Historical Background:
The challenge of writing about the sixteenth century Philippines, or sixteenth century Britain for that matter, is that so much has changed or been lost to modernity. For countries like my beloved Philippines, there’s the added challenge that history has been vanquished by the soldiers and colonial governments. What I find myself having to do to is re-create that time period by going back to sources like Antonio Pigafetta, Magellan’s chronicler. I have lists and lists of plants, animals, and other things he saw during first contact between sixteenth century Visayans and Magellan. I have taken those lists and brought them with me on this trip. And I’ve tracked down which animals and plants I can. The challenge is tremendously exciting! Of course, it’s difficult to know with complete certainty, for example, if the “black bird” he mentions is a specific one endemic to Cebu (more on that at a later posting).

The work of historians, anthropologists, and religious studies professors has been crucial to my understanding of that time period. Archaelogists have discovered that during the sixteenth century, the port of Cebu was a large and active trading port. Shards of ceramics from China have been found in Cebu City (using stratigraphy to date them) long before Magellan’s landing. Other Chinese shards have been found in towns all along the Eastern coastline of Cebu. It’s believed that the port of Cebu was a distribution point for the rest of the barangay (settlements).

So that’s where I started my own re-creations, the east coast of Cebu. A local environmental organization brokered for me a tour down through several cities and municipalities — all the ones where I’d read there was archaeological evidence of settlements during the sixteenth century. These are quite rural places. Beautiful. Usually municipalities that have just become cities. Most families fish and farm for a living. The men go out in small banca (1-2 people outrigger boats) where they either spear fish or use lines for catch. They return and the women sell the fish in the marketplace. It is a very old tradition, this division of labor.

Action Plan:
To recreate sixteenth century Cebu I tried to be in or around as much nature as I could. I sought out whatever local, endemic animals and plants I could find. And I tried to track down things Pigafetta had described in his chronicles. The caveat is this: No culture, no matter how simple ever stays the same over 500 years. All I could do was go sideways — get a sense from modern Cebuanos of how their resourceful ancestors may have lived from the traditions they still maintain today. Like weaving, fishing, seafaring, and house-building.

I sound all academic in this post. *laugh* But it was tremendous fun to put deep anthropological research in the service of historical fiction! I took a private 2 day tour of the East Coast of Cebu: Naga, Carcar, Talisay, Alcoy, Daliguete, Argao, Boljoon, Oslob. The forest of Alcoy. A protected Marine Sanctuary in Oslob where my family and I, guided by the ever-resourceful Maretes (more on this wonderful woman later), snorkeled and saw Philippine coral reefs for the first time. If there is no such term as Historical Ecology, I’d like to coin it now because I got a chance to see animals that have been around at least for the last 500 years and organizations like the Coastal Conservation Education Foundation are working hard to preserve them.

Here’s an excerpt from my excellent 2 days of researching the East Coast:

Today, I drove w/my family stopping at small cities and barangays on Cebu’s east coast.
Today, I saw a real mangrove w/my own eyes for the first time.
Today, I learned the history of cities like Talisay, Naga, Carcar from a fish warden, an agricultural officer, and a tourism officer.
Today, I saw old photos that were taken of antiques and relics.
Today, I saw how people make tuba (palm wine) from palm sap.
Today, I met women hand-weaving mats and long swatches from abaca (pineapple thread).
Today, I was in the presence of a carabao, a pig, a parrot, and lots of kambing (goats). I saw an enormous balete tree (daket in Cebuano) and the way palm and banana trees stand together.
Today, we saw hermit crabs roam footpaths along the shore.
Today, I learned to recognize the warning of the tuko lizard and heard the siloy sing its sad and beautiful warning song.
It was a good day.

Before the trip, my plan was to do field research during the day and then spend about half an hour blogging each night to keep in touch with friends and family outside of the Philippines. But, you see, those plans were made before the Advent of Jetlag.

The time difference between Cebu City and Chicago is fifteen hours. That means that, literally, our days and nights are flipped upside-down. The last time I was in Manila, twelve years ago, I landed on an evening flight and slept the entire next day sprawled out on my cousin’s bed. So, I expected the same would happen here. It’s no big deal. You just sleep it off and then adjust to the, albeit huge leap, in time zone.

