Leaky Faucets

It’s been three weeks since my last update on our trip-a reflection of how little time I had for things like blogging because of parental duties and our hectic social calendar as we tried to see as many people as we could.

We’re finally back in Cebu still trying to shake off the stubbornly lingering effects of jetlag.  Almost gone now after three days at home.  It’s strange referring to the Philippines as home and the U.S. as a vacation destination.  My world is a bit upside down for now but I’m coping.

So let us rewind a little bit here.  We spent about ten days at my mom’s house in Cleveland-which we needed after the New York City debacle.  Ana was thoroughly happy there.  She had the entire newly carpeted basement to run around with no hazards and tons of toys.  She spent hours down there every day and never fussed.  Of course, we also took her out.  We went for walks around the neighborhood and hung out in the backyard.  She had her first visit to the zoo in Cleveland.  Unfortunately, the heat was oppressive that day and many of the animals-including the tigers-took to lazing under a shady tree.  Not too exciting.  And we missed the monkeys-my favorites.  We also went to a few parks-one in beautiful and historic Hudson, Ohio and the other was surprisingly lush and vibrant Edgewater Park, just west of downtown Cleveland.  During these trips to the park, I came to realize that one of the things that makes Ana the happiest is having a large grassy area to run as fast and as far as she can and to fall down and get up over and over again.  In New York’s Central Park she had a similarly grand time.

In Cleveland we got to spend a lot of time with family and friends including some people I haven’t seen in a long while.  Aya and I got to go out a few times leaving Ana at home with my mom.  We went to see “Sex in the City,” which was better than I expected.  I went to an Indians game with the guys followed by a trip across the Cuyahoga to Now That’s Class.  We even got to hang out with Paul several times which is a bit of a minor miracle.

After Cleveland we headed back to Pennsylvania for a few days. Maki’s bakery, Cupcakes Gourmet,which just opened a few months ago, is doing very well.  In fact, they were honored by a Philadelphia area magazine MainlineToday ,earning one of the “Best of the Mainline” awards.  On our last day there Maki invited us to the award party, which consisted of a smorgasbord offering ridiculous amounts of food.  As usual I could not stop from gorging myself.  The sliced steak from a local butcher was excellent as were the meatballs from an Italian deli.  Besides Maki’s cupcakes though, I wasn’t too impressed with the desserts.

While in Pennsylvania, we also snuck back to New York for about 24 hours.  This time we left Ana at Maki’s and took the bus like the old days.  It was certainly a lot easier in the city without her but it was still a hectic day.  We had brunch with Jocelyn at Café Henri in the Village.  Best damn almond croissant I’ve ever had.  They actually don’t make it there-they get it at another French bakery in the Village but I don’t know the name.  Henri has very good entrees and coffee too.  I recognized the waitress from the Long Island City location and she remembered me from there too, asking where the baby was.  This small moment gave me a fleeting feeling of home again after really feeling that I didn’t belong in NY anymore after my last visit.  After that, we separated.  Aya went shopping with Jocelyn and I headed to 59th Street on a special mission.

I had to hit the Conran Shop to get my favorite miniature pens.  Incredibly geeky and obsessive, I know.  I get this way when I find a product a like and then find out that there is only one place in the world or only a few places that carry that item.  Like the incredibly comfortable black Ralph Lauren socks that I’ve only ever seen in a non-descript store near Ditmars Blvd in Astoria, Queens.  I think they are knockoffs because I’ve never seen them on the web or at outlet stores or any other place that carries RL and this is the type of store that would certainly sell knockoffs.  There’s also my beloved Sirius 70% dark chocolate, which I’ve only seen in Whole Foods.  (More on that later.)  Anyway, the pens are important because they are small (like a golf pencil) and can fit inside the rings of the 3×5 notebook I usually carry in my back pocket in which I write down anything and everything from to-do lists to my ideas on saving humanity, etc.

While in New York that one day, Aya had a meeting with a client and I met our real estate broker in Jackson Heights, got the mail, had to have a key made for the mailbox and cashed in about $17 worth of change at Commerce Bank’s “Penny Arcade.”  Then we met up with David at Hotel Gansevoort’s rooftop.  A total ripoff but I knew that going in.  Just wanted to cross it off my list.  We did have a surprisingly good dinner at Vento, an Italian place near Gansevoort.  

Then on to the main event, and the main reason for the one-day excursion in NYC: the Aimee Mann concert at Highline Ballroom.  I had been looking forward to this for months and was so psyched that we were able to work this into our schedule.   We saw her Christmas Show last year, but I wanted tosee a real Aimee concert without al the holiday songs.  I had pre-ordered her new album”@#%&*! Smilers” before leaving for the States in June and after repeatedlistenings I was really starting to like it.  On her site’s message board, I peeked at the playlist fromprevious shows on the tour, and it revealed a heavy emphasis on Smilers.  I was glad to be prepared.  Truthfully, though, by the time the concert arrived we were both exhausted.  We were not quite in the mood to stand for three hours, but that is what we did.  There was also an opening band called The Submarines.  They were okay but not really my thing. Didn’t really like the Macintosh-aided orchestrations and the female singer’s act seemed a bit contrived. They are like a WB-band, the type played on “Gossip Girl” to rave reviews.

Then Aimee finally climbed on the stage around 10:15.  Immediately you could tell that she had done this thousands of times before.  She had an excellent command of the audience and the material and was completely comfortable up there in complete contrast to the giggling opening act.  Between songs she also demonstrated a great sense of humor and knack for storytelling and back-and-forth with the audience.  The show lived up to my expectations although I wish I wasn’t so tired and stressed that day.  When I was younger and was a frequent concertgoer, I always had this fantasy or daydream–usually while the band was playing-that it would be so great if I could see this group perform live from the comfort of my own bed, not standing on top of each other sweating profusely or wearing uncomfortable shoes.  But that’s not reality, and I guess part of the live music experience is putting up with the crowds and the unpredictabilities involved.  I won’t go into too much detail on the concert here, but I’ll post the setlist at the end of this post in case anyone is interested.

