LOST IN PARIS: A JOURNEY TO EIFFEL TOWER AND BEYOND

 

Paris FRANCE

August 29

As we turned the corner onto the Champ de Mars, the grand public park unfurling before us like an emerald carpet, we were filled with anticipation. Suddenly, we stopped in our tracks. There it was. Mario quickly raised his Samsung to capture the moment, and I couldn’t help but stand in awe. Rising above the skyline like a guardian of dreams was the Eiffel Tower, a lattice-worked masterpiece that seemed to defy gravity and expectation.

Seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time is an experience that cannot be adequately described without invoking a sense of enchantment. For years, I had admired its image on postcards and travel books, but those pale in comparison to reality. The Tower stood majestic against a backdrop of pale blue, with wisps of white clouds painting the sky. It was both massive and delicate, a paradox of iron that seemed to make perfect sense in the heart of this city known for its light and romance.

As we drew closer, I couldn’t help but marvel at the Tower’s engineering brilliance. As a civil engineer myself, I found the structure fascinating. Each step brought me nearer to the intricate details – the crisscross of beams, the artful symmetry amidst the seeming chaos of metal, and the way the sunlight cast playful shadows that danced upon the ground. It was as if the Tower was alive, each beam pulsing like a vein in a century. I stood in awe of its strength and elegance, a perfect marriage of art and science.

“Raymond and Cherrie, stay right there. Don’t move. Look at me. Perfect.”

Mario’s directions were as precise as they were persistent. Merlita, Cher, and I posed now and then at the strategic spots he chose around the base of the Eiffel Tower. After an hour of capturing our presence against this iconic backdrop, we decided to head home. Or so we thought.

We soon realized we had a problem. None of us could recall exactly where Mario had parked his SUV. All we had was a screenshot of a restaurant named Casa Luca, which was adjacent to the entrance of an elevator leading to the fourth level of an underground parking garage. Worse, there were three Casa Luca in the area. Armed with this scant information, we began our search.

Mario, who had driven to Paris several times before, took the lead. He walked block after  block, street after street, yet the elusive parking spot remained hidden. Asking a local waiter yielded no results, and even a woman who tried to help by Googling the location couldn’t pinpoint it.

After some negotiation, Mario secured a cab, and we were finally on our way. The driver expertly navigated the narrow Parisian streets, and within minutes, we arrived. The fare? A hefty 50 euros, but worth every cent to resolve our confusion. In my college production management class, we called this the “value of perfect information” – a fitting term for the price we paid to find our way back after over two hours of search.

Yet, this unexpected detour didn’t mar our spirits. It added an adventurous twist to our day. Driving back, I couldn’t help but reflect on the unforeseen joys of our trip. The smooth ride on the six-lane highways leading in and out of Paris was a thrill in itself. Back home in the Philippines, my Toyota Vios never had the luxury of such expansive roads; the fastest I could push it safely was 100 kph, limited by the short stretches of decent highway.

Here, Mario comfortably cruised at 130 kph with his 14-year-old Chevrolet Captiva, yet we were still being overtaken by faster cars zooming past us. Mario offered me the wheel several times, tempting me with the thrill of driving on these magnificent roads. But, aware of Cher’s apprehension about my speed-loving nature, I reluctantly declined.

The French highways impressed me with their organization and drivers’ discipline. Trucks, restricted on weekends, stuck to the rightmost lane at a maximum speed of 90 kph, while most cars occupied the middle lanes, leaving the left lane for those in a hurry. Nearer to Paris, a special lane was reserved for emergencies, police, and taxis – a testament to the city’s thoughtful infrastructure planning.

I was equally impressed by the Aires de service, or service areas, strategically placed along the highways. These stops offered a variety of amenities – fuel stations, restaurants, cafes, restrooms, and even showers. Some even featured picnic spots with tables and chairs, perfect for travelers looking to relax and refresh. For senior travelers with history of prostate issues, the conveniences, especially the toilets, were more than just welcome, they were essential.

By the time we finally returned home, tired but exhilarated, Merlita and Cher couldn’t help but laugh as they suggested a fitting title for this adventure: Lost in Paris. And indeed, we were – lost in the city’s charm, in its surprises, and in its lessons on the joy of wandering.

Content and editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

Head collage photos courtesy of Plex, Simon & Schuster, IMDb, FlipHTML5, Behance, CineMuseFilms, RollerNews, & BookFrom

BELGIUM'S SECRETS: GENT, BLANKENBERGE, & A SAVED CHURCH

 

Gent BELGIUM

August 26

As we strolled through the beautifully preserved cobblestone streets of Gent, Mario turned to me with a smile and said, “This is the city where my two daughters went to school.” I could hear the pride in his voice as he spoke of Sofia, now a teacher, and Lisa, a corporate manager, both of whom had completed their schooling in this enchanting place.

Gent, with its blend of old-world charm and modern vibrancy, felt like a city where time had graciously decided to stand still. The historic buildings and charming boutiques whispered stories of a bygone era, making me feel like I had stepped into a hidden gem – Belgium’s best-kept secret.

As we settled into a café in the university district, I reminisced about my college years. Sipping on a steaming cup of coffee, I watched the lively groups of students treading down the streets. At a nearby table, a trio caught my eye: a father, mother, and their kid, all sipping drinks and sharing quiet laughter. Mario guessed they were probably visiting their kid’s school, exploring the familiar hangouts.

