Raise the Maroon Lantern

The Lantern Parade two nights ago was the last official event of the UP Centennial Celebration and it was a shame it was the only Centennial festivity I got to attend. As expected, it was the grandest I've ever witnessed. The crowd was at its biggest; the lanterns (and costumes), at their best; and the streets, at their brightest. The avenue fronting Quezon Hall was teeming with people. Students, of course. Children, my daughter Indie among them. Outsiders wanting to watch the spectacle. Vendors taking advantage of the occasion. Alumni like myself, my husband Nubs and my friends Georgia and Uncle, better known as Concon. Everything was fantastic. Except for the pictures we took. Bummer.


We were late. But that was okay since we made it just it time to see the beautiful angels of Babaylan in their sky-high heels and skimpy outfits. Nubs couldn't resist clicking at the most curvaceous in the group. Too bad our conjugal Nikon was at the repair shop and we had to make do with my old one and its frustrating shutter speed. And we shouldn't have switched the poor thing to "night mode" when there was no tripod at hand. Naturally, our pics turned out blurred, grainy, or both which was just great.


The hall of famer that was FA (College of Fine Arts) came in last. No one could have done the Carnival theme better. From the ticket booth to the umbrellas to the upside down people to the grotesque characters, it was all so superb. Dora the Explorer in the mouth of a crocodile was a bit off though as far as little Indie was concerned. Apparently, she didn't like seeing her favorite treated so badly and was in a semi-sour mood thereafter.


The night was capped with a grand fireworks display. A cool hundred grand burned there was Georgia's calculation. Yeah, maybe. It looked anything but cheap, especially the finale shower which my lowly camera just couldn't capture. Arrgh!

Beating the Holiday Rush

'Tis the season of giving. The list is long. The lines at the malls are longer. The holidays can indeed be a pain at times.

But not to me.

What I have been doing for the last several years is to make my Christmas list as soon as the New Year kicks off. I have around 80 names there. Mostly family and friends. Plus inaanaks. Almost all names are staples. With a few additions when balikbayan relatives are home for the holidays. And one or two taken off the list when a family member passes away.


The best time to start your Christmas shopping is during end-of-season sales that all happen early January. You get to purchase nice presents at half the price if you're lucky. For my young recipients, I almost always buy from Bayo and Big & Small Co. Then there are mid-year sales. There are great finds at Debenhams, Rustan's, even Zara sometimes. The trick is to go when the sale period is almost over and markdowns can go up to 70% off. I gift-hunt in between sale seasons in Greenhills, Dapitan Arcade, Shoemart, Crossings, Toy Kingdom and others. Then there's the big Podium sale first week of October and this is where I shop for the senior citizens in the list, particularly in Living Well. This is usually my last stop for the year.


Come December, all I have to do is take out my shopping bags, wrappers, ribbons, gift tags. And it's a wrap.

A New Dapitan

Along a nondescript road with a name made familiar by virtue of its similarity to Rizal's place of exile in Zamboanga and made famous by its proximity to Manila's oldest university is an equally nondescript structure bearing the name of the street where it stands. Dapitan Arcade is the place to go for the most wonderful bargains and finds. From ceramic export overruns. To native crafts, also overruns. And a whole lot of other exciting things.

Dapitan Arcade is in the corner of Dapitan and Kanlaon Streets, at some point where Quezon City and Manila meet. It is a small palengke-like building during the first three quarters of the year that extends into a mini-street market from October onwards. We run to this shopping haven whenever balikbayan relatives are here and we need pretty Pinoy-ish stuff to give them as send-off presents. We do part of our Christmas shopping there, but long before the Holiday crowds come like as early as summer.

Anyone who’s into country decors will love Dapitan. I’m not but I usually buy stuff for my sister Odie who’s into these things. Among these are a lovely tin watering can that my sister now uses as a flower holder, little ceramic tiles that can be used as wall accents and assorted ceramic bowls, plates, etc. There are also wicker baskets of all shapes and sizes—for bread and pastries, CDs, dirty clothes and even pet dogs—with prices ranging from 20 to 350 pesos only. China goods also abound and they cost less here than in Beijing because these might have originated from Shenzhen.

Among our worthy finds is a pair of scarecrows that we tie to the gate of our Balayan home every Halloween for only 100 pesos each. There's also this tall cylindrical clay vase that I haggled down to 200 pesos. And cool plastic coasters at 5 pieces for Php100. Dapitan has already contributed 3 lamps to Nubs' collection. We have scored quite a number of Christmas ornaments during the few years that we've been frequenting the place. Our favorite buy is a large round capiz shade that we converted into a candle holder that we got for 70 pesos, would you believe? Prices are good at all times. I never had to part with a Ninoy for any single purchase.

