Final Thoughts on the Philippines

I hadn't been to the Philippines in years, and anxious that Rich should enjoy his first visit, I filled his ears with warnings and forebodings. Other than the ever horrendous Manila traffic, it was a pleasant surprise to discover that most of these dire predictions didn't come true. The shakedowns of petty corruption didn't occur, or at least, not so overtly as I recalled in the past. Most food was served actually hot in restaurants, not merely lukewarm (a pet peeve of Rich's). Squatters, beggars, and all manner of folks living in abject poverty, which before, down every alley and along every railway line, seemed as rampant as in some parts of India, were a far less common sight. Doubtless, we were staying at times in more affluent areas, but perhaps, some of the recent economic gains the country had made that my uncle described had improved their situations as well?

Rich found the the travelling around the Philippines pretty comfortable and relatively easy. The roads were in good condition, transport was easy to hail or organize, and communicating with people was simple. One difficulty, he cited, was in getting commitment out of folks. Since there is a strong cultural reluctance for telling someone, "No," he found the indirect methods - e.g., saying "Yes" to your face, but making you feel uncomfortable for your request and making it feel like a giant inconvenience - a bit annoying. He disliked the over-the-top Las Vegas-style flash, tackiness, and cheesy schtick of a few of the local tourist hotspots. But he loved that going a tiny bit of out of the way from them would land you in pristine, beautiful surroundings.

I was happy to get some of my favorite treats: warm pandesal buns with butter in the morning from the corner store; gorging on ripe Philippine mangoes, hands down the best in the world; and fresh ensaymada (brioche-like bread sprinkled with cheese and sugar on top). One of the highlights of staying at Apulit Island was the daily halo-halo bar. This concoction of candied tropical fruits (jackfruit, young coconut, sweet potato, plantain, etc.), sweet beans, and corn mixed into shaved ice with a shot of evaporated milk, topped with leche flan (Pinoy version of a rich egg custard) and purple yam ice cream, is heavenly and perfect for those hot and humid days. One slight disappointment was our limited seafood. There was one day where we picked out all the shellfish and fish we could wish at the market, but the restaurant we chose to cook them for us ignored our request. Instead of simple preparations (just grilled or steamed, maybe lemon or garlic), the cooks hammered most of it, suffocating them with cheeses, bacon, and overpowering sauce. Culinary crimes! We had better luck elsewhere with traditional dried fish (daeng) and requesting whole fried sweet-and-sour fish.

My palate has come a long way since our last visit so I tried to embrace the bizarre foods of Philippine culture. Woodworm went down. But we had to gird our loins for that most famous of Philippine delicacies. Balut is a half-hatched duck egg. Sold everywhere on street corners, my mom admitted to having a 2 baluts and a Coca-Cola daily habit as a kid. My dad picked up our specimens at the 7/11. The egg looks normal on the outside. I took one bite of the beige egg white inside, and it was oddly tough and chewy. Rich took a slurp of the grayish liquid and recalls it as "probably not disgusting." But we balked when we hit the fetus - and it is recognizably so. With tiny wings and a tiny beak. Defeated, I take great comfort that our other taste tester - Chinese and proudly proclaiming, "We eat everything!" - also didn't finish. My dad said it was a waste of perfectly good food and laughed at all of our turned up noses.

Click on the picture to see the whole album.

Philippines

Primavera Sound 2012 in Barcelona (Spain)

We've found the live music scene in Barcelona to be a little disappointing, mainly for the price and somewhat the variety (mostly big headliners). So our strategy has adapted: blow our hard-earned cash on the glorious marathon of shows that is the Primavera Sound Festival.

The bulk of the action takes place for three days at the sprawling seaside complex of Parc Forum. However, there are various venues around and about the city hosting sporadic shows on the bookend days as well as in the preceding weeks. I was bummed to miss The Walkmen, who were playing 5 minutes from our apartment. But the scheduling is not very amenable to us working folk. Shows can start as early as two o'clock in the afternoon and often run until 5 a.m. It requires a variety of energy conservation techniques (e.g. cat naps at home or propped up against a sea wall) and caffeine management.

