Was that Muir Woods being sucked into bottles of chili, toyo, and suka in the pantry?
Or the stoned ghosts of Gen. Frederick Funston and Pvt. Robert William Greyson playing hide-and-seek among the merry clutter of memories from an eternal journey?
The Columbarium is a further footnote why elegant One Loraine Court looks down over eclectic Mission District who I presume the bored guard assigned to watch over the remains of the wealthy dead came from.
Them dead might have lain in state at the Jesuit's imposing St. Ignatius Church of the University of San Francisco --- so palatial it can compete with the Vatican and bring to shame the current Jesuit pope.
Perhaps some of those now urn-ed in The Columbarium were exhumed from the vanished Masonic Cemetery where all funeral processions along Masonic Avenue once led, not far from where the Papalote Mexican Grill near where the Starbucks Lady was hanged sell the best burrito in the city.
Those who are now dead, what were they doing when the Palace of Fine Arts was being built?
They missed the opening of the Golden Gate Bridge but did some of them spent time in Alcatraz?
Their names, etched in broken tombstones, resonate from the Wave Organ off San Francisco Bay, gurgled like drowning ghosts, a haunting from the desecration of the Lauren Hill Cemetery, and perhaps that of 25 Van Ness where the brethren now displayed in fancy urns at The Columbarium once enjoyed the corn of nourishment, the wine of refreshment, and the oil of joy.
It was an interesting day of the dead that concluded with the realization that what was served at the Pampaguena Restaurant were once living things killed for the benefit of those who still breaths...
Everyday at 8 am for the next three days, I rise from my cozy bed at the Quite Mission Room, checked my emails, browse through Facebook, upload photos on flickr, take a quick lukewarm shower, walk the 25th for a bite of a Mission Pie, walk 5 blocks to the 19th, ring Oyet and Jack's doorbell, and go straight to their kitchen for coffee and a smoke.
Today we took Bus No. 49 --- the equivalent of the Hogwarts Bus --- and watch its passengers transform from mostly working class immigrants in their working class clothes to mostly whites in their designer office outfits as we went farther from Mission and got nearer to the heart of Van Ness at San Francisco's City Hall where Oyet showed me where he and Jack applied for a marriage license after which we became unintentional witnesses to an emotional blonde in a white dress being married to an emotionless bearded man in jeans and working shoes, an Asian groom and groom having their wedding photo, and a Fil-Am couple waiting for their turn while a middle aged woman tried in vain to take a selfie with her dog in front of the giant city hall Christmas tree.
All weddings but no funeral so we took Bus No. 19 to affluent Nob Hill then walked to 1111 California Street where I finally came face to face with the cavernous but empty Grand Lodge of California to satisfy a great Masonic itch, an uninterested guard waving us through the elevators to the Henry W. Coil Library and Museum of Freemasonry where I took photos of Oyet and left a Masonic P100 bill before he took photos of me in the balcony outside the library, then rushing to the Grace Cathedral across the street because I need to pee real bad, and to a humorous Christmas wish from a kid named Bella, to the The Fairmont's 22-foot gingerbread house, its lower walls peppered with the marks of innocent bites.
Then a church, the old St. Mary's Cathedral downhill in the corner of California and Grant Streets, built in 1853 and gutted by fire in 1906 after the Great San Francisco Earthquake, rebuilt in 1909, and today the object of Oyet's CIA-isked recorder, the quartet-that-turned-out-an-octet nailing me to the pew even after Oyet said that we should be leaving after the sixth song, and then the BART where a camouflaged marine nodded to sleep as Oyet triumphantly celebrated the quarter/octet songs stolen by his CIA recorder.
In Berkeley, a fat mental lady carrying a huge bag of newspapers and toting a huge book streaming with post-its cross the street as I vainly search for a missing lighter while Oyet decide lunch, settling on a Korean joint as I haggled a Berkeley souvenir shirt from a Korean saleslady, he ordering something with fried pork belly from a Korean waitress and I settling for a vegetarian Korean noodle bowl not for the food or Korea but for the first SFO pansit for circa 2014.
The only disappointment is the University of California's archive closed early because the archivists and the cute interns have to attend a
Christmas party, and perhaps the long BART and Muni rides to the Army and Navy
Surplus Store where the pee caught up with me, a chicken barbecue and beer dinner eventually while Oyet prepared an uncooked ham
sandwich as Jack rustled four packs of instant noodles, and the long walk
back to the Quite Mission Room.
