Our mother the Cordillera

I arrived in my village in the night time, after a dreary day's ride on the mountain trail.
once upon a trail-ride dreary
I could not see it but the pungent stench of smoke hanging in the air was a frontal assault on my senses. This all but dashed the expectation of being welcomed home by the sweet and pure mountain air spiced by the warm waft of the steam from the hotsprings.

The following morning showed up this lethal toxic invasion. Smoke hung in the air blocking off the pleasant views to the mountains.

My world was literally turned upside down! This was the opposite of my expectations.

I stared hard into the distance. The sun was shining up in the cloudless summer sky, but even that could not penetrate the gloom.

I went for a walk up to the hill called Sagang overlooking the village.

The pall lifted a bit and the sight of an old friend - the pure clean white steam - rising up from the hotspring moved me. It was like a beacon of hope, a symbol of stoic hardiness – unconquerable.

I looked around and my gaze just got shrouded, not from the smoke that i see in the distant mountains, but from the tears in my heart.

Our mother the mountains are being ravaged.

I could not look away. I had to suffer as the mountains the forests the trees, our home our mother nature died in front of me.
Part of me died that day.

I grieve for the fields that suffer and will die for lack of water, the streams that run no more, the granaries that will stay empty at harvest time, the blueberries that will not grow and ripen for the kids to pick, the mudfish, the snail, the frog, the birds the everything the all things not bright not beautiful.

I fixed my gaze on it for a long time helpless as an infant pine just pushing out of the ground - never to scale and never to grace the great grand heights-

I retreated to a spot where i can be a wide-eyed witness to this excruciating execution.

I did not know it at the time but the chain wire in front of me now appears as a prison shackling me like an inutile prisoner of my own demons...

One day i went for a walk to get away from the depressing desolation.

It did not get any better.

The hills are alive with the noise - the death rattle of the sticks as they crackle and blaze to death. the mournful whoosh of the pines as they fall.

The mature pines are not spared.

Those big enough to hold sap at the base of their trunks are now destined to fall.

I lost my way many times. And not for not knowing where to go.

Rather because the fires have obliterated the trails that lead to the mountains, to the fields, and to home.

Whole mountains have been rendered to ash and cinders.

Through all that i stumbled home sad and sorry and it was not just for myself.

In the evening i settled down to rest.

But the familiar noise of crackles and burning lodged deep in my dreams. I woke with a start and realised it was not a dream – it’s a nightmare! The fires are there.

Looking out the window i saw not a bad dream, but a terrible reality. The apparition of fires circling and suffocating the dense pine groves in the gloomy distance.

The burning season went on into the night... and into the following day, and night, the day after and night of that day, and for days and nights thereafter.

A respite a few days later.

Some rains came.

But the embers smoulder away.

Now the extent of damage is clear.

Scarred forever, the mountains weep no more...

They have shared joyful tears in decades past - and those times were the good times for the fields, the creeks, the people - for all things bright and beautiful...

Now just a distant memory.

And still another fire starts on the other side of town.

We don’t die in a blaze after all.
We die slowly...
For we’re a long time dead...
...
and the sun will rise soon on the false and the fair
singin' too - ra - loo - ra - li - o.

click below for a HD video of this post
with stereo music
our mother the mountain

rotary fun run

when you're lost in the rain...

i went for a run to clear my head - of smoke
the smoke rings of my mind
the foggy ruins of time...
...
the foggy web of destiny

it's all a hazy jumble
or it's just me being an old fogey

The rotary fun run/walk is now an annual event held at the University of Queensland in St Lucia.
This includes a 10km Run along the Brisbane River.

The shady course starts in the UQ Athletics Stadium, follows the river for about 2.4 km to a turn-around point then returns to the Stadium for the finish. Two laps of this course comprise the 10 km run.

I was standing in line, then looked up and thought: am I an M or a P. Almost forgot my name.
I registered, got given a number.

This is a great event as there is something for everybody. Team entries allow one to compete within your Company or with another, or simply to have some fun running / walking with  friends.

There is opportunity for families to enter and have fun together and there is the chance to prove yourself or just have fun as an individual.