But every journey’s different and when we landed last Thursday, it was 5:30 a.m. Manila time. We got to the Manila Airport Hotel, our stop-over before heading out to Cebu on Friday afternoon. We were tired, but very, very excited. And wide awake. This was unexpected.

So, instead of sleeping off the day, we called our relatives and met them earlier than anticipated. We crammed Auntie M, Uncle E, Uncle C, Auntie E and our own little family of three into our air-conditioned hotel room and caught up on family stories. It was a great impromptu reunion!

This was the first time Alan and Boy-boy had met any of them. As Alan said later, clearly tickled, “You’re relatives are so cute! Every one of them!” Uncle E has the smooth, deep voice of a radio announcer. He and Auntie M kept making these jokes about getting older. She said, “You always think of yourself as young.” And he adds, “Until – until somebody calls you Tatang.” Which is an affectionate term for elder, or father. “Soon,” said Uncle E, “I will be Lolo (grandfather.) And after that? SUPER Lolo.” I don’t if this translates. Part of the humor is in Uncle E’s delivery.

Filipinos here seem also alternately surprised and amused that Alan can speak Tagalog. They look at him with his blue eyes and pale skin, his beard and American clothes and don’t expect him to say things like, “Magandang umaga! Meron po kayo nang Globe Card?” (Globe is a company that provides calling time on cell phones.) We love seeing people’s reaction at the seeming incongruity. Mostly, it’s fun to mess with people’s expectations.

But anyway, back to the point I was trying to make with this blog entry: Jetlag threw off my blog writing time considerably, which is why I’m having to play catch-up. Here’s an excerpt from my journal: “If you’ve never had jetlag before, it feels something like this – When you’re standing still, the earth sways beneath your feet like a ship’s deck riding a huge swell. Can anyone say queasy?” We felt this way for maybe 4 days. Now, the queasy feeling is gone.

My body had fallen into a rhythm of falling asleep at around 8 or 9 p.m. Cebu City time. I’d wake up at 3 or 4 a.m., read, research, and generally think through my action plan for the upcoming day. Then, I’d get exhausted by 5 a.m. Back to bed for another hour or hour-and-a-half of sleep. Usually, I was wide awake by 6:30 and we’re out to breakfast at around 7 or 7:30.

I’ve learned since our last trip to Greece, that it’s best to follow my body’s rhythm. The jetlag isn’t something you necessarily have to fight. Your body finds its own way of marking time. Waking up at 4 a.m. to work hasn’t been so bad. In fact, it’s the time of day when the entire family is quiet. I’ve been waking up at that time with my thoughts cogent and research questions clear and realizations about the previous day’s work come easily in the tahimik, the peace of early morning.

So, let’s see how many entries I can put online this morning to catch up. It’s 6 a.m. in Cebu City now. To our friends and family in the States: Have a great dinner!

Life, like the plot of a juicy and unpredictable novel, can have reversals. One afternoon, we were told that the best view of Cebu City would be from the Taoist Temple in Lahug, an affluent part of town in the mountains and home to a thriving Chinese Filipino community. We took a taxi there.

On the radio was a Cebuano talk-show. Now, I can hang out fine in Tagalog, but Cebuano is far beyond me at this point. After about 5 days of being surrounded by this vibrant language, I’ve come to love its rhythm, its dips and dives and fast footsteps. And I notice many words that end in –an or –on.

However, the talk show host was dropping names like Tupas. Then, Lapu-lapu. And, finally, when I heard the name Magellan, I knew that they were talking about the historic event of his landing and subsequent defeat. I pricked up my ears and strained to understand any words at all possible. It’s AMAZING what you can focus yourself to do under the right circumstances.

When we got to the mountains, I told our driver, Jun, that we wanted to see the Kadaugan but that we were told it was already finished. No! he said. He’d just been listening to an hour’s worth of programming. They’d been announcing the Re-enactment and that it was happening (yes, yes, yes!) this Saturday. He gave me the number of the radio station so I could confirm it. What relief I felt at this news I cannot tell you.

What I’ve learned from this is to always check and counter-check the word on the street (any street, any city). The next day, I called the Department of Tourism for final confirmation and *finally* got the official answer and the starting time of the event. Internet is not always reliable or its info complete.

If I had it to do all over again, I would’ve spent the extra $5.00 or whatever it cost to call the Department of Tourism of Cebu from the States to confirm what I’d read about the Kadaugan online – to save these 2 days of grief and uncertainty.

