Fiddling but not traveling

Just because I don't get vacation yet with my new job, doesn't mean I can't still write about traveling with my fiddle! Actually, I have recently bought a plane ticket to go somewhere that I intend to take my fiddle AND play it with another musician (fingers crossed)! But that won't be until early November. In the meantime, I've still been playing in and around Winnipeg this summer.

Alfie Mella, my band mate and founding member of Half Man Half Elf, the band I currently play with (and the author of the blog elfideas), and I were trying to put together a slide show and performance to share stories of our trip to the Philippines but we found ourselves without any other band members. So I did a few gigs with other musicians and focused on my solo set.

Playing Ukranian folk songs for our respective nieces with my bro-in-law at Riding Mountain after taking part in a family relay team at the Triathlon (Ken swam 1500 m and I ran 10 km)

This summer I my accordion-playing brother-in-law and I shared music at a senior's hospital and Folklorama's Ukranian Kiev pavilion. I also performed at a Dragon Boat Race festival with some fellow Forks Buskers: Nova Scotia's Mike Simon and new Winnipeg bluegrass band members, the Flat City Folk.

Myself with Susan and Mike Simon with fellow busker,
mandolin player Dave Labovich

Donovan Locken from the FCF joined forces with me for one of the Grant and Wilton Coffee House's summer sittings.

More recently, Half Man Half Elf has recovered and managed to get a small set together with some new bandmates to appear at Manitoba's first annual Filipino Street Festival (my camera died as usual so no record of that event!). We have another gig on Sept 22 (a fundraiser for the Red Cross for Philippine flood victims), and I have two more weddings plus a solo gig coming up over the next few weekends.

Then Alfie and I have to get our acts together for a rather prestigious upcoming performance on November 1st for the noon-hour Skywalk concert and lecture series, curated by the Virtuosi Concerts series director, Harry Strub. This time it MUST be acoustic and we MUST be on our best classical behaviour!

So music is really taking charge of life. Even Chester is making requests! Tonight he started to yowl at me and scratched at the underside of my upright piano. He wouldn't stop crying at me until I sat down and practiced Couperin's Les Baricades Misterieuses. Weird for a cat who usually yowls at me to STOP practicing!

Chester insisting I practice the piano.

So I sat still long enough to practice this piece which I love and has special meaning to me: someone once told me it expressed my personality in music - so out of curiosity I had to learn it!

I still haven't learned the whole thing perfectly though...so if this works, this is just the beginning.

Meantime what travel I HAVE done has involved paddling and hiking with NO fiddle. There is no WAY I'm lugging that thing 63 km down the Mantario Trail or into high waves on big, unknown lakes. This past September Long weekend I hiked Mantario for the 9th time in preparation for my 10th time in 10 years anniversary hike coming up in October. I assure you, my fiddle will again stay at home.

Current Musings and Past Reminiscences

The more you travel the more you find similarities among the people and places of this world - further proof that we are all fundamentally the same the world over. We all need to eat, sleep, breathe and love. And all that other stuff that isn't so romantic like fighting, complaining, going to the bathroom, dying... just keeping it real here.

I was recently reminded of our universal commonality when my friend Clementine who blogs at Musings of a Commoner  posted some photos of a traditional Philippine Good Friday procession involving floats covered with lights and doll-like statues covered in fabric clothing, jewels, flowers and other ornaments. The figures reminded me so much of statues I saw while walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostele across northern Spain.

Virgin of the Stars in a museum in Carrion de los Condes, Palencia, Castile-Leon

Though I am no expert on colonialism, it is likely that the Good Friday tradition in the PH has roots in Spanish customs that were brought with the conquistadors. Looking at the level of religious practice in both countries today, it is interesting to see that the number of people still practicing the faith imposed by Spanish rule in the PH is far more than the percentage still attending Mass in Spain. But that's a subject for another day...

Since earliest humans walked the earth, we have been travelling and sharing and intermingling our respective ways of life - not always in a friendly way - again - the colonialism example! Again I look to my experiences walking the Camino de Santiago in 2009 as a learning experience about how small the world really is and how much we all have in common. And how true Ecclesiastes is where it says "there is nothing new under the sun."

Camino: that way.

Here's the basic story of the pilgrimage. The Path of Saint James, or el Camino de Santiago de Compostele is one of several routes that criss-cross Europe to reach the westernmost point of land on the European continent: the village of Finisterre, or Fisterra, which name comes from the Latin: end of the earth. Ancient peoples considered it a holy place because it was where the sun fell off the edge of the earth - back when it was believed to be flat.

