The Monkey of Bohol

The town of Baclayon in Bohol is famous for a python sanctuary housing "Prony," one of the largest and longest snakes in captivity. Read more about that here: http://boholpython.multiply.com/

But if you visit the place now, you'd know there are two bigger stars there than the humongous python - both of them, I must say, full-blown agaw-eksenas (scene stealers). The first one is the cross-dressing assistant of the woman who, I surmise, is Prony's carer (pardon the Never Let Me Go lingo). This 'carer' sits inside the enclosure with the snake (or at least, that's where she was when we went - it was molting season). But the assistant, in full-blown tropical beach dress get-up and fancy make-up, sits amongst the line of tourists waiting to enter the enclosure for their 'close encounter' with the snake. This assistant flirts with foreigners and, as I recall, said that Prony is "a virgin, never been kissed, never been touched." I think the place would be boring without her.   

The second agaw-eksena is the monkey after which this post is named.

There I was, intently gazing at the python from the opposite end of the enclosure, my face almost touching the bars.

Then, my eyeglasses took themselves off my face.

In a matter of seconds, I was the fourth big star of the place. 

People were pointing at me. Whispering. Pointing at the monkey clutching my glasses. Speaking audibly. Middle-aged white guy with bear belly bellowing, "Oh no, no, no." Mothers telling their kids what just happened. Mothers and fathers convening amongst themselves what could or would happen next. Friendly, amused, and consoling stares thrown at me from every direction.

And, as one should do in these kinds of situations, I smiled, laughed a bit. Ah, the kind of training you get from LadyMed.

The carer saw what had happened and nonchalantly threw her fan at the monkey, which then dropped my glasses to the ground. 

Fresh from the spotlight, I left the area and mingled with the free-roaming geese instead. Minutes later, a clueless girl's sunglasses were in the hands of the monkey.

P.S. Guess what my zodiac sign is.

The Sanctity of a Man-Made Forest

 To step foot on the man-made forest of Bohol is to tread on hallowed ground. There isn't a human soul out there that would not be captivated by the sight of these towering mahogany trees rising side by side to the sky. It must be a kingdom straight out of plant lore, in that every direction the eye takes is one eternally pervaded by the presence of these trees. Here, life is in a state of unmatched ubiquity. The silence, combined with the windy whispers and rustling of foliage, inspires a much-welcome chill to trace the length of one's diminutive spine. In between the intricate system of leaves and branches shaped and weaved on so many heights, shafts of light pour through spaces to bathe the earth with a tender warmth. It is, in many ways, akin to standing directly beneath the dome of a majestic cathedral - the sanctuary in front, endless rows of pews and columns behind, rays of light streaming down from rose windows to coalesce on the floor, leaving shadowy patterns in their wake. Here, like in those holy places of worship, sanctity is unquestionably accorded.

The (Chocolate) Hills Are Alive

From the website of the province of Bohol:

"The Chocolate Hills are probably Bohol's most famous tourist attraction. They look like giant mole hills, or as some say, women's breasts, and remind us of the hills in a small child's drawing. Most people... can hardly believe that these hills are not a man-made artifact... this idea is quickly abandoned, as the effort would surely surpass the construction of the pyramids in Egypt. The chocolate hills consist of are no less than 1268 hills (some claim this to be the exact number). They are very uniform in shape and mostly between 30 and 50 meters high. They are covered with grass, which, at the end of the dry season, turns chocolate brown. From this color, the hills derive their name. At other times, the hills are green, and the association may be a bit difficult to make." 

You gotta love the similes. 

It was mid-morning and summer in the Central Visayas. The sun was intent on burning every square inch of skin in sight. The principle behind these photos (Nokia C3-00, for the nth time) was point and shoot. No time to measure the angles, calibrate the framing, all that photography shiz. And as always, before uploading, no editing, no Adobe Photoshop - just the original pics. 

Ascent.

Tree.

Stump.

Flowers and Tank.

Road.

 Countryside.

 Home base.

Standard.

Late Afternoon in Bohol

We arrived at Tagbilaran port at roughly 3:30PM, hoping to catch the 4:10 ferry back to Cebu instead of our original 6-ish. Guess what? 4:10's fully booked. What do we do, lounge around the place?