I think it was Julia Cameron, in ARTIST’S WAY, who suggests, “Leave the drama for the page, not for life.”

Excerpted from private journal, 21 April 2007, 2:45 a.m. Cebu time:

It’s nearly 3 a.m. I’m not sure, but I think I’ve hit a low point in the trip. I’m feeling a bit discouraged. Yesterday, the shuttle driver who picked us up from the Mactan-Cebu International Airport told us that the Kadaugan Re-enactment of the Battle of Mactan had already happened in January or March for the ASEAN Conference. This, I knew about already from following Cebuano news over the last couple of months. But the tourism boards kept showing that the Battle was still going to be re-enacted on the 27th for the local communities. Two other young men I’d talked to had no idea what events were even happening for the Kadaugan.

And then, even worse, the shuttle driver introduced the idea that the Philippine Star and the local radio have been saying that Magellan was really killed in the CAMOTES ISLANDS (where, most notably, I will NOT be staying).

Let’s recap: Word on the street is that there’s no Battle of Mactan Re-enactment this April. And that Magellan was NOT killed in Mactan like the shrine and much of the scholarship I’ve read says. So WHY did I travel thousands of miles to get, literally, half-way around the world to conduct research in April?

I’ve had a monkey-wrench thrown on my grasp of history. And the planned climax of my research trip may not happen.

It’s Thursday the 26th now and I’m trying to remember what happened last Saturday, 21 April, our first full day in Cebu. It was an amazing day. Despite the set-back of the news that the Battle of Mactan Re-enactment was not happening, I forged ahead with my family in tow. They have been incredibly good sports about my dragging them about and being on my research schedule (even when there’s no clear schedule to speak of or things change, suddenly, as they do on journeys).

Writing historical fiction is sometimes like being a bloodhound. You have to sniff out the scent, follow the faint and lingering clues of history. The most obvious places to research are museums, bookstores, libraries, and monuments. Last Saturday, April 21st, we toured Cebu City’s Big 3: The Santo Nino (which sounds like Ninyo when I can get the Spanish tilde to work) Basilica, Magellan’s Cross, and Fort San Pedro.

The Santo Ninyo was a gift given by Magellan to “Queen Juana” (aka Humaymay) after her “baptism”. I put these things in annoying little quotes because, like most really good stories, everything depends on one’s interpretation and viewpoint. The Santo Ninyo is a statue of the Christ Child, or as I like to think of him, Baby Jesus (sounds friendlier and more accessible to me). Fort San Pedro is the earliest Spanish stronghold in Cebu from which the rest of the island was colonized; it was used by the Spanish government for defense. And Magellan’s Cross is a replica of the original one implanted by Ferdinand Magellan on the shores of Cebu.

[This is a very simplified and cursory overview of those historical sites. Mostly ’cause it’s getting late and this blogger is tired!]

What’s hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t visited the Philippines is this incredible sense of spirituality that permeates the air and slides in, under my skin. Yes, perhaps it’s humidity. Or perhaps it’s just the heat. But, no, I am just being flippant — because it really is hard to explain the sincerity and fervor of prayer here. Old women stand in front of the Basilica selling thin, red tapered candles to light when people make petitions to the Christ Child.

One of the things I find amazing is the thought that people humble themselves down to ask for very basic things that we all want: Health. Security. Love. Peace. Food.

Before I left, I had been reading a field guide for historical fiction writers. They say that field research is a very risky thing. Who knows if the book will even sell to recoup the expenses of such a grandiose trip? This is a very practical concern. But my completely impractical take on it is: When else would I have the chance to have a transformational journey like this? To share the history of my heritage with my husband and pass on this knowledge to our son?

But the field guide also said that there’s nothing like experiencing something first hand. Whether it’s following the Oregon Trail by covered wagon or talking to re-enactors about how to card wool. If I could step back in time, I would, just to get Cebu, Mactan and that gorgeous and dangerous time period inside my bones — because, in the end, that’s how we write the most powerful stuff. From the inside out.

Excerpted from private journal, 20 April 2007, Friday:

There are about 900 people here in the domestic terminal for Cebu Pacific Airlines. Lots of noise. A cacophony of voices. It’s the most # of non-Asians I’ve seen in 3 days. Passengers are loading for places like Boracay and Cagayan de Oro and Legaspi. Our driver from the Manila Hotel to Cebu Pacific told us it was summer vacation. All the schools are out and everyone’s heading out to the provinces. (The line to the women’s CR/Comfort Room is 25 people long!)

