Tag Archives: Travel

Discovering Barcelona, Experiencing Montserrat

November 26, 2013. Barcelona, here I come!  Celia arrived early to accompany me to the train station for the bullet train to Barcelona.  While waiting at the station, we spied a little pond with turtles.  How quaint, I thought!  Is this a reminder to take things slow, just before taking the high speed train to Barcelona?

After bidding Celia goodbye, I lugged my two suitcases onto the train, and settled in.  The ride was smooth and the passing landscape interesting, but I spent the time writing.

In Barcelona, I took the taxi to Hotel Melia Sky and met up with Jeannie Javelosa, another speaker from the Philippines attending Casa Asia’s Conference.  As we were the only two Filipinas, we agreed to explore Barcelona together.  After a quick lunch at Tapas Bar 24, we walked along Via Gracia until we reached Casa Battlo.

Who can resist Gaudi's Casa Battlo?
Who can resist Gaudi’s Casa Battlo?

Casa Battlo is an amazing structure, something like Disneyland meets the Brothers Grimm and Roman mythology. I could imagine Hansel and Gretel being mesmerized by the house and entering it to see what marvels lie inside.  There was an event that night so we could not get in, but we enjoyed the magnificent view from outside.

Candy Ortol, Celia’s friend, picked us up and drove us around to see Barcelona’s streets light up. Candy is such an interesting person, an outspoken Filipina who married a Spaniard and settled in Barcelona, raised three children and set up and grew a thriving real estate business.  A widow herself, Candy shared her story with us.  We had much to talk about.  Candy showed us her impressive Christmas decor with a Filipiniana theme, which she had worked on for many months, and talked about the Assumption Christmas reunion that she would be hosting soon.  She then brought us to the train station to buy tickets for some tours, after which she drove us around the commercial center of Barcelona to view the festive Christmas lights.  Each street had its own design, and it was captivating to watch.  We all laughed when someone observed that Torre Agbar, which housed Barcelona’s water authority, appeared like a gigantic blinking suppository.

Torre Agbar, the third tallest building in Barcelona, resplendent in lights.
Torre Agbar, the third tallest building in Barcelona, resplendent in lights.

 

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November 27, 2013. Early in the morning, Jeannie and I took the tour to Montserrat.  This was one of the reasons I had readily accepted the invitation to participate in Casa Asia’s conference in Barcelona.  I have long wanted to see the Shrine of Our Lady of Montserrat, after which I was named by my parents.  More importantly, I wanted to pray to Our Lady of Montserrat, or the Black Madonna, as she is fondly called.  The image of the Black Madonna sits on a chair, with the Child Jesus perched on her lap holding the globe in his hand.  I learned that she was not always black, but that the smoke from candles through the centuries have blackened the image.

A view of the craggy mountains that gave  Montserrat its name.
A view of the craggy mountains that gave Montserrat its name.

As the bus drove up higher and higher up the mountain, it got colder and colder.  The greenery around us gave way to craggy stone, revealing the serrated profile of the mountain peak, like a deadly hunting knife with its sharp edges pointing to the sky.  It seemed that we could almost touch the heavens.  The ancient monastery appeared to be almost carved from the mountain.  The view was spectacular.

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At the train station near the top, we let off passengers who had paid to take the funicular up to Montserrat.  We stayed on the bus until it reached the monastery. Upon alighting and meeting up with those who took the funicular in front of the coffee/memento shop, our guide handed us our own maps and tickets, recommending that we visit the sanctuary, check out the museum and the audio visual room, sample the wine at the gift shop, and listen to the boys’ choir perform two songs. Our guide told us that he would meet us at 1pm, in a little less than two hours, and that if we were late, we would be left behind and we could stay at the hotel on the mountain overnight. He warned us that all the shops closed by 5pm, and that it would be a good experience to live the monasterial life.  I would have opted for that if we didn’t have the conference coming up, and a Sagrada Familia tour scheduled at 4pm.

Palm, cypress, olive, and laurel trees symbolic of suffering, eternity, peace and glory.
Palm, cypress, olive, and laurel trees symbolic of suffering, eternity, peace and glory.

