Of Art and the ones in Spain

I know there is no point in explaining, but my only excuse for once again being away for so long is that I got side-tracked; with what, is still another post.

So anyway, I promised one last thing to share about my trip to Spain. Aside from the tours, going to Toledo, and El Escorial, JG also took me to the museums around Madrid. One of my favorite things about Europe is their love for art, old and new. I am no expert, but I particularly like to see paintings made by the famous once, by that I mean the artists you hear about and are used as reference for years. Ever since I saw the original Mona Lisa in the Louvre, I realized that just a few years before that I never even thought I would find myself in Paris, much less see a famous artistic icon. So I decided that as long as I could, I would visit as many museums as I can, and continue to enjoy the privilege of being able to see such historical treasures.

Their paintings give us a glimpse of the world during their time through the eyes of these artists. I especially like the portraits because it makes me wonder about the person in the painting, like this painting of Mrs. Joshua Henshaw II, Catherine Hill, by John Singleton Copley at the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum. I liked it because it seemed to me like a real picture of a lady seemed to be my age but who lived centuries before I did. I wondered about who she was and what she was like, when I look at paintings like that I think about whether see would be someone who I could’ve friends with, judging from how she smiled or her choice of the color of her dress. I tried to find information about who she was but I just keep going back to this painting.

Portrait of Mrs. Joshua Henshaw II, Catherine Hill by John Singleton Copley, 1172 from the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Spain.
http://www.museothyssen.org/en/thyssen/ficha_obra/451

I have also found that I like Van Gogh’s work in particular; in Madrid I got o see two or his original works, Watermill at Genep and Evening Landscape.

Evening Landscape by Vincent Van Gogh, 1885 also from the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza.
http://www.museothyssen.org/img/obras_descarga/1966.8.jpg

I like him because most of his works when you stand very close to it, you just see these simple deep strokes of lines of all sorts of colors, but as you step back you see that it all connects into this beautiful picture. Also as it was pointed out in an episode of Dr. Who, when Vincent was alive he was tormented by his psychological ailments, and yet he was able to produce such beauty. As it was said in the episode it would’ve been easier for him to draw the pain and anguish in his mind, instead he fought that and gave us the opposite. I think that is what makes his works so interesting, and I find that it kind of says something to me – finding the beauty amidst the darkness, and all that…

There was no Van Gogh’s at the Museo Del Prado, the national art museum of Spain, but there were a lot of the more classical forms, as I would call them. The likes made by Goya one of the most celebrated Spanish painters, whom JG liked. I decided that I was not such a big fan of such paintings, but again is impressed that such an artifact is kept to be seen and enjoyed by the coming generations.

La Maja Desnuda by Francisco Goya also known as The Nude Maja, is one of Goya's most famous found at the Museo del Prado. I think this painting comes in two versions.

In search for more Van Gogh, JG and I braved the cold and rain, to get to the Reina Sofia museum, where most of what are called Avant-garde artworks in Madrid can be found. And sure enough nothing can be as Avant-garde as paintings by Picasso. Now these for me were a bit more too extreme, like I said I like how painters are able to capture a picture with their talent but I seem to be not born with the eye to see the message behind the abstract. However even if you are like me who do not have the taste for Picasso, I still recommend that you stop by and see his Guernica. This huge Picasso painting is a mural that stands about 11 feet tall and about 26 feet wide, it only shows gray, black, and white and was Picasso’s entry to an exhibition in France in the 1930’s. The mural is about a bombing in a town in Guernica, to which Picasso wanted to draw some awareness to. Although I have to admit that the message or what the painting symbolizes eludes me, it was really an experience for me to walk in that room and see that. For me, a Picasso is something I can only see in the movies or hear about, that his works can only be found in the living rooms of rich people, and yet there I was standing in front of his biggest works.

Picasso's Guernica at the Reina Sofia Museum
http://theaegon.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/guernica-dans-un-musee.jpg

Again I am no expert, I have no opinion about strokes, or color, or lighting, or whatever jargons there is in appreciating fine art. I like it because I find it fascinating how a person is able to capture something, whether it be from a scene, a bowl of fruit, or an abstract image from their imagination, and be able to paint it or sculpt it, immortalize it. Nowadays it is easy to create something as we are living in the digital age. Picturesque moments can be caught with a click of a button and even be manipulated in all forms. That’s great too, how math and science, binary codes or whatever have given us that. But a lot can be said about the likes of Da Vinci, Monet, Picasso for being able to do that with nothing but what is today are rudimentary tools like brushes, paint, and a piece of paper/canvass. They did not have such things as DSLR or special apps that instantly make art; all they had was their eye to see beauty and the talent to draw it.

Anyway that was Spain for me its art, history, paella and all.

On Cooking while Bleeding

While preparing brunch yesterday, I gave myself a nasty cut with the kitchen knife. It was a small one on the left middle finger, but it was a bit deep. Friday mornings in Arab country is the worst time to get injured, because all stores are closed for prayer until the afternoons (especially when you did not have the good sense to stock up on some gauze and antiseptics). So whilst I was bleeding on a small towel waiting for the pharmacy to open I thought about my cooking.

A very good friend of mine recently got married, and has also launched a new blog wherein she writes about her baking and cooking exploits. In the blog she explains the she was introduced to the basics of baking at a young age, with her classy mom who makes their birthday cakes herself as suppose to buying them from the famous patisseries, thus passing on the necessary skills in the culinary arts to my friend, enough to have the credibility to write about it. And in that aspect I envy her, and have no doubts she will be posting great foodie posts, not to mention how happy I am for her Mr. who will be served delicious meals.