I bought a t-shirt, which I haven’t done at a concert in years.  Then we took a cab to Trina’s place in Greenpoint, where we hung out for a bit before getting a meager amount of sleep so we could wake up early enough to catch the 8:00 bus back to PA.

This one day in the city was like a capsulated version of my ten years as a resident there.  I crisscrossed the city from Midtown to Greenwich Village to the Upper East Side to Jackson Heights to the Meatpacking District to Brooklyn and back to Midtown.  This was all within less than 24 hours.  As I walked alone from place to place random memories stirred inside me darting in and out of my mind.  Each flashback was triggered by a certain locale.  Walking in the East 60s reminded me of when I played softball for Bozell in the summer of ‘98.  We would always hit the same Upper East Side bar afterward and then I would take the long and impaired walk to the train.  It was a bit lonely after I left the bar.  Being in the Village reminded me how much time I spent down there my first year in the city, often going to hear jazz at the BYOB Small’s.  Of course, Greenpoint reminded me of visiting Paul at his place there and also of running through the neighborhood during the marathon.  The Meatpacking District was a place I frequently visited during my hotel class in 2006 as our site was there on 15th and 9th Ave.  I also thought of the marathon when I passed by the Queensboro Bridge.  I used to spend a lot of time in that Manhattan neighborhood going to movies when I lived in Astoria since there was no decent theater in my neighborhood when I first lived there and it was only 10 minutes by subway.  Of course, Jackson Heights represented the final chapter of our New York existence, for now anyway.

Okay, this post is getting way too long.  This is what happens when I don’t write for weeks.  I’ll try to wrap it up now.

We stopped in LA for a few days and spent a lot of time with Angelica and Minh and James who came up from San Diego.  Went to the Getty Center which was unbelievable and we didn’t even get a chance to see the exhibits.  Just the grounds themselves were mindblowing.  We also drove all over the city in the Honda Civic hybrid I rented.   The car was only a few bucks more per day and we definitely saved on gas.  I got a lot of comments and questions from passersby asking about the car.  I give it high marks.  We had breakfast one morning at the pier in Manhattan Beach-it was takeout from Le Pain Quotidien, one of our old favorites from the other Manhattan.  Before driving in LA, I was a bit intimidated, but now I feel pretty comfortable driving there and sort of know where I’m going with the aid of a good street map.  Tried to avoid the freeway as much as possible but got stuck in traffic a few times on the 405.

Mostly in LA we shopped.  It’s a Filipino thing.  I didn’t understand it when my in-laws used to visit and all the wanted to do was shop, my now I completely get it.  There are many things you cannot buy in the Philippines and other things that are much more expensive there.  So we spent the entire day before our departure shopping with the highlight being the trip to Costco to pick up mostly non-food items such as my cherished Charmin.  We also had to buy a bunch of items for Aya’s family at various places.  I feel like I did enough shopping to last me until I come back.  One unfortunate shopping related thing was that Whole Foods did not carry my Sirius chocolate bars.  The WF outlets in NY and Cleveland always have plenty of the white-wrappered bars, but apparently they don’t have them in the California stores, so I could not stock up until my next trip.  I had bought two in Cleveland thinking that I would get more in LA.  Of course I ate one before leaving so now I have one to last me five months or so.

Okay, I’m stopping soon, I swear.  Told you I’m obsessive.  The flight back to Cebu wasn’t so bad-guess I’m getting used to these double-digit flights.  I must say that the international terminal at LAX is pathetic.  It’s under construction and there is only one place to eat inside the checkpoints and the prices of the mediocre food are insane.  Then, after Ana was getting cranky again during the wait, we had to board a bus to take us to the plane where we had to climb the steps in order to board.  Ana was asleep by that time and slept for another five hours.  When she was awake she was pretty well behaved though we had to make frequent trips up and down the aisle where she couldn’t help trying to wake up every sleeping passenger.  Fortunately, none of them seemed to be too annoyed.  I occupied myself watching movies as usual as I have a hard time reading or writing or working on these long flights.  I can only survive by reverting to my childhood vegetative TV watching state.    Watched “Cool Runnings” with the late great John Candy, which I had never seen and was mildly entertaining.  Then “What Happens in Vegas” and “Run Fat Boy Run.”  All were entertaining to varying degrees–as I’ve said before, my standards for movies on airplanes are drastically reduced.

That’s it.  Our exhausting whirlwind six-week trip that took us to six states (seven for Aya) is finally behind us.  Many lessons learned which I hope we’ll remember next time we try to plan a trip like this.  We’re home.  Good Night Now.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Aimee Mann @ Highline Ballroom, NYC 7/30/2008
Stranger into Starman
Looking for Nothing
Freeway
Phoenix
Great Beyond
Save Me
Wise Up
Calling it Quits
4th of July
Invisible Ink
You’re with Stupid Now
Little Tornado
31 Today
Borrowing Time
Today’s the Day
Red Vines
How Am I Different?
Little Bombs**
I’ve Had It**
Deathly**

**Encore

I started writing this post while we were in New York last week, but things were so hectic and stressful that I did not have the time or energy to finish it.  So here is my attempt to wrap this one up while I’m relaxing in Cleveland.  I apologize if it seems scattered and chronologically jumbled, but I’m writing much of this a week or more after the events took place.

We got to New York late Thursday the week before last after about ten days vegging in the Pennsylvania burbs at Maki’s house.  Ana had a lot of fun playing with her cousin Chloe, although there were a few moments of tension mostly caused by Elmo-sharing issues.  I’m sure this question has been posed numerous times in the blogosphere, especially on blogs written by parents of toddlers, but I have to ask anyway: what is the deal with Elmo?  Why are kids so crazy about him?  Chloe, almost 2 1/2, is a total Elmo addict.  She listens to his songs, watches the show every day, reads Elmo books and has about ten Elmo related stuffed toys.  Ana only saw Elmo on TV for this first time last week, but she already knew Elmo from the one doll she has in Cebu.  Every time Chloe was playing with an Elmo doll, Ana grabbed it from her.  We tried to offer her one of the other 9 Elmo options, but she would only want the one Chloe had.  Naturally, Chloe wasn’t too happy with this situation but all she could do was scream; she was not willing to try to take back her toys by force.