At the big open courtyard in front of the monastery, our guide pointed out four trees that had been planted: palm for suffering, cypress for eternity, olive tree for peace, and laurel for glory.   Upon entering the monastery, we were ushered into a courtyard in front of the basilica. Here, our guide said he would leave us. On the right side of the courtyard, I saw a very long line of people waiting in front of a closed door. More and more people joined the line.  I asked him what that line was for, and he said those were the pilgrims who wanted to see the Black Madonna.  He cautioned that it would probably take about 45 minutes before we could reach the Madonna, and the door wasn’t even due to open for another 10 to 15 minutest!  I was crestfallen!  The whole reason I came was to see the Black Madonna up close, and now it seemed impossible.  Seeing that I was about to cry, he quickly said we could still enter the church and see the Madonna from afar, and that I could light a candle in the room to the left of the church.

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Detail of saints above basilica door

Resigned, Jeannie and I entered the church. I knelt down on the front pew and prayed, asking God for guidance and protection, and laying my troubles at His feet. I asked Him to lead me on the right path that I may accomplish what I was sent here to do, and to please heal the pain of losing Mike.  I thanked Him for the many blessings He has given me, the people He had sent my way: my mom and dad, my children, my grandparents and aunts, my siblings, my teachers, my friends, my family in TeamAsia, our clients and partners. And most of all, I thanked Him for the wonderful life and love that Mike and I had shared, and ended with the prayer that our children have a long,  happy, healthy, prosperous, and meaningful life, and that they find partners who will love and take care of them.

After praying, I tried taking photos of the Black Madonna who was way up in the main altar. She was so far away that I could not snap a clear picture of her. Behind the grills to the right of the main altar, I saw the line of pilgrims waiting to go up behind the altarpiece to see the Black Madonna.  If only I had lined up earlier, I thought. 

The basilica filling up with pilgrims.
The basilica filling up with pilgrims.

I walked around and noticed that a mass was ongoing in one of the side chapels. The chapel was small and simple, stark and barren almost, stripped of the resplendent gold of the basilica. Behind the altar was a large piece of wood, carved with a face and two pierced hands, symbolic of the crucified Christ. There were about ten of us attending mass, and it was solemn and beautiful. I felt so blessed and at peace. After mass, I tried taking photos of the wooden Christ, but no matter what I did, the face would not come out, just a blazing light where the face of Christ was.

After the magnificence of the gilded basilica, the austere simplicity of the chapel calls to the heart.
After the magnificence of the gilded basilica, the austere simplicity of the chapel calls to the heart.

I exited the basilica to light a candle and pray before the image of the Brown Madonna painted on the wall.   Jeannie was there and she reminded me to enter the church as the choir would soon sing. As there was still some time, I explored the church some more and noticed a confessional box to the side of the basilica.  A light was on, indicating that a priest was waiting inside.  I entered, and asked the elderly priest if he spoke English. He shook his head. I told him my Spanish was not very fluent, and that I could say the prayers in English.  The kindly priest nodded and invited me to start. When I did, the words in Spanish flowed smoothly without any hesitation.  I unburdened myself, throwing away the yoke of guilt feelings and worries. When I had finished, the kindly priest blessed me. I know not where those words came from. It was as if a fountain had been opened, and everything washed clean.  I was at peace.

Coming out of the confessional box, I noticed that the once empty basilica was now full of people, waiting for the choir to begin. Going to the rear of the church for a quick getaway, I saw Jeannie once more. While videotaping the first song, I looked to the right and noticed that the snake of people lining up to see the Brown Madonna was gone. They must have closed the doors again because of the choir, I surmised. Jeannie nudged me and said she was going ahead. I followed her to the courtyard.

When I looked to where the pilgrims had lined up earlier, I noticed that the door was still open. I approached it and saw that there was no one lined up. I took a chance and entered, walking straight up the length of the basilica to the steps leading to the Black Madonna.  I climbed the steep stairs where a few pilgrim stragglers were still praying. I could not believe my luck! Here I was, in front of the Black Madonna, with the choir singing in such beautiful voices! I stood in front of her, praying, crying, and kissed her hand. A pilgrim was behind me and I asked if she could take my picture which she kindly did.  Oh, what a glorious feeling it was!

The Black Madonna, at last!
The Black Madonna, at last!

