Miroy it was too whom we must thank for conceptualizing and initiating the cultural diplomacy program that had brought us to Europe. Two years ago Jovino wrote by snail-mail to ask me about the feasibility of having some Filipino poets conduct readings in Brussels, Leuven and Ghent. His idea was to impress upon the English literature departments in each city’s university that the Philippines was a major source of fine literature. The growing Filipino expatriate communities in Belgium would also be served well by the effort, and thus would only be too willing to host a writers’ group from the homeland, the way they had our musical and theater performers.
Jovi broached the subject to our embassy in Brussels; the idea was welcomed. Eventually he managed to touch base with the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, which also approved of the idea, and wound up providing the funds. But policy dictated that a cultural group serve as diplomats in at least three countries. Our embassies in Rome and London then came into the picture.
Now Jovi was a welcome sight indeed, accompanied by a pair of Filipinas at the Brussels airport, which upon our arrival happened to be ringed by police fending off disgruntled Sabena employees. The latter were mounting what in Europe is called a manifestacion, meaning demonstration. Lacking a luggage cart on account of the angry protest over Sabena’s dubious declaration of bankruptcy, and warned by policemen against venturing out until after the demo was done, Beni and I were left with the dim prospect of lugging our heavy baggage, laden as it was with books, inch by inch toward the only safe egress, the underground train. And then what? Where were the embassy people we expected to welcome us?
Jovi and the Pinays to the rescue. They had come in a car, but couldn’t make it through the police cordon. But having parked the vehicle some kilometers away and managing to hitch a ride on an airport bus, they finally found us, ripe as we were for succoring.
A 20-minute train hop from Brussels, the university town of Leuven may be said to be infinitely more charming than the sprawling capital that also served as the administrative center of the European Union.
In Leuven the embassy had found us a most suitable host in the person of Fr. Art Arnaiz of the CICM, who maintained a five-room flat right in the town center. To the manner of gracious hosting born was the jovial Ilonggo from Bacolod. He served as a counselor in the university, which was practically the entire town, its campus buildings being scattered all over Leuven. CICM missionaries and troubled students came to his flat for board, lodging and psychological as well as spiritual comfort. What was an additional pair of "pilgrims" then, or even a trio, once Virgilio "Rio Alma" Almario managed to join us?
Leuven was lovely, even at night and at near-zero conditions. For six days, its cobblestoned streets summoned our resolve to test our best pairs of walking shoes, as Jovi happily led the way past frequent points of interest: the Town Hall with its baroque, cake-icing façade with nearly life-sized figures of art and historical personages embroidering each curlicued post on each floor, as suggested by Victor Hugo on a visit; the asymmetrical Cathedral; the humongous university library that was rebuilt with funding from American universities after the town was sacked by German forces in World War II; a plaque memorializing a house in a cul-de-sac where Erasmus had once taught; another marking a small building where Verlaine had drawn a pistol on Rimbaud and fired a shot… Then there were the squares or plazas – platz in Flemish – that remained as quaint centers of activity even as they preserved glorious Gothic configurations.
At nearly every corner there rose some modest memorial or sculpture. Off the main square was the diminutive monument to Fons Sapientae or the Source of Wisdom, a tribute to the Eternal Student. Fonske, as the impish figure has been nicknamed, is seen absorbed with a book in one hand, while the other pours a mug of flowing water into the hollowed top of his head. The water is said to symbolize Science, which the eternal student must continually imbibe. But it could well stand for beer, at which variety and excellence of production Belgians justifiably pride themselves as being second to none in the world.
While seeking inspiration in painting, the French writer Victor Hugo once playfully established the connection between beer and baroque, claiming that "the secret of the fleshy Rubenesque bodies lay in the sharp Leuven beer." He even wrote the following quatrain about it: "Tu veuz engraisser? Sois gourmande;/ Bois de la biére et non du vin./ Le secret de la chair flamande/ Est dans la biére de Louvain."
In one of our long walks through narrow streets, I espied signage other than the ubiquitous come-ons for Stella Artois. This one advertised another product inside an enticing bar, labeled Chimay. Well aware of our grand diaspora that has also resulted in proliferation of domestic helpers in Europe, I wondered if it was a curious reference, perchance hommage, to the sorry stereotype that is our DH. It would not be unlike the biscuit labeled Filipina, in Spain, that once drew a howl of protest in our ever-sensitive shores. But Chimay (pronounced in the French manner, as "Shee-mey") turned out to be another bottled beer, of sterling quality at that, and one of the best among the highly regarded Trappist brews.
It seems the Trappist monks in Belgium had perfected the craft of transubstantiation, turning malt into a frothy beer that offered such options as blond or dark (donker), or as much as a Tripel or triple, meaning of thrice the ordinary alcohol content. A certain monastery didn’t even bother to distribute its fresh brew. Locals and tourists alike drove up to the haven of silence, and picked up bottles of their choice in limited quantities.
Hmmm. Among Leuven’s science students must have been these monks, once upon a time in their youth. And now like Fonske, like Jovi, they were still the eternal stude, bookishly dedicated to the fine and utterly academic art of ensuring a daily buzz of frothy pleasure to lovers of beer.
Our first lecture was at the University of Ghent. This meant a 90-minute train ride through countryside that rolled past in fast-changing weather – now misty or foggy, now suddenly clad in brilliant sunshine – until the overcast prevailed as we neared our destination.
Brrr. A steady drizzle blanketed Ghent, but it didn’t stop Jovi’s friend Romy Sanchez, a UP grad taking his Ph.D. in Vet Med, from biking to the station to welcome and guide us to the university. Along the way the somber skies cleared, allowing us a fine glimpse of the marvelous neo-Gothic architecture that was well-preserved alongside the river and canals. The buildings once housed the powerful guilds of the Middle Ages. Step-gables remain their common denominator, enhancing the often magnificent, cheek-by-jowl assembly of ornate facades. So picturesque, so evocative of medievalist splendor.
