Holiday Adventures

by | Feb 8, 2018 | i-Tales

 

Family holidays have left us some of the best memories of living in the Philippines. In fact we thought of them as adventures because they never failed to present us with new challenges. The car broke down, kids needed stitches, we got caught in a typhoon, got robbed and so on. Something always happened – without fail – and we came to expect it.
One such holiday seemed to have everything. Puerto Galera (Galleon Port) was our destination, an idyllic location with gorgeous beaches and coral reefs. But we got off to a bad start. We missed the boat from Batangas and had to find alternative ways of getting there. The only option was a car ferry that went to Calapan the provincial capital for Eastern Mindoro. But it meant we had to take our Isuzu pickup. Not all bad but we had not foreseen all the paperwork to be processed just to take it across the water to another island. We would then have to drive to get to Puerto Galera.
At the ferry we acquired a couple of hitch-hikers (American plus Canadian) who were also headed for Puerto Galera. The more the merrier. We already had eight of us – Malcolm, Eduard, Anita and Paul, our four children, together with Emily, a 3-yr-old Filipina we were fostering, and David, a relative from Holland. It felt a bit like the tale of Uncle Tom Cobley…
Arriving at 8pm in Calapan posed a challenge as we had to navigate our way in the dark to Puerto Galera where we had a reservation at the White Beach guest house – but it was not quite where we expected! The night was dark, the road was badly pot-holed, and trailed off into deep ravines. We came to a river we had to cross. First we had to check out how deep it was – worth the risk.
We pressed on. It was taking a lot longer than we thought. By 11pm we were getting desperate so, seeing a house with a light on, we knocked up the occupants to ask for directions. We finally made it and settled down for the night in our nipa huts – 3 in all..
The next day Malcolm got sick and we had to go in search of antibiotics. The second night David and Ed had a visitor – well, almost! David happened to see a hand coming in through the window. He shouted out – and the hand left. And then they gave chase. They came and alerted the rest of us. By this time we were all on our guard. The next day we moved away to more familiar terrain – at Cathy’s Inn on Boquette island, but drivable via a narrow causeway at low tide. It was a place of good memories, where we had enjoyed adventures in the past.
We snorkelled among the coral. It worked wonders and we had a great time! Then it was time to go home. For the nth time we got caught in the mud. We also had a flat tyre. Double whammy! A vulcanising store had never seen a tubeless tyre before… Once on the road again heading for the ferry the engine coughed and spluttered and we ground to a halt. It was not good and after a short investigation I decided that I needed to buy a spare part. Calapan was in sight so Malcolm and I cadged a ride and went to the car parts shop. But when we got back to the pickup, alas, it still did not work. Finally Hennie recalled the fuse box and suggested we might try replacing a fuse. It worked! We bought some more fuses… just in case. It paid off!
Four hours and several fuses later we finally arrived home. But not without incident. At the port the tarpaulin covering the back of our pickup was loosened and David’s bag stolen. Happily the only item of value was his electric shaver. We were all most relieved to get home safely. Another adventure…

 

Ninoy’s Return

by | Feb 7, 2018 | i-Tales

It had been quite an ordinary Sunday. We had been to church in Makati and then eaten out at one of our favourite fast-food restaurants. Now we were headed toward the International airport to meet some friends arriving from California en route to Papua New Guinea.

As our mustard-coloured Corona station-wagon neared the airport we found ourselves caught up in an excited procession of cars all heading the same way – and flying yellow ribbons. Enthusiastic supporters tied a ribbon to the antenna of our car… Ninoy was coming – and people were turning out in droves to meet him. Tired of Ferdinand Marcos and his flamboyant wife Imelda they were anxious for change. Exiled Ninoy Aquino was returning – even though he had been warned that his life was in danger.

Once in the parking area I left Hennie and our four children in the car while I hurried to the arrival area of the International Airport. It was jam-packed with well-wishers anxious to catch a glimpse of their hero, but I squeezed inside. I soon noticed the exit doors had been roped shut. There was no way out! We waited. And waited. People began getting restless. Unfortunately, all their chatter was in Tagalog.

Confusion reigned for a while and finally the doors were opened and we were allowed to leave amidst much chatter. I spotted our friends and their two daughters, visibly in a state of shock. But where was Ninoy? When we got back to our car Hennie greeted me with a long face: ‘he’s been shot’. How could it be? The long awaited hero was dead.

Our friends told of what had happened on the China Airlines plane from Taipei. Their two young daughters had sat by the window and had seen bad things happening outside. What could this mean for the Philippines? It was August 1983 – but in a few short years we were to find out….

9-11

by | Feb 6, 2018 | Uncategorized

9-11

Never have three digits become loaded with so much meaning or triggered more memories. Just mentioning them takes us back to that fateful day in 2001.

Our family remembers it well. We were all in Sweden at the time. Second eldest son Ed had just got married to Jannie and they were now on some remote Swedish island for their honeymoon. The rest of us were on our way home. Our youngest son, Paul, and his wife Jennie, had left the day before while daughter Anita had gone ahead of us on Monday morning. She was flying back to California where she was at college. Her flight out of Gothenburg had left that morning.