No wonder even rich matrons flock to Dapitan. They usually wear wide-brimmed hats over their heads and huge sunglasses over their eyes. The place though has no attraction whatsoever for little kids like my Indie. Everytime we go there, she refuses to get off the car, always exclaiming that it's not a mall. Of course, it's not. Otherwise, everything won't be soooo cheap.

Junior Stylist

They are Indie's toys-of-the-moment. She puts them in a bag and wherever she goes, they go. At home, she plays dress up with them, never mind if not a single one of them looks the least bit like Barbie. And so it's Styling 101 morning and night for the cast of Madagascar...

Day Wear
Evening Wear

The Naked Truth

My husband Nubs was about to slip into his boxers when little Indie came bursting into the room and got the biggest shock of her young life — the sight of her father in his naked un-glory.

And —

"Papa has a tail! He's a monkey! A big monkey!"

A is for...

INDIE : Inay, A is for—

LOLA : Apple.

INDIE : Ant!

LOLA : Airplane.

INDIE : Alligator!

LOLA : Axe.

INDIE : Apricot!

LOLA : (Long pause to think of easy A-words for 3 year-old Indie's benefit.)

INDIE : Auroraaaaaa!!!!!!!

Aurora is her Lola's first name...

In Black and White

A tide of euphoria is sweeping across the globe with Obama's victory. But I couldn't care less. Not because I'm pro-McCain. Not because I'm anti-Black. But simply because whoever ends up occupying the Oval Office really has nothing to do with us, us citizens of this poor republic. Let's face it, with the Cold War over and the bases long gone, we're just a tiny speck on the map for any US President to give us the time of day. While the most powerful man on earth switches faces every four or eight years, the consequent changes hardly ever have any impact on our Third World lives. Obama might just put an end to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. He might just resurrect his country's economy and that of the rest of the world. But even if these do happen, we little brown Americans are certain to be just as worse off as before. And we would be fools to think otherwise.

Oh, if there's anything I'm glad about Obama's triumph, it's the fact that the American people have risen above the stigma of racism. Martin Luther King should have lived to see this day.


Just a thought — newly elected American President Barrack Obama won by 7 million votes. American Idol David Cook won by 12 million. Like I said, just a thought...

———————

P.S. The morning after I posted this entry which was last morning, a quick look at the Inquirer told me that President-elect Obama was too busy to take our li'l President's congratulatory call. I should have warned her or maybe she should have read this blog. Tsk. Tsk.

* Photos from Yahoo.

Sick of My Sickness

Hyperthyroidism, according to my doctor, is caused by stress mainly. Looking back now, it makes sense that I had it when my father was battling with cancer and, subsequently, lost it.

There was a time when I stayed with my ailing father for a few days at the hospital and I came home feeling ill myself. I couldn’t get out of bed for more than a week. I had the flu (yes, for the first time in my life), had a splitting headache that didn’t leave me until the ninth day and generally felt weak all over. I was no hypochondriac. But I was convinced there was something terribly wrong with my body.

And so I was off to a neighborhood clinic to get my blood pressure checked. It was normal. Then there was this eye doctor who made me do this costly periphery test and made me wear a pair of new eyeglasses. Nothing there. Then I consulted an EENT specialist as there was a constant buzzing in my right ear. I had a hearing exam and a few more tests. Again, nothing. It was the same doctor who, upon inspecting my throat on my next visit and finding it bigger than usual, recommended that I get a test for thyroid problems. With results in hand, I went straight to an endocrinologist who finally confirmed that I was sick with hyperthyroidism.

Before my bout with hyperthyroidism at 125 lbs., May 2006

Sick with hyperthyroidism at 105 lbs., September 2006

So without having to undergo these needless tests and without unnecessarily parting with quite a hefty sum, how do you know if you’re afflicted with this particular disease?

1. For me, the first indicator was weight loss which should have been a good thing except that it wasn’t since it was brought about by some form of illness.
2. My hands, suddenly, had a life of their own and I couldn’t stop them from trembling. This was especially evident in my handwriting.
3. I was always feeling weak and tired which was weird for a hyperactive person like me.
4. I couldn’t do anything without panting like a dog in the end. Plus, I would have palpitations that would sometimes make my chest hurt a little.
5. My skin was so dry “you could actually write the word dry right on your hand”. (Vaseline or Jergens?)
6. My hair was falling at an unbelievable rate it made me panic. There was lots on my pillow, on the floor, in the bathroom. Everywhere.
7. I had to make frequent trips to the bathroom which I guess partly accounted for the weight loss.
8. My mood swings were becoming more frequent. And no symptom could be worse as far as my poor husband was concerned.