When Rome was expanding, her soldiers tromped their way across Spain building arrow-straight roads and "civilizing" (oppressing) the so-called "savages" who were the indigenous Spanish people minding their own business in the north.

Atapuerca, UNESCO World Heritage Site on the Camino, where archeological evidence of the earliest known Hominins of western Europe have been found.

Later, the Vatican issued a codex (ie. its version of history) that stated that St. James the Greater, one of Christ's Apostles, was buried in a field of stars upon which site was built a huge cathedral around which sprung up the Holy City of Santiago de Compostele. St. James had ministered to the people of that region and when he was beheaded in Jerusalem, his followers took his body up there. His remains and those of his disciples Saints Timothy and Athanacious are in an ornate little silver box that pilgrims can visit in a crypt below the Cathedral's altar even to this day.

The Cathedral at Santiago de Compostele.

Since earliest Christian times, ordinary people have walked hundreds of kilometres to visit St. James' final resting place. In recent years the act of walking the pilgrimage has gained popularity among people of all faiths from all over the world. Different routes start in different countries but the main road is known as the Camino Frances, which I did starting in the French village of St. Jean Pied-de-Port and ending in Finisterre. It took 35 days from May 12 to June 17, 2009 and I walked just under 900 km, averaging about 22 km per day.

Even in big cities like Burgos, you can't get lost if you follow the yellow arrows.

Everywhere I saw the struggle between faiths and cultures: if it wasn't the Romans conquering the indigenous Spanish, it was the Spanish fighting the Moors as the muslim invaders were then known. In almost every church on the Camino, there was a statue of St. James as the saviour of Charlemagne's army, turning the tide of battle against the Moors.

Santiago depicted more peacefully here as the pilgrim in the Cathedral at Roncesvalles. I can't find the photo but there's statues of him on a horse trampling an unfortunate Moor.

Fast forward to the 1500s and the Spanish sail across the world ending up in the Sulu Sea, landing on the shores of a lush, green country peopled by a sophisticated society.

Though Spanish is no longer spoken or taught in the Philippines, Spain has left a deep and lasting mark on the people, their traditions and attitudes. Having visited both countries, I have had a glimpse into the fabric of one society that has influenced another so profoundly. It's amazing to see the connections between people who have never set foot in each others' lands and who don't even speak the same language.

I'm not going to write about the wrongs and horrors of colonialism here because I'm no expert - I'm just a traveller writing what I see - and I saw much beauty, love, and humanity in both places.

Balloons, bombers and bonsai: an incredible last day

One hour of sleep is ridiculous. We had no choice, apparently, but to get ourselves to Pet and Omai's mountaineering buddy Reggie's place by 3:30 a.m., the appointed meeting time. By whose appointment I have no idea. I was just along for the ride.

Now, don't think me foolish to go to an unknown place with a bunch of strange men at the wee hours of the morning...okay that sounds really bad. To put it in context: I had a cell phone, money, street map, a rudimentary idea of where I was, and was with people I'd known for at least four weeks who were friends of my Winnipeg band-mate for upwards of 25 years. NOW it sounds boring. I would never go off with someone I'd just met to a completely strange place - but doesn't it sound exciting? The sort of story to give one's mother a worry fit. Hi mom! : )

Arriving at Reggie's I woke up enough to realize we were at the home of an artist or interior designer. Art hung on the walls and the chairs were stark white and 1950s-like. Everything was extremely precise in colour and placement. I sat carefully on a snow-white chair and snoozed delicately for a bit. A girl I was later introduced to as Neeka sat across from me. No one was fully awake yet. Eventually we went out and waited while various cars (Reg has quite a collection) were rearranged and got into one that was the appropriate size for our group of: Reg, Neeka, Eugene, Pet. Omai and me. Omai sat in the trunk - I think it was a jeep - and Pet, Eugene and I sat in the back seat. Heads fell immediately back on headrests and much snoozing ensued.

We arrived as the sun rose to a large field turned into an efficient parking lot marked with banners and string. The annual Winnipeg Folk Festival parking disaster could be much improved if it followed a similar system! Immediately we were accosted by Taho vendors and had breakfast. Yes, I am now a Taho fan, thanks to Alfie.

Omai ready for anything as we arrive at the Balloon Festival.

Master Photographer at work for pleasure.

We arrived just in time to see the festival kick-off. A bunch of sky-divers parachuted to earth most patriotically:

Paraglider with Philippine flag.