I on the other hand, was also domestically trained by Mom, but in a very different way. My mom was busy with work, so instructions always came in a form of a note which I will find in the morning long after my mom left for work or when I get home from school. On the note would be a detailed enumeration of how to cook the night’s dinner, a list of what I needed to buy, and of course always signed “luv u mommy”. Attached to the note is the exact amount of money I needed to get everything I needed.

Another important detail I would like to mention is that back then money was always tight, so the choice viand would normally be the kind that would cost, at least 50 pesos. That’s about a dollar or ½ Omani Rial.  So you can imagine how un-wide my choices were. The simple point I am making here, is compared to most wives – am not a good cook.  As a teenager I did not find this a problem because I had dreams of becoming an independent career woman who would be eating a big sandwich standing by my kitchen sink, so cooking would not be needed, plus I have grown to love the meals my Mom had taught me to cook, no matter how experimental or rudimentary they are. But funny how life turns out, who knew I was going to find myself a homemaker?

At present, the issue of “What’s for dinner?” is usually the source of irritation and occasional quarrels in my otherwise peaceful married life. My limited knowledge of kitchen skill, is not very appealing to taste of JG, whom, since we are the subject of how kids were raised was fed by a very doting mother who can cook a million kinds of meals as well. It also does not help, that JG likes absurdist conversations wherein most of the time nothing is settled.

JG: What’s to eat?

Me: What would you like to eat?

JG: Kahit ano (Whatever)

Me: Would you like ______?

JG: Not really, no.

Me: What about________?

JG: (thinks) No. Is there______?

Me: We do not have the ingredients for that….

This goes on and on ‘til we settle for hotdogs or take out.

Nevertheless, as the proverb says “let the wise increase their learning”. Having no job and some free time, I thought it best to sharpen my dull cooking abilities. Especially when I was in Libya, where time was all I got. There I learned to make pies, and many other meals, like Chicken ala King and Charlie Chan pasta. A big help is that I am lucky to be living in this day and age when I can access recipes at a click of a button. JG would request something, a google search later, and it is done, basically all those years of reading my Mother’s notes paid off because I seem to have this honed ability of following instructions. Of course JG liking it is hit-and-miss, but as long as it’s edible and does not look like burnt charcoal, I’d call it a great effort.

Hit-and-Miss. This chocolate cake I baked out of boredom turned out fine, except the next day it was so solid hard I could've used it as a weapon.

 And yet still, I am kind of starting to believe that cooking is a skill that you have to love, like my Kitchen Monday friend, I can only surmise that her culinary skills is a combination of all her years of learning from her mom, plus as she says the joy and relaxation she feels when she is whipping something up. I on the other hand was not blessed by both, but am of course willing to take in strife and continue to learn. JG and I do have to eat, and living on take-out is not a very practical way to life both physically and financially.  Anyway in four years I believe I have made a considerable amount of progress, that is unless I don’t cut my hand off first… 

This Little Britain

Now that we have settled in our flat, got a car, and found some bearing in our new home that is Muscat the next thing JG and I prepared for was a well deserved vacation. The week-long holiday of the celebration of Eid was the perfect opportunity to finally get away.  I said the vacation was well-deserved mostly for JG’s case because he did actually deserve one after the whole Libyan crisis that he went through. And his immediate choice was to go to the small but great island of Britain, particularly London (he wanted to also stop by Ireland but there wasn’t any more time to do so).

JG has always wanted to go to London mainly because three of his favorite authors are from that side of the world, namely Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Grant Morrison who is from Glasgow. Also now would be the best time to go because next year’s 2012 Olympics which is to be held there, would probably make it difficult, even impossible for us to find a place to stay. So with JG’s obsessive compulsive planning and research, of to the UK we went.

And since, as I explained, that this was to be JG’s well-deserved vacation I did not press the fact that my dream that if I ever was to go to Britain I would most certainly do the Jane Austen tour, for I dearly love her works. Okay yes, I did press, even threw a bit of a tantrum when JG explained it was impossible to sneak in visiting her home and do a tour about her, but then again it would be a good reason to come back.

There were some highlights for me, aside of course from seeing the famous sites, like the Big Ben, The London Bridge (more accurately named Tower Bridge), Westminster Abbey, and The Queen’s palace. My most favorite part was visiting The National Gallery where the paintings of great artists were on display. The collection was very small compared to when we visited the Louvre, but I particularly wanted to see one of my most favorite paintings which like Vincent Van Gogh’s “Sunflower”. It was only second in my list following “Starry Night”, but to be able to see his work in person was really something much more exciting to me than say meeting a celebrity in person.

The National Gallery Museum wherein some works by Van Gogh, Monet, and Da Vinci are displayed.

The museum was also currently holding a Da Vinci exhibit which they said to be a once-in-a-lifetime thing because the original portraits were displayed alongside their sketches, or Leonardo’s first drafts of the said paintings. This is a rare opportunity because such works are already too old and fragile to be constantly shipped and handled, which is why it would take a few more years before something like this were to happen again. However rare exhibits are also not held for free, thus for peasant tourists like us who travel on a budget, this was one once-in-a-lifetime thing that I had reluctantly but practically had to pass.

Number two highlight was to go shopping in Portabelo Road which is infamous for its flea market and great finds. I have to say that the dresses sold were really nice, although at 15 pounds were still a bit too pricey for me. Nevertheless the dresses were really a swag compared to buying the same styles in posh stores, plus it really is a great place to go and buy swanky coats of all kinds.

Portabello Road where you can buy great finds, we went around 10 in the morning so most shops are only starting to open, but still were able to get some great swag.