The sight of them sparked a memory of my kids when they were still in school, years ago – an era that seemed both distant and yet, at moments like this, strikingly close.

Blankenberge

August 27

“Today, we go to the sea,” Mario announced with a twinkle in his eye. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea, considering our home in the Philippines is just a stone’s throw from the beach – a view that I wake up to every day. Yet, as we arrived in Blankenberge, I realized this wasn’t just any ordinary seaside.

Blankenberge sparkled like a jewel along Belgium’s coast, its sun-drenched sands and lively promenade offering a fresh perspective on a beachside escape. The colorful beach huts, the elegant pier extending into the sea, and the energetic ambiance created a vibrant tableau that was more than just picturesque – it was invigorating. We strolled along the famous beach promenade, taking in the sights and sounds of this lively town, where history and modernity blend seamlessly along the breathtaking North Sea.

By lunchtime, our senses were ready to explore the local culinary scene. Mario, ever the thoughtful host, took charge of ordering and soon enough, our table was laden with 80-euro plates of Videe vol-au-vent, a delightful Belgian specialty featuring a puff pastry filled with tender chicken, meatballs, mushrooms in a creamy hollandaise sauce, accompanied by French fries and fresh vegetables. And of course, there was Belgian beer for me.

Rewinding a few hours, Mario had prepared a hearty Belgian breakfast at home that left me feeling satisfyingly full. Now, faced with this generous lunch, I found myself in a unique predicament – a feasting dilemma in a foreign land. (Social situations like this, I would always recall Mario's whimsical guilt-ridden prompting: "Remember the poor in the Philippines, Raymond." Ouch.)

How could I convey my appreciation for this delicious spread without offending our hosts by leaving too much on my plate?

The solution, I decided, lay in strategy. First, I ate all the vegetables, then half the French fries, followed by a careful portion of the Videe vol-au-vent. Finally, I polished off the beer, figuring that it would be wiser to disappoint the Indian restaurateur than to offend any Belgian beer enthusiast.

Merlita, Cher, and I all ended up with similarly half-eaten plates. I noticed the Indian waiters casting curious glances our way, and before long, they discreetly whisked away our dishes, perhaps to spare us from the perceived embarrassment of unfinished meals.

In the end, it felt like a win-win situation. We had savored the best of Belgian cuisine without overstaying our welcome at the table. A small victory, perhaps, but one that added another layer to our rich tapestry of experience in this beautiful country.

August 28

Flashback: The Saved Church

“As we drove home, wandering through the picturesque towns of Belgium, we caught sight of a striking scene – a dilapidated Catholic church. Its once-majestic walls stood bare, stripped of their roof, open to the sky like a hollow shell of its former self. Weeds crept through the cracks in the stone, and the wind whispered through the broken windows, carrying with it an eerie silence that spoke volumes.

This scene, both sad and haunting, felt like more than just the inevitable decay of an old building; it felt like a powerful symbol, a poignant reflection of the broader secularization sweeping across not only Belgium but much of the western world.” (Excerpted from ATABAY’s A Tale Of Two Images: The Atomium & The Ruined Church)

“[M]ario shared an extraordinary tale about a local Catholic Church slated for demolition. ‘My wealthy friend Phillip bought the church because his devout Catholic mother wanted to preserve it,’ Mario explained.

“Now privately owned, the church has become an adoration sanctuary without a Mass or priest, open to visitors from nine in the morning until six in the evening, maintained weekly by hired caretakers.” (Excerpted from ATABAY’s Exploring Faith In Belgium: A Farmhouse Story)

This afternoon, we had the rare privilege of meeting Phillip, the man who purchased the dilapidated, empty church and spared it from demolition. We owe this remarkable opportunity to Mario, whose earnest efforts made this meeting possible and who also captured our photos with Phillip in front of the beautifully restored Catholic Church.

It’s an intriguing reversal of roles: rather than the church saving a man, in this instance, it was a man who saved the church – at a cost of 1.2 million euros (77.2 million pesos).

Content and editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

Head collage photos courtesy of iStock and Wikipedia

LOURDES: A BUNDLE OF SERENDIPITOUS ENCOUNTERS

 

Lourdes FRANCE

AUGUST 22

We stumbled upon an unexpected gem in Lourdes – a cozy Asian and Filipino restaurant owned by an Italian family. As we stepped inside, the warm, familiar aroma of home-cooked meals enveloped us, immediately sparking a sense of nostalgia. “Ilan kayo?” (How many of you?) greeted the Italian waiter, the owner’s son, in fluent Filipino caught me off guard. I responded with a smile, “Apat kami.” (Four of us) His Chinese wife, the restaurant’s chef, brought a delightful fusion of cultures to the place. We eagerly ordered grilled salmon with rice and vegetables, pork adobo with steaming white rice, pancit palabok, and arroz caldo – Filipino dishes we had not tasted since we arrived in Belgium over two weeks ago.

Walang Anuman

The evening was filled with the comforting buzz of Filipino chatter. We exchanged friendly greetings with two groups of Filipino customers, sharing snippets of our journeys that brought us all to this small town in France. After a satisfying dinner, I thanked the owner’s son with a heartfelt, “Maraming salamat.” (Thank you very much) He responded warmly, “Walang anuman.” (You are welcome) It was a simple exchange, yet it felt like a hug from home.

