Just How Good is Bonn?

Essay and Photos by Ino Manalo

When I learned through the internet that there would be an international Education for Sustainable Development (ESD) conference to be held in Bonn, Germany I decided to apply for the few scholarships being offered. Miraculously, I was one of those selected. I was given free board and lodging plus a round trip airline ticket!

After my initial euphoria, some anxieties began to arise. I would first be landing in Frankfurt with only a small window of time to find the airport train station and catch my rail connection. I would then be arriving in Bonn at about two in the morning at which point I would still have to take a subway and find my hotel.

How was I to manage all this in a strange new city?

I knew very little about Bonn. I vaguely recalled reading somewhere, how, in an effort to jazz up its image, this erstwhile German capital adapted a logo that featured its name with the letter “o” formed by a kiss. I am not sure whether this campaign worked. Did it generate a surge of lovesick tourists? I got the impression that only a metropolis which was so prim and dour would have resorted to such a public relations effort.

It turned out that I needn’t have worried. While I was trying to extract my prepaid train tickets from an automated consul in Frankfurt, a woman came up who offered to help. And when I was deciphering the instructions for the dispensing machine so I could get on the subway in a completely deserted Bonn station, a couple suddenly materialized, volunteering assistance.

Reaching my stop, I was met by the sight of a street that was eerily empty. Fortunately I found a store that was still open where I could ask for directions. Soon I was at my hotel where the manager had very graciously stayed up for me despite the lateness of the hour. Not long after, I was safe in bed. I was beginning to like this place.

Bonn was a delightful surprise. Knowing that, with the reunification of Germany, it would be losing to Berlin its status as capital, this modest sized city set about reinventing itself. It exerted a lot of effort to attract international agencies by offering buildings that had formerly been occupied by State offices. The move must have paid off. Today, there is no hint of having been deprived of past privileges. The town is comfortable and vibrant.

Among the city’s resources is its splendid setting beside a major waterway. What is significant here is that Bonn has embraced the Rhine. There are parks that run along the banks. There are docks so that people can go boating. Sleek vessels offer dinner cruises. How unlike Manila that has shunned its Pasig. What is it that has conditioned us to treat our rivers as dumpsites?

It was so easy to move around. Paths were well marked, orderly, and free of garbage. There was a city service that operated on tracks laid right in the middle of the roads. It was so convenient to ride unlike dark subways or sky trains that required one to negotiate endless steps. There was a lot of magnificent heritage architecture as well as broad swaths of green lawn which people clearly appreciated. I spied more than one carefree citizen who had removed his shoes, touching the grass with his feet.

Bonn boasts of a number of fine museums. Among those which I fully enjoyed were the science centers. The Deutsches Museum had displays of German inventions including computer components and the air bag. Meanwhile, the Natural History (also known as the Alexander Koenig) had huge stuffed animals arranged in life-like tableaux. I must confess that I have never been too fond of such recreations. They usually present historical events as stiff spectacles populated by macabre zombie-like figures. But admittedly, I did get a kick seeing these immense displays of mummified wildlife in Neo-Classical settings. How often does one glimpse an elephant beside a Corinthian column?

In honor of my late father who had been a violinist, I decided to check out the Beethoven House. Though the exhibits were quite ordinary, the real attraction was just to be in the same space that had once sheltered a great genius.

Even more entertaining was the district where the composer’s former residence is located. This is one of the hippest areas of Bonn. Many chic shops have creative sidewalk displays to lure costumers. I laughed at a table set with oversized cups and the statue of a cow with its head buried beneath the pavement. At the center of this bohemian neighborhood is the City Hall. Belying its officious functions, it was painted a lighthearted pink. Its rosy hue set the tone for the sunny square which it dominated.

By the time I entered the conference hall, I was relaxed and in high spirits. I was able to listen attentively as lecturers explained that ESD can have a liberating effect on students. For instead of the dumbing down that often occurs with more cliché educational approaches, ESD provides the novelty and the nuances that young people crave. After the plenary sessions and the discussion groups I made a beeline for the publications booths. Hundreds of teaching kits and books were being distributed for free. I picked up quite a cartload of materials knowing how useful these would be back home.

Perhaps the best part of the whole symposium was the field trips. I signed up to see an ESD teaching park out in the suburbs. It was a magical place. Our party of ten adults totally enjoyed playing with the interactive exhibits. The hands down favorite was a display that showed how much energy was saved by putting off an appliance. What was conserved could then be transferred to batteries which in turn could fuel a fascinating array of toys.