It was also pretty cool to be able to visit famous fictional locations like the actual 221B Baker Street where Sherlock Holmes was said to live in the famous detective novels, also going to Notting Hill and visit the actual Travel Bookshop that Hugh Grant owned and managed in the ever famous chick flick.

The actual bookshop that inspired Hugh Grant's store in the movie Notting Hill.

And of course visiting London was not complete without going to the theatre. I wanted to watch Wicked, so as to be able experience my generation’s most famous hit on Broadway, but beggars cannot be choosers and tickets were not sold with discounts as JG and I had hoped.  Nevertheless JG insisted that we see Agatha Christie’s Mousetrap, which I later learned as London’s longest running play, going on 59 years. The St. Martin’s Theatre was pretty old both in style and amenities but it was really nice to think that it has been there and running for over half a century. And the play was pretty good too, if you haven’t read Mousetrap, I promise you will not be able to guess who the killer is.

It's really nice to think that I had the opportunity to see a classic play that has been running for almost 60 years.

We have also been seeing a lot of Doctor Who lately and are big fans of the show, especially JG so we thought that it would be a great trip to see the actual Tardis, the really actual one is displayed in the BBC studios, but there’s a sort of Dr. Who Experience, a theme park 3D tour that lets you go on a journey a la the Doctor’s companion.

"Exterminate!" a life-size Dalek at the Doctor Who Experience.

Like our German holiday the only downside for me was the weather.  I am a tropical girl through and through and really doesn’t do well in cold climates, JG promised me it was only going to be at least 20 degrees Celsius, but it really did not feel like that to me. Plus the British weather can really be gloomy for someone who came from sunny Asia; there were some moments when the sun would come out but it was mostly damp, or cloudy, and at times both.

Nevertheless it was still a great trip all the same; JG put it best when he said that we shouldn’t just travel for pleasure but also to take the opportunity to educate yourself with such a culturally vibrant and historically rich city.

that's me... Cool Britannia!

 

Killing the Old Lady Driver

In a previous post I mentioned that one of the things that I did while JG was still in Libya and I was sent home was to learn how to drive. I also explained that the reason for this was because I want to make sure that in our next posting I have the means to get around wherever and whenever I want to. In more recent developments we recently acquired our vehicle here in Muscat to use for our personal convenience. That’s just the good news; the bad news is, so far I am not enjoying that much.

The fault in this matter is entirely mine, what I did not elaborate in that previous post, when I mentioned my learning how to drive, was that I’m really not that good at it yet. And as much as I want to rejoice in our new found freedom to explore this great city of Muscat, the same notion is now the source of mild anxiety attacks and the urge to tell people in my life that I hold dear how much I love them – just in case.

Let me explain, I have no qualms in admitting that I not only drive like a lady, I drive like an old lady. See, in the Philippines it was okay, because our country’s problem of over population has of course caused congestion in every possible road to anywhere. Thus the often heavy traffic entailed me to drive at a speed which I very much prefer as my pace, wherein I can comfortably anticipate sharp turns, jeepneys whose driver lacks the ability to signal, and would be jaywalkers who are too lazy to use the pedestrian crossing. Familiarity to the area as well as to cultural norms is also an advantage back home, because getting lost can happen rarely, and living there all your life you kind of already have an understanding of how driving in the Philippines (especially in Manila) works, which is basically kung makakalusot, lulusot (this literally translates as “if you can get pass it, pass it”; but back home it is an old saying and a general mantra for many which means if you can find a way, never mind if its prohibited, dangerous, or out-right crazy… go for it).

But now, here I am in new country, with an all together different means of driving. Here in Muscat, speed is an everyday thing, and road rules are taken seriously. I am now left with no choice but to finally kill off the old lady driver in me, but to keep up unless I want to be constantly honked at, or worst get hit by a faster car. Of course since I am not used to driving al a Stig, my reaction to turns, maneuvering, and all the other things you need to consider is much slower and all together sucks.

In the two days since we got the car, I almost got in an accident twice. Once in a sharp turn at high speed, and another going over the curb in a busy round-about (which they have lots of here in Oman). JG has been supportive at times, very understanding about the fact that I almost got him killed twice, assuring me that I will get the hang of it eventually. But then again there are moments when I suppose his testosterones get the better of him and he shouts at me like a grouchy driving instructor commenting at how slow I am and how my being too careful will definitely be the last of me. Oh, and btw, JG doesn’t drive. He took lessons back home, and claims that he knows how to, citing credentials he earned playing Grand Turismo with his PS3 consul.

In fairness to him, I find it amazing at how he has easily memorized getting around here in Muscat. He is one of those people who have a very good sense of direction. To be honest that was one of the first things I liked about him, because another thing I grudgingly admit is that my personal compass has always been dysfunctional ever since I was little. I was notorious for being claimed at the lost and found in malls, and should I accidentally find myself in a maze even today, I would probably never be seen or heard from ever again. So it’s nice that JG has a talent for maps and directions, for I would be both metaphorically and quite literally lost without him.

Nevertheless, I really like being able to get around. Yesterday we accomplished so many things that needed to be done, we normal would have to be at the mercy and kindness of others who would give us a ride, or perhaps ride a cab. On more promising thoughts, having the car would now enable me to drive to a pool I can use to go swimming (something I miss doing since I came here), plus be able to visit places like this, which to me is something worth braving it for… or at least until I finally get the hang of it.