AUGUST 23

The next morning, on our way to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, we encountered an elderly European couple in the elevator. Noticing our distinct features, they asked with a knowing smile, “Philippines?” We nodded, and as I saw their luggage, I inquired, “Home?” “Yes, Italy,” the man replied. “God bless,” I uttered. “Thank you,” he said.

They Speak English

It amazed me how easily people recognize a Filipino face; there seems to be something unique about the features that has made us instantly recognizable, even in a crowd. I recalled one instance in Belgium. We were having our lunch in one restaurant when I overheard someone in a group at another table muttering, “They speak English.” It’s a feather in our cap that we ought to treasure, nurture, and build up.

Mario had particularly enjoyed the arroz caldo from the previous night so much that we thought of returning to the same restaurant for lunch. As we sat down to eat, Cher commented that the arroz caldo lacked the distinctive ginger bite we Filipinos are so fond of. But still, there was comfort in the familiar taste, even if it was not quite the same.

Holy Nap

We spent our last day leisurely strolling downtown, engaging in a favorite European pastime: people-watching. We indulged in ice cream from a street kiosk, sipped on Perrier at a sidewalk cafe, and enjoyed the lively atmosphere of the city. Later, we wandered the expansive, green grounds of the Lourdes Basilica. I even found a moment of peace to take a rare “holy” nap on a bench under the shade of towering trees – a small luxury amidst our travels.

However, travel isn’t without its surprises. Cher experienced a sudden flare-up of an old minor medical issue, likely brought on by the travel stress. With no French skill between us, Mario’s Samsung smartphone came to the rescue, translating our needs and helping us order the required topical cream at a local pharmacy. It was quite a sight – a transaction between two humans – the pharmacist and me – facilitated by a digital intermediary – a cellphone. Is this the future already unfolding before us?

Bistek, Lechon Kawale, Arroz Caldo, Atbp

Determined to savor every bit of Filipino cuisine we could, we dined again at the restaurant in Lourdes. We ordered a spread we could barely find in Belgium – bistek, lechon kawale, chopsuey, all served with rice, and another helping of arroz caldo.

AUGUST 24

During our hotel breakfast, we met a family of four from Madrid, Spain. The husband, originally from Quezon City, and his wife, from Butuan, shared their stories with us – another reminder of how small the world feels when you meet compatriots abroad.

Refiner’s Fire

We left Lourdes at 9 a.m., bracing for the 10-hour drive to Belgium. The journey to Lourdes had felt almost spiritual, like the slow ascent described in Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Our drive back, however, was a different story altogether – it was more of a Refiner’s Fire, a biblical metaphor describing God’s way of purifying His people, burning away impurities until only the purest silver remains.

Four “refining” episodes seemed to have marked our return journey. First, Mario made a wrong turn that added 100 extra kilometers to our route, an extra hour of travel, and about P4,200 in additional gas and toll fees. Then, Mario drove into a malfunctioning toll gate barrier, and the boom arm fell on the hood of his SUV. Next, we were caught in an unforeseen weekend traffic jam. Finally, for the first time, I saw Mario lose his temper when another car cut him off, causing him to honk his horn in frustration – a rare display of anger that momentarily threw him off balance.

We finally arrived home in Avelgem, Belgium at 2 a.m., seven hours behind schedule. Exhausted and utterly drained, we were ready to collapse into our beds.

Be Patient

Later, Merlita and Cher sensed that such four challenging episodes carried a message from Lourdes for Mario and his Type A personality – always organized, often impatient, and perpetually in pursuit of achievement.

As if in quiet contemplation, I found myself reflecting on a verse from the Bible: “Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love.” (Ephesians 4:2), Perhaps our journey was about more than just reaching a destination.

Ralph Waldo Emerson’s words nail it: “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.”

Content and editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

LOURDES: A JOURNEY OF FAITH AND HUMANITY - DAY 1

 

FRANCE Lourdes

August 21

This trip to Lourdes had been a long-held dream for Merlita and Cher, one they had been planning for quite some time. It was finally happening.

We were packed into Mario’s 12-year-old Chevrolet Captiva SUV, driving more than a thousand kilometers from Avelgem, Belgium, to Lourdes, France. Mario was behind the steering wheel, guiding us along the long stretch of concrete highway. Merlita, Cher, and I filled the other seats, excitement mingling with anticipation as we began our journey at 7 a.m. The hours ticked by slowly, the rhythm of the road becoming a steady companion.

Along the way, the roadside scenery unfolded like a painted canvas, each view more breathtaking than the last. The rolling valleys captivated us, blanketed with fields of vibrant green plants – sunflowers turning their faces to the sun, tall maize swaying in the breeze, and other lush vegetation stretching endlessly. In the distance, the blue silhouettes of mountain ranges provided a dramatic backdrop, their majestic peaks rising against the sky, a perfect contrast to the sprawling green below.

As we finally entered Lourdes, the first sight that caught our eyes was a gathering of white mobile homes, assembled in an open, wide flat area. They looked almost like toys scattered across a giant playground. Families were outside, enjoying picnics around portable tables, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Children ran freely across the open ground, their play uninhibited by the day’s headlines.

We finally arrived at our hotel around 7 p.m., our bodies weary but our spirits high. We checked in at Hotel Panorama, one of the many hotels crammed into the busy downtown area. Mario had wisely booked our rooms days in advance, knowing how quickly the hotels filled up with eager pilgrims.

