Tatlong linggong naiwang nakanganga si Carlo Guieb Tangilig.
Nanigas ang kanyang mga kable at lumambot ang mga gulong sa matinding pagngingitngit.
At ni hindi ko nakuhanan ng pityur ang mga seksing pulis ng Lima at ang kanilang mga masusuwerteng mga mountain bike.
Nakalimutan ko din sa haba ng nilakad namin ni Oyet sa San Francisco ang whole day $150 mountain biking trek at half-day $60 city biking tour.
Mabuti pa 'yung mama sa airport, kasama palagi ang kanyang gitara.
Pero uuwi din ako.
At nakauwi nga, kaya inaakyat ko agad si Ariel Guieb Tangilig sa tuktok ng Maangol at kinamot ang matagal nang nangangating simbahan ng Licab kasama sina Lupo Domingo Quilban at ang bagong saltang si Placido Armando Catalan.
Sarado ang Lugaw Network noong bisperas ng pasko kaya nagtiyaga kami sa mami at siopao ng Chow King kasama sina Kuya Darwin at Andie.
Nagkitakita din ang isang bahagi ng 373 Bikers na tinuntun kung saan papunta ang irigasyon na dumadaan sa Villa Isla, at sina Ariel Guieb Tangilig at Placido Armando Catalan na nag-almusal ng matamis na pakwan sa Mapangpang matapos tagpusin ang Mangandingay at Burgos, at muli ng matabang na pakwan sa Munoz matapos sundan ang mga nakatagong kalsada papuntang Rizal.
Bago lumipat ang taon ay iniakyat namin si Kuya Rey sa Maangol.
Kasing tamis ng malambot na labi ng binibining Peruviana ang paghihiganti ng Ariel Guieb Tangilig.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
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.
