Dreaming of a white Christmas...

It's that time of year again when I find myself dreaming of a white Christmas... not just any white Christmas but a white Christmas in the little Austrian village of Strobl along the shores of Lake Wolfgang to be exact.

Christmas lights twinkling in the night, Christmas carols filling the air, the smell of log fires and chestnuts roasting, snow covered mountains and pathways, the Christmas markets...oh the Christmas markets... not to mention the sense of peace and calm I felt when we were there. I've never actually been there at Christmas time (we went in Spring) but that's my idea of Christmas...

(Photo credit: www.salzburger-bergadvent.at)

It's a bit different from what Christmas in Australia has become - for me at least. Every year I usually find myself getting to Christmas eve coming to a screeching halt. With the end of school year dance concerts, presentation days, office Christmas parties, birthday parties, putting up the Christmas tree, and managing the busiest trading period of an online retail store, it's become one of the most frantic times of the year.

I would prefer to sashay my way up to Christmas - with time to bake goodies for friends and wrap them in nice packaging, with time to enjoy the Christmas carols and sights around the city, with time to put up the Christmas tree and actually enjoy it instead of feeling like it's just another chore on the long list of things to do, with time to wrap gifts with pretty little bows - all while somehow creating some fond Christmas memories for the kids.

Musing from my Madrid rooftop

Yesterday, June 30, was Filipino-Spanish Friendship Day in the Philippines. Not that I usually know or pay attention to many of these things, except that a friend felt it was relevant (since I was in Madrid) and forwarded a Facebook post about it to me. I light-heartedly vowed to celebrate it with churros con chocolate from the popular Chocolateria San Gines in Madrid (I was going to have it anyway but this ensured I would get it sooner rather than later).

As I enjoyed my churros later that evening (more like midnight but that's just Madrid), I told Hubby this was my way of celebrating Fil-Spanish Friendship Day. He replied "But you're not Filipino, and you're not even Spanish either." I sat there momentarily speechless. Ouch, but there was truth to his statement. "So what am I then?", I asked a bit disappointed and no longer sure of the answer.

"So what am I then?"... this question has plagued me on more than just this occasion.

Several years back, while holidaying in Fiji, part of the 'show' at the resort was to see where the different guests were from. Naturally, we went to the front when "Australia" was called out...and there we were - my sunburnt, dark-skinned family even darker than normal from days in the Fijian sun - standing amongst other Caucasian Australians with their equally Aussie accents. I felt out of place. To make it worse, the host went on to 'lecture' the audience about heritage...and that where we are from is not where we live, but it's who we are...our identity.

Was he referring to us - the family that clearly looked out of sync? Should we have said we were from the Philippines? Would that have been more acceptable?

Just a bit of background...
I was born and spent most of my school years in the Philippines - except the first 4 years of school which I spent in a British school in Bangkok, Thailand while my father was on assignment. Both parents are of Filipino-Spanish descent, and both spoke Spanish to each other and my grandmother around the house, as well as to other relatives. Neither obtained a Spanish passport nor was there a desire to as I distinctly recall my father's words at the dinner table when the topic came up: "I was born and raised a Filipino. What's the point?"

English is the first language I can recall, learning Filipino (Tagalog) upon our return to Manila towards the end of Year 3. By Year 5 the Special Filipino classes ended and I was integrated into normal classes. By high school I was fully literate in written/verbal Tagalog, speaking  it better than my brothers...mainly because I hung around Tagalog-speaking friends and the maids. I could understand my parents' Spanish conversations - to some extent. Up until last year, in my early 40s, I had never been to Spain. 

Straight after University, at the ripe old age of 21, I migrated to Australia to begin my working life. Except for a brief 2-year stint returning to the Philippines to experience working there (and getting married to Hubby who is also coincidentally of Filipino-Spanish descent while there), I have remained in Australia ever since. 

