumes and carrying lighted lamps, walked slowly in procession towards the stage. Their movements were slow and graceful, and soon, half-naked men carrying the carriages of the Queen and the King by their shoulders came on stage. They had come to offer homage to the relics of their Lord Buddha.

In the next 80 minutes, we were transported to the enchanted kingdom of Siam in a spectacular stage production called Siam Niramit. I couldn’t forget how angels dressed in traditional Thai costumes flew across the stage, suspended like acrobats while performing graceful aerial dances. I saw mystical, golden creatures, live elephants, ancient ships, ancient temples, ancient villages, Thai dances and boxing, and a river on stage! The experience was enchanting, exotic, and truly Thai. I even got to participate in a candlelit ceremony called Loy Krathong. It’s too bad no cameras were allowed inside the 2000 seat theatre. Thailand is the only Southeast Asian nation that was never colonized. Is it any wonder that Thai people remain as gentle, friendly and traditionally Asian?

“In the olden days, they used to dance before the royalty,” says Joey, our Filipino friend who lives in Thailand. This could perhaps explain the slow, regal movements of the dancers. Even the Royal Anthem before the performance sounded more like an elegant, classical music than the usual march-like beat. It does help that the country has a monarch who is well-loved by the people; the monarchy unifies the people, deepens their appreciation for history, culture, and tradition and best of all, the monarchy works for the welfare of the people. When we were at the Vimanmek complex, for instance, we visited the Souvenir Shop that was supported by the Queen. "All products sold here are made by a certain village," says a Filipino colleage Tata Lantin, "and all proceeds go to helping this village, as part of the Queen's project." As a keepsake, we purchased a small, porcelain child wearing an ancient Thai costume, seated in a prayer-like pose called the wai.

When we visited the Grand Palace or the Vimanmek Mansion, what struck me was the subdued elegance of the royal taste, set in a combination of European and Thai architecture. According to our tour guide Jitra, Cambodia (Kampuchea) used to be a part of Thailand, and this explained the influence of Cambodian designs on their temples such as Wat Arun, Wat Pho and Wat Phra Kaew. Because of the good relations of the monarchy with the rest of the world, Thailand remained free from colonization. What would it be like to live in such palaces? Well, we can take a cue from Anna Leonowens of the King and I fame. She was once the royal tutor and governess at the royal court of Siam. Personally, I am glad that Anna respected the customs of the Thai such as the wai (a prayer-like greeting) and their respect for the monarch despite the cultural differences. These traditions lived on till modern times.

One can’t speak of Bangkok without talking about the latest malls, shopping bargains and Thai food. Do check out the latest mall, Siam Paragon in Pathumwan. The items sold here are branded but if you’re lucky enough, they might have a sale. The more you buy, the greater your discount, would you believe? I have never seen a mall so grandiose in design; it’s like a six star hotel. Central in Central Chidlom is also good for branded items. The Foodloft on the 7^th floor is an open kitchen restaurant and serves many cuisines. But if you want to shop for Thai souvenirs, food items like the tamarind or clothes, the best place is still MBK Center where you can bargain. These malls are all connected with pedestrian walkways. On weekends, there’s the Jatujak weekend market for exotic finds but be prepared for the heat.

There is a popular Thai restaurant in nearby Siam Square that is standing room only, Som tum nua, (papaya salad restaurant). “This place is always full,” says Mike, a Filipino-German friend who works in Thailand. “Food is very good and very reasonably priced.” It’s no wonder they had cushions outside the restaurant for customers to wait while waiters got the orders in advance. The food was indeed delicious, and we tasted sticky rice served in native containers for the first time. Thai food can be spicy with those red chillies, but if you know how to counter the spice (like eating sugar or fresh vegetables), you can still enjoy favourites such as tom yam soup, pineapple rice (or jasmine), chicken in pandan leaves, Thai fried noodles, to name a few.

After all that sightseeing and shopping, we gave in to a traditional Thai massage at the hotel’s spa. The one and a half hour dry massage was very different from the usual Western, aromatherapy massage. The masseuse was really good; the right pressure and stretches on the body, starting from the foot to the head, was therapeutic and relaxing. Best of all, there is no sticky oil that lingers on the body and hair. We were soon off to a finale: a dinner river cruise on the Chao Phraya River. The Grand Palace and Wat Arun were breathtaking at night, and we enjoyed dinner on the deck with magnificent views. We were sorry to leave the next day; we had fallen in love with Thailand, the country and its people, thanks to the hospitality of our Filipino friends. When our plane took off from the new Suvarnabhumi airport, we saw those rice fields again, hundreds of them. Traditional yet forward-looking, I thought. That’s Thailand.

Keranamu Malaysia

2006-10-05T19:01:00.000+08:00

As our car sped down the banner-filled street named Jalan Dang Wangi, we asked the tour guide what the words Keranamu Malaysia meant.

“Because of you, Malaysia,” said Raza, turning the car around a street corner. “Do you know New York’s Time Square? Do you have something like it in your country?”

We were in Malaysia’s Berjaya Time Square, inspired by New York’s Time Square. The Asian version is slightly similar, minus the skyscrapers, large billboards and crowds. We were impressed. We hadn’t expected Malaysia to be so modern like Singapore but with the beautiful natural resources.

We arrived in Kuala Lumpur a few days before Merdeka day, August 31 to find the city bedecked with Malaysian flags. If it weren’t for this half-day city tour, we couldn’t have known that Merdeka in Malay means independence. The country achieved independence (without any war) on August 31, 1957 as the Federation of Malaya under the first prime minister Tuanku Abdul Rahmn Putra Al-Haj. Malaysia was formed with the entry of Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore in 1963. Two years later, Singapore became an independent country.

High above the clouds on board the Air Asia flight to Kuala Lumpur, we had seen the lush green plantations of palm oil trees surrounding the Kuala Lumpur International Airport. We learned that Malaysia is the world’s largest palm oil producer and palm oil has traditionally been used as cooking oil (vegetable oil). Because of the high price of crude oil, the demand for alternative sources of energy is great and biofuel is one such alternative.

Biofuel can be made from vegetable oils obtained from crushing palm fruit. It’s really hitting two birds in one stone: the palm oil tree plantations are valuable for the ecosystem and enhances the international airport while its fruits are commercially in demand worldwide.

Our private city tour took us (my twin and I) to Merdeka Square where we saw tents and preparations being made for Merdeka day. According to Raza, the members of the Royal Selangor Club once played football, rugby and cricket at the Merdeka Square during the British occupation in the 1930s and before World War II. The flagpole in the middle of the square is one of the tallest in the world – 100 meters high. The Malaysians have preserved the English gardens and fountains as well as the Tudor-design of the Royal Selangor Club adjacent to the square.

Across Merdeka Square, the Sultan Abdul Samad Building (Supreme Court) was also undergoing a last minute paint job. Even with the scaffolding, the tower clock, graceful arches, and copper domes are reminiscent of Moorish architecture. Nearby is the old railway station which is also of Moorish architecture, with its minarets and arches. Looking at this old world charm, I can only imagine that Malaya in the 1930s must have been exotic.

The best part of our tour was the visit to a leather factory, batik factory and chocolate factory. You guessed it, I love going to factories not only because of the authentic finds but also because one learns something new from these visits.

At the batik factory, for instance, we learned that a genuine, high-quality batik would have the same pattern equally visible on both sides of the cloth. This indicates the application of wax on both sides instead of one side only. For that is what batik really is – a method of dyeing a fabric by which the parts of the fabric not intended to be dyed are covered with removable wax. The hand-painted (silk) batik is the most expensive, running into hundreds of ringgits! For my mother, I found her two cotton batik dresses with a back sash that can be tied to a ribbon to accentuate the body. Because my mom hates the “large, shapeless” batiks normally found at the flea markets, we had to look for not-too-expensive cotton batiks with a unique style.

