55. The Kapampangan Traveler: G'DAYS IN SYDNEY

(Originally published on K Magazine, 2005 issue)

How would you like to blow my didgeridoo? Pet my wallaby? Catch a kookaboora? Or better still, diddle with my dingo? Anything and everything is possible in the amazing land of OZ—Australia, that is—the island continent down under, where I had the chance to do all these (well, almost!) when I took off for the 2000 Olympic City—Sydney—on several business and leisure trips. Mates, do I love my job!

 Sydney is just an overnight sleep away on a Qantas flight, seven hours and twenty minutes, to be exact. After a quick stop at Melbourne, I arrived in Sydney wide awake and all my pre-conceived notions about this country populated in part by 19th century convicts and prisoners vanished as quickly as a kangaroo kick on my face. Sydney is a people-friendly place, a melting pot of cultures that has become inexplicably and uniquely Australian, blending English aristocracy with aboriginal pride, with a dash of Asian and Pacific flavors thrown in.

 The first thing that hit me upon arrival was the thick Paul Hogan accent that sounded like English spoken while chewing extra-thick bubble gum. That took awhile to get used to, and it was indeed fascinating to converse with expatriated Filipinos speaking with that distinctive Australian brogue, which, after awhile became quite affecting, g’ness gracious, mates!

 En route to Darling Harbor, I surveyed the perfectly-preserved historic districts that date back to the Victorian age, still functional after all these years. Ancient church spires and Victorian gingerbreads gave way to a sleeker, modern skyline as I neared the harbor, the commercial heart fo the city. One can cover the different districts from here, with a Monorail providing quick, convenient access. Right across my hotel was the Harborside shopping area, lined with seafood restaurants, boutiques and hundreds of tourist traps!

 But shopping was not on top of my priority list of to-do’s. Soon as I dropped my bags at Novotel, I hied off to tour the city, starting with the famed Australian cultural landmark, the Sydney Opera House. The house sits majestically on Bennelong Point, overlooked by the great Sydney Harbour bridge. Like 3 orange segments, the sectioned roofs with their pure curving shapes, rise from the harbour, a family of forms rooted in expressionist modern style. The house was designed by Jorn Utzon, and was built from 1957-1973, an awe-inspiring architectural and engineering marvel of the 20th century.

 Hyde Park was another sight to see, a wide expanse of greens dotted with old world obelisks, monuments and statues, including that of Captain Cook. The Victoria shopping district is a fine example of the successful preservation and conservation programs of the Australian government, re-engineering old, otherwise inutile buildings for contemporary use as malls, commercial and business spaces.

 Sydney isn’t Sydney without the surf, sun and sand, and so Bondi Beach was my next stop, a beach bum’s paradise with an endless coastal line perfect for swimming, surfing and sailing. But with the nippy September weather upon us, the much ballyhooed bikini-wearing Baywatch babes and hunky Aussie lifeguards were nowhere to be found!

 For the culturati, Sydney has a lively arts-and-culture scene that is not quite West End or Broadway, at least, not yet. But the few entertainment offerings are still of world-class quality. At the Capitol Theater near Haymarket (famous for its weekend flea markets), I watched the Australian staging of Miss Saigon, starring our very own Cocoy Laurel and Joanna Ampil. There was a sizeable Pinoy crowd judging from the shouts of “Mabuhay” during the curtain calls, audible from my seat. For one moment, I swelled with pride as the international audience gave the Pinoy-dominated cast a standing ovation after another. I was humming “Last Night of the World” in my fake Australian accent all the way to my hotel.

 The natural wonders of Australia were next on my itinerary. I had delirious visions of wild bushlands, inhospitable terrains and savage heat that would put to shame the hellish conditions dramatized in the “Survivors” reality TV show. However, upon arriving at the Wildlife Park, I went a-goo-goo and a-gaga over the furry little koalas, the spritely kangaroos and their joeys, wallabies and even cute wombats in this well-maintained animal sanctuary!