Giant Cake balloon!

Cake lift-off!

The Festival was also an opportunity for the Philippine Army to display its equipment, much of which comes from the US Army.

A massive AK Something-or-other, US made.

Recruiting, of course!

A recycled whosiwhatsit.

Oh, THAT's what it is.

We waited in line for a million years to have a chance to sit in various aircraft including this one:

L-R: Reg, Neeka, Reg's friends, Pet, me, Eugene.

Then everyone had a fun poseur moment: I channelled Isadora Duncan...

...or Amelia Earheart.

The day quickly got too hot to stay out much longer so we retreated to a mall in Pampanga for lunch. Turns out it's a mall for which Reggie designed the green space!

The artist explains his work.

Everything had meaning and symbolism. I could never do Reg's explanation justice and will probably get it all wrong but basically, the waves represent the ocean, all the plants are indigenous, and the site is a former rice field so there's a symbolic rice square in the middle of it all.

Ocean waves

Beautiful walk ways with carefully selected plants.

The designer in his space. Behind us is the rice square.

"Whenever you do an activity with Reggie, it usually takes the whole day," Pet remarked - approximately. You can't just do one thing. There's so many things to do when you hang out with Reg. After lunch we went back to his place. Neeka disappeared and we snacked on frozen fruit. He gave us a tour of the house and explained some of his art works. We also got a peek at several prototype cars that he is designing. Very exciting!

He then proposed going to tour the UP (University of the Philippines) campus where he and Pet and Eugene had been members of the Mountaineering Club. It was lush and green, busy with students. As we drove past one group of young men, we observed one standing with his back to the road facing the trees. "Peeing is more fun in the Philippines," Reg quipped dryly.

Next on the tour was a Japanese Bonsai garden that someone had donated to the UP.

UP bonsai garden.

Exotic plants in the bonsai garden: an inspiration for my own yard.

Pet, Reg, Eug et moi.

Sculpture or natural rock?

Moose or Elkhorned tree.

A flower pot to envy!

A Pavlova moment in the garden.

Someone please name this plant!

Greenhouse.

My own personal garden gnome: Omai at his tricks!

Lipstick plant.

Another "name that flower" contest.

Tiny stone monkey.

Finally we returned to Reg's house in Quezon City and retrieved Omai's car. Wending our way back to Ramil's place Omai stopped in several places to deliver or pick up camera parts. We also dropped off Pet's guitar with a repair shop that Aldrin had recommended.

Alfie's entire family was home just finishing dinner so Omai and Pet were able to say goodbye to their childhood friend. For the last time in who knows how long.

Norman, Ruperto, Alfie & Evawwen

We three musketeers also said our farewells.

My new bffs Pet and Omai. The pose is "the grabbing hand" from the Depeche Mode song "Everything Counts." It's an Alfie thing!

What an incredible two days! And I still had to finish packing. It was hard to believe that the next day I'd be getting on a plane and leaving this place that I'd come to think of as home, and that I would not see my new group of friends for who knows how long. I don't think my tired brain was able to process it. I just kept moving, not thinking of finalities at all. I'm still not. I have formed a community of wonderful friends and I am obliged to return.

Running on empty and loving it! Mostly...

How I survived the last two full days of my life as a resident of Facundo Street, Pasay City, I have no idea. After leaving the Aznar family compound at 11:00 a.m. Thursday, I didn't get home until 36 hours later, grabbed 7 hours of recovery sleep, then headed to the airport for 14 hours worth of flying plus endless waiting around in airports.

If you don't want to know about my lousy Thursday morning, which has no photos, scroll down to the photo part. If you want some drama, or whininess (depending on your perspective) read on. It also explains some interesting things I learned about Manila's public transportation system.

I had made lunch plans to meet a friend of a Winnipeg friend, now living and working in Manila. This would be my only chance to meet up, for which I sacrificed a ride with my gracious host in his comfortable car to Carol's family resort, the far-away site of our band's wind-up party. My own stubbornness thought it would be a good idea to walk the 3.4 km to my lunch-friend's workplace in 30 degree heat at mid-morning. Armed with a mango shake, I arrived at the agreed meeting place a bit early and waited - and waited and waited for a good half hour. Finally I went inside and asked someone as to the whereabouts of my friend. A woman came over and said he had called in sick that morning and would not be in at all that day.