Returning to Bonn that evening, I fell to thinking that it is all very well to train students about sustainable development. Yet young people can only think about safeguarding resources for future generations if they feel secure about their own present. They need to be nurtured in an environment that respects their humanity,that allows them to understand themselves and their place in society while having fun in the process. This is where towns like Bonn have so much to teach us. It is a privilege to be in a place where the citizens are friendly and helpful because they know that they have little to complain about. It is a joy to be able to move around freely, see stimulating exhibits, sip coffee in front of a pink municipal hall, or bike beside a fresh stream. Yes, it is a pleasure to visit or even to grow up where everything works!

I understand that immeasurable differences in economic histories and population pressures are part of the reasons why Bonn can deliver such a high level of services to its people while many Philippine cities can not. Yet, we should still ask ourselves: would it have required a lot of money to watch over the Pasig so that it would not become the cesspool that it is today? Would it have required a lot of money to plan for and implement proper garbage disposal and recycling before the situation got out of hand?

Is it possible that what our leaders really need is more foresight, vigilance, and political will rather than funds?

Whatever it is, one can only say in the meantime: Good job Bonn!

Pearls on a Mountain

Text and photos by Ino Manalo

Spending summer vacations on a tranquil farm in Negros, I whiled away many hours reading the books with which my mother had stocked our library. Having devoured much of what was appropriate for a youthful audience, I was casting around for more. Then I found my mother’s cache of tomes by the first American woman ever to win the Nobel for literature: Pearl Sydenstricker Buck. I happily lost myself in The Good Earth, The Exile, Fighting Angel, Command the Morning – the list goes on.

Looking back, I sometimes wonder: what was it that a youngster found so absorbing in Buck’s works which were quite formal and sedate? I must have been entranced by what emerged from her pages, a resplendent realm of mandarins and courtyards, of rice fields that had been tilled for unknown generations. This was the world of China which I learned to respect and love.

Not everyone could understand my fascination. Once, our grade school principal confiscated my copy of Pavilion of Women. He frowned at the cover which showed a scantily clad lady on a large carved bed. My protestations that I was reading a work by a Nobel laureate fell on deaf ears. Later on, as he returned my book, he asked how I could enjoy something so boring!

Though her appeal may not be universal, I am indebted to Pearl S. Buck for shaping my own writing. I realize now that I learned to form my sentences by echoing the structures of hers. All writers’ voices forever retain the timbre of those who were their models. Which is why, when I was invited to attend a seminar to be held on Mount Lu or Lushan in China where Pearl had summered as a child, I readily accepted. It would be a chance to reconnect with my guru.

The upland region of Lushan has historically been important for the Chinese. Nestled in its slopes are a number of ancient temples, evidence of the continuing presence of the sacred. Sometime in the nineteenth century, a British entrepreneur, Edward Little, discovered the beauty of this alpine retreat.

Little lost no time in developing the place’s potential. He built many cottages as vacation homes for the expatriate community. Mount Lu became a fashionable destination for those fleeing the heat of the plains. Among those who came was the family of Pearl Buck whose parents were Presbyterian ministers stationed in the nearby town of Zhenjiang.

Today, Lushan is a splendid sanctuary of pine trees and mist shrouded peaks. The old summer houses still stand. A number have been refurbished for holiday excursionists. The government authority that administers the mountain has been trying to work out better guidelines for revitalizing the heritage buildings. This was why our seminar had been organized.

The villas and cottages are a fascinating mixture of styles. A simplified avatar of the Arts and Crafts movement predominates. But one also sees touches of the Neo-Classical and the Neo-Gothic as well as Art Deco which probably arrived in this sylvan enclave by way of Shanghai.

More fascinating however is the elegant blending of architectural vocabularies. There are cottages that combine European lines with an eight sided pavilion reminiscent of pagodas. These pavilions are usually topped by finials that would have been at home crowning the Temple of Heaven in Beijing.

Among the loveliest of the villas was that which housed the offices of our host, Ms Heidi Zhu, of the Lushan Administrative Bureau. Entering this remarkable building, I noted how it would certainly not look out of place in an English setting. Yet as I examined its details more closely, I spied a distinctly Chinese touch: tiny forms that resembled bats, symbols of fidelity for the people of the Middle Kingdom.

There is a tendency among local businessmen who are refitting the cottages to fixate on the nationality of the former occupants. Given that those who had stayed here came from countries as diverse as the United States and Hungary, this nation-based criterion could result in a bedlam of decorating approaches. While recognizing that one should have freedom in interpreting interiors, we continuously stressed throughout the seminar that styles could transcend political boundaries.