I realized that the second song had ended, and so I quickly ran down the stairs, through the courtyard and open patio, and to the place where the guide had told us we would meet. There was no on one from my group yet, so I thought they may still be walking slowly from the church. I entered the memento shop and bought a small image of the Black Madonna.  Walking out of the shop, I still did not spy any of my group.  Looking at my watch, it was already time!  I tried calling Jeannie and when there was no answer, I decided to run for the parking area where the bus was.  Half way there, my phone rang. It was Jeannie asking me where I was. I could hear the guide asking where the other Filipina was.  Good thing the bus waited for me, and I entered huffing and puffing!

Later that afternoon, Jeannie and I went for our Sagrada Familia tour.  It is unbelievably beautiful, and to think that it is still unfinished after a hundred and forty years.  The guide told us that the work is continued by private citizens.  In fact, many renowned engineers, architects, artisans, sculptors, and artists have offered their services for free to continue to work began by Gaudi and to be part of this massive project.

At Sagrada Familia
At Sagrada Familia
Color bursts in through the windows to light up the interiors
Color bursts in through the windows to light up the interiors
And seems to capture the stars
And seems to capture the stars
To transport one into a different dimension
To transport one into a different dimension

Gaudi must have descended from the gods to have come up with such a brilliant structure that is not just a strikingly beautiful work of art dedicated to glorify our Almighty Creator, but a marvel of mathematical engineering.  Seeing the play of lights cast on the church’s walls and floor by the dying sun’s rays through the stained glass, I caught my breath with wonder at the genius of this man.  And yet, nothing man has created can match the beauty of God’s handiwork. What a humbling thought!

Hungry we were after the two tours, and so we went in search of a restaurant that was frequented by locals, rather than tourists. A nice sales lady advised us where to go, and so we took a cab to the street she mentioned.  There we walked and asked the proprietor of a bookstore which restaurant he recommended.  We found it, only to learn from the Filipino waiter inside that they would not open until 9:30pm. It was only 7:30pm and we were ravenous! He suggested another place nearby that was open early, and so we went.  Good decision!

We had a plate of escargots baked in a tin, a plate of pimientos padron, and paella marinera with vino tinto.  Jeannie was little hesitant to eat the pimientos padron because I had warned her that some of them may be spicy, so I was relegated to taste a bit of each to ensure that they were safe.  After she had tasted some, Jeannie was hooked and went for it!  Oh la la!

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Escargots baked in a tin. Oh, so many delicious bites!
Pimientos Padron - Russian roulette for the palate
Pimientos Padron – Russian roulette for the palate
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Paella marinara, naturalmente!

 

 

November 28, 2013.  We had signed up for a walking tour of the Gothic district.  We were up early, ready for the cold. It was interesting walking through the little cobbled streets lined with interesting shops, and learning about the life of the Jews during the medieval times.  Gargoyles looked down on us from the ramparts of the buildings, some menacing, others outright funny.   One gargoyle was supposed to represent an elephant but since the artist had never seen one and only heard about it from someone else, it turned out to be vastly different from the usual.  More like a boar with tusks and a very long nose.

We saw what remained of the Roman walls in certain places, though most of the remaining Roman walls had been swallowed up by the buildings that were constructed in later years.  Our guide took us to a little patio which had three Roman columns surrounded by modern day apartments. He kept saying that there were only four remaining Roman columns in the entire city, but no matter how many times we counted, there were only three.  And we still hadn’t taken any sip of wine that day. Hah!

St. George was a recurring figure wherever we went. He was in paintings, frescoes, sculptures, churches, and castles. Another saint was Catalina who apparently was a young virgin saint.  Along one street, we stopped at what had once been the headquarters of the Inquisition. Jeannie told me later that shivers had run up and down her spine.

Lunch was at a little nook of a restaurant in the gothic district, recommended by the sales lady at the pharmacy where Jeannie bought some lotion. Jeannie wanted to have some more paella, and the proprietor of the restaurant told us to return in an hour. To kill time, we walked to the seafarers’ church, Our Lady of the Seas, and saw many more interesting shops on the way.

After lunch, we headed for Picasso’s Museum. Jeannie had taught art and so was quite familiar with Picasso’s many paintings. I especially liked his blue period.  It was interesting listening to Jeannie explain the progression of Picasso’s genius. Jeannie was intent on observing how museums and their gift shops were set up as she was planning on setting up the museum for her partner, Ed Castrillo’s life work. I am so looking forward to that.

The next day was our conference, and so we decided to retire early, but not before we went to the hotel’s club lounge to connect to the Internet and have a glass of wine.

