"The Mango Bride" by Marivi Soliven

Today our monthly  Museum Volunteers of the Philippines (MVP) book club meeting was a little more upmarket than usual and took place in a board room in Ortigas. We had a video conference via Skype with Marivi Soliven, the author of, “The Mango Bride”. She took this photo of us, and you can just see her holding her camera in the bottom right side of the shot. Now I am pleased that I chose to sit next to our MVP president. On her right is the woman who contacted Marivi and made all the logistical and technical arrangements. She was nervous that something would go amiss with the hardware, but it all ran very smoothly. It was extremely kind of her to organize for us all to enter her family’s place of business for our meeting.

Marivi was very generous with her time and answered all our questions fully. Her novel was a page-turner and I was compelled to read until the end to find out “what happened”. It turns out that her American editor had suggested a change in the order as originally it had been written with the “secret” being revealed within the first hundred pages, and I would have to agree this was a wise decision.

The narrator of the tale, Amparo, appears to be an autobiographical character and this is probably why her depiction rings the truest in my view. It was interesting to learn that Marivi herself works as a telephone interpreter in Berkeley and her book draws on her own experiences while interpreting for various clients. Some of the events sounded too horrific to be true but sadly it seems there is a solid basis for inclusion in her novel. The novel, via the telephone clients and Beverly, details some very harsh situations suffered by immigrants in the U.S. and while it is common to “hear” stories passed on by third parties, I have always wondered how accurate the re-telling of events has been. Now I know.

We also learned she had shared the writing process of her book with a writer’s group of whom only one person was familiar with the Philippines. Additionally, her editor suggested revisions to her novel to make it more accessible for an American audience. This helped to explain why some of the characters appeared larger-than-life and a little over the top. Having said that, several of us requested Marivi to read excerpts featuring the formidable Senora Concha who definitely has an awe-inspiring presence. And hearing Marivi read a scene, we all could visualize the Senora clearly and were swept completely away.

I must confess that the book’s coverage of mail-order brides had made me feel reluctant to comment on the novel and I had been ambivalent about attending the event. Needless to say, I am pleased to have been present and I was further impressed by how seriously Marivi feels about the issue of domestic violence encountered by immigrants when she mentioned her involvement with the non-profit organisation called Access (see here). She will be attending a fundraising dinner on October 2^nd in San Diego called “Saving Beverly”, (see here for more information).

Marivi was very lovely and gracious and I was touched by how much she appreciated us as her readers. See her blog here for her account. All of us were very uplifted by the experience and there was talk of approaching other authors for future book hook-ups. I find that reading regularly is more of an effort these days with many distractions close at hand, but today reminded me once more of the singular power of a good book. 

Viva El Libro!

GK Enchanted Farm Summer trip

This is an article I wrote for the Museum Volunteers of the Philippines magazine.

On the first of July and braving uncertain skies, a busload of curious Museum Volunteers of the Philippines (MVP) members left bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from Santuario de San Antonio to visit the GK Enchanted Farm in Angat, Bulacan. GK, i.e. Gawad Kalinga, is an organization that has received considerable attention in the Philippine press over the years. I initially heard about it several years ago when I attended a MVP study group presentation given by a former MVP member, and I was thereby quite interested to view one of the jewels in the GK crown.

For people unfamiliar with GK, let me add some background here. It is described by Wikipedia as a poverty-alleviation and nation-building organisation, which first emerged nearly twenty years ago with youth camps and house-building activities being held in Caloocan City (an area with a large squatter population). One of the founding members was Mr. Antonio (Tony) Meloto, who was a member of the Catholic lay community organization Couples for Christ (CFC) at the time. After being formally established in 2003, it more recently parted ways with its parent CFC in 2009, and now stands independently alone.

We arrived at the Enchanted Farm shortly after 9 a.m. and were herded into the Hyundai Center for Green Innovation. Here we were welcomed by Tony, who had just returned from speaking engagements in Europe. He greeted one of our members and expressed his gratitude for the help he received from her family when he was a young boy and he expounded how this had given him a leg up in life. However, he remained so troubled by the suffering caused by poverty in the Philippines that eventually his subsequent success started to feel hollow. It was at this point that he felt impelled to act to change the status quo and he founded GK. Please visit the website here  where you can read further about the GK mission to end poverty for five million families by 2024.

