Pandoraspace

More of my favorites from Rose Bowl…

Ho To Tay Soup

Sweet and sour meatballs

Lion’s Rice at Rose Bowl

Although many things in Baguio have change, my Rose Bowl Lion’s Rice is a constant and a part of the Baguio I remember.

While I was growing up, my parents took me to eat at Rose Bowl countless times. Rose Bowl is a restaurant located along Harrison Road and facing Burnham Park in Baguio City.

I vividly recall being brought to Rose Bowl past my bedtime and falling a sleep several times before the soup arrived. I remember my parents having long discussions about things I could not understand while I sat and stared at the paintings of daisies on meadows in Rose Bowl and waited for the food to come. And, as far back as I can remember, I have always had Lion’s Rice.

Lion’s rice is a dish with lechon kawali (deep fried pork chop), chop suey (sautéed vegetables of fresh button mushroom, cauliflower, carrots, fresh peas and brocolli) and a cup of steamed rice. Sometimes, I asked for a sunny-side up egg to go with my Lion’s rice.  To this day, my parents give me perplexed funny looks when I order Lion’s Rice, which I eat alone, while everyone else gets to eat “family style”, i.e., everyone shares all the dishes ordered.

The thing about Lion’s Rice is that its taste has never changes since I was a child.  Its familiar taste not only gives me comfort, it reminds me of my wonderful childhood in Baguio.

D&S Fine Foods

I would like to thank Paul Posadas for sharing with me his pictures of D&S Fine Foods and allowing me to post them on my blog. (This is also my way of letting you know that I could not have take these pictures as I was probably very young at the time they were taken.)

D&S was a grocery located along Session Road that had huge bay windows that allowed you to, from the outside, look at the wonderful things sold inside the grocery.  D&S had a high ceiling, which gave the place a feeling of vast space.  Inside, its shelves were always stocked with interesting items like rare chocolate.  On the mezzanine of D&S, there were tons of school supplies, appliances and toys.  As the cashier was located on the first floor, the items that customers would pick from the mezzanine would be placed in a basket that was tied to a rope.  That basket would then be thrown over the baluster of the stairs leading to the mezzanine and lowered down from there to the cashier.   I was always excited to go to D&S  with my mom or grandmother as they would always buy me a toy or candy from there.

Although I cannot remember every detail about D&S, I do remember that I was always happy when I would go there.  Unfortunately, when I was in high school, D&S caught fire, burned and was never rebuilt.  It is such a pity.  Baguio was never the same without it.

Maryknoll my Maryknoll

I was told that, their neighbors had asked the Maryknoll sisters to tutor their children. As many more parents wanted their children tutored by the sisters, they were forced to put up make shift classrooms for all the children they were tutoring. Later, without intending to, the sisters found themselves running the Maryknoll convent school (or Marishan as it was later called).

I was fortunate to have studied in Maryknoll convent school. Unlike the pressure they put on today’s children, I do not recall being given any homework or taking too many tests. At school, we played a lot of sports and practiced all the time for class assemblies (shows where our parents were invited to see us sing, dance and act). Our classes were from 8:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. only. Even if we were not bombarded with purely academic subjects, my Maryknoll friends and I turned out just fine.  Most of us got into good universities and colleges and went on to have stable jobs.  More importantly, most of the people I know who have graduated from Maryknoll turned out to be good people.

Credit should be given to the sisters and the teachers of Maryknoll who focused on teaching us the more important things in life like respect for others. Years have passed since my Maryknoll days but I still recall our school hymn, which sums up what the school was all about. It goes -

To make this world a better place, Maryknoll my Maryknoll.
For every man of every race, Maryknoll my Maryknoll.
This is our aim, our sacred call, to help Christ’s life be lived by all.
God give us strength to seek his goal.
Maryknoll my Maryknoll.

On Mirador by Horacio dela Costa SJ

On the Meaning of Mirador, Fr. Horacio dela Costa SJ writes, and I quote:

This house is called Mirador: Prospect Point.

There have been four stages of its life.

It began as a meteorological observatory, with Jesuit scientists puttering about measuring rainfalls, observing winds, recording the shiverings of the earth, quietly, patiently opening windows into the secret heart of the physical universe.

Then it became a villa house, where Jesuit teachers - in the happy days before summer schools- rested from the labors of the year.  They played ball.  They prayed to God.  They read books and argued about them endlessly, opening the world of ideas and the world of men.

After the Pacific War, when mainland China was closed to the Gospel, this House became a scholasticate, a house of studies for the young Jesuits of the Far east Province.  In these rooms, along these corridors, they followed the progress of Christianity from Pentect to Paul VI, opening windows into the life and meaning of the Church.

Today, Mirador has acquired other uses.  It is no longer a scholasticate; but is still a villa house for Jesuits; and the Manila Observatory still keeps some of its instruments ticking away on this hill.  Groups of priests, religious, lay people come here for retreats.  Conferences are held by bishops, scholars, student leaders, journalists, businessmen.  Men and women who want time to think, time to reflect on what they are, what they must be or do come here, to this quite hill beneath a quiet heaven; to reflect, to pray to observe the signs or our troubled, yet immensely hopeful, times; to open windows to even broader horizons.

