FMLYnFRENS

Following the Simbang Gabi Eucharistic celebration at our main church, St. Isidore, was a gathering at the ministry center with dinner and Christmas program.  Dinner was the usual spread of pansit, egg roll, Mongolian beef, afritada and delectable native desserts.  The program however was like no other. 

Breaking away from the usual singing and dancing, husband and wife team, Odie & Melotte Carlos, of the Simbang Gabi committee spearheaded a great presentation depicting our traditional Harana and Fiesta sa Barrio replete with bahay kubo and barrio scenes as backdrops.  Bahay kubo is a tropical archetype of the single-room dwelling now used for entertaining or lawn dining.

Harana, which means serenade, is a form of courtship in the Philippines which a lover woos a beloved by singing in front of her house under a moonlit and starry night.  The lover usually is with a friend or two and sings kundiman, a classic form of Filipino love songs, accompanied by a guitarist. Kundiman old time favorites sung were Dungawin Mo Hirang, Ma-ala-ala Mo Kaya, O Ilaw and O Kay Sarap Mabuhay.  

The Fiesta sa Barrio on the other hand is a Filipino cultural event.  This rendition provided us a glimpse of yet another beautiful Filipino tradition through a fiesta scene, singing, and folk dancing.  It portrayed a colorful and festive gathering of a community in a town plaza.  The kundiman brought back fond memories of old much to the delight of everyone. The folk dancers, mostly the young, featured Itik-itik, La Estudiantina, Maglalatik, Sayaw sa Bangko and Tinikling.  The Pantomina de Mayor, a lively and colorful dance depicted courtship with a flair of romance.

The Harana and Fiesta sa Barrio is a result of Odie and Melotte’s creative thinking.  It took a lot of hard work and laborious practices.  Melotte's attention to details paid off.  The barking dog and droning cicada at the harana, the "mano po" a gesture of respect to elders, the balloon vendor at the town plaza and even the aficionado stroking his fighting cock in the morning added authenticity to the scenes.  This successful presentation truly showcased an important Philippine heritage that brought back nostalgia to our elderly and edified the young Filipino-Americans and non-Filipino guests as well.

Congratulations and thank you to the many who took part in this endeavor and most especially to Odie and Melotte for a job very well done! 

photo: Odie and Melotte 

Click here for Harana and Fiesta sa Barrio photos:

indeed.  what a beautiful sight!

I took this shot at a fishing village in bolinao

taking the mcarthur highway going north passing through some hilly and rugged terrains brought me to bolinao.  a beach haven on the northwestern most tip of pangasinan that is now becoming more and more popular.  it fronts the south china sea and offers stretches of attractive shorelines.  where the clear blue waters of the sea brushing to the shores of mostly butter yellow colored sand.

in addition to its unadulterated waterfronts, bolinao also takes pride for its white lighthouse on patar white beach.  towering on top of a hill, this white painted century old lighthouse lights 365 days a year providing safe passageway to international vessels at sea.

driving along bolinao’s coastal villages unfolded this scenic fishing village where the deep, genteel blue waters quietly kiss it’s curved shoreline.  the coconut trees grew luxuriantly along the shores and the fishing boats neatly docked punctuated by tiny patches of bright colored paints adding richness to its simplicity and charming ambiance. 

the feel was tranquil and relaxed, it felt like paradise.

The Middle East oil surge in the 70s provided the Arabs moolah literally flowing out of their ears.  Once a boring parched land, Jeddah was being turned upside down. This barren capital suddenly became a mecca for businessmen.  Buildings and constructions abound.  Thus, came also the influx of Filipino workers that arrived in throngs for jobs.

Shops of all kinds mushroomed and catered mainly to non-locals.  Money changers literally spread throws on the ground.  And on Sundays, rows of makeshift stores became the center of many lives.

Shopping in Jeddah in those times can be daunting.  We had major language problem.  We perspired under the wraps and occasionally faced harassment from demented locals not used to seeing women in public areas.  There were also the harsh and odd laws of the land that one must strictly abide.

While shopping one time, we were stopped entry to one jewelry shop.  Then we were pointed to a small sign by the door “No Philippine Allowed.”  We learned from an angry and sad jeweler that they were many times robbed by Filipino thugs.  Thugs, who came to shop in groups, confused the unsuspecting merchant while their cahoots walked away after dropping gold chains into their soda tin can.

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia (1977) – It was a hot summer day when we arrived at King Abdulaziz Internatinoal Airport.  Like any dry city back then, there was not much to do in Jeddah except to make use of the hotel’s amenities.

Relaxation by the pool was always coveted after a long, tough flight.  Peachy, Nena and I easily found our way to the warm clear blue waters of the outdoor pool.  It was surrounded by eloquently landscaped garden replete with imported palm trees and cozy sun cabanas.  At a nearby dry bar were a couple of locals garbed in their white traditional attire.  Soon came three newly arrived Air France crew clad in scanty bikinis, who like us, needed some relaxation after a long flight.

Our peace and quiet was roused when a frantic hotel manager ordered all women out of the pool and shoved us leading to go back into our rooms at once.  Later we learned that our Saudi hosts were shocked and scandalized.  In their land, women cannot just roam around much less bare one’s physical parts.

A hotel policy immediately went into effect that women were not allowed to swim and stay one hundred yards away from the pool area.  From then on, every time I was in the city, the calm setting and beauty of the pool by the garden became just a landscape enjoyed from a distance.