Tony brimmed with charisma and overflowed with enthusiasm as he promoted the GK vision for the Enchanted Farm to be a farm village university, a Silicon Valley for social entrepreneurship, and a social tourism hub. With obvious pride, ‘Tito’ Tony introduced the large and ever-expanding cast of smiling youth who are responsible for the implementation of this dream. These included volunteer graduates from the best universities in the Philippines, business school interns from France, and high school boys from Angat.

Following this we started our walking tour with our Ateneo Graduate School of business guide: we were shown around part of the 34-hectare farm and saw row after row of thriving vegetables, fruit trees, as well as pigs being raised compassionately. The abundance of the produce was especially impressive given that the area was originally a quarry site for Lafarge and the fertility of the soil had been lovingly restored via a lot of earthworm soil and much hard labour. Our passionate guide shared his war stories and answered our questions about their farm university model and course accreditation goals. Our last stop before lunch was to visit the tranquil stone gardens.

The fresh vegetables and meat that were presented to us for our meal were delicious and served as a true testimony that the farm has triumphed over its history. Everyone filled their plates and heartily tucked into the crisp and crunchy fare. There is accommodation available at the farm and a new wellness centre is due to open in the next year, which is sure to transform it into an even more popular tourism destination rapidly.

We stopped by the souvenir stand which was popular as much for its air conditioning as for the various items available for purchase such as soap, shampoo, lotion, coffee, peanut spread etc.

Our afternoon activities commenced with a stop at the earthworm soil centre. It was a very good example of a key tenet of Tony’s, which is that success will occur when the “genius” of the farmers is combined with the “genius” of the business graduates. We listened to a joint presentation of the two camps, which demonstrated clearly they have pooled their resources to produce riches for the farm.

Next, we went to the Plush and Play stuffed toy workshop where a group of women were sitting at sewing machines and making toys. This was the province of a young man from France who had come to the farm for six months and ended up staying two years. He told us his goal had been to produce a stuffed toy representative of Filipino culture, and judging from the cute wares on display with names like Ann Kamatis and Manny Pakwan, it would appear that he has achieved this goal. Frankly, I was impressed with his ability to talk over the deafening sound of the rain that had started to pour down after we entered the workshop.

We were lucky to have escaped the rain until this point, although high humidity had made its presence palpable throughout the day. Working in this kind of weather must take a certain amount of dedication and zeal and the volunteers are to be highly commended for their intense efforts over the years. Likewise, undeterred by the elements, we unfurled our trusty umbrellas and made our way back to the bus to take us home again.

I had a lot of questions to ask my seatmates about the day, but by now the bushy-tails had lost some of their bushiness and surrounding heads had started to slump. I was eventually left alone with my own thoughts and reflections, and I drifted in and out of slumber myself until we reached Makati. It was definitely a thought-provoking tour and I would like to take a final moment to thank our MVP tour coordinator for smoothing out all the arrangements and ensuring that we “beat” the traffic home.

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And some more food for thought here, this is an interesting article from the Aeon magazine outlining how higher consumption can contribute to a fairer society.

Escolta Street, Binondo, Manila

Escolta Street is one of the oldest streets in Manila and it is a name that often crops up in conversations about the good ol' days and in literature set during pre-WW2 (see here for old photographs that convey the style it epitomised). In case you were wondering, Lungsod ng Maynila translates as "City of Manila". My friend and I ventured here the other day because I was interested to see an exhibit by an artist who has been sponsored by the Australian Embassy (amongst other organisations). Although it is less than ten kilometres from my residence, the traffic flow is quite unpredictable and as far as I can recall, this was my first visit to this historic part of the city.

It was the last day of the exhibit by Fiona Gavino who is based in Fremantle, Western Austalia. Her work "seeks to highlight the relationship between the material cultural traditions of rattan and basket weaving and the value of tradition in identity." The exhibit was set up in a shop window facing the street reminiscent of a department store display. The location of her artworks is part of a concerted effort to revitalise this area of town by holding artist residencies by an organisation called 98B (see here for more). She was not in her office so we set off for a stroll to explore, very appropriate as this was the done thing to do in the day in Escolata. 