Malaysian batik designs and colors are more contemporary as compared with traditional Javanese batiks that use human or animal figures and earth colors. This factory makes it for tourists because the batik motifs are either flora, fauna or marine. The artist-salesman demonstrated to us, using a mannequin, the different ways one can use a batik silk scarf as a beach top. It really came out sexy on the mannequin. ‘You have a nice figure,’ he said, ‘why don’t you try it and see? I’d like to see you in it.’ I shook my head, smiling. Maybe if I’m alone and no one’s looking!

At the leather factory, the salesman started by showing us a real cow’s skin hanging on a wall, complete with cow’s hair and leather beneath it. He punched the leather with his fist, as if proving that it’s really genuine. If a hole is pierced, he said, the leather is a fake. This Malaysian factory, he said, made leather goods for famous brands abroad. How much is a bag worth? Oh, even at factory prices, the bags ranged from 300 ringgits to a thousand ringgits! Considering the exchange rate of 3.6 ringgits to a dollar, a bag for a hundred US dollars? I settled for a pair of soft leather boots instead, for US$35. At a convention later that evening, I inaugurated the brand new shoes when I went up the stage to share my health story before an audience of 500! Strange as it may seem, the brand-new boots boosted my confidence. No wonder they call it power dressing.

The chocolate factory was not in our original itinerary but we wouldn’t miss it for the world. I love chocolates, but I have to watch my cholesterol if I eat too much. Beryl’s is a Malaysian brand of chocolate and the most saleable chocolate is the Tiramisu, as in tiramisu cake. Instead of cake, they coat almonds with Tiramisu-flavored chocolate which is really delicious. If one can’t go to Beryl’s Chocolate factory, you can find them at the Central Market or known locally as Pasar Seni or “Art Market.” (Another bonus at the Central Market is the Foreign Exchange rate which is better than those in the malls.)

If you’re shopping for Malaysian souvenirs, you will find them at the Central Market – batik scarves, tee-shirts (that glow at night), bags, handicrafts, postcards, paintings, etc. – at cheaper prices. You can also find stores selling Indian or Chinese specialties. That afternoon, three young Chinese-Malaysians were playing beautiful music using wooden, stringed instruments before a small crowd of tourists.

There is one mall that you shouldn’t miss while in Kuala Lumpur though. That’s the KLCC or the Kuala Lumpur Convention Center. At the second and fourth floors, you can select your food from the many cuisines available. That first evening, we were famished and cold from the travel, and a hot soup was on our minds. We found the Ipoh stall, which offered several soups, and opted for the Ipoh Fish ball Hor Fun noodles. Ipoh, it turned out, is an actual city in Malaysia that is famous for its noodles. The flat, white rice noodles, along with Fish balls and other seafood served in a soup, was heavenly. But don’t forget the best part of the KLCC – that’s the short cut to the Petronas Towers. The Petronas is awesome. Pure, unadulterated stainless steel. We missed seeing it at night because we didn’t know there was a shortcut from the KLCC that first evening. No one told us.

If you’re flying with Air Asia, you might as well try Pak Nasser’s Nasi Lemak for 8 ringgits. Nasi Lemak is a traditional Malay favorite, tender chicken rending with fragrant coconut milk and pandan rice. It’s served with accompaniments like cucumber, peanuts, boiled egg, fried fish and sambal sauce. If you’re not used to eating spicy food, take it easy on the sambal sauce. Just take a little, to spice things up. At the Armada Hotel where we stayed, the best part of the daily buffet breakfast was the rice: long-grained and fragrant. I don’t remember the names of the Malaysian dishes that we tried, but they all tasted good with the rice.

NZ Cuisine: a taste for diversity and innovation

2006-05-19T14:22:00.000+08:00

New Zealand cuisine is culturally diverse – with European, Maori, Polynesian, Asian and Indian influences. It is a reflection of the country’s multicultural society, geography and history. Kiwi barbecues – featuring NZ beef, lamb, pork sausage, and seafood – are a big part of the culture, and typify the relaxed, friendly and casual nature of the Kiwis.

At the heart of NZ cuisine are the fresh ingredients – succulent shellfish and seafood, lean and tender beef, lamb or cervena (venison), the world’s finest diary products, garden-fresh fruits (apples, pears, and kiwifruit) and vegetables, world-class wines – there is no shortage of top quality culinary ingredients.

Typical New Zealand dishes include roasted leg of lamb, traditionally known in NZ as “Colonial goose,” grilled or roasted muttonbird (a Maori delicacy) and pavlova, the national dessert. “Fish and chips” (fries) is the traditional NZ take-away (take-out), while hokey pokey ice cream is the ice cream icon.

Each year, New Zealand harvests three-quarters of a million tons of seafood from its coastal waters and Exclusive Economic zone under a successful Quota Management System. The delicate fresh flavors of NZ fish, such as hoki, hake, orange roughy, snaper or Pacific King salmon are perfect with NZ’s fusion cuisine. Raw shellfish, such as paua (abalone) and ling (eel) are best served raw, in sushi or sashimi-style, while green-lipped mussels, rock lobster (crayfish) or Bluff oysters are delicious when marinated.

The traditional Maori hangi (pronounced hung-ee) is another style of barbecuing that is distinctly NZ. Kumara (potato), along with chicken, pork, lamb, cabbage, pumpkin, bread stuffing or steam pudding are cooked in the umu (earth oven). A hole is dug in the ground and lined with red-hot stones. A steel basket containing the food is placed over the hot stones. After a quick spray of water over the stones to create steam, it is covered with wet banana leaves or wet mutton cloth. Wet potato or sugar sacks are placed over the wet sheets. The hole is then filled with earth and left to steam for several hours. The resulting smoky flavor of the hangi is delicious, and an essential culinary experience for tourists.

An important element is NZ cuisine is innovation, through research and technology. New Zealand continues to develop new varieties and products for universal consumption.

In the 1970s, New Zealand pioneered deer farming. Today, it is the world’s leading producer and exporter of farmed venison.

New Zealand also developed Royal Gala and Braeburn apples, now known as premium eating apples. New Zealanders perfected the growing techniques, post-harvest procedures, quality assurance programs, transportation and market distribution systems of the kiwifruit.

The fellowship of Food and Wine

Over the last 30 years, New Zealand wines slowly evolved to complement its cuisine. Internationally acclaimed NZ Sauvignon Blanc from Marlborough region is now rated the world’s best with its unique flavors of gooseberries, passion fruit, lime, melon, nectarine, red pepper (Capsicum) or asparagus. Fresh is best with Sauvignon Blanc. Its vibrant flavors enhance the freshness of seafood and white fish, especially when served with citrus or garlic-based sauces and fresh summer salads with tomatoes and capsicum.

NZ Pinot Noir is now officially one of the great (red) wines of the world. Pinot Noir from Martinborough region has earned the highest accolades for New Zealand with its strong, ripe plum flavors and great concentration. The south island regions of Marlborough and Nelson produce Pinot Noir with strong cherry and plum flavors while Central Otago region produces Pinot Noir with strong black cherry flavors.

NZ Pinot Noir suits a wide range of dishes. Lean meats, such as veal, venison or turkey, are perfect with Pinot Noir. The cherry flavors of Pinot Noir from southern regions complement the flavor of turkey like the classic garnish, cranberry sauce.

NZ Chardonnay is earning a reputation as a versatile food wine. Fresh, youthful NZ Chardonnay is delicious with most seafood dishes, such as scallops, crab, crayfish, white-fleshed fish and salmon. Mature NZ Chardonnay is rich and complex, with concentrated nutty flavors which blend with stronger dishes and creamy sauce.

