07.24.08 kulturnatib

Fish meal

Science fiction writer, Isaac Asimov once said that the most exciting phrase to hear in science is not Archimedes's “Eureka!,” but, “That's funny . . . .”

I call this the Asimov moment, which, I had recently. It wasn't a moment of scientific discovery. Instead it was simply happening upon something that made me not only say, 'that's funny,' but actually had me in stitches, laughing and thinking there is really nothing beyond man's imagination that he would not do.

The picture and the accompanying article recently in the newspaper that I regularly read that triggered my Asimov moment immediately reminded me of a friend, Paul Foley, who, soon after we met him, we baptized as Poloy.

He was a footloose, maverick environmentalist. For most of the time he was in the Philippines he was advocating the cause of the Thresher sharks off Malapascua, an advocacy that didn't win him too many friends.

He was developing a theory, which he was writing into a masteral thesis, that the particular and peculiar behavior of these sharks, that make them the singular most compelling attraction to Malapascua, especially for divers, was a learned one.

This behavior involves the sharks making their way from the deep, 230 meters, off the sides of Monad Shoal near Malapascua up to a shallower depth of 20 meters, in coral reefs, where they have a symbiotic relationship with a small fish called cleaning wrasse (Labroides dimidiatus) that eat dead skin and bacteria from their bodies and even from inside their mouths.

The wrasses set up what are in fact cleaning stations that attract not only sharks but other big fish as well.

The sharks do this with enough regularity and promptness to establish a growing tourist industry in this tiny island north of Cebu.

Yet, as Poloy theorized it is this same industry with its largely unregulated growth fueled mostly by diving activities that will, as they become more intrusive into the thresher sharks habits and habitat, eventually lead to the de-learning of the very behavior that made it an attraction in the first place.

It was from Poloy that I first heard about the cleaning wrasse and, in fact, about thresher sharks and in particular those in Malapascua Island.

Now, from the newspaper article it appears that another cleaning fish, not the wrasse though but the Garra Rufa is being employed by a spa in Washington D.C., for pedicure and other feet cleaning duties.

This fish is also known as doctor fish because in outdoor pools of some spas in Turkey, where they are indigenous in river basins there, they are used to feed on the skin of patients with psoriasis, although caution has been advised on claims of causing a cure by this method.

While this could be the first instance of such a fish spa in the U.S., where the owner, John Ho, is hoping to establish a network of Doctor Fish Massage franchises, the use of this fish has been spreading to other parts of the world, including in Asia, since 2006.

I don't know where Poloy is now. Last I heard from him he was in Australia. Maybe he has heard about these fish spas or now spa fish. Maybe this can bring him back to Malapascua. To study if the cleaning wrasse can be adapted to cleaning feet instead of sharks. For what? To bring in more tourists?

Well, again, maybe not.

07.10.08 kulturnatib

Starting young

Two years ago was my first time at the Montreal International Jazz Festival. Started in 1979, this festival has now become a powerhouse in the international jazz fest circuit and has helped establish Montreal as the city of festivals.

While at that time our visit to the MIJF had a singular purpose; that of seeing the legendary bluesman BB King in a pre-festival concert that also launched his 80th birth year world concert tour, this time around our aim was more scatter-shot.

This meant, and this is the feature I like about this festival, to just wander around the festival site where around the main -- meaning paying -- concert hall at the Place des Arts there are anywhere between 4 - 6 mini-concerts, often simultaneous, starting as early as 2pm until 11pm, with most concerts lasting an hour to an hour and a half.

By no means does this distinction between the paying and free concerts translate necessarily into quality of music. Often this is just a comparison between apples and oranges. They are just both fruits yet different with respect to the most qualities that distinguishes them separately. In the same way, paying and free jazz are both jazz. The most immediate difference is that the former will simply make your wallet or pocket or even credit card lighter.

Also, scatter-shot doesn't necessarily mean blind shot. There is a very comprehensive schedule that is as reliable and punctual as Mussolini's trains. It is published in a comprehensive festival guide and are displayed on billboards prominently positioned throughout the festival site. So, we did have our finger on one or two acts, but the rest depended on what was playing next door or how interesting it was.

Needless to say, the central business district of Montreal where the festival is located is swarming with people during the festival. Also, it goes without saying that this festival is timed for the sunniest, longest and balmiest days of summer.

What's more, these are all kinds of people, including, I just noticed this year, small people. There is no reason to think that it is only this year that children are prominent participants in the festival. The only reason, perhaps, is that one normally does not see what one is not looking for. Or, in this case, looking out for.

This time, we had a newborn to look out for. Suddenly, unlike two years ago, children were all over the place. Some in their places -- in prams, slings and even bicycle seats -- and some not. We brought along our pram on this trip, but decided it was too big -- it has been described as the Humvee of prams -- and unwieldy to maneuver around the crowds. Plus, there was the matter of hauling it on escalators on the subway train stations. Again, picture a Humvee.

We decided on a sling. Which is about the best way an infant can enjoy music in a position that is also enjoyable for the caretaker in a concert where seats or chairs have to be self-provided.

