The Linden Suites, Manila, The Philippines
Sunday 2/16/14
What a good day, topped off by a surprise belated Valentine's present from Andy. It was waiting for me at the front desk when I got back after the day with Prandy and Chiqui. A big red bag full of a dozen little Filipino butter chiffon cakes. Chiqui told me they are "very Filipino." They sure are good. They're a lot bigger than Andy thought they'd be, and I gave a bunch of them to Chiqui.
She and Prandy gave me the grand tour today. I couldn't see much in the museum but I saw enough to get the gist, and Prandy and Chiqui were great guides and descriptors. I really got a sense of how the Philippines have been a crossroads for Asian trade. China was sending merchant boats and trading here hundress of years before the Spaniards arrived.
The aboriginal Filipinos were small and dark, with very kinkty hair. Prandy said some are still around in the more remote and isolated parts of the islands. The Filipinos we know today are a mix of all the peoples that have come through. In fact, the Yulo family has a strong Chinese ancestry, Prandy said.
Gold is mined here, and the museum had a fascinating collectuib if prehistoric gold pieces -- belts, earrings, amulets, crowns and diadems, and other pieces. I was intrigued with the death masks: gold covers for the eyes and mouth, and sometimes the nose, too, There was even an entire shroud woven of solid gold thread.
We drove past theaters and cultural centers that are the legacy of Imelda Marcos. Chiqui just called her "Imelda," and told me a little ghost story about one building that Imelda wanted to use as a Philippine version of the Cannes Film Festival, for all the world-famous movie stars. In the rush to get construction done as soon as possible, part of the concrete structure was not given enough time to cure properly. It collapsed, killing hundreds of workers. To this day, Chiqui says, people claim the place is haunted by the ghosts of those workers. Imelda herself never set foot in the place.
The ghosts of Imelda's workers are an interesting contrast to the spirits resting in the US military cemetery. That visit was definitely the memorable Manila experience of the day. Of my life, even. I knew about the US military cemetery in France, where about 10,000 US World War II soldiers are buried. But I didn't know about this one here in Manila, where more than 17,000 US World War II soldiers are buried.
It's not surprising, when you think how much of that war was fought in the Pacific. As an American I'm embarrassed I wasn't more aware. I got a good little history lesson from Prandy as we toured the cemetery. I didn't know the Japanese bombed Manila the same day they bombed Pearl Harbor. And when he told me his father survived the Bataan Death March, I remembered visiting Poland and notcing how no one there talks about the war because it was too close and too painful, right in their front yards and living rooms. It was worse here. Manila was flattened even more than Warsaw was.
The cemetery is located on a little less than 140 acres of prime land, and absolutely beautiful. It's a sea of white marble crosses in every direction, and in the center there are two crescents of covered walkways forming a large amphitheater. Inside the walkways are hundreds of white marble slabs engraved with the names of all the US soldiers buried here. Prandy told me that in addition to the more than 17,000 soldiers buried here, almost 40,000 are missing. Their bodies were never found.
As we walked, I thought of my Dad and his three brothers, and how his mother sent all four of her sons off to war, and got them all back. I thought of my friend Carol and how she had all three of her sons in the service at one point, and how one of them came back home from Afghanistan in pieces. I thought of Pearl Harbor and the World Trade Center, and I thought of Poland and Manila and Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I thought of Korea and Vietnam, and I thought of how bloody the American Revolution was, and how even bloodier our Civil War was.
I thought of Gandhi and how he led India into independence and sovereignty without war. I thought of the Indian Sovereignty Day celebration, when all the kids wore white for peace, and sang songs. I thought of how we Americans celebrate the Fourth of July with firecrackers and booming cannons.
I thought of something I'd read about how we're all breathing the same molecules of air that our ancestors and their ancestors breathed hundreds and thousands of years ago. I imagined breathing in the same molecules all those soldiers once breathed.
"Do you think all their spirits are hanging around here?" I wondered aloud.
"You never know," Prandy said.
There is a little open chapel with one of the most magnificent mosaics I've ever seen. It covers an entire wall 50 feet high and about as wide. The mosaic pieces are about the size of my little fingernail or smaller, and the design was a garden of green leaves outlined in gold with cream and white flowers on a background of deep blues and turquoises.
As Chiqui described the mosaic to me and I felt it with my fingers, I imagined how each little piece represented each soldier, and how each little piece also represented a peace for each solder.
We sat on one of the garden benches and just savored the peace and quiet for a moment. I thought what a fitting paradox it is that the cemetery is so beautiful and peaceful, when it was created out of the ugly terrible violence of war.
I thought about Gandhi again, and imagined breathing in the air he breathed.