I gazed around the campus, the university buildings, checked out the grounds, and the tents and the ladies too he he. If only i can run as fast as them -

someone says "now listen up".

getting pre-race instructions.

no bullhorns allowed - apparently so the residents in the neighbouring houses don't get disturbed. 

hence i can't hear the 'instructor'.

reminds me of when i was attending lectures - never did listen to instructors.

okay warming up:

stretch left,

now to the right.

then behind...

that race official is keen to pose.

my vision is blurry, or is that camera shake?

that's better.

I gave up taking pictures. too hard. allowed me to catch my breath though.

at the finish.

i told myself am not gonna get caught wearing one of them pink bags.

but apparently it's all for a good cause - run for charity, 'pink choices program' in support of those suffering from breast cancer.

The Choices Program (Choices) is a free community service offering support for women and men diagnosed with breast cancer and women diagnosed with gynaecological cancers and their families.

i got prevailed on.

lucky they also gave out brown bags -

to hide the pink bags

i might stage my own fun run

with green bags.

a fun run on the mountain trail

to stop all burning-

in support of the cordillera mountains.

that would indeed be fun...

that's not me on the certificate.

am not that pretty.

Once upon a trail-ride dreary

Last month I hit the road (mountain trail or halsema highway) to visit my highland hometown. I was hoping to get refreshed and to find good lazy rest for a couple of weeks.
But soon as my bus got to the outskirts i knew it was not the green grass of home that awaited. Already i was dreading what i would find if the burning or burned hills of Benguet in the southern part of the cordillera ranges was any indication.

I kept shaking my head every time i looked around and saw smoke. Smoke and brushfires were everywhere. Even the highway was enveloped in the thick choking aerial invasion and often darkened the daylight like in an eclipse. Damaged and destroyed forests and mountains have smeared the mountain range stretching the length of the bus trip from urban center to rural town.

Many of the towns and villages were surrounded by fields not of green, but by ugly dark brown areas from the recent fires. Still other villages are threatened by fires that keep burning for days and even weeks.

I have noted the parched and dry mountains and waterways previously.
musing and whingeing
The extent of drought is more apparent as we approached the ricefields of the towns of Mountain Province. The number of dry fields is a lot more than i have seen before. And these were not just dried and thirsty – they were cracked and dusty. Seeing this dryness jolted my brain to remember what my eyes saw earlier that day passing through the vegetable terraces – those too were parched and sere – and only a few were planted.

The irrigation dikes and canals that snake around the hillsides are also mostly dry and laying wasted. The few ditches that carry water do so in precious trickles.

Towards dusk we descended down from the peaks. As the bus slowly wound its way down along the tight bends, we approached a town on a river. Across the river was a fire with its flame rings on the bottom of its scythe-shaped firefront. (It was the grim reaper's hook as far as the withered trees were concerned). From its scorched wake this fire looks to have descended down from the mountains where obviously it started days ago. It is now threatening some houses adjoining the ricefields. As the bus continued on, the passengers were all showing signs of concern yet somehow we all knew that the fire will be put out IF it reached the houses.

The homeward stretch of the journey was thus in glum silence as we pondered why - or why not? These towns have produced many people in high office in the provincial, regional and in the national level of government. Where are they? Why are they silent? Busy campaigning? Perhaps. So what are they saying about these fires?

As with any disease – and burning is arson is a crime is a sin is a disease – prevention is better than cure. Maybe the pine trees don’t vote.

In conflict, a scorched earth policy has been banned under the 1977 Geneva Conventions.
Why then is this practise allowed to persist, and perenially in a 'peaceful' Philippines? This is a country that suffers from drought and lack of water during its dry season.
Article 54 of Protocol 1 (1977 Geneva Conventions) states:

It is prohibited to ...destroy ... or render useless objects indispensable to the survival of the civilian population, such as foodstuffs, agricultural areas for the production of foodstuffs, crops, livestock, drinking water installations and supplies, and irrigation works ...for any ... motive.

And this is exactly what malefactors who light brushfires do. These arsonists should be tracked down and burned at the stake!