The Road Trip Out of Libya

So as closure to my experience during this whole Libyan crisis, I’d like to share the day when we headed out of Libya about a month ago. It’s nothing like in the movies of an epic, perilous, dramatic journey to escape a war torn country, I have to stop your imagination there. But for an ordinary person like me, who about a month before that was eating street food in a lower-middle class Filipino neighborhood, it was I admit a bit dangerous and nerve wrecking of an experience.

The even sadder part about that was the day before we left was when JG finally returned from being away for ten days, assisting in the repatriation of other Filipinos who wanted to leave. My joy of finally being able to see my husband again was immediately replaced by a sudden realization that I was going to be apart from him again, after only a day of seeing him, and this time it wasn’t going to be just for ten days.

And there was no time to waste catching up, we had to prepare our bags and think about the stuff that we could and want to take with us. We were leaving via what was supposed to be a four hour drive to the Libyan-Tunisian border as it was impossible to get flights in the chaos then going on at the Tripoli airport. And if you didn’t follow the news, it was widely known that any electronic device spotted in your possession by the Libyan border control was either confiscated or purposely wrecked as damage control to keep any video you might have taken in the country from leaking out. So careful packing had to be done to make sure our laptops, phones, digi-cams were not found in case our bags were asked to be opened.

The next day we woke bright and early, and at the last minute decided that we leave more items behind because it seems we might have over packed. The problem there was that JG says we might have to make a bit of a walk from the Libyan side of the border into the middle that is no man’s land, towards the Tunisian side; and that would be quite a challenge if we were bringing three huge luggage each.

It was by that time three weeks until the unrest began, many days later since the crisis of the exodus happening at the Libyan-Tunisian border. So I thought that our group would mostly consist of us and the other embassy staff and their families, I had thought that most of the Filipinos who wanted to leave have been evacuated by then, but to my surprise there were still a number coming along. Among them was a family of four with a nine-year old girl and her two-month old sister. The dad explained that they wanted to leave as soon as things started but the little baby was sick so they had to wait until she was okay to travel. I consider those encounters God’s way of telling me that I shouldn’t complain or ask why this had to happen to me, meeting them I seemed to have it easy.

We did not have a car; thankfully we had Mr. T, a Libyan driver/friend who has been driving us in Tripoli when we need to get somewhere. He is sort of like the embassy’s go to guy when we need to get around, our favorite special taxi/chauffer/tour guide/friend whom you asked to give you a lift. In the Philippines we call him “suki”, our regular, sort of like having your regular or more preferred butcher. That day, Mr. T was our convoy leader out the now heavily guarded roads of Libya.

And I have to say, that if I ever get to see him again in a happier circumstance, I would thank him deeply, buy him a great big present, for helping us all. And not just for that day, but for the many times he gave me a ride, over the past year and a half, he wasn’t just some random taxi driver any more, he is, someone I will always consider my friend.

So Mr.T’s job wasn’t easy, I think we were a convoy of eight cars? If I remember right, and since we were non-vehicle owners, JG (who was only taking us as far as the border), my MIL, and I rode in Mr. T’s car. The challenge you see, is aside from the checkpoints from both the government and rebel side, also that even though most of the drivers driving that day had driven to Djerba several times, some the roads they usually took and know by heart are no longer accessible.

Like I said Mr.T’s job wasn’t easy, because not only was he responsible for leading the way he also needed to make sure that everyone keeps up with the group. So he had to stop several times to wait for those behind the pack so they did not get lost in case we make a sudden turn. It got to a point that he was so preoccupied with making sure every car was accounted for we got lost several times. And when he did find a road he recognized we also had to turn back a number of times, because some of the roads were either closed off or blocked so we had to find an alternate route. I sat quietly at the backseat, usually I would fall asleep during long drives, but this one time I was awake like I never was before in a road trip. During those times that we got lost, a number of locals, good Samaritans (in this case Libyans) driving along would literally and figuratively go out of their way to show us the road out, until we get to one that Mr. T recognizes, which was something very brave I thought since anybody would’ve preferred to get to where they were going as quickly as possible considering the current situation.

At one point we also passed by a rebel held town, I forgot the name. To my observation was eerie quiet, at first with the rebel flags flying in some houses, a big one painted on a wall of one building. But as we drove in, pass the rebel checkpoints that only use used furniture as their blockades, life went on. Shops were open, people going about their business as if there is nothing new.

And then of course there was the fear of getting caught in the line of fire. On the way out, you would have to pass by the town of Zawiya, where heavy clashes were taking place. And sure enough after a number of road blocks and checkpoints, we had to turn back again at one point because an apparent gunfight was happening down the road. We did not actually see or hear the clashes, from far off we could see cars ahead of us, hurriedly bolting back, and flashing their lights to the coming cars; some of the ones who’d pass us, did a pulling a trigger gesture with their free hand, confirming our fears. So we wisely took a hint, made a u-turn, and did not wait to see all the live action ourselves.

That was the climax of that whole ordeal for me; we got to the border thankfully intact and safe. Since like I said this was already three weeks since most of the people started fleeing, days after countries have sent their ships and planes to help the thousands stranded in the border, so the chaos I saw on the news, was no longer present at the border. However remnants of the refugee camps remain, for some small groups crossing the border. Our bags were spared from any search and we did not have to walk through no man’s land, and was generously offered some space by one of JG’s colleagues in the embassy (If you are reading this you know who you are and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, also to say that I will always appreciate what you did for us that day. You did not have to do that, but you did, and I’m sorry I was not able to show my appreciation as much as I should).

I did however see for myself, some of the men whose things were really opened and thoroughly, thoroughly (for emphasis), searched. I also spotted remnants of mobile phone parts on the road, whom I imagined belonged to some guy who now has to worry about how to tell his family from wherever he is from that he is alive and well.