 An hour’s drive from there, the landscape drastically changed as the Blue Mountains loomed in sight. Echo Point provided a look-out vantage point to the awesome natural marvels that include an unusual rock formation called “Three Sisters”, three rock towers jutting sky high from the ground. There was a legend surrounding “Three Sisters”, but I doubt if it’s as colorful as the account of our very own Sinukuan and his 3 daughters. Definitely not for the faint-hearted is a ride on the Skyway that takes you across the deep gorge while suspended inside an iron cage!

 My last trip top Sydney was arranged under different circumstances in 1999, for this time, I came back to shoot a commercial for Jag Jeans with my producers, creative team and clients. That meant staying in a budget hotel at the celebrated Oxford Street, which I didn’t mind really. Much like New York’s Greenwich Village, Oxford is the bohemian enclave of Sydney, where quirky artists, leather-clad skinheads and pierced punks, gays and lesbians congregate with their own kind amidst surf shops, 2nd hand book stores, porn and fetish boutiques, gay clubs and bistros.

 My interest though was more on the quaint antique shops on South Dowling Street and at Woolhara, which carried an assortment of antique frames, books, playthings, furniture, jewelry and plain junk. Here, wheeling and dealing is the name of the game and I haggled until I was blue in my face over a large green apothecary jar which I finally got for my bottle collection. But if Oxford is non-conformist, nearby King’s Cross is hardcore. This is a tamer version of Patpong, a more sophisticated Fields Avenue, but still as notorious for its promise of sex and sleaze at every bend.

 Sydney’s open, tolerant attitude—a broadened perspective that is shared by most of Australia—may as well be its biggest attraction. With little exception, Asians will feel welcomed here, and the motley of Vietnamese, Chinese, Indian, Thai and Filipino communities co-habiting peacefully are a testament to Australia’s open-arms policy, regardless of creed, conviction, and yes, even sexual orientation. The annual gay and lesbian parade, a festival that celebrates alternative lifestyles and which has grown into an event of international proportions, further solidifies the country’s liberal stance. 

So, mates, if you want to resist the usual, if you crave unbridled adventure to the extreme—Sydney, with all its wild, amazing wonders, a rich cultural heritage and a happy-go-lucky, anything goes approach to life—is the place to be!

50. TAKEN FOR A RIDE IN A CAR, CAR!

Your first car is as important as your first job, as unforgettable as your first love, as thrilling as your first kiss. That is probably why I kept this picture of my very first car all these years, bought from my hard-earned lifetime savings.

How can I ever forget this fire engine-red super Beetle which served me for a year or two? (or it could have been less). I found it for sale in a Buy and Sell ad in 1984 that specified even its new upholstery. The 1964 model Volkswagen I thought, was a classic, as my father had a similar one, which he often took for long drives to Baguio. I figured if a Volks was that roadworthy, I might as well choose the same trusty brand for my 1st car!

I paid Php11,000 for this red Volks, and, as I was still an amateur driver then, I asked my art director, Mildred, to accompany me and drive it from Mandaluyong to my Makati office. It sputtered and stuttered and stopped every step of the way, but we did reach our destination. Since I didn't have the courage to drive it all the way to Pampanga, I called my Dad to take it home.

Oh, he was livid when I told him I got a car and he asked me so many technical questions about its past ownership and performance (Have you test-driven it? Has a mechanic checked its motor and the condition of the carburetor, accelerator, tires, etc.? I said, No to all his questions, but I told him it's got new upholstery. I only heard him heave a deep sigh.

Well, once on the Expressway, I heard more sighing from my father as the engine coughed and sputtered, the glass window fell down, and the recapped tires started giving in. We had to stop every now and then to pry loose rubber from the damaged tires. Midway through the trip, the car overheated, rattled and wiggled, so we had to slow down our speed to about 40 kms. per hour. My father's sighs never ceased, not even when we got home.