So how did I get cured?

1. I took an anti-thyroid agent, the dose of which was gradually decreased as I got better.
2. I took steroids for about three months for my thickening throat.
3. I abstained from sugar for a month so that my limbs won’t go numb. But this was more preventive than therapeutic. And this, I must say, was the hardest part.

Is it a serious condition, you may ask.

1. Not so much. But if left untreated, hyperthyroidism could lead to heart failure or, worse, thyroid storm that may cause coma or death.
2. Yes. If you do not want an unsightly scar on your neck.
3. Absolutely. If you have enough vanity in your make-up not to want to look like you came straight from Halloween, bone-thin with eyes that would make anyone think they were about to fall off their sockets.

Now, my thyroid problem is back — for reasons I have yet to know — though not as bad as before since I have become quite an expert at detection. But still, I hate having to stay away from sweets. I hate queuing at the drugstore for my medicines. And having to come back again and again to my doctor who has over 30 patients waiting in line each time — God, that's what I hate the most.

I See Dead People

Yes, I know it's a famous line from a movie but my experiences with the unknown are anything but reel. Well, not really unknown. After all I know these people, er, souls I mean.

My very first sighting was way back when I was still a college kid who slept on a big bed with my sister beside me. It happened sometime between midnight and 4 in the morning. I woke up with a start for no apparent reason. And there standing on the foot of the bed was an old Spanish-looking lolo with white thinning hair wearing dark-rimmed glasses, black knit cardigan over a pair of dark carsonsillos. He was enveloped in brilliant white light and he was looking straight at me with a benevolent smile. Of course, I did not smile back! How could I? I hurriedly put my blanket over my head and moved a little too close to my snoring sister. It was a wonder I did not let out a scream at all.

By morning, I had forgotten all about it and was only reminded of it when my sister complained about my cramming into her in the wee hours of the morning. Oh yes I said, I saw a ghost but had no idea who it was. So I described the apparition and she promptly said it was Mamay, our paternal grandfather. Yeah, that was him all right. I was only 4 years old when he died so I did not recognize him when he appeared before me. And wait, that day was his death anniversary!

Another sighting was right after I gave birth to Indie in the room where I was confined at St. Luke's. You see my old maid aunt, whom we fondly called Ate, passed away just 20 days before. She was like a second mother to me and my sisters. And I was sure she would have wanted to see her new apo and take care of me after labor. I saw her at the door smiling a happy smile. She asked if she could visit me and I readily said yes. So she glided (yes glided, as if she were on roller blades!) to the foot of the bed and stayed there, forever smiling, until I fell into a deep sleep.


The last was Christmas of 2007. It was our second without my father and I just thought I missed him. I remember saying it aloud, not for anything. But maybe somehow he heard me. Because as I was sitting somewhere in the dining room in our Batangas home, I saw him walking from my mother's bedroom to the living room and then poof! he was gone. He was my father so I wasn't the least bit scared. What struck me was the clarity of the vision, not hazy at all. He was wearing his favorite Christmas outfit of red shirt and white shorts. He did not move nor act in a ghostly kind of way. It was like he was alive, so alive that for a moment I forgot he was already dead.

There were other encounters with strange souls but I'd rather not go into these. That would be too creepy, even for Halloween.

P.S. When Indie saw Ate's picture, she said she knows her and she has seen her already...

Project Run Away

One afternoon at home...

INDIE : Mommy, I want to go home—

ME : You're home baby.

INDIE : No, I want to go home to Balayan.

ME : Why?

INDIE : I want to go home to Inay's house. I want to sleep there. I don't like na here.

ME : Why? Are you not happy here?

INDIE : (Nods her head emphatically.)

ME : Why? Tell Mommy.

INDIE : Because Papa is mad at me.

Today's generation is far more advanced than ours it seems. When it occurred to me to run away from home, I was a teenager with angst in my heart. And here's my little girl, sans angst — I would like to believe — but already with big plans of leaving home. At the very young age of three.

Wannabes 2010

Already, they are forcing their way into our consciousness. Invading all forms of mass media. Imposing their presence anywhere we care to look or listen. They are 2010's presidentiables. Or so they would like to believe. Or so they would have us believe.