Ever wondered why the mountains of your childhood still look the same many years on? Because forests and mountains take not years but decades to regenerate. A short two- or three-year respite from fires is not sufficient. The young pines and undergrowth may survive 2 or 3 years but die in their 4th or 5th when the fires visit their homes once again. Only the mature ones (20 years or more) manage to survive, and they’re the only ones you see every time you visit the land of your ancestors.

There's a song (tum balalaika) from my childhood:

Maiden, maiden, tell me true. What can cry and shed no tears?

Not just a heart, silly lad.

A mountain too can cry, when it sheds no tears. And just like you and me - it can be heart-broken.

I’ll be posting some photos...

long May you read

A mixed bunch this fortnight, or is this the monthly set? It’s all blurred. Taking leave from work, travelling home – these somehow disrupt routines. I took some time off to rejuvenate and ended up getting depressed. Now i need a break from writing about the depressing things i saw during my break.

First to the AV set.

Top of the pile is some blues from John Hammond. 'Push comes to shove' i'll take this with me to that hypothetical deserted island.

Then some great Aussie selections from Redgum. 'Caught in the act' is their only live album. Check out "I was only 19" and "diamantina drover".

Tom Petty & the heartbreakers rock with some concert offerings.

There is a book on the songs of Neil Young if you dig Neil Young. Otherwise don’t waste your time.

Then to some videos.

‘We were Soldiers’ is another of those patriotic flicks from hollywood. To be fair it accords equal treatment to both sides of the war in Vietnam. I only borrowed it for a couple of songs on the soundtrack, but it’s okay if there’s nothing else around. Just watch it objectively.

The Oscar-winning film ‘Midnight Cowboy’ is another to watch when there’s not much on TV. I haven’t seen this before and I do like Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voight. Although their character roles here are not to be admired, their acting certainly is top shelf. I also borrowed it for the soundtrack which has 'everybody talkin'. This was way back in the early 70s.

To the read list.

The novels. McCarthy’s ‘The Road’ has been both panned and praised. I must have got some bias elsewhere before I read it. Even then i could not find myself enjoying the book. It is way unrealistic.

I read ‘The brothers Karamazov’ before or so i thought. If i did it must have been in another life. Ideal for a holiday getaway. I thought of bringing it to Mainit. Good i didn’t because it would have remained unread.

I picked up Chess champion Kasparov’s book just out of curiosity. I actually enjoyed it. It’s a bit more fun if you know a little chess, but even non-chess players could find some lessons here.

The other items include books on TS Eliot’s works and a biography of Kahlil Gibran. I’d get into them first before reading these books. One of them's fighting in the captain's tower.

More music suggestions.

Oops most are in the first photo too.

Do check out Grant-Lee Phillips. He’s got some good songs.

Then there’s a compilation from The Who.

The who? Yeah you may not have heard of them. They’re of ‘my generation’. He he.

musing and whingeing

whinge. intransitive verb Chiefly Brit (and Aussie) To complain or protest, especially in an annoying or persistent manner.

Some random notes. there's no rhyme nor reason here...
 
Where I come from...
Traffic is still at a crawl from NAIA to NLEx.
 
I am generally an optimistic bastard. But I am cynical with regard to a couple of things.

Global warming

It is the hot dry season and early mornings are not as chilly or as crisp, but global warming is very apparent. The dryness is manifest in the fallen dried brown pine needles, as i discovered while walking under a grove of remnant pines – in the city of pines! There was so much more fallen pine needles and and so much drier.

Parched dry earth- cracks schisms fissures on most surfaces fields roads and building walls and floors.
Some pine trees still standing though are very dead.

Smog and haze now a feature.

Brush fires, forest fires

grim and dim realities
Infrastructure projects are supposedly through the efforts of a politician from the president down to the barangay official - meaning there would not have been that patch of bitumen there if not for them. Wow!
The cost of the project is somehow never mentioned. I suppose if a project is worth billions and the result is only worth thousands...

Politics in the air. News commentaries, ads, endorsements disguised as journalistic pieces.

Politicians or high-ranking officials in unmarked and dark-tinted luxury vehicles with at least two police escorts on some kind of mission – to stop corruption perhaps or maybe to mitigate the choking brushfires.

Disparity between haves and have nots – beggars outside fancy dining places which cost as much as in the west.

to get away from this madness - i took off to my highland home...