NZ sparkling wines are typically stronger, have more fruit flavor and, have higher acidity levels than champagne. From full-flavored Pinot Noir to finer and more delicate Blanc de Blanc (100% Chardonnay), NZ sparkling wines suit a wide range of light-flavored dishes, such as crayfish, crab, scallops, caviar and white-fleshed fish.

New Zealand’s ability to produce outstanding red wines from Bordeaux varieties complements the country’s reputation for producing quality white wines. Cabernet Sauvignon or Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blends are full-bodied, with ripe berry flavors..

High fat meats, such as lamb or duck, have strong flavors that are an excellent match for Cabernet Sauvignon or Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blends. Merlot is less intense in flavor, and suits leaner meats and savory dishes like stew or casseroles.

The delicate flavors and crisp acidity of dry aromatic wines, such as New Zealand Reisling, Gewurztraminer and Pinot Gris blend with a wide range of moderately flavored salads, seafood and chicken dishes. Slightly sweet aromatic wines are delicious with spicy Thai and other Asian dishes. They can also suit vegetarian dishes, or dessers such as fresh fruit or soft blue cheese.

Truly, Kiwi ingenuity and excellence in food and wine shows that New Zealand can stand tall as one of the world’s great producers of food and beverage products.

Sleepless in Rome

2006-04-20T15:15:00.000+08:00

Mountains of cheese sit alongside of cheese-filled tortellini and spinach ravioli. Nearby are selections of fresh olives, mushrooms, pine nuts and cold meats like prosciutto and pancetta. Across the aisle, live seafood and poultry vie with fresh fruits and vegetables for attention.

It is early morning at the local market near Rome’s Piazza Vittorio Emmanuelle, a few blocks from Via Merulana. This is where we (my sister and I) start our day, and if you love Italian pasta like I do, you will find all the fresh ingredients here. And to complement the Italian produce, you can drink the cold water flowing from the fire hydrants around the city. This is one of the best things I discovered in Rome.

According to the locals, the fresh water comes from the aqueducts built by the Romans, and is potable to drink. Incredibly, it’s free. No wonder I love Roman water.

There is no doubt that the soul of the city is in the arts. Of all the paintings that I saw, the one that struck me the most is Michaelangelo's painting of The Last Judgment and The Creation that are displayed in the Sistine Chapel. I can't explain why but I found it frightening and fascinating at the same time. I can just imagine the wailing and anguish of the souls in purgatory with their hands outstretched for help or relief. The painting must have affected me because I had a nightmare that evening.

In my dream, I was walking alone in the dark, when suddenly a hand touched my arm. Then another hand, and then another until numerous hands trapped both my arms and legs and I couldn’t move my body! The forces were so strong and real. I remember wailing, “Mother, help me,” when suddenly I was free again. I woke up sweating and looked at my watch. It was 3:00 am, Roman time.

At first, I didn’t understand the significance of my dream. Afterwards, I realized that the poor souls in purgatory can no longer merit from their own sufferings but must rely on the prayers of the living. Perhaps, they needed our prayers and wanted to share in the merits of the indulgences of our pilgrimage. Whatever the reason, one thing is for certain. Our prayers here on earth are important to them and they must not be forgotten.

Only the day before, we visited the sanctuary of the Scala Santa (Sacred Steps) which houses what pilgrims believe to be the marble steps used by Jesus outside Pontius Pilate’s house in Jerusalem. According to tradition, pilgrims gain an indulgence for their sins if they ascend the covered steps on their knees, while pausing to recite prayers on each step. This sanctuary was not originally in our itinerary but Josie, the Filipina who is in charge of the pensione, suggested it. I am glad we took up her suggestion. I remember now that the sanctuary has 28 steps, and it took us an hour on our knees before we finally reached the altar at the top. I felt a sense of peace, like a heavy burden was lifted off my shoulders. Unlike Martin Luther, it made perfect sense to me to make amends for my sins at the Scala Santa.

The next day, we heeded another suggestion and continued on to the Chapel of the Relics at the Church of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme to view the fragments of the “true cross” found by St. Helena, including pieces from the cross of the good thief Dismas. You’ll have to believe in miracles because the fragments survived the passage of time, much like the incorruptible bodies of the saints in France. And if you’re not squeamish, you’ll see the finger of the doubting Thomas among the relics!

For Catholic pilgrims, there is a church at nearly every corner in Rome. Of course, St. Peter’s Basilica tops the list and an audience with the Pope, which happens weekly, is the next best thing to a papal mass. You will have to reserve your tickets in advance but it is free. To be among the thousands who flock to St. Peter’s Square is a special treat and you can feel the love in the air, especially when the Pope arrives. It is amazing to see the Pope in person because he has that aura of holiness and humility which is admirable considering that he is so popular, pilgrims go fanatic over him. Modern Catholics might find him rigid, but I believe he must set the high moral standard for us, or else we will be lost like a flock of sheep without a shepherd.

In following the footsteps of the apostles and early Christians at the four basilicas: Santa Maria Maggiore, San Giovanni in Laterano, San Paolo fuori le Mura, and San Pietro, we came away with a deeper appreciation of the rich history of our Catholic faith and the realization that the values and doctrines preserved for the past 2,000 years must remain alive in us and in our lives. That’s the real meaning of why Rome is the eternal city – because of its fellowship with God.

Chronicles of a Graduate in NZ

2006-04-03T16:54:00.000+08:00

(Based on the true story of Marivic Jaramillo)

Fate, like love, moves in mysterious ways. In the summer of 2000, I visited New Zealand for the first time as a tourist, fell in love with the country, and met someone special. Exactly a year later, I’m back again, but this time as a postgraduate student. Like Robert Frost, you could say that I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference in my life.

My life as a graduate student in NZ was a mix of fun, adventure and survival. It’s a new, exciting environment, where I met people of diverse cultures and gained different perspectives of life. I stayed in YWCA (Young Women’s Christian Association), a hostel located in Central Auckland, close to all major bus routes and transport terminals. It is a five-minute walk to the Wellesley campus of Auckland University of Technology (AUT), where I have evening classes in business at Graduate Diploma level, with a Human Resource pathway (major).

Auckland is New Zealand’s biggest city, and home to more than a quarter of the population. It is a melting pot of cultures, from Pacific Islander to Asian to European. What impressed me about the city is the balance of nature and modern structures, and the pure New Zealand air! I loved taking strolls along the wharfs and parks in downtown Auckland, and walking along the shops in central Queen Street.

Living on my own, doing chores and studying again were a struggle at first. Some of my kiwi (New Zealander) classmates were very friendly, warm and accommodating. It took me less than a month to adjust to the people, and lifestyle as I had already traveled to New Zealand before. I developed a close friendship with one of my female Kiwi classmates because we have the same pathway (HR). The other Asian nationals in AUT were equally friendly.

AUT is the latest university in New Zealand, formerly established as an institute of technology. It has five faculties Arts, Business, Health, Science and Engineering. It assists industries and professionals to advance their knowledge and development through research. There are 19 research centers, and most of students’ assignments are researched-based essays.

The academic curriculum of AUT accords its students with a high quality of education. The methodology is anchored on a culture of discipline and honor system. Class attendance is not a must. I go to class four times a week, and Fridays are spent mostly in the library and computer lab doing research.

At the beginning of each term, the teachers present the course outline on a weekly basis, including the assignments that are needed. The assignments have a marking sheet which details the criteria and weight of grading based on a percentage of the following: content, arguments, critical thinking, presentation, and referencing. This grading system encourages students to harness their capabilities at forming and developing knowledge on the subject. A student can do the assignments well ahead of time, according to her own pace, and be guided by the criteria.

