<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121</id><updated>2011-07-28T06:26:52.965-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Diaries of Jose Rizal</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>26</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-113592667068998190</id><published>2005-12-30T00:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T02:11:10.720-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;MADRID -- 1 JANUARY 1883 - NOVEMBER 1884&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;1st January 1883&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Night, I don't know what vague melancholy, an indefinable loneliness, smothers my soul. It is similar to the profound sadness that cities manifest after a tumultuous rejoicing, to a city after the happiest celebration. Two nights ago, that is, 30 December, I had a frightful nightmare when I almost died.&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; I dreamed that, imitating an actor dying on the stage, I felt vividly that my breath was failing and I was rapidly losing my strength. Then my vision became dim and dense darkness enveloped me -- they were the pangs of death. I wanted to shout and ask for help from Antonio Paterno, feeling that I was about to die. I awoke weak and breathless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last day of the year I spent at the home of Mr. Pablo Ortiga.&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt; I was gay; I don't know why I joked a lot and lost.&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt; We went home at five o'clock and Pat., Cal., Per., and Let.&lt;sup&gt;4&lt;/sup&gt; slept at home. We spent the day together and went to Elvira's house...lottery and I lost. I went home at night and wrote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;From &lt;i&gt;Noli Me Tangere&lt;/i&gt; (Makati City: Bookmark, 1996), pp. 557-559:&lt;ul&gt;The night of light and happiness for so many children, who in the warm bosoms of the family celebrate the feast of the sweetest memories, the feast that commemorates the first glance of love sent by heaven to earth; that night when all the Christian families eat, drink, dance, sing, laugh, play, love, kiss each other...this night, which in cold countries is magic for children with its traditional pine tree loaded with lights, dolls, sweetmeats and tinsel, whose round eyes reflecting innocence look dazzled; that night had nothing to offer Basilio more than orphancy...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stranger turned his face towards the east and murmured as though praying:&lt;br /&gt;"I die without seeing the dawn break on my country...You who are about to see it, greet her...do not forget those who have fallen during the night!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He raised his eyes to heaven, his lips moved as if murmuring a prayer, then he lowered his head and fell gradually to the ground...&lt;/ul&gt;From Leon Ma. Guerrero, &lt;i&gt;The First Filipino: A Biography of Jose Rizal&lt;/i&gt; (Manila: Guerrero Publishing, 1998 [1963]), pp. 443-448:&lt;ul&gt;He found time for a special note to his father.&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6 a.m. 30th December 1896 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My most beloved father:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Forgive me the sorrow with which I repay the anxieties and toil you underwent to give me an education. I did not want this nor expected it.&lt;br /&gt;Farewell, father, farewell!&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For his mother words seem to have failed him. "To my much beloved mother, Sra. Da. Teodora Alonso, at six o'clock in the morning of the 30th of December 1896."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both notes are signed rather formally with his full name...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took his stand facing the bay, his back to the rising sun. The drums rolled, the shout of command was given, and the Remigntons of the 70th fired. With one last convulsive effort of the will Rizal twisted his body rightward as he fell, his last sight being perhaps the hard empty eyes of the professional soldiers, companions in arms of those who had impassively lowered Tarsilo down the well and hunted down Elias as he swam in his own blood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was facing the dawn now, but this he was not to see. &lt;i&gt;"Viva Espana!"&lt;/i&gt; screamed Dona Victorina in her elegant carriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;"Viva Espana!"&lt;/i&gt; shouted Father Damaso, and added, shaking his fist, &lt;i&gt;"Y mueran los traidores"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Long live Spain and death to traitors!" But as the last Spaniards gave their ragged cheer, and the band of the battalion of volunteers struck up, with unconscious irony, that hymn to human rights and constitutional liberties, the &lt;i&gt;Marcha de C&amp;aacute;diz&lt;/i&gt;, the quiet crowd of Filipinos broke through the square, to make sure, said the Spanish correspondent, that the mythical, the godlike Rizal was really dead, or, according to others, to snatch away a relic and keepsake and dip their handkerchiefs in a hero's blood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If he had seen them, the first Filipino would have known that he was not the last.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;Mr. Pablo Ortiga y Rey, member of the Council of the Philippines, a government advisory body, and father of Consuelo Ortiga y Perez to whom Rizal dedicated a poem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt;He lost in the card game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;4&lt;/sup&gt;Paterno, Calero, Perio, and Lete.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-113592667068998190?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/113592667068998190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=113592667068998190' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/113592667068998190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/113592667068998190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/12/madrid-1-january-1883-november-1884.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-113592011130911265</id><published>2005-08-26T23:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T00:21:51.323-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;THREE LETTERS HOME&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Suez Canal, 7 June [1882]&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dear Parents,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last letter I wrote you was at Aden before disembarking. This will inform you about the rest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went down at Aden, which, as I have told you perhaps, is a town of little importance by itself, but it is important to the steamers that take on coal there. The town is composed of numerous hillocks and rocks, all bare and arid, without even a plant, on which stand some lonely and gloomy houses, white indeed, but with a funereal aspect. The ground, like its sun, is hot and hard; the wind, loaded with burning sand, disturbs now and then the quietness of its well-made but deserted streets. At intervals and as if forcing itself to enliven those places, can be seen camels walking majestically and rhythmically, tall and big, forming a contrast to the humble asses some of which are very short, like a hog, of abrupt and somewhat hasty pace. Everywhere is death, neither a root nor a leaf. Only man perhaps in order to give a proof of his power, lives there where plants cannot; but, alas, it's only to give a spectacle of his poverty and degradation, compelled as he is to contend with the granite for his existence. But English power is worthy of its name and it opens there two beautiful tunnels one of which is as long as the distance from Capitana Danday's house until that of my brother-in-law Mariano, and the other is one half less. These bore through live rock and when one is in the middle of the first one finds himself in complete darkness. If by any chance one sees a space of ground as large as a dish in which a little grass grows, it is a phenomenon that attracts everybody's attention. Within the town proper can be seen some limp and rickety trees of which the tallest is not more than three &lt;i&gt;varas&lt;/i&gt;. Besides the tunnels there are other things that call the attention of the travelers and they are the cisterns or reservoirs. These are some large cavities, whitened with stucco, formed by the mountain and a wall which, with the rock, form a receptacle. Imagine some five dams with the wall that, instead of being of stone like what we have there, is of very hard granite, there being a granite mountain here, but all whitened, with stone railings and very well made stairs of granite also. Beside this, instead of abaca plants as we have there, there are tiny plants whose leaves can be counted and some signs that prohibit the picking of &lt;i&gt;a flower&lt;/i&gt; or leaves. Instead of water and its beautiful and boisterous falls, there's nothing but complete aridity, not even a drop of water, and the hottest sun. At one place there is a well of about one hundred &lt;i&gt;varas&lt;/i&gt; deep whose bottom cannot be seen and from where five Negroes get water which takes two minutes to come up to the surface.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the shops are found skins of lion, tiger, panther, and leopard, ostrich eggs and feathers, and some children whose &lt;i&gt;occupation is to fan&lt;/i&gt; the travelers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From Aden, town of great divers and swimmers who pick up small coins thrown into the water, we headed for Suez through the Red Sea. On the first day it was so terribly hot that many fainted, even a waiter of the ship. In the following days it was fairly cool and the sailing was good. We saw Mount Sinai, Egypt, &lt;i&gt;etc&lt;/i&gt;. We also met many ships. On the 2nd June we arrived at Suez.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little steamer came alongside and placed us under quarantine for 24 hours. We were embarrassed. It was because of the Dutch on board who came from Java. On 3 June the Turkish physician came up to inspect the ship and the sick and to fumigate and disinfect us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The physician informed us of the revolt in Egypt led by Arabi Bey, Minister of...who imprisoned the Khedive in his palace. It seems that there is a &lt;i&gt;coup de main&lt;/i&gt;. Like the entire army he is a partisan of the minister. I conversed with him in French and I learned that he was educated in Paris where he studied medicine; he had been in London and traveled through Italy and Germany. He held advanced ideas and when he was satisfied with my replies he responded by saying, "Bravo!" He asked me how Japan was, believing I was Japanese. Finally we left Suez and entered the Canal, not without having been visited first by the peddlers of Suez selling figs, dates, and other things, like postcards, rosaries, &lt;i&gt;etc.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Canal, opened in the middle of that desert of sand and stone, is 85 kilometers long and probably some 80 &lt;i&gt;varas&lt;/i&gt; wide. A boat that was grounded in the middle obstructed our way and we stopped three days -- three days of ennui and grumbling. At last this morning we went on and I believe we shall arrive at Port Said. Probably we shall not reach Marseille until the 15th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in very good health and the intense cold which we have had since we arrived at Suez five days ago has made me stout. I'm so stout that I'm bursting. I do nothing else but stroll continually because one cannot remain seated for a long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to give you a so so description of the Canal. It is not straight throughout its length; it has curves but small ones; sometimes it flows into a lake where it is believed Moses passed, and again enters the desert. It crosses three lakes in its course. On both banks, which are all yellow and white, where it is a real jewel to find grass, are erected some telegraph stations placed at intervals. We have seen a young beggar running on the sand and following the ship in order to pick up a cracker that may be thrown him or not. A traveler on a camel and two magnificent Arabian horses. One of these, mounted by a customs officer, attracted the attention of everybody. Here I have tasted cherries, apricots, and green almonds. We have seen the curious spectacle of a mirage which is the reflection on the desert of seas and islands that do not exist at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope to receive a letter from you before the end of this month at Barcelona. I repeat I'm in good health and wish you to be the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foreigners in whose colonies the colonials are very much oppressed do not want to believe that I'm an &lt;i&gt;Indio&lt;/i&gt;; others that I'm Japanese. It is hard to make them believe the truth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bless your son who will never forget you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rizal&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may tell my brothers as well as my brothers-in-law that I would be glad to receive a letter from them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regards to all, like my friends and acquaintances there and may they excuse me for not writing them now, but when I shall be at Barcelona they would get tired of me I've a desire to speak Tagalog. It has been one month that I have not spoken one word. I'm familiarizing myself with French.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Barcelona, 23 June 1882&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dear Parents and Brothers,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have the pleasure to write you today, the eve of the town feast there, a memorable day for me, although it is not the day of the departure of the mail boat. My last letter, dated in the Canal, must have informed you of the incidents of my trip; it remains for me then to relate what happened after that. We arrived at this important city, Port Said, that partakes much of Africa and Europe; commercial, gay, and quite beautiful, but, on the other hand, dirty and corrupt. There is a caf&amp;eacute;-musical where an orchestra, an excellent one, according to those who know, plays the national songs of the different European countries, like the &lt;i&gt;Marseillaise&lt;/i&gt;, &lt;i&gt;God Save the Queen&lt;/i&gt;, and others. Its population is most heterogeneous: Europeans, Turks, Greeks, Egyptians, and Negroes. Variety of fruits: the date above all; elegant stores with signs in French, Italian, Greek, and others and dirty and dark booths adorn its animated streets. We were here for about three hours. It must be noted that we didn't find even... (illegible)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the beginning, the sailing was good, we passed opposite Greece, the Island of Candia; on the 10th, with good weather, we sighted the coast of Italy; the first town we saw was...(illegible) with a very beautiful beach which at the time a train was crossing. Thence the sailing was very pleasant on account of the beauty of the Italian coasts, thickly populated and well cultivated, presenting a picturesque aspect, full of life and poetry, that resembled a &lt;i&gt;Belen&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; on account of its many houses and little trees. On the same afternoon of the 10th we passed through the Strait of Messina with a sea so smooth that we didn't notice a single wave. We saw the volcanoes Stromboli and Etna and other islands. Sicily and Naples, even if we have not yet passed them, appeared before our eyes bathed in the beautiful rays of the afternoon sun. The following day, at dawn, Napoli (Naples) appeared to us, a gigantic city which lays asleep beside Vesuvius, a volcano that seems to be guarding this wonderful city. Its extent from Posilipo (mountain) until the other extreme, all populated, would be the same as from the town of Calamba until beyond Los Ba&amp;ntilde;os. Elegant edifices, like that of the Royal Palace, the Castle of Santelmo or St. Telmo, numerous hotels, the Tower of Massaniello, and the lugubrious State prison. We were not allowed more than one hour to go ashore which I spent visiting Napoli at the risk of being left behind. Those of us who went ashore were four and accompanied by a cicerone we went around the city. It was the first European city I passed through. From pleasure to pleasure, from surprise to surprise, in an elegant coach, guided by a cicerone who spoke French, I went through those streets, carefully paved with large, black, flat paving stones, and crossed by streetcars. Statues, fountains, monuments, arches erected here and there, very tall houses, stores and show-windows glittering for the lavish use of gilt and crystal, attract the attention of the traveler above all if he comes from the colonies. A throng that speaks a melodious language come and goes continually, elegant ladies and gentlemen walk through the streets. At the street corners are announcements or notices to the Freemasonry of the whole world concerning the death of Garibaldi&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;. I went to the telegraph station with various orders and afterwards in twenty minutes we went around the city, the Posilipo, various churches vyingly full of statues, squares with antique marble statues or copies of them, like those of Apollo, Faunus, Orestes, equestrian statues, the Fountain of the Four Seasons, represented by four superb lions, a museum of antiquities from Herculaneum and Pompeii.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How sorry I am not to be able to stop to see it, study it, examine it more closely and a little more carefully. Almost one moment more and the boat would leave me behind. But all this magnificent panorama cost me much because coachman and cicerone cheated me, charging me four times more than the agreed price. On the boat I found many peddlers of lava from Vesuvius made into elegant lockets and other jewels, views of Naples, and on the water alongside the boat were two divers or swimmers who, less aristocratic than the Negroes of Aden, were satisfied with fishing out small copper coins thrown far away into the water. When I compared these two good Italian lads with the Negroes of Aden with kinky hair, I couldn't help but indulge in serious reflections.