After settling in, we wandered around the vicinity of our hotel, looking for a place to have dinner. Our footsteps led us to a small Indian restaurant on a quiet street corner. It wasn’t what we had expected for our first meal in Lourdes, but the warm spices and the familiar comfort of good food were the perfect end to our first evening in this sacred town.

August 22

After breakfast, we stepped off the hotel and into our first crisp morning air of Lourdes. We were struck by a palpable sense of anticipation and reverence that hung over the town. Nestled in the rolling foothills, this small French town seems almost hidden away, a sacred enclave that quietly invites the world to come closer, to believing in the extraordinary. We found ourselves drawn to the sound of distant bells chiming from the basilica, guiding us like a gentle hand toward the heart of this holy place – the Grotto of Massabielle.

The first thing I noticed was people coming from all corners of the globe, their varied faces reflected a mixed bag of culture and languages, yet all here for a singular purpose. A family from Italy walked beside us, the mother clutching a rosary tightly in her hand, her lips moving silently in prayer. Nearby, a group of Indian pilgrims gathered, the bright colors of their traditional dress, a stark yet beautiful contrast against the muted stone walls of the sanctuary. A hum of different tongues filled the air – English, Spanish, Polish, Korean – a living, breathing testament to the universality of the Catholic faith.

We attended the outdoor Holy Mass conducted in French. Even though the words were foreign to our ears, the universal form of the Mass made it easy to follow. The unity was profound; regardless of language, we knew where we were in the liturgy. When the baskets were passed around, we recognized it as the Offertory, a moment shared by every Catholic around the world, a shared ritual that transcends language barriers.

Three Masses were taking place – one outdoors, one in front of the Lourdes Grotto, and another inside the grand cathedral. Each setting carried its own atmosphere, but all were unified in their reverence and devotion.

As we moved through the town, I observed the familiar scenes of Lourdes. Buses lined up, their doors open, releasing groups of pilgrims – most of them elderly. Many of these visitors were in wheelchairs, pushed by caregivers in uniforms, each gently guiding their charge through the holy grounds. It was a touching sight, a testament to the enduring faith that brought them here despite their physical frailties.

Throughout the day, I noticed people carrying plastic containers of all shapes and sizes, bought from the many shops catering to this particular need. These pilgrims carefully filled their containers with the miraculous water from the springs, believing in its healing properties. The water flowed freely from designated outlets, a constant stream of hope for those who sought it. The Shrines of Europe chronicles:

“Near the cavern, there are special fountains and water intakes, where you can drink or draw water into special containers. The sick also use special baths. Water from Lourdes is credited with miraculous healing properties.

“Already in 1883, after the first healings with water from the holy spring, a permanent medical center was established, which scientifically examines individual cases of recovery. Although almost 7,000 miraculous healings have been recorded in Lourdes since 1884, only 60 have been officially recognized by the Church.”

Merlita shared her story. She had suffered from a painful kidney stone affliction and, after consulting a doctor, was advised to undergo surgery. Instead, she chose a different path – drinking the healing waters of Lourdes regularly. She spoke of how the pain had vanished. There was a conviction in her eyes that meant more than just a relief, it talked of faith rewarded.

At one point, I caught sight of someone praying the Station of the Cross barefoot. It struck me as a powerful act of devotion -- the entire place was sacred ground. Each step they took seemed to carry a deep, personal penance, a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage.

Later, near the Grotto, I noticed a very young couple wrapped in a tight embrace, whispering prayers to each other after receiving Holy Communion. It was a rare and moving sight – a new generation finding their way to connect with the divine, bridging the gap between the ancient traditions of the Church and their modern lives. Watching them, I felt a shiver run down my spine. In their embrace, I saw a testament to the enduring power of faith, a belief in the divine that has persisted even in our rapidly changing world.

In the evening, we joined the candlelit procession, where hundreds of pilgrims gathered to pray the Rosary together. It was a breathtaking sight – a sea of flickering lights moving in unison, the faces illuminated by the warm glow of candles. The crowd seemed endless, a stream of people arriving from every corner of the world, their diverse features reflecting a mosaic of cultures and backgrounds.

As the rosary was recited in various languages, a poignant moment struck me. I heard a familiar line spoken in Filipino, voiced by a young girl. It touched a tender chord within me, a reminder of home amid the vast, shared faith of strangers.

I remembered Mario’s playful remark in Belgium: “Where are the people, Raymond?” – a wry observation about the empty streets, a subtle metaphor for the fading Catholic faith there. On this journey to Lourdes, his question took on a deeper significance. It seemed to echo the larger uncertainty facing Catholicism today amid cultural and spiritual upheavals worldwide.

As I looked around at the multitude of pilgrims gathered in prayer and devotion, the answer came to me with quiet clarity:

“They are here, Mario. They are in Lourdes.”

Content and editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

A TALE OF TWO IMAGES: THE ATOMIUM & THE RUINED CHURCH

 

BELGIUM Avelgem

“Prepare a good pair of walking shoes and brace yourself with that bad knee of yours, Raymond. We’re heading to Brussels,” Mario warned. I recalled Bro Vic’s advice: “Just be ready for long walks. Wear comfortable shoes as rides are rare and taxis are expensive.”

The journey from Mario’s farmhouse to Brussels took over an hour on the expressway. Speaking of driving, I once joked with Mario, who teasingly offered me the steering wheels, that I’d struggle to drive his SUV due to their unique driving etiquette.