Now 20 years later on holiday in Madrid, I was pondering the point Hubby made over our midnight churros. As we got back to the comforts of our rented Madrid apartment I came across this timely blog post from Carlos Celdran to commemorate the Fil-Spanish Friendship Day.

http://carlosceldran.tumblr.com/post/90313348225/its-the-hacienda-world-as-we-know-it-the-decline-of

It is as relevant, if not more, to me today than when he wrote it 8 years ago. After all, who would be better-placed to nail it on the head? Not only is Carlos of Filipino-Spanish descent from a prominent Filipino family himself, but he has also established himself as a sought-after, albeit controversial, tour guide (aka historian) around the Spanish walled city of Intramuros in Manila. So he knows all too well the very society and history he talks about. While I have never been (and am still not) comfortable being associated with or as the 'coño kid' variety he describes, it has put into context many of the comments experienced throughout my childhood to today. Comments like 'Mestiza ka kasi' (Because you're 'mestiza'); 'Ay, Pilipina ka pala?' (Oh, you're Filipino?); 'You don't look/sound Filipino/Australian'.

It is little wonder then that I took it as a compliment (relief?) when a shop keeper in a little Andalucian village in rural Spain chose to speak in Spanish because she assumed I was a local - she switched to fluent English with a British accent when I told her 'No ablo Español' (I don't speak Spanish). And when our tour guide told me the same thing while visiting a Favela in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Finally, somewhere in the world I looked like a local. Finally, somewhere in the world I was being told I looked like I belonged - as long as I didn't open my mouth to speak, of course. I was still a fraud.

Travel undoubtedly teaches you many things about people and the world, but probably more important is what it teaches (or un-teaches) you about yourself.

With the question "What am I?" ringing in my thoughts as I continue to ponder the question from our Madrid rooftop, this line from Carlos' blog post hit home:

"Could it be that the Spanish mestizo, who never felt neither at home in the Philippine archipelago nor in the Iberian peninsula, could be cursed to roam the world never to find his stead?"

Except of course now I might just take that as an excuse to keep roaming...

Rio de Janeiro...parting thoughts

It's been a week since we arrived in this city and I feel a tinge of sadness as we prepare to move on to Sao Paolo for the next two matches.

A lot has happened in the past week - Spain and Australia have been eliminated; we partied with the Brazilians as they played against Mexico; we've been to Christ the  Redeemer and Sugar Loaf Mountain; Copacabana has become our home; we've walked the streets of Ipanema, Leblon and downtown Centro riding on countless bus and Metro rides moving around Rio; we've eaten until we could eat no more; we've seen several favelas from a distance and spent a day walking through one of them....

From that, here are my thoughts on the 'real' Rio de Janeiro:

The party vibe

As expected, there was a strong party vibe around the place but it seemed the only ones partying were the tourists. Cariocas (Rio locals) were too busy making a living. This was their window of opportunity, so they had to make the most of it. They didn't strike me as the fun-loving, samba-dancing bunch I thought they would be. The vibe I got from the Cariocas was one of survival.

Our waiter at one of the restaurants we visited was scheduled to work 30 days straight without a day off. The favela tour company we booked had several tour groups going every day. Street vendors lined streets and sidewalks hawking their wares. Our apartment landlord was attending to our needs organising a repair to the leaking washing machine during our stay. Their city had a sudden influx of tourists ready to spend their money so this was their chance to earn from it. Once the world spotlight was no longer on their city they could take a break and have fun. For now, it was time for them to work.

The poverty

Poverty in Rio is real, very real. Everyday we walked passed countless homeless people sleeping on the sidewalks. I wanted desperately to take photos to convey their reality but just couldn't.  The truth is we couldn't really tell if they were homeless or dead - and I say that in all seriousness. Laying on the filthy sidewalks of Copacabana in the middle of the day as tourists and locals walked by oblivious to their presence. The poverty was palpable. Unless one stayed in the cocoon of their 5-star hotel facing Copacabana or Ipanema beach, chauffeured from point-to-point by taxi or private shuttle never to wander through the back streets to see real life, it was hard not to notice. Rio's poverty isn't confined to the favelas. It smacks you in the face.