Beaujolais Villages

November 23, 2013.  Beaujolais Villages.  That was the wine we served at our wedding at the Peak 18 years ago. I had not seen it since, but there it was at the airport lounge in Seoul, Korea. What a remarkable coincidence!  Surely, a sign that Mike would be with me during this trip.

Beaujolais Villages
Beaujolais Villages

I met a very interesting person named Dr. Cornelius “Kees” Hoefnagel.  He is a 65-year old nuclear medicine doctor, and he was in the Philippines attending a medical convention at Sofitel. We were both interested in taking the free tour in Seoul, as I had a 7-hour layover enroute to Spain while his was an 8-hour layover to Amsterdam. We missed the free tour by five minutes.  Being a frequent flyer, Kees kindly offered to have me as his guest at the airport lounge. And there it was, the Beaujolais Village.  Resplendent. Inviting.

Kees was recently appointed dean of the Society of Warmth World Association of Radio Pharmaceutical Therapy. It was a welcome change after being forcibly retired from the hospital where he was head of the nuclear medicine department. It was interesting listening to him explain how nuclear medicine is used to detect and cure cancer. He had developed a procedure called MIBG which helps relieve pain from cancer. I wish I had known about this when Mike fell ill with the dreaded C.

 

Dr. Cornelius "Kees" Hoefnagel showing me his wife's website.
Dr. Cornelius “Kees” Hoefnagel showing me his wife’s website.

Extremely proud of his wife, Kees regaled me with stories of his wife Marian Hoefnagel who set up a foundation ten years ago to help young people overcome their reading difficulties.  A teacher for deaf children, Marian noticed that they hardly read books from the library.  Digging deeper into the problem, she realized that the books were not only difficult to read, they were uninteresting. So, Marian started writing books using simple sentences. Her books focused on issues that confronted the young: bulimia, teenage pregnancy, depression, harassment, and the like.  Her students were smitten with the books, and now, 50 books later, she is a celebrity in Amsterdam with an ardent following of readers.

Surprisingly, the Korean Air flight to Spain was comfortable.  Being claustrophobic, I was afraid that I would not be able to stand the travel, but it went well on both legs (Manila to Seoul, and Seoul to Madrid).  And on both legs, I tried out Bibimbap. It was soooo good!  Korean Air even had directions on how to prepare it.  Unfortunately, I only got the directions on the second leg, so my first taste of this Korean national dish was eaten a la carte.

Landing in Spain after a 13-hour sleepless flight, I was picked up by my good friend Celia Teves who accompanied me to my aunt Conchi’s home at Paseo de la Castellana.  I so love Celia!  She is the kindest, nicest person I know, so much that she stood as godmother at both my girls’ Confirmation.  She came prepared to help me cope with the cold, lending me two hats to keep my head warm, and a thick scarf to protect my neck.  At all costs, keep your neck covered, she warned.  She then left with the promise to see me the next day.

It was a coming home for me.  Thirty years ago, I stayed with Tita Conchi for four months.  It was a difficult time for me then; I had just broken up with my first boyfriend, Alboy, and was being courted by Mari, a classmate from AIM. I was conflicted, and so my mother sent me to Spain to get away from it all.

The four months I spent in Madrid with my aunt and uncle, Tita Conchi and Tito Mariano, was pure bliss.  I had recently graduated from the Asian Institute of Management with a master in business management degree, finishing with distinction, and I already had two years of work as head of personnel and yet, in Madrid, I let go of my professional self and let my creative side surface.  Not having children of their own, my aunt and uncle treated me like a daughter. I was babied and protected from all harm.  It was thus I felt safe back in Tita Conchi’s home.

Tita Conchi is a talented painter, especially with watercolours and oils, and she taught me how to use them. We would go to El Prado, the art museum which fascinated me completely.  Enthralled, I would spend hours admiring and studying the paintings of the great European masters.  I was inspired to paint, and that I did during the day while Tita Conchi and her husband Tito Mariano were both at work.

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Ink drawing
Ink drawing

 

I remembered the paintings and sketches I had done while there. Tita Conchi still had some of them proudly displayed on her walls. The first day, I was so tired that after noonday mass and a sumptuous lunch of arroz a la plancha in the restaurant near her house, I fell asleep only to be awoken at 8pm. Tita Conchi urged me to go out and see Madrid by night. We took the bus and walked along Puerta del Sol.  I was shivering from the cold, and was thankful for the bonnet Celia lent me.