Standing in line earlier waiting 40 minutes to check in, I felt like I was in an Isabel Allende novel. There was a Catholic nun in full habit. Muslim women who wrapped their hair in beautiful floral scarves and wore long skirts. This whole crowd seems overtly religious, more than what I’m used to in the States. Even here, in the boarding area, there is a lit shrine to Mama Mary flanked on the right by a portrait of Jesus and on the left by 2 other religious portraits. I ran into an Australian fiction writer, a beautiful young Caucasian woman who teaches yoga in Quezon City. Most of the foreigners, most everyone really, look ready for vacation — sunglasses and broad-rimmed straw hats, fanny packs. For the Euro/American/Australian travelers, there are IPOD’s. There’s a group of 13-year-old-looking girls and boys from a national javelin throwing team. Lots of families with babies sucking water from plastic bottles.

So far, on our travels, we’ve personally seen 1 major Filipino actress-singer, Vina Morales, and a senatorial hopeful named Richard Gomez, nicknamed Richard “Goma” (like rubberband in Tagalog) who looked a head taller than most of us Filipinos and waltzed into the terminal like a movie star touting glam sunglasses and flanked by an entourage. Most of the time, I don’t know who the celebrity is (since I am not local). But this is how I recognize them: First, an excited buzz starts in the throng. You hear 2 or 3 people say the star’s name excitedly. When folks start pulling out their cell phone cameras for pics with the person, then you know it’s someone famous. Hmmm…that’s 2 plane rides and 2 famous people. We’re 2 for 2! *laugh*

In Manila, they’ve “reclaimed” part of the Bay, which means that the government has filled in the bay with soil from other provinces to make more land to build on. What was built? Well…here’s a description from my journal: “SM Mall of Asia – the Biggest, most extravagant mall I’ve ever seen anywhere in the world. It’s the size of 5 malls put together. They have a massive ice skating rink and every hour or so they make it snow!” (Snow. Inside a mall. When it’s 90 degrees outside. And we’ve just come from Chicago. Where we were trying to escape from. SNOW. Hmmm.) “Meanwhile, outside in the streets of Pasig, there are emaciated people who come up to your car window and beg for money with a thin, dirty plastic mug.”

I’m hesitant to say anything even remotely critical of the Philippines, especially to my American friends, because so many people Stateside don’t have the love for my ancestral home or culture the way my family does. It’s easy to look at the squatter camps (read: the hand-built refuges of families who would otherwise be nomadic and homeless) and turn our collective American noses up. Or to say to ourselves, Poor them. And, how lucky we are, in some inadvertent condescension. But disparity in the Philippines, just like disparity in Chicago or L.A. or San Francisco, or Rio de Janeiro, disturbs me.

I suppose the Chicago equivalent to this SM Mall of Asia versus the Street Beggars of Pasig struggle is the Magnificent Mile where there are the gleaming two-story shop windows of Ann Taylor and Eddie Bauer or Nike Town and Virgin Records. And yet, a few years ago, Mayor Daley had swept Chicago’s homeless people out of Lower Wacker. Having served food to my local homeless folks, it’s hard to say the disparities in Manila are too different from those in the major U.S. cities I love, like Sweet Home Chicago (which I am also hesitant to say anything critical of because I love the people and the Lake and the unique neighborhoods of our city).

One thing my days in Berkeley anthropology taught me is that when we travel, it is as if we take two journeys simultaneously: a journey abroad and a journey home. Both journeys get us to re-examine our assumptions. Ten years ago, I would have been fixated on the differences between America and the Philippines. But these days, maybe because I’m getting older (I said older, not wiser!), maybe my mind and spirit are more engaged with seeing humanity as a whole. What do we, as a species, do to one another? How can we make it snow inside a massive shopping-an when people are literally starving outside in the streets of Manila? How can we spend a million plus on Millenium Park and not spend the equivalent on helping Chicago’s homeless folks find sustainable work, the basics of food and medicine, and a clean, simple place to sleep from day to day?

For me, journeys often open up more questions than they answer. Personally, I love the big questions. With big questions we’re given the chance to grow and transform. And what’s life without transformation?