We left Tripoli at around 10 am, arrived at the border at around 4 in the afternoon, and said my goodbye to JG. At the risk of giving TMI, JG gave me a nice kiss on the lips that day, which he rarely, rarely (for emphasis) does in public. Those kinds of gestures between couples you kind of take for granted even if it seldom happens when you’re married to someone like JG, but including our wedding day, that was one of the ones I will probably always remember.

It’s kind of sad thinking that I had to leave Libya that way, in that state that the country is in. And I am still concerned as to what will happen to it.  Not just because my husband is still there, but because it was my first home away from home as a Diplowife; and because it is my first it holds a special place in my heart. I still wish to come back, maybe not soon but someday, as they always say there Insha Allah.

The views written on this post and this blog are mine alone and are not shared or represented by my husband or the Philippine Embassy in any way.

The Post on Corregidor (Could not think of a better title,sorry)

This post is going to be a short one. One of the side trips that we took during our visit home last January was a guided tour to the historical Island of Corregidor. During World War II, the island at the entrance to Manila Bay became a very crucial defense area to protect the capital as it being a very important seaport starting from the Spanish rule, to the American, to the Japanese, until the establishment of our Republic in the mid 40’s.

Especially during WWII, Corregidor became the location of the final stand against the Japanese Imperial Army. At some point it also became the temporary location of the government when it housed then President Manuel Quezon and his VP Sergio Osmena. It was taken by the Japanese, but was re-taken by the Americans and Filipinos a few years later. The island is now a tourist destination for war veterans, and history enthusiasts like JG, where you can find old military installations and more famously for the ruins of the war ravaged buildings.

Unfortunately, I must admit that I did not enjoy the trip that much. A forty-five minute ferry boat ride will take you to the island where you will be met by your guides and taken around the island on several old school tram-like buses that were made in the likeness in the actual ones used in the island when the Americans were still there.

The tram buses that would take you around the island.

I was expecting a bit of a solemn, close to first hand, detailed stories of heroism, patriotism, and camaraderie amongst the soldiers in a time of war. Unfortunately for me we got into the bus of the up-beat, salesman-like, colorful Sylvie (I have forgotten her name actually). She wasn’t bad, very good English, very entertaining, and funny at times, but I think she would better fit if she was the tour guide for a happier atmosphere say like the set of TV show perhaps, like the pages at 30 Rock. She kind of ruined the place for me actually because her jokes and side quirks distracted me from the dark yet heroic feel of the island. Like when she pointed out the Brothers in Arm statue of the American helping of a wounded Filipino soldier, and then made a quirk about not mistaking them as drunkards because they are in fact lovers. It was funny, but I guess she’s been doing for so many years she kind of wanted to change the repertoire a bit from less war-serious to comedic gay punch lines.

Thankfully I had my trustee history geek of a husband who also pointed out that Sylvie has said several erroneous facts like wrong dates, and mixed up details like when she said that the Spanish paid the Americans in exchange for the Philippines, when it was in fact the other way around. She was so busy making us laugh, she did not notice she was feeding us, most especially the tourists, who now has wrong ideas about my country’s history, wrong information. And if that was not enough, she finished early, so when she ran out of stories to tell, she then went on the tell us how a fine arts graduate like her ended up being a tour guide, more emphasis to why she is still single and the many suitors that have gone her way. Again, my opinions are nothing personal, I guess basically she did not fit the job, or at least made sure she did well enough. Thank goodness to my husband who managed to make it interesting for me with his stock knowledge; I, sadly did not get anything from her. JG and I regretfully agreed that we would’ve been better off getting on the bus of the old guy, who would probably be as boring as common history teacher but would’ve probably been already alive in the 40’s to give us real, accurate, first-hand stories of Corregidor.

So because I did not get much of the trip, here is a photo montage of our trip, and the popular sites on the island:

At the Filipino Heroes Memorial where several murals are depicting heroic battles of Filipinos in our history since the 15th century.

Battery Way was named in honor of the Coast Artillery Corps of the US Army, which along with Battery Geary, was the mainstay of the Corregidor Garrison during the Japanese invasion – Wiki

The Pacific War Memorial was built in honor of the Filipino and American soldiers who fought in WWII. The main attractions there are the dome, and the huge steel structure known as the Eternal Flame of Freedom.

A fertility statue, or so they said, at the Japanese Garden of Peace which was built in memorial to the Japanese veterans who fought and died there during WWII.

The Corregidor Lighthouse, to which JG did not dare climb, but can get you access to a great view of some of the ruins and the island as well.

Old coins like this are said to be around the island. An old man lives there living as a sweeper as his alter ego, but really just stays there and makes a living as a scavenger and sells the ones he finds.

If I have to point out a favorite part, it would have to be the sound and lights show in the Malinta Tunnel. The tunnel was the last strong hold of the Americans, before Corregidor was taken by the Japanese. The audio-visual show would take you along the tunnel through a number of bronze dioramas of events that took place on the island, complete with very good narration of voice talents and convincing sound bites of the historical moments, including the actual radio announcement that Bataan has Fallen aired by the Voice of Freedom broadcasted from the tunnel .  But it wasn’t perfect either for me, because just as the light fades at the end of one scene, just as you are taken in by the story and sound effects, the guide inside would bellow, “Next!” in a disdainfully, let’s-get-on-with-it type of way that would instantly pull you back from your time travelling daze.

One of the lateral extensions inside the Malinta Tunnel.

I was also looking forward to walking along the ruins, but was disappointed when told that the structures were already fragile and brittle for our safety. Despite my frustration, I did agree that it is always better safe than injured.