On the first day of the main event, our old friends Death Cab for Cutie and Franz Ferdinand didn't disappoint. Solid performances for huge audiences... and you can always trust Franz Ferdinand to get the indie kids dancin'. Unfortunately, the newer bands did not live up to my expectations. The xx had a pretty elaborate stage set up, including a giant plexiglass X that slipped its hook so a roadie had to be hoisted like a cheerleader to fix it. With all the smoke machines and lasers, the band seemed to be more interested in style than substance. Or maybe I'm just not emo enough. Japandroids's lo-fi appeal was lost in a wall of noise, and not in an awesome Mogwai-kind of way. To be fair, the giant solar panel structure overhanging the gig might have been working against the acoustics. Far and away one of my favorite performances of the whole festival, Beirut was incredible in its three-horned glory (trumpet, flugelhorn, and trombone). It might be a cheap thrill, but really, can anything else tug on your heartstrings more than a little mournful brass? What more can you expect from a guy with French horn tattoos on his wrists? A little funereal, a little mariachi, a little gypsy, apparently. Hats off to the Jimi Hendrix-like wizardry of the accordion player, too!

On the second day, I Break Horses put on a good show even if the synthy atmospheric stuff felt a tad misplaced on a sunny afternoon. The War on Drugs rocked the Pitchfork stage. They were less Arcade Fire than I expected, but that was fine by me. We stayed to the very last song, which meant arriving late to The Cure extravaganza on the main stage. Clearly, everyone came to Primavera Sound for this show. Even the VIP section on the hill was absolutely packed. Robert Smith still looks like Elizabeth Taylor after a night of heavy drinking, but the band sounded even better than when we saw them in their own Curiosa Festival in the States. It was mostly a hit parade, but hey, if I'm singing along to "Just Like Heaven," too, I'm not gonna complain. Given the distance to the stage, we bowed out early, gambling on checking out the newer band Wavves. It was a mistake. Yes, we got very close to the stage. But their bouncy punk efforts, which might have been plucky and amusing in 16 year olds, just seemed kind of pathetic when they're mid-30's trying to recapture lost youth... and we found out The Cure ended up playing a 4 hour set :(  For surf rock done right, better to turn to The Drums, whose "Obama/Oh mama? I wanna go surfing" song popped with energy. All of their songs were very tight, and the lead singer's gumby-like dancing and strutting really drummed up the crowd's enthusiasm. With the funky fun of The Rapture, a dance party is practically a requirement. I was a little disappointed that the keyboardist didn't ride his keyboards like the last time we saw them (strangely enough, also at the Curiosa Festival), but you've got to give him credit for still being the most enthusiastic cowbell player you'll ever see! 

The third day had a lot of ups and downs. Tall Firs doodled around on a couple of guitars, but their low key set really suffered without a drum kit. The more upbeat Milagres show was a welcome relief, but Beach House's dream pop with the lead singer obscured in the smoke and synth brought us back down again. Chromatics were a better option, but to really liven up the festival, who'd have thought to look to Kings of Convenience as saviors? That's right. The Norwegian duo, whose music harkens back to Simon and Garfunkel, and who have an album called "Quiet is the New Loud," rocked the joint! I was surprised to see them on the main stage, but judging from the masses, we weren't the only ones looking forward to the show. The first half's easy breezy harmonizing with acoustic guitars and relaxed banter was well-suited to the sunny seafront. Then they brought on a rhythm section and the most happy-go-lucky electric guitarist to go all out disco dance party. I knew Erlend Oye moonlights mixing electronica and hanging out with folks like Royksopp, but it's still quite another thing to see the shift in person - from earnest bookishness in big glasses and a baggy cardigan to gangly, swaggering funk frontman. They were having a grand old time (even taking pictures with their own camera on stage), and the crowd were, too. Hands down, the best show of the festival!   

Sant Jordi in Barcelona (Spain)

In our household, Saint George has always been thought of as an English saint. After all, his red cross on a white background is the English flag and, consequently, adorns many sport-related paraphernalia. In Catalunya, he - as Sant Jordi in Catalan - is even more venerated. For starters, it seems like the most common name in Barcelona. Even in our small circle of acquaintances, we know seven  Jordis! As the patron saint of Catalunya, his feast day on April 23 is a major public holiday.

Here's the legend, as it has been explained to me: A dragon was burninating the countrysides, and the peasants were offering up virgins as sacrifice. The beautiful princess tells her father that, out of responsibility for the realm, she will volunteer herself. The distraught king offers half of his kingdom to save her. Sant Jordi happens to be riding by and courageously goes forth to slay the dragon. The blood spilling from the stab wound turns into a rose. Sant Jordi gets the girl, they get hitched, and they live happily ever after.