Splendid too was our engrossed audience at the university, thanks to Professors J.P. Vander Motten and Petra van der Jeught of the Department of English. Albeit lacking in expected numbers owing to the lateness of the hour, and perhaps the -4° C let alone wind-chill factor, the English literature majors and some faculty gathered in small bunches in the theater, augmented by a sizable contingent of Filipinos. Everyone looked thoroughly absorbed with what Beni and I had to offer as a prideful sampling of Philippine culture and literature.
Beni drew instant rapport with the lady professors. Her talk focused on women’s writing in our country, as seen through scholarly eyes that raised the lid on the carnivalesque features of the woman’s role, while aligning this view with those of the much-admired Julia Kristeva’s.
Returning to Leuven late in the evening, we found Fr. Arnaiz sharing a beer with the freshly arrived Rio Alma. Late dinner followed, at the Faculty Club where we had been invited by another of Jovi’s genial mentors, Prof. Geert Bouckaert of the Faculty of Social Sciences
All too enviably, the Faculty Club was housed in a sprawling, one-story building dating back to the 17th century, with remarkably preserved, timber-framed clay walls. Where we found ourselves that night turned out to have been part of the Groot Begijnhof or Grand Beguinage. I had wondered about the term "Beguine" that I had browsed across in a tourist brochure. (Did Cole Porter ever visit Belgium?) Prof. Bouckaert was only too happy to provide a backgrounder.
From the 13th century, the Beguines formed exclusive, self-sufficient religious communities of women – spinsters, widows, celibates – that allowed only a single male, a priest, to enter their section of town for the conduct of Mass. In each town there would either be a Small Beguinage or a Grand Beguinage, even a Princely Beguinage that was supported by royalty. Until the 18th century there were still some 300 Beguines in Leuven; the last of the Beguines died in 1988.
Rio was quick to point out that we had our version of the Beguines in Spanish Intramuros’ lay sisters, the Beatas. The talk around the table grew even more spiritual as Geert plied us with different brews, as fittingly paired with each of the courses in an elegant, extended meal inclusive of esoteric servings, such as of terrine of wild boar, creme of chicory with slivers of young deer, and roast pheasant. Game we were to try out the parade on our round table, downing the wildness with such brews as Hoegarden witbier, Leffe blond, De Koninck bolleke, Westmalle Trappist, and finally, Duvel (meaning "Devil").
It was certainly no descent into hell, but an ascension through centuries of evolution unto perfection, say, like crossing streets and finding Romanesque turning to gothic, renaissance to rococo. The rest of the joyous night was as dazzling – else dazed – a camaraderie and procession of incomprehensible delight.
From Leuven we would backtrack to Brussels for a courtesy call on our Ambassador Clemencio Montesa, who asked about two poets he admired: Doming Landicho and Cirilo Bautista. Newfound Filipina friends took us on a quick tour through the main square, climaxed by a traditional treat: the much-lauded Brussels dinner of mussels and fries. Slurp. This I still have to essay at home: a kilo of mussels steamed in butter, wine, onions, ginger and lotsa parsley
Another highlight was the climax of our engagements at the University of Leuven. Rio and I shared an initial session of lectures, while Beni had a solo talk two days later. In between we joined up for an evening reading of our poetry. Lea Punzalan read the English translation of Rio’s poems in Filipino; superbly did she fulfill the role. Then too, a couple of Pinoy gentlemen, both in post-graduate studies in Leuven, sang Filipino songs with much artistry and aplomb.
The readings concluded, everyone repaired to a foyer for wine and Pinoy delicacies. Soon the Pinoy guitarist and singer who had stayed in the auditorium, seated on the front seats, were joined by fellow countrymen. And as spontaneously as one could raise a wine glass, the group launched into a series of Filipino songs for Christmas that had the Belgian students streaming back in to marvel at the bayanihan spirit.
That scene was the supreme highlight of our stay in the land of fine beer and baroque. More than Rio’s and my gratification from a day’s walking tour of pretty Bruges (of the fine old lace and many canals that had earned for it the sobriquet of "Venice of the North"), more than all the fine sights and meals and heady slurps of frothy brews and façades – hearing impromptu sounds of a Pinoy Christmas in a faraway land would prove the most uplifting and most memorable.
Flash forward: a fortnight later I would receive elated feedback from Jovi Miroy, quoting from a "review" by Prof. Vic Doyen, the coordinator of our appearance before the eternal students of Leuven:
"Yes, it was certainly worth the trouble. Also, the students very much enjoyed the readings and the contact, as you could see in the spontaneous talks after the Thursday meeting. I was also glad to be there on Friday morning: Benilda’s enthusiastic lecture was very solid and at the same time a pleasure to listen to. Krip is a born performer as well as an excellent poet. Mr. Almario’s quite interesting but very general introduction to Filipino culture would have fitted better in the Cultural program (Thursday) than in my American literature class… It was good that Krip used the rest of the time on Wednesday and that Benilda’s presentation was saved up for Friday.
"I was impressed by Mr. Almario’s readings on Thursday, even though I did not understand a single word (that is not quite true; I had read the Pinatubo poem in advance, and thus knew what it was about). I had absolutely no idea he planned to read his poems in Tagalog, otherwise I would have reminded him of the need for transparencies; but then, on the other hand, I liked the beautiful reading of the English translation.
"It was a pleasure to meet these people. Thanks for this introduction to Filipino culture."
Aba, enjoy na nga kami, enjoy rin pala sila. Parang tahong at serbesa: talagang nakatataba po ng puso.