My son, Boy-boy, has a collection of Filipino children’s books called TUTUTBI PATROL (Dragonfly Patrol). They’re a bit like Aesop’s fables where the stories are designed to teach kids life lessons or morals. Often, the stories and illustrations are set on a farm or countryside with the animals trying to figure out how to get along peacefully with each other. Trouble ensues. They work it out. And all is right with the world. *grin* This thread in my blog is called BLOG-OG as a nod to that children’s series. There’s one character, Nog-nog Niyog the Coconut tree. When coconuts fall from her tops, it makes the sound BLOG-OG!

This is a sound my family has co-opted for its own use. As in, “Uh-oh, my R2-D2 toy just fell off the table. BLOG-OG!” Or, say, we’re driving through the coastal countryside of Cebu and something bounces off the top of our van(which it did) and we say, “Uh-oh, BLOG-OG! Must be a coconut falling from the tree!” Or, say, Boy-boy has a great hand in Gin and throws his last card on the table. It’s a perfectly GREAT time to exclaim: BLOG-OG!

In the case of cyberspace, we really like it that the word BLOG so closely resembles the Filipino sound of coconuts falling. *laugh* Blog pages falling from our keyboard out onto the net.So that’s our new silliness. BLOG-OG!

Excerpted from my private journal, 6 April 2007:

The immunizations are done — Hep A, Hep B, Tetanus, Measles booster, Typhoid. Everything on the pasalubong list has been bought for relatives and the NGO community leaders I’ll meet on the journey. The suitcases have been brought out, ready to load. I’ve done my Internet searches for local museums and historical sites, stayed up nights pouring through Lonely Planet and Rough Guide sections on Cebu, visited the Cebu Tourism site. Booked rooms, our flight from L.A. to Mainal and Manila to Cebu.

I’ve gone back to my compilation of articles to triangulate exactly where the old Cebuano settlements are (current day cities like Cebu City and Naga). I’ve contacted an expert on gender in the sixteenth century Philippines, packaged together my business cards and reprints of one of my essays.

Whew!

…

This is the moment when all the “to-do” items on my list are crossed off. This is the moment of looking at the Herculean effort I’ve taken.

There were nights when I woke up with my heart-pounding — wondering how I’d get from the airport to Guadalupe or Guadalupe to the Marine Sanctuary. Traveler’s worries. Or times when I’d asked myself, “What am I dragging Alan and Boy-boy into?”

But this, this is the moment to savor — that I’ve made all my preparations. The checklists are all done. The ingredients are all there except for the WONDER. Now, I just have to let go and let the journey happen.

Excerpt from my private journal, 5 April 2007:

I drove across Columbus Avenue to get to North Beach and wondered if the half-hour of writing at the Lake would justify the carbon footprint I’d leave behind. It is a fine spring day in Chicago and I’m hungry to see the expanse of turquoise water beneath the wide Midwestern sky.

It’s hard to explain creative writing to people who don’t do it. I think, most of the time, exercises we writers do to sharpen our writing skills just sound weird to non-writers. * laugh * For me, writing takes over my whole body, like a fever. And if I give in to my instinct – like this morning – it usually takes me to a place where I can feel with more intensity: The new leaves budding on the city’s oak and maple trees. The bite of the last winter wind. The wet smell of my Labrador retriever in the van as I write this.

This morning, I can’t help but think of Magellan. Did he stand on a Spanish shore just as I’m standing on the lip of Lake Michigan? Did he gaze out across the water and wonder what he’d find?

This morning, I awoke gripped by a nervous energy. It finally formed into words – and the words articulated my fears: Can I do it? Can I pull this trip off? Can I surrender to the FLOW of the moment? Will I be able to navigate jeepneys and buses, ferries and banca systerms I don’t yet know? Will it all work out?

I have a strange and complicated relationship with a man who has been dead for nearly 500 years. But this morning, I find myself in simpatico with him. I am gripped and called to sea. I cannot wait to stand on a prow and let the wind whip back my hair. I want all the answers to what I’ll find on this journey and I want them now. And yet, how I LOVE the mystery of what will be.

In thirteen days, I leave for Cebu to fulfill a lifelong dream. To travel to the islands where Magellan landed in the Philippines, to witness where he died. To listen to the land and the wonders of the sea around Cebu. And, at long last, to stand in the place where women babaylans, pintado warriors, Humabon and Lapu-lapu lived.

I am filled with questions. First among them is: What will I find?