It was a good day with a great friend through the paths of SFO less traveled.
Delta Flight 150 to Atlanta was delayed by 3 hours.
My Greenpeace friend with the infamous Nazca Lines stunt hanging on his head made it past immigration.
A lady in the Sky Priority check-in line at Lima's Jorge Chavez International Airport wondered if all the people queuing are business class passengers.
I have to run to Concourse A's Gate 12 of the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport to catch Delta Flight 1091 to San Francisco.
I was late but the flight was delayed too so I ate fried chicken with chili beans for lunch.
A capped man leaned to pick the vegan bag where I stuffed my panama hat as I wait for my luggage at San Francisco International Airport's baggage carousel.
"That's mine," I said.
It was Oyet.
He who made a late night call to my hotel in Des Moines six years ago to tell me that a pot roast I did not order is on its way.
I finally made it to San Francisco.
I checked in at my bed-and-breakfast lodging at Treat Avenue then had three beers at his place in A. Capp Street while we waited for Jack.
We had dinner at a Thai restaurant.
He ordered Pad Thai, Jack had chicken in green curry, I don't recall what I ordered.
We walked along a street that's not Mission and stopped to look at some drawings posted at a shop's display window.
It's raining and cold in San Francisco and I have not slept for the last 36 hours...
Once upon a time, old man Pepito wrote the president of the United States. I never knew what was in that letter but it got a package from President Jimmy Carter himself which included a letter signed by him and a coffee table book about them in the White House.
I would later read from the Bulletin that President Carter lost his reelection bid to a man called Ronald Reagan (handsome and dashing in the news photo). The last image we saw of him is a man in overcoat(?) waving to his supporters as the Iran hostages were being brought back to the United States.
I did not care much about President Ronald Reagan at that time. It would only be later from documentaries in the Discovery Channel (or was it National Geographic) that I would realize how he came to be known as the Great Communicator. I particularly like that speech in Germany ("Mr. Gorbachev brought this wall down!") and a presidential candidates' debate ("I promised not to make age an issue and so I will never question the relative inexperience of my young opponent!" or something like that).
So when Mama Butch asked me to choose between the J. Paul Getty Museum (where I can shoot the Cathedral of Angels along the way as suggested by climate change talks colleague Albert Magalang) and the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library, I went for the latter because I thought he was more of a real person to me.
The library at the scenic Simi Valley was recently refurbished and Mama Butch became an instant member. It was a surreal moment for me as the story of the man I read in the Bulletin who beat Jimmy Carter unfolded in video footages, blown up photos, and relics of his presidency while I munch on complimentary jelly beans.
It was a fitting finale to my 4-day sojourn in Los Angeles, so here's one for The Gipper.
PHOTOS EXPLAINED (from top to bottom):
The last 3 photos above shows [1] the statues of the late president and former First Lady Nancy Reagan at the entrance to the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library; [2] the Boeing 707 Air Force One that was in service from 1973 until 2001 and spanned the presidencies of Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, George Bush the Elder, Bill Clinton, and George Bush the Younger; and [3] former president Ronald Reagan's tomb.
Prologue
Yesterday, Mama Butch took me to Hollywood where I shoot some stars.
I've have that day lots of pavement stars, 3 Marilyn Monroes, and a Jamie Foxx at the Walk of Fame; and one who is said to be a rapper at the Universal Studios' CityWalk.
There's also a reluctant frame of me (Mama Butch insisted) at the Kodak Theater's Grand Staircase, Michael Jackson dancing for tips across Capitan Theater, and Frank Sinatra's prints at Grauman's Chinese Theater.
I though my best was a frame of the star of "Sa Bawat Gubat" with the (in)famous Hollywood sign in the background. Mama Butch did a good job on that one.
FOOTNOTE 1: The famous Hollywood sign originally read "HOLLYWOODLAND" and was erected in 1923 to advertise a housing project in the booming Hollywood movie district which has become the locus of the American film industry. "LAND" was dropped from the sign during repair works in 1949. It was refurbished in 1978 through the efforts of rock star Alice Cooper and again in 2005. Five years later, the Trust for Public Land with the help of a $1 million contribution from Playboy publisher Hugh Hefner bought the area where the sign stands for $12.5 million dollars and annexed the property to Griffith Park.
Epilogue
FOOTNOTE 2: The first star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame was laid down in 1960. Since then, more than 2,000 stars have been added. That of The Beatles is located near the Silver Four Ladies of Hollywood gazebo along La Brea Avenue, where the Walk of Fame begins and ends, besides that of Elvis Presley.