For a gateway to a premiere tourist destination and nature hotspot, the port terminal was a messy watering hole straight out of an African safari. Seriously, they should fix the place. People were scattered all over the place, the atmosphere was sweltering, seats were not enough. I was sweaty, children were crying, pieces of luggage dominated the floor. What a change of scene that must have been for the departing tourists.

An idea hit me. We spied a herd of idle taxis outside and headed for it. 

"What's the most... sosyal, high-end, hotel here in Tagbilaran?"

The men looked at us. "Bohol Tropics," one of them said.

"How much would it cost us to get there?"

"We'll have to do flat rates. P100 for the three of you," the eager one replied.

Screw you! The influence of bitch taxis from Manila is indeed spreading all over the country like an epidemic.

"Take a trike, that will be cheaper," he said. Idiot.

It took us P30 and less than five minutes by trike to get to Bohol Tropics Resort. Looked impressive, all majestic and wide open spaces and green paint and lots of plants. We ended up eating their halo-halo and sandwiches at the cafe on the terrace overlooking the sea. 

But to my mother's horror and disgust, the only female restroom for public use in the place was an untidy stink hole. The floor was evidently unmopped. There was unflushed feces in one of the bowls. (Okay, I realize that's disgusting.) Their reason for this extremely disappointing display? The janitor in charge went to mass. Here's another photo (Nokia C3-00) to wash away the imagery. Those guys might as well be parted lovers.

Claudined the Other Way

The weekend of "Thrilla in NAIA" a.k.a. when, in the urban wilderness of Manila Airport's Terminal 3, sort-of-powerful sorta-journalist got into a brawl with husband of famous actress after HFA caught SPSJ videotaping FA while she roasted employee of inefficient trash budget airline over baggage problems, I was in Cebu. Internet memes now define 'claudined' - a neologism, in case one gets bamboozled - as to lose one's tact and breeding in a state of anger (yes, that makes it a verb - I suspect it can also be an adjective, like "Rosalinda becomes a claudined zombie when her sister is around).

Here is a cellphone picture I took as our plane departed Mactan Airport on an early Tuesday morning bound for Iloilo. Some of the city's landmarks, the trained eye might recognize - Waterfront Hotel Mactan just behind the terminal building, and in the distance, castle-like Waterfront Hotel, Crown Regency Hotel and Towers (the tallest structure in the city), and Marco Polo Plaza on the hills, to name a few. 

The twenty minutes or so that preceded this takeoff, however, was the highlight of the morning. Our flight was scheduled to commence boarding at 5:40AM for a 6:10AM departure. Because of taxi issues at the hotel (bitch taxis also exist in Cebu, we discovered), we arrived at the airport a few minutes before 5:30. We breezed through check-in as there was miraculously no line - the 60+ other passengers, I overheard the attendants, were already done. So, as planned, I waited near the terminal fee counters while Mother and Sister exited the building to buy Cebu's famous lechon at an outlet across the street. 

When they returned not a short while later, the PA system came to life and screamed for all the world to hear, "Calling the last three passengers of AirPhil Expess flight blah to Iloilo, please board the aircraft now." We fell in line to pay our terminal fees. "Final call for boarding for the last three remaining passengers..." We arrived at the final security check. "Calling the last three passengers..." And they announced our names!

It was 5:40AM. What the heck?! We were supposed to just start boarding at this time and now they have everyone onboard except us? We even had one of their attendants personally escort us like lost schoolchildren all the way to the stairs to the plane. Less than five minutes after we took our seats, we were rolling down the taxiway.

Lore has it that my grandfather, in those days of old when air travel was still a creepy thing, once chased after a train he was supposed to catch. I praise AirPhil Express for their efficiency, but it's just too weird a system for me. Claudine takes one of their flights, checks in, goes out to buy lechon as peace offering to the Tulfos (in your dreams!), takes a very long while outside, and gets left behind by her luggage. Oh dear. 

Kanlaon, Cloaked in Majesty

My fascination with mountains and volcanoes began before I was ten. I suppose, and I often say this, that's what you get for having an older brother who ate books as a kid. Now he only feasts on Harrison's Principles of Internal Medicine and uber geeky stuff like that, but still.