The super Beetle went straight to the mechanic's shop, and I think I spent more for its repair than what I paid for it. It really never lost its wiggle, but it was still serviceable for taking me from Point A to Point B. I used it to go to the University on weekends where I took a teaching job, and after classes, a few of mys students would pack the Beetle to hitch with me home.

One night though, while driving home, my car just wiggled violently and its headlights flickered and died. I was never so frightened in my life! I thought it was possessed and from that moment, I decided to get rid of it. Luckily, a cousin of mine was remodelling my kitchen, and was glad to take home the red Volks as part of his payment.

Car-less again, I spent the next few days looking for a 2nd hand replacement. But this time, it was my father who looked for a car for me. Few weeks after, he found me a white Saturn-engine, lady-driven 1978 model Lancer. Oh, what a snappy-looking car! I loved it the moment I laid eyes on it. I drove it to Manila, drove it to work, drove it everywhere, and even drove my sister to Church in it on her wedding day..

Everything went well until that one fateful Sunday afternoon when I figured in a 4-car collision along the Expressway. That's another story that caused more sighs. Sigh!.

(5 January 2009)

47. HOTEL ART

Living in hotels is a necessary part of travel. Hotel bookings are made in advance, often sight unseen. Expecting the unexpected, it is always amusing when you get to your temporary residence. First impressions do last--and the first thing I take note of are the hotel interior decors. Cheap prints, works of unknown artists, campy sculptures, horrible watercolors--perhaps I've seen it all. Of course, I realize that hotels are not museums. That is why when I am on the road, I make it a point to visit a museum or a gallery, which to me is the quickest and most convenient way to immerse yourself in the local arts and culture.

In a recent trip to Europe, however, I didn’t have to go out or look far to view excellent works of art. Right in a modest Spanish hotel where I stayed—Melia Fernan Gonzales Boutique Hotel in Burgos—I was surprised to see authentic colonial antiques as well as faithfully reproduced sacred art scattered all over the hotel premises.

It is obvious that the hotel has imbibed the sense of history of this city. Burgos began as a fortified city and was a major stop for pilgrims on their way to Santiago de Compostela. It has also been the site of many wars: against the Moors, Napoleonic French and the Spanish civil war. Its Gothic Cathedral—just a stone’s throw away from the hotel—is beautifully preserved and so are the numerous ecclesiastical monuments that dot the place—more than any other Spanish city.

 Upon entering the Lobby, the first thing that I saw was a beautifully polychromed image of our Lady with the Child Jesus.

The centerpiece of the hotel lobby is this beautiful antique Nativity tableaux encased in a protective glass urna to secure it from overzealous santo art lovers like me. I had to admire this set with exquisite gilt work first--the hotel key can wait!

A solo image of a naked Salvador del Mundo--which I wanted to bring home-- stands guard at the Lobby Lounge. This is an obvious reproduction, but still excellently made.

Going up my 2nd floor room, I saw this old painting of Crucified Christ, which reminded me of the old Cuzco style of painting popular in Peru.

 En route to the restaurant for my breakfast, an antique cabinet displayed various religious vestments--chasubles, a cope and dalmatic--some heavily embroidered, others with great floral appliques.

Next to this dramatically-lit cabinet was this large santo base that had lots of charming little cherub carvings with amazing details. This base was displayed as is, sans a santo, perhaps to show off the artistry that went into this exquisite piece.

There was a big detalyado San Agustin image at the exit of the restaurant, a very impressive piece. It was missing its staff and mitre though, but the detailed church on his left hand was intact.

 At another lounge, I gazed at this folk-looking Madonna that adorned a plain brick red wall. It reminded me so much of the Black Madonna of Montserrat which was also on my agenda, but this one has a fair encarna. There is a Gothic feel to it...

On this same wall was this painting on a gilt frame that looked like the Mother of Perpetual Help without the angel attendants.

Flanking this piece was this San Juan Bautista complete with his sheepskin loincloth. If this were mine, I would add a base and a banner and use it as a processional santo instead of hanging it on a wall.