No!  Jun didn't work for the airline.

From Barcelona, Spain, he came to visit me in Khartoum, Sudan.   He immediately became friends with my co-workers including the cockpit and ground staff.  On quick turn around flights like Nairobi, Mogadishu, Kuwait or even Dubai, the captain would ask him to tag along for a joy ride. The flight engineer usually lent him bars so he can pose as a crew much to the delight of the cabin staff for having an extra body to push and stow those heavy galley carts.

One early morning flight to Dubai, Jun with his bars on, began helping out like a pro with pre-flight tasks.  He helped closed the overhead bins, secured the galley, and stowed the meal carts.  Normally, he’d sit with the passengers but this time we sat together by the emergency exit at the very end section of the aircraft.

As we lifted off from the ground, Jun grabbed and squeezed my hand.  I turned toward him and smiled.  Then I saw his face turned white as he stooped and sniffed the liquid that gushed out from above.  When he realized that the liquid was not aviation gas, he let go of my hand and took a deep sigh.  Meanwhile, what I thought to be an amorous gesture from my husband was nothing but an instinct for someone in terror clinging to dear life!

Cairo, Egypt (1978) – Jean and I arrived in Cairo late at night after a long three-leg flight.  The lay over was three days so there was enough time to relax before we embarked on another flight.  We agreed to meet by the pool at mid-morning to lounge and relax before lunch.

I was the one to first arrive.  Only a handful of people were there and no one was in the pool whose clear, still blue water was penetrated by the morning sun.  I placed a towel over the lounge chair and reclined.  Not for long came the intrusion of a gentleman.   Jean arrived to my rescue and soon the two of us left for an early lunch.  The following day, we decided to meet again to get our much needed sun.  This time, clad in bikini and a pair of sunglasses to match, I stretched out and began to enjoy the warmth.  An intruder came but after he glanced at my c-section vertical mark, he briefly exchanged pleasantries and hurriedly gone.  Jean and I got our dose of vitamin d with peace and solitude under the balmy Egyptian sun.

I loved night flights.  In-flight services were un-demanding and passengers were generally quiet and relaxed.  On a seemingly uneventful flight, the chief purser turned off the main cabin light after the meal service.  Only the night owls had their reading lights on that illuminated the aisle.

Being the least senior in the crew, my duty, amongst others, was to check on the rear lavatories at all times.  Not only to tidy up during flight but also to be on the lookout for fire from smokers or passengers who might pass out or have heart attacks.  We were trained to open the “engaged” door from the outside.

One of the lavatory door knobs was lit and therefore occupied.  I was chatting with my co-worker and we both noticed that it had been engaged for quite a while.   We waited a little longer but no one came out.  Then, I knocked.  There was no answer so we were alarmed.  Nervously, I unlatched the door from the outside.  When the door swung open, right in my face was a pair of manicured hands clutched onto a fat white ass.

Slough, England (1979) – Frank, our chief mechanic was friendly to the pinays.  He tagged along wherever we went and feasted on adobo and pansit with us.  He just wasn’t cut out for mahjong.  After several lessons, for obvious reasons, we stopped.  Frank was single and lived with his mom.

We (three pinays and Frank) were on a ferry flight back to Windsor for a much needed R&R.  Being such a nice chap, Frank volunteered to drive us around provided we paid for the gas.  He also invited us for an overnight stay at his place to meet his mother and to take us to the local pub.

We arrived in Slough at mid-afternoon and we were happily greeted by mother and son.  Frank’s mother was sweet, charming old lady.  She was delighted and immediately ushered us into her kitchen where biscuits and beverage awaited us.   As she slowly poured tea, she looked Lucille in the eye and said “do you use forks and knives, luv?”  And, before Lucille could muster a word, she placed her hand on mine and said very gently, “do you have tele’s, too?”  “Of course, they do, Mother!” Frank embarrassedly barked at his mom.

Truly oblivious to our country of origin, Frank’s mother had a throng of questions for us which was fine.  She was honest and straightforward.  Needless to say, that very afternnon, sweet old mom and adorable son had a crash course on Philippines 101.

photo: Manila Bay

Khartoum, Sudan (1978) – My co-worker, Tess met a young Oxford-educated Greek (his name escaped me) whose father owned a coca-cola bottling franchise in Sudan.  El Greko was her passenger en route from London to Athens.  They later met up in Khartoum and invited the entire crew to his birthday bash.  Unbeknownst to us, El Greko’s English stepmother was such a snob.  She was unable to hide her displeasure for having four pinays in her well-manicured grounds.  Needless to say, the eight of us didn’t pass the main course and discreetly left after a sip of champagne and a couple of English crackers topped with caviar.  The very next day, El Greko and his charming poppa sans stepmum came to the hotel and apologized.

Sydney, Australia (1975) – One sad experience happened during my first flight to the city. When the flight captain learned that it was my and one other cabin crew’s first time in Sydney, he invited the entire crew to a Perry Como dinner show in an upscale club. There were nine of us; three cockpit and six cabin crew members – four Brits and the rest Asians. When we showed up for our reservation, a young usher politely turned us down citing they allow no Asians in the club. Stunned with disbelief the flight captain sought for the club manager and demanded entry but to no avail.  They (male crew) almost got into a brawl. Outraged and humiliated, we ended up at a fisherman’s wharf where I had my first taste of huge baked oysters topped with cheese, olives and herbs, and a toast of Dom Perignon, champagne of stature and class.