THE MANONGS - II
Victorino P Mapa
The Manong was by no means the infallible saint. There were stories of some who would blow their month’s wages at a single throw of the dice and return the next month to do the same; racous tales of brawls and mayhem in the ghettoes where they lived and at cat-houses, run ins with the police who swooped down on illegal cockfights.There were moments too when pushed around too much and insults no longer be tolerated. In bars, pool halls and back alleys the Manong would cut his tormentor down to size, sometimes literally. The bully learned to fear the deadly “balisong” fan knife.
But on the whole he was a God-fearing and law-abiding man. He devotedly sent his money across the seas to support the family he left behind. No man had stronger family ties. There were stirrings in the community about the little brown man. .. He may look funny in his outsized suit but he knew how to pay his bills; he may speak fractured English but this did not deter him from forming clubs or joining discussion groups to improve himself. No man was more active in his community’s affairs or more helpful to his neighbors. America began to give him grudging respect. The Manong persevered and no man was prouder when he stood before the judge to take his oath of allegiance as a brand-new citizen.
I did’nt know a soul a soul when I first set foot in San Francisco. My older sister preceded me but she lived in New York. I hung on to the Manongs who put me at the Washington Hotel. That was at the corner of Kearny and Washington. It was a two-story building and the hotel was a walk up. Tino’s Barber shop was on the ground floor/ A side door opened to the pool hall. Tino’s was the USO, bookie joint, pawn shop and information center rolled into one. Tino, of course, was the official Godfather of the block. If you could not find a long-lost relative Tino could tell you. If you were broke and needed a no-collateral short loan Tino was the soft touch. And many was the time when Tino would cut hair and conveniently forget to be paid because the customer was a “broo”, that is, a member of his fraternal order. The Manongs who frequented Tino’s were not “Pambrowns” (a contraction of the term, Bum Brown, what those who were not working were called during the depression.)They were either retirees on social security, or kabayans on their days off. They were dapper in their Stetsons, their shoes were always Florsheims and everyone worse suits, often loosely since most haberdasheries didn’t carry small sizes.
That area was the unofficial “Filipino Town” of San Francisco. It was considered to be the hairiest part of town, that is, if you were not a :bro.” But it was actually the safest. Tino’s tenants were the peacemakers. They had a way with the fan knife. . Drunks, muggers and pickpockets learned to stay away. Cops on the beat never failed to touch bases with Tino.
Like all others who came to seek a new beginning in America the Manongs took the full brunt of intolerance and prejudice before the Filipino could gain acceptance. Through his perseverance the barriers to our race in the field of arts, science and technology were erased so that those who followed could be lawyers, engineers, doctors, professionals. They were still in great numbers when I arrived in San Francisco in the late 50s and I had the privilege of meeting them. Most were way past middle age. A few lived a life of bachelorhood, staying at rundown hotels and living off their pensions and social security.. Those with families had homes in the Portrero, Richmond and Mission districts that they had paid for many years back. They still wore outsized suits and spoke the same slang English that they learned phoenitcally from their Caucasian bosses. While their sons and daughters had college degrees and were Americans in mind and speech The newcomers could not relate to the Manongs. This new breed of College degree professionals who spoke English far more fluently found them……..different and derisively gave them the new term , “OT”.The Manongs ‘ generation is history and the titled , and “educated” Filipinos now take center stage The Manong may be the decrepit old man, the “OT” in fading memory , that he was only stoop-farmer, bus-boy, janitor, laborer, menial worker. .We have forgotten that Manongs paved the way for us. and their examples were the best messages we delivered to America about the Filipinos’ true worth.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
THE MANONGS
THE MANONGS
Victorino P Mapa
They are forgotten now, the places where they once lived is hardly a memory. A city block in San Francisco - the area encompassing Kearny, Jackson, Washington and Montgomery streets where they once congregated, has completely disappeared. There’s a sleazy part in Los Angeles that starts from the corner of Alvarado Street and Temple that the city father’s designated as “Filipino Town” to remember them. But the Filipinos who live there now hardly know why it is so. What is perhaps characteristic of how they are recollected is a small, less than a hundred square feet cemetery in Maui where a few dozen of them are buried, some crosses askew, the names hand-scrawled. It is not at all noticed by the young who hie off to enjoy the pubs and bistros at nearby Lahaina.. These were the Manongs, the first Filipinos to come to the United States when the 20th Century was young , the predecessors who took the brunt of prejudice and discrimination for those who would come after them..
When first I set foot in the United States in the 50s. They had another appellation : OTs, or Old Timer - unbeknownst to them, a pejorative term given by the younger, better educated Filipinos who came after World War II. . The post-war Pinoys found the Manongs….…..”different.”. They were elderly, wore oversized suits bought off the rack, hair slicked back with pomade ala Rudolph Valentino and spoke a kind of patois that was a mixture of James Cagney English and words like “broo, pambrown, da kine” and referring to the mother country as “da islans”. “Hey bro, ya jus’ come from da islans? How’s t’ings down dere, da graff an corruption? “ Their questions were as offensive and grating as their ludicrous attempts to sound “stateside.” But the impudence was a shield to hide their inferiority, their lack of schooling. After the initial brashness however, their subsequent questions would denote a poignancy and homesickness that they cannot dislodge from their soul, “How does Manila look now? Has our country recovered from the war? Where are you from? My name is Ben Cruz. Have you heard of my family? I’m Ilocano and I haven’t heard much from my town since I left in……”I would begin to tell them what little I knew. The questions would gradually ebb and I would find myself the only one speaking . I was bringing them back to the land and people they have left behind , the motherland they have never stopped loving .
The first Manongs were like other immigrants who first set foot in America: the maltreated and abused , farmers working for obdurate landlords, the lowest of the low with no hope for a better future in their own homeland, Ignorant and unschooled they nevertheless shared the dreams of men who aspire to be free, the right to have his place in the sun, the privilege of steering his own future. They found that opportunity when America beckoned. She was beginning to flex her muscles at the turn of the 20th century. . She had built her skyscrapers and dug her coal mines with men from the old continent; built her railroads with the immigrant Irish and the Chinese coolie; In the expanding west her vast farms were now crying for men who were immune from the sun and the constant stooping that the work required. She conscripted the brown men from her new possession to work the sugar fields of Hawaii, the canneries of Alaska and the green fields of California.
The first wave arrived in 1902. The Manong couldn;’t have come at a worse time. The Philippine “insurrection” had just ended. There were tales about the atrocities of the war with yet more cruelties inflicted upon “our young American boys” by the dreaded “bolo-men” who attacked from ambush and just as suddenly disappeared, the press played up stories of the treacherous brown men who called you an “amigo” before hacking you from behind. “Behave yourself or Aguinaldo will come and get you!” was the admonition the mothers of America gave to their unruly children. And now they were here in America’s backyard. They heard the same gibes wherever they went, “You can worship with us but stand in the back of the church;speak our language but do not expect equality; work for our husbands but don’t mingle with our children! You may be President Mckinley’s little brown brother but you’re no brother of mine.”
They werer paid less than decent wages. couldn’t own property, weren’t allowed to live in “decent” neighborhoods and could not date white girls. Those that deigned to go out with them were labeled prostitutes. In fact, discriminatory laws were passed prohibiting the union between Filipinos and Caucasians TheManongs took work that the white man would not soil his hands with: Stoop farmer, busboy, barber, janitor, porter. Iinitially met them as fellow passengers on board an American President Lines ship on my first trip to the United States. I listened to their stories of how they fared when they came to America and took jobs that paid less than a dollar a day, of indentures in the canneries of Alaska that paid almost nothing, how they were beaten by red-necks and doors closed to them because they were……”different.” “during da depression bro, time was bad for all…we tram’ (tramped) on caboose treyns (trains) walked miles , find work, lose work, den’ we go ‘nother town, find work, anything, enywhere, but we help each other, no kababayan lef’ hungry, and we always find work….”
They were short-changed, conned and insulted at every turn. As with other émigrés that came before them the Manongs were made to go through the fire and forge of bigotry and exploitation before they could blend into the American mainstream. The mettle of the Manong shone through the hardships. His industry lending quiet dignity to whatever menial tasks were assigned to him.
Victorino P Mapa
They are forgotten now, the places where they once lived is hardly a memory. A city block in San Francisco - the area encompassing Kearny, Jackson, Washington and Montgomery streets where they once congregated, has completely disappeared. There’s a sleazy part in Los Angeles that starts from the corner of Alvarado Street and Temple that the city father’s designated as “Filipino Town” to remember them. But the Filipinos who live there now hardly know why it is so. What is perhaps characteristic of how they are recollected is a small, less than a hundred square feet cemetery in Maui where a few dozen of them are buried, some crosses askew, the names hand-scrawled. It is not at all noticed by the young who hie off to enjoy the pubs and bistros at nearby Lahaina.. These were the Manongs, the first Filipinos to come to the United States when the 20th Century was young , the predecessors who took the brunt of prejudice and discrimination for those who would come after them..
When first I set foot in the United States in the 50s. They had another appellation : OTs, or Old Timer - unbeknownst to them, a pejorative term given by the younger, better educated Filipinos who came after World War II. . The post-war Pinoys found the Manongs….…..”different.”. They were elderly, wore oversized suits bought off the rack, hair slicked back with pomade ala Rudolph Valentino and spoke a kind of patois that was a mixture of James Cagney English and words like “broo, pambrown, da kine” and referring to the mother country as “da islans”. “Hey bro, ya jus’ come from da islans? How’s t’ings down dere, da graff an corruption? “ Their questions were as offensive and grating as their ludicrous attempts to sound “stateside.” But the impudence was a shield to hide their inferiority, their lack of schooling. After the initial brashness however, their subsequent questions would denote a poignancy and homesickness that they cannot dislodge from their soul, “How does Manila look now? Has our country recovered from the war? Where are you from? My name is Ben Cruz. Have you heard of my family? I’m Ilocano and I haven’t heard much from my town since I left in……”I would begin to tell them what little I knew. The questions would gradually ebb and I would find myself the only one speaking . I was bringing them back to the land and people they have left behind , the motherland they have never stopped loving .
The first Manongs were like other immigrants who first set foot in America: the maltreated and abused , farmers working for obdurate landlords, the lowest of the low with no hope for a better future in their own homeland, Ignorant and unschooled they nevertheless shared the dreams of men who aspire to be free, the right to have his place in the sun, the privilege of steering his own future. They found that opportunity when America beckoned. She was beginning to flex her muscles at the turn of the 20th century. . She had built her skyscrapers and dug her coal mines with men from the old continent; built her railroads with the immigrant Irish and the Chinese coolie; In the expanding west her vast farms were now crying for men who were immune from the sun and the constant stooping that the work required. She conscripted the brown men from her new possession to work the sugar fields of Hawaii, the canneries of Alaska and the green fields of California.