Tita Conchi did not subscribe to new technology.  She said she was too old to learn new tricks.  No matter how much pleading I did, she would not agree to learn how to use the ordenador (laptop).  Her mobile phone was left unused.  Without Internet connection at her home, I felt cut out from the world so I searched for a place that had wifi, but was not successful. Starbucks was the only place that had wifi, but it was packed full of people.  I finally bit the bullet and signed up first for a one-day promo, and then with a five-day promo of Globe Telecom with Movistar to get connected and do some research for my Casa Asia conference on gender and tourism in Barcelona.

The next morning, Tia Conchi and I went to Celia’s parish, San Martin de Tours to hear Sunday mass.  

Celia, Tita Conchi and me, replete after a fantastic lunch of steak grilled on a stone.
Celia, Tita Conchi and me, replete after a fantastic lunch of steak grilled on a stone.

We then went for lunch at a popular Spanish restaurant where Real Madrid would celebrate each time they won a match. We had salad and steak grilled on a stone.  The steak was so good, it seemed like butter melting in my mouth!  Celia knew Antonio, the handsome maître d who was very gracious.

After bidding goodbye to Celia, Tia Conchi and I left to visit my cousin Maripepa Villarubia and my mom’s eldest sister, Tia Pepa. They live on a picturesque street near El Prado where famous writers had lived at the turn of the century.  I was so sleepy I kept falling asleep on the couch.

We then rushed to have dinner at the home of Tia Carmela, my aunt’s best friend. I used to teach Alicia, her eldest daughter, how to speak English, while Alicia taught me how to speak Spanish.   I was happy to meet Alicia who is now a doctor, and her husband, and they gave me tips about what to see in Barcelona.

Alicia del Olmo Fernandez
Alicia del Olmo Fernandez

All of next day I spent working and researching in the little room I called my studio all those years ago. It was here I had painted each day, learning how to use oils on tiles, on wood, and on canvas, while listening to Julio Iglesias sing love songs, and wondering what my life will be. And now, many years later, here I was again, now a widow, yearning for my beloved Mike.  Madrid was a crossroads then, as it is now.  What lies ahead, I wonder?

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Remembering Mike

November 22, 2013.  Nine months and counting from when my world ended.  Here I am on a Korean flight to Madrid. Most of the passengers are asleep, although a few are watching movies on their personal consoles.  It’s the last leg to my destination.

Mike, my beloved husband, best friend, business partner and the father of my children,  was supposed to be with me on this trip.  When we first got together 20 years ago we wrote down our goals: a van to fit our family, a house to call our own, enough funds so I wouldn’t constantly worry, a business we would be proud of, and traveling together.  Mike would write a book, I would paint.

A vociferous writer, Michael Alan Hamlin (blog: asianpundit), wrote effortlessly on business, management, current events, social issues, information technology, and the like.  Insightful and intelligent, he   had such a way with words.  Before submitting anything, he would ask me to copy edit.  Reading his work, I would fall in love with him all over again.  Mike would always encourage me to write, but in the presence of such genius, I felt wanting and humbled.

Each year on our anniversary, we would tick off what has been accomplished, and set new goals. Traveling together always stayed on that list.

Mike didn’t like traveling.  He had to travel a lot in his early years of building his business in Japan and the US. He hated the hassle of waiting at airports, getting in and off planes, dealing with luggage and taxis and porters.  He was always so organized and wanted to get to the airport three hours ahead, and then head to the lounge to read while sipping a glass of wine. He mapped out our travel plans to the letter.

I, on the other hand, love to travel!  Airports are not meant as places to sit still in. I have to go around and explore the shops, especially the bookstore.  Not that I ever bought anything. Walking and window shopping are pleasurable enough.  I would put off going to the gate to the last minute, which would stress Mike considerably.  There were close calls on one or two occasions with my name being called over the airport PA system. I can safely say that our fights, seldom though they were, revolved around airport experiences.

Later, we learned to compromise.  I stopped complaining about going early to the airport, Mike would let me gallivant around, and I made sure I returned to the lounge with enough time so as not to worry Mike.