Ideally, a presidentiable should be someone who has the ability required of a President as opposed to someone who has the ability to run for President by virtue of economic power, assumed popularity, unparalleled ambition or just plain greed. Come to think of it, it is actually rare to have somebody among those seeking the presidency who is really capable of doing the job.

Elections, Philippine style, are more like circuses, taken seriously only by those in the running who sing and dance to an electorate that appears to be in need of entertainment rather than leadership. A candidate's qualifications are the least important criterion in a contest where the country's fate hangs in the balance. Anyone can make a go for Malacanang. Crooks. Movie stars. Shameless turncoats. Human rights violators. Anyone.

Among the current crop of circus players, is there anybody worthy of being called a presidentiable and President later on? Villar? Lacson? BF? Chiz? Loren? Noli? Erap? (Oh please, not again!) Mar Roxas?


Now, there's someone I can believe in. Mar stands out from the lot precisely because he has chosen not to join the ranks of the clowns. He is no trapo — does not talk, act nor think like one. His person inspires trust and his name is, thank goodness, corruption scandal-free. He is both intelligent and well-educated. And unlike others who possess the same, he uses these in the conduct of his public duties. Without pretending to look or speak like he's masa given his elitist background, he has actually done a lot to promote the interest of the much-used and -abused masses. Mar is qualified, most definitely. Perhaps more than qualified for an office that has lost its dignity and promise.

I'm wary of the Korina factor though. That is, supposing the Senator marries her of course. You see, to vote for one candidate is to vote for his/her spouse. Think Ferdie and Meldy. Think GMA and FG. Conjugal dictatorship. Conjugal thievery. Conjugal whatever.

Korina notwithstanding, I will go for Mar (with the silent hope that he dumps her in due time!). Yes, Mar Roxas. Over Villar. Over Loren. Over BF. Over anyone scrambling to be the next leader of this hopeless country.

The road to 2010 is in place. And in the mad race for the highest — not to mention most lucrative — position in the land, the presidentiables are bound to resort to crazy schemes and costly antics to win votes. The stakes are high as always.

But first they must make sure that elections are indeed going to happen....

All I Really Need to Know I Did Not Learn in Kindergarten

With due respect to Mr. Fulghum, of course. As far as I'm concerned, significant life lessons are those that I grasped, not from the early years before grade school, but from the second half of my 38 years in this world.

1. Do not confuse spirituality with religiosity. The former can stand without the latter.
2. Laugh. The louder the better.
3. Conventions are made to be broken away from.
4. It is of utmost importance to have a mind of your own.
   
5. Your present actions cannot forever be reactions to whatever wrongs you had to suffer in the past. Likewise, you have to stop seeing yourself as a victim.
6. Kindness is a virtue that should be shown to others as well as the self.
7. Walls are best built around homes, not around your person. If you know what I mean.
8. Anger is an ugly feeling. But people who make you angry are way uglier. Haha.
9. Never stay angry for long with people who matter. You are sure to regret it one day.
10. Forgive and forget is a fallacy. Otherwise, how will you ever learn?
11. There will always be people who are unhealthy for you. Let them go. And when they come knocking on your door, make sure it is locked.
12. Get out of your parents' sphere of influence as early as possible. It is a strain to live with someone who is still there.
13. Taking responsibility for anyone or anything is key to growing up.
14. When you're feeling tired, rest. Take a breather. Disappear.
15. Excess baggage is bound to pull you down. Unload.
16. Being jaded is a curse. Don't be.
    
17. Fighting for what you believe in may not always turn out all right.
18. Knowing when something or someone is not worth it is crucial at all points in your life.
19. There are times when it is easier to walk away than to stay.
20. The ego can be your worst enemy.
21. When your world is falling apart, a change in perspective is in order.
22. Self-respect is essential to survival.
23. Happiness is not a product of the mind. It is gone the moment you rationalize it.
24. Money is not everything. But never forget that man lives, first and foremost, on bread.
25. Time is the most precious commodity in the universe. And, yes, it cannot be bought, especially if you're not filthy rich.
26. Save your favorite books. They can be worthy companions in old age.
27. The future is best viewed with an open mind.
28. Girl bonding — and bonding with male friends — is necessary for sanity's sake. At least once every quarter, please.
29. The truth hurts most of the time. Be prepared not to tell people you care about if they are not ready for it.
30. Hasty decisions more often than not lead to difficult situations. Caution is not a bad thing, you know.
    