In Catalunya, this romantic story also gets entwined with two other significant events that happened on or near Sant Jordi's feast day. In 1616, these were tragic days for literature. William Shakespeare, whose famous works include the star-crossed lovers of Romeo and Juliet, died on April 23 in England. His Spanish counterpart Miguel Cervantes, whose classic novel Don Quixote follows the title character's chivalric adventures dedicated to his lady love Dulcinea, died on April 22.

They all come together in the Catalan holiday. The tradition is for a man to give a rose (honoring Sant Jordi) to the special woman in his life, and for a woman to buy a book (honoring the authors) for the special man in her life. Nowadays these definitions have expanded to include, not just romantic partners, but your mother, father, sister, or brother. Such a popular holiday, of course, has not escaped commercialism. The streets are absolutely packed. Every charity, school club, or organization sells roses, and every bookstore opens outdoor stalls with discounted books. To sweeten the deal, many stores host famous authors who will sign your new book... if you're willing to wait in the interminable lines. We saw a lectern set up on one pedestrian street, where a succession of folks were participating in a marathon public reading of Cervantes's weighty tome. There is even a growing number of bakeries and pastry shops advertising Sant Jordi cakes (another variation on the sponge cake and cream so omnipresent in Spain) and breads (striped in alternating red sobrassada sausage and yellow cheese to mimic the Catalan flag). It's fantastic!

For some reason, the rampant commercialization of this particular holiday doesn't bug me like Valentine's Day in the States. Maybe it's because there is no pressure to anticipate and prepare for the holiday beforehand. The expectation is that roses and books will be bought on April 23 - which explains why Rich was perplexed to be the only customer in a bookstore earlier in the week - and there is no excuse for forgetting on that day because it's impossible not to see or hear the festivities. Maybe it's because even a hefty mark-up on roses, with only a single one to buy, still only amounts to a few euros. But let's face it... anything that encourages widespread reading will always be ace in my book!

La Mercè & BAM 2011, Barcelona

Another year, another La Mercè! Barcelona, an already hoppin' place, explodes - literally and figuratively - with cool events for the major festival in honor of its patron saint.

On the way to the first stop in our jam-packed schedule, we just happened upon the most amazing light show being projected onto the Ajuntament (City Hall). With shout-outs to old school video games and incredible visuals warping the building in the style of M.C. Escher drawings or the movie Inception, Julie kept emitting squeals of excitement while Rich's jaw stayed permanently dropped. It was so awesome we came back a couple of nights later to video it. If you click on the slideshow of pictures, you can watch the video (it may take a little time to load).

Free concerts were hosted all over the city with the concurrent Barcelona Acció Musical Festival (BAM). The Excitements played retro soul, channeling Proud Mary-era Tina Turner. Quentin Tarantino would have loved Los Tiki Phantoms, who rocked surf instrumentals dressed in black suits with leopard-print collars and skeleton masks. The lead singer from Man Man (Gogol Bordello and Modest Mouse go to the circus) decided to put on a dress mid-show, looking disturbingly like Liza Minelli sporting a Sonny Bono mustache. Other picks included Wu Lyf (unintelligible lyrics but good music), Herman Dune (fun even without the puppets), and after waiting 30 minutes in the rain, a rousing Mando Diao.

The central Parc de la Ciutadella was a haven for the artsy phartsy. We caught the Saint Petersburg Ballet (La Mercè's invited city for 2011) performing Swan Lake around the big fountain and in the middle of the lake (on platforms!) in an excellent use of the park's spaces. The talented ensemble Hand Made demonstrated clever and fun storytelling, miming with only bare arms and a black light. A steampunk (modern day inventions made in a Victorian-style) funfair included a bar where the bartender serves drinks from inside a submersible, a merry-go-round, and a ferris wheel with an amusing selection of seats (e.g. a toilet).

We finished out our La Mercè festivities at the Correfoc (Fire Run). Drum corps from the different barrios pound out rhythms as the diablos (devils) burst through the fiery Gates of Hell lighting a ridiculous amount of fireworks. Appropriately attired members of the crowd (long sleeves, pants, masks, scarves, goggles, hats, and no synthetic materials) dance under the revolving showers of sparks... and those who didn't get the memo, er, run screaming to avoid burns. Giant monsters, including Cerberus the 3-headed dog from Hell, a very pissed-off looking pig, and various demons, also spout flames on bystanders. Everyone gets to play with fire, dance with devils, and go home reeking of gunpowder!