And I promised to remember.
Sunday 2/16/14
What a good day, topped off by a surprise belated Valentine's present from Andy. It was waiting for me at the front desk when I got back after the day with Prandy and Chiqui. A big red bag full of a dozen little Filipino butter chiffon cakes. Chiqui told me they are "very Filipino." They sure are good. They're a lot bigger than Andy thought they'd be, and I gave a bunch of them to Chiqui.
She and Prandy gave me the grand tour today. I couldn't see much in the museum but I saw enough to get the gist, and Prandy and Chiqui were great guides and descriptors. I really got a sense of how the Philippines have been a crossroads for Asian trade. China was sending merchant boats and trading here hundress of years before the Spaniards arrived.
The aboriginal Filipinos were small and dark, with very kinkty hair. Prandy said some are still around in the more remote and isolated parts of the islands. The Filipinos we know today are a mix of all the peoples that have come through. In fact, the Yulo family has a strong Chinese ancestry, Prandy said.
Gold is mined here, and the museum had a fascinating collectuib if prehistoric gold pieces -- belts, earrings, amulets, crowns and diadems, and other pieces. I was intrigued with the death masks: gold covers for the eyes and mouth, and sometimes the nose, too, There was even an entire shroud woven of solid gold thread.
We drove past theaters and cultural centers that are the legacy of Imelda Marcos. Chiqui just called her "Imelda," and told me a little ghost story about one building that Imelda wanted to use as a Philippine version of the Cannes Film Festival, for all the world-famous movie stars. In the rush to get construction done as soon as possible, part of the concrete structure was not given enough time to cure properly. It collapsed, killing hundreds of workers. To this day, Chiqui says, people claim the place is haunted by the ghosts of those workers. Imelda herself never set foot in the place.
The ghosts of Imelda's workers are an interesting contrast to the spirits resting in the US military cemetery. That visit was definitely the memorable Manila experience of the day. Of my life, even. I knew about the US military cemetery in France, where about 10,000 US World War II soldiers are buried. But I didn't know about this one here in Manila, where more than 17,000 US World War II soldiers are buried.
It's not surprising, when you think how much of that war was fought in the Pacific. As an American I'm embarrassed I wasn't more aware. I got a good little history lesson from Prandy as we toured the cemetery. I didn't know the Japanese bombed Manila the same day they bombed Pearl Harbor. And when he told me his father survived the Bataan Death March, I remembered visiting Poland and notcing how no one there talks about the war because it was too close and too painful, right in their front yards and living rooms. It was worse here. Manila was flattened even more than Warsaw was.
The cemetery is located on a little less than 140 acres of prime land, and absolutely beautiful. It's a sea of white marble crosses in every direction, and in the center there are two crescents of covered walkways forming a large amphitheater. Inside the walkways are hundreds of white marble slabs engraved with the names of all the US soldiers buried here. Prandy told me that in addition to the more than 17,000 soldiers buried here, almost 40,000 are missing. Their bodies were never found.
As we walked, I thought of my Dad and his three brothers, and how his mother sent all four of her sons off to war, and got them all back. I thought of my friend Carol and how she had all three of her sons in the service at one point, and how one of them came back home from Afghanistan in pieces. I thought of Pearl Harbor and the World Trade Center, and I thought of Poland and Manila and Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I thought of Korea and Vietnam, and I thought of how bloody the American Revolution was, and how even bloodier our Civil War was.
I thought of Gandhi and how he led India into independence and sovereignty without war. I thought of the Indian Sovereignty Day celebration, when all the kids wore white for peace, and sang songs. I thought of how we Americans celebrate the Fourth of July with firecrackers and booming cannons.
I thought of something I'd read about how we're all breathing the same molecules of air that our ancestors and their ancestors breathed hundreds and thousands of years ago. I imagined breathing in the same molecules all those soldiers once breathed.
"Do you think all their spirits are hanging around here?" I wondered aloud.
"You never know," Prandy said.
There is a little open chapel with one of the most magnificent mosaics I've ever seen. It covers an entire wall 50 feet high and about as wide. The mosaic pieces are about the size of my little fingernail or smaller, and the design was a garden of green leaves outlined in gold with cream and white flowers on a background of deep blues and turquoises.
As Chiqui described the mosaic to me and I felt it with my fingers, I imagined how each little piece represented each soldier, and how each little piece also represented a peace for each solder.
We sat on one of the garden benches and just savored the peace and quiet for a moment. I thought what a fitting paradox it is that the cemetery is so beautiful and peaceful, when it was created out of the ugly terrible violence of war.
I thought about Gandhi again, and imagined breathing in the air he breathed.
And I promised to remember.
RSS Feed