31. Expectations can ruin relationships. Keep them moderate.
32. Even the smartest of women can be fools for love. Just stay smart.
33. It is better to give than to receive. Who cares if it's the corniest line on earth?
34. The principle of non-attachment becomes harder to apply once you bring a child into the world.
35. Parenting is all about unconditional love. Period.
36. To have someone to care for, like a child born from you, is life's ultimate blessing.
37. Take every effort to be thankful. For everything.
38. There are more lessons to come as you gain years and wisdom. Be open.

Quite a long list actually. But then again what you know is only as good as what you practice. And this is where the real challenge lies.

Hitting 40

I've always thought 40 was old. I mean that was how I saw it when I was in my teens. But here I am now, light years away from teenage-hood and but a mere 2 years to 40.

No, 40 is not old. Not at all. While it seems people you come across with are getting younger and younger, one cannot discount the fact that there are still a lot of people a lot older than you are. At this age, one can still do many things. Launch a new career. Move to another country. Switch faiths. Fall in love again. A lot of better things to do. Other than obsessing about looking younger.

Yes, younger. Simply because today's women, poor us, are bombarded with a steady stream of propaganda that shuns aging and the wrinkles and marks that come alongside it. (Talk about emancipation of the female species!) "It's okay to be 40 as long as you look 30," goes a line from a TV ad. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Is it not okay to be 40 if you look it? Or is it not okay to be 40 per se?

What in the world is wrong with 40? Frankly, I don't see any reason to fuss about turning 40 or 50 or 60 for that matter. Aging is a natural process that comes hand in hand with living. Only the dead stop getting older, right?

Okay, if it's the looks department you're worried about — sure, you've got a point. But hey, one doesn't have to take this age-defying business a little too seriously. Your costly cream erases one line on your forehead, another one manifests itself. No overpriced high-tech concoction can ever stop the hands of time, no matter what.

And the good news, these brand campaigns are totally missing something. Like, it's not impossible to be beautiful even if you look your age. Lines, crow's feet, dark spots and all.

Because when you're a little older — and yes, wiser — beauty ceases to be skin deep. It starts to emanate from within. And please, I'm not trying to be anything here. It's just that, when you're 40, you're no longer a girl, obviously. So it's not about pretty-ness anymore. It's all about character. Substance.

So what if your face is unmarked by age if you haven't made a single mark in anybody's life? So what if you take good care of your skin if you haven't cared for anyone other than yourself?

Come on.

Lolo's Girl

They say parents show grandchildren the love that they are unable to demonstrate to their children. I think the reverse is true as well.

Tatay, my father, passed away when Indie was barely 16 months old. And up to now, she remembers him as a grown up never forgets a loved one long gone.



I don't know but as soon as Indie developed preferences for people and objects, Tatay became her instant favorite. She would grin from cheek to cheek whenever her lolo was around. Perhaps because he was a bit Dolphy-like, a comedic character who saw humor in everything. When Tatay played silly baby games with her, she would squeal and clap her hands in delight as if she was having the time of her young life. It came as no surprise then that the second word Indie spoke, next to mama, was tata.

When Indie had a McDonald's party for her first birthday, Tatay traveled all the way from Batangas even if he was just recovering from a chemotherapy cycle that almost killed him. (Upon watching the party video a few weeks ago, Indie said, "Look mommy, Tatay went to McDonald's. He gave me a gift then he went to heaven.")



Two months after, Tatay's cancer had gone up to his brain and there were days when his legs and arms would hurt so badly no one could touch them. Even so he would make a huge effort to clap his hands when Indie was there for the sole purpose of making her laugh. Just days before he breathed his last, I remember Indie crawling on his bed to kiss his hand and Tatay struggled, aching limbs and all, to raise his hand and bestow his last blessings on his youngest apo.

________

It pains me to write this but I know I have to. So that Indie may one day read this when she's a lot older and remember that there was once an old boy who loved her dearly. Her Tatay, her mother's father, whom she showered with all the affection her little heart could muster.

The Beatles Bug

My husband Nubs and I finally get to watch Across the Universe. Yes, I know we're almost a year late. But hey, this isn't about the movie.

Little Indie wakes up past 12 midnight as Across the Universe runs about halfway on our dvd player. She does not go back to sleep until closing credits.

The next morning, she's humming a familiar tune then... "Come together / right now / over me." A smile spreads across my face. I think she likes the movie just as much as we do. In the afternoon after her daily nap, father, mother and daughter — upon the daughter's request — sit in front of the TV for another viewing of the family's newest favorite film.



