if someone named you 'Ondoy' you'd probably get mad too

September 26, 2009.
Ondoy came to town. Furious.

Like someone on the receiving end of a bad haircut. Like the boy named Sue. Like a man whom someone just named Ondoy. (The international code name is Ketsana but there is a group in the Philippines whose job is to come up with another name for it. These people obviously have a lot of time on their hands.)

Rolled everything in it's path. Opened the skies wide and poured drums of water. A month's worth of torrential rain came rushing down in six hours. Flashfloods, the likes of which the area has never seen before, literally flushed the shi* out of metro Manila and beyond.

It extinguished lives and devastated many more. It exposed the government's mechanism for immediate response and rescue in such a calamity - basically none.

(Later, the government group responsible for such actions came up with the song and dance that their responsibility, and capability I assume, lies in the wake of the storm- the distribution of relief goods, primarily noodles. NDCC stands for Noodles Distribution Committee following a Catastrophe.)

We have to remember this: With all the things we do to it, with all the abuse and affronts we keep throwing at it with impunity, and all the warnings that go unheeded, once in a while comes nature's turn.

the Oudin Odyssey continues...

Believe.

August 1914

The title is but a red herring. This is not about a book by Solzhenitsyn.

If anything this is more about: ' Of all the clubs, in all the cities, in the whole world, she had to walk into mine.' But it's not about movies. It's not Casablanca.

But of all the places, in all the cities I have been to, in the world...

AUGUST 1914

She walked in...and later on walked away. But in between...

Well, we'll always have Paris.




This post is cryptic but not fictive.

a grateful nation bids farewell

Cory Aquino lived here.
1933 - 2009

only the good....

Corazon Aquino
January 25, 1933 - August 1,2009

a bridge too far

from the rim of the lake, a gently winding stretch of highway 232 (this is closed in winter) merges with 138 and you turn right to proceed east. this stretch of 138 is rather peculiar in one way: at about 5000' it is only a few hundred feet lower than crater lake's rim and still in a deeply forested wilderness, but from this point until it abuts with highway 97, it cuts straight as an arrow. and that's where it ends.

short summer drives

Crater Lake National Park


It's 100 degrees in the valley; time to get out of the kitchen if you can't stand the heat.

I stop at the bank for some cash and to get a pin number for my card. It's Friday so she, the banker, starts with ' What are your plans for the weekend?'
Get out of this heat.
I know, I'm going to Florida myself. What about you?
I'm driving but haven't made up my mind where to go. I'm all packed with nowhere to go. I think I'll spin a bottle, see where it stops and start from there.

After a brief revolution, the bottle points to the east. I take east 62. On the map, it's not a designated scenic drive but it leads to Crater Lake which is a National Park

and on the flip side of the coin

Lt. Mike Stone walked the streets of San Francisco for 21 years. He is not going to be doing that anymore.

For the same amount of time, Karl Malden pitched the catchphrase "Don't leave home without them" to worldwide audiences for American Express. He won't be doing that anymore.

Mladen Sekulovich who changed his name to Karl Malden, to accommodate a career in theater, passed away at age 97. Malden, who appeared in critically-acclaimed movies such as 'On The Waterfront' and 'A Streetcar Named Desire', won an Oscar and an Emmy in a long career in the movies, on Broadway and on television.

He was married to his wife Mona, who survives him, for 70 years.

all is fair in (cliched) love

South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford was a once-promising presidential prospect. Then he went on a hike and his political future headed south. Actually, he did too. Went south that is.

He told his wife and his staff that he was going to hike the Appalachian Trail and would be gone for a few days. But unknown to the others, he climbed on a plane and went to Argentina. He had a clandestine rendezvous with an Argentine TV personality named Maria Belen Chapur, described by her neighbor as a beautiful brunette, who jogs, plays tennis and has big gorgeous eyes. She was Sanford's secret lover. They were confident, at that time that their affair was still a secret.

But the shit has hit the fan. And it hit him as soon as he touched down on his native soil.

Confronted by the media and suddenly faced with the unraveling of his political and family life, he confessed to the affair. He also confessed to indiscretions with other women.