Flying business. That was one other thing we argued about. Mike would rather not travel if he had to travel economy. He was a big man, and economy seats stifled him. We would flip back the arm rest in between us so he would have more space. Better service, access to the lounge area, shorter check in process. These were important to Mike.  We were fortunate to have airline sponsors in the early days of our company so that business class travel was possible. Later, when we had to pay for it ourselves, it was my turn to beg off travel.  There were too many other things we had to pay for: education of our children, house and car payments, and the everyday living expenses for a family of seven.

This did not stop us from dreaming of traveling together to Spain, Italy, France, Russia, Japan, China, Egypt.  Paul Bograd, Mike’s best friend, would ask us regularly to go with him and his wife Hazel on their many travels abroad. We never did, except for one glorious vacation to Melbourne’s wine vineyards.

It was July 2003. We left sunny Manila for the winter of Australia. We had just buckled our seatbelt when the breaking news came: a breakaway group of over 300 mutineers from the armed forces decided to storm Oakwood, declaring a coup. I wanted to get off the plane, worried about my children, but the plane was already taxiing off the runway. Mike held me back and said it would be alright. When we got to Singapore where we would change planes, the news was not much better.  We called home, and Dada, my mom, said everyone was fine and we should concentrate on enjoying the trip.

Well, enjoy we did. It was a four day wine tasting tour of Melbourne with Paul and Hazel. No one told me that you just tasted the wine, swirled it in your mouth and then spit it out. I dutifully drank the first glass given me, and was drunk the whole time. Oh la la! We stayed at Bed and Breakfast inns in the countryside, and each morning, kangaroos would sun themselves by the road as we passed by.

On our 20th anniversary we planned to revisit all the Southeast Asian countries where our love affair began and blossomed: Hongkong, Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore.  It would be great to go back, we thought.  And now, it can never be.

As for the U.S, Mike never wanted to go back. He was so scarred from his terrible experience there where his partners and employees turned on him after he built a successful business. I insisted, however, as my baby brother and his family lived there, and I wanted to see them. We had just finished organizing the 20th anniversary of the Asian Institute of Management, and as a thank you gift, we got airline tickets to the US.

The first time we went to the US Mike was consumed with so much angst that he fell terribly sick on the plane. He couldn’t breathe and passed out.  I remember the flight attendants asking if there was a doctor on board, and a kindly Korean told me to rub Mike’s feet and keep them warm.  I was so scared I had lost Mike, and prayed really, really hard to God not to take him. He came to as we landed, and once on land, he felt so much better.

Subsequent trips to the US, though few and far between, were wonderful. One year, Mike, Niccolo and I went to the US to visit Mike’s brother Mark and his wife Valerie. We stayed at their home in Argyle, Texas for a week, and then moved to Washington to visit my sister and her family.  It was rather sad as my aunt Maria Luz died while we were in Argyle.

The last time we visited the US was to attend my sister’s wedding in Seattle.  For some reason, Mike wasn’t too keen on going to the US then, but we did manage to visit his brother too. Mike was a very private person, and never liked large gatherings, but he seemed to enjoy the wedding in Seattle at the Mount Rainier Park. We opted for a separate cabin in the woods, and it was magical.

Magical is how I would describe being with Mike on all our trips. Twice we went to Maebashi, Gunma Prefecture in Japan. The first time was a side trip from Tokyo where we had business meetings. At that time, I hardly knew anything about Mike, and he wanted to show me that part of his life where he spent his first years in Asia. Yet, he went with much trepidation, not knowing how his friends would accept him.

Mike had left Japan against the advice of his friends, after divorcing his first wife who had an affair with a student and leaving everything he had built there — a thriving language academy and a four story building — to his two children. He lost all contact with his children after he left, as his ex-wife refused to let him talk to them.

At Mercury Hotel in Maebashi, he called his friend Ebara who put down the phone on him. A short while later, his other friend Satori called, and they agreed to meet for dinner.  Apparently, Ebara had called Satori and asked him to check us out.  After dinner at a small sushi bar, I heard Satori talking excitedly on his mobile phone. I asked Mike what he was saying as it was all in Japanese, and he told me that Satori was reporting to Ebara that Mike’s new wife was not only beautiful but intelligent as well, and that he had redeemed himself from the mistakes of the past.