New Zealand teachers are very particular of plagiarism, which is passing off the ideas or works of another as one’s own without crediting the source. There is also a word limit to essay submissions, and they specify how many references we must include. Most of the teachers are very approachable, and helpful with respect to assignments. Looking back, I am grateful for their constructive criticisms.

International Human Resources, where I did a country profile of the Philippines, and Applied Management, are the most interesting subjects. The teaching method is very relaxed, spontaneous without losing sight of structure provided in the curriculum. Class participation is highly encouraged.

One of my unforgettable experiences in New Zealand is the bus trip up to the Bay Islands and Cape Reinga during our semestral break. That day, I fully understood the mighty power of nature – standing beside the gigantic kauri tree in Puketi Kauri Forest and feeling its ancient energy, climbing up the huge sand dunes of Te Paki Stream and leaving our footprints in the dessert sands, or just watching the rhythmic movements of the Tasman Sea as we cruised along the Ninety-Mile Beach. Cape Reinga lies on the northernmost tip of the North Island, where the Pacific Ocean crashes into the Tasman Sea. It was like standing on the edge of the earth, with the wide ocean and the horizon in the distance.

Another exciting moment is watching the All Blacks (Rugby Team of NZ) – the day they had their last practice game at Victoria Park. I secured the autographs of about 11 players that day, much to the amusement of my friends!

Indeed, education comes in different forms. Studying in NZ enhanced my interpersonal, critical thinking and research skills, which are important to my career. I also learned about life, the realities and paradoxes of people, culture, and love – matters that only the heart can understand.

Confessions of a Leper

2006-04-03T16:46:00.000+08:00

(Based on the true story of Roberto Abello Sr.)

It happened on a semestral break in 1969. I was then studying Law at the Far Eastern University in Manila, Philippines. I wanted to be a lawyer someday. One night, shortly before going to sleep, I noticed several white, round-like spots on my skin. Nothing to worry about, it’s only a simple disease, I thought. I applied Bioderm ointment on the spots.

Days passed. Instead of healing, the white spots multiplied like unwanted freckles all over my skin! I was clueless until one day a friend named Pepot, who was a midwife, noticed the spots on my back.

“Are they itchy?” she asked.

I shook my head. Pepot then sought my permission if she could prick a patch of white spots with a needle.

“Yes, do it,” I obliged.

While pricking, she asked me again if I felt something.

“No,” I said again.

Even if my friend suspected, she preferred not to tell me. Instead, Pepot suggested that I visit the Skin Disease Department of San Lazaro Hospital in Manila for a proper check-up. I followed her advice. The doctor at San Lazaro Hospital took a small sample of tissue from my skin for biopsy. The results of the biopsy came after three days.

“Don’t be startled,” said the doctor. “You have leprosy but it’s now curable.”

I was stunned. For several seconds, I stood motionless. It was as if a bomb exploded in front of me; the floor beneath me seemed like turning in circles.

When I broke the news to my aunt, with whom I was staying, she felt very sad and equally shocked. It was when I was alone in my room that I lost control of myself. Because of so much fear, worry and utter helplessness, I sobbed like a boy.

I couldn’t continue with law school. I went home to Samar, a province in the Visayas islands, to rest. But going home was another trip to Calvary.

Home was in Borongan, Eastern Samar, where I lived with my grandmother in a house that she owned. Since I became an orphan at a tender age, my grandmother’s house became my refuge. Together with an aunt and her family, we lived together in harmony. I thought the peaceful and clean surroundings of Borongan made it an ideal place for recuperation. When I arrived, however, the once-friendly atmosphere had changed.

Their smiles were tainted with anxiety, as I expected. I remained alone in my room. I didn’t go out nor visit friends for fear of being discovered with such a disease and tarnishing the family name. I was so lonely, yet I didn’t want to be feared, ridiculed or rejected.

My food was separated from the rest. A servant brought food to my room every day: rice, viand and drinking water. I felt uneasy about this because I didn’t want any special treatment. One day, as I was passing by the kitchen, I saw the servant dousing boiled water onto the plates, glasses and utensils that I used for eating.

This must not go on, I thought. Someday, something would snap. A chaos of emotions raged inside me: a boiling mixture of fear, hatred, shame, hopelessness and sorrow. The brutal description that I read about leprosy in a magazine “of fingers, nose or ears falling like autumn leaves” tormented me. Alone in my room one day, I decided to commit suicide.

I bought a bottle of Tanduay Rhum and a razor blade. The rhum was to numb the pain and embolden me to cut my wrist. I wrote a suicide letter addressed to my aunt and grandmother, thanking them for my education and support since I was a child. I hid the letter and waited for the right time to execute my plan.

I felt a temporary sense of release, mingled with fear. The waiting made me restless, and I forced myself to read to divert my mind. Choosing an old science book, I scanned the pages randomly. A picture with a caption that read, Culion, where lepers can live normally, caught my attention. Suddenly, I felt a surge of hope inside me. I found a solution to my problem, and I experienced a feeling of joy. I was saved!

The next day, I mastered enough courage to tell my grandmother of my intention to go to Culion, an island located in Palawan, for treatment. I arrived in Culion on April, 1970. On my first month, I observed that everything appeared normal. When I was with my fellow lepers, I was relaxed; no more mental tortures, worries or stigma. I even played chess with lepers who had open wounds. I realized the absurdity of my reaction to this disease. I reacted to the point of self-destruction.

After six months of medication (avlo-sulfone and ferrous sulfate), the many white spots in my body turned reddish and gradually subsided. It was comforting to know that my skin was healing, a signal that I was already “clean.” A series of blood and tissue examinations confirmed this. I tested negative for Hansen’s disease. (leprosy)

Riding on this splendid development, I regained my self-confidence and my outlook in life became brighter. I began to notice the girls around. At age 27, I fell in love with a charming, young widow, courted and eventually married her despite knowing that her parents were both lepers. Actually, I deliberately chose a girl whose lineage had a history of leprosy. In case my disease should return, she would understand and not be afraid. Most of al, she would not leave me for another.

More than 28 years had passed since I tested negative for Mycobacterium Leprae. I considered myself lucky. Unlike other lepers who were crippled by the disease, I did not sustain any wounds caused by the bacteria. Except for the numbness on my left forearm, nothing happened to the rest of my body.

As one of the victims of leprosy, I can now vouch for what doctors claim about the disease: Leprosy is curable. The expression “living dead” which used to describe lepers is now a thing of the past. I want to express my gratitude to all the selfless scientists, doctors and lay people who dedicated their lives finding the cause and cure of Hansen’s disease. And for those who are still striving to help alleviate the pains (physical or psychological) of lepers, I salute them all!

Road to the Blue Mountain

2006-03-25T07:38:00.000+08:00

“We are in dreamtime. Go and resonate with nature. Whatever comes to you brings a message,” our tour guide tells us. We are in a place called the Euroka Clearing, in the Blue Mountains National Park, Glenbrook, New South Wales, Australia.

Suddenly, a flock of white cockatoos, Australian king-parrots, appear behind a nearby tree and fly over us. “They’re welcoming us,” I said excitedly.

“The bush is said to have eyes,” replies our guide. He watches the flight of the cockatoos. “Did you know that whenever you visit the bush you can be sure that the creatures of the bush will be watching you? You can feel their eyes as you enter their home.”

It is a sunny, 18C wintry morning. We breathe the fresh Eucalypt air of the mountains, and except for the cries of the cockatoos, magpies and crows, everything is quiet.

Most of us saunter to where the kangaroos are. They are Eastern Grey kangaroos, smaller than the Red kangaroos of the desert. To see “kangaroos in the wild” is so extraordinary, I thought, as I flashed my camera. It is a picture of harmony, for the kangaroos are in their natural habitat.