Here, cars slow down and stop before the pedestrian crossings, allowing people to cross before proceeding, even in the absence of the traffic lights. I frequently witnessed drivers yielding to one another at intersections. On one occasion, Mario patiently followed two elderly cyclists down a long stretch of a narrow, single-lane road, devoid of a dedicated bike lane, without once honking – an uncommon display of courtesy.

Mario’s daughter Lisa and her fiancée, Thomas, both corporate professionals, were our guides for our tour of Brussels.

The Heart of Europe

Standing at the center of Brussels, the magnificent Grand Place, we were enveloped by a scene that felt like a living postcard. The ornate facades of the guildhalls, with their golden details gleaming in the sunlight, rose majestically around us, each telling a story of a bygone era. The town Hall’s spire reached toward the sky, a beacon of history watching over the square.

Tourists from all corners of the globe ambled across the cobblestones, their cameras capturing the grandeur of the square. I got an earful of a blend of languages, merging into a harmonious buzz.

“Filipina ka?” I overheard someone say. It was a voice from a company of three, asking Merlita, who replied, “Oo, Filipina, pero Bisaya.” A quick chat followed with those Tagalogs who drove from Amsterdam. Then they split all at once vanishing into the crowd.

A street trumpeter played, adding a touch of romance to the air, while laughter from nearby café terraces filled the space, mingling with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sweet scent of waffles.

At a nearby table, a group of friends clinked glasses of amber-hued Belgian beer, their conversation lively and full of warmth. Not far away, a couple paused to admire a chocolatier’s window, where pralines (sugary, nutty candies) were displayed like precious jewels, each a small work of art.

Flower Carpet

Cher and I struck poses as Mario captured strategic shots of us with his Samsung cellphone, set against the stunning 70-meter-long by 24-meter-wide expanse of begonias, dahlias, grass, and bark. This vibrant tapestry had been meticulously assembled by a hundred volunteers in under six hours, marking the 3-4 day celebration of the Brussels Flower Carpet that has graced the city every two years.

Atomium

Our group drove to the most prominent tourist attraction that symbolizes Brussels – the Atomium. Originally, built for the 1958 Brussels World’s Fair (Expo 58), it has represented not just Brussels, but also Belgium’s forward-looking spirit and its embrace of modernity.

Its nine interconnected spheres and towering height of 102 meters, have represented an iron crystal magnified 165 billion times. A striking blend of art, architecture, and science, it has symbolized Brussels’ role as a hub of international cooperation, progress, and unity – values that have been central to Brussels’ identity as the heart of Europe.

Ruined Church

As we drove home, wandering through the picturesque towns of Belgium, we caught sight of a striking scene – a dilapidated Catholic church. Its once-majestic walls stood bare, stripped of their roof, open to the sky like a hollow shell of its former self. Weeds crept through the cracks in the stone, and the wind whispered through the broken windows, carrying with it an eerie silence that spoke volumes. This scene, both sad and haunting, felt like more than just the inevitable decay of an old building; it felt like a powerful symbol, a poignant reflection of the broader secularization sweeping across not only Belgium but much of the Western world.

The crumbling church, with its empty pews, has encapsulated the challenges facing Christendom today. It has stood as a silent witness to the decline in religious attendance that has marked much of the past century. In a land where church bells once called the faithful to worship every Sunday, such calls often have gone unanswered. The congregation that once filled this church, with prayers and hymns reverberating off its walls, has dwindled, leaving behind only echoes of a past era.

Cultural Shifts

This decline is not merely a matter of changing habits but reflects deeper cultural shifts. Belgium, like much of Western Europe, has embraced modernization with open arms, and with it has come a gradual shift away from traditional religious practices. As society has advanced, with increased education, technological innovation, and a focus on individual autonomy, the role of the church has become less central in the daily lives of many. The once-dominant influence of the church on public and private life has been replaced by secular values and institutions that better align with the complexities of the modern world.

I found myself drawn to two images that seemed to embody the contrasting spirits of Belgium: the Atomium, a gleaming monument of modernity, and a dilapidated church, standing quietly as a relic of a bygone era.

The Atomium has reflected the secularization of Belgium. It has stood as a monument to a new kind of faith – faith in human progress, in reason, and in the power of collective effort to shape the world. Yet in the shadow of this gleaming structure, an image has lingered – a dilapidated church, its roof caved in, its walls crumbling.

I was struck by the contrast: where the Atomium was bold and triumphant, the church was quiet, almost forlorn. Once, the church would have been the heart of its community, a place of worship, solace, and gathering. Now, it has stood as a poignant reminder of what has been lost in the march toward modernity.

Call To Renewal

Perhaps, this ruined church is not just a symbol of decline but also a call to renewal. It challenges us to consider what we, as a society, have lost in the process of secularization, and what we might need to reclaim – not necessarily in the form of a return to the past, but in finding new ways to connect with the spiritual, the sacred, and the communal aspects of life that religion once nurtured. It invites us to think about how the church, or any institution that seeks to guide and inspire, can evolve to meet the needs of a changing world without losing its essence.

As we left the ruined church behind, with the image of Atomium still flashing in my mind, I felt a deep sense of sadness. Belgium, like much of the world, has stood at a crossroads, where the old and the new must find ways to coexist.

