Cagayan de Oro's Nite Cafe - Revisited

Every weekend at about 5 p.m. Friday, when the afternoon commute is just gathering storm, the main plaza of the city, Divisoria Plaza, metamorphoses from a shady, leisurely, and quiet haven of many different segments into a veritable beehive of intense economic activities and harried people, erroneously called a nite cafe. It has actually morphed into a full-blown frenetic bazaar likened to those of old, where any and all marketable merchandise is hawked and promoted. From food services, to garments, to footwear, to costume jewelry, to dresses and men's wear, to all and almost anything that could possibly catch the fancies of the expectant shoppers as they hem and haw negotiating through the congested mazes of stalls and tent enclosures. And yes, loud live shows with blaring sound systems,too. And I suppose even contraband goods are marketed, such as pirated DVDs and a variety of smuggled items from footwear to garments.

For a taste of the strange and exotic, how about trying a hardboiled egg dipped in some kind of gooey batter and then deep fried. For eight pesos, it is served to you in a small paper plate laced in some kind of buttery substance.

All this with the solicitous blessings of the city government which has encouraged this strange practice dating back to the largely unlamented previous city administration. So, noisily commencing every Friday night, it lasts till early Sunday morning, except that all day Saturday the entire tent city is folded up and raised again late Saturday afternoon so vehicular and human traffic can continue unimpeded during the day.

Any stranger or any astute observer to the city cannot help but be amazed how this pained transformation is effected every weekend with precise clockwork. The plaza starts to ease up like a slowly emerging image of a recognizable bazaar before the clock strikes 5pm. Like a colony of ants, sweaty purveyors slowly materialize first with their assorted building structures of wood, steel, tent, plastic, and whatever else is available for such purposes. Then ushered in are the merchandise, again in differing sizes and volumes, carried around by differing modes of transportation.

By 5:30pm the entire plaza has taken on a completely different look and ambiance, with the noise levels rising dramatically, gaggles of people start congregating in large numbers, milling around mostly in places offering great bargains. Some streets are cordoned off and vehicular traffic diverted, in the usual chaotic and helter-skelter ways things are done here.

The surreal scene takes on the unmistakable air of organized chaos, amidst a chaffing sea of humanity and the jungle of motley assortment of merchandise.

Winding gingerly through them, one gets a sense of being in a dream-like trance.


Plastic tables and chairs, the best guard against the harsh elements of rain, dust, and yes, rough people.


Nothing beats a nice ride in the park against the backdrop of twilight's fading light.


Tents like these sell cheaply here. The demand is great. And poor quality work assures repeat customers.


Fortune comes to those who wait.


Are we ready? Should we expect rain? (Expected or not, it did rain less than an hour later.)


Light imperceptibly fades out, making the point-and-shoot camera's flash inadequate.


A bit of glamor in those selling those glamor items.


A thousand choices for my pair of feet. "Mirror, mirror on my wallet, which ones..."


A cradled baby joins the window-shopping.


A stunned shopper reacts with obvious displeasure.


Blue is the preferred choice of color for tents today.


The local university's imposing building facade provides an incongruous background.


Havaianas? Hard to pronounce, maybe even harder on the wearer's feet.


Behind the scene, things do not look too up-beat or promising.

US Automakers Lament

These pictures taken from old brochures have become telltale signs of Detroit’s three big automakers' ominous future, culminating in their maybe going to the bankruptcy chopping block if not rescued by a bail-out. For this non-prescient but hindsight observation, I went through my trusty time-capsule files of the 60’s.

Thus while Detroit was then devotedly churning out huge monsters like the GTO, Bonnevile, Caprice, Grand Prix, etc, upstart Japanese automakers were silently promoting to market their tiny little cars that could not even be allowed on US freeways due to miniscule engine size and other basic standards. As small as 360cc engines but able to seat 4 passengers. Mitsubishi’s Minica was an early forerunner in the Asian markets. Honda did come out just as early with its Civic but focused on the US markets with their heftier engines of at least a 1000cc.

In a real way, the 60’s also shows the world’s cluelessness, or maybe just inattention, about the need to conserve existing energy sources and/or aim for more efficient uses of energy. Because many dismissed these actions by the Japanese as simply the manufacture of oversized toys, not good enough as acceptable human transport. But Honda successfully marketed their earlier versions in the US, promoted primarily as “second” cars, not the main transport for the family or the parents.

For me, I actually purchased a Minica, but the earlier version of the one pictured here and imported completely assembled from Japan. It kept its value well, since I was able to sell mine more than 2 years later for almost the same price as the purchase price.

How the world has changed since then.

Spamsilog

That is how it is called locally. For a little over $1.42 one is served up with slices of fried-pink Spam (the genuine, the original), egg over easy, and a cupful of garlic rice, and finally topped with a little refreshment of iced tea.

For many Filipinos a breakfast of this sort has been traditional fare as far as I can remember, believe it from a proud somebody who used to be called “Spam” boy by a now dead cousin as fitting tribute to my uncanny ability as a kid to consume a whole can in one sitting. A satisfactory start of a nice morning would have been after a hearty meal of fried rice, eggs cooked in lard, and crispy fried Spam slices.