One of the ruins of the former barracks that can be found in Corregidor

On the way back, I won a raffle for answering the survey on the tour, which was probably because only two of us only submitted their questionnaires – I never win in raffles. The funny thing about it was that I could only claim my price of a free dinner on a yacht that very night, which was ridiculous. Why would you give someone a prize a like that and make conditions for the claim? What if I had an important prior engagement that night? I didn’t but still, the point is, it is my prize, and I should at least have the privilege to claim it when I can. Okay, if that sounds too primadona, perhaps even just a 24 hour leeway, right?

On the plus side, I must say that visiting Corregidor is something a Filipino must do in his lifetime, preferably when one is old enough to appreciate our history or at least pay homage to it. Unfortunately most of my countrymen would happily spend their earnings and flaunt around in Puerto Galera. I’m not saying going to the beach to relax using your hard earned money is bad, but if you’ve been there five times already, it would be nice to visit other places and pick up on your heritage along the way.

And for a more interesting trip, one can also opt to camp there along the shores of the Island or stay in a hotel, and do more tours which I am told includes a more in depth route into the tunnels of the mountains, a ghost tour, and zip-lining/bungee jumping for the more adventurous you. And if you ever visit I suggest you ride the bus with the old guy in it, or bring a book, or if possible someone who knows their history well.

 

How Bad Weather Ruined Bohol

When JG and I went on our long-awaited vacation home, he made sure our scheduled was packed with trips. Determined was he to see as much of the Philippines as he can. I wasn’t so keen on this as much as he was, since I just really wanted to spend time with my family; but I really couldn’t fight JG on this since I know how much he was looking forward to get around after being stuck in the house in Tripoli. Plus it really doesn’t feel right when you are able to travel other countries while you haven’t seen as much of your own.

The first on our scheduled trip was to Bohol, an island located in the Central Visayan region of the Philippines. Aside from seeing the exotic Tarsiers in person, there really wasn’t much for me to look forward to seeing there. Of course there was the infamous Chocolate Hills, but like I said I only went to pay homage, as part of our quest to experience as much of our homeland. And anyway, like I always say, invite me for a swim anywhere and I’m there.

We went right after a tropical depression and were hoping that the weather would cooperate with us during our stay. When we arrived, it was looking promising; the sun was shining brightly when Mr. Vass picked us up at the airport.  Mr. Vass is an Englishman who co-owned with his Filipina wife Isla Hayahay, the resort that we stayed in.

Isla Hayahay is hidden away in a small barrio outside the capital Tagbilaran, we had to pass by some dirt roads to get there, the kind that has been neglected by modern paving systems and the ones that are so narrow you’d have to sometimes park at the side to give way to bigger vehicles passing at the opposite direction. After a long stretch of mangroves later, and some locals having some chat in their makeshift roadside shades we arrived at a small villa with six small cottages surrounding a small garden. At the far side is a big open house where guests eat, or can enjoy a relaxing moment while reading a book from their small library or watch a DVD which they also have shelved. Right after the open house is a big wooden veranda that leads all the way down the ocean, where you can go for a swim or lie down in one of the hammocks while you look at the view that can see all the way to the island of Cebu.

The view from Isla Hayahaym farther down east is according to them the Island of Cebu

I really have to say that the best part about the entire trip was staying at Isla Hayahay, simply because I really did not feel like I went to a resort. To me it felt more like visiting a relative that I haven’t seen in a long time. One thing new to me is that we did not have a schedule to follow; we were told early on that we can do everything in our own time, since as Mr. Vass pointed out that it was our vacation after all. The staff was all nice and friendly, and it wasn’t like the usual hotel staff that is there for the job, it is hard to explain but I could feel their genuine effort to make us feel as at home as possible. Plus, the two owners were not stuck in the office somewhere, they were there for you anytime, for whatever you need, even for a bit of intellectual chat about life, and living the Philippine way of life.

Another great thing about the place is the food, Oh my God the food! I am really not that good at describing cuisines, but let me make the pictures speak for themselves:

Crabs with vegetables in coconut sauce (a favorite of mine), and Bistek Tagalog for JG.

 

Banana Split and Blueberry Cheesecake for dessert.

It isn’t just the how good all this is, one must also account the amount given to us, all this for just the two of us! It was really unlike many hotels where you find yourself being served with a tiny amount that is insulting even to a small child.

Anyway we availed of the resort’s package deal which includes a snorkeling trip, island hopping, and tour of Bohol. Unfortunately for us, our pleas of good climate were not approved and the weather did not cooperate, it wasn’t so bad but the entire trip was filled with gloomy pictures, staying indoors, and slippery roads that even lead to a slight accident.

But like I said, the people from the resort really made things better despite the set-backs. On the first day we decided that we wanted to go snorkeling, so we got into Mr. Vass’ small motor boat with an uber affectionate-towards-each-other French-Asian couple, plus another guide to help us through the waters. I was really looking forward to this part of the trip excited to test my new found techniques in swimming. After some spitting on my snorkeling gear for a clearer view, I made a decision. I really hate how the life vest raises up to my neck and armpits and how I couldn’t go down deeper if I wanted a closer look at the reefs below.  So despite JG’s disapproval, and having had to break my solemn promise to my mom that I will wear a vest, I decided to brave the deep waters without it, despite not being an experienced swimmer. I was struggling at first and was afraid to go farther from the boat but Mr. Vass assured me that it was going to be okay and that he will make sure to watch over me. That gave me a bit of confidence, which to my great pleasure made the whole exercise a lot more fun. I saw a lot of great big live clams and many interesting sort of fishes. JG on the other hand struggled a bit as well especially none of the vests fit him; to which I found weird that he insisted on using one since he was a better swimmer than I am.  It would’ve been a lot better if the weather wasn’t so cloudy and dark, but it was a memorable experience just the same, especially how proud I was of myself for going out without a vest. I got an earful from my mom, but what’s life without a little risk, yes?