The first wave arrived in 1902. The Manong couldn;’t have come at a worse time. The Philippine “insurrection” had just ended. There were tales about the atrocities of the war with yet more cruelties inflicted upon “our young American boys” by the dreaded “bolo-men” who attacked from ambush and just as suddenly disappeared, the press played up stories of the treacherous brown men who called you an “amigo” before hacking you from behind. “Behave yourself or Aguinaldo will come and get you!” was the admonition the mothers of America gave to their unruly children. And now they were here in America’s backyard. They heard the same gibes wherever they went, “You can worship with us but stand in the back of the church;speak our language but do not expect equality; work for our husbands but don’t mingle with our children! You may be President Mckinley’s little brown brother but you’re no brother of mine.”
They werer paid less than decent wages. couldn’t own property, weren’t allowed to live in “decent” neighborhoods and could not date white girls. Those that deigned to go out with them were labeled prostitutes. In fact, discriminatory laws were passed prohibiting the union between Filipinos and Caucasians TheManongs took work that the white man would not soil his hands with: Stoop farmer, busboy, barber, janitor, porter. Iinitially met them as fellow passengers on board an American President Lines ship on my first trip to the United States. I listened to their stories of how they fared when they came to America and took jobs that paid less than a dollar a day, of indentures in the canneries of Alaska that paid almost nothing, how they were beaten by red-necks and doors closed to them because they were……”different.” “during da depression bro, time was bad for all…we tram’ (tramped) on caboose treyns (trains) walked miles , find work, lose work, den’ we go ‘nother town, find work, anything, enywhere, but we help each other, no kababayan lef’ hungry, and we always find work….”
They were short-changed, conned and insulted at every turn. As with other émigrés that came before them the Manongs were made to go through the fire and forge of bigotry and exploitation before they could blend into the American mainstream. The mettle of the Manong shone through the hardships. His industry lending quiet dignity to whatever menial tasks were assigned to him.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
THE PACQUIAO PHENOM
THE PACQUIAO PHENOM
Victorino P. Mapa
` He’s done it again – emptied half the Filipino population in America and siphoned them all to Las Vegas for the five day’s he’s there. The other half are incommunicado during the fight, all glued to their HBO pay per view – not to mention the empty streets all over the Philippines . The entire population indoors into all theatres, auditoriums , halls, ballrooms, homes to watch Manny. Only two people are able to fill all the rooms in Las Vegas each time they perform. The other one is Celine Dion. They have similarities: Celine is a knockout when she sings. Pacman sings and does knockouts. Manny wears his shorts up to his waist. Celine wears her strapless up to her waist. Her boobs are that low.
Juan Manuel Marquez checked in at the MGM Grand. The fans that greeted him were as sparse as a Manila cemetery a week after All Saints day. Not so with Manny at the Mandalay Bay. It was the usual mob scene redolent of a Cecil B De Mille biblical epic. He’s a rock star. The other one’s just a pebble. I’ve been following the build up to the fight on CNN and TFC’s TV Patrol. Both have been doing bios on the two. Even then it is a no-contest for the Mexican. Juan Manuel’s home appears to be on top of a garage. He’s proud of his five cars and the love and affection of two Mexicans: His mother and trainer. Pacman has mansions dotting most of the Philippine islands. His home in Forbes Park is the entire year’s budget of the Philippine Government. Manny owns all the vehicles in Mindanao plus a brand-new Ferrari. 100 million Filipinos venerate and light candles to Manny, not to mention, try to borrow money. I’m checking the rumors that Pope Benedict is about to Beautify him. San Manuel de Sarangani. At interviews Juan Manuel Marquez stumbles and struggles with his English. Pacquiao He speaks it mellifluously and sounds like Richard Burton. Why he even recites passages from Shakespeare. It’s why I believe the news that the Pacman will be opening a University in his home province. He’ll call it Pac U. Mommy Dionisia will be the dean: Mother packer. If successful a branch will follow: Pac U2. When he retires Manny plans to teach English. Ok, so I’m prejudiced.
Other comparisons are just as bad. Juan Manuel flies economy class on Mexicana Airlines Our Manny charters his own plane to cross the ocean. His entourage includes the entire Philippine Congress, all of who hold comp seats at ringside. Plus a staff of 90 coaches,assistant coaches, trainers, and an etcetera of assitants. The numbers do not include Freddie Roach and a dozen sparring trainers who meet him upon arrival. The congressmen is, of course an exaggeration (they always are) but the entourage of 90 is not. I am told the number grows along with his fame much like the pilot fish remoras that glue themselves to the undersides of a shark.. I can understand ten people preening the champ:Manager, trainer, cut man, masseuse, cook, court jester and a max maybe of four sparring partners to round it out. But 90? I mean, what do the other 80 do except osculate his culo and collect their pay? Manny’s ego doesn’t have to do with it. I’ve personally met the guy. Even my wife . She has a picture with him prominently displayed in our living room. Helps to buttress her small talk when she begins, “…as I was telling Manny the other day…”.The guy is extremely likeable and humble as Obama begging to be re elected. It is Manny’s heart which is as big as the Titanic iceberg. He just can’t say no. If you can wipe ass welcome to the club.
Filipinos fervently believe that Manny can never lose. The idea that he can be is too horrifying to contemplate.A loss would be far more ghastly than floods, typhoons, volcanic eruptions. National honor, world recognition,prestige, bragging rights, not to mention Pacman’s chances of becoming President will all go down the toilet . Juan Manuel Marquez quit drinking his own urine. This time around he wanted Pacquiao’s blood. That he almost succeeded should make all Pinoys afraid, very very afraid.
Victorino P. Mapa
` He’s done it again – emptied half the Filipino population in America and siphoned them all to Las Vegas for the five day’s he’s there. The other half are incommunicado during the fight, all glued to their HBO pay per view – not to mention the empty streets all over the Philippines . The entire population indoors into all theatres, auditoriums , halls, ballrooms, homes to watch Manny. Only two people are able to fill all the rooms in Las Vegas each time they perform. The other one is Celine Dion. They have similarities: Celine is a knockout when she sings. Pacman sings and does knockouts. Manny wears his shorts up to his waist. Celine wears her strapless up to her waist. Her boobs are that low.
Juan Manuel Marquez checked in at the MGM Grand. The fans that greeted him were as sparse as a Manila cemetery a week after All Saints day. Not so with Manny at the Mandalay Bay. It was the usual mob scene redolent of a Cecil B De Mille biblical epic. He’s a rock star. The other one’s just a pebble. I’ve been following the build up to the fight on CNN and TFC’s TV Patrol. Both have been doing bios on the two. Even then it is a no-contest for the Mexican. Juan Manuel’s home appears to be on top of a garage. He’s proud of his five cars and the love and affection of two Mexicans: His mother and trainer. Pacman has mansions dotting most of the Philippine islands. His home in Forbes Park is the entire year’s budget of the Philippine Government. Manny owns all the vehicles in Mindanao plus a brand-new Ferrari. 100 million Filipinos venerate and light candles to Manny, not to mention, try to borrow money. I’m checking the rumors that Pope Benedict is about to Beautify him. San Manuel de Sarangani. At interviews Juan Manuel Marquez stumbles and struggles with his English. Pacquiao He speaks it mellifluously and sounds like Richard Burton. Why he even recites passages from Shakespeare. It’s why I believe the news that the Pacman will be opening a University in his home province. He’ll call it Pac U. Mommy Dionisia will be the dean: Mother packer. If successful a branch will follow: Pac U2. When he retires Manny plans to teach English. Ok, so I’m prejudiced.
Other comparisons are just as bad. Juan Manuel flies economy class on Mexicana Airlines Our Manny charters his own plane to cross the ocean. His entourage includes the entire Philippine Congress, all of who hold comp seats at ringside. Plus a staff of 90 coaches,assistant coaches, trainers, and an etcetera of assitants. The numbers do not include Freddie Roach and a dozen sparring trainers who meet him upon arrival. The congressmen is, of course an exaggeration (they always are) but the entourage of 90 is not. I am told the number grows along with his fame much like the pilot fish remoras that glue themselves to the undersides of a shark.. I can understand ten people preening the champ:Manager, trainer, cut man, masseuse, cook, court jester and a max maybe of four sparring partners to round it out. But 90? I mean, what do the other 80 do except osculate his culo and collect their pay? Manny’s ego doesn’t have to do with it. I’ve personally met the guy. Even my wife . She has a picture with him prominently displayed in our living room. Helps to buttress her small talk when she begins, “…as I was telling Manny the other day…”.The guy is extremely likeable and humble as Obama begging to be re elected. It is Manny’s heart which is as big as the Titanic iceberg. He just can’t say no. If you can wipe ass welcome to the club.
Filipinos fervently believe that Manny can never lose. The idea that he can be is too horrifying to contemplate.A loss would be far more ghastly than floods, typhoons, volcanic eruptions. National honor, world recognition,prestige, bragging rights, not to mention Pacman’s chances of becoming President will all go down the toilet . Juan Manuel Marquez quit drinking his own urine. This time around he wanted Pacquiao’s blood. That he almost succeeded should make all Pinoys afraid, very very afraid.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
COMING TO AMERICA II
COING TO AMERICA, cont.
Victorino P Mapa
APL kept steerage full with ads in West Coast papers that addressed the manongs in particular, “Tayo maglakbay sa Pilipinas” They were on their way back to the mainland and I had them for company. I couldn’t ask for a better bunch of people. I listened to their tales of coming to the States for the first time, finding jobs as porters, busboys waiters and farm hands; where they could only stand at the back of the church during Sundays, not allowed to own homes or “live among white folks”.Their only choice was to rent rooms in sleazy parts of the city. They couldn’t date white girls. To do so would label their dates as hookers and they would be stopped by Highway patrols and beaten up plus other discriminatory acts ro remind them they were not first class citizens. Until Bataan and Corregidor dominated the headlines. From then on they became “our brave little brown brothers.”, but only if they kept a respectable distance. The manongs took the blows and paved the way for the new breed of Filipinos that would come after World War II – college educated professionals who no longer sought menial jobs, spoke better English and would blend into the American mainstream.
Five ayem and I was roused from my sleep by the manongs,.”Hurry up bro, da Golden Gate is coming up” We were passing under the famed bridge, It wasn’t golden but red. Majestic, magnificent. A view I wouldn’t have enjoyed if I came by air. Inexplicably it brought lumps to my throat. Customs was perfunctory and within minutes we were out. Followed the manongs to Filipino town that was then bordered by Kearny, Washington, Jackson and Montgomery. The Washington Hotel was its center. A room with a view of Kearny street and bath down the hall was $2.00 a night. Downstairs was the Bataan Café alongside a pool hall and a barber shop. The manongs took this wide-eyed, wet-eared and naiive newcomer under their wing. I am forever grateful to them for acclimatizing me to Tony Bennett’s city.
