My Little Green Book (A Central Europe Travelogue)

Tuesday, 21 May 2002

Manuel Librodo Jr. I looked at myself in the mirror.  Believe it or not, I couldn’t see my face.  Was it jet lag?  A paranormal phenomenon?  Or sheer exhaustion?  All of a sudden, reality struck me hard: I lost face!  My embarrassment and humiliation was so intense that it melted my face into an unrecognizable hollow form... It was almost two months ago when that incident happened.  I left Bangkok at 11:00 p.m. for a much deserved “self –treat”.  Destination: Frankfurt. J-O-Y was etched all over my face as I guided my fingers through the map that came along with my tour registration documents. Soon enough, my thoughts surged down through the floodgates of my consciousness. Frankfurt, wow, glorious!  Berlin, ah, historically exciting!  Warsaw, wasn’t it devastated during World War II?  Krakow, never heard of it but a friend told me that it is his favorite city. Budapest, I saw a picture of this magnificent city in a Carlsberg ad but the text only said “probably the best beer in the world”.  Vienna, oh yes, much have been said about the city.  And of course, Prague! The reason why I chose this tour and why I didn’t stray my eyes to other exciting packages! The reason why I didn’t mind getting a new passport to accommodate 4 tourist visas for the countries I had to visit before coming down to Prague!   I slept, dreamt, woke up and dreamt again until I realized our plane landed in the tarmac in Frankfurt.  It was 5:00 a.m., German time. Before long, I was in the immigration queue. With my plastered smile, I glided to the top of the line without any anticipation of the doom that loomed behind the counter. I confidently handed my passport. “Where are you going?”, he asked. “Europe.” I blurted out. “ Ah… Germany. Frankfurt, yes. Then Poland, Hungary, Slovakia, Czech Republic etcetera, etcetera…”  I was caught unaware. “Ticket please.” “Ticket, what?” Oh, boy. It must be my “virgin” passport -  I convinced myself.  I should have attached the old one to show that I had traveled to the U.S. and Europe.   “Airline ticket.” He annoyingly clarified. I handed it to him.  “What are you here for?” He continued asking without batting an eyelash. “Tour.  Here are my tour documents.”  You bet I had it handy for inspection. “How much money do you have?” He continued asking without even checking my tour documents.   “One thousand U.S.dollars and my Visa card.”   Was it my picture in the passport?  Did my moustache make me look like one of the Abu Sayyafs? Or one of Bin Laden’s suicide bombers?   .   “What is your job?” Still no eye contact.   “Teacher... in an international school in Bangkok.” My voice trailed off.   At that moment I knew why I was being interrogated.  It was my green, “virgin” passport.  It was my Pinoy connection. “Can I see your visa card?” “Here.”  Five years ago, I was issued the Standard Chartered visa card with my big picture on it.  The pictured showed me in the library with an open book in my hand. I was in my immaculate- white long sleeves and Versace necktie given to me by a student. I certainly looked like a real professional in the picture. “Thanks a lot, Sir. Enjoy your tour!” He tried to be polite.  Well, the damage had been done. I didn’t answer back. He did let me go.  I looked back and I felt like a fish in a fishbowl. The faces either smiled or glared back at me.  Some expressions were of mockery and annoyance. So what!   I am a Filipino, and I am proud of my “little green book”.  It makes life predictably unpredictable, yet more challenging.   And challenges kept on rolling in.  In the Customs department, I was again singled out as one of those “randomly” checked for baggage’s content.  As soon as my little green book came into view, I was also asked for my airline ticket, tour documents, etc. The contents of both my handcarried and checked-in luggages were inspected. Again, I saw other passengers peering through my personal belongings as the custom inspectors went through my briefs, shaving kit, etc. I came out of the arrival area and rushed to the nearest comfort room. It was there that I discovered that I’d “lost” my face. Challenged?  Sure!  But I needed my face back. I washed my “invisible” face for what seemed like an eternity and came out of the wash room cleansed and refreshed.  (Now I know why the toilet is both a comfort and a wash room.)  I got my face back, and felt that I was a new person. I had my little green book safely tucked inside my bag.   This was my culture baggage.  Everything that I saw and learned in this trip was beamed back to the green, green pages of my Pinoy passport. *** Frankfurt, Germany:  Sure, Germany is a developed country.  Sure, Germans are very systematic people.  But what I saw that Sunday in downtown Frankfurt still surprised me.  The place was practically deserted that I could literally paint the town red without anyone noticing me. Except for the street cleaners who were washing, sweeping, and vacuum cleaning what was left from the merriment of the night before, the city was plain dead.  Litters of empty and broken beer bottles and crushed beer cans, and the pungent smell of beer-flavored urine filled the heavy ground and air of downtown Frankfurt. Apart from being a Sunday, thus a strictly family day for Europeans, there was a beer festival the night before and everyone was reeling off from the hangover of fun and booze.   Anyway, I never saw Germany that dirty! I walked, took pictures, walked again, ate, walked back to the  train station and was surprised to see the very same littered spot sparklingly cleaned and meticulously tidied up!  Sure, the Germans really knew how to clean their mess up!  If that was the Philippines, the scavengers would build makeshift houses around the area to be near their “source” of income. Another man-made landform would have sprung up from nowhere. And our politicians? Ah, probably, they would still be bickering and pointing accusing fingers at each other as to who was accountable for the mess. My little green book gave me a smirk. *** Warsaw and Krakow, Poland:  Our tour guide said that “Poland is a poor and miserable country”. Ouch!  