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also in a boat came two Italian women and two men, the women with guitars and bandores and the men with violins, to play for us, singing in sweet and melodious voice several opera selections and the &lt;i&gt;Addio a Napoli&lt;/i&gt;. They received with an open umbrella all kinds of money thrown to them by the passengers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Four or five minutes after my arrival we left Napoli, and I became the butt of the questions of my fellow passengers who repented for not having gone ashore. Here we learned through the newspapers about the occurrences in Alexandria and Cairo -- the massacre of Europeans that took place when we were in the Canal. In my previous letter I must have told you something about my conversation with a physician, a partisan of Arabi Pasha, probably in the know of what was then being plotted. But the gentleman didn't let anything leak out and in the Canal we were calm and peaceful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From Napoli we sailed almost the whole day within sight of Italy, but the mistral blew and gave us good jolts. The following day, the 12th, we passed near Corsica, native land of Napoleon. Its coasts were less populated, more mountainous and wild; they have much to envy the Italian coasts with regard to land development.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the evening, and after enough strutting and with a cold that compelled me to accept the shawl of Mrs. Salazar despite my frock-coat and vest, we saw the lighthouse of Marseille. By this time the sun set at about 7:00, and as the twilight was very long, it was still daylight by 8:30. Thus, the coasts of France, which since five o'clock were vaguely outlined in the distance, would have appeared to us more beautiful had it not been for the wavering light of dusk. In the evening then, at about 10 or 11 o'clock, we dropped anchor, because it was forbidden to enter. Before us, among several islands, stood the celebrated Castle of If. A city viewed at night with beacons of different colors and electric lights that seemed to wander from one place to another seemed to me a monster with a thousand restless and distrustful eyes. We deferred then for the next day our curiosity. I was condemned to see cities at sunrise which surprise a traveler who sees a pleasant thing suddenly and not gradually. It is needless to give you a description of Marseille because all that I can say about very big ships, forest of masts, poles, and chimneys, boats, buildings, churches, &lt;i&gt;etc.&lt;/i&gt; -- all will be pale and cold, colder than the cold we felt then. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was on deck with my frock-coat and gloves on waiting eagerly for the permit to go down. Here farewells, meetings, tears, instructions in French everywhere, boatmen, porters who salute you very politely and offer you their services. Wicked money! At last my turn came to bid goodbye those who had become my new friends and acquaintances, foreigners and Spaniards, who gave me their cards and pictures.  And followed by a boatman I went ashore to the customhouse. French politeness is evident even among the customs officers who begged for &lt;i&gt;“Pardon”&lt;/i&gt; before searching me with all possible consideration. Taking a coach (&lt;i&gt;coup&amp;eacute&lt;/i&gt;) I went to the Grand Hotel Noailles located on Rue Cannebiere. This is one of the best hotels, if not the best, in Marseille, with all the comforts, carpeted marble staircase, hydraulic elevators for going up and down all the floors without having to lift one foot, servants attired in dress coat with white necktie, clean and elegant, carpeted rooms with dressing-tables, velvet chairs with spring, electric bells, imperial bedsteads; in short, excellent service. I had one of these rooms for four francs a day without board. But it must be noted that here even the candle is paid for separately. On account of the excessive cold that penetrated everywhere I had to keep my room, which is full of embroidered curtains and carpeted, always closed. I was in Marseille two days and a half, but I got bored staying in my room alone, accustomed as I was to many people. Many of the passengers were lodged in the hotel. I strolled through those wide and clean streets, paved like those in Manila and full of people, attracting the attention of everybody who called me Chinese, Japanese, American, &lt;i&gt;etc.&lt;/i&gt;, but no one called me Filipino! Poor country, no one has heard of you! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the most elegant city that I have seen and it is cultured and rich with respect to its houses. The majority of these are decorated with statues, caryatids, bunches of flowers, sphinxes, busts, &lt;i&gt;etc.&lt;/i&gt;, &lt;i&gt;etc.&lt;/i&gt;, large, admirable for their richness in crystal and marble elegantly combined. The fact is nobody looked out the window on account of the cold; I was about the only one who stepped out on the balcony. The stores have their glass doors closed so that the cold may not get in, and at first I didn't enter them believing that it was prohibited to do so. Almost all the articles displayed to the public have their prices beside them; and it must be noted that everything is cheap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But many people moved about; there were vendors of fruits, newspapers, and flowers; there were booths where oysters, mussels, and shrimps were sold. The sidewalks of the Rue Cannebiere are as wide as an ordinary street and I was much struck that one enters a place with very elegant signs in gilt and crystal, the like of which cannot be found in Manila, and finds himself in a passable caf&amp;eacute;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw the gallery of paintings where there were excellent pictures and statues, the zoological garden with its lions, bears, panthers, elephants, and a carabao. I was not able to see many animals because that was a very big place and I got tired. There was a department for monkeys from all parts of the world. There were some that resembled human beings, extending their hands to you as if asking about your health. The museum of natural history didn't escape my curiosity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw also the Panorama which is a circular building. You go inside and you see dead soldiers beside a cannon, and they seem to be sculpture, and you come to a place where you see on all sides a real siege with cavalry, with soldiers surrendering their arms, skirmishes, etc. Everything there is an illusion. You think such a horse is moving, that the dead man is kicking, that the smoke of the fire is rising, that the howitzer is striking the snow of the distant mountain, far horizons, the snow, the chief who is shouting, so that we got into a discussion as to whether all of these were paintings or sculpture. Being there without looking through a cosmorama you feel as if you are in the battlefield itself. The whole place is a continuous field and the rogues even offer you binoculars in order to see better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left Marseille by express train on the afternoon of the 15th, because all the trains that go from Marseille to Barcelona are express. The ticket is very cheap -- 12 pesos and 3 pesetas, first class. You travel at full speed of from five to six leagues&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt; per hour. By boat the trip costs almost as much and it's more uncomfortable. We were going at such speed that when we met trains running in the opposite direction, it was physically impossible to look at it because it would turn your head around. That was infernal, it seemed like lightning, a monster, a shooting star. We went through tunnels, or rather mountains, one of which was very long that at the speed we were going I believed we made it in more than five minutes. At one stop I was much frightened: A stop of 30 minutes was announced. I went down for some necessity and after five minutes, I saw the train pulling out, taking along my luggage with my money in it. I ran after it; I didn't overtake it. Fortunately, a gendarme informed me that it would return soon and that it would only change tracks. After that I didn't go down again. The towns and countrysides that we pass by are precious: Every inch of land is well cultivated and used for vineyards, olive trees, and planted to wheat and barley. France is thickly populated for along the way there were houses almost without interruption until the Spanish boundary. We passed by the following towns and cities: Pas-de-Gamur, Regisal, Saint Chamas, Miramas, Tarascon, Le Cailar, Aimargues, Porllan, Montpellier, Cette, Narbonne, Perpignan, Cerbere. We spent the night in France; at dawn we arrived at the Spanish frontier town, Port Bou. There we had to change trains. Before that we were searched at the customhouse by the Spanish carabineers. Missing were the courtesy and polish of the French, but on the other hand we had a delicious breakfast in a beautiful and pleasant room. Here can be seen posters in Spanish and French. It seems that one is in Manila for one sees Spanish or Castilian phrases and one hears Spanish spoken. From here in another train we came to Barcelona passing also through two or five tunnels, one of which was quite long. Much work has been put into it and according to the Commander of the Navy, this Spanish line that goes to France is the best. Although the country is perfectly cultivated, it is less populated than France. At the frontier we saw a frontier-lad. He was wearing a costume half French and half Spanish, a clergyman's cap, Catalan fiber sandals. That symbolism was funny, graphic, and significant. The towns we passed were Port Bou, Llans&amp;aacute;, Vilajuiga, Perelada, Figueras, Vilamalla, Tonya, San Miguel, San Jordi, Flass&amp;aacute;, Bordils, Celr&amp;aacute;, Gerona, Fornells, Riudellots, Caldas, Sils, Tordera, Blanes, Malgrat, Calella, Arenys, Caldetas, Matar&amp;oacute;, Premi&amp;aacute;, Masnou, Mongat, Badalona. It was about 12:00 when we arrived at Barcelona. My first impression of Barcelona was very unpleasant. After having seen Napoli and Marseille I found this city poor and vulgar. Its streets were dirty, its houses of poor architecture, in short I saw everything in an unfavorable light with the exception of the women who seemed to me more beautiful than the women of Marseille. I was very much disappointed especially when we arrived at the hotel where the service and accommodation were so poor that my companion Mr. Buil, chief of the telegraph office, said: "To come from Hotel Noailles and then drop into this!" I was very sad above all when I looked for the persons to whom I was recommended and I couldn't find them. I was not able to see a single countryman, and on account of the large expenses I had had in my trip and the many cheatings I suffered, only 12 pesos remained to me. At last I found the Jesuit fathers who received me well and showed me an inexpensive and Christian house where I got board and room for 21 pesos a month. When I reached the hotel my companion, having received a telegram, had left hurriedly, carrying my coat in which I kept my passport, my gloves, and I don't know what else, and in exchange he left me many of his things. I learned that he had been informed of something serious when I saw the telegram on the table. Then I too left the hotel hurriedly, and in less than an hour my little money was further reduced by the dishonest hotel keeper, the coachman, and the porter who overcharged me. I moved to the house indicated to me by the Jesuit fathers and when the people there learned how much I had spent and paid the rogues, they exclaimed: "You have been terribly cheated. In fact they had taken advantage of your being a tyro!" Only seven pesos remained to me. As I looked at the house to which I had moved -- modest, humid, dark, and poorly ventilated -- located on San Severo Street, a dirty and old alley; as I looked at the brick floor of my room, the straw chairs, the hard and not so tidy bed, not a mirror, an old and broken wash-basin placed on a stand made of four pieces of iron, I, accustomed to luxury and comfort, at least for the last forty days, became intensely dispirited and sad and more than ever with deep sorrow I remembered our house which is a thousand times more decent than that. Then a thousand sad thoughts invaded my mind upon finding myself in that world hitherto unknown to me, without friends, without relatives, especially when the landlord came (for until then I had met only the landlady, a good and gentle woman) who was rough, coarse, ugly in appearance, when I saw priests come out from all the rooms and heard everywhere the harsh Catalan language. Supper consisted of nothing more than a dish of vegetables and another of fish. I called the attention of the priests, the only guests of that house, and I observed that underneath that rough exterior a good disposition was hidden. Little by little those clouds were dissipated and they treated me with more consideration, especially a priest who had come from Cuba. Ah! I forgot to say that, having learned at the Jesuit College that Cuesta was boarding in the same house, I hurriedly went there to see my countryman, but I couldn't talk with him because he had left for Manresa. I stayed then at that house to await him and also for reasons of economy.  The following day, provided with a map of the city, I began walking through the streets of that labyrinth to look for my countrymen. Some were still sleeping. I went to the hospital to wait for them there and after waiting a long time, I was shown the house of a countryman. I found Cabangis and since then I have had better days. Successively I found the others who received me very well, who found for me more decent and cheaper houses. I met Cuesta who returned from Manresa. In short, since then until the present I like Barcelona and I'm getting to like it more and more. At present I occupy a room on the third floor of a building on Sitjes Street, number 3, together with Cabangis and other good students who are refined and courteous. I'm well served by a landlady, whose name is Do&amp;ntilde;a Silvestra, who always says to me: "Don Pepe, do you want something? Have you already an appetite?" and so on. I have somewhat written at length about certain things in order to portray to you the impressions and situation of a tyro. Now I know Barcelona a little and it seems to me large and pretty and I remember Marseille and Napoli (Naples) as a glittering and vanished dream. I'm beginning to discover in this city gems and riches; pretty and elegant houses of varied architecture, Arabic and Greco-Roman.  I'm getting used to it and I regard it with pleasure. The Jesuit fathers lent me money in case I should lack some and something happen to me. I have gone through their College and I'm making a study of various things to apply them there when I return. I've visited a porcelain factory which I liked very much and I intend to visit another of glass, clay, &lt;i&gt;etc.&lt;/i&gt;  Here are found many things which are applicable there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When some of you want to write me, which I hope you'll do every mail boat, address me thus:&lt;br /&gt;Mr.  Jos&amp;eacute; Rizal&lt;br /&gt;No. 3, Floor 3, Sitjes Street &lt;br /&gt;Barcelona.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you could send me by registered mail through the next mail boat my birth certificate and a statement that I have my parents and family there, I would be much obliged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if you have received my letters; I've written you at Singapore, Point Galle, Aden, Suez, and this time at Barcelona. I expect by next mail letters addressed to Father Ramon Vilalta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every moment I'm thinking of what you would be doing at this time; I'm behind you eight hours, so that generally you are sleeping when I'm awake. I trust that you are all in good health like me who is putting on weight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sending the most affectionate regards to all of you and to all our relatives, and when you write me, tell me even about nephews and friends. Give my regards to the parish priest and to Captain Juan as well as to the others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And bless your son who wishes only your happiness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jos&amp;eacute; Rizal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;i&gt;Bel&amp;eacute;n&lt;/i&gt; is the Tagalog and Spanish name for Bethlehem. The Tagalogs also call &lt;i&gt;Bel&amp;eacute;n&lt;/i&gt; the reproduction of Christ's birthplace that Christian Filipinos put up in their homes at Christmas time; that is, crèche.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;Giuseppe Garibaldi (1807-1882), Italian patriot, who labored for and secured the unification of Italy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt;A measure of distance varying for different times and countries from 3.9 to 7.4 kilometers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Barcelona, 29 June [1882]&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, probably the feast on the beach,&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; I close my letters with regret for not having received even one letter from you by the two mails which arrived from there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe that it would be better if there is a commercial firm here which would give me money at the beginning of every month. This can be done by means of a money order of a firm there. The family of Cabangis of Tondo which my brother knows...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(The rest of this letter is missing.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;Feast in a barrio of Kalamba whose patron saint is St. Peter and St. Paul, 29 June.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-113592011130911265?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/113592011130911265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=113592011130911265' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/113592011130911265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/113592011130911265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_27.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-113591958554381094</id><published>2005-08-25T23:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T00:13:05.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;The trip [to Barcelona] -- 5:00 p.m. 15 June -- 11:30 a.m. 16 June&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seated in a first-class coach Messrs. Buil, Pardo and I traveled from Marseille to Port Bou. I, who was traveling for the first time in an express train, was surprised by the speed, which increased whenever two trains met going in opposite directions. They seemed to be two lightning bolts. We passed various towns, fields, olive groves, vineyards. By night we were in Tarascon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something peculiar happened to me. At one station we were told that the train was stopping thirty minutes. Messrs. Buil, Pardo, and I went down. At the end of about six minutes, I saw the train pullout and I tried to follow it. I ran, but in vain. I was going to continue running, when fortunately a guard informed me that it would return after twenty minutes as it had left just to change tracks. We passed Montpellier, a city famous for its medical school.