Monday, August 06, 2007



The Camel

The camel has a single hump;
The dromedary, two;
Or else the other way around.
I'm never sure. Are you?

Primrose Path, 1935
Odgen Nash


Not far from a lake, at Buchanan Dam in the Texas Hill Country, where my friend Howard Houston lives with his wife Lynne and dog Yogi we met up with this out of context animal.



Before the making of the Isthmus of Panama, camels roamed in an early North America. Thus I have found out that the presence of the camel is not all that out of context.



When North America was joined to South America the camels drifted south and evolved into llamas, guanacos, alpacas and vicuñas.



While riding a calesa, a horse driven buggy in Mérida, Rosemary asked me for the Spanish equivalent of a highway lane divider. It immediately made me think of the Texan camel as the word in Spanish, camellón, is intimately related to the animal.

In 1965 I was madly in love. The intensity was more so as the young woman I had fallen for was leaving Buenos Aires for London. It was a curious (and less dramatic) reverse of the man in uniform (Argentine navy) and separation. I was to stay, with no war in sight, and she was going to London to study art. The day arrived complete with a tearful parting at the ship's gangplank and that final wave of my arm as the ship faded in the horizon. I went home and played Miles Davis Kind of Blue. I have always thought that pursuing depression with the help of music can be an exquisite experience. Perhaps the experience empties us and gives us the capacity for joy again.

In that respect I can understand the melancholy streak of John Dowland's (1563-1623) music as we (Abraham Rogatnick, Graham Walker, Rebecca Stewart and I) listened to La Cetra, David Douglass, Paul O'Dette and Helen Hargis in last night's performance of "Fine Knacks for Ladies": Courtly Songs & Dances of John Dowland.

The venue was the intimate UBC Recital Hall, a place where Rebecca (she was 5 then) and I first saw David Douglass (at the time he was wearing his ubiquitous and favourite blue silk shirt) and noted that he rested his baroque violin, not near his chin, but by his heart. We also noted that in this position he moved very much like a dolphin in water. His wife Helen Hargis had a sweet soprano that could switch from joy to passion and from passion to despair. Whenever either of them come to Vancouver Rebecca and I sit on the first row. And so it was last night.

The evening had a happy beginning. Abraham drove us to the concert. He has a blanket permission (for life, as en ex professor of architecture ) to park anywhere at UBC and his secret parking spot was but a few yards from the concert hall.

But the beautiful (and so intimate) concert went from more or less sad to a second part called The Mask of Despair where Hargis's face twisted into an intense sadness that it was Kind of Blue all over again.

Looking at Rebecca and listening to the lyrics:

In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be;
The roof despair to bar all cheerful light from me;
The walls of marble black, that moistened still shall weep;
My music hellish jarring sounds to banish friendly sleep.
Thus wedded to my woes, and bedded to my tomb,
O let me living die, till death, till death do come.

I felt happy in a melancholy way. But then little girls know better. In the back seat home, Rebecca happily sang:

99 bottles of beer on the wall.....

And the moment was past.

Sunday, August 05, 2007


When my father left the house in 1950, my immediate family was my mother and my grandmother. I looked forward to those weekends when my Uncle Tony, cousin Wenceslao and his mother, my Tía Sarita, would spend the day with us. Uncle Tony, Wency and I would go to General Electric Field to fly U-control planes. We didn’t do any of the flying but we pretended.



Uncle Tony had perfect scale models (except the wings had to be bigger for the planes to fly) of P-51 Mustangs, P-40 Warhawks (painted in perfect camouflage, sky blue underneath, olive drab on the top and with menacing open teeth on either side of the cowling), a big and black Ju87 Stuka and a highly unstable (Uncle Tony insisted in keeping the original wing design) Fw 190 Focke-Wulf. This was my family.



On my birthdays my father’s side of the family would come and the O’Reilly cousins would destroy my brand new toys. I only remember seeing my first cousin and godmother Inesita once but since then we have become very close. Four years ago Rosemary and Rebecca met her and the O'Reilly clan when we went to Argentina.

When we lived in Mexico, my mother, grandmother and I would go to weekend parties at the Filipino ambassador’s residence (the Escuderos and the Ezpeletas). The Filipino community became my family. My favourites were the Mirandas (Tío Luís, Tía Fermina and her four children Robby, Carmencita, Luisito and Chayo, who is my daughter Hilary’s godmother). I learned to appreciate Filipino food and on occasions I even wore a barong tagalog (as seen, below) shirt made of pineapple fibre. The black-haired girl is Rosario (Chayo) Miranda and the other girl is my first cousin Shelley Humphrey.



The best of all family gatherings was going to Tía Fermina’s house. There she had several tables all laid out including one for the children. The food was always the best. Filipino dishes mixed with steaks, and Spanish pucheros or the Filipino version called sinigán. Desserts included ensaimadas and upside down pineapple angle food cakes that almost levitated on the table they were so light. And at all times, Tío Luís would point his crooked finger at Rosemary and mention, “Esta hija no a comido nada!” And he would then pressure my wife to eat more. At these gatherings we always had the happy presence of Raúl Guerrero Montemayor who was to share with Chayo (Tía Fermina and Tío Luis’s youngest daughter) the task of being grandparents to Hilary. A few weeks ago Tía Fermina died in Houston and those family gatherings at her side have remained as warm memories. The task is to find some sort of replacement. I find it so important to feel part of a family. In Vancouver my family has been reduced by one with my eldest daughter Ale now living in Lillooet. In spite of her absence, yesterday was a perfect day.