During our five days in New York we were as exhausted as we’ve been since we left the city.  Ana could not be contained there and she is not happy spending her days in small spaces such as Nancy and Richard’s apartment.  This was her first time back in the city of her birth since she started walking, and the problem was that she couldn’t walk enough there; we couldn’t let her loose on the sidewalks, could we?  We did get to spend a few hours in Central Park on Friday afternoon and she had a grand time.  But we were exhausted, chasing her around the vast Sheep Meadow as she invaded one toddler and Caribbean nanny picnic blanket after another searching for toys or food to confiscate.  Still, it was fun being in a spacious car-free place where she could roam.

Our first morning, I was reminded of how obnoxious people can be in Queens.  It was 5 am and we were sleeping with the windows open.  The breeze was nice, but along with the fresh air you get all the sounds of the street below.  Often 73rd Street is full of honking horns and loud buses, but this time it was the drunken inane musings of an inane drunk.  There was a guy and a girl but the guy was doing most of the talking.  And all he was saying over and over again was “what happened.”  It sounded to me like a couple fighting possibly (probably) fueled by alcohol.  His repeated question reminded me of the obnoxious and scary but hilarious maniac from QPTV he fills a whole program ranting with the phrase “what’s next, what’s next, I’ll tell you what’s next.” The sound of couples fighting was not that uncommon when we lived on the first floor of this same building.  Fights over parking spots were commonplace too but lovers’ quarrels were much more interesting and usually lasted longer.  At 8 o’clock at night it is not so bad, but when your sleeping toddler is awoken prematurely you need to suppress the urge to tell them to shut the f*** up.

The day we arrived I dropped off the rental car near LaGuardia and then waited for the MTA bus back to Jackson Heights.  The Q47-which goes directly to our block-was taking too long so I started walking down 82nd Street hoping to catch the Q33 which stops at 35th Avenue, a short walk from the apartment.  After I had left the house I realized that I didn’t have a MetroCard, and there was no place to buy one on the bus, unlike the subway stations.  I was hoping they would accept $2.00 in cash.  I had never tried to board a bus in New York without a MetroCard (I always had a monthly unlimited card when I lived there) and wasn’t sure what would happened.  The driver said he could only take cash if I had $2.00 in coins.  I didn’t.  He suggested I ask the other passengers if they could make change.  “You should know by now,” he chided me.  He was right.  But I was in a cloud that day. The other passengers ignored my query.  Maybe I wasn’t loud enough.  The bus was already moving when I told the driver I couldn’t produce the appropriate coinage.  He shrugged, obviously unpleased.  “Should I get off the bus here?” I asked.  He didn’t say anything.  I sat down again.  I guess I was getting a free ride.  As I disembarked in Jackson Heights I tried to give him two one-dollar bills (this is how things would work in the Philippines), but he refused it.

Walking down the streets of Jackson Heights that first day or two, I felt like a ghost.  I didn’t belong there anymore.  My former life there had passed on.  It was eerie.  It was like there was a sign on my forehead announcing to the neighborhood that I didn’t belong anymore.  I didn’t see anyone I knew at first.  Then, later I saw my former upstairs neighbor Elaine outside of Trade Fair.  She graciously invited us to dinner at their house a few days later.  (By the way, I notice that Trade Fair changed their bags from white to yellow during the six months I was away.  You notice little changes like this when you are away for a long time.  The other major grocery store in Jackson Heights-Met Food-moved the milk section.  Most of the stores in the ‘hood are the same except for the arrival of Starbucks.  Of course, I continued to only patronize the locally run coffee shop Espresso 77 just around the corner.)  I felt better, but still not really part of the scene anymore although part of me wanted to belong again.  It’s hard living with your mind in two different places at once.  It’s better to commit to one place, even if you change your mind later.

My feelings of nostalgia, both for the people and places of New York, were strong, but they were overwhelmed by feelings of stress brought on by Ana’s complete and utter unhappiness to be there.  On one occasion, Aya had back-to-back meetings in Connecticut, so I was charged with watching Ana for the entire morning and much of the afternoon.  It was a nightmare almost from the get go.  I wanted some company so I made plans with my friend Mary to go to MOMA with lunch afterwards.  On the E train to Manhattan Ana launched into an endless screaming fit.  The entire car–which was full but not rush-hour full as it was already 10:00-was looking at me, probably wondering how a father could be so inept with his kid.  Someone offered me her seat so I could hold Ana.  It didn’t help at all.  I tried giving he milk, a snack, but she refused all offerings.  It was her teething, I was pretty sure.  (With only six teeth at 17 months, it was time for the rest to come in.)  I tried some Baby Orajel but she just screamed louder.  And louder.  Like a couple of cats in heat.  (If you’ve heard it, you’ll know the sound I’m talking about.) It was a small amount, but I think she ate it.  I got off a stop earlier at Lexington instead of 5th, hoping the movement of the stroller would calm her down.  It was raining lightly but I didn’t care.  I had to get out of there.  I hated everyone look at me either in annoyance or judgment or pity.  Walking down 53rd Street was no better.  The screaming was just as audible and the stares on the sidewalks did not cease.  Some people laughed sympathetically, as if to say “I’ve been there too” or “what can you do?”  When I got in front of the museum, there was a line of about 50 people waiting to get in when it opened at 10:30.  I was on the guest list, but Mary was not there yet so I had to wait for her.  Then I smelled something awful.  Ana had vomited all over her shirt.  It was horrible.  It might have been the Orajel that she swallowed, or maybe it was just the stress.  This only compounded my problems, as I had to change her outfit now in the middle of the sidewalk.  There was one dress in her bag but I couldn’t figure out how to get it on.  There were no sleeves.  I’m a guy, what can I say.  When Mary got there, she helped me get Ana’s dress on.  She also got some ice which Ana sucked on.  It seemed to calm her down.  We went into the museum and within a few minutes Ana feel asleep in my arms.  I carefully placed her in the stroller and she slept the whole time we were at MOMA.  She exhausted herself from her tirade.  The feature exhibit was on Dali, one of my favorite artists.  But I really wasn’t in the mood to stay long or to spend too much time reading.  I had already been to the Dali Museum in Florida so there probably wasn’t too much new for me here.  I just wanted a dose of culture since there aren’t really any good art museums in the Philippines that I know of.

