threshold

I was surprised to receive my visa to go to Europe five days before the start of ASEFUAN's AGM. As an austerity measure, I try to travel by plane only once every year and I had just returned from the US. I saw "signs" pointing towards a continuation of my journey, however: dreams, photographs, an email message. Perhaps I wasn't following any external sign, I was only listening to the promptings of my heart.

I was already in undergrad the first time I thought of visiting Europe, when Anna mentioned that one of Jan's goals was to backpack in the Continent. It was the first time I heard the word "backpack" used as a verb. I was inspired and challenged by thousands of young men and women who travel overland in Europe every summer. So I read E.H. Gombrich's The Story of Art, cut pictures of bridges and gondoliers from travel magazines and- semi-consciously- prepared for the time when I too would see Europe on my own.

It was exam time.

Dose of Asia

Because of the many people going to the Rugby World Cup in Paris, I was on the waiting list of several airlines before finally getting a ticket from Korean Air. I arrived in Incheon Airport before dawn of September 1, ten hours before my connecting flight to Madrid. When I read brochures promoting a Transit Tour- one to six hours of visits to nearby sites- I decided to sign up for the tour of Yonggungsa Temple, where a revered 1,400 year old tree still stands.

At first, I couldn't get past Immigration because supposedly only US citizens with flights bound for the US could take the Transfer Tour without a visa. "But there's no such requirement in the brochure," I told one officer, "it says only the passport and flight ticket are required."

I wanted to see a bit more of Asia before going to Europe, to build up the fiber of my Asianness. I needed to use what Kidlat Tahimik calls the "indi-genius." I filled up another exit form and whispered a short prayer.

Three hours later, I was standing in the rain before Yonggungsa's fabled tree.

Magnification

I arrived in Spain a day too early and didn't have a hotel reservation.

"You can stay in my place," said James, an acoustics engineer who had been sitting in front of me on the plane. "I'm renting an apartment near Plaza de Espana."

The following day, after a breakfast of churros con chocolate, we visited El Escorial, built by Felipe II, after whom the Philippines was named. We entered the crypt where he and his wife Isabela- together with almost all the Spanish monarchs from Charles I to Alfonso XIII- are buried. I thought, wouldn't it be nice if Spain could give her sister the Philippines one of her castles as a sign of partnership and friendship?

Here's my friend in the fortress-monastery's garden:


I liked Spain because it reminded me of home: kumusta in Spanish is simply "como esta;" the buildings have design elements that are similar to those found in Intramuros and Ermita; the Catholic churches display many paintings of saints and dying martyrs; and the pace of life is languorous and sybaritic. The best word I can think of to describe its culture is hyper-Filipino: imagine magnifying a walk in Intramuros four or five times. You would see that Madrid looks similar, except it has bigger plazas, more statues, and wider rivers of people ambling in the streets in the late afternoon and early evening.

I even developed a hypothesis as to how "Filipino time" came to be, since Spanish time appears to be yet another magnification. Many Spaniards, for example, have lunch between 1 and 4 PM, tiny meals called tapas from 5 to 8 PM, and a light dinner at 9:30 or 10 PM. I saw the sensibility behind such a daily rhythm however and was able to embrace it, as if I'd practiced the tapeo all my life.