I remember we had this name-game on the peaks of the Himalayan system, and another time, on the highest peaks of each continent - the Seven Summits, they are called. On the former, I still remember Everest (duh!), K2 (also known as Godwin Austen, thought it's actually part of the Karakoram), Kangchenjunga, Makalu, Lhotse, Dhaulagiri, Annapurna, Nanga Parbat, Nanda Devi; for the latter, there's Everest (again), Kilimanjaro, McKinley, Aconcagua, Elbrus, Vinson Massif, and Kosciuzko. I think I may have sounded a bit nerdy there.

And then there are the volcanoes - to name a few, Etna on Sicily, Santorini and its ginormous volcanic past (and - bonus - the lore of Atlantis), Mt. St. Helens over at Washington state, and the mother of all volcanic topics: Hawaii. That must be why I found the cinematography of The Descendants, um, captivating. (Yes, it's possible to be confronted with huge close-ups of George Clooney's morose face and be the least bit moved.) I suppose someday I'd eventually meet someone out there who'd find this excess of trivia in my brain... sexy. "Hey there, has anyone ever told you how much you resemble Kilauea? I mean, deep down, you're all hot stuff." And before I forget, Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea are miles taller than Everest if we start at the bottom of the sea, okay?

So now, behold the following photos, captured once again with my beloved Nokia C3-00. One of the best reasons to fly the Iloilo-Cebu vv. route is the chance to gaze at the beauty of Mt. Kanlaon - 2,435m high and just 30km southeast of the major city of Bacolod.

From the mountain climbers and hiker's haven Pinoy Mountaineer, run by Dr. Gideon Lasco of UP College of Medicine 2010:

"The country's largest active volcano and Visayas' highest mountain is Mt. Kanlaon in Negros Island. As the highest mountain in the Visayas, it is majestic. As the country's largest active volcano, it is fearsome. Its majesty lies in its forests, waterfalls, lagoons, and culminates in its crater, vast and desolate."  (pinoymountaineer.com)

The first two photos were taken on the morning Iloilo-Cebu flight of AirPhil Express, Saturday, May 5, and the last two, on the return trip three days later. Notice the volcano's distinctive shave around its peak - a crown, if metaphor-speak be allowed - and how the clouds, in the fashion of literature, become its 'white cloak of majesty'. 

Yep, I just said that... white cloak of majesty. Think I just made lots of dead people proud of me.

Visayas from a Plane

To be in two places at once has always been a mind-tickling idea. I think of A Walk to Remember, the Mandy Moore film based on the Nicholas Sparks novel. I think of physics and quantum mechanics, then I realize I don't really know much about that. I think of Nightcrawler in the X-Men movies - blue-skinned Allan Cumming with a prehensile tail - but oh wait, that's teleportation. 

It's not really omnipresence, or god-like ubiquity. It's more the thought of breaking free from the singularity of place. It's about tearing down a limited human dimension, and in the process, see more than just what is.

For now, we settle on 'bird's eye view' - seeing more than one place at a time, in this case three. The photo was taken aboard AirPhil Express' early morning Cebu-Iloilo flight on Tuesday, May 8. The foreground is the northern end of Negros island; the thin strip of land on the middle-right is Cebu, and above it, almost an extension of the clouds, is Leyte. My camera is a Nokia C3-00, if offended DSLR users are wondering.

Old Mr. Pork Tendon

Old Chinese man selling dried pork tendon barges into the store. I'm the one in charge while Mother is at the salon. Dear Lord, what infernal punishment is this? The following conversation takes place in Hokkien.

Man: Boy, is your mother here?

Me: Uh no, she's away.

Man: Where's your father?

Me: He's on his way.

Man: Oh. (Senses the perfect opportunity to *fool* me.) Well you have to buy these pork tendons, really good, P260 only.

Me: Uh, yeah, let me call Mother first.

Man: Ah yes, okay okay, do that.

I attempt to call Mother. Takes a very long to establish a connection. Then, she answers.

Mother: Yow punk, what is up? (That's basically the essence of what she says.)

Me: Uh, are you gonna buy dried pork tendons?