After the museum, we took the train downtown for lunch in the Village.  Ana was still sleeping until we got there.  We went to a burger place called Rare on Mary ‘s recommendation.  I had some milk for her, which she didn’t want.  She had some sweet potato fries, pickle and a little of the tomato basil soup I ordered for her.  But none of this pacified her fragile emotional state.  The screaming started again, as loud as before.  There were only a few people in the restaurant, but I took here outside across to the little park by Joe’s Pizza.  I set her down thinking a little walk would calm her, but it didn’t.  She wanted me to pick her up, but that didn’t help.  I went back and quickly finished my burger. (which was pretty good but a little too rare considering I ordered it Medium.  Not sure if they are trying to live up to their name.)  Then I left and walked with Ana to Union Square to meet Aya. I thought she would fall asleep again, perhaps, but the shrill screaming started again, so I picked her up and carried her in my left arm while pushing the stroller with my right.  It was like this all the way through Washington Square Park.  Then I put her in the stroller again and she was quiet but awake.  She was happy to see her mommy and to be let loose in Union Square Park.

During this ordeal I had placed several frantic phone calls to Aya begging her to help.   At one point I left a desperate message (with Ana screaming in the background) saying to come quick before I do something bad.  I wouldn’t really do something bad to myself or Ana, but I admit the thought crossed my mind of running in front of a car.   I longed for a self-destruct button a la James Bond.  I know that is horrible but I was just in such a state that I couldn’t take it anymore.  This all happened on Monday.  That evening, even with Aya around, she had other bouts of uncontrollable crying.  I decided to leave her at home on Tuesday when I visited my old office, and we decided to cut our New York visit short by a day and leave Tuesday afternoon for a brief visit to Aya’s cousins in Nutley, New Jersey.  The traffic was surprisingly light crossing midtown on 57th street and arriving in Jersey was a welcome relief.  New York was not fun for Aya and I.  Or Ana.  She was not used to that lifestyle.  We were reminded of how difficult it could be there with a small child; for that reason alone, I’m glad we made the visit.  We also had a lot of tension with our hosts and we clearly overstayed our welcome and will not be invited back.   We’re okay with that.

While in New York, and in the U.S. in general, I’ve made it a goal of eating at all of my old favorites and gorging myself on the foods that I can’t get in the Philippines or are not near as good over there like pizza and burgers.  We had breakfast at La Flor in Woodside with Jenn and Peter on Saturday morning.   I got my usual Puebla breafast (eggs, chorizo and potatoes) and of course we got the amazing bread basket.  We also went to my favorite Japanese, Ariyoshi in Sunnyside.  I tried to go to Café Henri in the Village but it was crowded and they didn’t have a high chair.

Some other thoughts on our New York visit:

–I was happy to be reunited with the wondrous strength of New York water pressure.  I’ve never encountered this kind of perfect force anywhere else.  Some places (Arizona, suburban Pennsylvania) it is too weak; in others, it is way too strong (Moscow).  In NYC, it is perfect.
–I realized how much my carbon footprint has mushroomed since relocating overseas.  There is no citywide recycling program that I’m aware of and I’ve replaced mass transit and walking with the necessity to drive everywhere.
–I got the chance to relive some old nightmares such as racing to make a Metro-North train.  When we lived there, we almost always caught the train no matter how little time we gave ourselves.   It just worked out.  With a toddler in tow, you need to give yourselves more time.  I couldn’t run up the escalator with the stroller.  We missed the train to Riverdale, where we were attending a brunch given by Aya’s former client, by less than five minutes and had to wait an hour for the next one.
–I was reminded of how annoying it could be to have to push a stroller through the city, always getting out of someone’s way in a store and not being able to maneuver around people on the sidewalk.
–I miss the people of New York more than anything.  I haven’t really met anyone I can connect with in the Philippines.  Our backgrounds and cultures or so different.  The expat community hasn’t thrilled me either.  In New York, the people are so interesting and diverse and many have similar interests as me and are politically progressive.  We like similar music and can have long conversations about things other than sports, business or material things.  I miss that.
–It was nice to see our favorite homeless crazy guy at the entrance of the Jackson Heights subway.  It’s nice that some things don’t change.  He seems as delusional as ever.

Our arrival in Cleveland led to a rapid and complete change in Ana’s behavior.  She has been so happy here.  She’s with people who really want her here.  There’s a lot of space for her to run around and lots of toys.  We’re much more relaxed too.  Gotta go now.  More later…

Yesterday I passed up the chance to meet some of the top pool players in the world - all Filipinos - to go the gym for a run.  Aya went to meet these guys and was excited about it, but I guess I’m just not into professional pool and wouldn’t put meeting one of the greats up there with say, meeting Michael Jordan or Lebron James.  And actually, athletes are usually not that interesting outside of the playing arena arena.  For me, I guess I am more excited to meet a famous writer or musician such as the times I met Jhumpa Lahiri (though I thought she was a bit aloof) and Max Roach (who was extremely nice and personable.)

I’m getting off the subject, though.   The point I wanted to make was that given a choice of activities, I would choose working out in most cases, unless I have already worked out that day.  It’s not that I’m vain about the way I look, but I just want to lose weight and be healthy and do marathons again so I need to run as much as possible.  I guess I’m a bit obsessed.  Often, when I choose the other activity and forego the workout, I regret it.  This time, I made the right choice and was very happy about it despite Aya’s attempts to rub in her brush with fame.