Now the rest of us, including my elderly Mum, were in the departure area waiting for our SAS flight to be called. Using my loyalty card privileges I had access to the lounge. I took my Mum and got some coffee, then sat down. In the corner CNN news was rolling on the TV screen, but nobody was paying much attention – except me. It was around 3pm, if I recall correctly.

Suddenly the banner streaming across the bottom of the screen tersely reported that a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers. The newscaster followed shortly with the same breaking news, but few details. We didn’t know yet that it was a passenger plane. Then that news was released. It sounded bad… But for me the news took on cosmic proportions when we heard of the second plane. That was sinister, profoundly disturbing – and loaded!

Amazingly, no one else in the lounge was paying any attention. I told my Mum. That made two of us. Then early video footage began to roll… We watched spell-bound. It was like a horror movie out of Hollywood. We were now seeing it as it happened. Then the first tower collapsed…. Very soon our flight was called. I updated Hennie. News came that flights to the States were being turned back. What would happen to Anita who had already left London?

Two-and-half hours later we had landed at Heathrow, and were awaiting Anita’s arrival. An hour or so later she arrived back amid the chaos of seventeen other 747’s queuing up to land to disgorge their perplexed passengers. On Anita’s flight they had just been told there was a “navigational problem” when they were 3 hours out…

Of course, the story goes on. But that was how it impacted us… And what were you doing at the time?

The Killing Fields

by | Feb 6, 2018 | i-Tales

Tuol Sleng is a name that sends shudders down my spine. Though it began life as an ordinary Phnom Penh high school it derived its notoriety from being synonymous with torture. It was the S-21 security prison known for its program of torture where thousands died during the years of Pol Pot’s reign of terror 1975-1979. Now it stands as The Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, a memorial to the estimated 20-30,000 victims that passed through its gates. Few survived.

The day I first went there I was dropped off at the entrance. There were no tour guides available. So I did my own commentary… In many ways I was glad about that, because I was able to take my time and take it all in, entering into the horror, terror and cruelty that snuffed out so many innocent lives. The year was 1995.

Twenty years earlier in June 1975 I had been at the Thai-Cambodian border in Pong Nam Ron meeting the first Khmer arrivals who had fled. Some had pushed their vehicles all the way once they had run out of fuel. They had their gruesome stories to tell. Now it was my turn to witness the horror for myself.

The former school is a three-storey U-shaped building. I started my tour downstairs gazing into the shell-shocked faces of the hundreds of victims who had spent their last days there. Black-and-white prints, 6000 of them all the same size, lined the walls. Horror was etched onto every face. Each had a number. I tried to read their minds and enter into the trauma they were experiencing the instant the shutter clicked. I then went upstairs. First were the four bedrooms each with an old iron bedframe on which the victim had been strapped.

Dried blood still marked the tiles floor. Pictures depicted the last victims to be found there, each stretched out on the bedframe. Moving further along I came to the rooms where the victims were stretched out, side-by-side, manacled to the wall, packed in like sardines in a can. Passing the large frame contraption where they strung people up outside I went to the downstairs rooms on the far side where the many instruments of torture were on display. The thumb screws, the water-boarding bed frame where “confessions” were extracted on pain of suffocation, and many other horrific devices for stretching, electrocuting, and torturing people into submission. This was Duc’s domain…

Perhaps most unforgettable was the map of Cambodia comprising the actual skulls of victims. It serves as a poignant memorial to the nearly two million Khmer people who died during the four-year reign of terror at the hands of Pol Pot.

Among the pictures on display were those of the uncle and aunt of my Cambodian sister Samoeun. They had been undertaking university training in Paris in 1975 but had willingly volunteered to return to Phnom Penh to help in the recovery of their country. Their recruitment proved to be a ruse to capture and imprison them in Tuol Sleng where they subsequently died. Samoeun could not bring herself to visit the museum and see the pictures of her relatives staring down at her. It was too painful.

Fifteen kilometres outside of the city are the Killing Fields. They consist of a series of pits in which are buried the remains of thousands who were lined up and killed on the spot. They were killed by being struck on the head by clumsy instruments such as machetes and hoes. This saved ammunition. One of our Cambodian staff had gone through this experience – but had survived. She had been lined up to die were her whole family. All fell into the pit – but she had only been concussed. After everyone had left at night she crawled out from among the corpses and made for safety. I stood on the edge of these pits where they had stood. Looking down at my feet I was horrified to note that there were jawbones sticking up in the ground beneath.

There were also pieces of fabric that had not rotted away. Fifteen years on I can still see them all clearly. I think of the tens of thousands of Cambodians who still live with those horrors still fresh in their mind today. How long will it take for these memories to be erased from Cambodian consciousness?

New Year – Another New Beginning

by | Jan 12, 2018 | Ponderings

magnificent sunset

It feels a bit like Groundhog Day (which I enjoyed watching once more on TV recently). We’ve been here before and once again have the whole year ahead of us. But for those of us who are older, we wonder how many more will God grant us to see?

A brilliant sunset usually indicates a good day tomorrow – so we take heart. We also learn to value the supreme beauty that is displayed in these fleeting moments that can only be captured on camera or stored away in our minds

Of course, dawn can also be inspiring…

Thankfully our times are in His hands, so it is not really worth worrying about tomorrow – or if we get to see another New Year. Just make the most of today, recognising it as yet another precious gift from God..