Yet, it is a fragile habitat. Bushfires are the number one danger, according to our guide. The Blue Mountains Parks Administration practices controlled burning of the bush alongside the park road. The burnt area contains the real bushfires, while the heat from the fire germinates the seeds scattered on the ground. Soon, new seedlings sprout and the cycle of tree life continues.

The Wonderbus continues along the Great Western Highway, and from a distance, we could glimpse the blue haze above the plateaus of the Upper Blue Mountains. I learn that the blue haze is the effect of light rays scattering (refracting) when oil droplets evaporating from the Eucalyptus trees in the valley mix with dust particles in the air. Thus, the name “Blue Mountains.”

Our guide points out the shrubs of small, ball-like yellow flowers alongside the highway. It is the Golden Wattle, Australia’s National flower. It is from the flowers and leaves of the Golden Wattle that inspired the adoption of the colors gold and green as Australia’s national colors.

We reach the town of Wentworth Falls, named after William Wentworth, one of the three explorers who crossed the Blue Mountains in 1813. Gathering at the Jamison Lookout, we behold a stunning panorama of sandstone cliffs formed by sedimentary deposits of water dating back 240 million years ago!

“This Banksia is what you’d call a species tree, dating back to the Jurassic era,” Richard says as he points to an odd-looking tree. There are around 15 world species tree, 13 of which are found in Australia. The Wollemi Pine tree discovered in the Blue Mountains is another example of a “living fossil.” Rising out of the valley, we could see plateaus and mountains with intriguing names: Mount Solitary, Inspiration Point, Sublime Point, and Kings Tableland where there are Aboriginal rock engravings.

We learn about the Australian Aboriginal culture. Aborigines regard the earth as a living entity. The fauna and flora of the landscape have an “increase centre” – this is an area of high electromagnetic energy where the performance of correct rituals will increase the life essence stored there and bring about the desired increase. These “centers” exist along a path of underground telluric currents (energy lines of the earth) or the “path of the rainbow serpent” in the Aboriginal culture.

From the Jamison Lookout, we follow the Den Fenella walking trail to Wentworth Falls, bush-walking (as Australians refer to hiking) along narrow and wet trails strewn with large stones until we finally reach the falls’ lookout an hour later. It is a refreshing, beautiful sight; we could see the waterfalls plunging nearly 300 meters into the Jamison Valley below us!

The Wonderbus passes through the picturesque town of Leura, and soon we arrive at the capital city of Katoomba. Our next stop is the Three sisters at Echo Point Lookout. The Three Sisters are ancient sandstone formations, towering over the green forests of the Jamison Valley. From a distance, the Three Sisters create an illusion of three individuals, as if turned to stone according to an Aboriginal legend.

We can make out the yellow-brown hues of the nearby plateaus, shining like crowns over the Eucalypt trees in the valley, and the deep blue mist hovering above added a final touch to the rugged landscape. It is a magnificent work of nature, spanning 230-280 million years ago, when all the area was beneath the sea! Now a World Heritage Listed area, I can understand why the Blue Mountains National Park is the number one tourist destination in New South Wales.

Driving along Cliff Drive, the Wonderbus steers toward Scenic World, where one can ride the Scenic Railway, Skyway or Sceniscender cable car. At the same price, it is now possible to go down into the valley on any one of the three rides and return to the top of the cliff likewise on any of the three rides. Do you want to know what its like to go up against the earth’s gravity? Try Scenic Railway going back to the cliff top. Or are you brave enough to ride the Skyway cable car across the deep Jamison Valley? For the faint-hearted, the Sceniscender is the best option among the three.

As the Scenic Railway descends 229 meters vertically into Jamison Valley, I struggle to keep my eyes open to see the rain forest along the way. It is like riding a roller coaster through a rain forest, with a heart-pounding half joy, half fear.

At the bottom platform, we enjoy a stroll through the rain forest on a wooden boardwalk. There is an abandoned coal mine along the way, reminding us that in the 1880s, the Scenic Railway carried coals from the mines below to the cliff top.

Riding the modern Sceniscender cable car is a visual treat not to be missed. Through the glass walls, we get a bird’s eye view of the rain forest, the Three Sisters, Katoomba falls and Mount Solitary, among others, as it ascends 545 meters to the cliff top.

Our scenic eco day tour with Wonderbus finally ends. It is nearly sunset, at 4:30 pm. The Three Sisters are glowing red-orange now, the afternoon shadows highlighting the rugged edges of the sandstones. Along Cliff Drive, we travel pass Narrow Neck peninsula, which overlooks the adjoining Megalong valley, for a last look of the Blue Mountains, as darkness slowly descends on the bush (wildlife).

A Second Life

2006-03-21T21:49:00.000+08:00

When my Dad first visited Disneyland in Anaheim, California, he didn’t expect to suffer a heart attack. Why, he didn’t even know that his arteries were already blocked. He loved Disneyland like a kid. Indiana Jones’ wild ride, Pirates of the Caribbean, Jungle Cruise, Haunted Mansion, Peter Pan, Mark Twain’s Riverboat, Star Tours…you name it, he rode it.

The attack came slowly. One ride after another, his heart grew weaker. Several times he had to stop in his tracks to catch his breath. My Mom started to worry but Dad insisted that he was just feeling tired.

“I’ll be fine when I get some rest,” he said. “There’s no need to see a doctor.”

Four days later, on the morning of his 67^th birthday, Dad couldn’t get up from bed. His chest hurt badly and he could hardly breathe. He felt his stomach being punched. When my 6-year old nephew Richard came into his bedroom singing the Happy Birthday song, Dad was teary-eyed. He couldn’t even dress up for the 7 o’clock Mass. Wasn’t he supposed to enjoy his vacation?

Just like in the movies, things happened very fast. When my sister-in-law called the University of California-Irvine (UCI) emergency unit, the first miracle happened. Even on a saturday, the doctors and surgeons were on duty. That was critical under the circumstances.

“You are having a heart attack,” the doctor informed my Dad. That was an understatement for Dad.

“Are you sure I’m having a heart attack?” Dad was incredulous. Even in pain, he couldn’t believe what was happening. Although Dad knew he had a 50-50 risk of a heart attack (his American father died of heart attack at age 60 while his Filipino mother passed away in good health at age 97) he never imagined he’d actually suffer one.

Results of his angiogram were nearly perfect. One out of four arteries was 100% blocked and the other three were 97% blocked. It was a miracle that he was still walking! Doctors surmised that because of his regular exercise, Dad grew corollary veins in his body which saved his life. But even those corollary veins were now blocked, no thanks to the delicious cheesecake he devoured the night before!

When my Mom returned from the hospital that evening, she broke down in tears. The birthday party had been cancelled, and so was their wedding anniversary celebration. The prospect of losing a husband and being a widow was heavy to bear.

“In case something happens to me, take care of your Mom.” Those were the last words Dad told my brother before doctors wheeled him to the operating room.

The quadruple bypass turned out to be a seven-fold bypass. The doctors at UCI found three more blocked arteries which they operated on. They said the next 24 hours after the bypass was critical. Yes, the drama had just begun.

While in the recovery room, Dad’s heartbeat became erratic and flat-lined not once, but twice. Each time, the doctors applied electric shock. Fortunately, Dad’s heartbeat recovered. However, doctors soon discovered that dad had internal bleeding and they wheeled him back to the operating table to stop the bleeding. It was a very long night for the family but a second miracle happened. Doctors were able to stop the bleeding during the second operation.

When Dad woke up the following day, he saw a Filipino nurse by his right side. Dad didn’t know that he had undergone a seven-fold bypass. He didn’t even know that he had flat-lined in the recovery room. He felt someone on his left side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something white. Thinking it was his doctor, he turned his head to look. Strange, he thought, there was no one there. He was sure he felt someone standing beside him .