A little further along I came across more activity by 98B in the form of a seminar being conducted in a shell of an old department store building. Posters advertising a "Future Market" with artisan goods on sale hung from the pillars. It is fair to say that the street has definitely left its more affluent days behind it, but there is a faint promise of rejuvenation lingering in the air.

The edifices along this street where it is said that the earliest skyscrapers were built in the Philippines stand out. It must have been a bustling hub of activity and very pretty before its original cobblestones (imported from Hong Kong) were paved over and cars took over the streets. Binondo has the nickname of "China town" because this was the area where the Spanish rulers permitted ethnic Chinese immigrants to settle (more here for those interested). But from what I have learned via the Internet, Escolta Street was reserved for European businesses only (not sure if this is correct or not). What is true is that the more famous area of China town is situated a few streets away.

This is the old Capitol theater with its Art Deco plasterwork on the outside walls and situated opposite the exhibit. 

And as we started to walk, I noticed the building we were passing had a very elaborate facade and there was an open lobby with old photographs hanging on the walls. It turned out to be the Calvo Building, which is well known for being built in 1938 (and is therefore considered to be an "old" building in a city which was extensively bombed during WWII). The Calvo family were of Spanish origin and the family coat of arms was prominently displayed next to these photographs.

This photograph is dated 1938 and the Calvo daughter is seated third from the left. I looked at this photograph and immediately concluded it has been taken at a debutante ball. I mentioned this to my friend who is not familiar with the custom and then spent some time explaining what exactly a deb ball was. 

Expanding upon the origins of this practice to my friend, reminded me of the Georgette Heyer novels I read when I was younger set in the eighteenth century and of my mum who attended her own deb ball in the mid-sixties in Tasmania and who wanted me two decades later to be a deb also. It was not something that appealed to me at the time. In my mum's case, she was presented to a member of the Catholic Church, perhaps the local bishop, when she made her coming out and there is a photograph in our home of her standing in front of a solemn gentleman wearing a cap. I imagine that perhaps had I been interested, I would have been formally introduced to our local Member of Parliament in our small country town. In days of yore, it signalled that a female was ready for marriage, something I am sure that had I acted upon would have horrified my mother. For my mum, she reacted a few years later by taking matters into her own hands and going on a working holiday to the opposite side of the country, where she met my dad and married, and never returned to live in her birthplace. Since I virtually did the same thing at around the same age, I have no comment.

Over the years, I have listened to young women describing their "debut" party in the Philippines. It seems to be a more wide-spread custom here whereas in Australia, talking about a debutante ball has an old-fashioned ring to it. Read here for background about a typical debut party in the Philippines. I personally cannot imagine having a party where I asked eighteen male family members and friends to give me a flower and dance with me. I am pretty sure I would not have been able to make up the necessary numbers when I was eighteen.

This is the Regina building built in 1934 and designed by Andres Luna de San Pedro (the son of painter Juan Luna). It has a stately and elegant presence. We were there on a sunny and hot day which is perfect for taking photos.

Under the eaves of these old buildings is a regular neighbourhood where people go about their business. There are the same ambulatory vendors you see all over the country selling local fruit and vegetables. They live a precarious existence and can be moved on at any time by the authorities.

Here was another first for me. The young gentlemen wearing the bright blue vest is taking the blood pressure of the seated vendor. He is working for an anti-hypertension NGO and visits weekly. The cost: ten pesos (￥25, AUD0.24, USD0.23). The toddler to the left was happily sucking a plastic wrapper picked up from the street just a few minutes prior to this photograph being taken. 

There was construction work for a building underway and we walked by a number of people sleeping on the street. This woman and her daughter are probably the family of a casual day worker on the building site. This little girl looked so happy playing with her mother's clothing.

We walked back to my friend's car and her driver told her that the artist had returned while we were away and that she had a lot of tattoos, something that is still considered to be a little racy in the Philippines and of enough note to be mentioned as an identifying feature.