It was the best of times. The Bataan Café and its pinakbet, Dinengdeng and fried fish kept me grounded. Chinatown was across the street where a moundful of roast pork, steamed veggies and rice at the Looey wooey Gooey café only set me back $1.95;The first run movie houses along Market Street - RKO, Warfield, Paramount and Orpheum were still owned by the major movie studio. To entice customers during weak nights raffles were held during intermission where a ticket could win you a set of dishes, why those evenings were called “Dish Nights.” Ambling down the city’s main stem I could grab a hot dog for 19 cents and down it with a giant milk shake for 29 cents. It wasn’t kosher to walk around the Union Square area in sneakers and polo shirts. Nearly every male wore suits and the ladies’dress code was strictly out of I. Magnin. There were only two hotels of note on the Square, The Saint Francis on Powell and the Sir Francis Drake half a block away. The smaller Plaza Hotel stood on the corner of Post and Stockton where a Humungous Hyatt now stands. Flower stands dotted the sidewalks and cable car bells happily pealed ,luring tourists for a ride to Fisherman’s Wharf. It was a picture-book San Francisco and , more European than American. She was exactly how I imagined her to be. It was love at first sight for me, a feeling that continues to this day.
I saw San Francisco at a guiltless age when the blights and blemishes and the strife and turmoil that beset us today was not even in the horizon. Global warming was ages away. Kennedy was President , the legend of Camelot infected everyone and America was prosperous and happy. The sights and sounds that Tony Bennett serenaded are still there. Somehow they don’t seem to be the same.
Victorino P Mapa
APL kept steerage full with ads in West Coast papers that addressed the manongs in particular, “Tayo maglakbay sa Pilipinas” They were on their way back to the mainland and I had them for company. I couldn’t ask for a better bunch of people. I listened to their tales of coming to the States for the first time, finding jobs as porters, busboys waiters and farm hands; where they could only stand at the back of the church during Sundays, not allowed to own homes or “live among white folks”.Their only choice was to rent rooms in sleazy parts of the city. They couldn’t date white girls. To do so would label their dates as hookers and they would be stopped by Highway patrols and beaten up plus other discriminatory acts ro remind them they were not first class citizens. Until Bataan and Corregidor dominated the headlines. From then on they became “our brave little brown brothers.”, but only if they kept a respectable distance. The manongs took the blows and paved the way for the new breed of Filipinos that would come after World War II – college educated professionals who no longer sought menial jobs, spoke better English and would blend into the American mainstream.
Five ayem and I was roused from my sleep by the manongs,.”Hurry up bro, da Golden Gate is coming up” We were passing under the famed bridge, It wasn’t golden but red. Majestic, magnificent. A view I wouldn’t have enjoyed if I came by air. Inexplicably it brought lumps to my throat. Customs was perfunctory and within minutes we were out. Followed the manongs to Filipino town that was then bordered by Kearny, Washington, Jackson and Montgomery. The Washington Hotel was its center. A room with a view of Kearny street and bath down the hall was $2.00 a night. Downstairs was the Bataan Café alongside a pool hall and a barber shop. The manongs took this wide-eyed, wet-eared and naiive newcomer under their wing. I am forever grateful to them for acclimatizing me to Tony Bennett’s city.
It was the best of times. The Bataan Café and its pinakbet, Dinengdeng and fried fish kept me grounded. Chinatown was across the street where a moundful of roast pork, steamed veggies and rice at the Looey wooey Gooey café only set me back $1.95;The first run movie houses along Market Street - RKO, Warfield, Paramount and Orpheum were still owned by the major movie studio. To entice customers during weak nights raffles were held during intermission where a ticket could win you a set of dishes, why those evenings were called “Dish Nights.” Ambling down the city’s main stem I could grab a hot dog for 19 cents and down it with a giant milk shake for 29 cents. It wasn’t kosher to walk around the Union Square area in sneakers and polo shirts. Nearly every male wore suits and the ladies’dress code was strictly out of I. Magnin. There were only two hotels of note on the Square, The Saint Francis on Powell and the Sir Francis Drake half a block away. The smaller Plaza Hotel stood on the corner of Post and Stockton where a Humungous Hyatt now stands. Flower stands dotted the sidewalks and cable car bells happily pealed ,luring tourists for a ride to Fisherman’s Wharf. It was a picture-book San Francisco and , more European than American. She was exactly how I imagined her to be. It was love at first sight for me, a feeling that continues to this day.
I saw San Francisco at a guiltless age when the blights and blemishes and the strife and turmoil that beset us today was not even in the horizon. Global warming was ages away. Kennedy was President , the legend of Camelot infected everyone and America was prosperous and happy. The sights and sounds that Tony Bennett serenaded are still there. Somehow they don’t seem to be the same.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Coming to America
COMING TO AMERICA
Victorino P Mapa
1958 - . The China Clippers that once water-landed in Manila Bay had long passed into legend. but Pan Am was still king of the Air There was no world capital that she did not fly to. Even to Manila. Our “Manila International airport” as it was laughingly called, was still in a World War II mode: Its terminal was a quonset hut inherited from the US Air Force. stapled together with plywood and wire-mesh.It looked more like a concentration camp liberated from the Nazis.
Up until 1957 Pan Am flew noisy, propeller driven DC-4s that crossed the Pacific with stops in Guam and Honolulu before three-pointing in San Francisco . The flight took almost two days and was as choppy as WWII B-29s under a flak attack. The seats came with equipped with barf bags. The Jet age came to Manila via Pan Am’s spanking new 707s shrinking travel time to only 19 hours. It was the year I would come to America.
I walked through the unguarded gates of the US Embassy into the lone three story building straddling the edge of Manila Bay. “When are you leaving?” the vice-consul asked.
“Day after tomorrow,” I replied. No big deal. Within minutes I had a US visa, no other questions asked. Fast forward to 2011. Applicants by the thousands, easier to pick up a date with Shamcey Supsup than get a US visa.. Everyone is assumed to be a potential illegal immigrant.
If Pan Am was king of the skies, the American President Lines was Queen of the ocean. . Crossing the Pacific with her was as enjoyable as the present day pleasure cruises. Those days however, sea voyages were not advertised as vacation cruises but as a mode of transportation, that is, to travel from points A to B. The APL ships leisurely wended its way to Honkong, Kobe and Yokohama thence to Honolulu before docking in San Francisco after 21 days. Sea travel was for me. I went aboard the SS PRESIDENT CLEVELAND. It had two classes of service: First and steerage. I chose the latter and why not? My heart was young and adventurous, not to mention cheap. The one way passage was only $275 one way. The trip included three meals a day served family style, that is, bowls of food, salad and rice plunked on a looong table and you reach, brudda reach!. Midnight, a snack of saimin noodles is thrown in.
Cabin? What cabin? We were stacked forty guys to a dorm. Your choice was lower or upper bunk. It wasn’t co-ed. Starboard was for the boys, aft for the girls. We met and danced every other night to the sounds of a three piece band played at the recreational hall. First run movies alternated on other nights. Our favorite pastime was to come close to the barrier that separated us from first class and listen to a 12 piece band render the tunes of Berlin, Gershwin and Kern. First class passengers dressed in tuxedos and gowns stood on their own upper railing and engaged us in polite conversation.Leonardo Di Caprio and fellow peons re-enacted the scene in “Titanic.”
Two days in Hongkong, very very British .. The Union Jack flag unfurled everywhere and young Queen Elizabeth was in every Hongkong dollar. I could hear the mellifluous voices of James Mason and Ronald Colman at the hotel pubs. Rickshaws were ubiquitous at sidestreets The Chinese was a coolie in his own land. Asian countries have unshackled the chains of colonialism at the end of WWII but it was still alive and well in this British Crown Colony, albeit slowly dying.
Got off in Kobe, took an overland trip and re-boarded the ship in Yokohama. One of the stops included a tour of the Mikimoto Pearl farm. I was offered a can of pearls for US$10. The can was an evaporated milk tin, the big sized one. “No thanks, “ I said. “What will I do with it?” I told the story twenty years later to my kids. All of them said, “Stupid!”
Honolulu. The mind conjured tales of Stevenson . Melville and Michener’s South Pacific, of intrepid Polynesians who crossed the vast ocean to settle its many atolls and islands. Receptionists from the Hawaii Visitors Bureau came on board to greet us with leis. A lovely, beautiful, happy people , I thought to myself. I pictured myself sitting under a shade tree and sharing coconut juice with a sarong-clad maiden . I immediately fell in love with a winsome lass who garlanded me with a lei.. “Aloha!” I said.
She shattered my illusions when she replied, “Kumusta ka na,”
Ay susmariosep! Counterfeit Hawaiians! They were Pinoys!
To be continued.
Victorino P Mapa
1958 - . The China Clippers that once water-landed in Manila Bay had long passed into legend. but Pan Am was still king of the Air There was no world capital that she did not fly to. Even to Manila. Our “Manila International airport” as it was laughingly called, was still in a World War II mode: Its terminal was a quonset hut inherited from the US Air Force. stapled together with plywood and wire-mesh.It looked more like a concentration camp liberated from the Nazis.
Up until 1957 Pan Am flew noisy, propeller driven DC-4s that crossed the Pacific with stops in Guam and Honolulu before three-pointing in San Francisco . The flight took almost two days and was as choppy as WWII B-29s under a flak attack. The seats came with equipped with barf bags. The Jet age came to Manila via Pan Am’s spanking new 707s shrinking travel time to only 19 hours. It was the year I would come to America.
I walked through the unguarded gates of the US Embassy into the lone three story building straddling the edge of Manila Bay. “When are you leaving?” the vice-consul asked.
“Day after tomorrow,” I replied. No big deal. Within minutes I had a US visa, no other questions asked. Fast forward to 2011. Applicants by the thousands, easier to pick up a date with Shamcey Supsup than get a US visa.. Everyone is assumed to be a potential illegal immigrant.
If Pan Am was king of the skies, the American President Lines was Queen of the ocean. . Crossing the Pacific with her was as enjoyable as the present day pleasure cruises. Those days however, sea voyages were not advertised as vacation cruises but as a mode of transportation, that is, to travel from points A to B. The APL ships leisurely wended its way to Honkong, Kobe and Yokohama thence to Honolulu before docking in San Francisco after 21 days. Sea travel was for me. I went aboard the SS PRESIDENT CLEVELAND. It had two classes of service: First and steerage. I chose the latter and why not? My heart was young and adventurous, not to mention cheap. The one way passage was only $275 one way. The trip included three meals a day served family style, that is, bowls of food, salad and rice plunked on a looong table and you reach, brudda reach!. Midnight, a snack of saimin noodles is thrown in.