I’m in Russia right now.  Just returned to Moscow this morning after taking the overnight train from St. Petersburg.  This time I was able to sleep.  On the way from Moscow to St. Petersburg two days ago, I was unable to sleep on the train that left Leningradsky station just after midnight, partially I think because I was on the top bunk and Aya put the idea in my head that I might roll off during the night.  On the return trip, Aya and I both had bottom bunks with the two tops occupied by two complete strangers who spoke little English.  I was a little paranoid at first that the guy, a young man with a blond crewcut, was a white supremacist.  Following that logic, I assumed that he wouldn’t take too kindly to interracial couples and might slaughter us in our sleep inside the locked cabin.  Fortunately, this did not happen.   He turned out to be a quiet and pleasant roommate.   By that, I mean he had no problem going to sleep when we did and didn’t bother us at all except to wake us up at 6:45 am to tell us that we would be arriving in Moscow in 15 minutes.  Our other bunkmate was a young woman with some Asiatic features but obviously Russian.  She didn’t say a word at all.

We had a good two days touring St. Petersburg spending the entire first morning at the Hermitage Museum, definitely one of the best art museums I’ve ever visited.  I had no idea the breadth and depth of their collection.  Actually, I thought it was just a palace and didn’t realize it housed paintings at all.  Certainly, I didn’t know it had Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raffael, Rembrandt, Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Matisse and many other great masters.  And my expectations about St. Petersburg were totally off as well.  I had in my mind a small port city but apparently there are 4 million residents here, and while it is not near as large as Moscow, it is really quite sprawling.  It even has its own Metro.  Right now, the city is in a period known as “White Nights,” meaning it doesn’t get dark for long.  Sunset occurs at around 11pm and it never gets completely dark, followed by an early sunrise at around 4am I think.  Dostoevsky, who lived in St. Petersburg, coined the phrase “White Nights.”

Here are a few quick thoughts on Russia, my first time to a former Iron Curtain country.    Moscow is a surprisingly beautiful city.  Much of the architecture is grey, boxy and cold, but there are also plenty of beautiful old structures, mostly cathedrals.  Everything in Moscow is on a massive scale; the city is horizontal, nothing like New York.  There aren’t many tall skyscrapers, but there are hordes of immense structures.

The green space is also omnipresent.  Trees and parks abound in the middle of the city and even more so outside.  On a drive to the country I felt like I was on the Garden State Parkway or an on a parkway somewhere in rural Connecticut.  

Capitalism has arrived with a bang.  Luxury car dealerships are abundant.  Ferrari. Lamborghini.  Rolls Royce. Bentley.  American brands are everywhere, unapologetically.  McDonald’s, Citibank, Sbarro, Starbucks… Giant billboards dot the highways hawking everything from Samsung phones to Mercedes.  Moscow is extremely expensive, allegedly the world’s most costly city.

Communism has been reduced to mere kitsch, more fodder for the capitalist consumer mill.  Che Guevara t-shirts and other paraphernalia are ubiquitous as our McLenin’s shirts (a parody of McDonald’s and the USSR.)  Of course, some unpleasantries remain from the old days.  The government and its lackeys are obviously very paranoid about outside influence especially from the West.  Why else would they require foreigners to get stamps from each hotel they stay at, providing a record of their movements within the country?  Of course, you have to pay for this service.  I can’t help get the feeling that despite the transition to capitalism and elections (sham or not), Big Brother is still watching here.  I imagine that spies are still listening to conversations (not that this isn’t happening in America under the Bush regime).

Then there is the corruption and kickbacks.  This is particularly rife in the city of Moscow courtesy of the city’s mayor and his billionaire wife.  Our small group was kicked out of one of the churches we visited in Mosocw-Christ the Savior-because our guide was not an official guide registered with the city government.  Valentina is a friend of my mother-in-law, and she was doing us a favor by giving us a tour for free.  Apparently, this didn’t go over well with the spies.  An un-uniformed guy wearing jeans said something to her in Russian after listening to her speak to our group of four in English, an obvious red flag.  She tried to ignore her but then he called the guard, a tall and imposing man in the mode of Lurch from the Addams Family.  He marched over to her purposefully and aggressively as if he was going to punch her in the face.  Instead, he told us to leave.  This was the first time I’ve ever been kicked out of a church.

Another element that lingers from the Soviet epoch is the customer service or lack thereof.  At best, the hotel staff is indifferent to the tourists.  At worst, they are outright hostile and dishonest.  Often, they don’t speak enough English to communicate properly, but even those that do, have told lies for no good reason.  I asked the concierge at the Park Inn in St. Petersburg how to get to the indoor aqua park which they advertise prominently.   She told me it was closed because there are many problems.  Big problems.  In response to my further questioning about when it would re-open, she said she had no idea.  Then, I learn from one of our travel companions that not only was it open, but it was packed.  I really can’t think of a good reason why she would lie to me about this.  Her English was good (people in St. Petersburg our much better with English).  There are countless other examples of this type of thing here but this was the most blatant lie.  This morning, I heard  a front desk member at Hotel Cosmos in Moscow tell a guest that there is no smoking anywhere in the hotel.  “Really,” he asked in disbelief.  “Yes, ” she said.  “We are a 3-star hotel.”  As if that would explain the no-smoking policy.  In reality, I’ve seen many people smoking in the lobby-everyone in Moscow seems to smoke and it is so annoying sometimes-and there are ashtrays in every room. Explain that.

Communism did have some positive impacts, particularly in the area of the arts.  Communism is/was beautiful, while capitalism in contrast is ugly and tacky.    An example, is the spectacular public art in many of the Metro stations.  (I’ll try to post some pictures later.)   It’s hard to imagine that this would have existed if it was up to the capitalist system.  In the U.S., during the New Deal, sort of America’s Communist period, millions of artists were hired by the government under the Federal Art Program of the Works Progress Administration to create art for public buildings.    The quest for profits does not necessarily lead to great works of art.