About to climb into the car,  a group of young people all wearing matching t-shirts caught our eye as they were leaving the Calvo building. Curious we inquired about their purpose for the visit, and they replied they were here with their review centre. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall as they commented about the photographs adorning the lobby walls. Much closer in age to the daughter of the Calvo family, could they identify with her, I wonder?

Brave New World(view)s

I felt like I had stepped back into my academic past when my friend invited me to participate in a docent tour for the latest exhibiton at the Metropolitan Museum, "Brave New Worlds: My Utopia in Your Dystopia". During the tour, mention was made of Shakespeare, Chomsky, and post-modernism, and our learner tour guide was a fresh-faced graduate with great enthusiasm for the works and a head full of information. Rather disappointingly for me, it was a struggle to retrieve much of any relevance from my memory banks and I had to repress a strong urge  (until I got home) to whip out my smartphone and do some quick fact-checking.

The blue creatures depicted on the exhibition banner at the entrance to the museum looked very familiar and I wondered if they resembled the etchings I had once seen at another gallery and from an earlier century? Or were they representations of those underground creatures from that book by H.G. Wells (i.e. the Morlocks in "The Time Machine")? It turned out to be neither, and they were instead, an artist's rendition of his family members. For once, I am thankful that our family has no artists. Do they remind anyone else of anything in particular?

The curator of the exhibition has explained his concept of the "Brave New Worlds" by saying that, "in this millenium, we are faced with cataclysmic decline of the environment and societies, and artists have dealt or anticipated this world on the verge of collapse". The objects on display were a diverse range of mediums: textiles, digital, aluminium, paper, wood and our guide shared the artists' visions with us, which was quite necessary. I like to believe I have a positive view of the world and coupled with the fact that I am not really an activist, I need that starting point to appreciate them properly (just like Catherine Martin does apparently. I had never heard of her until I caught this interview on Australian Network today, but she has won four Oscars  for costume and design in films. I found her world view fascinating and she spoke about her own starting point with candour).

Returning to the tour, several of the works were a little on the sensational side or involved scenes that are confronting to view, and I found myself suddenly blurting out mid-tour, "It is just not nice at all" after the group had been asked how they liked a certain installation. Fortunately my outburst did not impugn my host country's national honour as the artist was Australian, but I was surprised that viewing this particular work evoked such a violent reaction from me. Surprised and exhilarated. Our guide was kind enough to expound on the rise in recent years of "statementism" (is that the name of a movement already? or do people still talk about making political statements with their art?). I was provoked to think about a specific issue but I am not sure I am better off for it. I will return next week with my friend and attend a curator/artist talk, so will update you if my view changes at all.

What was really cool about this museum visit was that the Director joined the tour and described how certain art works had been assembled in situ. One big aluminium wall was welded together inside the hall and will have to be dismantled after the show is over. Another piece involving a dumpster was created by the artist on site using locally sourced materials. And there is another piece yet to be installed after the French artist arrives next week.

I found myself looking at my neighbourhood in a different light as I walked home.

  

All at sea

Last Sunday I bought a fish (see picture to the left) at my local market for my husband who grew up on the coast and who would eat fish every day of the week if he could, whereas I on the other hand, grew up in the Australian bush* where eating fish and chips or fish fingers** was pretty much the extent of my seafood diet, and consequently. I can take it or leave it, but because I love him, I buy him fish (how unromantic is that?).

This time I remembered to record an image and make a note of its name while I was still at the market because based on previous experience, I knew the Tagalog name would disappear from my memory banks during my walk home if I did not. According to the vendor, I had purchased a banak, a deep sea fish from Palawan (Php300/kilo). Later through a search on the Internet I determined it was a sea bream. 

I do not recognise this fish at all, and I don't think it is available in Japan but even though I have learned more about Japanese fish since I was a newly-wed and felt squeamish looking a fish in the eye (and I am proud that I can at least recognise shake, karei, saba, sanma, buri, suzuki, maguro now) there are many that stump me, and I would not be surprised if someone told me, "that is X, you know". It may even be a fish that my Abrolhos Island diver friends would be familiar with.