Cabin? What cabin? We were stacked forty guys to a dorm. Your choice was lower or upper bunk. It wasn’t co-ed. Starboard was for the boys, aft for the girls. We met and danced every other night to the sounds of a three piece band played at the recreational hall. First run movies alternated on other nights. Our favorite pastime was to come close to the barrier that separated us from first class and listen to a 12 piece band render the tunes of Berlin, Gershwin and Kern. First class passengers dressed in tuxedos and gowns stood on their own upper railing and engaged us in polite conversation.Leonardo Di Caprio and fellow peons re-enacted the scene in “Titanic.”
Two days in Hongkong, very very British .. The Union Jack flag unfurled everywhere and young Queen Elizabeth was in every Hongkong dollar. I could hear the mellifluous voices of James Mason and Ronald Colman at the hotel pubs. Rickshaws were ubiquitous at sidestreets The Chinese was a coolie in his own land. Asian countries have unshackled the chains of colonialism at the end of WWII but it was still alive and well in this British Crown Colony, albeit slowly dying.
Got off in Kobe, took an overland trip and re-boarded the ship in Yokohama. One of the stops included a tour of the Mikimoto Pearl farm. I was offered a can of pearls for US$10. The can was an evaporated milk tin, the big sized one. “No thanks, “ I said. “What will I do with it?” I told the story twenty years later to my kids. All of them said, “Stupid!”
Honolulu. The mind conjured tales of Stevenson . Melville and Michener’s South Pacific, of intrepid Polynesians who crossed the vast ocean to settle its many atolls and islands. Receptionists from the Hawaii Visitors Bureau came on board to greet us with leis. A lovely, beautiful, happy people , I thought to myself. I pictured myself sitting under a shade tree and sharing coconut juice with a sarong-clad maiden . I immediately fell in love with a winsome lass who garlanded me with a lei.. “Aloha!” I said.
She shattered my illusions when she replied, “Kumusta ka na,”
Ay susmariosep! Counterfeit Hawaiians! They were Pinoys!
To be continued.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
The Terminal from Hell
TERMINAL FROM HELL
Victorino P Mapa
The Filipino Channel’s TV Patrol last week announced that an international travel magazine voted Manila’s Ninoy Aquino International airport as the World’s worst air terminal. Something I’ve been saying all along a few issues back is now official. It’s not surprising – the acronym, NAIA sounds like what a pilot would shriek when his life flashes before his eyes, “we’re going down ! We’re going to crash ! We-re going to die ! - NAAEEYAAA ! “
The esteemed departed Ninoy himself once opined that you can always quick-guess how a country and/or its economy is doing by observing its airport and hookers. That is, if the airport is ugly but the hookers are pretty welcome to the Third world. Ninoy was jesting of course – but the designation fits Manila. It’s a label that Pinoys wouldn’t care to admit but it’s true.. The airport from hell that is being referred to is our Terminal 1 where all foreign carriers land or 90% of all arrivals. It was built in the seventies.and has been in a time-warp - little or no improvements and additions were ever made. There is an unused Terminal 2 finished twelve years ago It just sits there like a bride who’s been left waiting at the altar. So much graft, controversies, suits and counter-suits are so attached to it that it is expected to open perhaps in the 25th century. .
If you came via Philippine Airlines you would be going through Terminal 3. It is small by world standards. You can transplant the entire facility at Hongkong’s humungous Lantau terminal and it would easily fit into its lost-and-found room. Nevertheless it’s fairly new, tolerably air conditioned and crowd control is sane enough to induce patience while waiting for your luggage..Therein lies the anomaly. Terminal 3 is for the exclusive use of our national flag carrier. It’s like having a home where the family enters through the front door and asks its guests to come in through the kitchen. Very sad and doesn’t speak well of our world-famous Filipino hospitality.
The pre-view from the air prior to landing certainly bids welcome. The plane
circle’s around Luzon’s southern periphery and the sight alternates from the grandeur of Ta-al Lake and volcano to the lush, green Banahaw range, its slopes skirted with graceful coconut palms. There’s a quick-glimpse of Manila Bay before the wheels scrunch, you’re taxiing to the tarmac and the claustrophobic’s nightmare begins. More than half are Balikbayans driven to a frenzy at being home again that discipline and order is the first one out. What follows is a fair imitation of a cattle stampede .. If you escaped being trampled the momentum takes you one of three luggage carousels and you find yourself elbow-to-elbow with two or three other jumbo passengers who arrived at the same time. Incidentally the condition of the carousels is like the earthquake that recently hit Turkey. As all Balikbayans know there’s no such thing as a Filipino coming back with just two pieces of luggage Visualize yourself if you will as one in a cast of thousands who shove, jostle and gouge your way to the carousel where boulders of balikbayan boxes cascade down in an avalanche, each box with enough tonnage to give sumo wrestlers acute hernia. It’s worse than the storming of the Bastille.
Getting your stuff and fleeing the mob is only a teaser. Wait till you’re out of customs. Meeting arrivals is a serious Filipino pastime. If the passenger is Mr Jose Nobody he will be met by at least two carloads of relatives/well wishers; the arrivee’ who just finished four years at UCLA rates at least five cars and two jeepneys; Congressmen and up rate at least two busloads. Arrive with Manny Pacquiao and the scene is redolent of Moses’ exodus out of Egypt.
Getting out of NAIA is the good news. Going back in to leave is the bad news. No freeways lead to the airport. All streets and alleys are grid-locked. A plane that I once took for Hongkong had to sit for nearly two hours for 55 more passengers who got caught in traffic – and this was an 8AM flight! Outside the terminal discipline and crowd control have taken a vacation.. You leap into a jumble of vehicles, well-wishers, passengers, baggage handlers, peddlers and pickpockets, all clashing amid a torrent of horns, shouts, imprecations and whistles from hapless security guards trying to restore some sanity and order. Inside is more of the same as literally thousands try to get through two security alarms. Occasionally one is out of order. The time from last-of-the line to check in counter is close to two hours. Add one more hour in lining up at Immigration and you’re finally in the holding area with your boarding pass. And crossing your legs because there’s no water has stopped running in the rest room.
NAIA’s state of disrepair and obsolescence is indeed sad. One can travel all over Asia and not find a land with more spectacular scenery, more to do and see, nor a happier, livelier and lovelier people than in the Philippines. But until our airport is brought up to world-standards the Philippines shall always be for tourists, - the undiscovered country.
Victorino P Mapa
The Filipino Channel’s TV Patrol last week announced that an international travel magazine voted Manila’s Ninoy Aquino International airport as the World’s worst air terminal. Something I’ve been saying all along a few issues back is now official. It’s not surprising – the acronym, NAIA sounds like what a pilot would shriek when his life flashes before his eyes, “we’re going down ! We’re going to crash ! We-re going to die ! - NAAEEYAAA ! “
The esteemed departed Ninoy himself once opined that you can always quick-guess how a country and/or its economy is doing by observing its airport and hookers. That is, if the airport is ugly but the hookers are pretty welcome to the Third world. Ninoy was jesting of course – but the designation fits Manila. It’s a label that Pinoys wouldn’t care to admit but it’s true.. The airport from hell that is being referred to is our Terminal 1 where all foreign carriers land or 90% of all arrivals. It was built in the seventies.and has been in a time-warp - little or no improvements and additions were ever made. There is an unused Terminal 2 finished twelve years ago It just sits there like a bride who’s been left waiting at the altar. So much graft, controversies, suits and counter-suits are so attached to it that it is expected to open perhaps in the 25th century. .
If you came via Philippine Airlines you would be going through Terminal 3. It is small by world standards. You can transplant the entire facility at Hongkong’s humungous Lantau terminal and it would easily fit into its lost-and-found room. Nevertheless it’s fairly new, tolerably air conditioned and crowd control is sane enough to induce patience while waiting for your luggage..Therein lies the anomaly. Terminal 3 is for the exclusive use of our national flag carrier. It’s like having a home where the family enters through the front door and asks its guests to come in through the kitchen. Very sad and doesn’t speak well of our world-famous Filipino hospitality.
The pre-view from the air prior to landing certainly bids welcome. The plane
circle’s around Luzon’s southern periphery and the sight alternates from the grandeur of Ta-al Lake and volcano to the lush, green Banahaw range, its slopes skirted with graceful coconut palms. There’s a quick-glimpse of Manila Bay before the wheels scrunch, you’re taxiing to the tarmac and the claustrophobic’s nightmare begins. More than half are Balikbayans driven to a frenzy at being home again that discipline and order is the first one out. What follows is a fair imitation of a cattle stampede .. If you escaped being trampled the momentum takes you one of three luggage carousels and you find yourself elbow-to-elbow with two or three other jumbo passengers who arrived at the same time. Incidentally the condition of the carousels is like the earthquake that recently hit Turkey. As all Balikbayans know there’s no such thing as a Filipino coming back with just two pieces of luggage Visualize yourself if you will as one in a cast of thousands who shove, jostle and gouge your way to the carousel where boulders of balikbayan boxes cascade down in an avalanche, each box with enough tonnage to give sumo wrestlers acute hernia. It’s worse than the storming of the Bastille.
Getting your stuff and fleeing the mob is only a teaser. Wait till you’re out of customs. Meeting arrivals is a serious Filipino pastime. If the passenger is Mr Jose Nobody he will be met by at least two carloads of relatives/well wishers; the arrivee’ who just finished four years at UCLA rates at least five cars and two jeepneys; Congressmen and up rate at least two busloads. Arrive with Manny Pacquiao and the scene is redolent of Moses’ exodus out of Egypt.
Getting out of NAIA is the good news. Going back in to leave is the bad news. No freeways lead to the airport. All streets and alleys are grid-locked. A plane that I once took for Hongkong had to sit for nearly two hours for 55 more passengers who got caught in traffic – and this was an 8AM flight! Outside the terminal discipline and crowd control have taken a vacation.. You leap into a jumble of vehicles, well-wishers, passengers, baggage handlers, peddlers and pickpockets, all clashing amid a torrent of horns, shouts, imprecations and whistles from hapless security guards trying to restore some sanity and order. Inside is more of the same as literally thousands try to get through two security alarms. Occasionally one is out of order. The time from last-of-the line to check in counter is close to two hours. Add one more hour in lining up at Immigration and you’re finally in the holding area with your boarding pass. And crossing your legs because there’s no water has stopped running in the rest room.
NAIA’s state of disrepair and obsolescence is indeed sad. One can travel all over Asia and not find a land with more spectacular scenery, more to do and see, nor a happier, livelier and lovelier people than in the Philippines. But until our airport is brought up to world-standards the Philippines shall always be for tourists, - the undiscovered country.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Random Trivia
TOTALLY TRIVIA :
Victorino P. Mapa
It was 1837. They were married to two sisters. William was making candles and James made soap. Both depended on animal fat for the creation of their products. Rather than see his sons-in-law compete for the raw products Alexander Norris suggested they go into business together. From this humble beginnings they turned animal fat into a multi-billion world-wide conglomerate that produces over 250 brand name products. You make them wealthier each time you brush your teeth, take a shower or change your baby’s diapers. William and James last names? Procter and Gamble. One of their world-wide outlets was the Philippine Manufacturing Company they opened in the 50s.