Having said that, like many places, the entire population doesn't live like that.There are wealthy people too...like the lady in the upmarket shopping centre in Ipanema wearing her Ferragamo shoes with nanny and baby in tow; or the family of 5 who arrived at the airport as we were leaving - baggage trolley piled high with not 1, not 2, but 5 pieces of Louie Vuitton check-in luggage - being pushed by what I could only assume was the nanny/helper. They are the minority

Why do I need to make a point of it? Because I don't understand how a city (or country) who can't even play host to the majority of its own citizens can be allowed to host the world - not only for this World Cup but for the 2016 Olympics as well.

The people

Cariocas are great people. They were all friendly, very helpful, and extremely patient - especially with the language barrier and our cluelessness with many things. From the bus drivers to the waiters to the check-out chick at the grocery to the lady at the local corner bakery...all of them - except for the LAN airport staff - took the time out to understand what we were trying to say, give directions, or wait while we fumbled with local currency.

It mustn't be easy to share their city with the throngs of foreign tourists, especially when daily life is already a struggle without them, yet they managed to make us feel welcome.

Then there are the 'bad apples' of society... those that get featured in the media, giving the rest of the world the impression that the whole place is out to get you. The bad ones are the minority that get all the attention. The key is to research the areas to avoid, know and weigh the risks, and always, always, always keep your wits about.

Thankfully, there wasn't really an instance where I felt threatened during our stay. The closest we came to it was our mid-day visit to Lapa to see the Arcos de Lapa and Escalon de Lapa. It was our last day in Rio (we were flying out that night) and I really wanted to see it. Lapa immediately felt different, you could tell. And as we walked down a 200m stretch of a partially deserted street (which police at the Arcos directed us to) I felt like we were easy targets. There was no one but locals hanging out at their doorways, milling around on the streets, watching us walk by. A mix of graffiti, street art and filth covered the rundown buildings that looked like their homes.

I wasn't sure if it was the paranoia from the TripAdvisor reviews or our landlord's warning to have 'mugging money' prepared or a traveller's sixth sense, but it wasn't until we encountered a film crew shooting footage that I felt safe enough to stop and take photos of the surrounding area. It was a relief to arrive at the Escalon where there were police at the base of the steps packed with tourists.

The food

Fruits, agua de coco, salads, lean cuts of meat...all these healthy things were in abundance. No wonder Brazilians have great bodies. It's so easy to eat healthy. Chia seeds, goji berries  - these super foods made regular appearances at buffets alongside the fried garlic and sesame seeds.

The well-renowned Brazilian feast - the Churrasco - is, in my humble opinion, over-rated and over-priced. At least the one we went to across the Copacabana Hotel certainly was.

The less popular 'por Kilo' is THE way to go in Brazil. They're everywhere...even in food courts. Some are better than others and the best we had by far was at the Catete Grill in Rua Catete. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served this way so you can usually get it any time of day.

Would I recommend visiting Rio?

I've already been asked this off-the-cuff and, as with most of my responses when asked about a place, I prefer not to discourage anyone from visiting any place I didn't particularly fall in love with. My experience is exactly that - my experience. Everyone should visit places they want to see and experience for themselves - regardless of what others say.

So, yes - definitely - go visit Rio. But do so not because of what you expect Rio to be but more so because you will be helping the people in Rio with your tourist dollars. Spend your money at the local corner stores and stalls, catch the local bus, get a drink and eat at the small local restaurants, bars, and cafes, get your breakfast from the local bakery, buy something from the local craftsperson...

Life in Rio de Janeiro, the real Rio de Janeiro, can't be further from the hedonistic lifestyle it wants the world to see.

World Cup 2014: Wearing our Spanish jerseys around Rio

Spain vs Chile, Maracana Stadium, Rio de Janeiro - 18 June 2014, 4pm kick-off

This was a big day for us. We were booked to go to Christ the Redeemer at 10:20am, needed to get somewhere...anywhere to watch the Australia vs Holland game at 1pm, then be at Maracana Stadium by 4pm for the Spain vs Chile game.

This was the day we were going to wear our Spanish jerseys loud and proud...up until this point I hadn't really shown support for any team - except for Brazil in the Brazil vs Mexico game but I figured I would be in good company for that one. 

Little did I know that wearing a jersey - the Spanish one at least - would make us fair game for anyone and everyone.