The week before I had bought this mystery fish (to the right) and even though I conscientiously repeated the name several times and I even had a witness with me who turned out to be totally unreliable, afterward I could not for the life of me recall what it was named. I believe it begins with the letter K but have had had no luck finding online any Filipino fish with a K initial. I even tried Google image search which initially showed me a lot of pictures of cake until I entered the word fish in the search box. Then it just showed me other fish but none were the same colour even. Think Google needs to sharpen its search skills somewhat if it wants my repeat business. 

I really would love to know the name because this fish was quite tasty and only had a medium-amount of bones. Many fish found in the Philippines have more bones than the fish eaten in Japan, which makes them less fun to eat. I steamed it in a saucepan with sinigang soup which is made from tamarind and has a sour taste (see here for a recipe, but I must confess I used a supermarket packet). 

Now if I were in the blog business, I would offer an awesome prize such as a week-long holiday diving at one of the top 10 dive destinations in the Philippines but since I am just a regular Joe(di)-blow, all I can offer is my gratitude. Please could someone identify this fish for me and put me out of my misery? I hate being all at sea...

UPDATE: We have a winner, scroll down for the answer ***

   * rural town but not the desert

  ** known also as fish sticks
*** kitang

Visions on a Sunday in Antipolo

Desirous of a change of scenery, we rented a little taxi (seen to the left) and escaped Makati by heading east for Antipolo city, which because it is perched atop the elevated slopes of the Sierra Madre mountain range is cooler than Manila (check here for a map). We were surprised how quickly the terrain transformed into highlands after we exited the city. The photograph below shows where we stopped en route to take in the view of Ortigas. I am not sure what the height of the land here is above sea level and we may have still been technically in hill territory, but shortly after we departed this look-out area, the road gradient steepened and the countryside steadily became more mountainous. 

What was also noticeable was a large number of churches, cemeteries and quarries. A very hol-y place indeed! 

Our itinerary was meticulously planned; as in, based on my recollection of a friend mentioning a visit to an art gallery in Antipolo several years ago, I did a web search to locate it, and then I pushed my luck further and searched for other sightseeing spots in Antipolo to round out the day and came across the names of a waterfall and an old church. 

I carefully copied the names of all three destinations on my hotel stationery so I could show them to Nito, our taxi driver. We met Nito several weeks earlier when he had taken us to the practice golf range on the Villamor Airforce Base, and had learned at that time that he worked weekdays for a Japanese furniture company and drove a taxi on the weekends as his second job. Armed with his cell phone number as a backup, we requested his services for our Sunday drive. The waterfall seemed a good place to commence the day's activities, but when I spotted the sign for the Pinto Art Gallery while Nito was seeking directions, I  decided it was wiser to alter the itinerary order.

The Pinto Art Gallery, which is within the Silangan Gardens, is located in a regular residential subdivision. The entrance to the gallery was not immediately obvious and when the first door I tried was firmly locked, my heart sank and I thought, "Oh, no, have I been caught out again by internet misinformation?" But then all was well, as we discovered the entrance hiding to the side. Inside the walls, a very spacious and verdant garden dotted with white buildings revealed itself.  We received a map and set forth to explore. The gardens were delightful and the art was original and provocative.                 

I wondered who was responsible for creating such a lovely fusion of creative pieces with nature. There was a plaque on the front wall with a list of names which led me to speculate that perhaps it was a cooperative run by artists, although it looked more like the home of a wealthy family. Post-visit I returned to the internet to search for some answers. It turns out that the Silangan Gardens are the summer home of Doctor Joven Cuanang who is a neurologist associated with St Luke's Medical Center and an art patron (see here for more). He established the Silangan Foundation for the Arts, Culture and Ecology, which is devoted to Philippine Contemporary Art, and is its current Chairman and President. 

       

It was a tranquil and peaceful place to spend an hour. We would have liked to have lingered over merienda (morning tea) and enjoyed the charming scenery longer but the cafe was emphatically closed, and without an excuse to dally, we withdrew. Please see here for more details about Pinto Gallery on its homepage. 

The Hinulugang taktak (waterfall) was next on my list. We found it easily enough but sadly, it was closed to the public for repairs. A friend of mine told me that the falls dried up a few years ago and the works have been "ongoing" for some time now. 