Mother: Ohow! Is the old Chinese man there? (She says exactly that. Apparently, old Chinese man is a regular. Then again, my parents have to deal with secondhand fame in the Ilonggo Chinese community, courtesy of my paternal grandfather, God bless his soul.)

Me: Spot on, woman.

Mother: Tell him we're not getting yet.

Me: (Relieved that Chinese man will have to leave soon.) Suree you beauty.

Then to old Chinese man, whom I've asked to sit. He's admiring our images of the Chinese gods. Yes, it's requisite for every Chinese business establishment to have them. 

Me: Mother says we're not getting yet.

Man: Oh, okay okay, I better get going then. So your Mother says you're not going to sell?

I'm confused. In Hokkien Chinese, the words for 'buy' and 'sell' are both buei, just that the former uses the first (higher) tone and the latter, the fourth (harder) tone. 

Me: We're not gonna sell?

Man: You're not gonna sell?

Me: Uh, I'm sorry?

Man: Oh boy, you gotta go brush up on your Hokkien, huh? You're gonna need it someday.

Me: Uh, yeah man, I don't understand your mumbling?

Of course I don't say that. I just smile as he exits, smile like an ambassador for peace

An Outstanding Outstanding Circle

And so April ends - with two short stories, three novels, seven films, a (back-to-high-school) haircut, a new dog, and a reunion.

I haven't written much since I came home, and that's understating it; then again, I do have the stories for an excuse. The novels and films are a result of my effort to be as non-medical as possible this summer. I am still reeling from Michael Shannon and Michael Fassbender in Take Shelter and Shame, respectively. The haircut is my mother's brainchild, and the dog is adorable and noisy. My sister named her Glinda, so now we have Elphaba the labradour and Glinda the golden retriever. 

But last night's reunion is what I mainly want to talk about here.

There is an organization in the province known as the Outstanding Students Circle of Iloilo (OSCI). Every year, it awards ten elementary and ten secondary school students based on their academic grades in school, a list of co-curricular activities, a written examination (ala college entrance exams, but even more challenging), and a personal interview. So yeah, it's pretty tough to make the cut, as everyone - public, private, government, science high school - is mixed in a single category. To be an awardee is virtually to be given lifetime membership to this circle of great people and great things.    

The website, including a backgrounder:
http://outstandingstudentscircleofiloilo.blogspot.com

And for the curious:

1.
http://outstandingstudentscircleofiloilo.blogspot.com/2009/02/ten-outstanding-secondary-school.html

2.
http://vincengregorii.blogspot.com/2009/04/osci-of-someones-cautious-intentions.html *

* The top 1 of the elementary and high school categories are tasked to deliver responses on behalf of the awardees.

The high school category awardees, back in March 2009. Pardon the size; I just grabbed this from the website.

OSCI alumni (the awards began in 2006) plus the organizers, April 29, 2012. I surmise there should be at least seventy of us, but there you go. Photo by Queenie Umadhay.

Now if I may insert my warranted opinion: What I really like about this circle is the fact that, unlike elsewhere (that includes scholarly circles of the intellectual elite in college, if you know what I mean), people here don't rub their 'outstanding-ness' in your face. In fact, if you happen to enter a room full of OSCI people, you wouldn't think they're that. The creme de la creme, so to speak, never feeling the need to shout to the world, "Hey, look at me, I'm outstanding!" And that's precisely why it's a prestigious honor to be part of the circle.  

The First Week of Summer, and Before It

A week ago, I came home for the summer vacation. It wasn't scorching hot at all last Wednesday, and the days leading up to Easter, unlike earlier around noontime when my head felt like it was about to burst. Honestly, I sort of envied the humongous - and I mean humongous - watermelons sitting in the shade at home. We got them at some side-of-the-highway fruit stall ten kilometers outside the city last Friday. One of them weighed 7kg, like what the, right? And we got them for less than a hundred apiece, while the Chinese-owned supermarkets in the pine tree-slaying, Chinese-owned malls sold those fruits for P100 for a half-piece. Crazy capitalists!

This is a watermelon.

