The Whirling Dervishes

When my husband retired, November became our month of choice to travel, because it being a low travel season, there are lots of deals on air fares, and accommodations. There is of course, the added bonus of not having to contend with hordes of tourists. Of course it is also a rainy, cold month but we have learned, in the course of our lives, to take the good with the bad.  

 

This November, I decided that a return to Rome, my favorite city, was called for, so that my husband could finally "see" her as I did, in that magical year we spent there prior to his retirement, but before that, a first encounter with that most fascinating of cities, Istanbul!

 

There is so much to remember and recount of Istanbul, but witnessing the "dance" of the Whirling Dervishes was for me unforgettable. I put this experience at par with my enchantment with the Pantheon in Rome. Could it be because of the understated elegance of the sublime that both experiences conveyed to me?








A Dikhr, a remembrance of God

 

Pantheon's Oculus, a vision of heaven

The whirling dervishes are members of the Sufi order of Mevlevi, which was founded by a Persian poet, Islamic jurist and theologian in Konya a town in central Turkey. A Dervish is one who follows the Sufi path and the act of whirling is part of the Mevlevi Sema ceremony, a dihkr (dance) or a rememberance of God. The Sama, the whirling, represents man's mystical journey to the perfect. As man turns toward truth, he grows in love, abandons his ego, approaches perfection and is more able to love and serve all creation.

The ceremony starts with an ensemble of instruments accompanying a solo singer, singing praises to the Prophet.

 

Then the 4 dervishes make their entrance, one of them lays down a red cloth to which all bow.

The 5th dervish or the Sheikh, enters and proceeds to the front of the red cloth, where he is approached one by one by the samas who have at this time shed their black robes. After passing the Sheikh, they begin to whirl. The four samas represent the moon who are whirling around the Sheikh who represents the sun.

The dance represents the spiritual journey that every believer goes through. The first Sama represents the recognition of God, the second, the recognition of one's unity with God, the third, the ecstasy that one experiences when one surrenders to God, and the fourth, when the Sheikh joins the dance, symbolizes the peace which comes with this unity.

The dikhr is accompanied by sufi music and song, one also hears the scraping of the samas shoes on the floor. There is a slight continuous breeze coming from the whirling samas' tennure which represents the death shroud. Their sikkes, representing  gravestones stay firmly on their heads. Their hands are lifted with one palm facing up and the other facing down. A form of dying before dying, some say.

Click on the link to see part of the performance taped by my hubby:



  https://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?v=676866602353986&set=vb.100000919567053&type=2&theater
 

Enchanting Ha Long Bay

Because my mother is in her 88th year, she's no longer keen on going to places that require taking those long (across the pacific) flights. Having said this, however, doesn't mean that her "wanderlust" is gone. Maybe it has dimmed a little but it's definitely still there. This year alone, she has travelled thrice with me or one or two or three of my siblings. One of those trips was to Hanoi.

Ha Long Bay

When my father was alive, he used to plan all our trips and our accomodations. This being the case, my mother is used to a certain kind of accomodation. The boutique hotel, in the old part of the city, which we stayed in was not what she is used to. So, no saying what would have happened if we hadn't arrived past midnight!

But the hotel itself was charming and owned by a very enterprising young woman, who took very good care of us. The staff were friendly and helpful and all of them started to call my mother, "mommy". In addition, they transferred her to their "presidential" suite. So she decided to stay and for the rest of us, staying in the "old part" of the city brought us closer to the more interesting sites and sounds of this city's life!

busy street in the old quarter

Hanoi is charming indeed, largely escaping the Vietnam War unscathed. French influence is seen in its buildings, apartments, embassy houses, the Opera house, as well as the ubiquitous baguette vendors lining the roadsides. There are no towering condominiums or office buldings. Adding to its allure, are the Sino-Vietnamese temples, pagodas and public gardens.

Hanoi, the former capital of Indochina and now the capital of reunified Vietnam (because the north defeated the south in the Vietnam war), is the second largest city in Vietnam and sits on the right bank of the Red River.