Rosemary, Rebecca, Lauren and I went to Richmond to swim in Paul Leisz’s swimming pool. His girlfriend Amy had bought a box of Tim Horton’s doughnuts. Paul served iced tea. I dunked Rebecca in the pool several times.

For dinner, at home, I prepared iced tea (from scratch with Russian caravan tea leaves, lemons, tangerines, cloves, cinnamon, fresh mint and nutmeg), Mexican rice, shish kabobs and grilled corn on the cob and asparagus.

But it was the dessert that put a finish to a perfect afternoon in the garden. I asked Rebecca if she wanted a chocolate ice cream soda. We had savoured a pair of perfect strawberry ice cream sodas in Mérida at Pops (Calle 57, 60 x 62) and she now understood that the true ice cream soda, without the cloying sweetness of a coke or seven up float, is one of the perfect drinks for a hot day. As we were savouring our drinks (made with San Pellegrino, of course), Lauren looked at me and asked, "Can I have an ice cream soda?" She did.

Below is a pair of corn on the cob skewers that have been in my family since 1955. When the Filipino ambassador, Mariano Ezpeleta finished his tour of duty in Mexico City he put much of his household stuff for sale. My mother purchased his silver plate. While these skewers are all that remain to physically remind me of those wonderful afternoons in Mexico City they are also a favourite of Lauren's. Perhaps some day she may remember them in a similar context: A perfect day with the family.

Saturday, August 04, 2007


As a little boy in Buenos Aires, living near the Coghlan train station I always anticipated with great pleasure going to school on Tuesdays (I believe). My mother and I would walk to the station to take the electric train to Belgrano R where my mother taught at the Colegio Americano and I would walk the two extra blocks to the American Grammar School. Tuesday was special since that was the day the new Aventuras del Pato Donald would appear. There are three particular issues that remain in my memory (and of course I cannot remember their titles in Spanish).

Secret of the Incas

The Prize of Pizarro (which preceded by many years the rolling balls of Raiders of the Lost Ark).

The Seven Cities of Cibola

These historietas were dark and scary and this is where I became fascinated by lost civilizations, the Incas, the Aztecs and the mysterious fading away of the Mayans. I have never lost this fascination and every time I go to Mexico, or Peru, I feel the pull of the ruins. When I saw the beautiful Yucatecan women, some with receding foreheads and angular noses wearing their flowered uipiles they seemed to be visitors from that exciting past.

But Rebecca, at the almost age of 10 has yet to feel that pull. She is more inclined to get excited by bugs (bats), snakes, birds, horses, fish and any fauna you can think of. While I was admiring the pink stone of Uxmal Rebecca was busy running after huge iguanas, trying to record them on her pink Samsung.



And this she did. The picture here she took on a pile of rubble right next to the Palace of the Governors. But she did manage to almost smile for me by the courtyard of the nuns.



In Chichén Itzá between the terrible humid heat and the constant talking (it was interesting ) of our guide Juan Jara, Rebecca was complaining and almost in tears as you can see here by El Caracol. She was in her element posing by the mare, Cilindrina at the Cenotes of Cusamá.

Friday, August 03, 2007



Rebecca was most disappointed that Howard Houston's wife Lynne did not serve either deep-fried bat wings (with chipotle sauce) or baked armadillo. I had told Rebecca this was to be our menu in our first evening in Texas. Rebecca will eat anything and she will try anything, at least once. Instead Lynne served us the best barbecued pork loin I have ever had in my life. Even Rosemary had second helpings.

In Mérida Rebecca particularly liked the ordinary Yucatecan dishes and her favourite was Pok-Chuk which is a grilled pork steak that is fly sliced very thinly and smothered with Yucatecan red onions. The most distinguished restaurant we went to was at the Hacienda Xcanatún, 12 kms outside Mérida on the way to the seaport and seaside resort (a favourite of Meridanos) of Puerto Progreso. You can see here the day's menu. Rebecca had Pok-Chuk and for dessert real vanilla ice cream (it was creamy yellow) with crepes with cajeta and brandy flambe.

We loved going to the main square to Heladería Colón where Rebecca soon found the sorbete de mango her favourite while I liked the one made from the Mexican lemon.



Since it was so hot (it hovered around 36°)we had to eat our sorbetes quickly. I suggested to the waiter that they keep the glass cups under refrigeration but he looked at me as if I were crazy.



At our hotel, La Casa del Balam (jaguar in Mayan) we modified our continental breakfast fruit plate so that we were only served the intensely sweet red papaya.




Rebecca decided she was extra hungry, a few times, and ordered huevos rancheros or huevos benedictinos. When this happened I had to help her.