Congestion is still a feature of the main road in La Trinidad.
The mountains are on fire and the air is thick not just with smoke - but with something very fishy.

Along the mountain roads on the way home, there is erosion, cut roads, sinking roads, unsignalised unattended single lane roads – all with a very high risk of accident.

Past the dry dusty fields, past gullies now merely with stains from where water used to flow and rush down and gather into rivulets. Clear mountain springwater that used to be plentiful and used to form beautiful waterfalls as they wind and wend their way down from the mountainsides to the sea - they are no more!

The mountain has ran out of tears – it cries no more.
I can feel its sadness as i ride along its dry and dusty roads shorn of significant vegetation. i shiver as i stare at the burnt scarred slopes as dark and black as the evil wreaked on it.

Yes the mountains are no longer gaily and lazily nourishing the rivers that flow down the valleys - down to the once rich lowland agricultural farmlands - and thence farther down to the fishfarms in the deltas. After these many years of conflagration and degradation, they are slowly but surely being washed down to the sea.

But no it’s not just the annual fires that’s caused this defilement. Blame part of it on climate change.

Who’s causing climate change? It’s all of us.
We have rendered the mountain fields bare and sterile with chemicals and such toxic weapons. The hiss is the curse of the parso-ot. The pestilence, the evil influence of pesticides.

Can we blame the farmer? Can we blame the consumer? Can we blame anyone? Can we blame ourselves?

Maybe there’s too many of us.
There is too many of us!
What programs are in place for a sustainable population? a sustainable family? community? society?
Never mind what our political leaders say.
But what do our religious leaders say? Go ye and multiply? Go breed and compete for the meagre resources of your mountains. Blessed are you that are poor, for you will be rich in heaven?

There are now 6.8 billion people on earth. Scientists predict there will be up to nearly 10 billion within 40 years.  Where do we source food water medicine now without destroying the planet?

Yeah go ye and multiply!

I can talk but what am i doing? Whingey bastard me. Nada! Nothing. So i had better shut my trap before someone else does. But this is my blog. And i’ll keep saying

Ay ay salidumay

Aye aye polichay
I and I
Polichay.

I was looking at some job ads one time. Some jobs specify that ‘fieldwork’ may be involved.

Is fieldwork some kind of undesirable job description? Seems that anything that involves walking or sweating or getting dirt in one’s hands, getting rained on or working under the sun, is somehow a bad thing.
I must be an evil person for loving ‘fieldwork’.

well i am off to the field - to do fieldwork!
good riddance indeed!

Home sweet home

I wrote somewhere that this blog could be like a palimpsest.

Well i paid a visit to the old homeland this past month. On arrival there i started noting some things in my mind.

Just the other day I tried dredging the depths of my memory for what i can recall of my visit home and came up with a list. It is of course subject to revisions and visions and sights and sighs and -
my power of recall is well and truly vastly diminished.

I call my list thus:
You know you’re home (in the Philippines) when:

• about a half-hour before landing the airplane becomes like a marketplace with noisy chatter from passengers expectant to seeing home and family again. The atmosphere brightens when the pilot announces that the plane’s about to land.
• as the airplane touches down, there’s a burst of applause from the mostly Filipino passengers (i saw this clapping happen at the moviehouses but it’s the first time i see it in an airplane)
• at the baggage claim, the coded padlock on your suitcase has disappeared and unknown items taken from your luggage.
• The number of people (N), who are picking up and/or dropping off at the airport, is an exponential function or multiple factor (F) of the number of people travelling (T). N = FT, where 1≤F≤100.
• Driving along busy night-time roads you see ‘KTV’ signs on the fronts and facades of buildings and somehow know it’s not the popular pay TV channel Kids TV.
• The bus you’re in and all the other vehicles around, transform a 3-lane highway into a 6-lane racecourse. The one with its nose in front claims pole position or right-of-way.
• The in-flight movie in the airplane is 12 months old, but the in-house movie in the bus is the latest blockbuster.
• At a restaurant and in various places and establishments you are addressed as sir or ma’am, but you’re not quite sure if it’s sincere.
• You are expected to know where to go and what to do even though you ain’t ‘been there and done that' yet, since it’s your first time to do and go.
• Campaign posters are everywhere and so now you know there’s an upcoming election without reading or listening to the news.
• You suddenly realise you’re taller than you thought, or at least you’re not smaller than most – for now.
• There’s a sari-sari store at every corner.
• At almost every opportunity, you’re reminded of the glory days of the Philippines – oh about 60 to100 years ago.
• You look at your fellow Filipinos and see such a beautiful and wonderful people. You look at them again and wonder what they’ve done to deserve such great political leaders. You smile in sadness and then look once more at them and are thankful that you’re one of them, and that you wouldn’t have it any other way.
• The crowing of roosters heralds the dawn, even in the city.

