Tag Archives: clock tower

A Cluster of Parks, Part I

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Posted by on in Assistance, distraction issues, Hiking and Nature, Historical, Inner Struggles, Inspiration, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

October 12, 2024, Manila- On days when K is busy, which are most days lately, I have determined routes for walking and found that Manila has a wealth of green spaces to check out, particularly in the area to the south and east of the Pasig River. Rizal Park, which memorializes the death of Dr. Jose A. Rizal, National Hero of the Philippines, and adjacent Luneta Park, occupy the eastern third of this greenway. This magnificent park was the second area, after Intramuros, that the ladies showed me, last year.

There are five smaller parks and gardens between Rizal/Luneta and the river. Yesterday, en route to a shopping run at SM City-Manila, I checked out Heroes Park. This small, but impressive, gem is also called Bonifacio Memorial. Andres Bonifacio is considered by many to have been the first President of the Philippine people, being a key leader of the movement towards a free Republic of the Tagalogs, in the mid-1890s. He was executed by the Spaniards, in 1897, and is viewed as a national hero by many, alongside his contemporary, Jose A. Rizal.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andr%C3%A9s_Bonifacio

Bonifacio Memorial at Heroes Park, Manila (above and below)
Just so we’re clear, KKK refers to Kataastaasan Kagalanggalang na Katipunan, which is Tagalog for “Most Honourable Assembly”.

Near Heroes Park is the Clock Tower, which I captured only through the tree-tops. More on that edifice, later this coming week.

View of Manila Clock Tower, north of Heroes Park.

It is Kathy’s stated intention to get to more of the historical sites of the capital region, while I’m here. She’s doing the work of the Divine, though, so I am going to take up the slack and catalog as many sites as I can, on my own. It will make for a more interesting discourse, when we do get to visit the sites together.

My other mission was to replenish a few items and pick up some “breathable” cotton shirts, at SM City-Manila, not too far from Heroes Park. After walking past Arroceros Forest Park, a bit to the west of Bonifacio, I went about my shopping mission and enjoyed some Inasal Chicken, a breast barbecued in lime, pepper, vinegar and annatto/asuete ( derived from the seed of the achiote tree, as a natural food colouring). This style was developed in the area of Bacolod (Ba-KOO-lud), Negros. A couple of new polo shirts, some toiletries and a SIM card, w/ new adapter, for my camera accompanied me back to Ola! Hostel.

What started as a day of dark energy was turned around. Pondering the struggles of freedom fighters will do that. So will being grateful for having a certain person in my life.

The Road to 65, Mile 209: A Triangle of Towns, Part 2- Pullman, WA and ITS University

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Posted by on in Hiking and Nature, Social, Travel

June 25, 2015, Pullman-  It’s hard to not crisscross between Idaho and Washington, when in this part of the Palouse.  Pullman, a scant eight miles from the University of Idaho, at Moscow, has the equally estimable Washington State University.  I parked in a two-hour spot, downtown, and used these steps to visit the University.

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The school was begun about the time that Washington became  a state, in 1889.  The Palouse was already drawing farmers from the Great Plains, and the small Midwestern colleges were models for the initial Normal School.

With many of the settlers being of Germanic or Scandinavian ancestry, the turreted structures found in universities in northern Europe found emulation here.

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The Clock Tower, a nearly-universal feature of institutions of higher learning, was also one of WSU’s early structures.

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The university library was quite busy, as summer session was still in full swing.  I noted that was true at UI, and, a year ago, at the University of Heidelberg, Germany.

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This touching memorial met me, along the South Fork Palouse Riverwalk, as I returned downtown from the hilltop University.

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Cities worldwide are embracing outdoor murals, and Pullman’s celebrates its railroad past.

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The town has a smaller art scene than Moscow, but young people here are every bit as proud of their joyful noises, as their counterparts to the east319

South Fork Palouse Riverwalk is heavily used by locals, though in the lunch hour, I had the path virtually to myself.

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The Nez Perce influence is still felt here, at the western edge of that great nation’s rangelands.323

I enjoyed a hearty lunch at Heroes and Sports, in the building on whose exterior the railroad mural is shown, above.  Two WSU ladies cheerfully welcomed about twelve of us in from the increasing heat, and I relished a Philly steak, before heading off, towards Lewiston, and points further south.

The Road to 65, Mile 208: Queen of the Inland Northwest, Day 2

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Posted by on in Travel

June 24, 2015, Spokane-   I was intrigued by the chocolatier’s use of Rocket Bakery as his sandwich purveyor, so this morning, Rocket was my first stop, after getting cash from the ATM.  What a fine place!  Like so many coffee houses in the Northwest, and our own Wild Iris, in Prescott, Rocket Bakery has a Steam Punk ambiance.  Two lovely and effusive young ladies were the baristas, and sang along with each song that came on the house’s Sirius channel, as I savoured my drip coffee and scone.  Rocket is a very happy place.  It also has a bookshelf, a surprisingly rare feature among coffee houses, and one that is most welcome.  The piano is also there, for anyone who can play decently.