Lastly was the Boso Boso Church. I chose for us to visit the church over the local cathedral despite the fancy dome being home to a 17th century wooden statue of Mary because the church was said to have been built in 1700 and was part of the original settlement of Antipolo. There was mention that parts of it had been destroyed and re-built at various times in its history, but the descriptions I encountered made it seem like an interesting place to see. (Post-visit: I read that it is believed by some people that author Jose Rizal mentioned this church in his seditious novel, "El Filibusterismo").

This is where being a tourist in an unfamiliar environment can be equally a hindrance and a help. It was really quite far to the church from the waterfall. Nito did a good job to find it at all. I had my doubts. The little taxi's engine bravely whirred as it ascended and the rocking motion sent one of the backseat passengers to sleep. I gazed out onto green expanse after green expanse, church after cemetery after church, and our fellow journeymen on the road, the jeepneys. I had no idea how long it would take to reach our destination, and knew that I would probably not receive any elucidation should I attempt to put the question to Nito for it was clear to me that it was his first visit to the region.

It probably took about an hour to arrive at the church, and Nito's face visibly fell when he saw the desolate church (see above photographs)  and my husband jovially enquired, "Don't you know this church? It is very important to Filipino people ". In retrospect, I do wish I had known about the Rizal connection so I could have reassured him about the worth of a visit to such a remote area. 

The plaque screwed on the front of the church stated that it had first been erected by Jesuit priests in 1700 as a mission church. Geographically, I could not pinpoint the logic behind the choice of locale. I could not see a river near by, nor was it on a high point with logistical advantage. The church has been extensively re-built over time and I could not distinguish any original materials amongst the hollow concrete bricks. And unfortunately, any written records of this kind of history have been either lost to mould, or have been lost to the dust of academia. Other than the couple who were selling pineapples at the church gate, the sole praying parishioner, and the two boys who walked through the courtyard, there were eerily, very few people around. 

Thus, it is a help sometimes not to know the complete details, otherwise I may have struck the church off our impromptu tour and headed back to the malls of Makati early, heathen that I am. Which means what? I would not be able to laugh with my husband about the trip we took to such a famous historical landmark. "It's research!" he insisted. Yes, well perhaps it is. More importantly, it was just the change in scenery we had been hankering after in the a.m. and which had prompted the urge to take a Sunday trip out of town in the first place.

An eye-catching Greenbelt experience

 

Lushly green, this shopping mall is appropriately named, "Greenbelt". It is toted as the premier shopping destination in the Philippines on Wikipedia and I can attest to the validity of this claim as it truly does come complete with a raft of restaurants, high-end fashion shops, cinemas, and an open-air chapel. It possesses a dynamic, almost throbbingly alive atmosphere and we have found ourselves soaking in its vibrancy while listening to live music more than once or twice on a Saturday night. During the week, I will often meet a friend at a coffee shop overlooking the pond where two turtles live.

Counting the number of global stores that have hung a shingle here, you could be forgiven for thinking it is a generic mall but the incorporation of the outdoors into the design makes it unlike shopping centres I have experienced anywhere else we have resided. It does become a sticky steam bath during the rainy season and you are likely to be hit with fat drops of water as you scurry between covered areas, but nonetheless, it remains a unique space in a city where urban sprawl is fast spreading its tentacles and choking any greenery in its path. When we arrived in Makati for the first time in February 2001, there was only Greenbelt 1, which multiplied relatively quickly in the following years to become Greenbelt 2, 3, 4, and 5.

The origins of the mall also reflect the history of the Philippines as it was developed and is managed by the real estate arm of Ayala Corporation. This is a family business established in 1834 which has diversified to the extent that its services reach into every home in some shape or form. The list is long, but I will include it for demonstrative purposes: real estate development, banking and financial services, telecommunications, water distribution infrastructure, electronics manufacturing services, automotive dealership, overseas real estate investments, business process outsourcing, renewable energy and power. One of the company's most visible accomplishments is the development of the Makati to become the central business district of Manila and a residential hub. The family traces its roots in the Philippines back to the 18th century when their forebears immigrated here from Germany and Spain (the Spanish side of the family has aristocratic links). Please see here if you are interested to learn more . Needless to say, this family is a prime force in the affairs of the country.

