May 26, 2013

Sunday, May 26, 2013 was a pleasant, balmy day.  It also turned out to be a fun day filled with laughter, reminiscing of the days growing up of Jolo with a small group of old friends -- townmates, schoolmates, and Criselda Yabes.


Cris is the daughter of Leonardo Yabes, who opened MetroBank in Jolo.  Cris was still a toddler when I met her, but Nards and Myrna, Cris' parents, became our friends during their time in Jolo.  In August 2012, Cris came to the University of Las Vegas on a writing fellowship.  Through the Fall and Winter of 2012, we communicated, and Ed and I extended an invitation to visit New York when her fellowship ended in Spring 2013, before she left America for France and subsequent return to the Philippines. 

I knew of Cris when one day, idly trolling the web searching for pictures of Jolo before the great tragedy that destroyed the town, I came across fabulous shots of the town as it is now, taken overhead from Bud Datu, Bud Tumantangis.  Among the images was a reference to Criselda Yabes.  The last name sounded so familiar that further research came up with the books she wrote about Jolo then and now.  Below The Crying Mountain, a book that Cris wrote, is a fictionalized but poignant tale of Jolo.  

Using social media, I contacted Cris, and verified that in her parents, we had a mutual contact.  One thing led to another, and today, Sunday is the day we all agreed to meet in Long Island.

Errol Navata, of the Delgado-Navata clan, and a descendant of the Sultan was tasked with gathering a group to visit Long Island for a greet and meet.  

Errol came to Merrick with wife Dolly, Marichu (Chutee) Barrera, and Elinor Tan.  

We were later joined by brother Lawrence (Sonny) Luchan and his wife Marilyn Baquiran.

Most of the dishes were vegetarian, in deference to Cris, a vegan.  Errol and Dolly brought a delicious seafood medley, and a variety of sweets.  The ube roll, ube loaf and red bean loaf were delightful.  We enjoyed the divine mango cake that Sonny and Marilyn brought.  And Chutee, made a scrumptious cheesecake flan that was simply ambrosial.

The ensuing discussions was in a mix of taosug, tagalog and english.  At times the conversation became excitable, with accompanying arm action that could easily compete with the Italians, to emphasize a particular point.  Then taosug, interspersed with tagalog dominated but a reminder to revert to english for Eddie's sake, brought peals of laughter.  

Through the hours of talk, Cris happily absorbed the chatter taking notes, which struck Errol as hilarious.  

Jolo, the personalities and notable hot spots as they were then, were reviewed, dissected and commented on.  Memories were revisited --

Tigbao, the town swimming pool that was the training ground for young swimmers, and in turn taking a life or two each year;

Chinese Pier with the perilous interconnecting bamboo bridges over mud that at its worst would be missing a few bamboo strips and a terrifying sway that had pedestrians walking with their hearts in their mouth;

Lost lives, past loves and current events were revisited;

BunBun, Errol's ancestral hometown, now the site of several military efforts to uplift the village with dive sites, schools, and other social projects; and

We became engrossed in the many stories of Patikul, Maimbung, Luuk, Maubu Beach and other old familiar places and personalities.  

Sonny showing Cris pictures of Jolo, taken by Mama before it was ravaged.

The day passed so rapidly, and soon it was time to say goodbye, with promises to keep in touch.  

Bertie in 2013 Boston Marathon

We left chilly New York on April 12, 2013 to arrive in cold, cold Boston, with sheets of icy rain and gusty winds splattering the water hard all over the streets.

Due to the rain and we were told traffic (seriously, at 12:00 noon, in Boston?), it took more than half an hour to get a taxi to take us to the Hynes Convention Center where I was to volunteer with the Boston Athletic Association (BAA) for this marathon.

This was the 117th marathon for Boston, reputedly the world's oldest running marathon.  There were more than 21,000 runners from all over the world signed up, plus 2,400 runners who deferred from 2012 due to the excessive heat last year.  

The Hynes Convention Center was a busy beehive of exhibitors, runners and volunteers.  The gates for the runners to pick up their bib numbers were supposed to open at 2:00 pm, and by 1:30 when we got to the center, there was a wrap-around of runners standing, sprawling, lazing on line in the corridors.  

My assignment was to have been the numbers and t-shirt pickup for the 5K runners, but someone from the BAA directed me to the counter for the 32K mens' medium t-shirts.  Before the doors opened, we were warned that the line was getting very long and we were going to be "hammered" by the waiting runners.

This is an example of tables full of bags, extra small, medium, large, extra large.  Separate tables for men and women.  Behind the tables, curtained off, were giant boxes full of these assemble bags.  As a space on the table cleared, volunteers behind us would dip into the boxes and fill up again.  A volunteer said it took 300 volunteers working two full days to assemble the bags in a big warehouse of one of the sponsors, the Gentle Giant Moving Company.  

After picking up their bib numbers, runners' next stop would be to pick the bags containing t-shirts and other goodies from various sponsors.  The t-shirt sponsor this year is Adidas.  Blue and sunny yellow were the theme color.  The runners were happy that they were able to exchange their shirts if they were unhappy with the size which does not happen in other races.  You live with what you get.

The bib numbers had the runner's name and country. So we would chat them up and wish them good luck with their run.  Several runners did give thanks for the volunteer work.  One said that the marathon would have been hobbled without volunteers.  Which would be the truth.  It was a very pleasant seven hours of distributing the shirts and making small-talk, seven hours of which I would do again in a heartbeat.  Some runners came with their family, children, girlfriends.