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I arrived at Barcelona on 16 June 1882. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The train on which I traveled with Pardo and Buil left us at Port Bou. After having been inspected and treated rudely by the Spanish carabineers, we boarded a smaller, though beautiful coach, upholstered with red cloth. Upon entering Spanish territory one cannot fail to perceive the fact in the air, landscape, and manner. A lad dressed half Spanish and half French said emphatically that the boundary was there. We passed through numerous tunnels, the only magnificent works that until now I have seen in this country. It was morning...The sun was scarcely tinting with soft colors the fresh clouds in the East. My companions were sleeping; I, steeped in melancholy reflections on my future, was looking far away, and my mind wandered, thinking of a million beings and things. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am arriving in Spain, alone and unknown; the first stage of my unknown journey is there. What am I going to do and what is going to become of me in the future? My money is dwindling. I know I would meet friends, but despite this, no one is capable of overcoming the emotions that a new country produces in a young heart. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Near the railroad could be seen olive groves, vineyards, pine groves, and highways; in the distance some ruins of a crumbling castle, huts, small towns consisting of some gray houses. Now and then could be seen a worker or country folk. One would say that the country was deserted. The sharp curves of the mountains covered with pines and chestnut, if not as green as those in my country, nevertheless reminded me of it. Until Barcelona the only cities that attracted my attention were Gerona, memorable for the siege that it endured, and Figueras, for its large size. Now and then the railroad passes beside the sea. I gazed at it as an old friend from whom one is separating for a long time. Very soon, at about half past ten, I sighted in the distance, beside the waves of the sea, a large city with a small mountain on the side. I presumed it must be Barcelona. In effect the brother of Mr. Vicente Pardo, who came to meet him at the train together with a daughter of his -- a precious blonde girl of about 10 or eleven years with large eyes, fine features, a spiritual and contemplative look -- told me that that city was Barcelona and that mountain was the fortress of Montjuich. A few minutes later we arrived at Barcelona where Pardo left us to join his brother. Buil and I remained and agreed to stay together until our departure. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In effect we took a coach, put our luggage in it, and went to the Fonda de Espa&amp;ntilde;a, San Pablo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Barcelona made an unpleasant impression on me. Accustomed to the elegant and magnificent buildings of the cities I have seen, the polite and refined manner, not having stayed anywhere except in beautiful and first-class hotels, and then enter a city through its most ugly section and stop at an inn located on a narrow street where everyone was indifferent. I don't know if it was the state of my mind that gave this nostalgic aspect to things.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-113591958554381094?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/113591958554381094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=113591958554381094' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/113591958554381094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/113591958554381094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_26.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112914253359329650</id><published>2005-08-25T13:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T13:54:29.460-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY TO 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;3rd day [in Marseille] (15 June -- Thursday)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We woke up late, and spent the morning putting in order our luggage and suggesting a luncheon to Mr. Salazar, this being our last day in Marseille. At a quarter past eleven then we lunched -- Mr. and Mrs. Salazar, Messrs. Buil, Pardo, and Folgue, and I. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After this, we all took a last stroll, except the Portuguese who went after his business. We went to see the shops, buying this and that and at about a quarter past three, we returned to the hotel to prepare for our departure. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About half an hour later, Mr. and Mrs. Salazar, whom we had left at the shops, arrived to bid us farewell. Mrs. Salazar wished me many good things and I noticed that she was speaking sincerely and not out of pure compliment. I also expressed to them my desire, born of my friendliness towards Mr. Salazar, to see them in my native land...But this was not all. After finishing our preparations, we went up to bid Mrs. Salazar, who was alone, a last farewell, and then we left. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have spent much. Of the seventy-six pesos which I had brought from the Philippines only twenty-eight or twenty-nine pesos are left. Now I have to buy a first-class ticket which costs 12 and pay for my luggage. The hotel's interpreter followed us to the station and was very useful. Mr. Folgue had to separate from us to take the train that went directly to Bourdeaux. We departed then.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112914253359329650?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112914253359329650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112914253359329650' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914253359329650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914253359329650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_25.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112914284202590920</id><published>2005-08-24T13:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T14:05:38.586-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY TO 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;2nd day in Marseille -- 14 June, Wednesday&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following day I woke up a little late. I dressed and took my breakfast in the garden in the soft light of the morning sun. Afterwards I called on my companions. I found the Portuguese, who had shaved his mustache and was self-conscious because of that. Mr. Buil and Mr. Pardo were already up and in good humor. We talked pleasantly of a thousand different matters and we went to call on Mrs. Salazar. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterward we took a stroll and my companions bought themselves gloves and mufflers. Going through the Cannebiere we turned to the Avenue of the R&amp;eacute;publique and went to see the Panorama. We enjoyed ourselves very much and we spent a pleasant time on Belfast Place. On our return, we lost our way but finally we found it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We lunched together and afterward Mr. Buil and I again took a stroll. We went shopping until four o'clock. Upon our return, I saw the preparations of the Dutch for their departure. I wished then to bid my little friends goodbye. I hesitated whether to see them or not, fearful that I might make a display of my emotions. But, at last, my affection prevailed and I waited for them in the corridor or vestibule. They came from the dining room, Mr. Kolffne asked for the name and address of the Governor and he gave me his so that I could give them to Mr. Salazar. My little friends bade me farewell repeatedly. I lost sight of them when their coach turned around the corner. One affection less and more pain. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thoughtful and walking slowly, I went to look for my companions and to seek noise and bustle which might stun me and drive away my sad thoughts. I found my friends in Mr. Salazar's room, chatting merrily. I too shared in the general liveliness and human weakness. Already I was laughing, thinking still of the farewell. Mr. Salazar invited us to supper, but, as we had agreed in the morning to take supper at the Caf&amp;eacute; Maison Dor&amp;eacute;e, we had to decline, giving our excuse. We went to our rooms and in our inexplicable hilarity, we forgot the invitation of our neighbor. We hesitated whether or not to dine in such and such a restaurant until Mr. Buil decided that we would do it at the hotel itself. Seated at the table we noticed Mr. and Mrs. Salazar. Instantly we remembered their invitation and we felt ashamed. Then excuses, etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the supper we went out for a walk, afterwards going to a caf&amp;eacute; where there were a concert, songs, and drama. That entertained us until midnight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112914284202590920?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112914284202590920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112914284202590920' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914284202590920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914284202590920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_24.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112914271001609539</id><published>2005-08-22T13:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T14:02:31.950-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[1st day in Marseille -- 13 June -- Tuesday]&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The voyage from Napoli to Marseille lasted almost two days, for we arrived the following day at ten o'clock at night. On the way we saw Corsica, native country of a soldier&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; with the most genius, mountainous and sparsely populated in comparison with what we saw yesterday. The doors of the houses are wide and low and the tops of its small rocks which break in the water are crowned with sentry-boxes. The prevailing north wind has disturbed the sea so much that many got seasick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Monday afternoon, the 12th, the coasts of France were sighted and we navigated close to the coasts of that fertile land. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At nightfall several lights and lighthouses appeared, which indicated to us the proximity of Marseille. Marseille -- the most ancient commercial city that perhaps exists. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the eve of our separation, perhaps forever, I felt a certain uneasiness mingled with sadness upon thinking of good friends and excellent hearts that I was going to lose. It is true that Nievenhing gave me his picture, that Mr. Pardo gave me his card, but there is one thing, for which nothing can be substituted, which is one's feeling upon separating. Besides, my girl friends were also leaving. Youth is a friendship by itself, so that when two young people meet, they treat each other as if they are friends. I have already lost my friend Zorab and now Wilhelmine, Hermiene, Geretze, Celiene, and Mulder are leaving, and where are they going? The girls to The Hague and Mulder to Brussels. Probably we shall not meet again. Farewell, then, merry companions and friends. Go to the bosom of your families, and I, who am beginning my pilgrimage, will still go roaming at the mercy of fortune. I realize that if friendships are forged in travel, I have not been born for travel. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morning came and I dressed very early, putting on a suit for going ashore -- frock-coat, hat, and gloves. There were many people on deck admiring Marseille. Numerous ships were anchored. The &lt;i&gt;Saghalien&lt;/i&gt; and the &lt;i&gt;Natal&lt;/i&gt;, among others, were the largest of the group. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Among the various boats that approached the sides of the ship there was one in which were embarked two men and a beautiful young lady. They inquired about Messrs. Ort&amp;iacute;z and God&amp;iacute;nez, and when these appeared, we learned that the young lady was Mr. Ort&amp;iacute;z's sister. He did not recognize her, for they had not seen each other for seventeen years. It was a happy meeting. The young lady cried for joy, but she could not go aboard, permission not having been granted yet by the government. Happy are those who go to their homes and meet on the way, as a prelude to their happiness, their brothers! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took leave of my friends Nievenhing, Standinitzky, and Vesteros, wishing them happiness, and I left. I shall not see them again. I don't want to describe my sadness when I proceeded to land alone. I, accustomed to a large family, many companions, was going alone to a great city. I bade goodbye to the Djemnah...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the customhouse its agents treated me with much courtesy and asked me first for a declaration. They were very polite in inspecting my luggage and afterwards they told me I could go. I left and Marseille was before me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was still early. Marseille: R&amp;eacute;publique Avenue, big houses with statues and caryatids largely of Renaissance style; many well-paved streets; very clean and bright shops; Rue Cannebiere, more beautiful still, if that is possible; the Palace of the Bourse; Hotel Louvre; and finally the Hotel Noailles where I stopped. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The coach cost me 2.50, like the boat. A servant or a page, decently dressed in black, had my luggage taken up and he took me to a room on the first floor. The hotel is beautiful, elegant, and clean. Glass everywhere; a marble stairway covered with rugs like the halls. My room was on the street side; a large dressing table, a bureau, small marble-topped tables, toilette, towels, a bed &lt;i&gt;comme il faut&lt;/i&gt;, velvet chairs and the whole room covered with rugs. Large and embroidered red curtains decorate the room. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After my haircut, I took a walk in the environs and everywhere I found gaiety and activity. The tall and beautiful houses attracted my attention. Vendors of newspapers and flowers swarmed in all places. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the street in front of the Hotel de Geneve I met Mr. Mulder who made me believe that he lived there as well as &lt;i&gt;La Cetentje&lt;/i&gt;. In front of Hotel Noailles I met the young sailor, and in the hotel itself, the Portuguese Folgue with Messrs. Buil and Pardo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From there I went to the Customhouse to get my trunk and again I was shown French politeness and gentility. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once back in the hotel with my luggage, I looked for a companion, but all the Spaniards had gone out. I hear a young voice speaking Dutch and I go out and I meet Celiene Mulder going down the stairs. I greeted her affectionately, for our conversations did not go beyond that; she does not speak anything else but Dutch. She answered me in her charming and innocent manner, and how sorry I was to see her go down and disappear. When I raised my eyes I saw the two sisters, the friends of Mulder, and I talked with them. They were on the 2nd floor. The older, Sientje, told me that they were leaving the following day for The Hague and would live with their grandmother, but they preferred Batavia, their native country. I replied: "I too love my native land and no matter how beautiful Europe may be, I like to return to the Philippines." I learned from her also that she was only 12 years old, that Mientje, 9, and that she had already been in Europe once. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a short conversation I went down. While I was going down, Sientje was bidding me goodbye from the top of the stairs. I was sorry to leave them and when I found the rooms of my companions empty, I returned upstairs to look for the Dutch girls. I did not find them. Then, in order to find an excuse for my frequent visit to that floor, I asked the page for an old Spaniard. He replied that there was one with his wife. I supposed it might be Mr. Salazar. I went then to call on him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knocked at a door to which the page had led me, and having been given permission, I entered. In effect I found the kind couple who welcomed me with their usual and affectionate cordiality. Mr. Salazar, who is known as enthusiastic and kindly, asked me many things and even wanted to take the trouble of accompanying me to the house of a tailor; and as I had not yet taken breakfast, he himself conducted me through the elevator to the garden and the dining room where he recommended me to the waiter. And from there, after asking my permission, he went away to attend to his business. This gentleman deserves all the praises of those who know him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I went upstairs, I found my companions to whom I suggested that we visit Chateau d'Eau. They agreed gladly. We talked a long while, asking ourselves where the others might be and what they would do. We visited afterwards Do&amp;ntilde;a Mar&amp;iacute;a and from there we went out to the street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We take a streetcar which goes to Longchamp and we admire the building, the gigantic statues, the bulls, and the water which falls in a grand cascade. We went up; we saw the grottoes, the Panorama; we saw the botanical garden; the zoological garden with its bears, lions, leopards, elephants, etc. The monkeys amused me the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We visited the Museum. It was the first time that I saw a museum. The pleasure it gave me was indescribable, so much so that I thought of spending the whole day there. I devoured with my eyes all that I found there. After the visit to the first hall, my companions left me to go home, so tired were they of so much walking. I then continued my excursion. I visited the hall of statues; from there I went home. There were many visitors there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way I bought a pair of candles and soap. And at the hotel I visited Mr. and Mrs. Salazar in whose room I found my companions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From there I went to a restaurant where I ate. I strolled a little and returned to the hotel. My companions were not there. At nightfall I wished to take a stroll again and went out with a coat and a frock-coat, but it was so cold that I had to go back to the hotel. I went to bed to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I left the ship, whenever I was left alone ordinarily I felt a void that I would like to fill up. Naturally, having been brought up among family and friends, reared in the warmth of love and affection, now I find myself suddenly alone, in a hotel magnificent indeed, but silent nevertheless. I thought of going back to my country for at least there I am with companions and the family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I slept then half-tearful and steeped in profound melancholy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112914271001609539?