We’re celebrating Thanksgiving a week early, thanks or no thanks to President Delano Roosevelt. During the greatest depression of our times in 1939 (our current depression is the fourth ) President Roosevelt decreed that Thanksgiving Day be celebrated a week earlier than usual in order to extend the Christmas shopping season.It helped spur the economy. While we’re on the subject John Wayne calls everyone a pilgrim but the originals who landed on on Plymouth Rock never called themselves that. Only William Bradford did when he wrote a journal of his fellow travelers in circa 1620-1647 and coined the word “Pilgrim” for the settlers
.Do you know why the Pilgrims chose to land on Plymouth Rock? Because they ran out of beer! In those days beer was considered an essential and healthy part of one’s diet. Water, especially during a voyage was not so because it easily became contaminated. The Mayflower set out from England loaded with beer barrels. Its destination was Virginia but a storm blew them off course. Rather than go south they landed on Plymouth Rock because a pilgrim recorded, “we could not take time for further search or consideration. Our victuals being much spent, especially our beere.”
So set em up Joe, to America’s forefathers! Hic !
Coffee at one time was considered a drug, not a drink.The early American settlers took it to “ :ward off the lassitude of the body “ – is how their apothecaries described it. When it got introduced to Europe in the 16th century the Vatican decided that it was the devil’s brew because it came from Muslim country. Until Pope Clement VIII took a sip and gave it his blessings. “This Satan’s drink is so delicious it would be a pity to let the infidels have exclusive use of it. We shall fool Satan by baptizing it,” he said.
There’s a brew so expensive you’ve probably never heard of it.But the rich and famous do. Sells for as much as $600 a pound. A single cup of this nectar will run you $30 a cup at a posh dining room in world class hotels. The British Royal family reportedly sips it every morning. It’s called Kopi Luwak. Kopi is Indonesian for coffee. Its’ not picked by human hands but is plucked by sharp claws and fangs and digested by a civet. In the animal’s stomach enzymes in its gastric juices massage the beans, smoothing the harsh edges that make coffee bitter and produce the jitters for addicts. Kopi Luwak is alleged to be so smooth it just emits bliss and pleasant dreams. What’s the catch ? The civet is about the size of your household cat and lives in the jungle. In short your cat growing wild, eating coffee beans, ejecting them, the turd picked up, dried, ground and sipped. So what is Kopi Luwak? Yes brudda, cat shit! What’s probably next is chocolate flavored horse shit EEWWW!
Victorino P. Mapa
It was 1837. They were married to two sisters. William was making candles and James made soap. Both depended on animal fat for the creation of their products. Rather than see his sons-in-law compete for the raw products Alexander Norris suggested they go into business together. From this humble beginnings they turned animal fat into a multi-billion world-wide conglomerate that produces over 250 brand name products. You make them wealthier each time you brush your teeth, take a shower or change your baby’s diapers. William and James last names? Procter and Gamble. One of their world-wide outlets was the Philippine Manufacturing Company they opened in the 50s.
We’re celebrating Thanksgiving a week early, thanks or no thanks to President Delano Roosevelt. During the greatest depression of our times in 1939 (our current depression is the fourth ) President Roosevelt decreed that Thanksgiving Day be celebrated a week earlier than usual in order to extend the Christmas shopping season.It helped spur the economy. While we’re on the subject John Wayne calls everyone a pilgrim but the originals who landed on on Plymouth Rock never called themselves that. Only William Bradford did when he wrote a journal of his fellow travelers in circa 1620-1647 and coined the word “Pilgrim” for the settlers
.Do you know why the Pilgrims chose to land on Plymouth Rock? Because they ran out of beer! In those days beer was considered an essential and healthy part of one’s diet. Water, especially during a voyage was not so because it easily became contaminated. The Mayflower set out from England loaded with beer barrels. Its destination was Virginia but a storm blew them off course. Rather than go south they landed on Plymouth Rock because a pilgrim recorded, “we could not take time for further search or consideration. Our victuals being much spent, especially our beere.”
So set em up Joe, to America’s forefathers! Hic !
Coffee at one time was considered a drug, not a drink.The early American settlers took it to “ :ward off the lassitude of the body “ – is how their apothecaries described it. When it got introduced to Europe in the 16th century the Vatican decided that it was the devil’s brew because it came from Muslim country. Until Pope Clement VIII took a sip and gave it his blessings. “This Satan’s drink is so delicious it would be a pity to let the infidels have exclusive use of it. We shall fool Satan by baptizing it,” he said.
There’s a brew so expensive you’ve probably never heard of it.But the rich and famous do. Sells for as much as $600 a pound. A single cup of this nectar will run you $30 a cup at a posh dining room in world class hotels. The British Royal family reportedly sips it every morning. It’s called Kopi Luwak. Kopi is Indonesian for coffee. Its’ not picked by human hands but is plucked by sharp claws and fangs and digested by a civet. In the animal’s stomach enzymes in its gastric juices massage the beans, smoothing the harsh edges that make coffee bitter and produce the jitters for addicts. Kopi Luwak is alleged to be so smooth it just emits bliss and pleasant dreams. What’s the catch ? The civet is about the size of your household cat and lives in the jungle. In short your cat growing wild, eating coffee beans, ejecting them, the turd picked up, dried, ground and sipped. So what is Kopi Luwak? Yes brudda, cat shit! What’s probably next is chocolate flavored horse shit EEWWW!
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Philippine History Trivia
PHILIPPINE HISTORY TRIVIA :
Victorino P. Mapa
History labels Ferdinand Magellan as ”The Great Circumnavigator” The title suggests that he was the first to circle the globe. He wasn.t. A Filipino did. Ten years before his epic trip Magellan was an officer in the Portuguese army based in Malacca. He went shopping and both himself a slave that he named Enrique, origin unknown, Ferdinand took him back to Portugal. Fast-forward: Magellan tries to sell the idea of going west to travel east, falls out of favor with the king of Portugal, goes to Spain and succeeds in selling the world cruise to the Spanish kings. Enrique sails with Magellan and when the expedition discovers the Philippines for the Western world Enrique is the first to splash down to embrace the natives like long-lost relatives and happily talks to them nonstop. He is home, thus becoming the first human to circumnavigate the world. Magellan did not finish his voyage. He got killed a few weeks later at the island of Mactan. By the way, neither he nor Columbus had to convince the kings that the world was round, not flat. Aristotle already did, two thousand years earlier. Washington Irving fictionalized the tale in 1828 when he wrote a a best selling book. A chapter describes Columbus trtying to convince scholars that the world was round, not flat. The world already knew it during their time.
The Spanish-American war was the shortest in American history. In the span of five months, from April 25 to August 12, 1898 she chased the Spanish out of Cuba and destroyed the Spanish fleet in Manila The loser got the better of the victor. . Spain sold the Philippines to the United States for the amount of 20 million US dollars in the Treaty of Paris when it was no longer hers to sell. At the time General Aguinaldo had already beaten the Spanish Army, Manila was surrounded by his troops and the Philippines was proclaiming a new government. It was like having a fire sale while the store was burning and having someone dumb enough to buy it. America forgot to ask the Filipinos whether it was alright to buy them. What resulted was two more years of war that American history insists on calling an “insurrection>” The United States lost more men in the Philippine-American conflict than they did in the Spanish-American war and the Vietnam war. combined. It was also the first time America tried to win the hearts and minds of a people through the point of a gun.Fortunately for the Philippines America had different ideas of colonization as practiced by the European powers. By creating the Commonwealth of the Philippines and tutoring the Filipinos to eventual self-rule America ushered the end of colonialism in Asia and elsewhere.
Our national hero Dr Jose Rizal could have died wearing the uniform of the Spanish army. From his exile in Dapitan, Mindanao he volunteered to serve as a surgeon in the Spanish army A revolt broke out in the Philippines. He was well on his way to Cuba when the friars stepped in.. They determined he should be tried and punished for his seditious acts in writing and exposing the venalities of the friars and falsely implicated him to the uprising. .Rizal was placed under arrest in Barcelona , sent back to the Philippines and was tried and executed at Bagumbayan Field. It was the red flag that inflamed the entire nation. The rest is history.
History books write stirring tales of Filipino-American troops gallant last stand at Bataan during World War II and very rightly so.it. What few people know is that Bataan’s fate was sealed long before even the clouds of war appeared. American planners had already concluded that the Philippines could not be defended in case of a war against Japan. They estimated that the Japanese could overwhelm its defenses long before the United States fleet could reach the scene. In the 1920s American strategists therefore, promulgated War Plan Orange 3 which called for the US armed forces to retreat to Bataan in case of hostilities and to hold out for as long as they can and to expect no help whatsoever. General Douglas MacArthur was Chief of Staff of the US Army in the 30s. It is certain he was well-aware of the Orange Plan.This was not disclosed to the troops even after World War II. Incidentally, only a fourth of the 80,000 defenders of Bataan were American troops. The rest were Filipinos.Casualties were the same ratio. For every American who died four Filipinos did too.
Victorino P. Mapa
History labels Ferdinand Magellan as ”The Great Circumnavigator” The title suggests that he was the first to circle the globe. He wasn.t. A Filipino did. Ten years before his epic trip Magellan was an officer in the Portuguese army based in Malacca. He went shopping and both himself a slave that he named Enrique, origin unknown, Ferdinand took him back to Portugal. Fast-forward: Magellan tries to sell the idea of going west to travel east, falls out of favor with the king of Portugal, goes to Spain and succeeds in selling the world cruise to the Spanish kings. Enrique sails with Magellan and when the expedition discovers the Philippines for the Western world Enrique is the first to splash down to embrace the natives like long-lost relatives and happily talks to them nonstop. He is home, thus becoming the first human to circumnavigate the world. Magellan did not finish his voyage. He got killed a few weeks later at the island of Mactan. By the way, neither he nor Columbus had to convince the kings that the world was round, not flat. Aristotle already did, two thousand years earlier. Washington Irving fictionalized the tale in 1828 when he wrote a a best selling book. A chapter describes Columbus trtying to convince scholars that the world was round, not flat. The world already knew it during their time.
