travelswithalice

Maybe I should just give up and do the tourist bit. From my window I can see a beautiful building I might explore.



The weekend was nice, Saturday evening in particular. We were at dinner with friends Aimee and Werner in their home in the hills.

Although their place is just off the city center, with an impressive view of the city skyline and the Twin Towers, it most definitely seems to our hosts like they're living in the jungle. We were warned to keep away from the balcony where wild monkeys are bound to snatch anything from your very hands. Handbags and stuff. Especially cellphones- they love cellphones!

Stuart thought it would be useful to try and discover where they are storing their hoard. Werner said this wouldn't post too much of a concern as long as the monkeys don't make overseas calls.

Monkeys are the least of their problems in the wild. There are roosters and birds that wake them up too early in the morning. There are squirrels and rats too that frighten their 13-year-old dog, Brixie.

And to make matters worse, there are no taxis!

Taxis are a particular problem in this city. So that for those without a car, getting around can be pretty challenging. Taxis are not readily available and also not generally reliable. Taking you around the houses seems to be a common unpleasantness. As is taking you somewhere you don't really want to go, insisting it a better place for shopping. (Did you even say you wanted to go shopping?)


Sunday had beautiful sunny weather to begin with but it turned progressively grey and wet, then stormy in the end.



Perfect for chocolate cake and another one of Stuart's downloads!

The garden is usually a peaceful patch as far removed from Orchard Road as one cares to be. Last week was an exception though. At least I hope that was what it was, as in, a departure from the usual quiet. It was the Deepavali holiday week so the kids on my floor were exuberantly celebrating their liberty from school by barreling up and down the already battered garden paths with bikes, scooters, and whatever else on wheels they could make noise with.

That was last week. Today, things are back to normal. It's nice and peaceful again on the garden floor.

The racket has now been relegated back to the usual venue: the swimming pool. Here, children's screams, yelps, and howls of laughter reign supreme. The warm air, heavy with the reassuring scent of industrial-strength sunblock, throbs with the constant rush of invisible waterfalls and the predictable sounds made by kids in water.

These are all essential ingredients for a beautiful sun-splashed Sunday brunch.

A deck chair draped in fluffy snow-white towels. A stack of magazines to savor the highlights of the US elections with the nauseating bits edited out. Tea and cake and cookies. What could shatter this low profile, low maintenance, undemanding peace?

Bird shit! That's what!

Two missiles just missed my tea and the sandals on the floor beside me. Peace shattered.

I opted for a walk around the garden instead. As luck would have it, my reconnaissance led me to the enemies' nest.

I'm beginning to really feel at home here.

Some advantages over my real home in Manila:

1. A garden (which somebody else takes care of)
2. A full service room service breakfast (could be top of the list actually)
3. A much earlier start to the day than my usual (the reason for this remains unclear to me)

All Saints Day. We were all there. Everybody to whom Mommy and Daddy mattered. All of us their children, their grandchildren and great grandchildren. (There were a few exceptions of course, but there always are.)

It still feels oddly strange that Mommy was not with us to visit Daddy's crypt, as she was last year and every year before. That she herself was there to be visited hasn't even sunk in yet.

The point is, the family gathered together to pay homage to our dearly departed. It's a family thing.

It's also a Filipino thing. In cemeteries, memorial parks, and church crypts all over the country, masses of people come to bring flowers, to light candles, and to pray in memory of their dead.

Families gather in tight conclaves, going through their own time-honored rituals. Loving attention and respect are accorded family elders who had marshalled their strength to attend this all-important annual pilgrimage to family burial sites.

Some families have religious services held at their stations. Some pray together, while others keep to themselves in quiet contemplation.

As all-night vigils are commonly held, some put up tents or marquees, under which they serve simple refreshments. Others opt for more elaborate feasts and while away the time by playing mahjongg.

It really all depends on attitudes, temperaments, family traditions, or simply the size of the real estate involved: anywhere from grand mausoleums to tiny niches on walls.

For the younger people, there is also a bit of socializing involved. They walk around, as in a party, sometimes in packs, eagerly searching the crowds for familiar faces.

All Saints Day after all is a feast. The manner in which it is observed may vary, but it remains one of those traditions that truly define and unify a people.