These days, Indie spends a great part of her waking hours listening to the movie soundtrack, 1 (a compilation of the Beatles' number 1 hits) and Bugs & Friends Sing the Beatles. There are four songs she tends to play again and again — Helter Skelter, It Won't Be Long, With A Little Help From My Friends, Come Together. I guess it's safe to assume that these are the ones she likes best. Soon she masters a few lines, especially choruses. And it occurs to me, it's not the movie she's really crazy about. It's the songs.

It's the Beatles.

Three-year old Indie may very well be the youngest Beatles fan. But then again, maybe not.

______

By the way, Indie's mommy is into Beatles music while her daddy is a hard core Beatles-John Lennon fanatic. And they both dig Across the Universe.

22 Days in Beijing, Part 4

Day 16. We were on the road by 7:30 in the morning riding a rented sedan driven by a pleasant Chinese gentleman who spoke very little English. Monday traffic going out of the city was at snail's pace. First we made a stop at the Olympic Village where there was a lot of construction work going on. It was so hazy out there it was hard to tell if it was fog or smog or maybe both. Of course, we did the tourist thing and took pictures with the awesome Bird's Nest, site of the Opening Ceremony, as backdrop. Too bad the Aquatics Center was closed for viewing that day.

The Bird's Nest under construction

The Great Wall Badaling Pass was 55 miles north of Beijing and it took us roughly 2 hours to get there. We had to pay a small fee for entrance tickets which was more than fair for the sights we were about to behold. There was a multitude of tourists but that was easy to ignore considering that we were about to see one of the seven wonders of the world. The Great Wall snaked through the landscape under a dramatic cover of morning mist. It was breathtaking. Unlike her Lolo who chose to be left behind, Indie — as if sensing the importance of her surroundings — climbed with us and refused to be carried. The view was more magnificent from high up the wall. But at some point, I felt a flash of vertigo maybe from standing on a sharp incline. Twink and Nubs felt it too. It was time to go down.

Buying our tickets

Great Wall was highly commercialized, even a little Westernized

The first few steps

Souvenir shot

Trooper Indie climbed like a big girl

The old boy chose to stay behind after hearing the story
of an elderly Filipino who had a heart attack while attempting to climb

Making progress, woohoo!

Indie had milk to recharge

The climb down

From middle ground, we moved further down to a bear zoo. It was a long tiresome walk for Indie's benefit but well worth it since she enjoyed watching the bears so much. There were mini vans that offered to drive tourists back to entry point at exorbitant rates. And rode a van we did!

Taking a break before proceeding to the bear zoo

The bears were cute but fearsome

The van ride to entry point

Lunch was at a dowdy restaurant fronting the entrance of the Great Wall, where the Judge and the driver waited for us. On the table, Beijing-style fare lay ready for consumption. I looked at the three large plates of strange dishes doubtfully and my eyes settled on the one farthest away from me. Strips of bacon swam in a saucy pool of an unappetizing orange color. But I was starving so what the heck. I couldn't believe it was actually delicious. Even Indie liked it.

Smile before you eat

Full and ready to go

Soon we were off to the Summer Palace which, as its name implies, was used as a summer residence by China's imperial rulers. Upon entering, we were greeted by a spectacular panorama of the man-made Kunming Lake and the dragon-decked Chinese boats moving slowly through its waters. We could not see across the lake though for the view was hindered by a thick fog that accompanied the cold weather. Going to Nanhu Island, we walked on the picturesque Seventeen-Arch Bridge. The halls in the small island were under repair and closed for public viewing. Just as we were on our way back from the bridge, there was a sudden downpour so we ran to the exit and into the car. We were not able to finish the tour!

Entrance to the Summer Palace

Kunming Lake and a Chinese boat

Father and daughter

Misty Seventeen-Arch Bridge

The bridge from Nanhu Island

The drive back was the worst bumper-to-bumper traffic we saw in our host city. What a way to cap a long day!


Day 17. Feeling enriched from yesterday's cultural field trip, we immediately went right back to our commercial exploits, setting off to conquer the Ladies Market as early as mid-morning. The goods, particularly the clothes, were a bit too tacky for my taste so I did not buy any. What a waste coming all the way here! But wait, on the way out was a small branded overruns shop that was on sale. And the day was saved.

The stroller was laden with child and finds

We had lunch at a Korean fastfood joint. Food wasn't bad at all. Indie, who would sing between bites, caught the attention of a group of pretty Chinese girls who entertained themselves by watching our little girl's every move. After some time, we crossed the street to browse a row of craft and knickknack stores than headed home.