The Spanish-American war was the shortest in American history. In the span of five months, from April 25 to August 12, 1898 she chased the Spanish out of Cuba and destroyed the Spanish fleet in Manila The loser got the better of the victor. . Spain sold the Philippines to the United States for the amount of 20 million US dollars in the Treaty of Paris when it was no longer hers to sell. At the time General Aguinaldo had already beaten the Spanish Army, Manila was surrounded by his troops and the Philippines was proclaiming a new government. It was like having a fire sale while the store was burning and having someone dumb enough to buy it. America forgot to ask the Filipinos whether it was alright to buy them. What resulted was two more years of war that American history insists on calling an “insurrection>” The United States lost more men in the Philippine-American conflict than they did in the Spanish-American war and the Vietnam war. combined. It was also the first time America tried to win the hearts and minds of a people through the point of a gun.Fortunately for the Philippines America had different ideas of colonization as practiced by the European powers. By creating the Commonwealth of the Philippines and tutoring the Filipinos to eventual self-rule America ushered the end of colonialism in Asia and elsewhere.
Our national hero Dr Jose Rizal could have died wearing the uniform of the Spanish army. From his exile in Dapitan, Mindanao he volunteered to serve as a surgeon in the Spanish army A revolt broke out in the Philippines. He was well on his way to Cuba when the friars stepped in.. They determined he should be tried and punished for his seditious acts in writing and exposing the venalities of the friars and falsely implicated him to the uprising. .Rizal was placed under arrest in Barcelona , sent back to the Philippines and was tried and executed at Bagumbayan Field. It was the red flag that inflamed the entire nation. The rest is history.
History books write stirring tales of Filipino-American troops gallant last stand at Bataan during World War II and very rightly so.it. What few people know is that Bataan’s fate was sealed long before even the clouds of war appeared. American planners had already concluded that the Philippines could not be defended in case of a war against Japan. They estimated that the Japanese could overwhelm its defenses long before the United States fleet could reach the scene. In the 1920s American strategists therefore, promulgated War Plan Orange 3 which called for the US armed forces to retreat to Bataan in case of hostilities and to hold out for as long as they can and to expect no help whatsoever. General Douglas MacArthur was Chief of Staff of the US Army in the 30s. It is certain he was well-aware of the Orange Plan.This was not disclosed to the troops even after World War II. Incidentally, only a fourth of the 80,000 defenders of Bataan were American troops. The rest were Filipinos.Casualties were the same ratio. For every American who died four Filipinos did too.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Baguio Daze
All that the early American pioneers wanted of Baguio was to take in its cool mountain air and to chase golf balls without keeling over from heat prostrataion. Then they discovered something else – Gold!. To this day Baguio continues to have one of the richest gold deposits in the world. It’s not all that’s being dug. Fortune seekers go on treks to the mountain wilds in search of Yamashita’s treasure. If you’re not in the know this is allegedly the booty looted by the Japanese during their three years of empire that General Yamashita brought along and buried before surrendering during double-U-eye-eye. Rumors persist that Marcos found some of it and kept the Golden Buddha.You can buy maps to the treasure from the same people who sell the Brooklyn Bridge.
Americans were not the first to discover gold but the Spaniards. The early conquistadors came into first contact with its native people when the Igorots came down from the hills to trade. They saw the Igorots sporting crude bright stones for trinkets. Without a by-your-leave they rushed to the hills to get their share. The Spaniards thought they could treat the Igorots the same way they treated the natives of the lowlands. They forgot one small detail: The Igorots were headhunters.Not wanting to lose theirs for the next three hundred years the Spanish commandants in charge of the territory “governed the Igorots peacefully” from their outpost in Agoo, La Union- about five mountains and 100 kilometers away. . The Igorots and the Muslims of Mindanao were the only people that the Spaniards left alone throughout their 400 years rule.
Baguio isn’t just fresh air and golf. The area is the “salad capital” of the Philippines. Almost all the veggies and flowers sold in Manila originate here. Then too are the local attractions of Burnham Park where you can boat pedal on its lake, Mansion House where the President stays when the Manila weather gets unbearably hot. And then some : A drive around its residential area likewise displaying the ostentatious homes of Manila’s elite; Minesview Park is where you can see forever while the kiddies go horseback astride sonambulating ponies; the government edifices built by the same Americanos who created its golf links and Camp John Hay, once the favorite R & R place for American officers during Commonwealth days. Session Road is the city’s main stem, a four block avenue lined with souvenir shops, cafes and restaurants where you can sip your San Mig and watch fellow tourists amble by on their way to the City market. It’s the only place where you can still see Igorots in their “native” attire in the same way you find Spider Man, Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman in front of Grauman’s Chinese theater inHollywood. Like them the “authentic” Igorots charge for a photo shoot. Incidentally, if you want to be welcomed back to your Manila home don’t forget to bring back Baguio Longanizas
Time was when THE only place to stay was the 200 room government run Pines Hotel plus a few other family run hotels. The Pines burned down during the Marcos years and has not been replaced. What has replaced it are several dozen four and five star hotels which to this old-timer are urban blights. All are shoulder-to-shoulder beside Session Road and lined along Burnham Park. The other disfigurement to the heart of the city is its overpopulation. In the old days I could swagger down session street like I owned it without bumping anyone. No longer. Downtown Baguio foot and vehicle traffic now is ala Manila and just as insane. .
There are still quiet retreats and noise free parks where you can be alone to contemplate the problems of the world - the walk around the cathedral and the paseos outside of Session Road. One of such escapes is Mario’s, situated on a quiet avenue away from downtown. Mario’s is an oasis of fine Spanish dining and old-world service. Try its Caesar’s salad. You will agree that it is the best in the world.
Americans were not the first to discover gold but the Spaniards. The early conquistadors came into first contact with its native people when the Igorots came down from the hills to trade. They saw the Igorots sporting crude bright stones for trinkets. Without a by-your-leave they rushed to the hills to get their share. The Spaniards thought they could treat the Igorots the same way they treated the natives of the lowlands. They forgot one small detail: The Igorots were headhunters.Not wanting to lose theirs for the next three hundred years the Spanish commandants in charge of the territory “governed the Igorots peacefully” from their outpost in Agoo, La Union- about five mountains and 100 kilometers away. . The Igorots and the Muslims of Mindanao were the only people that the Spaniards left alone throughout their 400 years rule.
Baguio isn’t just fresh air and golf. The area is the “salad capital” of the Philippines. Almost all the veggies and flowers sold in Manila originate here. Then too are the local attractions of Burnham Park where you can boat pedal on its lake, Mansion House where the President stays when the Manila weather gets unbearably hot. And then some : A drive around its residential area likewise displaying the ostentatious homes of Manila’s elite; Minesview Park is where you can see forever while the kiddies go horseback astride sonambulating ponies; the government edifices built by the same Americanos who created its golf links and Camp John Hay, once the favorite R & R place for American officers during Commonwealth days. Session Road is the city’s main stem, a four block avenue lined with souvenir shops, cafes and restaurants where you can sip your San Mig and watch fellow tourists amble by on their way to the City market. It’s the only place where you can still see Igorots in their “native” attire in the same way you find Spider Man, Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman in front of Grauman’s Chinese theater inHollywood. Like them the “authentic” Igorots charge for a photo shoot. Incidentally, if you want to be welcomed back to your Manila home don’t forget to bring back Baguio Longanizas
Time was when THE only place to stay was the 200 room government run Pines Hotel plus a few other family run hotels. The Pines burned down during the Marcos years and has not been replaced. What has replaced it are several dozen four and five star hotels which to this old-timer are urban blights. All are shoulder-to-shoulder beside Session Road and lined along Burnham Park. The other disfigurement to the heart of the city is its overpopulation. In the old days I could swagger down session street like I owned it without bumping anyone. No longer. Downtown Baguio foot and vehicle traffic now is ala Manila and just as insane. .
There are still quiet retreats and noise free parks where you can be alone to contemplate the problems of the world - the walk around the cathedral and the paseos outside of Session Road. One of such escapes is Mario’s, situated on a quiet avenue away from downtown. Mario’s is an oasis of fine Spanish dining and old-world service. Try its Caesar’s salad. You will agree that it is the best in the world.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Driving to Baguio
The first mass invasion of Baguio by Americans was made in 1902 by William Howard Taft – who was a mass of over 300 pounds. He negotiated the almost fifty kilometer steep mountain trek from the Ilocos lowland by donkey. Taft was so enthused by his achievement that the then Philippine Governor-General sent an exhuberant wire to Under-Secretary of War Elihu Root, ‘ ARRIVED IN BAGUIO 5000 FEET UP AFTER A GRUELING THREE DAY TRIP BY DONKEY.”
To which Mr Root promptly replied, “HOW’S THE DONKEY?”
It was an ass-inine way to travel so Uncle Sam appropriated the sum of seventy five thousand pesos to build a highway to what would become the summer capital of the Philippines. The work was assigned to US Army Colonel Kennon. It took him months to blast a path of a few hundred yards out of sheer mountain rock. The army
hired Igorots to help them. (See “Golf” a few blogs back). They began to work away from where the army was blasting. It gave the engineers conniptions. “Stop, STOP, STOP! - TIME OUT! You’re digging in the wrong place! The road is supposed to be here. “ The Igorots built the rice terraces, giant mountain step fields that reached the skies, the eight wonder of the world. They continued to dig at sides where mountain springs were and allowed the water’s flow to weaken the mountain sides .Dynamite and water combined to finish Kennon Road ahead of schedule - although eventually costing more than two million pesos in 1920s currency. Today’s inflationary exchange would put the cost in the millions.
Another mountain highway, the Naguilian Road has since been built .It’s the recommended road back if you want to tarry a few days in the beach resorts of La Union. Marcos built a third one and named it after him. Philippine Airlines has daily one hour flights to and from Manila. Personally I feel the air trip is only for those with a death wish.The flight squeezes between two mountain tops to three point at Loakan airport that is often shrouded in fog. Besides, the five hour ride from Manila is half the fun of going to Baguio. One of the legacies of the country’s Commonwealth days was the extensive all-concrete highway built during the administration of Governor-General Cameron Forbes in the early 20s. So thoroughly did the gov dedicated his tenure to road building tha the is remembered today not as Cameron Forbes but “Camerino (meaning, road) Forbes”.
I’m digressing.
Up until the early 80s there were hardly any places to empty your bladder enroute. One had to cross his/her legs until reaching the summer capital – either that or pause by the roadside to irrigate the rice fields. A welcome change today are the up-to-date pit stops of spanking-neat gas stations alongside ubiquitous jollibees and just as clean competing restaurants with spotless restrooms. A third of the way to Baguio is via a fast growing North toll road which the locals have designated “Enlex”, as opposed to another highway going south that they call “Eslex”.
It was a quiet Sunday morning and time was in slow motion – so we decided to take a side trip to Manaoag for a visit with the lady of the town, the grand, glorious and glittering Virgin of Manaoag (Mah-now –ag).. The church and the image of the Blessed Mother attired as a queen holding Baby Jesus is the object of veneration and pilgrimage by devout Catholics. It wasn’t a special Sunday but nevertheless cars and jeepneys were lined for a dozen blocks and we barely squeezed through the mass of wall-to-wall people, both outside and inside the church.To squash through that human congestion is your penance and atonement for your sins.