The next day we were scheduled for more swimming, which was dampened by the news that we were only going to visit one island because the waves were too big to go the next one. I am sad to say that was probably the worst island hopping experience I’ve been to so far. We had the island all to ourselves, but the water was too murky to enjoy, and it was raining a bit which made things a bit cold making swimming a little less enticing. JG and I entertained ourselves by exploring the island, and I was able to get a lot of nice shells for my collection. The couple we were with was a bit more preoccupied with each other, they were probably making the locals a tad embarrassed with their public display of affection but they neither cared nor felt it anyway, so on they went.

I forgot the name of this island we hopped to.

On the way back, the waves were even more unfriendly and we had to endure the cold winds and the onslaught of raindrops that felt like thousands of little pellets hitting me as it countered the speed of our boat. I didn’t mind much, it was still fun at least, but the Asian lady couldn’t take it and had to borrow Frenchy’s shirt and hide under their towel. When we got back, JG and I felt that we were left wanting so we decided to stay by the shore and swim a bit more, since the water near the resort were much more clearer than the one by the island. In fact it was so clear JG and I had a sort of Benny Hill moment when we saw a snake like creature swimming under the waters, to which unanimously decided that we had in fact enough swimming for the day.

The final part of the Bohol trip was of course the tour. By then we had given up praying that the weather was going to get better to at least give us a day of sun and blue skies. The night before that, the rain pounded as if endlessly, which again gave another opportunity for the resort staff to show off their hospitality by bringing our dinner to our cottage where we can enjoy more of their glorious food on our little balcony. So anyway, on the tour, we were picked up by a van with three other couples staying at the resort. Our guide/driver was also a really nice guy, but I would have to say could do more with his touring skill. He would point out a school or a church, add some superlatives like it being one of the oldest or the biggest, and would leave it at that.

Again, the weather made things a lot less interesting and fun, always the root of us having to make do with what should’ve been more. Our first stop was a visit to a small zoo that features the biggest Anaconda in the Philippines, as its main attraction. It was actually more like a backyard of some guy that takes care of exotic animals. It also has some monkeys, eagles, snakes, and of course Samantha, the prized pet of the place; a 50 feet Anaconda who has been visited by many Philippine celebrities, as seen in the pictures proudly displayed by her cage. The puddles made it hard for me to get closer to the cages, and the cages had really small grid-like designs which made it even more difficult to get good pictures. I must admit though that I never really enjoyed us Filipinos idea of zoos, I suppose other countries are now more concerned with the animals in their care, as suppose to ours which are more keen on making sure that the guests are safe from any incident or that they are prevented from feeding the animals or doing funny things.  Whenever I go to such places I feel bad for the animals, I keep thinking if they could talk would they asked to be freed or would they wouldn’t they know any better being in captivity for so long?

Samantha the Anaconda.

We also stopped by this old gothic church, and were supposed to go inside their museum but were turned away and were told that the place closes at lunch time.

The Baclayon Roman Catholic Church

The coolest stop for me was going down the Hinagdanan Cave. The cave was discovered decades ago, which has this great big pool inside. Had I known we were going to such a place I would’ve prepared some swimming gear, but anyway we did not have enough time to stop.

Inside and under the Hinagdanan Cave

Our scheduled lunch was at one of the famous floating restaurant which would have nice except the boat did not sale because the current was too strong. The food was okay, but it took some time for the food to be refilled to which is understanding since the only way to get in the boat was through a make shift bridge of chairs and tables since the pathway was already flooded with water. JG said that you we were also supposed to be serenaded by a popular children’s choir during the boat ride but was of course cancelled once again due to the bad weather.

This was what the river looked like why the floating restaurant did not sail.

Like I mentioned earlier I was more inclined to going to sanctuaries rather than zoos or others since I feel much better watching animals in habitats made for their well-being more than for tourists. But once again due to the bad weather, visiting the Tarsier Sanctuary was erased from the itinerary and we had to settle for this small Nipa hut that shelters a handful of the little guys and were surrounded by souvenir shops. I learned earlier on that the Tarsiers are sensitive little creatures who would commit suicide by banging their fragile heads at the slightest stress. So I wondered how those cute, wide-eyed, creatures were able to handle all those people taking their pictures, bothering their sleep.

 

Here's a picture of one of the little guys, hopefully he wasn't stressed with all of us gawking at them.

And finally, the worst part the bad weather did was getting us into a slight accident. The road was really slippery, and I guess our driver was in a bit of hurry since we were already behind schedule I don’t know why. A small tricycle driven by an elderly man with a few passengers on board were for some reason parked on the road, our driver who probably thought he could over take them without lessening his speed miscalculated and hit the side of his van on the butt of the tricycle sending it leaping off the road  while shattering a corner of the front glass of the van sending pieces of glass on JG and I who were sitting in front. Thankfully none of the people there got hurt, and JG and I were left unscathed. We soldiered on, despite losing a our right front signal light and I suppose the view of the Chocolate Hills made up for the bit of stress we encountered on the way.

The Chocolate Hills of Bohol, it got it's name because there is a season when the little hills all turn brown and look like little kisses.

I have to say that Bohol isn’t one of the best trips we’ve had, it was to be honest a little bit down at the list, but I suppose God wants us to go back to Bohol, so we can enjoy its beauty to the fullest hopefully with better weather next time.