No sooner than we had left for the walk down our street to the Metro, someone yells out something in Portuguese. We didn't realise he was calling our attention...then he said something again, referring to our jerseys. Hubby gave him a thumbs up and we keep walking...

I walked into a money changer where a Spanish couple recognised our jerseys, they gave us a thumbs up and said something in Spanish. I just smiled and nodded...

Waiting to cross the street at the lights and a few older guys in a car stopped in front of us, gave us the thumbs up and was saying something through the window...we gave him a thumbs up back "Viva Espana!" Then he rolls down his window and continues saying something...Hubby nods to him and motions to his jersey. The car moves on and I turn to Hubby..."What did he say??". He replies "Ambot!" (Translation: I have no idea!)

Finally we get to the Metro. Hubby is buying tickets while I wait on the side. A Chilean stands in front of me with a flag "Chi, Chi, Chi...Le, Le, Le". I just stared at him blankly not realising he was taunting me! When it finally dawned on me I shook my head and said "Viva Espana!" Leche! When he finally got a reaction he smiled gesturing apologetically and said something in Spanish which I took as "I'm only teasing!" then left. All good.

We got to Christ the Redeemer going about our business taking photos...as you do. I hear someone behind me say "Espana, Espana". I turn around and see a reporter with a mic and broadcast camera pointed at me. Aaacck! Panic! "No hablo Espanol" I told him defensively. He backed off. I regained my composure then cheekily offered him a second chance "Ingles?" He shook his head. (Darn it! I blew my chance.) 

Leaving the place, we boarded a bus to get to our next stop... somewhere to watch the Australia vs Netherlands game. The bus driver looks at our jersey as we board "Chile?", he asks. "Espana", I replied. He shakes his head in disgust. Sigh...

We get off the bus and head to the restaurant which we decided we would watch the Australia game from. As we walk we hear a roar on the streets so we stop at a yoghurt bar to check the TV. Netherlands scored its first goal. Cahill scored the goal for Australia immediately after. We cheered. Ladies at the yoghurt bar pointed to our jerseys and gave us the thumbs down. Whatever... we were getting used to it by this stage.

We ate at the restaurant (Catete Grill) and stayed for as long as we could. It was one of those "por kilo" places where they weigh your plate and you pay by weight. It's quite common around here and they're great. We've eaten at a few but this by far was the best for the variety and freshness of the food. It was delicious and I could have kept eating...

The score was 3 - 2 in favour of the Netherlands. There were 15 minutes left but it was time to leave. We needed to make our way to Maracana Stadium for the 4pm Spain vs Chile game. On the train, we found out that Australia lost that game.

We get to our seats a minute before kick-off. The crowd was going wild and we take a look around. We're surrounded by Chileans! Eeeek...not to worry... we cheer for Spain anyway. The Chileans dominated the stands with their collective cheering, singing, booing, and whistling. The Spanish fans had no united reply. There was no chant, no song, no cheer that we could join in. The Spanish fans in the stands seemed just as disorganised as the Spanish players on the field. Spain loses...they're out.

Two losses in the same afternoon dampened our spirits. We no longer have a team to cheer on...

From our stadium seats to the Metro, there seemed to be more Chileans everywhere - singing and chanting. Suddenly there weren't very many Spanish jerseys around. I'm sure some changed sides and put on Chilean jerseys...

On the Metro after the game, Hubby and I got separated in the crowd. He was in one carriage and I in the other. Noisy Chileans filled the carriage...suddenly I was the lone Spanish Jersey surrounded by over 60 boisterous, predominantly male, Chileans singing, chanting, banging the train ceiling. At no time did I feel threatened or unsafe around them but it was certainly the most awkward 40 minute ride.

Finally my stop... time to get off. I spot another Spanish Jersey in the crowd. Hubby! Thank goodness. Now there are 2 of us...strength in numbers...2 amidst hundreds of Chileans. Hubby introduces me to his "Chilean buddy". Of course, that's right. He makes friends so he doesn't get beaten up. He felt just as awkward as I did so we we're relieved to be reunited.

Walking home another guy in a Spanish jersey passing by shakes Hubby's hand with a sorrowful expression...then another random person calls out "Adios Espana" as we pass. We look at him and just give him a thumbs up "Good game", we say admitting defeat.