FOOTNOTE 3: Grauman's Chinese Theater opened in 1927 and became famous for the nearly 200 autographed foot and hand prints of stars preserved in the concrete pavement of its forecourt. It also served as the venue of the Oscars from 1944 until 1946. Nearby across Hollywood Boulevard is El Capitan Theater that opened a year earlier in 1926. Both theaters were projects of Sid Grauman and are still first-run or premiere theaters. Both were declared as historic and cultural landmarks.
FOOTNOTE 4: The Kodak Theater was built in 2001 on the site of the famous Hollywood Hotel (circa 1902) and has been the venue of the Academy Awards. Since then, stars and celebrities walked through its famous Grand Staircase for the Oscar Awards.
FOOTNOTE 5: The Universal Studios in Hollywood was established in 1912 by Carl Laemmle and today is one of the oldest American movie studios and one of the 6 major outfits.
Last year I was stripteased into the California Mission Trail.
Never knew it existed.
Until Oyet P and Jack walked me to the Mission San Francisco de Asis (yes, in San Francisco) that was the 6th Spanish mission to be established in California in 1776. Kuya Rudy Palomo also drove me later to the 2nd in 1770 which is the Mission San Carlos Barromeo de Carmelo in Carmel, and to the 15th in 1797 which is the Mission San Juan Bautista (yes, in San Juan Bautista). In a fitting finale, eman59 of Oakland presented me with a book about the mission churches.
I have a mission church in mind as I left Panama City for a brief sojourn in Los Angeles. I was so enamored with it that I refused a $300+hotel accommodation bribe to get bumped off that morning's flight. It kept me in high spirits when I missed the connecting flight to Houston. It consoled me when I found that 2 of my fried bawang jars did not survive Houston-Los Angeles.
The next day, Mama Butch --- he who would not even ride a motorcycle during his PRRM days --- drove me to a pilgrimage in 3 mission churches.
PHOTOS EXPLAINED (top to bottom):
[1] MISSION SAN FERNANDO REY DE ESPANA (Los Angeles, California): The 17th of the 21 California Mission Churches was established in 1797 by Fr. Fermin Lasuen. It was restored in the 1940s through a grant from the Hearst Foundation but was again extensively damaged by an earthquake in 1971. The mission was completely rebuilt in 1974. Comedian Bob Hope and his wife is buried in the mission's cemetery which has been renamed as the Bob Hope Memorial Garden.
[2] MISSION SAN BUENAVENTURA (Ventura, California): The mission was the 9th to be established and the last by the legendary missionary Fr. Junipero Serra in 1782. It has the unique claim to having the only known wooden bells in all the mission churches. The mission underwent extensive renovation work in 1957.
[3] MISSION STA. INES (Solvang, Californa): Fr. Estevan Tapis established Mission Sta. Ines in 1804 as the 19th Spanish mission in California. It has survived numerous earthquakes and remained mostly as it was built).
I never missed a plane until yesterday when my flight from San Francisco to Portland left while I was doing a week’s laundry and preparing binabad na pork chop for Oyet and Jack.
I was very particular on plane schedules. I knew I got it right so what happened is still a mystery at least to me.
Anyway, Oyet made frantic phone calls as I braced myself for the possibility of having to shell out a few hundred bucks for the fine and rebooking cost. An emerging worst case scenario since it’s the peak season of air travel is not being home for Christmas which would be unforgivable.
But miracles do happen. The voice on the other line finally became that of a human and after a pause, she said there’s another plane leaving for Narita at 12 noon. She is now booking me and if I can get on that plane, I would be able to catch my connecting flight to Manila in Tokyo. I never packed so fast in my life. Luggage in tow, Oyet and me ran to the 16th Street BART Station. And the fucking train have to stop 2 stations before the airport because of what was explained as "heavy traffic ahead". Finally at the airport, we have to run searching for the Delta Air counter which have to to be at the far end of the terminal. I was not booked but was able to insist on getting a boarding pass, endure the long security check queue, and barely have enough time to board the plane. I made it and what Oyet and me has to go through is certainly worthy of an “Amazing Race” episode.
Somebody up there must like me after all and perhaps, it might be because of those churches...