Corpus in La Garriga (Spain)

Our friend invited us out to his town's celebration for Corpus Christi, a feast day for the Body of Christ. La Garriga, about 50 minutes north on the train from Barcelona, is a town famous for its hot springs - which we can recommend! - and fine examples of Modernisme (Catalan modernism) architecture. Some of these buildings are open to the public during Corpus, including one whose smallish rooms were dwarfed by the religious paintings that would encompass entire walls - check out the painting of Jesus getting circumcised and other pictures by clicking on the Barcelona album on the left.

Casa Barbey was our favorite house though with intricate iron work, tile accents in floral motifs, a fountain whimsical with snail sculptures, and a gorgeous sundial in mosaic. With a hedged garden fit for a tennis court, it's a bargain at 20 million euros!

Other notable structures open for Corpus included the granite tunnels used as a bomb shelter during the civil war (exceptionally cool in heat of the day) and the Roman ruins of the bath house of Can Terres whose "series of small walls" (a la Eddie Izzard) were scorching hot. The indifferent docent reluctantly took a break from her sunbathing to tick off our visit on her record.

The pride of La Garriga's Corpus festival are the floral carpets, or "catifes," that different schools and organizations design and construct on the streets of the town. Bright carnations and gerbera daisies were set off nicely by the greens of stems and sprigs of evergreens, pale yellows and tans of dried grains and chaff, and deep browns of mulches. Even celebrities were attracted to the event - Rich can now say he said, "Hola!" to the President of Catalunya! He was passing by with the mayor of La Garriga.

Sant Joan in Barcelona (Spain)

Living in a Catholic country means that important days in the church can also translate into public holidays... and yes, will we take'em! Witness our first holiday in June on the 13th was for Pentecost, which gets literally translated as "Second Easter." Another day off was on June 24th for the feast of Saint John the Baptist (Sant Joan in Catalan).

Barcelona celebrates with parties the night before on June 23rd. A few days beforehand makeshift stalls sell one of key components of the celebration - fireworks. Although there seemed to be plenty of ads for the package deals like you get for Independence Day in the States, there seemed to be very few bottle rockets in them, and instead, very heavy on the snap-and-popping kind that crazy folk like to throw at the feet of unsuspecting bystanders... and these tend to come in a giant size, that can blow an iron cover off a drain if aimed and timed appropriately. Firework safety also tends to be pretty lax with individuals letting them off with little regard for the place or people around them. Of course, this tends to make dogs out for their evening walks a bit nervous and people a little jumpy, particularly when the wielders of such explosions are small children of dubious hand-eye coordination.

We watched the antics with the masses that took to the beach. Here and there bonfires sprouted, and you could watch out for those who had shelled out the extra cash for particularly impressive displays. Rich was quite taken with an inventive youth whose trial-and-error with construction resulted in a pop can launching several feet into the air upon detonation, and Rich claims to still be impressed although a piece of the shrapnel came flying into his arm (he was uninjured). The cafe/bars along the beach were also doing great business with little to distinguish the patches of flooring and wood frames besides the choice of pounding music - house, reggae, and sentimental cheese were the options.

The other key component to the celebration was the pastry - the coca de Sant Joan. Traditionally, this is an oblong or rectangular pastry about twice as long as wide. The bakeries and pastisserias all advertise their cocas with special billboards all week, but judging from the crowds, most people wait until the last minute to buy theirs. It's easy to pick out the coca-buyers as the baker packages them in a distinctive carrying case- a cardboard portfolio with handles usually emblazoned with the name of the bakery or pastisseria. Since I have an aversion to radioactively-colored fruit (which I am slowly addressing through repeated exposure to English fruitcakes), we opted for the slightly less traditional coca which comes sprinkled with sugar and covered in pine nuts. It had more of a bread consistency, mildly sweet, and the faintest hint of an anise aftertaste. The coca was fine, but the final verdict was that panallets (the Catalan cookies you get during Halloween) are a much better use of pine nuts.