Coincidentally this week, while by day I was navigating the complexity of this modern mall with its labyrinthine floors and connecting escalators, by night, I was being transported back to a simpler time, courtesy of a book I had started reading entitled, "The Women in Black" by Madeline St. John. It was set in the Sydney of the late 1950s in a department store during an era when women would do all their shopping in the one department store and their clothing purchases were altered to fit them. As someone who has spent more than my fair share of hours within change-room confines, there is a part of me that laments the loss of such all-encompassing institutions. My grandmother used to make special shopping forays to Melbourne around the same time of the book's milieu and was said to have had, "really beautiful clothes", and I could almost imagine her walking through the doors and placing her order with one of the characters vividly depicted in St. John's novel. I was also struck by the fact that the author herself was an expat and wrote the book while she was living in London.

Is it distance that focuses the eye, I wonder? This return to Makati I am forcing myself to look anew at my surroundings, which quite often means shop buildings and street pavements. I am aware that it only takes a few short shuffles past a place before familiarity fades the seen into unseen. Life is too short for everything to become predictable too soon so I am hoping my third eye will allow me to experience a new world full of curiosities and awe during this next stay. I wish I could peer into the future, but since I cannot, it is a case again of having to wait to see what the future holds.........................???

The Story of Seikosha i.e. the "House of Exquisite Workmanship"

19th century swinging clock

I spend a substantial amount of time studying maps and seeking out scenic sights for us to visit on our weekends so it was a pleasant surprise when, without any fanfare, the Seiko Museum showed up on my radar one day. Better still, it turned out to be almost in our back yard. I was startled that Seiko had established their museum in a nearby, nondescript neighbourhood in Sumida ward but whatever the reason was for their decision, it was positive for us, as it meant that we were only a thirty-minute bicycle ride from its doors.

The Seiko Museum has an impressive collection of early timepieces. Some of the pieces had interesting forms (see the 16th century English sun dial to the left), others were beautifully crafted (see the early 19th century pocket-timepiece to the right), or served as a teaching tool (see early 17th century model of Shumi-sen below, the sacred mountain for Buddhists which they believed at the time to be the figurative centre of the universe). Additionally, there were a number of very large upright clocks from various countries and even a model replica of the Big Ben inner workings.

The museum allows photography of all of its exhibits except for this one model (the photograph below left is one of a postcard I bought from the gift shop), I had never seen one before and it piqued my curiosity. I was told it was used to defend the Buddhist belief of geocentrism after the emergence of the new Copernican theory led to attempts to discredit this belief, and by proxy, the Buddhism way of thinking as a whole. A little research later and I unearthed the fact that Shumi-sen is alternatively known as Sumeru (Mount Meru) and is a sacred mountain in Hindhu and Jain cosmology also. Can you see the hourglass shape on top of the table which represents the mountain?

I liked how the museum built on the development of time-keeping devices throughout the ages to place its own products in historical context. The first wristwatch, called the "Laurel" was produced in Japan in 1913 but the Seiko story began considerably earlier than that. It is a fabulous story of hard work and persistance by a man with a remarkable character.

Kintaro Hattori was born in Kyobashi, Tokyo (which is near Ginza) in 1860 and was apprenticed out at the tender age of eleven. He spotted a niche in the market and established his first shop for selling and repairing clocks when he was 21 years old. He first began buying imported clocks from the foreign trading houses in Yokohama before he went on to open his own clock and watch factory.

It took fifteen years before his watch line of business turned a profit but he was determined to produce accurate and high-quality watches and did not give up. The introduction of automated machinery (see right) in 1910 helped move him out of the red and his foresight to stockpile materials prior to World War One consolidated his position when shortages hampered his rivals' activities.

When I found out that the Ginza Wako building (see picture upper left) was completed by my engineer-husband's company in 1932, I felt thrilled to have a semi-personal connection with Hattori's success. I also like one of his mottos, "No hurry or rest". He seemed to have balance on his mind in all things. I started to understand my husband's appreciation of the product and to appreciate anew my own watch, which I received from him when I was a newly-wed and we were still living in Nagoya.

I saw this newspaper advertisement (on the left) from 1938.