Adjacent to this inner lounge was the main dining section that featured more vibrant colonial pieces. This retablo housing our Lady and the Child Jesus was a real stunner; the rococo decorations are outstanding:

 Finally, at the restaurant downstairs, a niche housed this ancient San Pedro tabletop santo, which would look perfect on my antique mesa altar.

 Sadly, I stayed only for a day at the hotel. I would have wanted to explore the Swimming Pool. Goodness what I would have discovered there. A carved retablo diving board perhaps, or an antique kneeling angel lamp post. When you are travelling, wonders never cease, there's always a surprise at every bend. And that's what I found at this small boutique hotel on a narrow street in Burgos.

(6 November 2008)

38. TRAVELS WITH JIMBASIC

JimenezBasic is known in the advertising industry for its legendary foreign trips, a way of rewarding its people for a job well done. In the 1st year that the agency made its first profit of P90,000, it decided to splurge on a Hong Kong trip for its then 10 employees. The agency has grown by leaps and bounds since, and today, it is the country's number one creative agency powered by 120 driven creative, hardworking and passionate young ad people. The tradition of travel has also continued, depending on the annual agency performance, of course. In these journeys, everyone gets to go--senior officers, copywriters, art directors, secretaries, company messengers, janitors and coffee boys. The Jimenezes believe that the experience of world travel is something money can't buy--and everyone agree! We've seen the Great Wall of China, got our tans in Bali, sheared sheep in Sydney, holidayed in Hong Kong twice, touched the Taj in India, swung thru Singapore and got tongue-Thai'd in Bangkok. There was a year that we chose London as our destination--but not everyone got a visa; the British Embassy was just incredulous that the company could afford to send its staff for an English junket. "All for one and one for all" had always been our battlecry, so we decided to have our tea in visa-free Hong Kong instead--for 5 heady days of shopping, and with free spending money! And what about this year? Well, this December, we're closing shop for 4 days, to see if there are indeed lumpia in Shanghai!

1995: SYDNEY AUSTRALIA

1996: BEIJING, CHINA

1997: HONGKONG

2000: SINGAPORE

2002: BALI, INDONESIA

2004: SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

2005: NEW DELHI, AGRA, INDIA

2006: BANGKOK, THAILAND

2007: SHANGHAI, CHINA

2010: ATHENS, GREECE

2011: MARRAKESH, CASABLANCA, MOROCCO

2012: MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA

37. LOST IN THE CITY OF ANGELS

 THE OLD MUNICIPIO OF CULIAT

Memory is a wily keeper of the past, so they say-- often true and faithful, but at times elusive or even deceptive. Mine, however, are still sharp and bright, especially when it comes to Angeles City—a special place that I have always associated with a joyful time of youthful discoveries, when everyone’s idea of risky adventure was a quick trip to Pampanga’s playground--the “city of Angels”.

Growing up in a sleepy town-on-the-border that is Mabalacat, the nearby city of Angeles represented just about everything an idealistic “promdi” teen dreamed of. Angeles provided the ultimate escape, a 20 minute jeepney ride away to where the action is—there, in her downtown movie houses and cheap restaurants along its crowded alley roads serving Hollywood magic and meriendas; in its bustling commercial streets crammed with hawkers, shoppers and Muslim vendors; and in the famed avenues of Balibago lined with bright neon lights spelling familiar names straight from roadside Las Vegas: Copa Cabana, Stardust, Nina’s Papagayo.

More than just a center of escapades, Angeles was the place to kick off your shoes and get really comfortable, a city known for freely extending its unconditional welcome to one and all. They say in Angeles, everyone has a chance to make it and to this city gravitated every one – entrepreneurs, missionaries, U.S. servicemen, backpacking tourists , students, bar girls, artists, German and Australian retirees and even lost souls out to make a quick buck or two. Such was Angeles in my mind’s eye.

