In Marinduque (Monday, July 21 - Tuesday, July 22, 2014)

Monday, July 21, 2014

I rise 4:00 AM and get ready for travel.

View of a side of our house from the driveway. My granddaughters are up 5:00 AM and are getting ready for school. Their bedrooms are lighted up like lanterns in the dawn.

Zebra picks me up 5:45 AM. His cologne smells of sandalwood. He is a cross between first-generation Spirit Questor Franco and second-generation Spirit Questor Neil.

I doze most of the way to Lucena, Quezon, and perk up when I recognize landmarks leading to Magdalena, where I conducted "Writing from The Heart" last year at Tahanan Ng Kabataan Ng Laguna, a drug rehab center in Quezon.

We arrive in Talao-Talao, Lucena 9:00 AM. The earliest ferry we can take is the 10:30 AM of Starhorse Shipping Lines.

The winds are high and the sky is overcast. Luzon is in between typhoons. There is a misty view of Mount Banahaw from the port. The air smells of oysters.

Our vessel has a bar. On the upper deck there are images of horses galore. There is even an authentic saddle on display above a stairwell. The huge, flat-screen TV is encased in a translucent, waterproof box, and is tuned to a morning variety show

Contrary to a the characters we encounter in novels and in movies, I observe that most men are afraid of the sea. This is possibly due to archetypal residue about mermaids in their subconscious. The sea is an overwhelming female that beckons men to immerse themselves in the universal, amniotic fluid of the ocean, to lose their lives and become dependent beings in utero once again. It is a form of eternal death.

Zebra and I are only too glad that we have mobile signal even in the middle of the sea.

The ship shudders several times.

In the middle of our trip the waves become rough, and our vessel lurches. I am reminded of my many, previous ferry rides between Dumaguete and Siquijor. No matter what the time of year there is always a portion of the sea that is rough, like this.

I go on the view deck to smoke cigarettes with three other men. None of us know one another, yet there is something primeval that unites us, We are the shadows of tribal chieftains at the bow, watchful of the weather, of the sea, and of the unknown that lies before us.

We see Marinduque to the left and Mindoro to the right. at first they are misty, sky-blue figures. As we come near, they become a bright, cobalt blue, and then the trees and structures emerge like finely-embroidered details on tapestry.

The floor of the view deck, marbled with age, seawater, and other liquid substances.

Because Marinduque is comprised of a cluster of several islands, it keeps changing shape as the ferry boat approaches and swerves. It is a marvelous visual experience of the phenomenon of parallax.

A fabulous island with an antique mansion painted in Italian red. Tomorrow I will discover that it is owned by the governor, who will invite me to stay there and write a novel after my retirement.

Balanacan Port in the distance

The sea turns from a deep blue to a tropical green and then to silver.

Restless sea-legs--passengers already crowding at the exit even if the ferry boat is still a ways from the port

A giant statue of Stella Maris watches like a lighthouse over the port.

A tableau of the "Pinugutan."

We hit the road. There is only one main road. I will be told later that one can tour the entire coastline of Marinduque in eight hours, including a stop for lunch.

In Mogpog, mid-way to Boac, we are intercepted by a police mobile with a welcoming committee. No less than the Provincial Director's Deputy herself, the Officer for Public Affairs, and the Marinduque Director of Philippine Information Agency come down to greet me.

Of course I take note of the Morion helmet.

A necklace with a Morion pendant for me

The welcoming committee lead us the rest of the way to Boac.

It is said that Saint Clare spares Marinduque from devastating typhoons. Yolanda did not hit Marinduque at all.

Lunch inside an antique house converted to a restaurant

I am always attracted to antique, roll-top desks.

A visit to the Marinduque Branch of the National Museum

Samples of antique, traditional, Moriones masks

Instruments for the kalutang

Boac Church, which houses the miraculous image of Birhen Ng Biglang-Awa

The miraculous image of Birhen Ng Biglang-Awa

Visiting Tatay Oti, the oldest sculptor in Boac

The winding path to Tatay Oti's studio

Tatay Oti's works in progress

Two of Tatay Oti's Moriones masks. They are done in the naif style and are hand-painted. He is not just a sculptor, he is an actual Morion player. The mask on the right was used by him during Easter this year. Tomorrow I will be shown a video shot by the Department of Tourism; it has a scene that shows Tatay Oti in full costume and wearing his mask.

I pass by the house of Randolph, who sold me my first Morion mask early this year and shipped it to me in Cubao. He is, unfortunately, at work.

Call on the Provincial Director of the Philippine National Police. Our conversation inside his office lasts two hours because we discover that we have many things in common.

The room inside my cottage.

After office hours, outside my cottage. I always travel with a notebook and my dragon pens because, once I arrive back home and shed my clothing, I shed off a lot of information as well.

Zebra and I were made to choose between cottages by the sea and cottages near the front office. We chose the latter for easier transport of our luggage.

I walk up to the shore. The sea tells me that it will wash up something on the sand for me, and that I must pick it up and bring it home but that it will entail a huge responsibility. I decide to pass on this. It takes away my red cap in return.

I am always fascinated by the simultaneous sounds of waves. They are not as constant as other people think. There is always a rare, precious, moment of silence, during which one fears that the sounds will never come back, as though time suddenly stood still, like a computer screen that hangs in the middle of your work.

As in Cubao, bats herald sunset. They are often mistaken for birds.

6:20 PM. at exactly this time on a normal weekday I'd be taking supper in our kitchen in Cubao, and would afterward be watching TV before my evening shower,

Instead I am sitting on the front porch of Cottage 6 in a hotel in Gasan, waiting for he majordomo to call me to the dining room and sit at the dinner I pre-ordered.

The dining room

I watch the news on TV before going to sleep. Classes are being suspended tomorrow in Laguna and Quezon due to Typhoon Henry.


Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Marinduque is overlooked by Typhoon Henry. The sky is overcast, but it will be a fine day. Indeed, the goddess of the storm granted me safe passage as she'd promised.

Call on the Governor of Marinduque

The Governor arrives.

I am given a putong, one of the three, traditional rituals of Marinduque (the other two are kalutang and Moriones). The Director of the Department of Tourism explains to me that only very special people are given a putong. I am, of course, caught by surprise. I am dressed for a workshop and not for a putong.

I am seated on a "throne" surrounded by Moriones centurions. The Governor and her officials stand behind me. Staff members of the Provincial Hall and the Philippine National Police sing and dance for me. Afterward I am given a bouquet of flowers and a crown is placed on my head. Coins are showered on me. I am advised to pick up some, because they are now supposed to have talismanic power. Butterflies are released round me. Three women come and ask me to dance with them.

It is an overwhelming experience--as a matter of fact I have experienced nothing like this ever before.

As usual, all I have is my Blackberry cell phone camera.

The Governor invites me to join her morning staff meeting.

The Provincial Adninistrator

The Provincial Director of the Philippine National Police

The workshop on "Crisis Intervention for Battered Women and Abused Children" begins. The participants and observers are comprised of police superintendents, police chiefs, and police inspectors from the six municipalities of Marinduque.

The Department of Tourism screens a Moriones video during lunch.

Tatay Oti wearing his centurion mask

My crown and my bouquet

My talismanic coins

Group shots at the end of an exciting, fulfilling day