To be continued
To which Mr Root promptly replied, “HOW’S THE DONKEY?”
It was an ass-inine way to travel so Uncle Sam appropriated the sum of seventy five thousand pesos to build a highway to what would become the summer capital of the Philippines. The work was assigned to US Army Colonel Kennon. It took him months to blast a path of a few hundred yards out of sheer mountain rock. The army
hired Igorots to help them. (See “Golf” a few blogs back). They began to work away from where the army was blasting. It gave the engineers conniptions. “Stop, STOP, STOP! - TIME OUT! You’re digging in the wrong place! The road is supposed to be here. “ The Igorots built the rice terraces, giant mountain step fields that reached the skies, the eight wonder of the world. They continued to dig at sides where mountain springs were and allowed the water’s flow to weaken the mountain sides .Dynamite and water combined to finish Kennon Road ahead of schedule - although eventually costing more than two million pesos in 1920s currency. Today’s inflationary exchange would put the cost in the millions.
Another mountain highway, the Naguilian Road has since been built .It’s the recommended road back if you want to tarry a few days in the beach resorts of La Union. Marcos built a third one and named it after him. Philippine Airlines has daily one hour flights to and from Manila. Personally I feel the air trip is only for those with a death wish.The flight squeezes between two mountain tops to three point at Loakan airport that is often shrouded in fog. Besides, the five hour ride from Manila is half the fun of going to Baguio. One of the legacies of the country’s Commonwealth days was the extensive all-concrete highway built during the administration of Governor-General Cameron Forbes in the early 20s. So thoroughly did the gov dedicated his tenure to road building tha the is remembered today not as Cameron Forbes but “Camerino (meaning, road) Forbes”.
I’m digressing.
Up until the early 80s there were hardly any places to empty your bladder enroute. One had to cross his/her legs until reaching the summer capital – either that or pause by the roadside to irrigate the rice fields. A welcome change today are the up-to-date pit stops of spanking-neat gas stations alongside ubiquitous jollibees and just as clean competing restaurants with spotless restrooms. A third of the way to Baguio is via a fast growing North toll road which the locals have designated “Enlex”, as opposed to another highway going south that they call “Eslex”.
It was a quiet Sunday morning and time was in slow motion – so we decided to take a side trip to Manaoag for a visit with the lady of the town, the grand, glorious and glittering Virgin of Manaoag (Mah-now –ag).. The church and the image of the Blessed Mother attired as a queen holding Baby Jesus is the object of veneration and pilgrimage by devout Catholics. It wasn’t a special Sunday but nevertheless cars and jeepneys were lined for a dozen blocks and we barely squeezed through the mass of wall-to-wall people, both outside and inside the church.To squash through that human congestion is your penance and atonement for your sins.
To be continued
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
NAME CALLING
Victorino P Mapa
I am laughing all by myself as I walk down the street.The People who pass me think I’ve gone loco. All because of an article I just read on the September 2 issue of THE WEEK, a magazine akin to Newsweek and Time.THE WEEK’s travel section featured a resort in Poland that “was once one of the most glamorous resorts in Europe.” It extolled the “brilliant renovation of the Baltic town’s 127 room hotel” – the Sofitel Grand SOPOT! My perverted mind considered the possibilities :
A political statement: “Sopots declare their support to the candidacy of…”
The hotel’s brochure: “ the Sofitel’s grand ballroom is where Sopots like to hold their balls….”
“Hey dude, nice of you to call. Where are you?”
“Sopot!”
“Well same to you fella!”
It reminded me of a time when I was listening to a play-by-play radio commentary of a local basketball game in San Francisco and the Americano sportscaster was describing, “the ball is passed to Come Again, Come Again dribbles down the court, Come Again makes a shot and Come Again scores another two points!!! “ The next day I read Come Again’s real name: Cumagun, (Koo-ma-goon)from Batangas.
When I first landed in San Francisco. I took a taxi and asked to be taken to “Gogg Street” The cabbie was confused. Seeing the wetness behind my ears he asked me to spell it. G-O-U-G-H. “Oh, you mean Goff Street!”. Since then I’ve learned to pronounce in Americanese. I now say “Valley Joe” for Vallejo ‘Kew pertino” for Cupertino and “Sannacruz” for Santa Cruz.
I met a Peace Corp volunteer in Manila and asked where she was headed to. She answered loud enough for everyone to hear, ”I am assigned to Make a Baby.” Stunned Silence. I was simply making polite conversation and I get True confessions, I thought. Then she pointed to a name on the map: Macabebe, Pampanga.
Mispronunciations often have hilarious results as with these true tales:
When Richard Nixon was running for President he made a visit to the Philippines to beef up his foreign affairs resume’. He was cordially welcomed and given a tour of Corregidor with a Colonel Teotico as his guide. He was so pleased with the courtesies extended that he asked the Colonel, “May I have your full name sir? I would like to write to your commanding officer to thank him for your graciousness and courtesy in taking the time to show me around.”
The colonel replied. “My name perhaps would be a little hard for you to remember, Mr Nixon. It is Teotimo Teotico.”
Nixon: “Nonsense Colonel, I can say it as well as my name – Tee-tee mo, Tee-tee ko>”
Other officers unfortunately overheard the exchange and to his dying day the Colonel could not live down the name that Nixon gave him
This one was broadcast worldw-de on TV: President Marcos just declared Martial Law and was being interviewed by a gaggle of journalists from around the world. A Japanese newscaster raised his hand to question whether elections will or will not continue. In a thick Japanese accent he queried, “Mr President, now that you have decrrared Martiar Raw, what about your erections?” The President could hardly keep a straight face. He made it worse when he ad-libbed, “well, it all depends on the First Lady…” The Japanese reporter never understood why everyone in the room was shaking with laughter.
I am laughing all by myself as I walk down the street.The People who pass me think I’ve gone loco. All because of an article I just read on the September 2 issue of THE WEEK, a magazine akin to Newsweek and Time.THE WEEK’s travel section featured a resort in Poland that “was once one of the most glamorous resorts in Europe.” It extolled the “brilliant renovation of the Baltic town’s 127 room hotel” – the Sofitel Grand SOPOT! My perverted mind considered the possibilities :
A political statement: “Sopots declare their support to the candidacy of…”
The hotel’s brochure: “ the Sofitel’s grand ballroom is where Sopots like to hold their balls….”
“Hey dude, nice of you to call. Where are you?”
“Sopot!”
“Well same to you fella!”
It reminded me of a time when I was listening to a play-by-play radio commentary of a local basketball game in San Francisco and the Americano sportscaster was describing, “the ball is passed to Come Again, Come Again dribbles down the court, Come Again makes a shot and Come Again scores another two points!!! “ The next day I read Come Again’s real name: Cumagun, (Koo-ma-goon)from Batangas.
When I first landed in San Francisco. I took a taxi and asked to be taken to “Gogg Street” The cabbie was confused. Seeing the wetness behind my ears he asked me to spell it. G-O-U-G-H. “Oh, you mean Goff Street!”. Since then I’ve learned to pronounce in Americanese. I now say “Valley Joe” for Vallejo ‘Kew pertino” for Cupertino and “Sannacruz” for Santa Cruz.
I met a Peace Corp volunteer in Manila and asked where she was headed to. She answered loud enough for everyone to hear, ”I am assigned to Make a Baby.” Stunned Silence. I was simply making polite conversation and I get True confessions, I thought. Then she pointed to a name on the map: Macabebe, Pampanga.
Mispronunciations often have hilarious results as with these true tales:
When Richard Nixon was running for President he made a visit to the Philippines to beef up his foreign affairs resume’. He was cordially welcomed and given a tour of Corregidor with a Colonel Teotico as his guide. He was so pleased with the courtesies extended that he asked the Colonel, “May I have your full name sir? I would like to write to your commanding officer to thank him for your graciousness and courtesy in taking the time to show me around.”
The colonel replied. “My name perhaps would be a little hard for you to remember, Mr Nixon. It is Teotimo Teotico.”
Nixon: “Nonsense Colonel, I can say it as well as my name – Tee-tee mo, Tee-tee ko>”
Other officers unfortunately overheard the exchange and to his dying day the Colonel could not live down the name that Nixon gave him
This one was broadcast worldw-de on TV: President Marcos just declared Martial Law and was being interviewed by a gaggle of journalists from around the world. A Japanese newscaster raised his hand to question whether elections will or will not continue. In a thick Japanese accent he queried, “Mr President, now that you have decrrared Martiar Raw, what about your erections?” The President could hardly keep a straight face. He made it worse when he ad-libbed, “well, it all depends on the First Lady…” The Japanese reporter never understood why everyone in the room was shaking with laughter.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The Land That Time forgets
THE LAND THAT TIME HAPPILY FORGETS:
Victorino P Mapa
As we continue our trip northward along the western coast of Panay island one sees the Master painter’s handiwork: Rich, lush green rice fields stretch from the sea’s edge to the upland ridges; a tranquil beach is ever visible to the left, thinly sheltered by swaying coconut trees. The mountain cordillera of Panay to the far right shows its silhouette as the paved road undulates through a gently undulating vista that equals the South Paicific edens that famed story tellers as Melville, Stevenson and Michener enthused about. The people set a never ending pattern of tilling the land, nursing and reaping a harvest and tilling it again, a cycle of life that no ideology turmoil or calamity has changed. It has been so for centuries and will remain so for centuries to come. They perpetuate the scene of a beautiful land suspended in its own time. Once in a while a huge , fairly new concrete house incongroulsy appears amid a row of thatched huts by the roadside. “ The owner has gone to Saudi” is the explanation of our driver, meaning, the native son has gone overseas to work in the Middle East and saved enough to fulfill his ambition of building a hoem that he can live in happlily ever after.
The Southeast Asia Fisheries and Development research center at Tigbauan gave us brief interruption. The ongoing research work at the center does not exactly enoucarge sightseers. But we were only a carload and the unavoidable Ilonggo hospitality opened its doors and a guide was provided for a quick tour. The Center is the only one of its kind in the Philippines and is only one of three in Southeast Asia. The next town has a major must-see attraction in the fortress-church of Miagao (Mee-yag-aw). In a less populated era the church commanded a view of the horizon. Its vantage point explains why it served as a refuge against marauding Muslim pirates. It took a second look to discern that the façade’s ornate frieze was of a native garbed St. Christopher with the child Jesus on his shoulders. St Christopher is holding on to a banana tree with its leaves radiating outward for support. The church-fortress has been declared a World Heritage site by the United Nations. A new University of the Philippines sits by a sea breezed ridge at the edge of town.