Dad stayed a total of 9 days at UCI. Upon check out, Mom paid what she had in her wallet: $300. Pay whatever you can afford, the hospital staff told her. Not only did Dad get the best doctors to save his life, the ultra-modern UCI hospital management treated our family with compassion. Money was not an issue. Mom was grateful to the doctors and nurses for saving Dad.

The bills started pouring in July. Mom hid the bills from Dad in case he’d have another heart attack if he saw the bills. Like in the hospital, the family prayed for a solution to the hospital debt.

My parents applied for medical aid at UCI’s social services department, hoping it could help lessen the bill. The social services staff was sympathetic, and their application was endorsed for approval as it was an emergency operation. On August 15, Assumption day, the third miracle happened. The social worker at UCI called to inform that the medical aid was approved. A few days later, Dad’s medical card arrived. It contained a medical aid that was retroactive to the first day Dad checked in UCI. Our prayers were answered beyond our expectations.

In our lowest moments, God was beside us every step of the way. Maybe my Dad still has a mission here on earth, but we are grateful for his second chance at life. Life has not been the same for Dad ever since; it was harder because of his damaged heart. From our experience, we understood God’s perfect timing, His love and mercy behind our sufferings. Life on earth is precious, and we live on borrowed time. We love you, Dad!

Diary of a Teenager in NZ

2006-03-19T15:34:00.000+08:00

(based on the true story of Candy Enriquez)

Some days are wacky, and teenagers just want to have fun. Every week, I get a chance to sample an international fare prepared by other foreign students at the hostel. Of course, there are chores to do everyday – cleaning up, throwing rubbish, laundry and cooking on weekends – aside from classes. This is my life at the boarding school, at Marlborough Girls’ College in Blenheim, located in the South Island of New Zealand.

At 16, I am the only Filipino in my high school (Year 11) class; the other Asians are mostly from Japan, China, Hong Kong, Thailand or Korea. Together with the Kiwis (New Zealanders) and Europeans, we celebrated Waitangi Day, New Zealand’s national day where international students dress up in their native costume and perform a dance or song number. They all wanted to see me dance “with candles in my hands and on my head,” but I didn’t know how to dance the Pandanggo sa Ilaw. I did try to make pastilles de leche, though, but I must have overcooked it because it turned brownish and tasted different!

In our English literature class, I usually finish ahead of the others, and soon became the teacher’s assistant, helping my other Asian classmates, and earning “stars.” A star is equivalent to one NZ dollar. After earning 10 stars, I would go to the cafeteria to exchange the starts for something I wanted – a muffin or ice cream. For English literature, we have to speak in front of the class, one by one, in order to build our self-confidence and communication skills. We also have to learn English the way the British speak it.

The standards are high, and subjects are tackled in depth, with analysis, research, and discussions. No memorization. We freely expressed our opinions about everything we discussed, even in science. Art class is interesting, and very exacting. We have to draw a 100 times, using different materials and subjects, and our works are sent to a cultural office in Wellington for grading! Of the school facilities, I liked the gymnasiums best, because we can play sports for PE like rugby, cricket, soccer, catch or basketball.

There is a work day, when a student can volunteer to work, like in a grocery store, restaurant, or boarding school, and receive payment which must be given back to the school.

I change class with every subject, like in a university. Under the NZ education system, Year 11 students begin to specialize in other areas of study such as Art, Commerce (e.g. Accounting), technology or Languages according to one’s interest. Mathematics, English literature and Science remain the key subjects.

Next year, in Year 12, I will transfer to Rangi Ruru Girls’ School in Christchurch. Year 12 students in NZ are able to specialize in up to six subjects, and I will have Accounting, Economics, Mathematics (Statistics), Photography, English and Art subjects. In my new school, I will have to learn how to play an instrument and be a member of a sports team.

Filipino students enjoy a good reputation here in New Zealand – they are perceived as well-mannered, adaptable, friendly and independent. One of my unforgettable moments in New Zealand is the home stay during our break. I spent four days in the mountains of Marlborough Sounds with a Kiwi family.

Marlborough Sounds area is made up of three main bodies of water – the Queen Charlotte, Kenepuru, and Pelorus Sounds. This collection of drowned river valleys is a natural wonder in New Zealand. Surrounded by the gentle sounds of birds and sea life, the fragrant scent of the forests and pure mountain air, the lodge had no electricity but it was fun! I did a lot of kayaking, and fed lambs with milk.

Marlborough is also New Zealand’s largest grape growing and wine making region with 65 wineries, 290 grape growers and 4,054 hectares in grape production. Sauvignon Blanc is the region’s specialty. Aside from grapes, they produce wines out of coffee beans, oranges, Kiwifruits, or just about any fruit!

Blenheim, the main town of Marlborough where my school is located, is a friendly and secure community especially for young visitors to develop their confidence in a new country and school. Like most of New Zealand, it is very clean, and green. One day, I saw some mussels in a nearby stream, but my Kiwi friends ignored it because it was of a lower grade, not good enough to eat! New Zealanders are spoilt for their choice of fresh seafood.

Living and studying away from home made me appreciate my life, and I learned how to live responsibly with the freedom I had. I am by nature outspoken and friendly, and this greatly helped in befriending the Kiwis. There are cultural differences, and one must adjust to the Kiwis, and be tolerant of the differences.

I’m looking forward to completing my final year in NZ which is Year 13, where I will sit for university entrance and Bursaries examination. I’m aiming to achieve a B pass or higher in the examinations so I can apply for a university degree program in NZ.

I dream of becoming an accountant and I believe my New Zealand education will provide the best foundation I need to succeed someday.

A Pilgrim's Journey to Israel

2006-03-09T17:56:00.000+08:00

The time is near. It is midnight as the El Al Israel plane touches down at the Ben Gurion airport amid the joyous singing of the Israelis on board. Shalom…shalom…Our journey to the Holy Land begins with a Hebrew song…

This is our first trip to Israel. What is an encounter with the “people of God of the Old Testament” like? Amazing! The “olive skin, green eyes and dark hair” combination of young Israelis are strikingly attractive. Like a homecoming, they gather together as soon as the “fasten your seatbelt” light goes off. I remember the divine origin of this race in the bible. “They are Israelites, to them belong the patriarchs, and of their race, according to the flesh, is the Christ.” (Romans 9:5)

Today, Israel is made up of diverse cultural groups – Lithuanians, Moroccans, Yemenites, Poles, Germans, Turks, Russians, Americans and Ethiopians, who constitute the Jewish community; and the Palestinians, Bedouins and Druzes, who make up the non-Jewish community. How can one begin to describe a place where the past and the present meet? The land of Israel defies the imagination.

“Welcome to Israel,” our taxi driver greets us. “Where are you ladies from?”

“Philippines,” my sister and I reply in unison.

He turns to us, smiling. “And how is everything in the Philippines? Is it peaceful now? No more revolution?”

This is our introduction to Israeli hospitality. I couldn’t resist posing to him the same question about Israel. I have to admit his answer surprised me. Could this be the sentiment of the younger Israeli generation?

“There will be peace,” he asserts. “We want peace with the Arab world, and the rest of the world too.”

We begin our journey to Jerusalem by passing through the port city of Haifa, climbing up to the summit of the Carmelite Monastery of Elijah on Mount Carmel. What a breathtaking view! We had a panoramic view of Haifa, the Mediterranean Sea, the fertile valley of Jezreel peppered with thousands of olive trees, and the city of Nazareth in the Galilean Hills. Our tour guide recounts the biblical incident at Carmel where the prophet Elijah challenged 450 prophets of Baal in a test of faith. Like Elijah’s sojourn on Mount Horeb, I felt God’s peaceful presence in the “murmur of a gentle breeze” at the summit of Mount Carmel.