On our second day here, I experienced a true Russian ritual as we spent the day with some Russian friends.  We went to a café on old Arbat Street, a fashionable district and a wide pedestrian-only street.  They bought a few bottle of vodka and I traded shots with them, something I haven’t really done in years.  The custom is to down your shot, then wolf down some food.  We started with a blini, a Russian crepe, with red caviar, the unexpensive kind which you can find in any sushi bar.  I didn’t like caviar before, but the texture and saltiness has grown on me.  And after a nasty shot of vodka, almost anything taste good.  After the second shot, we repeated the ritual but this time with a smoked salmon blini.  The third one was followed with a sweet blini with chocolate.    It was only noon at that time, but it’s never to early for vodka with the Russians.  I had to endure a fourth shot a few hours later over lunch.  I only drank the vodka for the experience and to be polite to our hosts, but I really do not like it.  I prefer a beverage I can enjoy and savor slowly, not one that tastes so bad I have to immediately chase it with salty food.  On Wednesday night, we were have a drink at the lobby lounge and Aya suggested a try a White Russian, a drink I tried after I saw “The Big Lebowski” ten years ago or so and immediately took a liking to it.  I thought it was a little corny ordering this drink in Russia and was quite sure it was an American drink, but I thought it would be amusing.  It wasn’t very good.

Muscovites are rich now, but they not at all fashionable.  They dress like Americans did in the 80s and style their hair to match.  Mullets are big here, on men, women and children.  Mulletskies, I call them.

Everyone here assumes I’m Russian and speaks to me in Russian.  It’s good that they don’t think I’m a tourist but difficult because I cannot speak Russian.   I memorized the phrase “ya ne govoryu poruskie,” which means ” I don’t speak Russian,” but I have no idea how my pronunciation is.   While I’m here I’m trying to decipher the Cyrllic alphabet which has many of the same letters as ours, although some have different sounds, and some are the same as Greek such as gamma.   

Knowing the language makes it much easier to get around on the Metro.  The system is quite extensive and busy.  It is also reliable with very short waiting times.  There is one line that travels in a complete circle intercepting all of the other lines.  In general, we didn’t have any problems getting around as long as we carefully listened for the names of the stations.  There are no signs in English.  It’s definitely a challenge getting around a city where very few people speak your language.

I took a short run this afternoon outside in the park across the street from our hotel.  The park is vast but not nearly the size of Central Park.  It reminded me a little of Flushing Meadows in Queens.  Not very nice, but lots of people.  I didn’t see any runners despite it being a beautiful day.  I think some people were staring at me and laughing and a few shouted.  I’m not sure if it is because they knew I was a foreigner or because they think running is funny.  There are some marathon champions from Russia so I don’t think this country is a stranger to running, making that reasoning a bit peculiar.

Usually I’m quite self-conscious and uncomfortable about my new role as a minority, but sometimes its fun. Like today when we had a company outing at a shabby beach club in Mactan. Being the only non-Filipino there today was for some reason enjoyable. I don’t usually like the spotlight; I don’t often want to be noticed. Maybe it was the beer (but really I only had two San Miguels) or maybe it was the karaoke. I’m well aware that I’m an awful singer but I sometimes relish the opportunity to make an ass out of myself with a microphone. I opened up with my dead-on impression of Ozzie-era Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs.” Sure, with all the little kids in the adjacent cabana, the lyrics may have been a bit inappropriate, but at least Ana enjoyed it. As did all the staff, although I’m sure only a few probably know who Black Sabbath is. Later I went with one of my karaoke faves, “La Bamba,” although I always seem to lose interest half way through the song because of its repetitiveness. Some of the girls were too shy to sing despite my continued prodding, but for me it’s a liberating feeling when I can sing (however badly) in front of people and helps knock down a cultural barrier between us. After all, karaoke is as much a part of Filipino culture as eating. If you can at least make an attempt, you can find a place here.

Karaoke really demonstrates the contradictory parts of my personality: shyness and boldness behind the armor of a microphone. Sure, everyone was looking at the white guy singing, but today I didn’t mind at all

 The misuse of the apostrophe here continues to amuse me.  Normally it’s the lack of one in a sign such as “Joes Store.”  Sometimes, though, an apostrophe mysteriously appears when it has no business being there.  The other day in Tagaytay, I noticed a poster advertising the upcoming “Steak, Prawns and Lobsters’ Night.”  Does this mean that the crustaceans will get the rare chance to turn the tables and boil their human nemeses alive?  If it truly is their night, I have to assume that would be the case.

Recently, on the podcast of NPR’s “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” one of the stories in the guess-the-fake-story segment “Bluffthe Listener” relayed the tale of a group that forcefully advocates for correcting signs with poor punctuation and spelling. This group, of which I should probably be a member, would have a field day in the Philippines.

Two days ago, I met for the first time someone from gloriousnation of Kazakhstan.  Like Borat,he is tall and thin.  But thecomparisons end there.  He is only21 years old, yet he is vey intelligent, friendly and open-minded.  His English is very good although hisaccent sometimes makes it difficult to comprehend.  The young man, named Anton, told me how he once crossed intoa neighboring country by hiking over a mountain.

I was tempted to ask him if he’d seen Borat, but I held back assuming that hisimpression of the film and the character and the treatment of his country wouldnot be very favorable.  Maybe, later,if I get to know him more, I will carefully broach the subject.  A Filipino guy we had dinner with lastnight came very close to bringing up the B-word when he found out Anton’snation of origin. ”Kazakhstan!  You’rekidding,” he laughed.  “You’re askingfor it.”  I’m not sure if Antonunderstood what he was getting at. Speaking Cebuano, Aya quickly told him not to mention it.  I later reinforced her warning inEnglish.  Thankfully, he heldback.  I wonder how many others whohave met him since Borat rose to fame have squelched the temptation to tease oreven to innocently inquire his opinion of his fictitious countryman.  Yes, I wanted to know if he felt thesame way abut asshole Uzbekistan or if he wanted to throw me down the well(actually he didn’t react upon hearing that I was Jewish) but I’ll save thosequeries for a later date.  Orperhaps not.