Look at Indie's mess

The pretty girl in the background and her friends watched Indie as if in a show

Browsing through shops fronting the Ladies Market

Cab home

Before dinner, we brought Indie to the playground where she found a playmate in a little girl named Amber. Her mom and I exchanged small talk and I was surprised she spoke very good English which was certainly not the norm anywhere in China. I later learned mother and daughter were Singaporeans who were there because the father was assigned in Beijing. She seemed happy to meet someone who knew her language and disappointed to find out that we were not Fuli Cheung residents but tourists about to leave in a few days.

Indie loved slides

Indie and Amber

Happy famileh

Day 18. Nubs left early for a job interview somewhere in the Winterless Hotel area, after which we met up with him in an upscale mall much like Greenbelt 4 or 5. We had lunch at the food court that was very different from what we have here, with interiors and furnishings good enough for our fine dining establishments.

We took the subway to Haidian district, quite far from Chaoyang District where we were staying, for more shopping. We went to 2 malls, both Shoppesville-like in appearance and went home with 3 ridiculously large plastic bags of purchases.

Later, I asked Nubs how the interview went. He said they didn't pay well and my hopes of living in the city of fabulous finds were quashed a little too soon.


Day 19. The morning, with the sun partially hidden by clouds, was perfect for a Temple of Heaven visit. There was a modest sum we had to pay for 2 tickets, one for entrance to the park and another, to the temple itself. The garden was vast and there was a lot of walking needed. It was not tiring though because, apart from the cool weather, there was beauty everywhere we looked — towering century-old trees amid graceful landscaping, an old musician playing an unfamiliar Chinese instrument, shutter-worthy glimpses of the world famous hall at varying angles. We went beyond smaller replicas of Forbidden City's enormous gates to a courtyard from where we had an excellent view of the majestic Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests against the blue sky. We climbed the stairs of marble stones to the circular structure. The inside was cordoned off but we could see its impressive decorations from where we stood. Indie was game the whole time but got a bit tired so we cut the tour short. We were already happy with what we had seen anyway.

On the way to the famous temple

Indie ran as if she was in a playground

Interior shot of the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests

The detailing was superb and guess what...

...not a single nail was used to build the awe-inspiring structure

The free map was souvenir-worthy

Milk break against the bloody red walls

After lunch, we were off to the Immigration office to claim our visas. It was quick and hassle-free until the misfortune that befell me. I was unable to hold my bladder any longer and had to face the ugliest thing about China. The squat toilet. There was an icky puddle from the door leading to the cubicles and the stink had enough strength to make anyone faint. But then again, what could be worse than falling on your back on a wet floor in a revolting toilet exactly like the one I was in? I'm proud to say, I survived. (If you're wondering how I side-stepped going to the toilet for more than 2 weeks already, the secret was depriving myself of water when we were out and taking it only in the comforts of the home. Of course, I'm not recommending this to anyone.)

After a horrifying experience, we went someplace I was most comfortable at, a mall. This quaint spot in Ritan was a cluster of 3 bi-level structures of branded overrun stores among others. Shopping was fantastic here as can be gleaned from the number of bags in our hands when we came out of the building.

Warren and Twink treated us to dinner on the roof deck of an expensive-looking restaurant also in Ritan. Everybody, Indie included, made a go for the night's special. Except me. I hated onions so I sampled the duck but not the Peking duck. Anyway, this was made by lining a pita-like wrapper with onions, sauce and duck of course. (Can't remember the other stuffings though.) Everyone looked happy with the food. Yes, even me. The duck was tender and very tasty indeed.

On our way to dinner

As if she could read already!

Taking time to order

Nub sampling the Peking duck

It was videoke night so we stopped at a small expat grocery to get Tsingtao Beer, wine, cheese and Coke Light for the non-drinker that was me. Warren was blessed with a good singing voice and the Judge was a revelation. As for Twink, Nubs and me, let's just say we did our best. We took turns with the microphone and I was enjoying myself. Until the old boy sang "My Way". It was my late father's all-time favorite and it was his voice that I was hearing. I quietly left the room and cried for a long time.

Singers for a night

Day 20. After breakfast, we moved the mounting pile of shopping bags of clothes, shoes, handbags, Ikea wares, Chinese souvenirs, etc. from our bedroom to the living room. It was time to pack. We could hear Indie and the Wonder Friends singing, "What's gonna work, team work," the unofficial theme song of this trip. And so we filled one large suitcase then another. Then 2 oversize duffel bags. Then a big balikbayan box. Still, lots of stuff remained on the floor. Nubs rushed to the nearby post office to buy 2 more medium-sized boxes. And so on to another round of packing until, finally, the floor was clear. It was 5 o'clock pm.

