IT WAS October 1997 and I had just returned to Zaragoza from London. The paper said Ballet de Zaragoza was opening its season at the Teatro Principal. There I dashed to get a ticket. My aunt Maria Luisa declined to accompany me.
Arantxa Arguelles, the company’s artistic director, had done a new choreography for the ballet “Paquita,” based on the original by Marius Petipa. More delightful thgan that was a whole program titled “Who Cares?” originally choreography by George Balanchine.
There were solos and duos, and trios of a whole repertoire of popular songs composed by George Gershwin, all very familiar and arranged for a symphony orchestra. The audience loved it.
I wanted to spend a weekend in Calamocha and be with my cousins Ismael and Maria Rodriguez, and their chidlren Juan and Cecilia. The town, in the province of Teruel, close to Zaragoza, is one of the coldest spots in Spain, perfect for “jamon serrano.”
Ismael is a veteinarian, and that week end his main duty was to assist the family’s pet dog, Tula, deliver her first litter. Their friends were calling on the phone to follow up, and Juan gave a report every five minutes. Well into the night Tula had three little puppies.
Since my arrival in Zaragoza I had been looking around for a statue of Our Lady of Pilar to bring back to Cebu. Cecilia’s friend Puri Alejandro and her daughter Maria Antonia Contreras knew how to obtain one, an actual replica of the one veverated at the Basilica.
Puri called that it was ready and I went to her house that every evening. We have it now in Cebu and is put on display at the Asilo de la Milagrosa for the 8 a.m. first Saturday of the month. Many people come to pay homage and kiss the image.
Next morning my aunt Tita Isa and I went with the statue to have it blessed at the sacristy of the Basilica of Our Lady of Pilar. From there we went to the fashionable cafe Gambrinus in Plaza España.
My aunt was indignant that the well dressed patrons thought nothing of dropping their ashes and cigarette butts on the floor, as well as tissue napkins crumpled into balls. She remonstrated loudly which made waiters shrug with knowing smiles.
On my last evening in Zaragoza Tita Isa and I walked from Residencia Maza to Plaza San Francisco. We sought out “Bouegon Aragones” for a dinner of typical Aragonese cuisine. We drank a delicious “rosado” wine.
The next time we’d see each othe would be in 2000, but that is going ahead of the story.
The weather was getting colder from day to day, and in many places the heaters were on full blast, like on board the bus that took me to Madrid. My throat got so dry that upon arrival I could not tell the taxi drivers where I was going.
I had booked my self at the Hotel Moderno, a modest hotel very close to La Purta del Sol. At breakfast next morning I greeted the same lady that attended to the guests since I first went there in 1975. In recent years the Hotel Moderno has been “modernized” and upgraded.
I had a few days in Madrid to do some things I had set my heart on. One evening I went to the Plaza Santa Ana sector to have dinner at a typical restaurant, La Queimada which is no longer there.
When I got back to the hotel I noticed I was missing my little silk square with which I clean my glasses. I returned to La Queimada, and sure enough, it was on the floor beneath the chair I had sat on.
On Sunday I went to the morning mass at the Basilica of Our Lady of Atocha. It was nice to see there were many people, a good number of them children and teeners. When I went out it was drizzling so I walked to the nearby Museo del Prado, and lined up to enter when its doors would open.
I had a waterproof jacket and a beret but still those lining up with me shared their umbrellas. I saw all the paintings I wanted to view, and on coming out realized it was still raining. So, I went across the street to take in another museum.
This was the Museo Thyssen-Bormenizsa which displays the extensive art collection amassed by the late Baron Heinrich Thyssen-Bormenizsa and his Spanish wife, Tita Cervera.
I wanted to have lunch as it was rather late, but I did not want to spend a long time in a restaurant. I recalled that the department store El Corte Ingles was near the hotel and on its basement supermarket they offered a wide range of prepared food.
I got some food, and a bottle of wine, which I enjoyed in my room watching TV. In the evening I had booked myself for dinner at Cafe de la Opera, located nearby and right behind the Teatro Real. The dinner was dubbed “Una Cena Cantada,” which translates as “a sung supper.”
Four of the men and women who wait on the tables are actually not regular waiters but performers who during the course of the dinner sing solos or duets from famous operas and zarzuelas. The performers are voice students, and some of them regularly perform in theaters.
The experience was delightful and may be repeated as every night there are different singers as well as a change of repertoire.
While in Madrid I gave myself time to go to the movies. Most of thema are Spanish productions, of course. The foreign films are all dubbed into Spanish. Knowing the voices of those famous Hollywood stars, I found it difficult to hear them speak in a stange, tiresome, Spanish.
I got myself a newspaper and followed the movie guide to see which theaters were showing foreign films “en dialogo original,” preferably English. Thus I saw the biopic on Oscar Wilde, starring Christopher Fry in a lavish production.
On my last evening in Madrid I went to have dinner with Luis Mac-Crohon and his wife Georgina Padilla Y Zobel. They live in El Viso, an exclusive enclave quite centrally located. We had much to talke about and the time flew. Then I realized I had to sleep early as the next day I wanted to go to the airport with plenty of time before my flight on Malaysian Airlines.
I sent a couple of days in Kuala Lumpur at the Shangri-La hotel. The arrangements had been made by Lara Constantino, at that time the
communications director at the Shangri-La in Mactan.
On my first night there was a lot of activity at the lobby. One of the sultanas of one of the states was having a birthday party and many curious people had come to watch the arrival of numerous princesses who were attending.
I posted myself in a strategic chair with a book to read, and a pad to write what I saw. There was to be more excitement as expected to make an appearance were the Sultan of Brunei, as well as Prince Albert of Monaco.
The security was tight and several times I was asked to show my identification document. Eventually I went to my room and decided to watch a movie on TV.
Back in Cebu, I was busy with rehearsals for Balletcenter’s production of The Nutcracker ballet, presented in conjunction with the Arts Council. Fe Sala Villarica had scheduled it for two weekends, in December, first at the Sacred Heart School for Girls, then at St. Theresa’s College.
I was in it again with Moya Jackson as the hosts of the party scene in Act 1. My elder son Jimmy was the Nutcracker prince. Maia Franco and her dad Herme Villarica were among the parents.
Dancing the principal roles were Melanie Motus as the Sugar Plum Fairy, and Jeffrey Espejo as her Cavalier.