And so, Mirador is still what it was in the beginning: an observatory, a point of vantage.  And if this house could speak, perhaps this is what it would say to you:  Look out of my windows and try to extend your vision beyond the Gulf of Lingayen to all of Asia.  Tey to make out more clearly what God’s plan for all these people is, and for all those - like yourself - seek nothing else but to be of service to man.

Man - the glory of God.

Miracles happen in Mirador

Mirador is the Jesuit retreat house in Baguio located at the summit of a hill. One way of getting there is to climb the steps that lead to the Grotto of the Virgin Mary. Many many many years ago, I spent eight silent days at Mirador. Although I have no talent for drawing, I miraculously produced this one - 

My friend Wayne Tkel SJ is in the drawing. Spot him if you can.

Lost in Maryhurst

Many things were lost in the fire that burned Maryhurst (a Baguio seminary) but not my memories of the place.

If I remember correctly, there was a sprawling wooden building in Maryhurst that housed the offices, living quarters and classrooms of the seminarians. As a child, I would run after Brother Armand’s two dogs across the halls of the building and for some reason, I remember that the wooden floors were warm. Brother Armand was the person who was then running Maryhurst.

My favorite spot in Maryhurst was the garden. Brother Armand was something of a green thumb and would grow all sorts of exotic plants and unusual flowers in the garden. There were also monkeys and a pond with tadpoles. The garden was maze. Even if I would always panic when I found myself lost in the maze, I could not help but go to that garden each time I was there. Maybe it was because I would always find my way out of the maze.

The Maryhurst seminarians (who are most likely priests now) will remember me. I was the little girl who made you miss your lunch one Sunday. I was seven and it was the day I discovered the science laboratory at Maryhurst. I was so fascinated by the snakes, mice and other strange creatures in the lab that I did not realize no one could have lunch because Brother Armand told everyone to go out looking for me. To this day, my parents have never made me forget that incident. Strangely, it is one of my better memories of Maryhurst.

To Market To Market to buy…

For many, a trip to Baguio would never be complete without a visit to the market.  Tourists flock to the market to buy local produce to take home with them.  I too feel that a trip to Baguio would never be complete without a visit to the market.  Unlike tourists, however, my purposes is no just to buy the local produce, but also, to visit old friends and be reminded of my childhood.

When I was a child, my grandmother and mother would take me with them to the Baguio market to buy meat, fish, vegetables, fruits and coffee from their vendor-friends.  When I got older, I would  go to the market on my own to buy things from the same vendor-friends.  Those friends have seen me become what I am today and  are  privy to my  many childhood antics.

Nowadays, when I see those vendor-friends, they would remind me of how I was as a child.  For example, as soon as the ladies at the fish and seafood section would see me, they would remind me that when I was a child, I would always pinch my nose upon entering that section of the market.  Some vegetable vendors would also remind me about  the time I got lost in the market and was later found in the police outpost.  Of course, my mother gets uneasy when she hears this because she was the one who lost me in the market.  Loosing me in the market was more traumatic for her that it was for me.  Then, there is Ray, the guy who owns a meat stall in the market where we get the yummy de recado longganisa (garlic sausages).  My mom updates him on the goings on in my life like when I graduated, when I moved to Manila and I suspect even about my love life.

Apart from visiting friends and being reminded of my childhood, I have always loved the Baguio market.  It has never ceased to stimulate my senses.     (more…)

What happened to John Hay?

After World War II, my grandfather worked at John Hay, which was then being operated as a United States Base. It was off limits to non-base employees for a long time. Luckily, John Hay was opened to the public at the time I was old enough to walk and I spent many wonderful years exploring all that John Hay had to offer.

For some reason, my grandparents would take me to the ice-cream parlor in Scout Hill when the rains were strong and it was very cold. We would eat base ice cream, which only came in four flavors – chocolate chip, cherry-vanilla, vanilla and chocolate. The ice cream was always rock hard and it would take me a long time to finish. On good weather days, my grandparents would take me to the bakery. My grandparents were fans of the loaf bread and pie. The peach pie looked like an empanada that had the non-crusty dough, which absorbed some of the sweet sauce from the peaches, cinnamon, sugar and other things on the filling. It was soooo good. If anyone knows how I can get this peach pie, I’ll give you a prize.

My mom taught me how to roller-skate in the skating rink in Scout Hill. My dad taught me how to play mini golf in course in Scout Hill. My sister and I would also bounce on the trampoline in Scout Hill. We would have picnics and play soccer and baseball with family and friends in Scout Hill. As teenagers, my friends and I would play bowling and pool in Mile High and eat the pizza.

I miss the old John Hay, which is so different from how it is now.

The Best Memory of the 1990 Earthquake: The Café

People I know that have visited Baguio would inevitably tell me that they ate at the Café by the Ruins. Whenever they would rave about the great food and ambience, I would nod my head in agreement but would seldom tell them of my intimate relationship with the Café.

I have now decided to tell you one of my Café stories. (more…)