A couple of cottages have been restored as museums. One of these honors the memory of Edward Little himself. Among the exhibits are tableaux showing how the first houses were erected. Interestingly, there is a figure of a Chinese laborer struggling with a heavy block of stone. I suppose the exhibit designers could not help slipping in an eloquent reminder: Lushan’s hybrid structures may seem quaint now, but they are actually remnants of Europe’s attempts to carve up and subjugate China.

Another worthwhile site is the Garden of the Botanical Institute. This verdant park is home to a collection of many plant species reflective of the tropical alpine ecosystem. When it became too dark to explore the grounds further, we were brought to see the Institute’s extensive collection of pressed leaves.

Admittedly, perusing dried plant parts is not everybody’s idea of an exciting afternoon. Yet I was happy to gain access to this restricted collection as there was a particular specimen that I was keen to study. For the Mount Lu region is said to be the source of one of the world’s most famous fruits: the kiwi. It was originally known as the Chinese gooseberry but is now globally associated with another country. Apparently, a certain Mary Isabel Fraser brought some seeds back after a tour of mission schools in China. Little did she know that what she had transported would flourish and end up a metaphor for New Zealand.

The head of the Institute was quite happy to accommodate my request. After a quick search, the yellowed sheets holding the fragile botanical samples were brought out. Each one was labeled with the different kiwi varieties’ scientific names: Actinidia callosa, Actinidia chinensis. I was enchanted. The delicate tendrils as well as the layers of subtle shapes resembled nothing less than that most cherished of Zen masterpieces: the ancient ink painting, Six Persimmons, once compared to “passion congealed as stupendous calm.”

I do not know if the story of Ms Fraser and her horticultural proclivities is true. Surely there will be other versions. Whatever the real legend may be, there arises this wondrous memento of the interconnectivity of our planet. Quietly, we are asked to consider how a transplant from one mountain may yet prosper in another.

Later, as I visited her summer cottage, I pondered how like the kiwi Pearl S Buck was very much a migrant too. As a young girl, she had come from West Virginia to China. Here she would be gently nurtured, growing up to become a bridge between cultures, between the peoples of America and East Asia.

The Buck residence is quite unassuming. Its thick stone walls enclose modest interiors. Displays showcase the former occupant’s famous books some of which had already been transformed into films. Near the exit is a recreation of little Pearl writing at her desk. Surveying this charming scene, I suddenly realized that, in many ways, this was one of the homes of my childhood too.

Lushan has been a haven for cultural exchanges. Some of these are readily discernable: foreign villas that have proliferated, seeds which have engendered a global industry. Yet some are more intimate, unknown but for a few. Who could have imagined that ideas formed here long ago in the mind of a little girl, would touch the heart of another child, far away, reading about new worlds, savoring the words that were, some day, to help him make sense of his own?

The writer would like to thank Rayvee Sunico, Wang Ying Chun, Li Yan Guo, Heidi Zhu, Huang Tao, Jane Lou, Beatrice Kaldun, Laurence Loh, Lin-lee Loh, Elizabeth Vines, Lynne DiStefano and Detlef Kammeier for their assistance.

Fabrics from the Forest

text and some photos by Ino Manalo

The island of Borneo is so vast that it can swallow up the entire area of the Philippines with room to spare. This enormous land mass is divided into four territories: Sarawak and Sabah which belong to Malaysia, Kalimantan which is part of Indonesia, and the Sultanate of Brunei. Borneo is South East Asia’s essential green lung with the largest expanse of tropical rain forest left in this part of the planet. Sadly, this critical resource is often under threat. Annually, countless trees are being cut down for lumber and to make way for new towns.

With this alarming destruction of habitat, many plants and animals are disappearing - taking their precious genes with them. Likewise, the Bornean peoples that have, for centuries, mastered the gentle art of living in harmony with the forest are losing their indigenous knowledge, victims of the forgetfulness that is part of the spell cast by modern civilization.

Walking around Kuching, Sarawak’s capital, I was struck by the fact that there are yet sections where one feels the presence of the factors which have always defined Borneo life: the river and the jungle. Amidst the speeding cars and ritzy fast food establishments are huge trees rising majestically above multistoried apartment blocks. Parks with broad lawns seem almost half wild, as if the luxuriant tropical growth had paused briefly for a dalliance with modernity. It is tempting to pretend that contemporary life can coexist with the primeval.

Among Kuching’s main attractions is a museum which a popular guidebook has described as among the best in the region. The crowded exhibits are remnants of a colonial era. They are suffused with a perspective which views the products of Sarawak’s many traditional communities as mere examples illustrating the idea of the primitive. The notion that the inhabitants of this forested realm could weave or sculpt fascinating pieces worthy of careful study would only arise long after the museum had been set-up.