We pass a bar and a guy calls out at us again... "Adios Espana! Go home! You're out." We look at him and just smile and shrug our shoulders as we pass. Then his lady friend starts calling out in a taunting tone  "Losers! Hahaha! Losers! Go home!" while holding up her fingers in an L to her forehead. I felt the sudden urge to give her the finger but stopped myself as that would've been too 'crassy'. So I just kept walking. Hubby held his hand up to them as if to say "Whatever..." as they clearly wanted to get nasty.

I was so angry. How dare she...she wasn't even Chilean...neither was he! All day we had taken crap but this was below the belt. This was personal. We endured a train ride home surrounded by Chileans and none of them - not one - taunted us that way. These people were down right rude and nasty and deserved an equally nasty reply. How many other Spanish jerseys had they taunted this way? This is one of those moments when I wished I didn't take the high ground.

It's late, we're tired, our spirits dampened...and now I was cranky... so we stop at a bar for a bite to eat and turn our attention to the Croatia vs Cameroon game.

It was a physically and emotionally exhausting day wearing that Spanish jersey around Rio but we wore it 'til the end. We were not out to seek attention nor did we expect it. We are not part of a big rowdy group of fans. We did not wave Spanish flags around or rally in the streets. It was just us - Hubby and I - wearing the jersey to support our team. 

So another lesson learned as a 'non-footballer' (which in hindsight should have been pretty obvious) - no one is exempt from the unwanted attention and taunts that come with wearing the current World Cup Champions' jersey during the World Cup.

World Cup 2014: Football lessons from a non-footballer

Argentina vs Bosnia, 15 June 2014, 7pm kick-off, Maracana Stadium, Rio de Janeiro

It was the first of 4 matches we'll be watching live at this World Cup - or probably any World Cup for that matter - so here are 3 things I learned as a first-timer and 'non-follower':

1) Brazilians apparently hate Argentinians - at least where football is concerned.

This might be common knowledge to football fans but it was news to me. Maybe this is why Argentinians have been so 'in your face' on the streets these past few days? I thought it was just their spirit and passion for the sport but maybe it's a case of over compensation. They're in enemy territory.

2) Bosnia was NOT the underdog.

I foolishly assumed they were. With a legend like Maradona, Argentina was naturally on my radar of good football teams. But Bosnia...do they even have a team?

Being next door to Brazil, naturally Argentina would have a bigger following...and they already made their presence in Rio felt - everywhere.  On the streets stopping traffic, in the Metro cheering in chorus, on the beach, at the restaurant, blue and white striped jerseys, hats and flags everywhere...you know the Argentinians are here. In fact, if you didn't know you were in Brazil you could be forgiven for thinking you were in Argentina.

Bosnians on the other hand...not a peep. I was unsure of what their team colours were until the players stepped onto the field. I felt sorry for them. Such a tiny country so far away...who was going to cheer for them? I felt I should...but only on the inside. I didn't want to be the lone voice cheering for the opposition surrounded by boisterous Argentinians.

As soon as the first whistle blew to start the game with Argentina in possession, the crowd booed. "What the??! How many Bosnians are here??!!", I thought.

In those opening seconds it became clear that Bosnia was not the underdog...Argentina was. Bosnia had the entire Brazilian vote behind them. So in a stadium with close to 75,000 people, there was a pretty dominant vote in favour of Bosnia...and they made sure the Argentinians knew it.

As for the match itself, Bosnia can hold their head high. If not for the own goal scored for Argentina in the opening minutes, it would've been a draw. Not bad for a country which I didn't even know had a team until we got our tickets.

3) Messi is an Argentinian football god.

They even have a chant just for him which includes hand motions bowing down to him. After he scored the goal for Argentina I could see why. Not only did he lift the team's spirit with that goal but the crowd's too. Suddenly the Argentinians got their confidence back...on the field and in the stands. It's probably no coincidence that he bears the same number 10 as other football legends before him either (Maradona for Argentina and Pele for Brazil). Admittedly, it was a pretty cool goal ricocheting off the post the way it did (but not as cool as van Persi's header against Spain in the Spain vs Netherlands game). After he scored I suddenly paid attention to this 10 in the blue and white striped jersey. He's good. Really good and it seems he lived up to his reputation.