I wonder what adjective would she use to describe ‘Pinas! (I felt my little green book kicked and twitched inside my pocket). We passed through huge green and brown fields, glanced at people working and playing, and saw houses in different sizes, shapes and “stages” of decay and constructions. They’re probably poor but they could elude the impression of poverty.  Because of their white skin, blue eyes and high-bridged nose, they looked as rich as any “Alabang-er”.  And they drove cars.  And they drank whiskey. And they crashed into each other in their paved highways.  Now, weren’t these lifestyles of the rich?  Anyway, as propaganda against reckless driving, Poland’s police displayed the badly destroyed cars on the side of the street in the area of accident.  (One accident-prone area looked like an orchestra with accordion, piano, flute, guitar and a conductor baton!  Still another looked like a gallery of sculptures of a baroque artist.)   What if it we did the same in the Philippines?  Would the whole archipelago turn into a junkyard?  Wrong!  I think we have a low car accident rate in the Philippines because: one, our salary and the price of the car are not directly proportional, thus only a few among us can afford it; or two, if we have a car, we treat it as a treasured family member (with its own blanket, name and birthday), thus a mere scratch on its surface is like a gaping wound to the owner’s dignity and self-esteem.  I imagined then that if this policy was carried out in our country, the mangled parts of the car would not last a day.  There will be a birth of another career –  an “orchestra-sweeper” maybe, or how about a “gallery-janitor”.  I heard my little green book chuckled. *** Budapest, Hungary:  The place was as beautiful as it appeared in the Carlsberg ad.  Situated on a hilly terrain, the imposing architectural wonders of this city were either perched on top of a hill or nestled at the foot of a mound.  The Fisherman’s Bastion was a visual delight with intricate building designs and massive structures.  The Matthias Coronation Church was still on its crowning glory – well-preserved and resplendent in its antiquity.  The Heroes’ Square was huge and spotless.  Despite the thousands of tourists who flock to the place everyday, it was well-kept and well-tended.  We took a cruise along the Danube River at night time, and we were awestruck by the wonderful illumination that surrounded us. “But our Roxas Boulevard in Manila is also wonderfully-lit up during Christmas, isn’t it?”  My little green book nudged me.  But of course!   Moreover, our giant lanterns also grew feet at night time and they disappeared from their posts even before the end of the yuletide season.  And the poor lights! They became targets of the zealous target-shooters around the metropolis.  And our Rizal Park…It does not only  stand as testimony to our great hero, but also as witness to the generation that has yet to come (you could see a couple wrestling each other at a dimly-lit area while satisfying their drive to procreate – to put it more bluntly).  My little green book contemplated in silence. *** Vienna, Austria:  Truly an artist’s paradise!  If I were one, inspiration wouldn’t have been a problem as they sprouted like mushrooms.  However, I love art and I love to pretend I am a “cultured” person.   So I had a delightful evening as I roamed the pedestrian streets and malls, and enjoyed the free entertainment from singers, violinists, puppeteers, mime-artists, etc.  Actually, they’re not really for free.  They had a hat or a box where you could put your “donation”.  There was this not-so-pretty singer who had to stop to drink after belting out each song, while her accomplice passed a hat around.  The appreciative crowd readily obliged.  And there was this puppeteer who brought to life a singer-pianist who rocked-and-rolled to the tune of “Great Balls of Fire”.  Amazingly, the string became irrelevant as the crowd gazed at the puppet doing somersaults and tap dancing with ease and grace.  After that number, the puppet urged the crowd to clap and drop their cash. But we have a lot of Pinoy artists too – from musicians, magicians, comedians and morticians.  Why can’t we follow the cue from Vienna?  Which cue? The passing of the hat around?  Think again. By the time the hat gets back to the performer, it is without a bottom.  The audiences are always better artists – magicians, to be more specific.  My little green book raised its eyebrows. ***. Prague, Czech Republic:  My last stop and certainly, the most memorable. The city was extremely breathtaking in its mysterious ways.  It was a communist country a few years ago yet it had the most number of religious statues and churches.  The Charles Bridge looked like Station of the Cross with its numerous replica of Jesus.  While it was touted as one of the poor countries in Central Europe, the historical Belvedere and the Old Town Hall was an undisguised picture of pomp and splendor. Camera-fanatic that I am, I finished 4 rolls of film in Prague.  I couldn’t catch my breath as I marveled at every sight and delight of the beautiful buildings.   I was on my way to the St. Vitus Cathedral when I was piqued by this funny vista of a violinist and his dog.  He played the violin while his dog collected the money with a bowl that it carried between its teeth. Cute, huh?  Well, wait ‘til you hear this.  There was a circle of crowd around the violinist.  Nearby, there was another artist, a magician, who attracted his own circle of onlookers.  The violinist’s dog strayed to the magician’s circle to collect “donations” for his master!  Of course, the audiences in both circles laughed.  They couldn’t resist the dog’s antic that they ended up dropping coins after coins into the dog’s bowl!  Ha! Ha! Ha!   Do that in the Philippines and the dog will end up in a bowl.  Can you smell “azucena”?  I sawuld see my little green book salivating. *** Before long, my tour ended.  It was time to face the immigration officials again. Surprise, surprise! The service was fast and efficient. Then reality struck me again!  Was it because they wanted me out of Europe so quickly?  To confirm my thoughts,  I rushed to the toilet and searched for a mirror. I saw my face smiling back at me.   In my pocket, I saw my little green book giving me a reassuring wink.  I survived Central Europe and my little green book!  (But Central Europe didn’t survive the flood…)