The challenge, I discerned, is not to choose between the two, but to create a future where the brilliance of modernity can shine alongside the quiet wisdom of the past – a future where both the Atomium and the Church, in all their contrasting glory, can stand as testaments to the rich and complex tapestry of human experience.

Content put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

Head Atomium & Vatican photos courtesy of Shutterstock

BELGIAN DELIGHTS: OUR SERENDIPITOUS TRAVEL & A NEWBORN JOY

 

BELGIUM Avelgem

August 13

This is the “karaan apan maanyag” (enduring but charming) farmhouse of Mario and Merlita, where my wife Cher and I have been graciously invited to enjoy a 26-day vacation in Belgium.

The farm and house are currently for sale, with new owners expected to take possession by September. Mario and Merlita plan to migrate to the Philippines by the end of this year. The house features three cozy bedrooms and a kitchen where our hosts have delighted us with various exquisite Belgian dishes since our arrival.

August 14

Mario and Merlita elegantly hosted us for a delightful lunch at Maddox Tapasbar & Restaurant in the bustling Grote Markt of Kortrijk.  There, we savored an array of exquisite Belgian dishes, each beautifully described in English by Bing, my AI-powered Co-pilot.

Gegrilde lamskoteletten met verse tijm saus (for Merlita, Cher, and me)

”Grilled lamb (restaurant uses beef) chops with fresh thyme sauce, this Belgian dish typically features tender lamb chops that are grilled to perfection and served with a flavorful sauce made from fresh thyme. It’s a delightful combination of savory and aromatic flavors, often enjoyed with a side of potatoes.”

Vole au vent (for Mario)

Mario's meal was specially recommended by none other than the restaurant's chef himself. Currently, Mario is undergoing an extensive dental implantation, valued at over a million in pesos, which is subsidized by the government. He has seized this opportunity before he and Merlita relocate to the Philippines.

“This is a classic Belgian dish consisting of a creamy chicken stew made with a whole boiled chicken, a roux (a mixture of butter and flour), chicken stock, a bit of cream, small meatballs, and mushrooms.”

Mojito (drinks for Mario, Merlita, and Cher)

“Mojito, not a Belgian drink but a classic Cuban cocktail, is made with five key ingredients: white rum (base spirit), sugar cane juice (adds sweetness to balance lime’s acidity), lime juice (offers tangy and fresh flavor), soda water (adds a bit of fizz), and mint (gives a refreshing aroma and taste). Combining these ingredients creates a refreshing and invigorating drink, perfect for hot weather.”

Kwaremont Blond (beer for me)

“A Belgian ale, named after the Oude Kwaremont, a famous cobbled climb in the Tour of Flanders cycling race, is brewed by Brouweri De Brabandere. With an alcohol content of 6.6%, it has a deep golden color with a large frothy head. Moderately sweet with spicy and hoppy notes, it has aromas of Belgian ale yeast, white kandij, sugar syrup, stewed yellow plume, and mild spices.”

Total bill: € 132 or P8,334

August 15

“Where are the people, Raymond?”

This has become Mario’s catchphrase each time we drive through a deserted downtown street. It’s his way of highlighting the stark contrast between the Philippines’ challenges of overpopulation and underemployment. Having visited the Philippines many times, Mario is always struck by the throng of people that line the streets on any given day in a typical city.

To be fair, today is Belgium’s national holiday – the Catholic observance of the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Mother of God (though ironically, Catholic churches here are being demolished). But holiday or not, the streets always seem eerily empty – a striking spiritual metaphor.

On holidays or weekends, people either stay home or head out of town for a break. (Just the other day, Mario’s closest neighbor went on a weekend getaway and left him a key to their house so he could feed their pets while they were away.) On workdays, the streets are deserted because everyone is indoors, working in offices, businesses, or factories.

As of 2024, the Philippines has a population of 119,106,224, with three babies born every minute, according to the Philippine Statistics Authority. In contrast, Belgium counted 11,763,650 inhabitants as of January 1, 2024, a modest 0.57 percent increase over the year, according to Statbel, Belgium’s statistics office. The growth is driven by immigration, as the number of deaths outpaces births.

On the topic of births, I’ll conclude this travelogue by congratulating Mario, now a proud grandfather, on the arrival of his first granddaughter. This morning, we visited a four-storey building clinic (incomparable vis-a-vis our typical local hospital; Mario stressed it's just a clinic) to meet baby Inara. Though underweight, she is the only newborn in the large neonatal intensive care unit – a telling sign of Belgium’s low birth rate.

Inara, this poem is for you.

To Inara, Our Little Star

Inara, a tiny beacon of light, born under the softest night,

Though your start was frail and slight, you shine with a spirit so bright.

In the warmth of the NICU’s embrace, you gather strength, find your place,

With each breath, a gentle grace, a miracle in this sacred place.

Sofia, your mother, so tender and true, her heart overflows with love for you,

Her first baby girl, a dream come true, in her eyes, the world anew.

Mario, your granddad, with joy in his eyes, sees in you the future, the skies,

His first granddaughter, a precious prize, in your presence, his spirit flies.

Inara, little star, so brave and strong, in our hearts, you belong,

With love and faith, we hope and pray, together we’ll journey, lifelong.

