Accents
Jacksonville on my mind
Jacksonville, Florida, USA, March 18--Any place drivable (by car) within a day in the United States is near, as many Stateside Pinoy will tell you. A claim I thought exaggerated but realized they could be right when I flew from the West Coast to the East Coast, i.e., from California to Maryland for the first time in 1992. The flight took all of five hours, a proof of the sheer size of the American continent.
As brief as a car-drive, this travelogue of a column is going to be. From South Carolina's Beaufort County to Florida's Jacksonville is only a 2 ½ hour-drive, give or take thirty minutes depending on the whimsy of traffic. Only two and a half hours. Near, isn't it? And so, the whole kit and kaboodle--the two retirees of a Lolo and Lola, a granddaughter named Danika, and Randy and David (Nika's Mom and Dad)--were all snug and cozy in the van for the short (everybody says short) ride to nearby Jacksonville, Florida.
We spring-jumped two days before the official start of the next season because the streaming morning sunshine was indeed a burst of spring after the frost of winter. A part of Georgia separates South Carolina from Florida, Jacksonville being the first town of the so-called Sunshine State. Long stretches of evergreens, turning bright green with the coming springtime, lined the interstate and freeways interspersed only by palmettos, South Carolina's trademark tree.
Birds were a pleasant sight, flying from branch to branch. Tree sparrows I believed what with the onset of spring, bringing to mind a fragment of a song back in high school days, "The sparrow knows where winter never comes...' What if the human heart could also know where winter never comes, I mused.
One of the delights of road travel at this time of the year is stopping by the sale of farm-produced fruits along the way where one can get them cheap compared to those sold in supermarkets. Citrus--oranges and grapefruits--were plentiful and we bought two bagfuls. Gosh, I imagined I was on my way to Boracay via Guimbal all the way to Antique, buying the freshest, sweetest mangoes no peach nor apple nor pear can ever equal.
Just what is the magic that draw us Pinoy to Jacksonville? The food and nothing but the food. Our arrival was perfect for lunchtime and the turo-turo was waiting at the US PINOY (the name of the store): dinugu-an, pinakbet, adobo, fried bangus, and other dishes so dear to the Pinoy palate. The steamed rice was to die for--soft and fragrant. A no-no to the cholesterol-challenged was chicharon bulaklak, so reminiscent of the kind sold at Azcarraga now Claro M. Recto St. of Manila's Quiapo district. One more salve to nostalgia was the banana turon that Rudy got for dessert. Randy got all she could for the long haul: frozen Sarangani Bay prime bangus with the thick belly fat, packets of quick-cooking pancit canton with the unmistakable aroma of kalamansi, etc., so much so that we were given free puto bongbong to go which we helped ourselves with during the ride home.
US PINOY is owned by the Urbanos of Pampanga. The grocery cum eatery is blessed with a wonderful cook, Josie Urbano who has been a kitchen mainstay for twelve years now. The store has a wide selection of da-ing and canned and bottled products manufactured in the Philippines. One can have all the ingredients to make halo-halo. Without fear of contradiction to be clichéd about it, I daresay that the closest tie of the Pinoy to Inang Bayan is the craving of his taste buds. The Urbanos know this only too well.
Jacksonville gave us a glimpse or two of swaying coconut trees that are beautifully pictured in Florida postcards, but they are too few and far between, unlike the coco groves in the homeland that lend so much charm to the Philippine countryside.
My only Jacksonville disappointment: not seeing Beth and Tuting Sason (owing to previous commitments), fellow Ilonggos and friends of UP days. The Sasons count among the 20,000 or so Filipinos who have made Jacksonville their permanent residence, making Inang Bayan but a place for vacation.
We spent part of the afternoon and dinnertime at adjacent St. Augustine City, so rich in historic lore a look-see won't do justice to this seat of America's first parish that was founded in September 8, 1565. St. Augustine City on my mind next time. It's about 200 miles only from where we live in South Carolina. Near.
(Comments to lagoc@hargray.com)