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I was at the LTFRB (the government body for land transportation) the entire morning. I was supposed to have my year-old driver's license upgraded to a non-professional one (which differs from the professional type in that you're allowed to do public utility vehicles for the latter). Lo and behold, I got a 28/40 in the written exam! That means I was two points short of passing. You'd think someone who's spent the past year battling endless multiple choice exams would ace this one without so much as a flick of the wrist. But it's quite a long, looong, and complicated story, and I'll tell you my own theories about how that came to be when and if we meet. And don't even get me started on those exams, which are totally useless and a waste of time and paper to begin with (LTFRB eff you). Needless to say, it's just like that jolly Genetics exam we had last year that I "failed" as well.

*   *   *   *   *

I like the Holy Week. On Good Friday, we'd do the Visita Iglesia (which is actually supposed to be done the night before). We'd hit some of the famous municipal churches in the province, taking the national highway to Antique. (This route was actually featured in The Philippine Star's Sunday magazine.) And then along the way, we'd end up buying food and stuff, which is how we got those monstrous watermelons. And I wonder how ironic it is that we indeed abstain on all sorts of animal flesh except seafood but end up having a seafood feast. And the Easter Vigil last Saturday was a disaster in the literacy arena. Only one of the five readers actually deserved to be there, and sometimes I wonder whether people who do the readings realize that when they make a fool of themselves up there, they're doing the entire community a disservice. Why on earth do they even accept the job in the first place?

The famous Molo Church, which is quite near our house.

*   *   *   *   * 

The cousins had their first get-together last Monday night. And we watched Moron 5 and the Crying Lady. And all I can say is this: Wenn Deramas, off with your head! Luis Manzano looked too affluent to be dumb, Billy Crawford was annoying, Marvin Agustin was even more annoying and unbelievable, DJ Durano did the worst acting job among the five, and Martin Escudero was one stunning lady. The screenplay was actually the worst part of it all; it was like someone just wanted to make a film on a whim and poisoned people to put it onscreen. The only good things there were (spoiler alert!) the fat lady who did the ropes in the end (she was the only one that caught me off guard and had me genuinely laughing for minutes), classic Jon Santos, and John Lapus in certain scenes. 

*   *   *   *   *

I'm forty-five films into my Oscarthon. So far, Midnight in Paris is still in the lead.

*   *   *   *   *   

National Bookstore was having this huge sale last Sunday - 20% off everything, I think - which means I'm literate once more. Today I finished The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time and now I think I may be borderline or almost autistic. Next up: A Thousand Splendid Suns and Life of Pi. Yep, that's how far behind I am.

Khaled Hosseini, author of Suns and The Kite Runner, is an internist as well. Inspiration.

*   *   *   *   *

For the nth time: If you have the money and time, go to Onstage Greenbelt this weekend or the next and see Repertory Philippines' Jekyll and Hyde. Jett Pangan is a voice to be reckoned with. I WANT his singing voice, his range, his technique, for Christmas. I can now imagine him as Jean Valjean and The Phantom. Kalila Aguilos is as slutty and dirty (I don't mean sex-dirty) as Lucy can get; she does not have the best belt around, but perhaps it's why she's probably the best Lucy around, all earthy and internally battered. Next up for Ms. Aguilos: Sally Bowles in Cabaret, yes? Cris Villonco, always fine in acting, is somewhat disturbing in the way she (lazily) enunciates her lyrics. 

I'm not going to stop myself from being cliche, so allow me to say that Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo does it again. Direction is brilliant, choreography is crisp and masterful. She did it with Little Women, and now here is another priceless work of theater. And that ensemble is heaven-sent, truly (I must mention Mayen Bustamante-Cadd, who did a riot of a job as Lady Beaconsfield, and Teenee Chan and her pipes). Jekyll and Hyde runs Friday and Saturday at 8PM and Saturday and Sunday at 3:30PM, with a final 8PM performance on Sunday April 22.

The first big ensemble number, "Facade." This, and its Act II counterpart "Murder, Murder" are highlights of the show. And for this one, think of Les Mis' "At the End of the Day," only British. Also, note the ingenious set. Got this from Ms. Menchu's Facebook page.

*   *   *   *   *

The first year of med school is over. I just have to say this: I have never learned so much in a single school year. Separate post for this. Good night.