Not too far away is a small compact district of ancient riverside shophouses that had been the center of trade for generations. At present, these buildings host chic cafes as well as tourist establishments. One of the shophouses has been converted into an elegant gallery featuring the works of local artists. On the top floor is the store filled with the fashionable creations of my friend, Edric Ong. Wooden armoires hold innovative shirts and blouses. Racks display the boutique’s signature pieces: lovely silk shawls where the colors of the earth intermingle.

Architect – turned couturier – turned community development worker, Edric Ong is truly a Sarawak institution. I first met this remarkable man during a conference ran by the Madras Craft Foundation in India. We were both invited to speak about our projects on crafts. I made a presentation on the fiesta of Angono while Edric spoke on the weaving program that he was involved in with a group of women living in the forests of Sarawak.

My new-found Malaysian friend would eventually invite me to his hometown. Every other year, Edric, with the help of the members of the Atelier Sarawak , organizes the WEFT Forum which is a symposium for eco- fabrics. Speakers come from all over to share information about weaving practices which employed time-honored techniques along with organic dyes and fibers. It was truly a joy to spend whole afternoons just listening to people discussing their images of and insights into a galaxy of textiles.

Since any appreciation of fabrics is inevitably intertwined with garments, it was not surprising that the centerpiece of the symposium was a fashion show. The WEFT Forum production was a highlight of the Kuching social season. Everyone turned up to watch designers from Thailand, India, the Philippines, Japan, and Korea transform the textiles that had been the erstwhile subjects of academic dissertations into living creations walking down the ramp.

What truly made my Borneo visit unforgettable was a brief journey into the heart of the jungle. After listening to lectures about the loom traditions of Sarawak in the air-conditioned comfort of the seminar room, it was a mind-bending experience to find myself on a boat, gliding down the river surrounded by nothing but miles of impenetrable foliage in all directions. What dangers and treasures lay beneath leaf upon leaf, bough upon bough?

As a child, I had read an abbreviated version of an Armstrong Sperry novel about how a boy named Chad travelled through the wilderness to meet up with his explorer father. I have been looking for the complete book ever since. I was mesmerized by one of the illustrations (also done by Sperry) which depicted the young hero lost among gargantuan trees and strange plants with tall crest-like blossoms. I suppose this image was forever more fixed in my mind, a tantalizing prototype of the splendors of the tropics. Decades later, this prototype would finally come to teeming life in Sarawak.

One of the groups that Edric had been working with dwelt in what is called a longhouse. This is a series of residential units made of bamboo and thatch that are all strung together by a lengthy corridor. The entire village lived as one enormous family in a single abode which they graciously shared with us for a few days. Edric was helping the longhouse residents source raw materials as well as find markets for their products. He has been utilizing their traditional weaving for his fashion creations as well as incorporating ancient patterns into new designs. He has also conducted researches on the motifs.

During the day we watched crafts demonstrations, trekked through the forest, or swam in the nearby river. In the evenings, our hosts entertained us with stories as well as songs and dances accompanied by the music of gongs. I learned that women would dream about the patterns that they wove into their fabrics. While preparing for bed in one of the longhouse enclosures, I thought: What luminous cloths were yet being imagined as the evening progressed?

When it came to swimming, I must admit that the idea was bruited about of simply doing away with the last shreds of modesty. After all, we were in the very lap of Nature herself. Who would care? Happily, the more level headed among us were able to appeal to our sense of responsibility, noting that our shocking attempts at sylvan emancipation may very well hasten the demise of endangered species.

The issue of attire having been dealt with, we gave up ourselves to fluvial pursuits. We were children again: splashing, laughing, diving for bright pebbles. I floated on my back and looked up at the sky. It was a field of blue edged by the emerald of leaves. I recall thinking: this is how the heavens must have looked to our ancestors too, long ago as they drifted in the embrace of a primordial forest stream.

After our swim, I watched an old woman make a mat, amazed at how deftly her fingers interlaced the pandan strips. How effortlessly she produced decorations so subtle that they only emerged when the mat was held at a certain angle. Then it occurred to me that the almost imperceptible motif she was creating was akin to the effect of light falling on the rippling surface of the river. What a highly evolved aesthetic sensibility one must have to discern the intricacies of sunshine and water. What unimaginable expertise it must take to replicate this fluid, protean imagery with fiber.

Edric always stresses in his talks that he is only a facilitator. Many of his creations are rooted in the labors and aspirations of Sarawak’s traditional communities whose sources of knowledge come from deep within the viridian womb of Borneo. One can only pray that future generations may still be given the blessing of knowing how much more there is waiting in the quiet places of the rain forest.