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112914271001609539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112914271001609539' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914271001609539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914271001609539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_22.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112914260655337839</id><published>2005-08-21T13:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T13:43:26.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;] -- 11 June -- Sunday&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning at half past six we arrive at Napoli (Naples) and Sicily, seeing Miletus, the precious town. The look of these towns, situated on the mountain slope, is picturesque and the land surrounding them is very well cultivated. After having navigated for some time opposite those scattered towns, we enter the Strait of Messina. Etna was covered with snow and in the distance Stromboli, smoking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning the sight of Napoli was a joy to the passengers. Vesuvius beside it is smoking -- a giant who seems to be guarding the nymph sleeping beside him. An extensive territory totally covered with buildings. Now the Castle of St. Telmo on the top, now the prison on the water, the tower of Massaniello, the royal palace, etc. But, alas, such a magnificent panorama cost me two friends -- G. Zorab and Edgar --  who went down to Napoli, concluding their maritime trip. I'm very sorry. When they separated from the girls, I noted that a month's company on the boat has accomplished something, for they were sad, especially the little one, Edgar, who was on the verge of tears. And they will still meet in Holland. But, I, young like them, will not see them again, perhaps...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only an hour and a half was allowed the passengers to spend ashore. Nevertheless, carried by love and curiosity, I went down provided with a watch and with numerous orders for the telegraph office. We left the boat at seven and in ten minutes we were ashore. Greetings to you, oh Napoli! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was a mob; an incessant coming and going. Paved streets, squares, buildings, shops, statues, etc. I went to the telegraph office, a beautiful building, 20 minutes distant. I went around the town, Toledo Street, and afterwards I returned to the boat without being fooled by the guide and the driver. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At eight ten I was back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning the girls played. I observed that something was lacking; they were a little sad. I, in place of my friend Zorab, served as counter. And I'm also sad...almost melancholy; I feel a void.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112914260655337839?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112914260655337839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112914260655337839' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914260655337839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914260655337839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_21.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112914247031643877</id><published>2005-08-19T13:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T13:51:50.963-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;] -- In the Mediterranean -- 7 [June] -- Afternoon&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are in the Mediterranean, a European sea. Greetings to you then!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112914247031643877?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112914247031643877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112914247031643877' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914247031643877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914247031643877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_19.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112914238464741829</id><published>2005-08-18T13:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T13:49:56.106-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;] -- Fifth day -- 7 June&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning we weighed anchor through God's grace and slowly we followed the course of the Canal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At about one thirty-five we saw Port Said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I have forgotten to say that I have written a letter to my family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the distance Port Said looks to the traveler like a grand display of masts and buildings. It seems to be a very commercial city. The lighthouse is the building that towers above all. Numerous ships forming lines on the right and left sides of the Canal might be called the guards who greet the incoming ones. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A big building with arches, said to have been the idea of a Dutch prince, is the largest that can be seen. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In short, the ship drops anchor, and numerous boats approach its sides. The population, visible from the deck, seems to be largely Caucasian. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went down and went around the town. There were no coaches for hire. Numerous European shops, caf&amp;eacute;s-musical in one of which a fine orchestra of women and some men played beautiful pieces to the delight of its innumerable customers. There we heard the &lt;i&gt;Marseillaise&lt;/i&gt;, a hymn which is really enthusiastic, grave, menacing, and sad. It was played twice. We have seen numerous signs in Greek, Italian, etc., women with covered faces, donkeys, and mules. We have been in Lesseps Square. It is beautiful, well arranged, with a garden well tended and precious in that region. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are in a caf&amp;eacute;. Suddenly a drum sounds and we see a crowd of children, charmingly dressed in the Oriental manner, come out of the schoolhouse. Many of these mounted donkeys and mules. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the time for our departure is near, we return to the ship. Half an hour later we left.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112914238464741829?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112914238464741829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112914238464741829' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914238464741829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914238464741829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_18.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112914230715735313</id><published>2005-08-17T13:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T13:38:27.156-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;] -- 5 June -- Monday&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more day in the Canal and grounded. Who knows how long we shall remain here? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have seen a mirage, a spectacle which is rare in other countries but very natural here. In the distance we could see seas, islands, which are none other than the sky and the mountains. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This afternoon some passengers took a boat to go ashore. Those who remained aboard were amused for a long time because they could not approach land on account of the shallowness of the water near the banks. Finally, carried by the sailors, they were able to land. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the next trip I went in the company of various foreigners and a lady, but this one did not want to be carried, and we had to be satisfied with a fluvial stroll. I was very sorry for I have wanted to step on Egyptian soil.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112914230715735313?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112914230715735313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112914230715735313' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914230715735313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914230715735313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_17.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112914209147913760</id><published>2005-08-16T13:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T13:34:51.483-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;] -- 3 June -- Saturday&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the anniversary of &lt;a href="http://nisee.berkeley.edu/images/servlet/EqiisBrowse?group=Manila1863-01" title="EQIIS Image Database Manila 1863"&gt;the&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.sacklunch.net/earthquake/100.html" title="Manila, June 3, 1863"&gt;earthquake&lt;/a&gt; which set back my country in an incredible manner; learned men, talents, and wealth disappeared. Let us pray to God. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was fairly cold this morning when we woke up. The thermometer registered 20 degrees. An Egyptian merchant who was embarked in a boat is a soldier. He was bringing merchandise and he wanted to approach our boat to do business. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The officer in charge refused to allow him and there ensued a dispute, supported by the tenacity of the Turk and the severity of the quarantine. It is worthwhile to see the stubbornness of the follower of the Koran. When he finally gave up, he went away throwing insults at the Frenchmen. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At about eleven or before, the doctors came to disinfect our ship. One of them, the same one who came yesterday in a boat -- fairly smart, courteous, and well-bred -- brought us the news about the present disturbance in Egypt. The Khedive, according to what I have heard, is a prisoner of the Minister of War &lt;a href="http://www.rogerco.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/cass/d577.jpg" title="Ahmed Arabi Pasha"&gt;Arabi-Bey&lt;/a&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; who, it seems, wants to execute a &lt;i&gt;coup d'&amp;eacute;tat&lt;/i&gt;. Everybody, the troops and the youth, seemed to be on the side of this young man who has won the goodwill of all. When I spoke with the doctor about this and expressed some of my opinions, he answered me with marked satisfaction, saying at every pause: "Bravo, that's good, bravo!" I learned that he had studied in Paris and spoke, besides French and Arabic, English and Italian. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A crowd of peddlers, came after the fumigation, bringing, and vying with each other, pictures, fruits, and a thousand little objects. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shortly after, we weighed anchor and sailed toward Suez. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;THE CANAL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After going through an agglomeration of houses among dwarfish and rickety trees, we enter the Canal, the work which immortalizes &lt;a href="http://www.napoleon.org/en/special_dossier/suez/html-content/historique/txt-002.html" title="Viscount Ferdinand Marie de Lesseps (1805-1894)"&gt;Lesseps&lt;/a&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt; and yields incalculable benefits. The Canal is about forty &lt;i&gt;varas&lt;/i&gt; wide so that two ships abreast can go through it. At its maximum length it is 85 kilometers. In general its low and irregular banks are desert -- sandy, yellowish, devoid of any vegetation. Here and there can be seen only huts, telegraphic stations, some miserable Arabs, dredges, and little launches with sails which move swiftly through the clear surface of the water. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At six we enter a lake, formerly dry, which, it is believed, Moses had crossed. At nightfall we cast anchor. The following day we continued on our way, meeting some crafts, now in the lake and now in the Canal. Then in another lake we had to stop for various reasons. In the second lake we saw a little of Ismailia and after one passage, or more exactly, sailing in the river, we had to stop, God knows how long, for a ship obstructed the way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the navigation, we saw a wretched young man running alongside the ship, picking up pieces of bread which the passengers threw to him. Seeing him run on the sand, go down and pick up eagerly the bread, now going down the river to wrest from the water a piece of biscuit, was enough to sadden the gayest man. A camel was trotting on the sand in the afternoon. It is fairly cool near the river. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;He was &lt;a href="http://www.salaam.co.uk/knowledge/biography/viewentry.php?id=2174" title="Ahmed Arabi Pasha"&gt;Arabi Pasha&lt;/a&gt;, an army officer, who led a revolt against the foreigners in Egypt with the slogan "Egypt for the Egyptians." The anti-foreign agitation began with riots in Alexandria in June 1882 in which fifty Christians were killed. The disorder spread and the British intervened with armed force. They bombarded Alexandria on 11 July 1882 and then landed troops which clashed with those of Arabi. On 13 September Arabi was finally defeated at &lt;a href="http://www.pro.gov.uk/pathways/battles/egypt/egypt1.htm" title="Battle of Tel-el-Kebir"&gt;Tel-el-Kebir&lt;/a&gt;. He was captured and sent to Ceylon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.napoleon.org/en/special_dossier/suez/html-content/historique/txt-002.html" title="Viscount Ferdinand Marie de Lesseps (1805-1894)"&gt;Viscount Ferdinand Marie de Lesseps&lt;/a&gt;(1805-1894), promoter of the Suez Canal.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112914209147913760?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112914209147913760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112914209147913760' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914209147913760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112914209147913760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_16.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112744636121749576</id><published>2005-08-15T22:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T13:31:16.076-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt; -- 26 May to 2 June]&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;FROM COLOMBO TO GUARDAFUI&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Continual seasickness in the midst of continuous rain and unpleasant rocking. The voyage lasted an eternity, for we have had to change our course to escape the bad weather from which we were finally delivered. During these seven days, we had our cabins closed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But on the morning of the 26th, the sea began to get calm and we sighted the African coast. Greetings, inhospitable land but famous, alas, at the cost of the blood of your sons! Until the present your name has been associated in my mind with terror and horrible carnage. How many conquerors had invaded your land! We saw the places where sank the &lt;i&gt;Hey-Kon&lt;/i&gt; and other ships ran aground. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Cape of Guardafui is an arid, dry rock, without a single leaf -- its base of varied colors is beautiful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Several fishes play on the surface of the water, amusing the passengers with their movements. The passengers look more gay, induced naturally by the good weather. The heat is noticeable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Night comes, but at this moment it is delightful. The sky is illumined. The half-moon shines, if not as clear as in the Philippines, at least it is poetic. The sea is calm and the ship in rapid movement cuts quietly the surface of the water. Some are strolling, others are meditating. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A young man plays the piano; there is dancing and entertainment on the deck. I hear it while looking at the sea. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, Thou, Spirit Creator, Being that had no beginning who seeth and sustaineth all things in Your mighty hand, I salute Thee and bless Thee! Over there on the other side of the seas shower life and peace on my family and reserve for me the sufferings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the tea, there was singing to the music of the piano. Delightful was the concert of the human voice, the sound of metal produced by human touch, and that of nature personified by the sea. And all this facing African territory. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following day was tranquil, but it was a calm that burned. The voyage has been good, and at night, which was like the one before it, we arrived at Aden at about eleven and a half. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ADEN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got up from our berths, the first thing we saw was Aden; that is, some houses of whimsical shape, white, spread over rocky mountains totally devoid of life. Not one leaf nor one root even. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boats and canoes approached the ship to load and unload cargo. Canoes with children in them begging for coins to be thrown to them. Numerous peddlers, money-changers, and new passengers. Everywhere ostrich and marabou feathers, fans of different shapes, etc. -- altogether forming a topsy-turvy and shifting mass. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The inhabitants are different from those in Asiatic colonies -- they are black and a light color is rare. It is true that the Indians of Singapore and Ceylon are also as black as coal, but they lack the glossiness that the Africans have. The type is also different -- their eyes are not so deep-set and the face is oval. The hair is curly and woolly; among some it is blonde which, at first sight, looks like a wig. Their teeth are very white. And their language does not have many vowels as that of the Indians, but abounds in guttural sounds. After breakfast, at which we were served oysters, we went ashore in a boat manned by Negroes. It was very hot and it was necessary to wear smoked glasses. Upon stepping on African soil for the first time, I felt a shuddering whose cause I ignore. The soil, hard and sandy, heated by that very brilliant and ardent sun, emits burning steam. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We climbed a coach drawn by an Arabian horse and we began to drive through a wide road marked on both sides by white rocks placed at equal distance. The same monotony. Absolutely not one plant or grass even. Only one wretched hut, made of four poor posts with grass roof, sheltering an unfortunate family, enlivened with the agony of death those deserts. The lord of creation, man, compelled by terrible necessity , lives there where plants do not want to live. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon we left the road to climb up slope after slope until we reached a granite fortress, built by the English. Afterward, an open path through high rocks, crowned with a bridge of granite also. After a while we reached the town. The houses were low, white outside and dark inside. The general form was a series of arcades outside, then a wall with a door, and the interior. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Numerous camels and donkeys loaded with water, hay, boxes, etc. walked slowly, led by an African. This reminded me of the journey of the wise men of the East. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The coach stopped and the driver showed us in his own language some little trees which were well tended but rickety, and indicated that the water reservoirs were in that place. We went down and we were met by the policeman who guarded them. On the gate is a sign prohibiting picking flowers and damaging the plants. What flowers? The dying well deserve to be taken care of. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The heat was extreme. We climbed up and at the right we saw a reservoir formed by the mountain slope and a granite wall, whitewashed with chalk...perhaps. Then we went to see another reservoir, one of which by its magnitude, depth, and shape, reminded me of Dante's inferno. It could be regarded as such by the heat there. This reservoir, which is the principal one, is divided by several circles until the bottom. One circle is connected with the next by well-made and finished granite steps. A wide wall separated the reservoir from a smaller one; the wall led to a tunnel which we found closed. On one side were pumps and a bower. The works looked grand and imposing -- nature and man cooperating in their work. There was a deep well which was said to be more than two hundred feet deep; in fact, the bottom could not be seen. We left while other visitors were arriving. On our way back we passed through a fairly long tunnel; there was complete darkness in the middle of it. After this, another tunnel not so long. And afterward we proceeded to the beach. On the way we saw ostrich eggs in the shops, skins of lions, tigers, and leopards, stuffed fish, and other articles. At one shop we were served lemonade on a dirty table in tumblers which had just been used by others. They cut the ice with a nail and served it with their hands. Children came in and fanned us for a few cents. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We left and returned to the boat. The heat was unbearable. At eight twenty-one we sailed towards the Red Sea. Oh! This sea will give us pleasant moments. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;FROM ADEN TO SUEZ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are in the Red Sea. On the first day the temperature was fairly warm and it was very calm, so that we were able to run 300 miles or more. During this time we met several ships going in the opposite direction. The sea was fairly rough but it did not rock the ship. Only yesterday we passed a ship, which could be the &lt;i&gt;Barcelona&lt;/i&gt;, going in the same direction as we were. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, illumined by the moon, we saw an arid island. It was a very beautiful and fantastic spectacle. We passed very near it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we woke up this morning, it was fairly cold, as in the Philippines during the months of November and December. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At half past twelve of the 2nd of June, we arrived at Suez where we found between the coasts of Africa and Arabia ships in quarantine. We were also quarantined for 24 hours. They brought us cherries, berries, etc. Suez is a small town situated on the right bank of the Canal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight the moon rose up in the midst of the solitude of the sea; its steady and silent passage through the pure blue of the skies reflected a golden current over the tranquil waves of the sea. Beautiful and bewitching, it reminded me of my native land...Oh! How many are now gazing at you! Alas! And only in you will our thoughts meet! Oh! If your gilded and brilliant disk could only reflect my loving sentiments on the beautiful land of my country! Fortunate are you who can see and dwell in the immense spaces; now you bathe with your silvered light the hospitable roof of my parents! Blessed are you, silent queen of the night, celestial body of love and gentle melancholy! I have always loved you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112744636121749576?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112744636121749576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112744636121749576' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744636121749576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744636121749576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_15.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112744594735769989</id><published>2005-08-14T22:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-22T22:29:03.636-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;] -- 18 May&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;FROM POINT GALLE TO COLOMBO&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We weighed anchor at seven o'clock and half an hour later we were sailing away from Point Galle towards the north. At the very beginning the waves were rebellious so much so that they went over the ship's deck. Frequent and strong squalls, added to the light movement of the ship, often placed us in amusing postures and taught us a new kind of gymnastics. The children cried; the women remained seated; and the men balanced themselves. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At last, at 1:00 we sighted Colombo with its port and beautiful view. The breakwater, a meter above the water level, was well inside and elegant and tall buildings in the distance were inviting to the curious and tired traveler. Several crafts, steamers, and ships were waiting in the bay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some launches, loaded with coffee, anchored beside our ship and their crew began snatching a certain cable. Their numerous crew engaged in a grand dispute -- grand at least, judging by the many words and numerous gestures with which they threatened one another. Many of us went to watch them. At last, after urging this one, threatening the other, one further away intervening, taking away the pole from the other -- after these preliminaries, two grappled, as everybody expected, and afterwards they separated upon getting tired. Needless to say, there was no bloodshed or anything of the kind. I didn't know how the dispute ended or who was the winner. The fact was that one of the little crafts got hold of the disputed cable and everything ended there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Among those who went to see them was a young man named Jorab -- Dutch by birth  -- who was going to Europe to finish or to study law. It was very amusing how, on the sly, he went after a girl who had been the object of his attentions since yesterday. Now and then I looked at them and I noted that the girl had already understood him, but my conjectures went no further. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weather became a little calm which permitted the passengers to go down and visit Colombo, for many had not yet seen it. I, perhaps one of the most curious, went ashore also in one of the narrowest canoes. I was alone because the roguish boatman would not admit more. Four Spaniards, companions and fellow passengers, had gone ahead of me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way I observed the port's breakwater, which was the name of a kind of curved dike above the water to break the waves and prevent them from disturbing the tranquil bay. This made me think of Manila. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was greatly distressed, fearing that my companions had left me behind, as it seemed to me in fact, when I was still in the canoe, seeing them climb in a coach and going away. How disappointed I was knowing as I did that the city I was going to visit was English and probably no one would understand me. But fortunately they left an Indian guide or cicerone dressed in white who, through signs and mimicry, made me understand that my companions had gone to the hotel (Grand Oriental Hotel). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After going through some muddy streets, very much like those of Manila and admiring several large buildings, perhaps made like those in Europe, my guide, boatman, and I reached the hotel where I found my companions. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Ortiz, who was in charge of the expenses, paid the boatman, and after ordering meals for six, we took coaches, I, alone in one, and went around the town. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Colombo is more beautiful, smart, and elegant than Singapore, Point Galle, and Manila, though with less bustle than the last two. As I have said the buildings are grand. We stopped first at the post office. Near there I saw a well-moulded life-size statue of &lt;a href="http://www.queensroyalsurreys.org.uk/colonels/056.html"&gt;Sir Edward Barnes&lt;/a&gt;. The posture is excellent but the folds of the cloak seemed to me too stiff.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;In front of the telegraph building is the Savings Bank, and another beautiful building. As we went along, we were more and more satisfied and pleased. The guide who rode in my coach explained to me the various buildings as we passed them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some temples which we could not visit for lack of time; the barracks of the regiment where we saw soldiers in red jacket and black trousers; the hospital; the officers' barracks where we saw a tiger's skin and a lighthouse clock tower, which was next to the telegraph building; the Galle Face Hotel; beautiful private houses; the district where many of the houses belonged to Italians. We passed by the seashore where the waves broke its fury into abundant foam. Long streets bordered with trees among which I saw the &lt;i&gt;camachile&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; and the eternal coconut trees; the cemetery and the botanical garden, not as well taken care of as that of Singapore; and finally the &lt;a href="http://www.mca.gov.lk/N_museum/national_museums1.htm#COLOMBO%20NATIONAL%20MUSEUM"&gt;museum&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This beautiful building stood in the center of the garden. It was white, in European style. Its walls and pillars were covered with lead and there was a statue in front of it. The entrance is through a beautiful and simple front. On the ground floor were numerous stuffed sharks, many..., very big sawfish, some more than six or seven &lt;i&gt;varas &lt;/i&gt; long; a spearfish at the left; idols; weapons; different images of Buddha; curious objects of the country; and Indian masks for dances, vying in ugliness, several of which resembled the Roman masks for having one half different from the other. What is the explanation for the similarity between the Indian and Roman masks? Had there been some relations between them? A beautiful column of blue marble stood in the middle. It seemed that it was going to be used in the house of the Maharajah of Ceylon, according to the label in English. It was of one piece. Numerous monoliths, plaques, idols, stone elephants, a big cannon, etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the second floor, four or five big turtles; big skeletons of carabaos and two of whole elephants, one of which still carried the bullet that hit it, and two even bigger skulls of these pachyderms, another of a wild boar, porcupine, monkey, etc.; and several stuffed deer. Porcupines, wild boars, many fishes, locusts, alligators, and crocodiles, etc., bronze and gold idols of Buddha, gems, numerous insects, reptiles, and birds. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Satisfied we went down to the garden and saw two live peacocks. I was sorry I could not see the statue because it was raining. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We proceeded to the hotel. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have observed here in Singapore, as in Point Galle, that the birds, including the crows, go near men. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We reached the hotel, which was of four stories with the ground floor, where I saw a beautiful picture, copy of &lt;a href="http://www.scathach.de/index.htm"&gt;Gustave Dor&amp;eacute;'s&lt;/a&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt; painting portraying a night on the circus arena. The painting is a masterpiece. In the midst of the darkness of the night various cherubs descend to the inanimate bodies of the martyrs, food for wild beasts. The whole is very beautiful, worthy of its author. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As it was not yet time for supper, we went around some shops of pipes and other manufactured articles. Ebony and ivory elephants, boxes of tortoise shell and porcupine, canes, and jewelry were the most notable things we saw. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As it was getting dark we returned to the hotel. We entered the dining hall, which was large and. beautiful. Two majestic &lt;i&gt;punkahs&lt;/i&gt; and excellent service. Besides the exquisite and heavy dishes they served us, a new kind of dish placed on top of a container for hot water attracted the attention of everyone. Ten years ago I saw one like it in Barretto's house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We changed some money and in the midst of the rain we proceeded to the ship, afraid that it might leave us behind. We found at last a boat, manned by three persons who were chanting. It was a worthwhile spectacle to see the sea at flight jumping over the breakwater and scattering an extensive layer of foam. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We reached the boat at last. When I saw Nievenhing, he told me an unpleasant thing. They were three -- the engineer, the judge, and the sailor -- all Dutch. They had a dispute, they fought, and they were going to have a duel. My friend asked me not to tell anybody and I promised. It seemed to me that they were all drunk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;Also written "Kamanchile," Tagalog word for &lt;i&gt;Pithecolobium dulce&lt;/i&gt; (Roxb.).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.scathach.de/index.htm"&gt;Paul Gustave Dor&amp;eacute&lt;/a&gt;; (1833 - 1883). French illustrator and painter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112744594735769989?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112744594735769989/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112744594735769989' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744594735769989'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744594735769989'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_14.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112744568502259841</id><published>2005-08-13T22:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-22T22:21:50.676-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;4th day [aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;] (14 May -- Sunday)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I had a sad dream. I imagined that I was traveling with my sister Neneng and that we had reached a port. We disembarked, but as there were no boats, we had to wade to the shore. They said that there were many crocodiles and sharks there. When we reached land, the ground was sandy, but planted in some parts, and was full of vipers, snakes, and serpents. And on the path leading to my house there were many hanging boas, some were tied but were alive and menacing and the others dead. My sister and I were walking, she ahead and I behind. We were following one another. Sometimes we came across the dead ones; the live ones tried to get us but could not. But, at the end of that line, a real serpent, tied but menacing and angry, obstructed the road, leaving only a very small space to walk on. My sister succeeded to pass through, but I, despite my carefulness, was caught on the shirt and pulled. Because of my weakness, I looked for some support to hold on and I found none. I felt I was coming close to it and its tail seemed about to coil me. In the midst of my futile efforts, when I was seeing death in the form of loathsome rings, Pedro, the town carpenter, arrived who, with one blow, separated it from me. I escaped the danger and we reached the house. I no longer recall whose it was. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following day I had another dream less frightful, but saddening. Imagine upon reaching Point Galle, I don't know why it occurred to me to return to my town confident that I could overtake the boat at Colombo. I saw my parents and they did not mention to me at all my trip and after my visit with them, I thought of continuing my journey. How great was my disappointment when I remembered that I had to start all over again, that I would not overtake the French mail boat and that I lacked money! To have to cross again the sea until Colombo when I should have been in Europe! I borrowed another one hundred pesos, resigned to stay in the fourth class. I was very sad and disappointed when a traveling companion came to me. But I woke up and I was in my berth. What could these dreams mean? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mention these because they were the most notable things that happened to me until Point Calle, except the aforesaid seasickness which prevented me from eating one day. Let no one call me faint-hearted and superstitious, because I'm only recording my trip. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My contact with the foreigners is increasing. At last Wednesday came and the first thing we saw early in the morning was Point Galle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://lankalibrary.com/heritage/gall.html" title="A Historic Tour hrough the City of Galle"&gt;POINT GALLE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A tropical vegetation formed by the elegant palm in the midst of which rise some small buildings; a sea that strikes the steep rocks producing abundant white foam. Perhaps Ithaca looked like this to the traveler, and some crafts swaying gently. Sailor, is this Ceylon, is that Point Galle, now English colony, formerly Dutch? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The engine is slowing; the port pilot arrives, and a quarter of an hour afterwards, we anchor. &lt;br /&gt;Narrow canoes cut through the waters of the sea, but they are so narrow that they can hold only one man. Wide boats manned by Indians, some of whom come aboard, now offering us money, now to launder our clothes, and other things of the kind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you going ashore? Here is the question that they ask one another. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The three Dutchmen and I went down. A wide boat took us ashore. The round trip cost one rupee. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We stopped at a kind of wooden pier and I saw a fort built by the Dutch. Above the gate can be seen the coat of arms of the Order of the Garter. We entered and took a coach. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First we saw the Protestant church, then the post office, and we went around the citadel. Her appearance was gloomy, but very gloomy, small houses on narrow streets, very even streets but with few people; here and there several Indians and children seated or sheltered in the dark doors. An excessive sadness reigned over the city whose inhabitants used to be numerous. Several pretty English houses, but not so cheerful, attract the attention of the traveler. We went out to the suburbs. Our coach was going well. The cicerone was very talkative and by what I understood we saw the English cemetery, Catholic church, Muslim mosque, and several schools. Numerous elegant coconut trees are seen on both sides of the street, mixed with small banana trees, tall nanca&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; trees, and breadfruit with broad leaves. The general appearance of Point Galle is picturesque but lonely and quiet and at the same time sad. At times the road is on the border of a precipice; other times it forms a small but long valley between the mountains. The Indian houses are made of clay and stone and inside them can be seen women who perhaps look too masculine, but handsome. They are dressed like the women of my country, though without the picturesgue neckerchief and the well-known cleanliness. I saw a belle with large eyes and beautiful features on top of a high hill which rose on the road. She reminded me of Samtala (?). She was under the elegant palm, watching us pass by. What beautiful idylls and what terrible plots must take place under that swaying dome of the coconut trees! The Indians wear their hair long and gathered. They don't shave before puberty, it is difficult to distinguish by the face alone the two sexes. Children follow our coach asking for money and greeting us. I have never seen such beautiful and expressive eyes! (The drive cost one rupee.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterward we went to the Oriental Hotel where I found several fellow passengers. While I was writing to my family, the time for lunch came. After this was over, I resumed my letter-writing. But my companions invited me for a drive and I went with them. We went to see the cinnamon garden. On the way were very beautiful, lonely landscapes and again coconut plantations. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The garden had nothing special, excepting the meddlesome keeper and the river which, it was said, was full of crocodiles. A dried one of these was hanging in a kind of pavilion. The cinnamon trees are like ours in the Philippines. They offered us some little pieces of stone of different colors. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We visited the temple of Buddha. We found the Indians prostrate with the forehead touching the floor, responding to a kind of mournful prayer. We entered and saw first notable fresco paintings in Egyptian style and afterwards large idols, that of Buddha being the largest, which must be about eight &lt;i&gt;varas&lt;/i&gt; long, reclining, but with open eyes which were made of emeralds, costing $50 gold. Different kinds of flowers and &lt;i&gt;bonga&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt; were the offerings. We left alms. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From there we went around and on the way I was told that that was Paradise. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished my letters and took them to the post office where I was cheated. It should cost half a peseta hut I was charged one and a half peseta. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Buddhist priests who visited the Siamese were received by these very respectfully. They were wearing ordinary dress. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Expenses: &lt;br /&gt;Boat -- 6$ &lt;br /&gt;Inn -- 1 -- 7$ &lt;br /&gt;Postage -- 1 -- 1$ &lt;br /&gt;Coach -- 1 -- 1$ &lt;br /&gt;[Total] -- 3 -- 15$ &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;Tagalog name for &lt;i&gt;Artocarpus heterophyllus&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;i&gt;Areca catechu&lt;/i&gt; Linn.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112744568502259841?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112744568502259841/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112744568502259841' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744568502259841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744568502259841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_13.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112744540455040795</id><published>2005-08-12T22:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-22T22:16:44.550-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;3rd day [aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;] (13 May -- Saturday)&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ship is beginning to waggle; that is, to rock with more gracefulness. I'm seasick. From time to time it showers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112744540455040795?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112744540455040795/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112744540455040795' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744540455040795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744540455040795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_12.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112744515767990170</id><published>2005-08-11T22:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-22T22:17:27.890-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;2nd day [aboard the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;] (12 May 1882 [-- Friday])&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning it rained heavily. The sea was agitated but it does not rock the ship yet. We met one ship which is quite large, although smaller than the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;; but we left it behind in less than a quarter of an hour. Traveling with us, I'm told, are one French, forty Dutch, several English and Spaniards, and many Siamese. The last ones are very mischievous and as yet little civilized. The little ones speak a jargon of their own and do nothing but laugh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm reading Walter Scott's &lt;i&gt;Charles the Bold&lt;/i&gt; [&lt;a href="http://arthurwendover.com/arthurs/scott/durwrd10.html" title="Quentin Durward by Walter Scott"&gt;Quentin Durward&lt;/a&gt;], which is in French. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, after breakfast, the Dutch played a game similar to &lt;i&gt;tabilla&lt;/i&gt;. The Dutch girls, who are pretty and approaching the age of puberty, helped them by picking up the disks from the floor. Seeing these girls in their beautiful attire run after the disks to hand them to the players is surprising to one who is familiar with Spanish arrogance. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the dinner, the conversation was in French. More and more I observe the exquisite service that we have here. Very early in the morning the boy cleans all the shoes and he is always at our service. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The berths have spring beds which are very cool. The cleaning is carefully done and everywhere can be seen the most fastidious tidiness. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Siamese have told me in semi-English, mimic jargon, that they are Buddhists and not Christians. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything that is happening here is amusing. I'm with a German, an Englishman, and a Dutchman. I realize that this is a small Babel.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112744515767990170?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112744515767990170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112744515767990170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744515767990170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744515767990170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_11.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112744499647072788</id><published>2005-08-10T22:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-22T22:09:56.473-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;2nd day in Singapore (10 May -- Wednesday)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left the Philippines exactly one week ago today, and I'm already in a foreign country. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had a sad and frightful dream with all the appearance of reality. I dreamed that while in Singapore, my brother had died suddenly and I told my old mother about it who was traveling with me in the same boat. The dream was confirmed by Sor Catalina and then I had to return, leaving everything in this country. Why did I have that dream? I'm thinking of cabling my hometown to find out the truth; but I'm not superstitious. I left my brother strong and robust. It is true that I had a dream once that was fulfilled. Before the examination for the 1st year in Medicine, I dreamed that I was asked certain questions but I didn't mind them. When the examinations came, I was asked the questions in my dream. May God will that it might not happen thus! After the bath and the luncheon, I hired a carriage for a day and I went around the town. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first that I saw were two beautiful houses of Chinese in European style, surrounded by walls and trees. I made the carriage stop in front of a Chinese building decorated with dragons and paintings. I entered. I was equipped by Goinda with some English words. With these I entered a kind of small garden among columns and pedestals. Numerous beautiful plants and a variety of flowers, planted with symmetry and order; cages at the two extremes; in one of them were pheasants, a kind of turkey, and other birds beside; in the other, spotted deer and peacocks. I came out and got into the carriage to continue my tour. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My driver, whose name is Nija, he said, pointed out to me an English building, then a French church. There I stopped and went down. To reach it one crosses a beautiful garden, but I found it closed. From there to the Portuguese church; the same, it was closed, but the garden is less beautiful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Running, running we reached the gas factory: a building, all new to me. I entered but I saw nothing nor could I get into the interior. After this, a magnificent Chinese temple, which was about to be finished. I entered it: Large and tall pillars painted the color of coffee; three altars with painted idols; in the middle is a genie blowing stones over a dragon; paintings, sculptures, and good bas-reliefs. In the patio is a little tower of live rock which is charming. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterward, through many streets and shops of fish, fruits, and a thousand enigmatic things. After having seen two beautiful markets, the like of which cannot be found in Manila, I saw the magnificent house of the American consul with the flag aloft. I visited also a large school for Chinese, Malays, Indians, and Englishmen. It is a magnificent building and there are many students. The palace of the Rajah of Siam is also notable and has a small iron elephant and whatnot on the pedestal placed in front of the building. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My carriage crossed a beautiful hanging bridge and we reached a lively place. Beautiful European buildings, shops, show-windows, etc. It is the Escolta of the town. The banks and a Japanese curio bazaar are located there. In all the houses there are fountains with faucets. In a certain way this is more advanced than the Philippines. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told the driver to take me to the Messageries Maritimes, but as he could not understand me, I had to return to the inn and ask the majordomo how to say in English &lt;i&gt;Messageries&lt;/i&gt; and he taught me a cabalistic phrase which I repeated to the driver who understood it as if it were his brother. He went then running and from there I returned to the inn, telling the driver to come back at three. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An hour later, we took luncheon and then I took the carriage in the company of Goinda, the young Indian, who taught me how to shop. Following that, I went to the Botanical Garden, seeing on the way the Armenian cemetery. The entire road is beautiful, shaded by trees; beautiful bridges, and charming houses. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I reached (10 minutes) the garden located on a hill, as the majority of the constructions in Singapore are. Its cleanliness and orderliness are admirable; numerous plants with their labels beside them, well tended by Malays. One climbs up through a clean path with canals on the sides until one reaches a poorly inhabited cage, for it had only one cockatoo, one parrot, and other little birds. I found beside it a Chinese woman with an English boy. I continued walking, admiring those trees which charmed me and I entered a kind of storehouse with numerous varieties of parasitic and air plants, most beautiful and rare. I met there a Malay who could not understand me. I went out looking for mammals, for I believed there were some and I found only a kind of cage-storehouse where I saw in different compartments two superb peacocks, an eagle, two marabous, turkeys and Guinea hens, blue birds similar to the hoopoe in plumage, wild pigeons, cockatoos, and other birds whose names I didn't know. I met another Malay, and as he could not understand me, I drew a cow and showed it to him and he replied: &lt;i&gt;Tadar&lt;/i&gt;. Tired of looking for it, I approached an Englishman who was playing with his dog. I greeted him and asked him for the zoological garden. He replied that there was none. I went away then, looked for a coach, and went back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met on my way several English girls, some of whom were quite pretty, many coaches, and strollers. I stopped to watch the ball game and then told my driver, remembering what Mr. Buil taught me, &lt;i&gt;steamer&lt;/i&gt;, meaning I wished to be taken to a boat. He understood me and we left. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was my intention to transfer my luggage to the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt; but they told me in the Salvadora that it was impossible, because of certain regulations of the English. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I returned to the inn fretting and gave the driver two &lt;i&gt;duros&lt;/i&gt; for my whole trip that day. It must be noted that yesterday for one trip alone, I paid $1.20 (2.50). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while they called us to supper and I had the luck to sit beside a drunk Englishman. He was talking in French so that we conversed. He was drunk like a toper and he repeated to me the same phrases. At last, we understood each other. He hardly ceased talking until the end of the supper when I had the chance to sneak away and to leave him alone. After a short walk, I went up to my room to write. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At two o'clock in the afternoon, after luncheon, we went to the pier to board the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;. We spent two pesos for the fare as well as for the use of the coach that day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Installed in my cabin, I went up to the deck and there I found the courteous Messrs. Salazar and Pardo who called me and greeted me, asking me about my health. Our conversation dealt naturally about the excellence of the &lt;i&gt;Djemnah&lt;/i&gt;. It surpasses all praise and all the descriptions that I could make of it, I believe, will be pale. It is enough to say that everything is shiny for its cleanliness: copper, iron, zinc, and wood. The ship is large, very large; its length must be some one hundred fifty &lt;i&gt;varas&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; and its width about ten or twelve. The cabins are very beautiful, clean and well ventilated. Each has a light, curtains, basins, mirror, etc. The floor is covered with rugs; there are large halls; the comfort rooms, very clean; the bathrooms, excellent. In short, according to those who have traveled much, it is impossible to ask for more. As I go examining the ship more slowly I'll make better observations. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great orderliness prevails. There is a large number of passengers -- English, French, Dutch, Spaniards, Malays, Siamese, and Filipinos. It is said that there is a Siamese prince aboard. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The service is unsurpassable. All the stewards are attentive, courteous, and smart. There is a good and pretty library. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This afternoon, during the luncheon, at which we were served pheasants and raspberry, there sat beside me a Dutchman who spoke many languages except Spanish. We conversed in French and thus I'm learning it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;A &lt;i&gt;vara&lt;/i&gt; is a measure of length, about 32 inches.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112744499647072788?