PHOTOS EXPLAINED (top to bottom): (1) St. Patrick's church count among its congregation a sizable Filipino community. It was first built in 1872 then restored in 1906 in the aftermath of the great San Francisco earthquake. It is today registered as the city's Landmark No. 4. (2) The origins of the Episcopalian Grace Cathedral started in a little chapel built in 1849 during the great California gold rush. Two bigger structures were subsequently built with the third going down during the 1906 earthquake. The present structure was started to be constructed in 1928 on a donated property and was completed in 1964. It is the third largest Episcopal cathedral in the United States. (3-4) Bernal Hills offers a sweeping view of San Francisco. I was shooting for a panoramic view of the city's skyline and did not really notice the churches that came out in the photos. But there they stood, as if on cue, posing for me. (4) I saw this church while walking down from Bernal Hill. Never knew of a St. Kevin until then. A Google search result says that the church was named after Kevin of Glendalough, Ireland.
“Yes, I walked the red light district”.
“Nude girls danced on my lap”.
“I get to be intimate with some of them too”.
That’s my storyline if I got asked about the seamy side of the countries I’ve travelled to.
The truth however is I am not really into gaudy red houses. Except that one night at Bangkok’s infamous Patpong district for curiosity’s sake and I thought it was more like a curio carnival and would not be coming back.
I would rather spend my free times walking around and shooting. My favorite past time abroad is something like WAT-ching in Thailand or exploring the mystery of Phnom Penh’s Happy Pizza or walking fast and furious in Kuala Lumpur. No girly bars please.
Recently though, a close encounter with go-go girls which I actually enjoyed happened in San Jose. Kuya R drove straight to a gentlemen’s club after picking me at the Sunnyvale train station. He paid $15 for each of us, ordered 2 bottles of non-alcoholic beer, and positioned ourselves along the center stage with $1 bills on the ready. I t was still 5 pm and we were the only patrons at that time. But boy, how the girls danced. It was uninhibited total performance with amazing acrobatics on the pole. Kuya R would place a couple of dollars on the table and they would come and spread and get so close I can smell them. It was no striptease. It was all the way throughout.
That night and the lies we made to cover our deed might have been one reason why Kuya R decided to drive me and go church hunting the next day. THAT was the striptease.
Carmel-by-the-Sea is a renowned arts colony where noted actor Clint Eastwood once served as mayor. We drove slowly: Kuya R looking for the street signs and I admiring the neat streets and cute stores and genteel houses. The striptease that it was involved 2 u-turns until finally an uphill drive which first revealed the bell tower, then a grove of trees, until finally a centuries old church. San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo’s billing as the most beautiful of the California Missions is just.
There’s more coming. We were on the road again after a quick lunch of clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl at Monterey's Fisherman’s Wharf. The striptease brought us to another u-turn, a right and another u-turn, a left and another u-turn, until finally a parked school bus and a town square straight out of a Wild West movie. Mission San Juan Bautista, the largest of the California Missions and the setting of Alfred Hitchcock’s "Vertigo", is indeed a sprawl.
But really, this striptease started much earlier in San Francisco’s Mission Dolores with Oyet mentioning an old church around the neighborhood as he ticked off the churches we will be going to then finding a photo of that old church in a bookstore in Fort Mason and me deciding that it is a must-see-and-shoot church then Oyet and Jack and me walking along Mission Street and stopping in Clarion Alley for some photos and at a marker declaring the original location of the church and passing a Methodist / Protestant / Lutheran (?) church under renovation and shooting a Jewish synagogue across the street then the Basilica until finally the old Mission Dolores church.
PHOTOS EXPLAINED (from top to bottom): [1] The mission church of San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo was started to be erected in 1793 some 22 years after the mission was moved to its present site. It was the headquarters of the California Mission chain from 1770 until 1803. Raiding French pirates ravaged the mission in 1818 and it has been in ruins until 1884 when restoration work started. The remains of the legendary missionary priest Fr. Junipero Serra is interred in the mission. [2] Mission San Jose Bautista’s first church was built a year after the mission’s foundation in 1797. The present church was started to be built in 1803 until 1812. It was damaged during the 1906 earthquake and restored from 1949 until 1950. [3] The Mission de San Francisco de Asis was established in 1776 and, through the years, became to be known as Mission Dolores after the stream which supplied it with water. It is the 6th mission to be established by the legendary missionary Fr. Junipero Serra and the most northerly of the 21 California Missions founded by the Spaniards. Beside the mission is the Basilica Dolores (building on the right) that was built in 1918 over the ruins of a parish church which collapsed during the 1906 earthquake.