But true to his mistress, he professed his undying love for her.

And the point of this post is this:

Politicians are very adept at slinging cliches, their speeches reek with them. Sanford is no different and in describing his circumstance his colors did not change. All is fair in love and politics.

The following is part of what he said in an interview with the AP: (See if you can spot all the cliches in his disquisition. You can stop when you reach the point where you feel like throwing up. I warn you, this one reeks)

There were a handful of instances wherein I crossed the lines I shouldn't have crossed as a married man, but never crossed the ultimate line. (meaning he did not fall in love)

And about his true love Maria:

This was a whole lot more than a simple affair, this was a love story. A forbidden one, a tragic one, but a love story at the end of the day.

I will die knowing that I have met my soul mate.

Soul mate.

palintics

Tina Fey, governor of the state of Alaska, abruptly and without much ado, announced that she was quitting her job at the end of this month and handing the rein to Lt. Gov. Parnell.

She was the Republican running- mate of senator John McCain in last years election. The duo lost to the tandem of Barack Obama and his own running-mate. (Does anybody know his name?)

Fey was considered to be a possible contender for the Republican presidential nomination in 2012. Her resignation draws a shroud over her political intentions and sends the future of her party into a whirlpool of uncertainties.

She made the unexpected announcement on Friday outside her home in Wasilla, Alaska.

Wait a minute...

that was Sarah Palin !

view from my perch - Baguio house

Every morning I would take my coffee at the patio fronting the small hotel and facing the single-row parking lot, and this is a picture of what unfolded before me. This is a house in Baguio.

I had been spending part of the humid month at a Beach resort in Subic when the heat, combined with the noxious fumes from the exhausts of jeepneys and tricycles started an annoying irritation in my throat. Thinking that the cooler climate of the mountains might offer a relief, I climbed on a Victory liner bus and headed for Baguio.

It was at the tail end of the holy week observation in the Philippines and lodging was pretty scarce and to make matters worse, I got there just before midnight. But a retail vendor at the bus station in Olongapo, knowing beforehand what predicament I would be in in Baguio, gave me a number to call if and when the circumstance presented itself. So I ended up at this small hotel where some residents shared a community bathroom located down the hall. I had my own bathroom though and it was clean, as were the room and bed. But like everyone else's, my room lacked an air-conditioning unit.

What my room had, to offset that little inconvenience, was a set of French doors that opened out to a small deck. I had these doors wide open all day and night to mitigate the problem of the heat.

It could have been written somewhere in the hotel's brochure that it offered rooms with a view, and if it did, then this ( the house) was it. The only view it could have had as it was flanked on the other three sides by taller buildings.

It is a house that has seen better days. And probably better times.

It sits on a gently sloping part of the mountain and the gradient probably affected the design of the bi-level first floor and basement. The second story probably houses most if not all of the bedrooms. Wide windows let in abundant southern light to the living and dining room on the first floor and the family room at the basement. They also provided a sweeping view of the area. Twin dormers added personality to the facade and flood the mezzanine with soft natural light. A red-brick veneered flue towers over all structures, pierces the corrugated iron roof and drops down to fireplaces on the first and basement floors. It is a big house, but balance and symmetry are not lost in the over-all design. Yes, in its day, it was a nicely built house.

And this is how it looks today. It was a well-built house and the structural integrity of the building including the fireplace and the retaining wall below the metal fence has pretty much held-up through the years. But regular maintenance especially at the exterior has been neglected. The wood sidings, unpainted to show natural colors, are blackened by layers of watermarks and long exposure to the elements. The iron roofing exhibits rust in most areas and the eave gutter has sagged.

In the early days, one looked out the wide windows and saw a sweeping view of the rolling mountains, perennially kept green by the constant tropical rains. Beyond the first few ridges, winding roads hugged the mountain sides slipping in and out of view as they find their way slowly into the valleys. Majestic pine trees mingled with sturdy hardwoods as the winds playfully agitate their leaves. And on a clear day , some of the the famous rice terraces are visible. In the summer, when the hot air from the lowlands rose up to meet descending cold front, they formed a fog that blanketed the sides of the mountains hiding its lore and mysteries.