You don't have to be a football fan to enjoy the World Cup and these little surprises make it just that bit more interesting for me. Surprises which were only possible because we were there. 

Spain vs Chile is up next in a couple of days. I'll be wearing my Spanish jersey loud and proud for that one. Mainly because Hubby follows Spain...so I might as well. And after their horrendous loss against Netherlands, Spain has to win it to stay in it. I'm also feeling just a bit spiteful against Chile after they beat Australia...even if it was no surprise.

In the meantime, we'll be sightseeing around Rio watching other games from the 'sand pit'.

Rio de Janeiro...first impressions

Mention 'Rio de Janeiro' to someone and automatically images of dancing, live music, parties, a rainbow of colour, bright lights, beautiful views, world-famous beaches, beautiful sun-kissed bodies and Christ the Redeemer come to mind. At least that's what it was for me. I was ready to samba!

When deciding to watch the World Cup this time around we thought what better place to experience it than in a country passionate and world-renowned for its football, in its darling party city. It doesn't get much better than that.

As we prepared for the trip, slowly we learned about the dark side of Rio de Janeiro...the petty crime, the poverty, the civil disturbances, the drugs. Suddenly what seemed like a brilliant idea didn't feel so brilliant. 

We arrived in Rio in the middle of the day and opted to take the bus from the airport to our apartment. The bus ride cutting through downtown Rio (something we wouldn't have seen had we caught a cab) was the most eye-opening 45-minute introduction to this city. 

I stared out the window taking in every detail as the bus snaked its way through the streets of Rio - the haphazard construction standards; unfinished buildings; the grime and dirt-coated buildings, bridges, and street signs; the graffiti-covered walls; street vendors on every corner. It was a scene that suddenly felt very familiar - this is just like Manila, I thought. Taft, Quiapo, Recto, Binondo...I had seen this before but this isn't what I imagined Rio to be. How could I have been so ignorant?

The bus turned onto a Main Street and out of the maze...streets were wider, buildings taller and better constructed, less graffiti...we were on Ayala Ave in Makati. Still, l felt like I was in Manila...and on it went. 

The entire stretch of Copacabana, where we stayed, was Roxas Boulevard with a beach. The back streets of Ipanema were the side streets of Makati. They sure know how to put on a good show, I thought. This city was not at all what I expected it to be, and Portuguese is nowhere near as easy to understand as Spanish (or German for that matter!), but we were in this larger-than-life city and I was keen to find the Rio de Janeiro I had in my head.

Olé Olé Olé Olé... World Cup 2014

The eve before Hubby and I leave for Brazil to experience this hype called the World Cup. It's a bucket list thing for him... and I'm tagging along. I don't know much about football, teams or players, but I know enough not to call it 'soccer'...and that Spain has a cute goalie - go Casillas!

A million things running through my mind. One of which is... it would have been easier to just take the kids with us.

I'm mentally exhausted...will the kids be ok? Are their schedules sorted? Do they know where they need to be and when? Do they have what they need? Have I notified their schools and coaches of an alternate emergency contact? Will the business be ok? Have I trained Cat well enough? Is she responsible enough? What happens if something comes up that I haven't trained her on? Will the kids miss us? Will we miss them? Have I told my mum everything she needs to know - kids' training and game schedules, birthday parties, doctor's details, Medicare card, everyone's phone numbers, our itinerary...? Will she be ok looking after them or will they drive her to the looney bin? Or will I drive her to the looney bin with my 3-page handover document?

Maybe we should have just taken the kids with us....

With all this going on, I haven't been able to devote any mental space to planning our trip. Since we aren't just packing up and taking everyone with us this time around, we had to divide and conquer - I would look after the "Home" arrangements and Hubby would take care of the "Away" details. So I don't know what time our flights are, where we're staying, how we're getting from A to B, what money we have (or don't have), what games we're watching and what we're doing when we get there!

I'm an advocate for family travel and now I have an even stronger reason why - because it's so much easier to just take everyone with you!