 

EXPLORING FAITH IN BELGIUM: A FARMHOUSE STORY

 

BELGIUM Avelgem

August 11

Mario drove us – his wife Merlita, Cher, and myself – from Brussels Airport to their farm, a journey of an hour along the expressway in his Chevrolet Captiva SUV. As a fellow driver and car enthusiast, I was captivated by the parade of high-speed vehicles on the highway: BMWs, Mercedes-Benzes, Audis, Peugeots, Volvos, and Land Rovers – a dazzling array of ultrafast toys in this part of the world. That evening, my wife and I savored our first outdoor Belgian dinner under an unusually bright sky at 10 p.m.

Mario and Merlita’s 405-year-old house, built in 1619, sits on a modest 4.7-hectare farm inherited from Merlita’s first Belgian husband, Daniel, who received it from his great-great-grandparents. Recovered during the house renovations were two artifacts Mario showed to us: a wooden post carved with the year 1619 and an old, faded photograph of a woman named Margaret, believed to be an early owner of the house and farm, who lived in 1726.

Reflecting on their history, Merlita met and married Daniel in the Philippines before moving to Belgium. After Daniel’s passing, Mario entered her life, sparking their love story. The day after our arrival, a Sunday, we attended an online Eucharistic Mass on YouTube, presided over by Fr. Jerry Orbos – a testament to the convenience of online worship, accessible anytime and anywhere.

The next day, Mario shared an extraordinary tale about a local Catholic Church slated for demolition. “My wealthy friend Phillip bought the church because his devout Catholic mother wanted to preserve it,” Mario explained. Now privately owned, the church has become an adoration sanctuary without a Mass or priest, open to visitors from nine in the morning until six in the evening, maintained weekly by hired caretakers.

This peculiar fate of the church reflects a broader trend in Europe, where many sacred buildings are repurposed into secular venues. Headlines like Fortune’s “A mostly godless Europe is turning its ancient churches into dance clubs and cultural hot spots: ‘There is no return to the past possible’” and The Voice of America’s report on Belgian churches being converted into business underscore this phenomenon.

“Across Europe, churches and other Christian religious buildings stand increasingly empty. These empty churches are being repurposed. That means they are being changed into other things such as hotels, sport climbing businesses, and even dance places.

“Supporters say the changes remove the need for costly repairs and care of the buildings. But critics say such changes raise ethical concerns.

“Empty churches can be seen over much of Europe – from Germany to Italy and many nations in between. But the empty churches really stand out in Flanders, in the northern part of Belgium. The area has some of the greatest cathedrals in Europe.”

I had read these unsettling headlines before our flight to Belgium, but I never imagined that Mario and Merlita’s farmhouse would be the place where we would confront such a distressing issue in Christendom. Mario surprised us by sending money for our round-trip tickets to Belgium and further astonished us by revealing the strange circumstances of a local Catholic Church. To date, he has guided us to visit five Catholic churches – all sadly empty. Merlita’s comment about Mario added to the mystery: “He doesn’t have religion.”

August 12

Suddenly, over the dining table, Mario shared a story that seemed to be the epiphanic key to our puzzling chain of events. He recounted a near-death experience from many years ago, when a car accident left him hospitalized for six months. He showed us the long, disfiguring scars from the surgeries on his abdomen.

While in coma, Mario said he had a spiritual encounter, walking in an otherworldly place bathed in bright lights. In an instant, he saw his father, who had died in a car accident along with Mario’s mother and sister when he was just a child. His father told him, “Go back. It’s not your time yet.” At that moment, hospital records indicated that Mario gasped for air and woke up from his coma.

When he recovered and shared his near-death experience with friends in Belgium, Mario said their typical reaction was, “The high-tech did it.”

As Filipino Catholics, we transcend such limited human rationale. I assured Mario that he was not alone, as many similar experiences have been chronicled and published. Moreover, his spiritual encounter could offer insights into life after death. I then shared Jesus Christ’s promise:

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”John 14:1-4

Frankly, as guests in Belgian home, I have qualms about whether I am connecting the dots appropriately.

By the grace of God, I know He is saying something in my daily Bible reading today:

[Our] Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish.” Matthew 18:14

Content Editing in collaboration with Microsoft Bing AI-powered Co-Pilot

TRAVELOGUE: LEAVING ON A JET PLANE

 

“Our journey to Belgium presents me with the exciting opportunity to venture into a new and uncharted territory: travel writing.” (Excerpted from ATABAY article Our Belgian Journey: A Story of Friendship & Faith)

This statement encapsulates my recent shift from personal essays and political commentaries to the captivating genre of travel writing.

What you’re about to read in this natal article and what is to come in my ATABAY exemplifies precisely that – a voyage through words, transporting us to the allure of distant places, the whispers of ancient streets, the promise of shared experiences – the catalysts that ignited my journey into travel writing – hoping to stir your playful imagination.

Buckle up for an exciting ride as we delve into the art of travelogue.

PHILIPPINES, Iligan City, August 7

All Our Bags Are Packed

Idling outside our house gate, the engine of Bro Boy’s car hummed softly in the pre-dawn stillness. The air smelled of dew-kissed grass and anticipation. My wife and I stepped out the door, suitcases in hand, ready to embark on our journey. The house façade, bathed in the gentle glow of the porch light, seemed to hold its breath – a silent witness to countless departures and reunions.

Oddly drawn to nostalgia, I photographed our house a day ago. Not the novelty of its architecture nor the bloom of its garden, but the weathered Mactan stones, the chipped paint, and the window through which sunlight spills like liquid gold. At that moment, I realized it wasn’t just a house; it was a repository of memories – the laughter echoing through its rooms, the whispered secrets shared late at night, the warmth of family gatherings.