Today, the view is blocked by the hotel where I stayed in and the other commercial high-rise, mostly hotels, in the area. But even if the hotels weren't there the view has been forever changed.

The thick forests of pines have dwindled, their growth stunted by, among other things, the changing environmental temperature which is increasing unrestrained and intractable. The hills are alive with the unchecked proliferation of construction of squalid and nondescript dwellings of squatters. But even the ones that were built through proper channels, didn't adhere to any planning restrictions, it seems like. Setbacks were ignored and architectural aesthetics were thrown out the window.

You can see the whole width of most roads now because the trees have diminished. You can see the rivers too and the bridges that span across them. The roads are littered with trash and stained with grime. The bridges have become dumping grounds for garbage and the garbage remain uncollected for who-knows- how-long; the next one seems to be a bigger dump than the last. The rivers receive the overflow of trash and garbage. And do not look down into them, they don't look like rivers you can swim in; they are brown, red, murky and dirty.

When you're in town, especially downtown, don't try to listen to the rustle of the leaves of the trees, it won't be there. It is lost behind the cacophony of noise spewed out from the buses, taxis, jeepneys, tricycles and motorcycles that were angrily contending among themselves.


And that fog that you see is probably an illusion. The lofty fog has been reduced to its foul portmanteau - the smog.


note:
apologies to the owner of the house. I have nothing against the house, it is still a beautiful house- this is merely a metaphor.
I was disappointed with the city of Baguio.

a rainy day in april

Quezon Ave. Quezon City


Even under the bright and searing April sun these sidewalks were difficult to navigate. It's mostly a patchwork of concrete with a little sense of continuity, broken up here and there by on-going construction work, uncovered rocks and pebbles, huge cracks wide enough to swallow a good-sized pedestrian, trees, power posts and tables set up by peddlers pushing their wares.

One day in April when the sun was just claiming it's perch at high noon, I decided to follow the path and take on the city planners and see how seriously they regard their responsibilities.

But nature, as the cliche goes, had other plans.

Seemingly out of nowhere, dark clouds drifted below the sun and dimmed the bright day. Lightning sliced the air like a whip and thunder cracked fiercely. The skies opened up.

Caught unprepared and suddenly wet, I raced up against the nearest building wall looking for an overhang deep enough to keep the downpour at bay. There were none. Chalk one up for the argument against the city planners. In a city frequented by heavy rains, most storefronts are not protected by deep overhangs. I decided that the city planners are not up to par. By far. Not that nobody before me ever noticed. Ha ha ha.

A few minutes later, I knew that the set up was not working for me so I decided to strike camp. I looked around and spied a 7-11 down the street.

The glass door opened before I had a chance to push it with my hand but it wasn't an automated door. And no security guard was behind it either ( which was a bit unusual in this part of town). As I stepped in across the threshold, I noticed a little boy, no more than 8 years old, holding the door open. I thought he was trying to get out so I stepped aside to make room for him. But he just proceeded to shut the door only to open it again for the next customer following behind me. He was, I realized, opening and closing the door for every customer that walked into the store, acting like a door man. Or a security guard. The salesclerk ringing purchases was just a few feet behind him manning the register. The little boy was wearing a gray t-shirt, khaki shorts and a pair of worn flipflops. And an obsequious smile.

I bought a bottle of soda and sat on a barstool at the bench next to the window. I thought I'd watch the traffic from where I sat and wait out the rain. I tried to strike a conversation with the people sitting next to me, mostly women, but got nowhere.

Moments later I saw the boy loitering nearby and curiosity got the better of me. I asked him if he worked there. Was he the brother of the girl behind the register? Or maybe her kid? He gave me a shy smile but shook his head at my questions. What are you doing here then? No answer. I noticed that some of the customers left the bench without bussing after themselves. I ask the boy if he could take care of the trash left by the other people. He promptly ditched them in the trash bin.

The rain has not let up but I was getting bored, claustrophobic and hungry so I decided to make another audacious dash a couple of blocks down the street to Chow King. I ordered beef Lo Mein and Tokwa at Baboy. And killed time. The rain poured outside as the day wore on.