One could never imagine that this freewheeling city was once the farthest barrio of San Fernando, a clearing started by spouses Don Angel Pantaleon Miranda and Dona Rosalia de Jesus in 1792. Its early name was Culiat, from the woody vines that proliferated in the area. Inaugurated as a town in 1829, Culiat was dedicated to its titular patrons, the Holy Guardian Angels , hence the name “Angeles”, but it is certainly a strange coincidence that its founder was also named Angel.

The handful of nuclear families and their descendants that settled in Culiat soon expanded and grew, with family members often intermarrying. Large prominent families like the Nepomucenos, Hensons, Nepomucenos, Paras, Lazatins, Del Rosarios, Tayags have common genealogical roots, which explains why today, it is possible to bump into a distant relation just by walking the streets.

It is also the best way to discover the city’s soul, with its unexpected surprises that lurk at every bend. Recently on a week-end, I went on my own to revisit my old Angeles on foot, to retrace familiar haunts, half-expecting to relive my big city experience while exploring its contemporary attractions. After years of living in Manila and in other parts of the world, I was not disappointed.

Historic Sto. Rosario Street was my starting point. On this street stands the city landmark—the imposing Holy Rosary Parish, started in 1855 by Fr. Guillermo Masnou but opened to the public only in 1890. Its massive intricately carved doors feature religious figures central to the city’s story, most specially the Virgin of the Most Holy Rosary.

Most of Angeles’ ancestral buildings are clustered in this district—from the old Pamintuan Residence that was once occupied and transformed by Pres. Emilio Aguinaldo as his presidential headquarters, (now a Bangko Sentral regional branch), the restored Bale Herencia to the Nepomuceno’s Kamalig, an ancient barn turned specialty pizza restaurant, adjacent to Bale Matua, the old stone house of the original founders of Angeles.

The old regional court across the church has been converted into Museo ning Angeles, a repository of the city’s historical and cultural treasures. The city’s more organized commercial center—Nepo Mart—is just a stone’s throw away. PX goods were once the lifeblood of the stores here. I remember, from school, I could dash here for my favorite fig newtons or Lay’s potato chips. Nowadays, Bangkok goods are peddled side by side U.S. products obviously purchased from Clark Field PX shops.

There are so much food choices here—from Everybody’s Café, a branch of San Fernando’s most popular restaurant known for its local delicacies like kamaru, betute and tapang damulag, Delyn’s Restaurant inside the Nepo complex, Susie’s Cuisine and its famous tibuk-tibuk, the outdoor Cely’s, with its array of Kapampangan value meals to this once-nameless snack house on nearby Corazon St. noted for its unique pastillas de leche-enriched halo-halo.

Recently, the age of malls has come to Angeles with the rise of Jenra and the multi-storey Nepo Mall, the city’s latest concession to progress. But the height of adventure begins in the downtown market occupying Miranda and Rizal St., where one can get lost amidst life’s most trivial pleasures. Snake in and around the stalls—if you have hunger pangs, munch a turon, eat suman, snack on pancit palabok. Kitschy gift shops stand next to hole-in-the wall beauty shops here. Down a narrow street, I checked if “Cool Spot”- everyone’s favorite high school snack hangout—was still around. It still is, thankfully, serving up the the tastiest pancit and pineapple-upside down cake this side of town.

Every Friday, the “tiangge ng Apu” comes to life on Burgos St., where the wildest assortment of merchandise at dirt-cheap prices abound for the picking—from CDs, VCD’s and DVD’s , batik dusters, ukay-ukay finds, tropical aquarium fishes, car tools, leather goods, glassware, fake GI surplus to pots, pans and what have you. The city’s own version of Divisoria has been around for years—but this baratillo paradise is much noisier, rowdier. Before, second-hand shops and thrift stores would also be located in this area, selling Clark Air base odds and ends—vinyl records, army trays, pocketbooks and girlie magazines.