 On our first day there we rented a car to bring us around the city. Thank God we had a driver! Driving can be nerve wracking in Hanoi, there being almost four million registered motorbikes! Seeing the swarm of motorcycles facing you in an intersection can be truly intimidating!

Because it was very hot and humid, we decided to remain in the car, having no real interest in seeing the War Museum or Ho Chi Minh's sarcophagus, we just asked the driver to bring us around the city. What made an impression was the Hanoi Ceramic Road, completed in October 2010, to commemorate the establishment of the city 1,000 years ago. This road is bounded on one side with a ceramic mosaic mural on the wall of the dyke system of Hanoi, covering 5 kilometers. Something that took scores of mosaicists, professionals, hobbyists, weekend artists, children, adults, foreign and local 5 years to complete. Hanoi Ceramic Mural Project on CNN

Part of the Mural

We of course ate in the local restaurants and I must say I found the food delicious: flavorful, fragrant with spices and just enough chillis to give it a little kick. The flavor is enhanced with the use of fish sauce and fish paste. The fragrance intensified by the liberal use of mint, lemongrass, coriander, ginger and basil. The more conservative use of chilli is more similar to  Cambodian rather than Thai cooking. Phoa Ba was our breakfast of choice accompanied by a small baguette, and I must say, the best baguette I have had outside of Paris. 

Local food stall

The highlight of our trip to Hanoi was undoubtedly the side trip to Ha Long Bay. Almost 4 hours by car from Hanoi, the ride included a visit to a handicraft factory producing and selling Vietnamese silk, embroidery, laquer ware, sculptures and coffee.

Pandemonium greets one upon reaching the wharf where the boats to Ha Long Bay are docked. People and more people are herded into areas where passengers are segregated into premiere, first, second class etc. tour groups. After a lot of delays we finally boarded our boat. Our accomodations were not bad at all, except that the bathroom was miniscule.

Then we were on our way, slowly leaving our berth, sailing past the other boats heading to the opening of Halong Bay.

According to the information provided on the web Halong Bay's thousands of limestone karst or islets took 500 million years of formation. Awesome is hardly an adequate word to describe this!

More interesting is the legend that surrounds the origins of the bay. As locals tell it, a very long time ago when Vietnam was just starting to develop as a country, she had to defend herself against invaders from the sea. To assist Vietnam, the gods sent dragons from the sky, who spat out jewels and jade which abruptly turned into the islands and islets dotting the bay. After the enemy was repulsed, the dragons decided to stay in the bay with the mother of all the dragons descending and staying in Ha Long Bay.

Can't blame the dragons for staying, the beauty, serenity and majesty of Ha Long is unforgetable:

Approaching the Bay

An islet dwarfs a fishing boat

Inside the Bay at dusk



Anchored in the Bay for the night

View from my porthole

Early next morning taken from top deck after taichi

 The next morning, after early morning taichi and a hearty breakfast we proceeded to visit one of the caves in the Bay. As magnificent as Halong is, it is a  of this world, Hang Sung Sot, the Cave of Surprises on the other hand at times appeared not to be! Beautiful, sometimes amazingly so, it was also in places, eeriely other wordly!


Descending into the cave

Where am I?

The Final Frontier





Beyond!

 And back again.





And upon exiting the cave, the panorama of Halong Bay!

On the way back a visit to a charming floating fishing village, whose inhabitants tried to sell us their catch for the day.

Floating Fishing Village

Hanging Coffins of Sagada

I have always wanted to go to Sagada, a small town in the Mountain Province of the Philippines. This from the time my daughter went there for her community service while in school. She was awed by the place, the beautiful scenery, the peaceful surroundings, the friendly people and the quaint, small town, so much so that she volunteered to go again the following year. Sagada is an idyllic place in her memories. That was in 1998.

 

This summer, I finally made it to Sagada. My husband and my sister and I decided to go there from Baguio. Originally we had intended to sleep there overnight, but we were unable to get accommodations. We decided to go anyway, determined not to put off visiting Sagada again.

Sagada is around 140 kms from Baguio and we were told it would take us around 8 hours to get there, so we decided to leave very early in the morning. The way there is spectacular! Scenic tree covered mountains can be seen on both sides of a two lane highway.