Seems there’s not much to do in Hong Kong but shop and eat, and I finished my shopping bit yesterday spending an hour or so at HMV (normally I try to avoid chain music stores but I’m starved for music and there is little choice here) buying 2 CDs: Aimee Mann’s “I’m with Stupid” and Manu Chao’s new one, “La Radiolina,” which I’m listening to for the first time as I write this. So that leaves eating, and if I do much more of that I’m going to explode.

So I had to figure out how I’d spend my afternoon-my last full day in HK. I was on my own so I could set my own itinerary. Of course, I had to eat first to give me the energy to explore the city on foot. I only had HK$100 in my wallet (about $13 US) to last the whole day so it would have to be cheap. Chinese food can be inexpensive here, but I was already right sick of Chinese, especially the greasy foods we’ve been eating here such as duck and pork and pan fried noodles. (I will, however, have Dim Sum tomorrow-can’t miss a chance for good Dim Sum in Hong Kong and we haven’t had time yet.) I was in the mood for a sandwich, but unfortunately all the Pret a Manger locations are on the other side on Hong Kong Island, and I was too hungry to go that far.

I walked down Nathan Road-the main thoroughfare in Kowloon-and then Haiphong Road, another congested main road. I decided to take a turn down one of the less traveled and dingier side streets hoping the places there would be cheaper. I briefly considered stopping in a noodle shop because I love noodle soup, but it looked pretty bleak. Next door was a Turkish place. I was skeptical, but it was full and most of the staff looked sufficiently Turkish, so I decided to give it a try. Turned out to be delightful and quick, and pretty healthy too. And more importantly, it was cheap at HK$50 for a chicken doner roll (thinly sliced chicken with lettuce, tomatoes, onions and a delicious sauce on pita), a cup of creamy lentil soup and bottled water. Actually, this was probably the best meal I’ve had so far in Hong Kong and absolutely the best value; most of our prior meals have been in LKF, Central-a very pricy district with mostly overpriced establishments. Even the Whisky Priest Irish pub was expensive, although at least the burger there was tasty.

I was out of Istanbul Express in 30 minutes. I decided I would check out Kowloon Park which borders Nathan Road and Haiphong Road on two of its sides. It’s gorgeous out today (about 21C/70F and sunny). The park is small compared to Central Park but it’s bigger than Washington Square Park. It is very serene compared to the pedestrian clogged streets just outside. Frankly, I’m really tired of looking at commerce and wanted to be in a place where no one tried to sell me anything like a Rolex copy or a custom-tailored suit. (Actually, later I discovered there is a McDonald’s inside the park.) A beautiful high-rising, geyser-like fountain greeted me near the Haiphong entrance. I sat there for a while to start writing this in my notebook while a young girl in a graduation cap and gown posed for pictures with her friends.

During my walk, I observed a few old guys doing Tai Chi or something and several other groups of locals practicing dance routines, some involving swords. A creepy guy tried to make eye contact with me at the park’s public urinal. Every park I’ve ever been to-no matter how small or urbane-has had its share of creeps and freaks. Why should Hong Kong be any different?

I ended up spending about two hours in the park-a good way to spend time in an expensive city without spending any money. Other attractions in Kowloon Park include an aviary with tropical birds, gardens, a bird lake with exotic ducks and flamingos, a gigantic swimming pool which now sits empty due to the season and a soccer field. There is also the Hong Kong Heritage Discovery Center which I stopped in for a few minutes to see the exhibit on Hong Kong’s history and cultural heritage.

I’m absolutely a parks person and think they represent the best things about cities and governments along with libraries. These are places for people to hang out freely (mostly anyway) together or alone at no cost. Locals and tourists mingle. People exercise, sleep, read. Kids play. Parks really give me a feel for a new place so I like to visit them when I travel. Seeing so many people there gives me a really good feeling. I really miss Central Park more than almost anything in New York.

Having nothing really to do today, it was good just to wander. It was small enough where I wasn’t going to get lost, and I had a map just in case. There were signs all over the park pointing toward a Footbridge to Hong Kong City, China. I was confused at what this meant-I didn’t think it meant Hong Kong Island after looking at a map, but was hoping it was. Kind of like walking across the Brooklyn Bridge (which I only ever walked about halfway across), it would be cool to walk from Kowloon to HK Island. But, after crossing over an expressway, the footbridge ended at the harbor and ferry terminal with service to Macau and Mainland China. (I’m still not sure what HK City, China refers to. It’s on my map-could be another mall or a building or port.) I was disappointed that I’d reached the end of the line but I was pleased with the spectacular view of the skyline across the harbor. Hong Kong really is visually stunning and unique city with its mountains and water and hilliness and many skyscrapers (it’s up there with San Francisco), but unfortunately it always seems to be covered in a layer of smoggy haze.

I wish I had brought my camera today, but all I had was my phone. I took a few shots but they’re pretty crappy (as usual as I’m a hack photographer), so I’ve posted here a few pics from the web, which approximate where I was today.

We just got back from a weekend at the beach a few hours ago.  We’ve been here for almost a month already and yet, this was a first time at the beach.  There are beaches on Mactan Island about 30-40 minutes away from where we live but those are overcrowded.  The ones down south are much better.  The drive was about two hours each way to Moalboal but it was definitely worth it.  We stayed at Club Serena, a small resort with only eight rooms; we occupied three of them.  As usual, we had a big group with us-it was the first time since our wedding in ‘03 that all four Garcia siblings were together.

It was a most relaxing weekend.  We swam in the pool a lot and briefly in the sea, where Aya and I tried snorkeling.  As I anticipated, I had some major breathing difficulties.  Nothing life threatening in any way.  I just have trouble breathing through my mouth underwater.  I only stayed under for maybe 10 seconds at a time before I got paranoid feeling terribly claustrophobic or whatever kind of phobia means fear of drowning.  I really want to try diving but I’m not sure if I can get over my breathing issues.  I’m not really scared of going deep or encountering massive marine animals (except maybe a shark) but the fearing of not being able to breathe haunts me.  Maybe it has something to do with my normal breathing difficulties on dry land-my allergies, my deviating septum; breathing through my nose has been a problem for years so why shouldn’t this.