I woke up from a strange dream and found myself in a strange place...

There was another list somewhere in my memory. It's called:
you know you're getting old when...

• first on that list is.... right on the tip of my tongue... i know, i know - i must be getting old...

Additions to boths lists above are most welcome!

On the surface

Work diary log (September 2009).
The North-South Bypass Tunnel (NSBT) is the largest ever road infrastructure project aimed at addressing the existing and future transport needs of Brisbane.

The NSBT is not just the hole underground. It has many allied infrastructure on the surface that are part and parcel of its intended purpose of alleviating traffic congestion. Many of its ingress and egress features are quite obviously on the surface where they link with existing roads infrastructure.

The project also includes a range of urban enhancements to surrounding suburbs.

Some features include pathways for pedestrians and cyclists. These are all planned and designed to merge neatly with present pathways.

This project also takes into consideration the existing residential street networks and overall residential amenity.

Some residential streets had to be closed temporarily during works.

The rail transport network also plays a role in the design of the tunnel infrastructure. Therefore joins to nearby railway stations are also part of the picture.

The recently operational translink system combines bus, rail and ferry travel.

All these intersecting and overlapping transport routes had to be catered for.

That’s a no-through-road (dead-end street) on the right, which joins a pedestrian footbridge over a 6 or 8-lane freeway (behind fence with windows on left).

Again the residential amenity (in terms of noise) is taken into account here. A residential fence adjacent to pathways on split levels, are all designed neatly beside an acoustic fence of a major freeway.

That’s the pathways on split levels above.
Below gives a peek through the windows of the freeway fence, as well as landscaping features on a no-through-road.

The requirements of commercial establishments such as carparks and access driveways (above and below photos) together with pedestrian footpaths are all taken into account and interlinked with exitways from the tunnel.

Even religious establishments influence road designs.

Rail and freeway overpasses also allow for pedestrian tunnels.

Busway ramps and more footpaths. Pedestrian amenity are as important as roadways.

Links to hospitals are designed for.

Tunnels are generally clearways and off-limits to pedestrians.

Some kind of a landscaped buffer between footpaths and pavements, provides just a bit more sense of safety from the often huge and noisy machines that travel at speed along the roads.

The base for huge pylons or electronic signage hoardings utilise an existing traffic island.

Working beside roadways is always dangerous. Be visible. Be very visible.
I'd be very afraid if i wasn't.

Parkland amenity is not sacrificed nor compromised but rather enhanced as part of design.

Working under a freeway near a railway station.

Not a good photo, but i like what the sign says.
Freedom’s just another word for ...travelling?

Works on the north portal. Am not sure if those are silos or tanks.

More spaghetti. I saw above me - the ribbons of the on- and off-ramps.


The project is 6.8km length in total and includes two 4.8km tunnels linking the Southeast Freeway and Ipswich Road in the south of the city; to the Inner City Bypass and Lutwyche Road in the north and Shafston Avenue to the east.


The south portal. I think i shot this also during the tunnel run. So long ago now...

So this is the job that has kept me busy since September 2009. Well i’m bitchin’ so i must be still involved in it.
I just had a few weeks off hoping that on my return everything will have been put to bed. It somehow feels like i never went on leave.

Anyway, am here to make the final deliveries or put the finishing touches so-to-speak. I wish i could say the final words but i don’t know how to pray for my part in it to be finished.
It's a privilege to have been involved in what is the longest and most technically advanced tunnel of its kind in Australia, but i wish i am now finished with it.
The tunnel, as part of Clem7, has now been operational for the past two months.