So this new local eating place breaks new ground by reminding patrons about this once popular menu, by now offering this breakfast selection as one of the tempting choices of other traditional breakfast fare such as smoked fish, longanisa, and tapa, the last two being sausages and smoked beef.

We knew even then given the unlikely, or maybe even unseemly, origins of Spam, that Westerners looked with askance at this staple. After all, Spam became famous as part of GI ration during WWII. Invented and marketed by a Hormel heir precisely for “hard times”. During war or before that during hard economic times like the Great Depression. The poor man’s choice of a meal.

With the now unraveling of the global economy with even more and harder times being forecasted, what should come to the rescue?

The lowly Spam, originating from one of Hormel’s factories in Austin, Minn. Production has never been better and at a more furious pace, with employees doing double shifts or overtime work to keep up with the increased demand.

And unlike the Spam of old, one can now pick one’s favorite from an adequate selection – such as Spam Low Sodium, Spam with Cheese and Spam Hot & Spicy. And don’t you know you can also buy Spam retail – that is, packed as one slice per plastic wrapper? Averaging under $2 per can, imagine how much one slice would cost.

Thus, while the bad economic times have re-introduced this food for hard times, the Filipinos never entertained any such low regard for this product. Good or hard economic times will always be a happy time for Spam – especially for breakfast. Thus, while Westerners may derisively refer to junk email as Spam, no such dark thought lurks in the Filipino psyche.

What about Spam dipped in a batter of beaten eggs before frying and cooked in good old very hot lard?

Oh, sizzlingly yummy!

Stray Thoughts On A Cloudy Day

When angry winds buffet, timid and fragile sails are furled.

Or so we were told or saw in the many sea-faring movies of old.

Thus, too, this last Friday harried workmen started rolling up the giant billboard hanging on the roof deck of our building.

When queried why this new-found solicitousness over a coming little wind and rain, they cheerfully said that storm signal No. 1 had been hoisted by the local government weather forecasting station, aptly called Pag-asa (literally meaning hope in English), ominously presaging the rampaging onslaught of a good-sized typhoon expected to hit the area that Sunday. And from their explanation, one gathered that the weather station has now been tasked with informing billboard owners when storm signals are up to allow them ample time to take precautionary measures, like rolling up their tarp billboards. So caught a team of high-climbing trapeze artists nimbly clambering the steel structure to unhitch and secure their billboard. In less than an hour, the huge “sail” was securely tied up on top casting a very tiny profile for any angry wind to maul.

A good precautionary measure indeed in a country that is regularly visited by disastrous typhoons, which unwelcome natural calamities almost always bring considerable damage to structures and infrastructures. Blowing away very exposed billboards and their frames has been a commonplace occurrence, sometimes causing also human deaths.

As a relieving end-note, Sunday came and the sun shone mercilessly throughout the day, nary a drop of rain or a wisp of air to blow away a lit candle.

As usual, weather forecasting at its level best. No better, or worse, than a throw of the dice.

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One’s face is usually unerring testimony to the ravages of time and the catalogue of deeply wrenching emotions felt over the years. Leathery or botched skin, wrinkled temples, furrowed foreheads, and more, are what we carry to our graves if we live to be of ripe old ages. These are inevitable and inherited signs of man’s living of life. We can usually not only tell a man’s age by these markers, but how easy, comfortable or difficult one has gone through life. And repetitively doing specific physical activities as part of one’s life usually leaves visible marks in one’s body. A stevedore, or mason, or a carpenter will typically show the accumulated results of their trades in their bronzed and well-developed arms. A doctor, especially a surgeon, maybe by his dainty and exquisite hands and arms?

Aside maybe from a gaunt overall physique, what else does a long-time inveterate jogger or brisk-walker exhibit?

Well, after over a score of years of jogging, here is what I can show to the body parts that I use most prominently running or jogging, usually on hard pavement.










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When nuns gather for a noonday meal at some fastfood center in the mall, you can bet that it will be a happy and holy refection. Caught in a pancake place, of four Assumption nuns taking a little respite from their campus outreach ministry at Xavier University.

A holy meal of tossed salad and smoked fish, and of course, rice.

Our Daily Bread

Ever wondered how your daily bread gets to your table?

I doubt it first saw light from some huge air-conditioned factory equipped with rows of perpetually humming conveyors and flailing robotic arms moving the emerging bread from one process to another. Until they are packaged and delivered to your favorite retailer.

Most likely, it originated from some small and cramped “sweat-shop” in many locales in the city and outlying towns, manned by a team of serious and sweaty workers. Literally, a sweat-shop because baking bread and cookies requires a lot of heat from preparation, to actual baking, and ultimately to retailing. Everybody wants his bread hot, if not warm when consuming it.

So workplaces are kept at least above normal temperature, most especially during the preparation – for the yeast to grow and expand the dough.

So your bread probably comes from a workplace quite similar to this. Pans and pans of bread manhandled by sweaty bakers and toasted by cagey horneros.









So in quiet recognition for those who labored with sweaty faces and furrowed brows to provide you with your daily bread, sweat a bit when taking a bite off your favorite pan de sal or pancho. Or belguim, or elorde.

…and pray to deliver you from having to eat day-old bread.