Along Jake Gonzales Boulevard., the main artery linking Balibago and Angeles, motels and cocktail lounges abound. I remember a U.S. style hotel being built in the 70s here, called “Pauline’s, with surreal interiors embellished with concrete stalactites and stalagmites. It was never finished, and for years, was the boulevard’s signature landmark. No longer a hotel row, the strip is now known for its sisig stalls by the old railroad track, a legendary haven for beer guzzlers and pulutan lovers. Balibago, past the Abacan Bridge, has always had a honky-tonk feel.

In here, the attitude is a bit more brash, a little looser, a touch of the wild, wild west on Kapampangan soil. Balibago was both a residential and a commercial district—with prime villages like Diamond Subdivision providing major housing for American G.I.s and their families. The premiere hotel in the area was Marlim Mansion, which still stands today, and across it—the celebrated Angeles Fried Chicken restaurant—host to many birthday, anniversary and graduation bashes, owned by Taus family.

Other Balibago “institutions” include Johnny’s Grocery (where we went shopping for our Junior-Senior Prom food supply) and Del Rosario Swimming Pool Compound, located at the foot of Abacan Bridge, where many an Angeleño kid learned to swim. Balibago subsisted primarily on Clark, and the myriads of shops and businesses that dotted its landscape naturally reflected complex American tastes: swanky bars with go-go girls, galleries that peddled velvet paintings, Kon-Tiki carvings and artworks with exotic South Pacific themes, fastfoods with American names (Spic ‘n Span, A&W), rattan furniture shops, dozens of hotels and motels with pretentions of poshness. Along the main highway, animated neon signs advertised the clubbing pleasures of Little Brown Jug and Cock and Bull. The whole stretch of Friendship Hi-Way and Fields Avenue housed the seedier establishments that promised more wanton delights.

Nearby Clark Field was terra incognita for a lot of us teeners back in the 70s, an exclusive enclave reserved for a privileged few (Americans and their dependents). People spoke of a commissary with endless rows of the freshest apples and peaches, Pacex milk, Hershey’s kisses, macadamia nuts and more! There were stories told about fancy restaurants like Top Hat and Coconut Grove, of Olympic size pools with gleaming white tiles at the Officers’ Club and of visits by celebrities like Xavier Cugat and Bob Hope. I remember going there only once, as part of a group invited by Wagner High School officials, for a tour of their art-and-crafts facilities. I came away foolishly impressed by the American dream, and for some time, relished the thought of Philippine statehood as espoused by Cabangbang.

Now, more than a decade after Pinatubo, the atmosphere around this perimeter is more sedate, the din of raucous laughter a bit quieter. It still is a people-friendly place, and shopping here can be quite a thrill. Art galleries and frame shops --with their precious old stock of artworks, are concentrated here, and there is still that delicious possibility of unearthing a masterpiece from the 60s and 70s painted by Jose Bumanlag David, Patricio Salvador or Felix Gonzales—noted masters of the brush who once plied their talents here.

Astro Park, fronting the Clark main gate, provides the ideal green spot for games and afternoon gambols. Next door neighbors to galleries and furniture shops are modern-day KTVs and coffee shops, catering to a whole new community, more local than international. German and Australian retirees have replaced the Americans, even the Koreans have arrived, giving rise to thriving multi-cultural businesses and all-new relationships.

The big city of my youth seems so much smaller now, but with so many attractions (and, surprising distractions!) to assault the senses, it still is so easy to lose one’s way . In a sense, you can never find your way out of Angeles, because the city—like some giant magnet—will draw you back in. Perhaps it is its “there’s something-for-everyone” patronage to diversity that makes people stay. Or the fact that it has retained its human scale in the midst of growth and modernity.

To me, its enduring appeal lies in it capacity to make the most lasting impressions, a place of the rich past which has created its own vital present--where people can take comfort in knowing that they can leave Angeles, for half a lifetime or more, and return to find most of their fascinating memories of this proud city still safe and intact.