Stepping into the car, I caught a glimpse of our house photo saved in my phone -- just like the essence of a faded photograph of a loved one kept in a wallet -- turning into a lucky piece against homesickness. It’s more than pixels on the screen; it’s a bond to the familiar, a lifeline connecting me to the heartbeats of those I love.

And so, as the wheels turned and the landscape blurred, I glanced at that image – the terrace where we sat on lazy afternoons, the eaves sheltering us from monsoon rains – and I’ve carried it with me, not as a mere snapshot, but as a promise: that no matter how far we roam, home etched in our souls.

Hitting the road, I called to mind the comforting Psalm in my daily readings that morning: “The Lord will guard us as a shepherd guards his flock.”

PHILIPPINES, Manila, August 8

Engine Sound and Airport Slip

On schedule, our PAL aircraft smoothly ascended from Laguindingan Airport en route to Manila. Flying in a relatively newer plane compared to an older one was akin to the contrast between driving a modern car and an antiquated model.

i recalled my previous flight with a different airline. The engine emitted such a jarring noise that it disrupted my composure inside the cabin throughout the journey. It wasn’t merely the type of sound that prevented my light sleep; rather, it triggered a creeping concern upon hearing the reverberation from the relatively older plane’s engine. In my mind’s eye, I conjured up an image of an ill-maintained engine, not just an aging one.

The discrepancy became most pronounced during the takeoff when the engine power reached its full extent. All the more during landing, when the plane maneuvered through gusty crosswinds. The difference stood out when the plane touched down with a certain roughness, and the pilot lowered the landing gear, producing an abrupt creaking sound – a moment of anxiety any passenger would dread at the end of the flight.

Not Bad. The PAL cabin crews directed us, the embarking passengers, in getting off the plane by rows – a subtle and pleasing change for the better.

Not Funny. In the maze of travel logistics, a single misstep can transform a mundane situation into a suspenseful airport thriller.

Picture this: our domestic electronic ticket confidently pointed us toward NAIA Terminal 2 for arrival, while our international flight awaited us at Terminal 3 a few days later. Alas, I made a blunder. In a misguided text, I informed my son JR that our plane would touch down at Terminal 3, leading him to await our arrival there patiently. Little did he know we were disembarking at Terminal 2.

What followed was not the anticipated family meetup, but rather a digital chase between JR and me. Text messages flew back and forth as we unraveled the confusion. His final directive cut through the chaos: “Dy, stay put. A designated Grab car is en route to pick you up. I’ll rendezvous with you later at your hotel.”

And so, amid terminals and text notifications, our airport escapade unfolded – a tale of mix-ups and the promise of a Grab car speeding toward our get-together.

PHILIPPINES, Manila, August 9

Pre-Departure Staycation

Our two-day stay in Manila, just before our departure to Belgium, became a fascinating intersection of past and present. As seniors navigating the bustling city, my wife and I encountered two modern phenomena: Airbnb and Grab. These platforms seamlessly blend tradition with innovation, reshaping the way we experience travel.

Founded in 2008, Airbnb, a beacon of the sharing economy, emerged from a simple need – to pay rent. Recall the college marketing tagline “Find a need and fill it”? Airbnb founders rented out air mattresses in their living room, hence the name AirBed & Breakfast. Today, it boasts over 6.6 million global active listings, empowering homeowners to share their spaces with travelers worldwide.

On the other hand, Grab began as a ride-hailing and evolved into a comprehensive superapp phenomenon triggered by transportation woes where taxi drivers were often associated with robberies and assaults. A desperate need for a solution had turned up; Grab popped up and filled it.

Seniors’ Travel Challenges

In our Manila brief pre-departure staycation, not only did we check into an Airbnb condo, but we also hailed a Grab car online using mobile phones -- bridging the gap between yesterday’s traditions and tomorrow’s innovations. No doubt, these two platforms have redefined travel, emphasized safety, diversity, and community. My daughter Dionne booked our Airbnb reservation, while my son Leigh Roy showed me the Grab ropes from registration to ordering a meal and hailing a car.

Not Easy. On the contrary, the eTravel platform has been a trickier system for digitally challenged travelers, especially seniors. I could only imagine the dilemma being put up with by those who aren’t mobile app-literate. Thank goodness, my son JR stuck up for me while I navigated such an intricate maze.

Let me wrap up this travelogue with a whimsical twist -- a playful modified rendition of timeless lyrics of an oldie but goldie song:

A plane is still a plane

Even when there’s no one boarding there

But a plane is not a house

And a house is not a home

When there’s no one there.

Thank God, our son Leigh Roy with his family is now there, breathing life into our home, ensuring its warmth remains undiminished in our absence.

As I pen these final words from Manila, anticipation fills the air. In mere hours - precisely at 4:55 am on Saturday, August 10th – our journey aboard Turkish Airlines shall commence. Istanbul awaits as our interlude before we venture to Brussels – the heart of Europe.

By divine favor, my next ATABAY travelogues shall bear the Belgium stamp – a love letter to wanderlust, etched in words and longing.

God bless our trip!

Content put together in collaboration with Microsoft Bing AI-powered Co-pilot

Photos courtesy of Shutterstock, Adobe Stock, & airbnb.