Quick Hello From the Philippines!

Hi! Don’t worry. I haven’t been eaten by the Sahara, nor have I decided to totally abandon my blog. I have in fact so much to share, except I cannot find the time to do so at present.

In just so happens that I am currently home in my native Philippines! As I promised in my last post, I would like to write about where I come from, life before I became a Diplowife, and my favorite things about my home sweet home.

Wait, there’s more… I also promise to write about new trips and tours JG and I took as part of our goal to discover more of our country.Like a food tour…

The original Philippine Hopia....

But of course, not everything turns out the way I wanted it to, story of my life actually. So expect some of the usual rants and ramblings.

All this I promise to write about as soon as I find the time that is. For now I hope that you bear with me.

For now I leave you with some of the pictures as teasers…

The Chocolate Hills of Bohol... (if you're not Filipino and you're wondering about the name, I promise to explain in the future)

Year End Special: The European Year of Travel

It seems really weird that although there is nothing much for me to do here in Tripoli, days seem to pass by so quickly. I hardly noticed that almost a year and half has already passed. But the end of a year always makes us want to look back and reflect, the great thing about having a blog is that I do have journal-like access to the significant events of my year. The year went and gone so quickly I had forgotten that I am now 26 years old (although I still don’t fell like it), have moved to a new house, tried and failed to raise a dog, lost a relative, and wore my first Filipiniana.

Although most days are spent at home reading, watching TV, and trying to pass as good housewife, while trying to find a way to cure my being such a wallflower at parties; the best thing about the year was that thanks to my hardworking JG I was able to explore some parts of Europe:

I visited Malta twice, once as a tourist, the next as a book hunter and long lost Bic Mac fan.

Best view taken during my first Malta trip

My favorite trip, was of course to Paris, a life long dream that seemed impossible to achieve.

We did not go up, the que was so long, plus JG is not a big fan of heights

Retracing Audrey Hepburn’s steps as Princess Anna in a Roman Holiday.

Rome:Before you could get a picture with it, you have to go through a line, and then donate 50 cents. Well worth it.

And discovered beautiful Prague as a detour to quenching a long time interest in particular part of history in Berlin amidst trying to find balance in the bitter cold.

The Brandenburg Gate at Paris Platz, Berlin

I do have some regrets, I wish I had explored more of Tripoli as much as I did the other countries I visited. I feel a twinge of guilt that I don’t try hard enough to learn more about my home away from home, its people, and its culture. JG and I have tried a couple of times, but I still feel that it is not enough. Hopefully I will be able to get to know Libya a little bit more come the new year.

But before I do that, I plan to begin the new year with a long trip to my home. I thought I can show you a little bit of my beginnings… so that’s something to look forward to.

Until then, JG and I wishes everyone a very Happy and Prosperous New Year!

The Circle of (Diplomatic Baggage) Life

A couple of days ago JG and I attended a small gathering with his counterparts at work, wherein wives were also invited. It was mostly dinner, on a more casual setting, something I prefer than the usual more formal ones with the mingling and hors d’oeuvres.

Anyway while the men had their own chat, I had a chance to talk to the other Diplowives who attended. I was talking to one wife who has been here for four years and another who recently arrived about two months ago. The former I met a year ago when I was new here, and although we rarely see each other, she is one that I have considered a friend here in Libya. A couple of weeks ago she informed that they have finished their stay here in Tripoli and will be flying back home, which made me sad to learn her leaving, but days later was surprisingly happy to learn that her husband was extended for another six months. Such is another part of a diplowife’s life, sometimes last minute changes happen. She says that she is currently living out of boxes since she was already packed and ready to go when they learned of the extension. The other Diplowife in our little conversation as I have mentioned has recently arrived and is only starting to get used to life here in Libya. She too is also living on limited resources at the moment since their staff hasn’t arrived from their previous assignment.

As we were talking, I found myself relating to a lot of what the former says about everyday Libya, the people, places, culture. And was also surprised to hear myself telling the latter of stuff she can do while living here, and was surprised to answer some questions she had about where to go even risking giving tips on where to buy things. I also couldn’t help notice the pattern that we were in, three women sitting together representing the cycle in the life in the foreign service and their Diplomatic Baggages; one almost leaving and near the end of a posting, the other just arrived ready to start again, and me at the middle who is only coming to terms that she has in fact gotten through half of it (well a quarter of it, for Filipino diplomats).

It kind of hit me how days seem to pass so quickly here, even though it seems that there is nothing much to do. It only seemed like yesterday that I was the one who’s been here a month and asking questions on languages and places to visit. Although I have been here more than a year, I never gave myself the comfort of branding myself at home, and well enough to claim that I am familiar with the place. Truth is I don’t think I will ever be (especially until I get my own car) but I was really glad to know that even though I don’t get to get out much, I am able to relate and understand how life is here in our part of the world, and was even more glad to realize that I have taken in a lot of things since I got here. Plus, I know it’s a bit of bad of me to say, but I am glad that I have already gotten pass the first six months on a new posting – “the adjustment period”.

However still it is also unavoidable for me to think about how it is when it will be me at the other end of the pattern, when it will be my turn to prepare to leave. I have to say that I really have a lot to learn, I haven’t even hosted a small party yet, heck I haven’t gotten around to properly furnishing our house. I am both excited and nervous to accomplish such feats, mostly excited and nervous about how I will expectedly screw it up and laugh as I write about it on this blog of mine. But I can’t really look that far ahead, for now I’m just going to enjoy being in the middle of it…