It was now early in the evening and the rain has somewhat abated but hasn't stopped altogether. You can still see the interminable ripples on the puddles that were now everywhere on the sidewalks and streets. But it was Miller Time, I decided. I wanted a beer. Or beers. San Miguel. Anything.

I stepped outside and retraced my way back up the street to get to the overpass I needed to climb to get across the street where QP's bar was situated. Like a man walking across a mine field I was being careful where to put my feet down avoiding mud spots and water puddles, trying to keep my feet dry even if the rest of me was almost completely drenched.

Then in the gathering darkness, as I was about to stretch my leg across a puddle, something caught my eye.

Something slumped against an old unkempt building wall. Nestled against the wall and a 12" built up post and under a corresponding 12 "deep soffit ten feet above, sitting tangently in a fetal position was a little kid, fast asleep in a picture of exhaustion. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, khaki shorts and flip flops. His outfit was mostly wet especially his shorts and part of his shirt; the soffit was hardly enough to keep out the rain.

It took a second to register, but I recognized him. It was the boy at the door at the 7-11 store. For a minute, I stood there, unsure of what to do. Then I turned and walked, in the water and on mud, in straight line towards the overpass. I didn't look back.

I suddenly needed the beer.

the audacity of mango

Echalas Fruit Shake

I was in town for most of the month and I stayed at the Great Eastern Hotel on Quezon Ave. in Quezon City for a week. The hotel was located a few blocks near the west end of Timog Avenue and a crosswalk away from National Bookstore. Immediately south of the place was a comedy place called Punchline and an outdoor but sheltered and enclosed restaurant called Dampa. And just north of the building, sat a western fast-food joint, the ubiquitous McDonalds.

This was , I think, the lead-up month to the rainy season and the heat was hard to bear. The humidity coupled with the smog, noise and fumes coming from the moving sea of urban vehicles was suffocating. A mass of humanity seemed to always cover a good part of the sidewalks , if you could call it that. Mostly, it's a four-foot wide concrete broken in so many places and disrupted so often by trees and artifacts that it had surrendered it's privilege of being called a 'path'.

To provide respite from the sweltering sky, the rain sometimes mocked the forecasters, came out ahead of it's expected delivery date and poured with a vengeance, inundating most streets and rendering some the consistency of a gumbo.

Still and all, if you're like me, there is something priceless about being here, a feeling I know I will probably never feel anywhere else: being lost in a crowd.

But back to the fruit stand. Or fruit shake stand.

Most mornings I had my breakfast here: a tall glass of mango shake. Then I'd walk over to starbucks for coffee. The place was located in a newer building which housed Robinson's Supermarket in the basement. Right next to the escalator, the stand was on the first floor and directly above the market. The business area was at the west end of Timog Ave.

The first time I was there I ordered a tall glass of mango shake. She cheerfully whipped up the concoction and handed it to me. I looked around me for a place to sit and saw none. Not a single bench or chair. Across the clean floor were two restaurants replete with tables and chairs, Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks, but both establishments were enclosed in glass panels and doors. Starbucks was even overseen by a uniformed security guard with a sidearm ostensibly clipped on his belt.

I turned to her with the obvious question.

May mga upuan ba dito?

Wala eh.

Saan ako pweding umupo?

Sa mga restoran, sa Dunkin Donuts o Starbucks. Sa Dunkin Donuts na lang.

Hindi ko gustong bumili ng donat, hindi ba sila magagalit?

Hindi, akong bahala. Kung magalit paghahambalusin mo.

Hindi ako marunong maghambalus eh.

Ako'ng maghahambalos.

Kaya mo ba sila?

She cocked her head to one side and threw a surreptitious glance into the donut shop. Oo, kayang-kaya ko yang mga yan, maliliit naman sila eh.

Hahahaha. Nagsalita ang malaki.

Her face broke into a wide grin that finally morphed into a fierce laugh which shook her whole body.

All 4'-10" of her.


Oh yeah, the mango shake was as good as they come.



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the audacity of mango???? what the heck ?