I was nearly in tears. I was sure I had messaged the ailing culprit my borrowed Philippine cell number several times but hadn't heard a peep and the phone was fully loaded. I assumed he was delirious to give him the benefit of a doubt - I was not far off - he messaged me two days later to apologize - he'd been quite seriously ill. Meantime, I was really put out. Hot and hungry, I now had to make my way to the middle of nowhere by some form of public transport, by myself. Normally, I wouldn't mind but I was really hungry and annoyed. I messaged Carol who sympathized and gave me instructions, reassuring that I could easily catch a bus to the far town near her resort anywhere along the main road. She was my voice of reason and my guardian angel at that moment - and I was so thankful to have a local cell phone!

Cranky and miserable, I forced myself to talk to a young man standing along the main road. As my grandmother always said, "The answer is on the tip of your tongue in the form of a question. All you need to do is to ask someone." Indeed, he said, a bus to where I was going would stop anywhere along the road - I just had to wave it over. So convenient - not like here where you have to wait forever at a particular bus stop.

When you get on the bus, instead of paying at the door, you take a seat, and a person eventually wanders back and collects money and hands out little tickets marked with where you are going. My fare came to only 51 php - really decent considering how far I was going. A tiny TV set hanging above the windshield was playing some kind of Filipino war movie and the speaker system was really good quality.

The man next to me noticed me studying my Manila street map as we got closer to Cavite and offered to let me know when to get off. Again, very helpful. I messaged Carol to let her know I had arrived as per her instructions and ducked into a Chowking to grab a bite, expecting to wait for a good half hour at least. I'd barely finished eating when Arnel, the resort's manager messaged me. They had already arrived! The resort wasn't as far as I had thought. AND I wasn't as late as I had thought.

Gazebos at the Resort.

Mr. P's favourite spot.

A peaceful place to be.

Arnel, Mr. P's right-hand-man.

So inviting. Ideas for my back yard!

Perfect place for a wind-up party.

Only a few members of the band had arrived when I got there. Alfie and family, Ramil and Pet had swum in the beautiful pool and were enjoying billiards and karaoke.

When Rain and his family arrived, he pulled out a file containing clippings of the band in its heyday that he had saved.

"When we were 20 years younger and 20 pounds lighter!"

Soon the others arrived with wives, children, and musical instruments. A drum kit started to assemble and oblong black cases started to pile up in the gazebo we were going to use. Joel was in the kitchen cooking up a storm - not for an Arabian prince this time, but for his friends.

Food fit for a prince.

After huge amounts of food was consumed, a hookah appeared from somewhere and the boys started to imitate Alice in Wonderland's Cheshire Cat, sly grins and all.

Everyone EXCEPT Bebet played the drums.

This was the only known moment that our drummer actually sat at the drums the whole evening!

Future drummer of Half Life Half Death: little Leila!

Carol proving she's MORE than just a pretty face and back-up singer!

Ramil the drummer - and bass player and guitarist and singer and video editor and.....oh never mind!

All the boys at one point drummed, played bass or guitar, all equally well, and Ramil even picked up my fiddle just for fun.

"eek!eek!eek!"

The music started as soon as Rain picked up his guitar and didn't stop until he put it down. It was as if he were taking full advantage of playing one last time with the whole group, savouring every precious moment.

Rain's natural appendage, also known as his heart and soul.

Now THIS is a party!

Out of the blue and as a complete surprise, Aldrin suddenly presented Alfie and I with an oil painting he had done especially for each of us. This journalist and extraordinary musician had also recently taken up painting. Alfie later inquired the titles from Aldrin who explained that Alfie's was called "A Dance for the Union of Two Moons" and mine was "How we ended as lovers." I was moved to tears.

Alfie and I with our beautiful gifts from our friend, artist, writer and musician Aldrin Cardona: "A Dance for the Union of Two Moons" for Alfie and "How We Ended as Lovers" for me.

And of course where there's one friend, there are many.

Our photographer friend, Omai (known as the silent member of the band) arrived as everyone was leaving just in time to scavenge some of Joel's amazing cooking. He presented me with two discs of photos - especially culled from his millions for me - and also gave me a gift from Bacalod, from where he'd just flown having been caught in the 6.8 earthquake! He'd been there on a photo shoot assignment and ended up in the middle of the excitement.

Omai's arrival heralded departure for Pet and I, since our friend was our ride to the next adventure, a hot air balloon festival in Pampanga. He drove us to his brother's house which was somewhere between the resort and Pasay City, and we slept for one whole hour. Then Pet - incredibly more awake than I - got us up with an alarm, what seemed like minutes after I dozed off. And off we went. More later...