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
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
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.
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