Primavera Sound 2011 in Barcelona (Spain)

One of the experiences I was most looking forward to in moving to Europe was going to music festivals. Barcelona hosts Primavera Sound, a four day event mostly at the massive beach-side venue of Parc Forum and some random places in the city, too. Shows started around 5 pm... and, this being Spain, finished around 6 or 7 am. I was absolutely crushed that I missed Girl Talk's show, but that's what happens when you have to teach 2 hours later.

The variety of acts made for some strange bedfellows. For example, Johnny Rotten's (of Sex Pistols fame) new band P.I.L. was rockin' out while Big Boi (of Outkast fame) was rapping at the stage next door. The Walkmen were impressively tight, for all their time changes, and I was really glad to have finally seen them after accidentally sleeping through their show in North Carolina. The National, Warpaint, P.J. Harvey, and Fleet Foxes commanded huge audiences. The Flaming Lips entertained with their onstage antics (blow up robots, dancing Asian milkmaids, etc.) and enough balloons and confetti to rival a Super Bowl half-time show. The return of Pulp heralded a rowdy send up of Disco 2000. We bobbed and weaved through some promising smaller acts (e.g. Glasser and M. Ward) and less promising ones (e.g. drama-heavy punk group Throwing Up trashing the stage and their sponsors in the Ray Ban tent).

Event organizers seemed to make some odd choices that hurt some bands: Why put on Tannhauser, aka Mogwai-lite, at the same time as the original? Belle & Sebastian's upbeat show suffered from poor sound mixing since heavy thumping bass is not exactly what most people expect to hear with twee. But the most distracting effect had to come from misguided Gang Gang Dance, who appeared with two "dancers" - a purple ninja who alternated between waving ribbons of toilet paper and doing yoga poses and some random dude waving a garbage bag on a stick with no semblance of rhythm.

Despite our enjoyment of the music, I am afraid we will have to admit that we are not cut out for the long hours of partying in the Barcelona scene. We expect a long recovery period.

Click on the album in the side bar for pictures from the festival and of Montserrat.

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La Mercè, Barcelona

La Mercè is the major Barcelona festival of the year, highlighting very Catalan traditions. Originally to commemorate the feast day of one of the city's patron saints, Our Lady of Mercy (24 September), the event has expanded to over three days of festivities. At the opening ceremonies on Thursday night, the huge papier maché figures known as gegants paraded and danced through the crowd in the old city. Over the weekend, the wines and cavas (sparkling wine) of Catalunya were exhibited in a festival along the harbour. Tasting was reasonably priced, and buying wines was pretty cheap - a reserve bottle for 6 euros!

Friday and Sunday we watched castellers representing each Barcelona neighborhood vie to construct the tallest human towers. The base is made with a sheer mass of castellers locked together (we should note that in our pictures, the first layer you see is actually the second level). Note the helmets on the kids - that's apparently because one child actually fell and died a few years back - and the castellers biting on their collars - that is so their shirt doesn't start to slip as someone is climbing up on their shoulders. It was an amazing spectacle... although admittedly, not for the faint of heart, as when the castellers start to shake and the tower begins to sway, the crowd is collectively holding its breath. We actually saw 2 different towers collapse, and everyone was okay, but seeing a pile of people including kids free fall from several stories high is just absolutely terrifying.

Another example of how gutsy - or crazy - Catalans can be is the Correfoc, or fire run. The Gates of Hell, ironically erected near the Cathedral, open with huge fireworks and drums booming. Diablos, again representing different neighborhoods, run around with torches and spray the crowds with fireworks. The streets are packed so ash and sparks are continuously falling on everyone, and apparently, later at night, the diablos actually start chasing people! In all fairness, the announcements for the Correfoc do actually carry a warning for wearing proper attire: long pants and long sleeve shirts of non-flammable material, hats, and goggles if you got'em (How is that for PPE?!).

The adjunct BAM festival hosted free concerts all three evenings in cool venues all over the city. We got to see Goldfrapp in the massive Parc del Forúm, Ok Go and Belle & Sebastian overlooking a historic Estrella Damm factory (brewed in Barcelona since 1876), and a couple of smaller bands next to a Christopher Colombus monument. One evening we went home at 3:30 am and were still considered early birds for it!

Even Pepper got a little into La Mercè festivities. The city park where we walk her was filled with special light displays, tapas stands, and a disco area. The fantastic laser show we wandered into near the entrance, which went off on its smoke and light display every few minutes, did make her suspicious.