We also had some excellent food at Club Serena where we took all our meals.  I ate a lot but pretty healthily-mostly sea food, fruit and vegetables-although I did indulge in dessert both nights.  Ana and Chloe both went in the pool in their flotation devices.  Ana protested at first but once she got used to the water she had a great time.

It was quite peaceful with no television or Internet.   In order to get the news, we had to wait until the local papers were delivered at noon each day.  I got into the beach spirit and starting reading a short novel which I bought in Manila when we first arrived in the Philippines at the beginning of the month.  It’s a mystery narrated by an autistic teenager in England called “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.”  The narrator investigates the case of a murdered dog. (Ironically, a couple who we met this weekend told us that a dog was found dead on the beach at a neighboring resort.  It was believed to have died from poisoning but no one mentioned the possibility of foul play.)  The voice of the autistic boy reminds me a little of Camus’ “The Stranger.” The language is simple and a bit rigid and you are left with the overwhelming sense that the person talking to you does not think like a normal person.

Speaking of autism, I was thinking on the car ride home that a person with autism would probably have great difficulty living in the Philippines.  Things here are chaotic and random and there are few visible patterns.  Many streets are nameless or it is at least difficult to ascertain the name since street signs are scarce even for major thoroughfares.   Even many long-time residents who drive here can’t tell me the name of some streets.  To give directions you have to use landmarks; for example, to get to our house you travel down the narrow, windy and bumpy unpaved road and take a right at Lina’s store, and so on.  Many houses are not numbered either and the ones that are I suspect that people just pick their own numbers instead of being assigned by the city; they do at least follow a sequential order.  Not sure at all how mail gets delivered here but I’m pretty sure all of Aya’s family’s mail goes to their offices since they have no street name or number.

One last note about the weekend.  Yesterday, the resorts owner came into the restaurant and informed us that we were supposed to check out.  Apparently, there was some miscommunication and they didn’t know we were supposed to stay another night.  They checked and three rooms were still available but one of us would have to move because a new guest needed that room.  Of course, Aya, Ana and I were the ones who had to move.  We’re used to it I guess.  It wasn’t that difficult but a little annoying taking down the Pack ‘N Play and setting it up again.

Actually, one more random thought before I stop writing.  This is far from an exhaustive study nor is it scientific in any way.  It’s just a personal observation of minimal importance which I feel like sharing.  It seems that most of the keys here have to be employed teeth down in order to turn them in locks.  In America, it’s the other way around although some are teeth down in the U.S.  The room keys at the resort were like this as are the ones that open the gym lockers at Holiday Gym.

Overall, I feel much better about living here after the weekend.  It’s nice to be able to swim outside at night in January, and it’s good to know that this kind of experience is not far away any time I want it.  For those of you reading this who are currently enduring a cold winter in the States, I do apologize if this comes across as bragging.  I’m just trying to justify my decision here and every bit helps during this adjustment phase.

Aya and I and her mom went to Rustan’s grocery store on Sunday.  At the time, I was going through a  bout of extreme homesickness-not for New York necessarily, but for the U.S.  I tried to soothe my longing by buying as many American products as possible even though they are all much more expensive here.   It was gratifying to see more organic and natural products on Rustan’s shelves.  They carry a lot of the brands I’m accustomed to: Tom’s of Maine, Seventh Generation.  So I bought a bunch of that stuff.  While at the supermarket I eyed a crystallized powder jar of MSG.  A lot of products contain MSG-and I try to avoid them-but I’ve never seen MSG itself for sale.

Things in general are much more expensive than before.  Partly, it’s because the peso is now hovering around 40 PHP to $1 compared to the 50-55 PHP to $1 range a few years ago.  But besides that the Philippines has just gotten more expensive.  Imported goods sure, but even services are higher than before.

Went to the Casino at the Waterfront Hotel the other night.  By myself.  This is the first time in my life that I’ve lived in a town with a casino.  It’s only about 10 minutes away.  I love black jack though I don’t go to casinos too much anymore.  I’d like to go once a month if possible.   I’m pretty conservative with my betting so I don’t think it will be a problem for me.  And the table minimums are much better for my budget than in Atlantic City: 300 Peso per hand or about $7.50.  In AC, it is usually $15-25.

I had a pretty good night overall.  Won 1200.  Pesos not dollars.  That’s equivalent to about $30 U.S.  Had a pretty good table too except that some of them didn’t know how to play.  Too much sticking on 16 against a face card.  Once it cost me 2000 pesos.  Shortly after that I left.  There were a couple of black guys from Georgia.  Very loud and a little obnoxious, but in a casino I don’t mind.  They were pretty funny actually and they indulged my nostalgia for the States somewhat.  We got into a brief discussion of college football wherein they reminded me of the SEC’s dominance over my team, Ohio State.

There are some different rules in the blackjack played in the Philippines.  The dealer draws his second card only after all players have drawn their cards.  I’ve never seen it done this way anywhere else.  Advantage to the House?  I assume so.  Also, one can only double on 10 or 11.  This table was the only black jack table in the place and the dealers kept pushing a game called Pontoon.    They described it as a player-friendly game similar to 21.  I didn’t buy it.  I try not to give into to their gimmicks. 

We finally moved into our apartment downstairs this week.  It’s completely separate so we have a lot of privacy now, and Ana has her own room for the first time.  Last week, sleeping in the guestroom, I felt a little like Mike Stivic, although I generally get along with my in-laws unlike Mike’s relationship with Archie.

I’ve missed all the NFL playoffs so far.  A channel called Solar Sports is supposed to show the games, but we don’t have it here yet.  My brother-in-law is getting us a satelite dish so hopefully that will come in time for the Super Bowl.  It’ll be weird watching that in the morning.  It’ll start around 7:30 am on Monday here due to the time difference.