Present day Nazareth, our next stop, is an Arab city with a population of 60,000 – half Christians, half Muslims – living together in harmonious existence. It is Sunday and our tour guide points out the closed stores of Christians. There is a rustic quality about the city: Muslim men and women in traditional attire walking down the streets, young boys selling postcards to pilgrims, women preparing pita bread by hand. From a distance, we can see the gray-colored turret of the Church of the Annunciation.

Inside the church, we visit the cave that served as Mary’s dwelling place and where the Annunciation took place. The cave lies beside the altar of the church, which was built in 1966. Beside this church stand St. Joseph’s church and in another cave, his carpentry workshop. Although I was raised in a Catholic school and knew the origin of my faith, seeing the caves where Mary and Joseph lived before Jesus came into their lives is something I will never forget. It’s a humbling experience.

From Nazareth, we proceed to Ginnosar, on the shores of the Sea of Galilee (Kinneret). This freshwater lake gets its water from the River Jordan and is the country’s main reservoir. Here, we have a memorable experience of sailing on a replica of “The Jesus Boat” for half an hour. Like St. Therese, we shall never forget the impression the sea makes on us. We cannot take our eyes from it. We imagine instead the apostles casting their nets out into the sea. “…and Simon Peter went up and drew the net to land full of great fishes…” (John 21:11)

We dock at Tiberias, on the western shores of the Sea of Galilee and have for lunch a local delicacy named St. Peter’s Fish. At $15 apiece, I wonder if St. Peter will find the price exorbitant too. No doubt.

From Tiberias, we travel to the surrounding towns where Jesus preached. In Capernaum, we view St. Peter’s memorial, built over the ruins of the house of St. Peter. We proceed to Tabgha, site of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes. Near the altar of this church lies an ancient mosaic of the loaves and the fishes. Here, Jesus showed his humility, love and generosity when he twice performed the miracle of multiplication.

Then, we recall the Beatitudes when we enter the chapel on the Mount of Beatitudes. With its gray-blue dome, white semicircular arches, and the flora of flowers in full bloom around the chapel, it is truly a delightful place for a retreat. No wonder this hilly haven is Jesus’ favorite place for meditation. We end the day with a visit to the Pilgrim Baptismal site on the River Jordan known as Yardenit. Although not the actual site of Jesus’ baptism by John the Baptist, this is where pilgrims renew their baptismal vows by immersing themselves in the water flowing from the Jordan River.

At the end of the day, I realize that the events and places in the Bible are real. I thank the early Christians for preserving the landmarks of Jesus and the apostles. In my heart, I felt their holy presence in the places that we visited. I couldn’t wait till we reach Jerusalem the next day.

Passing through Jericho, we finally arrive in Jerusalem, meeting up with the city’s traffic in the late afternoon. It’s easy to fall in love with Jerusalem. Situated on the Judean Hills, virtually all the buildings have facades of limestone quarried from the surrounding hills, giving the city a warm, golden look. From the Old City established by King David 3,000 years ago to the modern government buildings and luxury hotels, it’s like seeing two different cities at the same time.

We detour first to the nearby town of Bethlehem in the West Bank, six kilometers south of Jerusalem. Bethlehem’s charm is more heartfelt than visual. The terrain is hilly, and the town remains humble as it was 2,000 years ago. Its inhabitants, who are mostly Christians and Arabs, depend largely on pilgrims for their livelihood. Religious articles such as wooden crosses, rosaries and Nativity scenes are made from olive wood grown in the area. Looking at the rows of wooden crosses, I recall reading in a book that the cross of Jesus was made from olive wood. Legend had it that when Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden of Eden, they were allowed to take with them a branch of an olive tree. From this same branch which they planted when they arrived on the Mount of Olives became the cross that Jesus carried 2,000 years later!

We head for the Church of the Nativity built by Constantine in 330 A.D. This is the traditional site of the birthplace of Jesus. Entering the small doorway, we find no pews inside. We walk up to the Orthodox altar, passing by tattered columns and mosaic underneath the stone floor, and descend a flight of steps to the manger site. Here, we kneel in homage before the silver star- marking the spot of Jesus’ birth. It is a poignant moment. Like the Magi, we traveled from afar to bring homage to our King. There are no material gifts this time. Only the gift of our lives, our hearts.

From Bethlehem, we return to Jerusalem to retrace the passion of Jesus. We commence at the garden of Gethsemane in the Kidron Valley, on the lower slopes of the Mount of Olives. Here, we come across an orchard of ancient olive trees resplendent in the morning sun. At the heart of the garden is the Rock of the Agony, a sizable mass of rock marking the agony of Jesus on the night of his arrest. We find this rock inside a modern church known as the church of all Nations. I recall the suffering of Jesus, how he sweated in blood.

Legend has it that the legions of Lucifer (and Lucifer himself) surrounded Jesus on the night of his agony, and in his anguish, Jesus saw in a vision how he was going to suffer and die for man. Even the angel who came down from heaven to comfort Jesus felt an intense pity. It is said that Jesus died for the sins of man for all-time; past, present and future sins to be committed till the end of the world.

Leaving Gethsemane on a somber note, we enter the Old City of Jerusalem via the Dung gate. We stroll past the Western Wall on the right, where we observe devout Jews praying the Sidoor. The Western Wall or “Wailing Wall” contains Herodian stones of the Temple Mount (Second Temple) built in 20 B.C. by Herod. We traverse narrow streets to reach Mount Moriah, site of the Temple Mount during Jesus’ time. Today, the majestic Dome of the rock stands on the bedrock of the highest point of Mount Moriah. We stand in line at the plaza, sans our shoes, to view the sacred rock inside. To Jews and Christians, Mount Moriah is the site of Abraham’s sacrifice of his only son Isaac (Gen. 22:2). According to Muslim tradition, meanwhile, Allah took his servant Mohammed on a night’s journey from Mecca to Jerusalem (in al Aqsa) where he ascended to heaven from the rock, then returned to Mecca. Devout Muslims prostrate before the Dome of the Rock.

From Mount Moriah, we cross the road leading to Via Dolorosa where we begin the Way of the Cross. There are 14 stations on the Way of the Cross, nine along the narrow street of Via Dolorosa and five inside the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre. From the Chapel of Flagellation and Condemnation (Second Station), we recall the scene of the brutal beatings and flagellation of Jesus. It is said that Jesus was tied to a pillar above the ground during the flagellation and his cries resembled those of a lamb being butchered in a nearby slaughterhouse.

In silence, we marched in procession along the cobbled streets of Via Dolorosa, passing by merchant shops and peddlers, and pausing and praying at each station. It’s difficult to meditate amid the noise and onlookers. Nevertheless, I’m grateful that we could experience indirectly the passion of Jesus in its actual setting.

We reach the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre at the 10^th station. Our tour guide relates how Helena, mother of Emperor Constantine, toured the Holy Land in 325 B. C. in search of the Cross and the Holy Sepulchre. She ordered the excavation of Golgotha and discovered not one but three crosses. According to Christian tradition, Helena halted a funeral procession passing by, and held the three crosses over the dead boy. When the shadow of the third cross fell upon the boy, he stirred and came back to life! Likewise Helena dreamt of the tomb buried underneath a pagan shrine in Calvary. She instructed the removal of the pagan shrine and surrounding hill, and built a church around the whole place. This is now the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre.