 

 

 However, if you suffer from motion sickness, you won't enjoy the way up. Twisting, steep roads and then descending, requiring the driver to either step on his breaks or shift to a lower gear. But there are those, rather brave or should we say fatalistic souls, who could care less about the dangers inherent in such winding roads.

penthouse ride!

 

 As we approached Sagada, I noticed more and more jeepneys carrying not one but multiple passengers on their roof! Foolhardy or enterprising?

When we were nearing Sagada, we began to see the Sagada rice terraces. I am told, they are small and less in number than the Banaue rice terraces, but to us they were no less dramatic. Carved from the mountainside, resembling giant staircases, Sagada's terraces are made up of small stones piled one on top of the other, while the rice terraces of Banaue are made of compacted soil. I am told that the Banaue rice terraces are beginning to crumble because of an infestation of earth worms!

a closer view
 

On the turn off to Sagada, clearly marked with a sign that said: Sagada 12 kms, there was a palpable excitement in the car we were travelling in. At last, after only 4 hours we were almost there. But what do they say about expectations? For me, the town of Sagada should have remained an anticipated pleasure. Because beautiful it is not, idyllic, very far from it. What we saw was a small town whose very tiny streets were clogged by cars, jeepneys and buses, with no where to park and no where to move. A horrendous traffic jam, that was what we found in Sagada.

When we finally found a place to park, we walked around, rather we pushed our way around looking for a place to eat. Eating places that were recommended to us where not open and the one that was, had a screeching karaoke machine on full blast surrounded by teenagers singing or attempting to sing. We decided to eat in the car, thanking the foresight of my cousin who had provided us with sandwiches and drinks for the trip.

After this we decided to see just one of the must see sights, the hanging coffins of Sagada. For this purpose we hired a guide. She was a member of the Kakana-ey tribe, which she said was the biggest tribe in these parts. She spoke fluent English with an American accent. I was to find out later that these parts of the Mountain Province and large areas of Northern Luzon had been evangelized by American  Episcopalian missionaries. This accounts for two  facts about Sagada, 1) it is the only town in the Philippines that is predominantly Protestant, with 95% of the inhabitants having been baptized into the Episcopal Church. And 2) majority of its inhabitants speak fluent American English, so much so that our guide said, a call center was going to open soon in Sagada. When that happens, there may be no more English speaking guides to take you to the sights!

She brought us to three places. One of them was just a cave where the coffins were stacked one on top of the other, here she said, were buried those women who died in childbirth.

Our guide explained that during the wake for the dead, the bodies were made to sit down and once rigor mortis has dissipated, around 48 hours after death, the corpse was folded in a foetal position and put into the wooden coffins. This manner of burial has been practiced for centuries, there are coffins that go back 2,000 years with the most recent addition in 1992.

Some coffins are stacked on cliff sides, how they got it there, one can only guess at.



Limestone cliffs with coffins from afar

stacked coffins

We also walked down to one of the caves. The hike down was not too bad.

As you get to the top of the cave opening, a rather dramatic sight welcomes you. At this point I was not very sure I wanted to continue down, especially seeing what looked like a bottomless pit from where I was resting to catch my breath.

Looking down

Descending with care, we only noticed the coffins stacked up on the sides when we got onto the next ledge.

The way back up was considerably more difficult. I had to stop a couple of times to catch my breath. Our guide, seeing me struggling offered to carry my camera bag for me. Without the added weight, it became a little bit easier, only a little! Oh yes, age is catching up with me!

So we left Sagada with mixed feelings, disappointment that the town is no longer the way my daughter described, but awed by a culture and tradition preserved through the centuries. And I made a conscious decision to return, not during the summer months but when there were not too many tourists. Maybe seeing more of the must see sights and staying over when Sagada shed her tourist's garb, I might get to experience the real nature of Sagada. 