Some tunnel facts:
Some key aspects of the environmental program of the tunnel include: Noise and vibration, Hydrology and groundwater quality, Cultural heritage, Air quality, Topography, geology and soils, Materials and resource management, Traffic and transport, Flora and fauna, Land use and planning, Social environment, Urban design, and Hazards and risk.
 
The jury is still out on whether the project in fact met the criteria.
Already there are grumblings about the toll to use the Clem7.
And as to whether the project also delivers on its long list of key benefits, that also remains to be seen.
 
As for me...
I thought i saw a light before-
ah there it is again - flickering.
is that the end of the tunnel i wonder.
(It's now May 2010).
I need a looooong holiday...

March marched on, and April came – she didn’t.

This set sat unopened for weeks. Am not sure if my time was better spent away.
I have much to say but not right now, cause i can't think. It's either too quiet - or too noisy.
depends on how you look at it...
So most of the notes are extracts, 'cut n paste' from various reviews.
you get the message.

Philip Roth. Indignation is a good though sometimes confounding read with the odd subtle turn, as a reviewer wrote: "Indignation is a deceptively short book, written in a style in which limpidity conceals darkness."

Jonathan Lethem. Chronic City. From a review: “The acclaimed author of Motherless Brooklyn and The Fortress of Solitude returns with a roar with this gorgeous, searing portrayal of Manhattanites wrapped in their own delusions, desires, and lies.” I pretty much prefer Lethem’s earlier books.

Herman Wouk. A hole in texas. I take this to be Wouk’s attempt at mainstream fiction. The New York Times says the 88-year old Wouk "spins it into a crackling yarn and writes with an enduring vigor that whippersnappers might envy."

Allan Massie. Charlemagne and Roland. Third in Dark Ages series. As in the previous books, the story is told by a narrator, instructing a young emperor in the ideals of kingship by telling him tales of the great men of the past and their adversities. Massie is a mighty story teller who with his knowledge plays fast with both fact and fiction, but he never plays loose. He displays so much learning and sympathy that one seeks the wisdom that lies beneath.

Toni Morrison. Sula. ‘Sula’ another acclaimed Morrison book, is described as "...a satire on binary thinking, which glories in paradox and ambiguity." I think I’ll leave it there.

Dostoevsky. The house of the dead. about a man serving a prison sentence for murder. It is not an account of imprisonment and system of law but the author's own experiences. on his fellow inmates their personalities, their culture, their way of life and way of thinking to great effect, Its a story of love for humanity, of resurrection from despair, and of a man's final reconciliation with his own life

Martin Amis. Yellow Dog is described as “...readable, amusing and clever, which gives it a head start on the majority of modern novels.” Another reviewer wrote: “...contains moments of comedy aimed at generating discomfort as well as laughter. a tightly constructed novel, bristling with ideas and allusions. Overall the flaws are frequently eclipsed by moments of brilliance.” Still another reviewer: “it is a bad book in the most ordinary of terms. Poorly integrated, pointless, and, for a satire, not very funny, ...Yellow Dog isn't a scandal; it's just kind of crummy.”

John Updike. My father’s tears. Updike’s distinguished writing career spanned more than half a century. It's only fitting that in My Father's Tears, his final, posthumously published collection of short stories, he turns that gaze — bent upon both precision and beauty — to death. not his best, but they are a lesson in love.

Previous notes:
Don DeLillo's 'Underworld' is a bit disjointed but this acclaimed book is a snapshot of american culture and needs a bit of patience to enjoy.

Stephen Mitchell. Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh was written a thousand years before the Iliad and the Bible. This is a very readable and entertaining version that one can finish in one sitting (or one lie-down in my case). The author uses “a loose, non-iambic, non-alliterative tetrametre...”, which I like. I also like that it refers to existing translations. The biblical story of Noah and the flood is very similar to one in this ancient Babylonian tale. This has apparently disturbed some Christians.

Music guide.

 
I dig Neil Young
I dig Bonnie Raitt
I think the dirt band is grand...
as Kristofferson said:
If you don't like Hank Williams...
you can kiss my ----ocks...
('you can kiss my donkey' i think he said).