Inside we pray before the altars of the last five stations of the Cross, contemplating the death and resurrection of Jesus. Christian tradition has it that an earthquake occurred when two angels carried the crucified body of Jesus from the sepulchre up to the Father in heaven. There is no doubt in my mind that after all this time Jesus is still among us through the holy spirit. At some point in this pilgrimage, I felt my heart, bruised and broken by life’s painful experiences, beginning to heal. The transformation is subtle; the experience is life-changing. Time is short. Our journey ends with a prayer. Tomorrow is a new day, a new beginning.

Living and studying in NZ

2006-03-09T14:28:00.000+08:00

They were the largest muffins I had ever seen! Crusty tops, filled with blueberries, cherries, cream cheese or chocolate. We ate them with frothy steaming milk, sprinkled with cinnamon for breakfast. Those days in Wellington I cannot forget.

I remember New Zealand because of the memories and aromas that come back to me. Summer outdoor brunches of green salad, citrus fruits and cheeses. Winter nights with pumpkin soup, focaccia bread laden with sun-dried tomatoes and cheese, plus a glass of wine to keep us warm when the Antarctic winds come. Christmas is roast pork with applesauce, stuffed leg of lamb, mince pie, Christmas pudding, trifle, a glass of homemade Irish cream and chocolates.

In my first year as an architecture student at Victoria University in Wellington, I lived in a hostel called Te Aro Hall together with some foreign students: a Malaysian-New Zealander majoring in Design, an anthropology-major from Papua New Guinea and an architecture student from Fiji. It was fun! We took turns making dinner, except on Fridays when everyone would go off to do their own thing. Being the oldest in the group, I was responsible for organizing major events like birthday celebrations, late night movies, and rubbish day. We went together to the supermarket to buy our personal favorites: ice cream for Fi, Chinese bok choy for Warren, and midnight snacks for me.

During our senior year, we moved to the Trinity Newman flats overlooking the Kelburn hills. As senior architecture students, our class came up with novel pieces of furniture using scrap materials like an old piece of recycled timber or a plate of aluminum. I enjoyed the hands-on experience of creating a piece of furniture in a fully equipped workshop, and making the materials speak through the design.

Victoria University, established in 1899, is one of New Zealand’s oldest universities, located in the heart of its capital city of Wellington. The Schools of Architecture and Design offer three degrees: Architecture, Building Science, and Design (including stage and theater design, product design, exhibition design, New Zealand design history, furniture and textile design). Architecture students have the option to cross enroll in core courses and electives of the Design or Building Science programs or any other subject at Victoria University.

The Architecture School library houses a wide collection of slides, books and international publications. The library also has a computerized Avery index to architectural periodicals and related disciplines published worldwide. Students can access online authors, titles or any subjects such as architectural design, city planning, historic preservation, interior design, landscape architecture and urban planning.

The university library is equally impressive with its view of Wellington harbor. It is open daily until 10 p.m. In fact, Sunday was one of the busiest days, especially towards the end of term. The Wellington Public Library is walking distance from the Schools of Architecture and Design. The huge windows overlooking the sea were indeed conducive to reading. A small café inside was right above the children’s reading room. It was interesting how the noise from the café did not seem to disrupt the library activities.

Wellington is truly a designer’s city, from its architecture, theater design and production, restaurant and café interiors. The lively Vivian Street, where the Schools of Architecture and Design is located, is in the hub of the entertainment, art and restaurant scene.

Victoria’s location in the capital city of Wellington enables it to draw on the resources of the government, professional theater groups, the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, and many other national organizations for tutors and guest lecturers. Victoria University is likewise just a stone’s throw away from the National Library, the National Archives, the Museum of New Zealand (Te Papa Tongarewa), the City Gallery, and the Dowse Art Museum.

The beautiful scenery, the warm and friendly people, and the high quality of education made studying in New Zealand truly an enriching and fun-filled experience for me. Yes, it also has opened new and exciting opportunities for me as well.

This article (based on the story of Estela Duque) won the New Zealand Award, November 2001 given by the Australian-New Zealand (Anzcham) Chamber of Commerce Award for Outstanding Journalism.

Overseas Filipino Worker: Australian style

2006-03-09T13:48:00.000+08:00

The alarm rings sharply at 6:30 am. Albert wakes up to another wintry day in Hornsby, New South Wales, Australia. After a quick shower and breakfast consisting of tapsilog or cereals, he dons his coat over his suit and leaves for work. He catches the fast train at 7:39, 7:50 or 8:15 am to Redfern, a district about 40 kms away from Hornsby. The fast train takes half an hour to reach Redfern where he works for a software company.

His officemates are multicultural: naturalized Koreans, Vietnamese, Lebanese, Filipinos, Kiwis and Irish. After eight hours of work as a computer analyst, Albert rides the fast train for home. Weekends are devoted to his family, household chores, Sunday mass, sightseeing and social visits to Filipino homes in the north shore area.

Albert is one of the growing numbers of Filipino IT professionals who migrated to Australia. In 1999, the Australian software and services sector is estimated to be growing at an annual rate of 13 percent. A computer analyst can earn from 45,000 Australian dollars to 100,000 Australian dollars annually depending on his qualification and work experience. That’s a substantial amount next to what they can earn in Manila despite the higher standard to living in Australia.

And how are they finding their host country Australia?

“The Aussies are friendly,” relates Albert. At the stores, they greet customers with a “g’day” or “how are you” and you’d have to return the greeting or you’ll be considered rude. Filipinos pick up local expressions like “Ripper!” (Ang galing) quickly enough. Store hours, however, are like office hours. Stores open between 8 and 9 am and close between 5 and 6 pm daily; there is usually late shopping on one night of the week.

The overseas worker must be at his best at work. He or she works hard to meet deadlines, then enjoys weekends or vacations. Weekends are a sacred institution in Australia. They are spent outdoors, at the beach, the national park, at sports events or barbecue parties.

For the average Filipino worker, the outdoor lifestyle brings new experiences in their lives. Beaches, for instance, are abundant and open to the public free of charge. With 36,000 kms of coastline, Australian beaches are wide and clean, with surging waves that are great for surfing. There is the tale of a modest Filipino who went to the beach wearing a two-piece swimsuit. She noticed that almost everyone on the beach was either topless or naked. After much hesitation, she decided to go topless, too. Guess what happened? She was so disappointed because no one looked at her! No worries.

Australia has about 28.2 million hectares of land reserved for national parks and nature reserves. How about visiting a park in Victoria where parrots abound, or a park in New South Wales where wallabies (small kangaroos) dwell, or a park in the Northern Territory where the saltwater crocodile is the attraction? Then there is the thrill of catching a variety of fish from beaches, bays, coastal rivers and lakes. Feasting on grilled breams, catfish or tailor afterwards is a double treat for a beginner.

Whether it is the strangeness of a cricket game in summer, rugby and Australian football in spring, or just a friendly encounter with rabbits running around a train station, Australia offers a whole new way of life to the Filipino migrant. More than the pristine environment is the effectiveness and efficiency of the system in the country that is obvious to the migrant. The system “works for everyone, not for a favored few.” This is the perception among the Filipino overseas workers. There is dignity of labor and a sense of equality.

The middle class in Australia is sizeable and Filipino overseas workers pay income taxes, private health insurance and superannuation (pension) charge to the Australian government. Taxes are quite high compared to taxes in the Philippines. However, these tax payments are translated into a clean, safe and efficient environment.

A move to another country is a major decision. Adjusting to winter, the Australian accent and slang, rules and regulations which are strictly implemented and a sophisticated environment where gambling is legal and gays are more open in society are part of the “struggle for the future.” The Filipino overseas worker in Australia continues to contribute his skills, talent and labor to the economic system. Ripper!

This article won the Australian Ambassadors Choice Prize Award at the Australian-New Zealand (Anzcham) Chamber of Commerce Award for Outstanding Journalism, 1999.