The museum also had a section devoted to its sport timers and participation in various Olympics starting from the 1964 Tokyo Games. Seiko watches have also had the honour of being worn by astronauts and James Bond.

And lastly, not that I am a Bond girl, but I quite liked this watch from the sixties (see below).

 

I notice that I neglected to take any photographs of the inner workings of the watches, and I completely overlooked the world's first solar GPS watch released last year. I have been quite negligent - if you would like to know anything about the mechanical side of clocks, the best I can do is suggest you ask my husband. He is the true fan in our family. Here is one more photo of the most current watch that caught my eye. Does that mean I am stuck in the nineties? No never, I prefer to think it is a classic watch, it's a Seiko after all.

The Power of Ordinary People

Arriving at the above golden splendour was an unexpected delight during a visit to my homestay family in Saitama prefecture over the weekend. The Shodensan temple in the town of Menuma is hidden smack bang in the middle of farming land, and the surrounding flat fields with their cultivated rows of leeks (see picture on right) and nearby farmhouses looked way too quiet to have such an ornate temple sheltering in its midst. Otosan (my host father), who has resided all of his eighty-six years in a town less than twenty kilometres away, mentioned several times that this was his first time to visit the area. Part of the reason Shodensan temple has attracted little attention during Otosan's lifetime is because its gaudy, glittering facade only re-emerged in the twenty-first century. For many years, the intricate wooden carvings had been untended and time had chipped away the wooden surface, causing the paint to crack and flake. Their condition deteriorated to a perilous state when barely in the nick of time restoration efforts commenced. 

After seven years and 1.3 billion yen (which is more than 13 million in AUD), the overhaul was complete in 2011. The project was funded with money allocated by the government and with donations from the private sector. I can imagine there was a group of ardently concerned citizens who advocated for these repairs to be undertaken. Their hard work was rewarded as it was designated a kokuho (National Treasure) by the Japanese government the following year. This status is given to items with special historical or artistic significance and will ensure the temple is well-looked after in perpetuity (see here for more about). There is also a news article here which explains in more detail about the restoration processes.

That the temple was rescued through grass-roots efforts also seems quite appropriate as I discovered that the building of the temple had originally been sponsored piecemeal with contributions from the local people over a quarter of a century period from 1735 until its final completion in 1760. An earlier structure had been destroyed in a fire in 1670. And the actual site itself has been in use as a temple from an even earlier era as it was established by a military leader called Saito Sanemori in 1179. It is quite amazing to be in a place that has served a sacred function for more than eight hundred years.

When we drew near to the temple, there was a volunteer guide explaining the symbolism of the different carvings. The fine craftsmanship and detail of the carvings immediately stands out as worthy of high praise indeed. These works were conducted by artisans who may well have honed their skills first on the very famous temples of Nikko which are just a hop, skip and a jump away. I was finding it very interesting to look at artworks that convey a narrative (rare in Japanese temples) when the guide surprised me by referring to foreigners in her spiel. Apparently when she informs foreigners, "It's gold." they respond, "I want it!". I was the only foreigner in the crowd and I don't think she noticed me in the crowd. Not sure why she felt this was worth mentioning twice. My best conclusion is that she was proud to be the custodian of such precious objects and this is how she conveys its value. It was certainly weird to witness her recounting it to her fellow country people. 

I could not really follow her explantion and while I noticed she spent considerable time discussing some carvings of elephants, the significance did not really register until I was doing some Internet fact-checking later. This is when I read that the temple was founded by an escoteric Buddhist Shingon-sect and is dedicated to the guardian god Kangi Jizaiten who has a human body with an elephant head (although I did not see him in this form at Menuma, only the regular elephants).  "Oh, it's Ganesh" I exclaimed to myself. He is familiar to me from my time in Poona, India where I saw many representations of him. I never knew he was a cross-over god with a Japanese strand to his story. In India we had seen a giant Buddha statue in the Ellora Caves from the 12 century, and it was intriguing to now be in Japan and see where a Hindu god has been adopted into the local pantheon. 

This is what I like so much about history (and religion, too). How the separate strands overlap and combine in such disparate scenarios. How old customs and rituals reinvent themselves anew. And how our personal stories help us to make sense of our place in our surroundings.