There you are standing with the baby pressed to your chest who feels your heartbeat as it thumps along with the beat of the music. While the ears are not in the best reception position, the sound system amplifies the music very well and often there are enough people around knowledgeable with the music to hum or sing along.

There is no way then that the baby misses the music. It could be argued that they would, at that age, be too young to make out anything of the music much less retain it. But this argues against the universal practice of the lullaby and the singing to the baby to sleep, calm them or even introduce them into the particular world of sounds and words and the general horizon of the imagination.

Realizing this, the organizers have taken very welcome steps to make the festival child friendly. Most immediately, prams are available gratis, as long as supply last, for use within the festival site for however long on a single day.

Then there are special booths where children can play or otherwise be engaged, like having their faces or other body parts painted.

There is event a diaper changing and breast feeding tent. But here is where the organizers failed to anticipate the number of mothers who would avail of this facility. There was only one such tent with a single changing table. The breast feeding facility was just as incompetently organized. A single chair affair really plus a hastily commandeered folding stool from the adjoining tent where the free parking for prams that the owners, for some reason didn't want to push around.

So, the inevitable line-up and grumbling and babies wailing -- ours mostly.

Still, that was about the only bump in the otherwise smooth festival where it is almost a shoe-in that many years later the children who were the clueless cuties in this festival would be the parents who would be bringing their own cuties to the same yet different festival.

07.03.08 kulturnatib

Pinoy on Canada Day

Tuesday, this week, was the big national holiday here. Here is Canada, but it is also, more immediately, Quebec, which celebrated its own national day, known as Fête du Quebec, also on Tuesday, last week.

If that sounds confusing, it is because, among other things, Canada doesn't have an Independence Day like we do. In fact, it was only in 1982 that the last vestiges of political control by Great Britain ended, though, as I learned only of late, that the Head of State of Canada is still Queen Elizabeth II. This is mostly titular however.

Now the thing with Quebec is a different matter about which I am still learning. Many of these lessons are not immediately obvious although if one were observant enough it is there for all to see. Like federal government buildings or those used by the federal government in this side of the river, away from the complexes on the Ottawa side always hang giant Canada flags a week ahead of Canada Day.

This, I was told, was a silent but not too subtle reminder to Quebec which, on the day the giant Canada flags hang, becomes a sea of blue, the color of the Quebec flag, that Canada or the Anglophones rule.

Tuesday was such a beautiful day to be spent on politics. Especially one that I am not only unfamiliar with beyond its resonances with the Tagalog-Bisaya divide but, more importantly, I have nothing to do with directly not being a citizen of this country.

So, on beautiful Canada Day, this Tuesday, I decided to be Pinoy and pay homage to the one thing that unites all Filipinos and commands their allegiance more than any occupant of Malacanang does; basketball.

Having been convinced not to wait to find one in a garage sale as had I originally intended and to buy a brand new one instead. I bought it and decided that Canada Day was the best time to break the ball in and to take advantage of the free facilities in the park just outside our apartment.

At first, it was just my partner and myself. We were just shooting ball and flexing muscles that had been underutilized throughout the winter and, more recently, with the forced domesticity brought on by a newborn. After a while we were joined by another couple, friends, who were on their way to the swimming pool next door to the basketball and tennis courts.

A friendly two-a-side soon ensued. The most that can be said of that game that naturally petered out brought on by the fatal combination of heat and thirst and compounded by the fact that none of us were particularly skilled at basketball was that, it was so much fun.

It also reminded me of what I now realize to be an abiding mystery. Tiago, half Brazilian, behaved a lot like many Pinoys, especially in one particularly peculiar respect. He had no compunction playing barefoot. But. the broiling hot asphalt court soon made him seek refuge in his slippers.

This is where the mystery came back to me. Many Pinoys play basketball barefoot or with their slippers but, in most cases -- and here is where Tiago betrayed his not being Pinoy -- only with one slipper. Why? Has somebody else noticed this? How is this behavior explained?

Back home, with the nagging question pushed to the back burner by the more immediate concerns of preparing dinner, another thing reminded me of being Pinoy on Canada Day. Walking back to the kitchen, I suddenly thought I heard something familiar. It can't be, I thought. I had not touched the dial. It was playing Astrid Gilberto when I left the kitchen barely two minutes before.

But yes, it was familiar indeed. There was no mistaking it. It was a Tagalog program. How it was switched to this program was less important than trying to find out what the program was about, what was the radio station and what was its call number as the radio's digital display was going nuts scanning up and down the frequency scale.

As far as I could catch it -- for the signal disappeared mysteriously as it had appeared -- the radio hostess was greeting a bunch of people who were celebrating their birthdays. So Pinoy, right? Yet, no greetings for Canada Day.

These two mysteries collided with each other as I enjoyed the fireworks display later that night. It wasn't that much different from the fireworks we've been having in Cebu lately except maybe in scale and duration. Its cost, too, no different. In both currencies, they spell expensive.