The next day, Ebara came to the hotel and he and Mike had a long, quiet talk. I learned later that Ebara was Mike’s mentor, and he felt the most betrayed and hurt when Mike left Japan. Later that night, I met all his friends at their club. It was a warm and happy time for Mike, surrounded by his friends who wanted to be brought up to date on everything he had done since leaving Japan.

The second time Mike and I visited Japan, we were greeted with much warmth and hospitality. Ebara lent us his weekend home up in the mountains. It was a hundred year old house with nary a nail in it. All the pieces of wood were connected by tongue and groove, like a giant Lego home except it was ancient. It was fall then, and the trees were flamboyant in their autumn colors, with the mist rising from the earth. We were alone in the woods, blissful in each other’s company. We slept on tatami rugs, dressed in Japanese robes, and I imagined how it must have been for the Samurais.

We toured Maebashi with his friends, prayed at the temple in the mountain covered with a mantle of weeping willow trees, admired the Japanese art in the museum, and visited Satori’s impressive publishing house. We enjoyed the formal tea ceremony at Satori’s house, and had dinner at Ebara’s home.

One day, Mike’s friends treated us to a fugu lunch. Knowing that the blowfish is poisonous if not prepared properly, I refused to eat until I spoke to the chef. Not knowing a word of Japanese, I brought out the album I carried of my young daughters, Bea and Cara, and showed their pictures to the chef. His friends laughed, and assured me that the chef was highly experienced and certified in the art of preparing blowfish and that I had nothing to worry about. Please, I begged, just make sure that my children will not be orphaned once I eat this meal.

Mike wasn’t much for walking, and would get tired easily. He attributed this to the fact that he had broken his leg skiing in Japan, which resulted in one leg being slightly shorter than the other.  Being an Aquarian and a fire monkey at that, I wanted to explore everything, picking up a map at the airport and checking for sights to see. Mike tried his best to keep up, but at times would rein me in to sit down and rest.

Of all the Asian cities, Hong Kong was our special place. This was where we fell in love, acknowledged our feelings for each other, and vowed to love each other as husband and wife. We got married at the Cotton Tree Marriage Registry, and had our wedding reception at The Peak, surrounded by family and close friends. We returned many, many times to celebrate our life together.

Hong Kong was also where TeamAsia was born, and together with our business partner Eugina Lee, we would organize conferences and training programs. We hosted marketing guru Philip Kotler, new age guru Deepak Chopra, Chicken Soup for the Soul author Mark Victor Hansen, and many more. We were sad when we closed our Hong Kong office when the bird flu hit.

Mike preferred staying at Hong Kong Island rather than Kowloon.  The latter was just too commercial for him. I suspect that he did not like me shopping at the outlet stores.  We had our favorite haunts: the Foreign Correspondents Club, IKEA for me and the computer stores for Mike.  Always we returned to The Peak to review our goals and write them afresh. We always ordered the same menu we had for our wedding: naan bread with smoked salmon and caviar for starters, Pad Thai and red duck curry.  What creatures of habit we were!

Two years ago, Mike, Bea, Cara, Niccolo and I went to Hongkong. It was the best family vacation we had. Breakfasts were at the HK Foreign Correspondents Club. We had a fantastic dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant in Lang Kwai Fong, explored our usual haunts, walked up and down Hollywood Road and Cat’s Street, rode the long street elevator, and just had great fun together showing the children all our special places.

It was to Hong Kong where Cara, Niccolo and I escaped after Mike’s funeral. We needed to be somewhere we were happy once, away from the maddening crowd, to be with each other in our grief.

It was a very dark time in our lives.  And I am still in gasping for air.

Madrid was a different high for us. Mike loved to sit at the Plaza de Espana, drinking wine and eating pimientos de padron and olives, while I walked around with my friend Celia Teves. With my mom and sister Pinky, we toured Cordoba, Sevilla and Granada, a gift from Tita Conchi, my mom’s elder sister.

A photography enthusiast, Mike loved taking photos of the architecture, the landscape, and me. He and I soaked in the beauty of Spain.  On the last night of our tour, we celebrated our wedding anniversary on a hilltop tavern in Granada.  He sang to me, and we danced underneath the stars. Magical!  We promised ourselves we would return, and here I am in Madrid, without Mike holding my hand. But I know I know in my heart of hearts that he is with me, savoring every moment of this experience. And so begins my European adventure.  And my promise to begin writing. Mike, this is for you.  Aishiteiru, forever and a day.

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