After an hour, we went back to The Place mall where Twink bought Indie a pair of Crocs, a farewell present. By the way, Crocs were cheaper here by Php300. Indie got a chance to see the LED-screen ceiling this time.

Watching intently

Then we moved to Carrefour to buy groceries to bring home—cheese, chips, dried dates and many others. Dinner was a quick one at KFC. On the ride home, we passed by a very entrepreneurial Chinese man who offered his services as a barber to any willing pedestrian. Too bad I wasn't able to video the scene.

Ice cream at Carrefour

Wine and cheese till 3am

Day 21. Our last day in Beijing was spent in a daze. First, the frame shop. Then last minute shopping from one place to another. We found more souvenirs in a place much like Hongquiao Market. Nubs and I wanted to go to a Shanghai Tang store but it was out of the way so Warren brought us to Remito instead. We were so lucky to chance upon a pair of delicate salt and pepper shakers of bone china to add to our collection. Then we went back to the Holiday Inn overrun store. Among my purchases, the I'm-not-a-plastic-bag tote which I passed up on last time we were there and a pair of Nine West heels which I was forced to sell back home because they were a little too tight on my toes.

Nub's painting now framed

Outside the Hongquiao-like building

Remito behind us

Our farewell Beijing dinner was hot pot. While waiting for our food, a half-naked man emerged from one of the private rooms and it was such a funny sight I had to cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. That should be the last shocker of this 22-day trip. Then dinner was served. We were each given a simmering metal pot of stock. On the lazy susan were several choices of dishes such as leafy vegetables, thinly-sliced beef, squid balls, quail eggs, etc. The stock was lacking in taste, to think everything depended on it. I must say, Twink's hot pot was a lot better. Of course, it was a new experience, given that we were in an authentic, elaborately designed Chinese hot pot restaurant.

Table setting was not among their talents

Picking vegetables to cook in the pot

Indie posing in front of a wall art within the resto

Outside the hot pot place

We took souvenir shots of our home of 22 days, packed our personal effects in our handcarry and called it a night, ready for our 11 am flight.

Clockwise: underground parking, building entrance from
parking area, elevator, apartment number on the door

Day 22. We were up and about by 6 o'clock and were on our way to the airport by 8. We said our goodbyes at the lobby. Warren, had a diplomatic pass so he accompanied us inside, leaving Twink behind. And we were in for a surprise! Our baggage put together was more than 40 kilos overweight. We had to think fast or part with a large amount of cash. So we decided to leave the heavier box behind (Warren promised to send them over little by little through their friends). Still, 10 kilos excess! That was RMB70 per kilo for a total of RMB700. I was running short of yuans so Warren, thankfully, ran to the money changer. We paid around USD100. Before we knew it, our flight was being called. We were the last to board the plane. The half-naked man the night before was not the last shocker after all.

Riding the rented van to the airport

Last shot before we check-in

Our baggage excess papers

The flight was uneventful as expected. Among the passengers, there was an old man in a sour mood because some of his stuff had to be left behind due to a daughter-in-law with shopaholic tendencies. A man of almost forty who tried hard to stop himself from dozing off but failed. A 2-year old girl who refused to sleep for unknown reasons. A woman in her mid-thirties who was dead tired but was taking everything in. Still.

Indie busied herself while her papa slumbered

In 4 hours, Philippine Airlines PR359 was in Philippine soil. Already, Beijing felt remote and faraway. Our only connection, our luggage full of China goods that the customs official eyed with alertness and suspicion.

Indie still managed to pose

Conclusion. It was not hard at all to fall in love with Beijing. I fell for Shanghai once but got over it in a matter of days. I was not so sure about Beijing though, that city of charming contradictions—of rising skyscrapers amid tiled roofs below, of people who take a leap toward the future while clinging to the past.

Will I go back to Beijing? Yes. In spite of her ubiquitous smog, squat toilet and spitting male population. Yes, I shall return. To sit in a cafe by Houhai Lake. To drink a beer with Nubs in a Sanlutin bar. To watch an acrobatic show. To complete our unfinished Forbidden City tour. To see the Summer Palace in winter when the waters of Kunming Lake have turned to ice. To take shots of the Great Wall from a vantage point other than Badaling. Oh yes, I'm longing to go back.

___________

We'll always be grateful to Twink and Warren for being such generous hosts during that wonderful trip. And Indie should thank her Lolo for taking care of her plane ticket.