Accents
Of skunks and monkeys
This dash of prose is going to be as light as a feather, like one cup of coffee and go. No thought provocations, no political overtones, no pricking of the conscience — because last weekend, Nov. 15 and 16, the foursome (yours truly and the hubby, daughter Raileen and her hubby) decided to drop all chores and work-related stuff. Ours was pleasure-driving through California's vast expanse. (This state is larger than Bayan Ko, I can't tell as to how much, but very much so.) Onwards to Mendocino County then. For what? To smell the flowers. People would quickly come up with that advice before you and I get burnt out. So, go smell the flowers. Escape the drudgery. Ah, to soak up in sweet respite. Isn't that what we all long for?
We drove miles and miles of the coastal towns that gave us a view of the ocean, exhilarated by the feeling that in the distant somewhere across the huge Pacific Ocean is the Pearl of the Orient Seas, the beloved homeland. We drove by the rim of Mendocino's Clear Lake, every square mile of its clear water living up to its name.
We arrived at the Skunk Train ticket office just in time for the 10:00 A.M. schedule. Believe me, I got the name right! Skunk Train. By allusion, a skunk is somebody or something malodorous, stinking, rank. Like when you say, you smell like a skunk (as when MIWD drips and you forego bathing for days). Rickety, the Skunk Train began running circa 1911. Not one whit better, but closer to the train he used to ride going to Capiz in the 1970s, the hubby commented. Who would think of a train like that in the so-called lone superpower of the world? Methinks renovation was halted to preserve the ambience of old, old America. Sprucing up was intentionally avoided. Let the passengers sway as the skunk of a train finds its way into the mountains and trees.
Some of us passengers spent time in the sun deck (no sun, just very small streaks of sunshine penetrating through the thick foliage). It was here that I got to know the lady that rushed into the ticket office. Belted jacket, boots on, a cap ala green beret atop a long pony-tail. Way to ward off winter chill in smart outfit.
Now for the monkey portion of the story. I was about to tell Rudy that the lady in front of us was the last person I saw rushing into the Skunk Train office. Before I could say a word in dialect, Raileen blurted in the language she was most at home as she pointed something to her Daddy. That was when the lady turned to us and said, "Ilonggo kamo?" Horrors! Small world! Be careful of your tongue before you say something unpleasant or uncalled for. Better still, speak in the universal language (English, what else) when there are aliens around. GMRC (Good Manners and Right Conduct thus abbreviated in the report cards of grade school children) dictate that. You may tilt the balance in favor of the subject with a sincere compliment. For instance, in this lady's case: "Add a few more inches to her height, and there you have a perfect model's stance." It turned out that the perceived foreigner was a pretty Pinay, a Bacolodnon at that.
Rapid fire conversation ensued in crisp Ilonggo. Via, short for Victoria, works in San Francisco where she and Vin or Vincent, the boyfriend, drove all the way to Mendocino. We Pinoys were so taken up with getting-to-know-you unmindful of Vin who didn't understand a word. This time an honest-to-goodness alien to the Ilonggos on board.
For the monkey story, let me digress 360 degrees as CNN's Anderson Cooper would have it. The setting: Shuttle bus that used to stop from college to college, or from building to building inside the sprawling UP Diliman campus. In one intersection, someone boarded and tried to squeeze himself in for a seat in the front row that was already crowded. The fellow invited a remark: "Abaw, daw amo lang." (So like a monkey, or no better than a monkey) (Translate monkey in Bisaya which is pronounced maragsa.) An acquaintance of the "monkey" happened to be around, was seated a row or two behind. He asked the newcomer what he was doing in UP, considering that the fellow is not a student there: "Ano ginahimo mo diri?" The reply: "Nagapa-amo-amo lang." (Doing what a monkey would.) Whew-w-w! Ilonggos all! Was somebody's face red! This story must have undergone modifications in the re-telling to put across the moral for people to watch their tongue, or better still, just observe GMRC.
Back to the Skunk Train. Not a hair of a skunk did we see in the four-hour long train ride. No monkeys, either. Along the way, redwoods and evergreens, and a variety of trees, ferns, bushes, and mushrooms on the moist ground. Trees and more trees interspersed by log cabins for the camping-inclined. Not a whiff of the offensive odor said to be exuded by skunks. Perhaps skunks have become an endangered species, although a few do inhabit the halls of the Philippine Congress, agree or disagree. Can't help with the provocations, huh. What do they say of journalists? "Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable." (E-mail: lagoc@hargray.com)