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After the wonderful interlude, I headed back to Downtowner Motel, checked out and made a beeline back to Riverview Park.  One of my friends in Spokane recommended taking the gondola, over the Falls.  This I did, to the amusement of four high schoolers who were in line ahead of me.  “Like, why is the old dude going up by himself?”  Well, because it’s there.  There are some decent views to be had, from the nosebleed level.

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Once back down, I headed to the southern, less frenetic part of Riverside.  I found the Clock Tower, Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial and World’s Fair Pavilion to be restful places for meditation.

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A flock of Canadian geese, lined up at the river’s edge, was an unusual sight. It almost seemed like the Bird Olympics was set to begin.

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A unique feature, for kids and adults alike, was this set of giant blocks.

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Lunch was from a hot dog vendor, in front of Atticus.  As he advertised “all beef, no additives”, I was game.  The coffee and gift shop was worth another visit, after lunch, for some chai and a few gift items.  After an hour or so longer at the library, I called my local friend, and ascertained we weren’t going to meet, due to a sudden emergency.

So, it was off to the south side, and dinner at Chalet Restaurant, near a retirement community.  I was received a bit cautiously by the waitstaff, but the salmon and side dishes were fine.  Sometimes, it is a good idea to greet “outsiders”; like me, who tips 20 % to anyone who gives at least adequate service.

After attending a Baha’i worship service and social, nearby, and briefly connecting with an old friend from Arizona, now living in Spokane, (pictures didn’t come out), I headed east, then south.  it was dark, so no photos of beautiful Coeur d’Alene.  The night came to an end in Moscow, ID, at Royal Motor Lodge.  I woke up the night clerk, who groggily lined me up with a room, and settled in for another comfortable night.

An Eastern Homage, Day 18: Tears for St. Joan, and a Long Ride to Amiens

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Posted by on in Travel

June 13, 2014, Rouen- It was a bright and sunny morning in Rouen.  I declined breakfast at the hotel, but headed down to Square Verdril, to check on my swan friends.  The cygnets had grown a bit, over the past week.

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They were a bit more amenable to eating the bread I had carried, this time.

That done, I headed to L’Eglise Saint-Maclou, where I chanced upon a couple from Florida.  The husband advised me as to a good, durable money belt, which I picked up at a store, a bit later.

Here is Maclou, from the outside.  The interior was closed.

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On the sidewalk, as I left the church, was an affirmation.  Those who are my faithful readers will not be surprised.

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I drifted down the road a bit, and had a look at the banks of the Seine- as vital to Rouen as it is to Paris.

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Looking back, I realized my time here was getting short.

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So, I went and checked the time- at Le Gros Horloge, the clock tower.

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It was time for one last homage to Jeanne d’Arc.

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I entered Le Donjon, actually a castle built in 1204, for Philippe- Auguste, the first monarch to style himself, King of France.  It became a place of confinement for St. Joan, upon her capture by the forces of English King Henry VI.  It was also where his henchmen forcibly changed her garments into those of a man, which in essence broke her agreement with the monarch.  This gave him the pretext to order her immolation, and the French clergy in his employe carried out the immolation at Vieux Marche, as we have seen.

After mounting these steps,

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I stood alone, in front of this mosaic, and felt St. Joan’s presence, offering a connection across the centuries.

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I have felt bonds with the long deceased before- last year, with unnamed soldiers at Gettysburg, two years ago, with long-dead Comanche people in Palo Duro Canyon, and years ago, with Cochise, in the Stronghold that bears his name. These are a bit  beyond the links I feel with departed family and friends, but are very similar.  A recent visitor to Prescott said that, in eternity, one has relationships with those closest to self, then with all those one knows in this life, then with all those who lived during one’s lifetime- and lastly, with all those who have ever lived.  These feelings fall within that last category, even as I am very much in the flesh.

Contemplating her suffering, and her love for God, brought me to tears in that spot.

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She has had many feel the same way, through the centuries.

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I wondered, when entering the last room of her confinement, what went through her mind.  The answer came back- peace, and surety.

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I went outside again, after about twenty minutes, and looked again, at this tower, built to establish the national identity of France, yet used so mockingly by those who sought to bring the country to heel.

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Fittingly, the French have turned the tables, and today this tower is also a memorial to those who  were persecuted during World War II.

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Now, as then, a small cat observes all that transpires.

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My time in this ancient place of origin was done.  I checked out of Hotel Le Morand, waited for about two hours at the train station, and after several minutes of spirited discussion between SNCF officials in Rouen and a union big wig in Paris, it was decided I would proceed to Gare St. Lazare, then go to Gare du Nord, and catch a train to Amiens.  That whole process took three hours, one of which was spent in a Metro car at St. Lazare, while other union bosses pondered whether they would even ALLOW the car to go to Gare du Nord.  My French and African fellow travelers did enough fussing and fuming for all of us, and we were PERMITTED to go, after a full hour.  I got to Amiens in less time than I spent in Paris waiting for the Chef de Travaille to get off his high horse.

Fortunately, the stationmaster’s assistant in Rouen had called my hotel in Amiens, on my behalf, and the dear clerk at Appart’city Amiens stayed at her desk for two extra hours, until four of us arrived from Paris.  As you can see, this hotel is fairly new, still a work in progress, and was the largest hotel in which I stayed on this trip.

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Exhausted, but gratified, I bid adieu to Friday the 13th.