A Few Summer Days in Baguio

This summer (the first full summer we've spent here in the Philippines) was BAD, with sweltering temperatures of 35 to almost 39 degrees Celsius and the humidity hovering between 45 to almost 70%! With such conditions, there was a predictable exodus from Manila. Those who could afford to went to Europe or the US,   many more going to the many beautiful beaches everywhere in the Philippines, and those looking to escape to cooler climes, going to the Mountain Province.

 

Baguio, in the Mountain Province is the place most visited during the summer months. As young children, oh... so many years ago, we would spend at least a month of our school holidays in Baguio. My aunt, like some families, in the last decade, moved to Baguio to get away from the pollution, overcrowding and stress-filled life of Manila. They built a beautiful "house of glass" high up on the winding road of Ambuklao.

 

 It is beautiful there, very quiet, far enough away from Baguio's city center and as such still surrounded by pine trees. I am an early riser and I was glad for that since dawn there was amazing! See for yourself:



From the back yard at dawn
 

It was nippy, a gentle breeze softly rustling the leaves and flowers and a decidedly piney scent in the air... pure heaven!
 

We didn't do much on our visit, except for a full day trip to Sagada (which I will write about in a future blog) and driving around Camp John Hay and having lunch at Baguio Country Club. We didn't go to Session Road or the market, which was tradition for us when we visited Baguio all those summers ago, because my mom refused to go there, preferring to remember Session Road as it used to be with the elegant, historic Pines Hotel right at the top.

from unholyhours.blogspot.com

Today right on the same spot is the ubiquitous Shoemart mall, a clone of every other SM mall all over the Philippines. A concrete, unattractive building (okay with viewing terraces, from which one can see the crowded, concrete jungle Baguio is surely becoming), the construction of which entailed the sacrifice of hundreds of pine trees! To add insult to injury, my cousin tells me that SM is petitioning the city government to cut down more trees in order to build, wait for it...... a parking lot!!

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for progress but not at the expense of everything that is historic, civilizing and elevating! Development that is defined by careful planning and with the ultimate vision of retaining what is good and improving what is not, is germane to preserving the unique character of our towns and cities, Baguio included.

But I digress, something that happens more as I get older. Anyway, one place my mother agreed to visit was Eastern Weaving, a place where traditional weaving has been preserved. I wanted to buy place mats and a table runner so my husband and I went with her. When we got there, the weavers had all gone home but we did get permission to go to the weaving room to look at the traditional looms.

Skeins of thread are gathered

Woven into modern or indigenous patterns

On Sunday, we were invited by my aunt to attend mass in the Santo Pio Parish in Ambuklao, it being the feast day of the parish. We arrived as the procession was approaching the church. People apparently walked, some for more than two hours to attend Sunday mass at this church. The service was lively with a youth choir in charge of the singing. Worship was active, a native igorot dance of worship was performed as mass began.

The instruments they used was a mix of the modern and traditional.

At the offertory, parishioners gave of the fruits of their labors, bananas, melons, flowers, and even a pot of local rice wine.

"Fruit of the vine and work of human hands"

A lot of families here are families of OFWs, with a parent or parents, sibling, aunt, uncle, even grandparents, part of the Filipino diaspora all over the world.

With boots, daddy's christmas gift

Waiting for daddy to come home

We ventured out to the "bagsakan", a covered area where produce from all over Benguet was brought for sale to middle men and individuals like us. We needed to go through convoluted, tiny streets through the Trinidad Valley to get to this place. There is nothing to see as you make your way through these streets except cars, people and more cars. Here too the smell of pine has long been forgotten, gasoline and diesel fumes are what you smell today.

A place worth visiting is Ben Cab's museum. Because he has bought up the surrounding areas, he has been able to preserve them.

In this museum, I happened to see a painting of the Trinidad Valley with its houses all the way to the tops of the mountain. It looked really pretty in the painting, but reality....not so.

Ben Cab's does not only have paintings but sculpture, photographs and other works of art. He also has a "naughty" room featuring "erotica". I took a picture of one Ifugao bench:

The rest of the time, we spent at home. My mom, aunt and cousin playing mahjong, the rest of us either napping or reading, basically vegging out. Drinking in front of the fireplace and pitying people sweltering in the heat of Manila.

And what does dusk look like from my aunt's back yard?