For me the name of a street is important. In 1945 they changed 6th Avenue in New York City to Avenue of the Americas. It has been 6th Avenue since to all Newyoricans. Miguel Angel de Quevedo in Mexico City has always been La Taxqueña. In Mérida and in the rest of Yucatán they have a system. North/South sreets are called by even numbers and East/West by odd numbers. Thus the address of the restaurant Casa Frida (where I photographed Rebecca as seen here) is written like this:

Calle 61 No 526-A X66 y 68.

That means that the restaurant is on 61 Street between 66 and 68. While the system eliminates the concept of a romantic sounding street name it is very logical and efficient.



The dish you see here is called Chiles en Nogada (Stuffed Chiles in Walnut Sauce). While I photographed the dish with Rebecca I had ordered it for myself.



It is native to Puebla and it commenmorates Independence Day, August 21, 1821. It honors General Agustin de Iturbide who at that date signed with the representative of the Spanish king, Juan O'Donojú, the Tratado de Córdoba, ending the war and giving Mexico independence. Its colors are those of the Mexican flag - green, white and red. Unfortunately the appearance of this dish was subdued as the cook must have wanted to save money and did not liberally garnish it with as many pomegranate seeds as he should have.

Some years ago Vancouver master photoprinter Trevor Martin and I were asked to judge a photo show at St. George's School for Boys. Without saying anything we made three piles. One pile consisted of sunsets, the second of cat pictures and in the third we put everything else. We judged only the third pile. I feel that the excitement of a sunset, a display of fireworks or a stalagtite that might resemble a roaring iguana is lost when photographed. I don't want to go as far as saying that when you see one of these you have seen them all. In 1966 on a slow boat from Buenos Aires to Veracruz I photographed as many sunsets as we had during the almost two-month voyage. I have long lost the Kodachromes and I don't feel all that sad. Going up the stairs to our room in Mérida, Rosemary pointed out the sunset and suggested I photograph Rebecca. The clouds in Mérida, and much of Yucatán seemed to hug the ground. They hovered above and I felt I could almost touch them. These clouds filtered the sunlight (but not the heat!) so that the light in the evenings had a warm pastel glow. And so I took these photos.

Thursday, August 02, 2007



Seeing Brother Edwin Reggio in the company of Howard Houston, his wife Lynne, Rosemary and Rebecca was the high point of our trip to Texas and Yucatán. Even though Brother Edwin Reggio C.S.C. is a member of the Brothers of the Holy Cross I somehow remember the Jesuits and Barry Lopez. The reason is that all those years ago at St. Edward's High School in Austin we were taught by Brother Edwin to put AMDG at the beginning of our essays and test papers. We knew that the initials were always present at the end of the name of Jesuit priests. We also knew that this was the motto of the Society of Jesus (commonly known as Jesuits) and that it stood for "For the greater glory of God". In many respects this motto preceded by several centuries the idea behind the concept of Opus Dei (the work of God). Brother Edwin told us that any act, even the most menial could be enhanced, modified and or given a special meaning by simply dedicating it to God. Through Brother Edwin I grew to admire the Jesuit order and their reputation for knowledge and philosophy. So a few years later while in Buenos Aires I tackled a famous work by a famous Jesuit Pierre Teilhard de Chardin. I also wrote about this Jesuit here

While I don't think there are any Jesuits left in Mexico they left their influence in the form of unusually beautiful churches scattered in major cities. These churches are always known as "la iglesia de la compañía" which means the church of the company (of Jesus). One of the most beautiful is in Guanajuato, Mexico but the one in Mérida had two very large paintings, one of the crucifixion and the other of Jesus facing Pontius Pilate.



Rebecca has a fascination for very large religious paintings so I photographed her in front of them in the Mérida church. The church was very dark so I had to use her Samsung.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007


The chorus of The Pointed Sticks's song The Real Thing (Nick Jones/Stephen Macklam, ©1979 Daily Tunes/Stupid Music, SOCAN 1979 Quintessence Records)goes:

Defect, defect, waiting for the real thing

The catchy chorus of this circa 1980 Vancouver pop band kept repeating itself in my head as my friend Howard Houston and I feasted our eyes on the first page of an Albert Einstein letter in the second floor of the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin a couple of weeks ago. After seeing the world's first photograph by Joseph Nicéphore Niépce and a lovely Gutenberg Bible Howard and I went to the second floor and I asked him what document he wanted to look at and hold in our hands. Howard said, "Anything by Albert Eistein." We had to go through a video that instructed us in the protocol of asking for and viewing rare documents. It was here where we lost Rebecca (she was bored by the video) who went down with Rosemary and Howard's wife Lynne. We sat down at a table and put on white cotton gloves. A file was placed in front of us and we opened it. It was a letter in Einstein's hand with the title as seen here in a copy of the Harry Ransom call document.



It was a thrill to not see a facsimile or a reproduction or a web page scan of a real document. We were looking at the real thing.

In an action that I now regret I rejected a copy of that first page. A copy would have given us the date (I didn't notice it) or to whom the letter was addressed to. I rejected the copy because the copy was a copy. And that was it. It was the flying flamingo all over again.