In between, the volunteers took turns going into the exhibitors' booths which would have displays of various products of the exhibitors and other companies who wished to promote their products.  As one runner commented, this was one exhibit which had a lot of giveaways.  Even Kahlua had a bus converted into a booth.  After showing a picture ID and getting stamped, one could go up to the booth and have a shot of Kahlua.  The Kahlua with root beer was delicious.

The BAA would also pass around snacks of fruit, cookies, chip and water to the volunteers.  It was a very congenial, cheerful workplace!

Although I only volunteered for one day, the activities in the Convention Center went on for three days.  

On Saturday and Sunday, we took the Old Town Trolley tour, which gave us two days of getting on and off the tour sites of Boston, including a harbor cruise and a visit to the USS Constitution.

Our guide on the first day was Mata Jones, excellent guide who belted out an old Neapolitan ditty "Funiculi, Funicula" in Italian.  Her voice was so powerful that we all woke up and took note of her tour.  She told me that in another life, she used to be a professional singer in Europe for 23 years.  She also gave a rendition of Etta James.  Whew!!!  Just in case, here is a link to her site: http://www.facebook.com/ElaineMataJones

The various guides showed sights of Boston, such as the swing bridge between the North End and Charlestown areas which was designed by MIT students and the MIT buildings.  MIT was very highly spoken of by all the guides.  A shout out to Meaghan O'Neil, MIT biotech and running in this marathon.  Meaghan did make it to the finish after being re-routed. 

We also met up with friends made from prior marathons -- Jungfrau and Medoc, and with whom we have kept in touch through the years -- Vincent and Manuela van Ulzen.

Vince had good running time, but did not finish due to dehydration.  Manuela was 100 meters from the explosion, was re-routed and finished.

Since Ed was not running, on marathon day, Patriot's Day in Massachusetts, we were set to travel back to New York.  As our train was not till 11:00 am, we took a last pass at the city, taking in the preparation for the race, and walked along Boylston and Copley Square to get to South Station from the Convention Center.  

It was a calm, beautiful sunny day.  Streets were full of folks in yellow Adidas jackets, children and families having great fun and that early, the streets were already lined up with chairs for the bystanders lucky enough to secure spaces by the barricades.  The atmosphere was festive and peaceful.  

Fire engines were on standby, some streets were blocked off, in one street, at least seven of ambulances were on the ready, stretchers, wheelchairs, and all the equipment for emergencies were on the side.  

Who would have known, all these would be used?  Who could have known?

The  explosions happened approximately when our train from Boston was entering Penn Station.  We were unaware.  On boarding the LIRR to Merrick, my cell phone was jumping out of its skin with messages, texted and e-mailed.  One e-mail asked if we were out of the explosion site.  I asked a fellow LIRR passenger if New York had just experienced an explosion and was shocked that Boston was rocked.  

What a crying shame.  Who would have known that some people feared joy.  Feared joy so much that they would go to any means to ensure that other people would be unhappy or die.

  

Bertie in Capri

On a beautiful day in October 2012, I took the ferry from Naples to Capri for a day trip.  The ferries and hydrofoils servicing the islands around the Gulf of Naples depart from the Beverello Harbour by the Piazza Municipio, about a three block walk from the Marriott Renaissance Hotel.  The ticketing kiosk would only sell one-way tickets, which was about Euro 18 for the departure time of choice.

The ride to Capri was pleasant, unlike the bumpy stomach-churning ride from Dover to Calais.  Breaking the scenery across the water, were some naval aircraft carriers on exercise and the rocky hills of neighboring islands.

Upon arrival at the harbor, there were signs pointing to the funicular to get to the town center.  Perhaps foolishly, I decided to make the trek the old fashioned way, questioning my choice during the first steps.  

However, along the way, as I caught glimpses of how the townsfolk lived, this would turn out to be the right way to go.  The passageway was narrow and two slim people could comfortably walk side-by-side.  

Along the way, this circuitous route was interspersed with steps -- long steps, short steps and steps up to private houses.  

There were a variety of well-tended icons embedded on walls maintained with candles and blooms.

  

In this isle of seemingly perpetual sunshine, the flower show was a pleasant break in the uphill hike. 

The garden terraces blended with nature and were not overdone with outdoor furniture.  Imagine lounging and just gazing at the beauty of the blue sea and the scenery.

In peeks between houses perched cliffside, the view was awesome!  

The foolhardiness of the decision to trek uphill, as opposed to taking the funicular was soon forgotten, as the beauty of Capri slowly unfolded.

The taxicabs ferrying tourists to and fro, were unusual.  

Just as in any tourist spots, Capri's town centre was filled with gawking tourists, caressing the souvenirs, some undoubtedly made in China for Italian shopkeepers and high-end shops with Euro prices.  I watched some shops that advertised "hand made" summer sandals while you wait.  This basically consisted of picking out a pair of soles to size, deciding on the decorative straps and handing about Euro 120 to the shoemaker, who would then hammer in the straps to the soles!  Nice, but for very much less than half the price, in any mall in the United States, a pair could be had, equally just as beautiful, if not more so.     

While waiting for the ferry to return to Naples, I sat on the beach, which was rocky with white stones.  

I love Capri, to visit.