A sudden shift from a gradual to a steep ascent brought us to a bend of the road where the Iloilo highway ends and the road to Antique Province begins (The triangular shaped island of Panay is divided into four provinces – Iloilo, Antique, Aklan and Capiz).We parked beside four roadside cafes that also served as mini-marts, ala 7-ll located at the edge of a cliff. The promontory that balanced the cafes rendered a breath taking panorama of Panay island’s southern tip and the road just travelled. It was a clear day and we could see forever. With the sea directly beneath our feet we ordered an ala carte lunch for three: the Ilonggo Kadyos beans with veggies just snapped from the garden, two fish entrees from the catch of the day and rice – a kingly feast for the paltry sum of P110 (almost US$3.00!)., a round of San Miguel beer included. The beer was warm but with the view, the meal, my shoes off and the feeling that all was well with the world, I would have drank it boiling hot.
Tiolas is not shown nor mentioned in any road map and maybe Ilonggos like to keep it that way – Iloilo’s best kept secret. It can be yours too. The memory and the greeting that the café owner gave in that melodious Ilonggo accent, “Ma Ayong Aga, Totoo!” still lingers on .
Victorino P Mapa
As we continue our trip northward along the western coast of Panay island one sees the Master painter’s handiwork: Rich, lush green rice fields stretch from the sea’s edge to the upland ridges; a tranquil beach is ever visible to the left, thinly sheltered by swaying coconut trees. The mountain cordillera of Panay to the far right shows its silhouette as the paved road undulates through a gently undulating vista that equals the South Paicific edens that famed story tellers as Melville, Stevenson and Michener enthused about. The people set a never ending pattern of tilling the land, nursing and reaping a harvest and tilling it again, a cycle of life that no ideology turmoil or calamity has changed. It has been so for centuries and will remain so for centuries to come. They perpetuate the scene of a beautiful land suspended in its own time. Once in a while a huge , fairly new concrete house incongroulsy appears amid a row of thatched huts by the roadside. “ The owner has gone to Saudi” is the explanation of our driver, meaning, the native son has gone overseas to work in the Middle East and saved enough to fulfill his ambition of building a hoem that he can live in happlily ever after.
The Southeast Asia Fisheries and Development research center at Tigbauan gave us brief interruption. The ongoing research work at the center does not exactly enoucarge sightseers. But we were only a carload and the unavoidable Ilonggo hospitality opened its doors and a guide was provided for a quick tour. The Center is the only one of its kind in the Philippines and is only one of three in Southeast Asia. The next town has a major must-see attraction in the fortress-church of Miagao (Mee-yag-aw). In a less populated era the church commanded a view of the horizon. Its vantage point explains why it served as a refuge against marauding Muslim pirates. It took a second look to discern that the façade’s ornate frieze was of a native garbed St. Christopher with the child Jesus on his shoulders. St Christopher is holding on to a banana tree with its leaves radiating outward for support. The church-fortress has been declared a World Heritage site by the United Nations. A new University of the Philippines sits by a sea breezed ridge at the edge of town.
A sudden shift from a gradual to a steep ascent brought us to a bend of the road where the Iloilo highway ends and the road to Antique Province begins (The triangular shaped island of Panay is divided into four provinces – Iloilo, Antique, Aklan and Capiz).We parked beside four roadside cafes that also served as mini-marts, ala 7-ll located at the edge of a cliff. The promontory that balanced the cafes rendered a breath taking panorama of Panay island’s southern tip and the road just travelled. It was a clear day and we could see forever. With the sea directly beneath our feet we ordered an ala carte lunch for three: the Ilonggo Kadyos beans with veggies just snapped from the garden, two fish entrees from the catch of the day and rice – a kingly feast for the paltry sum of P110 (almost US$3.00!)., a round of San Miguel beer included. The beer was warm but with the view, the meal, my shoes off and the feeling that all was well with the world, I would have drank it boiling hot.
Tiolas is not shown nor mentioned in any road map and maybe Ilonggos like to keep it that way – Iloilo’s best kept secret. It can be yours too. The memory and the greeting that the café owner gave in that melodious Ilonggo accent, “Ma Ayong Aga, Totoo!” still lingers on .
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Other Face of Iloilo
The grandeur of the city is gone. Time has chiseled the faces of the Greek busts at the four corners of Plaza Libertad. The ruins of Casino Espanol now embraces squatter huts. Palatial homes of long absent hacenderos stand shuttered, creeping Kudzu vines strangle once flowering gardens. They are remnants of the city’s halcyon days of grand balls, rigodons and carnivals – gentle ghosts of remembrances that have long fallen asleep. It is where I was born, where my thoughts and dreams and character was shaped. It is why I am prejudiced about the place , my Lorelei, and why I keep coming back to Iloilo.
The center of the city has moved elsewhere, where a Shoe-Mart shopping mall is its heart. Iloilo City is no longer the “Queen City of the South”. The tiara has passed on to Cebu City.But it is all that the city and province has ceded. She has retained the jewels of Ilonggo hospitality, the richness of the soil and the quiet magnificence of her countryside for the visttor to experience and cherish.You too can discover them when you take a jaunt to the southern tip of Panay.
Few sightseers take this route for most are pre-sold for points north, to the pink sands of Boracay where they can swim, scuba and snorkel. The trip to the southern tip of the province then north offers no similar diversions , at least not in a packaged way. The main attraction is the drive itself, over a smooth paved highway and the scenery that unfolds. It takes a mere three hours or less to negotiate the sixty kilometers and back if you’re hairbreath-harry. To the less demented it can be a well-spent full day trip. PU (not phooey you but Public Utility) air conditioned cars are easily hired from your hotel for P600 a day. with Toto the driver as your guide. Expensive? Not if it’s translated to app: US$14. Incidentally, “ Toto” is almost every male’s name in Iloilo. It’s the local term of endearment pronounced in so many sing-song ways.
Molo is worth a first stop if only to buy a tin of “sopas de Molo”. Despite its name it isn’t soup but locally made assorted biscuits that the town of is famous for. Everybody knows where the Panaderia de Molo is. Any local can likewise direct you to the only extant “sinamay” display house and factory.The weaving of this sheer Visayan cloth from banana fibers is a dying industry, its death knell sounded by wash-and-wear Tetorons and Polyesters. Drop by the Asilo de Molo orphanage and pick up beautiful barongs and handkerchiefs made of the delicate fiber - all exquisitely embroidered by the little orphan Annies supervised by nuns Fronting the Plaza is its Renaissance church made of coral rock. The Molo church is teasingly dubbed the “Women’s Lib church “ because all the displayed saints are female. I tried to debunk the name by pointing to two angels but I was shot down when the priest replied, “Angels have no gender .”
“You mean, they have no sex?”
“ I don’t know about that, but they are neither male nor female.”
I quit the small talk while I was ahead.
It was market day at the town of Oton and we paused to buy “Pinasugbo” an Ilonggo delicacy of crispy sliced bananas dipped in gooey molasses. I was intrigued by the plaza’s concrete figures of the common man at work. “Man in his Environment” the sign said. I wanted to graffiti “…and his severe handicaps” because so many of the statues were missing arms and legs. The figures were in neglect but the bloom of the flowering bushes were not. The edge of Oton is by the sea and dotted with beach resorts that Ilonggos escape to on weekends. During weekdays hardly anyone uses them – a great place to be alone with your cooler and Walkman.
The other towns we passed through offered the distinct sameness found in all Philippine hamlets: town square fronting church, city hall direct opposite and the mandatory monument to a famous native son and Dr Jose Rizal who forever seems to be perpetually pointing at something. Beyond Oton the Master Painter’s handiwork begins.
To be continued.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
loss of innocence
THE LOSS OF INNOCENCE :
Victorino P. Mapa
“Smiling, happy, Philippines” was the title of a National Geographic magazine article which appeared during the closing days of 1941. To be appointed High Commissioner to the Commonwealth of the Philippines was a plum much sought after by American officials. The archipelago was the idyllic , serene Pacific paradise populated by a people imbued with an exhuberant hospitality and a joie de vivre not experienced anywhere. When the commissioners ended their tours and departed they left their hearts in the islands. We had leaders that were giants : Quezon, Roxas, Paredes, Recto, Laurel, Yulo, Osias. Their names and deeds now leap out from our history books.
I was enrolled at the “Colegio de San Juan de Letran” Located inside Intramuros, the Walled City A part of the walls embraced the school and a rampart fronted the school’s main entrance. We would play on the grassy knoll atop the walls during recess. We lived inside the Walled city and on weekends we would take a stroll across the Walled City’s north gate to the Mehan gardens behind the Grand Metropolitan opera house to visit the zoo. A street car ran along the entire length of Rizal Avenue, to Plaza Lawton, curving behind the City Hall to San Marcelino street and ended at Singalong.(the American expats pronounced it “Sing Along)The ride from end to end cost five centavos.
. Our educational system was second to none in Asia. We studied from books prepared and printed in the USA. While we learned of our origins as a people, our innumerable revolts against Spain and of Rizal, Bonifacio and Aguinaldo we also studied the 13 colonies,. The Civil War and George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln as well. We got accustomed to saluting two flags and singing “Philippines my Philippines in Englsih Word for word the song was the anthem of the state of Maryland. Everyone could sing the national anthem . The words were entirely in english. (“Land of the morning, child of the sun returning……..”) With his English the average Filipinos’ ambition was to leave and reside in the United States. One could walk straight to the counter in the US High Commissioner’s office (It wasn’t the US Embassy then – we were still a Commonwealth) apply for a visa and have it granted within minutes.
Many college graduates and especially the children of the more affluent did not share the same ambition. Jobs were plentiful, the Peso held steady against the dollar and the standard of life was far superior than what one could find in the United States. Why travel to the United States at all and be hired as farm hands, bus boys or waiters when one could easily test for civil service eligibility and/or take the fast track to executive positions in fast growing companies? What does the United States have that we could not have in the Philippines? . We saw the latest American movies, had soda fountains, hamburger joints and Magnolia ice cream; Florsheim shoes cost the same and we smoked Lucky Strikes, chesterfields, camels and Piedmonts. And haven’t you heard? . Corregidor island has openings for civilian employees and they pay in US dollars! We were living the good life and we had no doubt that we shall continue doing so when we became independent. Nationalism was in full swing. America pledged to grant our freedom in 1946. Uncle Sam will do everything to help prepare the country for Independence
General Douglas MacArthur retired from the US Army and was hired by the Philippine Government to help it train and create its own army .MacArthur proclaimed himself Field Marshall. With the Philippine Scouts and the Constabulary as the core He estimated that the Philippines would have a viable Armed force by 1946. In December 7 Japanese planes over Pearl Harbor. Because of the International date line the war came to the Philippines the next day. Japanese Zeros came and destroyed the planes at Clark Field and the US Navy ships at Cavite. When the bombs fell it shattered more than the planes, ships and implements of war. It also destroyed that which was more precious and irreplaceable. -a grace and an innocence and a way of life that would nevermore exist.
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