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112744499647072788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112744499647072788' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744499647072788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744499647072788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_10.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112744476292011105</id><published>2005-08-09T22:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-22T22:07:22.563-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Salvadora&lt;/i&gt;] 7th day (9 May -- Tuesday)&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are many here: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr. and Mrs. Salazar -- 2 &lt;br /&gt;Morlan and wife -- 2 &lt;br /&gt;Children of this gentleman -- 4 &lt;br /&gt;His brother -- 1 &lt;br /&gt;God&amp;iacute;nez and wife -- 2 &lt;br /&gt;Children -- 3 &lt;br /&gt;Medina and wife -- 2 &lt;br /&gt;Children -- 2 &lt;br /&gt;Ort&amp;iacute;z and wife -- 2 &lt;br /&gt;Children -- 5 &lt;br /&gt;Buil -- 1 &lt;br /&gt;Barco -- 1 &lt;br /&gt;Mr. Medina's cousin -- 1 &lt;br /&gt;A merchant of something -- 1 &lt;br /&gt;Jos&amp;eacute; Mercado -- 1&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Servants -- 5 &lt;br /&gt;An Englishman: Mr. Croales -- 1 &lt;br /&gt;Mr. Pardo (Vicente)-- 1 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Total -- 37 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are 13 men, 10 women, and 14 children. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost all the men speak ill of the country [Philippines] to which they go for pecuniary motives. However, I have not heard Messrs. God&amp;iacute;nez, Morlan, Medina, Buil, and Pardo say the least injurious word about the ill-governed colony. The last one principally, the present mayor of Bar&amp;oacute;tac Viejo, defends on many occasions many things that the others vituperate. At least, he is grateful. The others who made their fortune there, who had spent there years and years voluntarily or freely, and who are now retiring with more money than good feelings, are bitter. I don't know why they have the poor taste to suffer such a martyrdom. It is true that they are getting gold and I believe that for it they are capable of anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The women exceed the men much more. In comparison with the women, the defamers are lyric poets. If they are to be believed, Spain is a paradise where the most stupid is a genius in virtue, talent, and wisdom compared with the others and in the Philippines not even one useful atom could be found, because God lost there His providential wisdom. Even towards the other countries they have the same attitude. However, when we transferred to the mail boat of the Messageries Maritimes, they praised it somewhat, but there is always at bottom an element of self praise. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The children are making much noise. The crew say that never had they had it like this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The steamship &lt;i&gt;Salvadora&lt;/i&gt;, according to our information, is two hundred feet from stern to prow. It is quite pretty and clean. Its special features which attract attention are some beautiful cabins and four or five large boats. It runs from seven to eight miles an hour. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The captain, Mr. Donato Lecha, is an Asturian, dutiful, young and with a face beaming integrity. He is affable, a man of few words, much more refined than his other countrymen and colleagues that I have met. His assistant, who is a young Andaluc&amp;iacute;an, is a smart and intelligent chap. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this moment it is raining. The sea is now as calm as yesterday. We see nothing but a distant mountain on the northwest. The sea has a beautiful green color and with the foam which the ship makes, I'm reminded vaguely of my childhood. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We can now discern clearly several islands. The lighthouse looks to us like a lyrical flame. Later, still clearer, it resembles somewhat San Nicol&amp;aacute;s&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; only it stands on some rocks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We see more clearly vessels, houses, vegetation, highways, chimneys -- all that an active city has. The port pilot came later. We stop. A crowd of Indians, Malays, and Englishmen flocked to the boat, offering in a language that they alone can understand carriages, changing gold for silver etc., etc. One changed my fifteen pesos gold for silver and three pesetas. At last I disembark and hire a carriage to take me to La Paz Hotel. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;SINGAPORE (SINGAPURA)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in my room which overlooks a patio adjoining the Hotel Europa. I hear English spoken everywhere. I'll remember everything I have seen since this afternoon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got down the boat and proceeded to the carriage, the Indian driver said to me "&lt;i&gt;Nam, nam&lt;/i&gt;," asking for a plaque on which was written a number that he had handed me. It was his. At last I gave it to him and we left. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two large coal warehouses, but large ones, stand at the landing; then, well-built streets; plants on the sides; Chinese-style houses; crowds of Indians of Herculean figures; Chinese; a few Europeans; and very, very few Chinese women. Shops everywhere with advertisements in English and Chinese; most lively men. The carriages resemble the &lt;i&gt;tres por ciento&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt; drawn by one horse. Some of these are large and some are very small. I have not yet seen pretty houses like those in the Philippines. We pass before the Malabar temple, the Muslim, and the Chinese. We saw the police headquarters, and returning to the hotel, I saw the Protestant church in Gothic style. Afterward I got down at the Hotel de la Paz where my driver charged me one &lt;i&gt;duro&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;4&lt;/sup&gt; as fare. They accompanied me upstairs and a Chinese took me to my room. The Chinese has a charming and honest-looking countenance, &lt;a href="http://www.inq7.net/opi/2004/apr/16/text/opi_arocampo-1-p.htm" title="The Chinese in the Eyes of a Frenchman by Ambeth Ocampo"&gt;rare among the Chinese in my country&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An Englishman, who knew a little Spanish, received me kindly and argued with the driver to whom I had given only half a &lt;i&gt;duro&lt;/i&gt;. A crowd of these Indians besieged me, offering me a million things. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't buy anything except a comb and a cane for two pesetas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have forgotten to say that on our arrival many Malayan children came in &lt;i&gt;bancas&lt;/i&gt; (canoes), saying to us "&lt;i&gt;A la mer, a la mer, aller&lt;/i&gt;," so that we would throw them coins. Astonishing are their skill and agility; they are like fishes. For two cents (&lt;i&gt;cuartos&lt;/i&gt;) they jump into the water and pick them up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went down to the inn and I found the majordomo, a sort of Lala-Ary&lt;sup&gt;5&lt;/sup&gt; who speaks Spanish, English, French, Malayan, and German, and he explained to me several things. I went to the Protestant church and I saw there a holy-water basin and a child carried by a lady and several Englishmen. There was a minister. I saw also many ladies who were seated. I sat down also and read the Bible a little. The good thing in there was the many &lt;i&gt;punkahs&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;6&lt;/sup&gt; which served as fans for the faithful. There was a holy image. I went out later and took a walk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost everybody rides except the poor Chinese. I saw the court where many Englishmen were playing ball; a magnificent carriage drawn by two beautiful, big, black horses, with two English drivers and inside the Maharajah of Lahore -- an old stout man, respectable-looking and garbed in European style but wearing a sort of apron. I have seen a Chinese woman with the smallest feet; but I didn't see either Indian women or Malayan. I asked about them and I was told they stayed at home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow I'll visit the town. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are many carriages for hire. I'm surprised to find the streets bordered with trees and many...on both sides. The town is rather pretty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I returned to the hotel, I waited a long time for supper. At last it came after I had leafed through an illustrated German magazine with beautiful drawings. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other diners were many Englishmen and Englishwomen and two Siamese young men whom anybody would say were Filipinos. The dinner was served by Chinese with my Indian Goinda as assistant and Tam, the majordomo, the Lala-Ary. There was neither order nor coordination in the service. In addition to the tumbler for drinking water there was a finger-bowl beside each plate. Two punkahs fanned the diners. Here I ate rice which was inferior to ours; the pineapples, though small, were sweet and tasted good; the banana, bad. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have forgotten. A young Englishwoman as blonde as the one I met at my arrival. How I regretted that I did not know English! I remembered Dora&lt;sup&gt;7&lt;/sup&gt; each time I saw her. I imagined that the &lt;i&gt;Conception&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;8&lt;/sup&gt; by Dickens must look very much like her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;The name in Rizal's passport, "Mercado" being the old family name of Rizal's father, Francisco Mercado, and Rizal a later addition. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;On the left bank of the Pasig River between Manila and Kalamba once stood the Church of San Nicol&amp;aacute;s, now in ruins. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt;An old elegant vehicle in the Philippines used for pleasure. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;4&lt;/sup&gt;Short for &lt;i&gt;peso duro&lt;/i&gt;, hard peso. It is the Spanish and Spanish-American peso or dollar. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;5&lt;/sup&gt;Lala-Ary was an Indian, owner of Fonda de Lala-Ary, a famous restaurant, formerly in what is now called Plaza del Conde and lastly on the Escolta, the site now occupied by the Philippine National Bank. Its name was later changed to Hotel Ingl&amp;eacute;s and it moved to Alhambra Street, Ermita, Manila. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;6&lt;/sup&gt;Punkah in India is a large portable fan or a canvas-covered frame suspended from the ceiling for fanning a room. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;7&lt;/sup&gt;Dora, the name of a character in Charles Dickens' David Copperfield.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;8&lt;/sup&gt;A painting of the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112744476292011105?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112744476292011105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112744476292011105' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744476292011105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112744476292011105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_09.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112726724700254693</id><published>2005-08-08T20:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-22T22:01:02.356-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Salvadora&lt;/i&gt;] 6th day (8 May -- Monday)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The calm that reigns today is as complete as on the first day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They say that we shall see the Natuna Islands where the steamer Gloria met its end five years ago. It is said that tomorrow we shall see Singapore. The passengers are gladdened by this news.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;At half past three I saw mountains and islands which my companions pointed out to me. They presented on the southeast a beautiful view to us who have not seen land for days. A long chain of islands forming a sort of mountain range, they remind me of Talim Island with the &lt;i&gt;Susong Dalaga&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; of my province. Over there a mountain of volcanic formation; farther away another which looked like Calamba -- all of them covered with exuberant vegetation. It is said that they are populated by savages, half-cannibals. The fact is the only sign of life that we could see is a Chinese &lt;i&gt;sampan&lt;/i&gt;, perhaps a pirate vessel with all sails up and full wind.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again I remember my family and my country. Will I see them again? Always the same question. If I don't see my parents again, if my supposed enlightenment should cost me my love, how would my repentance be? But the pain of the farewell seems less to me now. Oh, time! What mysterious remedy do you carry in your flight that you could heal any wound of the heart? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;Name of a mountain on Talim Island in the middle of Laguna de Bay (Lake of Bay or Ba&amp;eacute;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112726724700254693?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112726724700254693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112726724700254693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112726724700254693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112726724700254693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_08.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112718831394587216</id><published>2005-08-07T22:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-19T22:51:53.946-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Salvadora&lt;/i&gt;] 5th day (7 May -- Sunday)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Today is Sunday and we have no Mass. There's no priest on board. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have made many pictures today. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The children are making more noise than a battalion of &lt;br /&gt;cavalry making a charge. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are going on better. The sea is almost as calm as when we left Manila.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112718831394587216?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112718831394587216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112718831394587216' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112718831394587216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112718831394587216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_07.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112718810971959557</id><published>2005-08-06T22:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-19T22:48:29.723-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Salvadora&lt;/i&gt;] 4th day (6 May -- Saturday)&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day began as before without any incident. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems that ill-feeling continues between Morlan and Pardo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ship is rocking less. We have seen the instrument for recording distance and the Captain, who graciously asked me about my health, told me that in nineteen hours we have traveled 156 miles and a fraction. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight we played chess. I won three times. Afterward I saw the sea in the midst of darkness. Oh! There is a certain terrible menace in its frightful loneliness. It seems to be angry and crying for a victim. Unfortunate will be the one who falls into its waves in the midst of its immensity. It seems like a huge monster endowed with infinite life manifested by its continuous movement -- an all-mouth monster; that is, an immense gaping abyss par excellence. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight my traveling companions saw my badly drawn sketches and little pictures. They like them very much. The ex-governor of Antique praised them highly and tomorrow I must make his picture. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We played chess. Mr. Buil, another man, and I conversed a long time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterward we went to sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112718810971959557?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112718810971959557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112718810971959557' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112718810971959557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112718810971959557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_06.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112710126085930684</id><published>2005-08-05T22:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-18T22:41:32.840-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Salvadora&lt;/i&gt;] 3rd day -- Friday -- 5 May&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm very seasick. I slept. I saw some large birds; they entertained me a little. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At lunch time we sat down at the table. I tried to eat; I did well. At the end of the luncheon, a waiter told me that sand banks could be seen. They are called the Shoals of La Plata. They are 440 miles from Manila; that is, we are at one-third of the way. They look like white bands from afar. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm less seasick. I feel better. At mealtime I wasn't so bad. A light rain at sunset. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I've counted the children and it seems to me they are twelve; the ladies, five; the men, about ten. The children are noisy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight Messrs. Barco, Morlan, Pardo, Buil, and others were conversing. They talked much about the government in the Philippines. Criticism flowed freely. I discovered that in my poor country all the Spaniards, friars and lay officials alike, are consumed with the desire to suck the blood out of the &lt;i&gt;Indio&lt;/i&gt;. There might be exceptions, as they said, but they are rare. This is the source of great evils and enmity between those who quarrel over the same booty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've been very frank," said Morlan, "and I've proven it to all of them. I'm not referring to their private morality; I speak only generally." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The fact is," replied Pardo, "that for three days to date you have not spoken well of anybody." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Morlan did not like this and the discussion was taking a bad turn. It seemed that it was going to end badly. It was getting to be an insult. Finally, nothing happened. And gradually they dispersed to go to bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112710126085930684?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112710126085930684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112710126085930684' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112710126085930684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112710126085930684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_05.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112710105065673625</id><published>2005-08-04T22:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-18T22:37:50.370-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Salvadora&lt;/i&gt;] 2nd day of my sailing -- [Thursday] -- 4 May&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seasickness has begun today. I got seasick. Throughout the ship they do nothing but conjugate the verb &lt;i&gt;marear&lt;/i&gt; (to be seasick)-- old men, children, men, and women do it. Nobody wants to confess that he is seasick, but the truth is many are. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've something like an indigestion, but I'm not seasick." "No, oh no, sir, I'm not seasick. I've only a little headache."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent the day drawing and sleeping. I was feeling bad. Hardly have I eaten a spoonful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Spanish gentleman is traveling with us. He has a beard, eye-glasses, and wrinkled brow; he is tall, well dressed, and uncommunicative. Now and then he speaks to me. Despite his look, he is charming to me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun set as yesterday, but the moon did not appear I until much later. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I fell asleep. I did not take supper. At midnight I went down to my berth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112710105065673625?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112710105065673625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112710105065673625' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112710105065673625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112710105065673625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_04.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112710062202637183</id><published>2005-08-03T22:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-18T22:31:44.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Aboard the &lt;i&gt;Salvadora&lt;/i&gt;] 3 May -- Wednesday&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up at five o'clock in the morning. I dressed and heard Mass in Sto. Domingo church. Perhaps the last one that I would hear in my country. Oh, what memories of my childhood and of my early youth! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon returning to my house, I took breakfast; I'm mistaken, I tried to eat, but I could not. I was somewhat lethargic. After a while my &lt;i&gt;compadre&lt;/i&gt; came and took breakfast. The gifts of the good Capitana S&amp;aacute;nday were served at the breakfast. I was sorry I could not take them along, not even a tiny piece. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went down afterward: My uncle Antonio, Gella, my &lt;i&gt;compadre&lt;/i&gt;, Chengoy, and I. Chengoy bade me farewell at the door. He could not go with us. I embraced this good and faithful friend. I felt I was going to collapse on account of sadness. We went in the direction of Magallanes where we found the &lt;i&gt;Salvadora&lt;/i&gt;. We boarded it, and as my companions wanted to go away, I begged them not to leave me so soon. They gladly agreed to stay and they accompanied me until the bay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There I tried to take advantage of the few moments left to talk and enjoy looking at them -- the last friends that I would see and to me represented my whole country and my family. How many services they rendered me, what solicitude! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally came the hour of separation. I couldn't speak. I embraced them twice and I would have liked to hold them embraced. How would it have been if they were my own family! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They moved away. I saw them walking away and I couldn't take my eyes off them until they turned around the Malec&amp;oacute;n. A thousand and one times they waved their handkerchiefs to me; I wanted to hold them with my eyes. Friends, who have been like my second family, who have worked indefatigably for my welfare, how can I pay you? I still remember what you said, "Be a man!" Well then, I'm a man, and that is why I weep. I weep on departing from my country, the seat of all my affection. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tears are welling in my eyes but the cursed sense of honor holds them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ship weighs anchor at last: Its propeller moves sweeping the water and leaving behind it a lengthening wake. My motherland, my town, I leave you; you will disappear and I'll lose sight of you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I take a pencil and though imperfectly, I like to fix on paper the shore of Manila. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hand runs nimbly in obedience to my heart, and I draw. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, in the meantime and little by little, the buildings were becoming smaller, their outlines were becoming confused, though their shadows acquired intensity forming a contrasting chiaoscuro. Later, only a forest of poles and numberless vague figures gilded by a most brilliant sun. That was my motherland, my dear motherland. There I left love and glory, parents who adore me, solicitous sisters, a brother who watches over my family and me, and friends. Oh, yes! How many loves, how many hearts, which could have made me happy, and nevertheless I'm abandoning them! Will I find them on my return free, just as I have left them? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leonores,&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; Dolores,&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt; Ursulas, Felipas, Vicentas, Margaritas, and others: Other loves will hold your attention and soon you will forget the traveler. I'll return, but I'll find myself alone, because those who used to smile at me will save their charms for others more fortunate. And in the meantime I fly after my vain idea, a false illusion perhaps. May I find my family intact and afterward die of happiness! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lunch time came. We are sixteen passengers: five or six ladies, many children, and the rest are gentlemen. I'm the only &lt;i&gt;Indio&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt; We have also some unfortunate ones: Indian Negroes and Englishmen prisoners from Port Breton. No incident occurred during the luncheon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The luncheon finished, I saw that we are opposite Mariveles. I took a look at it and continued writing. After sometime we saw Corregidor. These two mountains are nearly opposite each other. The Mariveles Mountain is beautiful and looks like the Makiling of my province which brought back to me vivid memories of that poetic country. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since this morning the weather has been beautiful; the sea, calm and fair, more than my dear Laguna. I sight other mountains whose names I don't know and should like to know. They are on the left of Corregidor. I inquire about their names and nobody can tell me. They say it is the Island of Luz&amp;oacute;n. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In sailing from Manila we pass between Mariveles and Corregidor. They pointed to me the Fraile and Monja islands, the Fraile at the right and the Monja on the left of Corregidor, looking westward. The water of the sea has a dark-blue color which fresh water does not have. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The passengers, who are all Europeans, are of various kinds. I have been talking a long while with one from Salamanca, a soldier in the Civil War who described to me some of the actions he had witnessed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have in front of us the Island of Mindoro. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An Englishman is traveling with us. He speaks Castilian well but he pronounces very badly. It seems that he has something in his mouth that is holding his tongue. He is tall and slender. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun is setting; its disk is scattering a vivid flame which is reflected on the rippled surface of the sea. The fanciful clouds tinted with vivid red, seemed like the dome of an incandescent grotto. Shadows are invading the East, lengthening themselves but losing in intensity as they neared the West. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are sailing through an immense desert. Not a playing fish can be seen. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've changed my suit. The one I'm wearing is the only woolen one I have which my good sister Mar&amp;iacute;a made me. This reminds me that last year, at this time, we were traveling in a &lt;i&gt;casco&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;4&lt;/sup&gt; in Laguna Lake -- my sisters N&amp;eacute;neng, Mar&amp;iacute;a, and Trining with Ursula, Victoria, and others -- en route to P&amp;aacute;quil. How much time has already elapsed! At that time I was admiring the poetic places and highways in my country. Now I admire only the immensity of the sea. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moon has risen from the water. Reflections of the sun in the West and a round and most beautiful disk in the East. The gentle and cool breeze caresses my brow, bringing me aroma and freshness and makes the paper tremble. In my town perhaps they are looking at the same moon as I do. Perhaps my mother and my sisters, looking at it, are thinking of me as I'm thinking of them. If instead of looking at a point, our gazes would meet... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is quite dark and I can't continue writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's meditate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They have brought a lantern suspended from a rope. In its light I write these lines. Seated in my lounging chair, facing the moon, I see it rising slowly, glistening on the waves. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember the verse my mother used to recite: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Cuando en las ondas&lt;br /&gt;De los vastos mares &lt;br /&gt;Corr&amp;iacute;a a sepultar &lt;br /&gt;Sus rayos bellos &lt;br /&gt;El Rubio Apolo, etc.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;5&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Through the word &lt;i&gt;ondas&lt;/i&gt; (waves) numerous thoughts assail my mind, all concerning my family and my hometown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lady is singing and dandling her son. Perhaps that was the way my mother dandled me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got sleepy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;Leonor Rivera and Leonor Valenzuela. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;Dolores Haba&amp;ntilde;a. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;i&gt;Indio&lt;/i&gt; was the name given by the Spaniards to an inhabitant of the islands in Oceania. In the Philippines it had a derogatory connotation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;4&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;i&gt;Casco&lt;/i&gt; is a Philippine river craft, made of wood, used for passengers and freight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;5&lt;/sup&gt;Free translation: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When in the waves &lt;br /&gt;Of the vast seas &lt;br /&gt;Golden Apollo &lt;br /&gt;Would run to bury &lt;br /&gt;His beautiful rays, etc.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112710062202637183?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112710062202637183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112710062202637183' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112710062202637183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112710062202637183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_03.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112710028630810861</id><published>2005-08-02T22:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-18T22:26:02.383-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Manila] 2 May -- Tuesday&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My &lt;em&gt;compadre&lt;/em&gt;,&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt; Mateo Evangelista, one of those who had worked hard and helped me get my passport, arrived at seven o'clock. We went to see the ship &lt;em&gt;Salvadora&lt;/em&gt;, anchored in the river. Its captain received us well, he being a friend of my &lt;em&gt;compadre&lt;/em&gt; who had recommended me to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterward I called on &lt;a href="http://members.aol.com/aringaseo/paterno.jpg"&gt;Mr. Pedro A. Paterno&lt;/a&gt; who gave me a letter of recommendation to his friend Esquivel and asked me to take his picture to his brothers. I bade his family farewell and I took my other things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the afternoon I bade the Jesuit fathers goodbye. They gave me strong letters of recommendation to the Jesuit fathers in Barcelona. I owe much to this religion (Catholic), very nearly everything that I am. There I met a gentleman who voluntarily and kindly offered to recommend me also to his businessmen friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From there I went to say goodbye to my dear professor of drawing, Mr. Agustin S&amp;aacute;ez, who regretted much my departure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later my uncle Antonio, Gella, and I with Rosauro de Guzman went together to take dinner at the Caf&amp;eacute; Suizo. My old friend Chengoy could not join us as he was suffering from an eye ailment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the house of my friends the Valenzuela girls to bid goodbye. I found them dressed as they were about to go out to pay me a farewell visit. There I found the pictures and the tea which Paterno was sending to his brothers. As a souvenir they gave me a pot of biscuits and a box of chocolates, a gift of Capitana&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt; S&amp;aacute;nday, Leonor's&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt; mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From there back to my house to finish the last preparations and to write letters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;The god-father and the father of a child address each other as &lt;em&gt;compadre&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;Feminine of &lt;em&gt;capit&amp;aacute;n&lt;/em&gt;; a form of address for the wife of a capit&amp;aacute;n; or &lt;em&gt;gobernadorcillo&lt;/em&gt; or &lt;em&gt;alcalde&lt;/em&gt;, the town executive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.joserizal.ph/img/leonorvalenzuela.jpg"&gt;Leonor Valenzuela&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112710028630810861?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112710028630810861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112710028630810861' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112710028630810861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112710028630810861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june_02.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16881121.post-112709927954123946</id><published>2005-08-01T22:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-18T22:21:05.730-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;CALAMBA TO BARCELONA -- 1 MAY to 16 JUNE 1882&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Calamba, 1 May -- Monday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My &lt;a href="http://www.geocities.com/cavitesu/paciano.htm"&gt;brother&lt;/a&gt; woke me up at five o'clock in the morning to get ready for the trip. I rose up mechanically and arranged what I had to take with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother gave me 356 pesos which I should take with me. I asked my servant to call a vehicle to conduct me to &lt;a href="http://ecommunity.ncc.gov.ph/binan/index.php?cat1=1 "&gt;Bi&amp;ntilde;an&lt;/a&gt;. I dressed and while I was waiting for breakfast, the &lt;i&gt;carromata&lt;/i&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt; arrived. My parents had already awakened but not yet my sisters. I took a cup of coffee. My brother looked at me with sorrow; my parents knew nothing. Finally I kissed their hands. I was on the verge of crying! I went down hurriedly, bidding a mute goodbye to everything dear to me: Parents, brothers, house. I was forsaking them all. I passed by the house of my sister Neneng to ask her for a diamond ring, but I found her still sleeping. I proceeded on my way to the house of my sister Luc&amp;iacute;a. My brother-in-law&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt; was already awake and I was expecting him to accompany me, but he did not. I proceeded on my way. The sun was beginning to rise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Calamba's houses, her cultivated fields, her Makiling, all her simple and picturesque beauty -- all appeared to my eyes at those moments with an inestimable value.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I thought that I was leaving my family behind, tears welled in my eyes. I felt I was drowning. The horse was nimble; my driver, silent and so was I. What thoughts! What sad reflections!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, how much sacrifice for an ephemeral good! We reached Bi&amp;ntilde;an soon. There I changed my vehicle, my new driver being Vicente, an old acquaintance. I gave Macario a peseta as a tip. This new driver, Vicente, is gay and loquacious. He recounted to me many things that I did not understand. He entertained me somewhat, but not altogether.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thus we passed through San Pedro Tunasan, Muntinglupa, Las Pi&amp;ntilde;as, Para&amp;ntilde;aque until Malate. I gave him 3 pesos. I took another vehicle for Manila.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There I found Chengoy&lt;sup&gt;4&lt;/sup&gt; with Dandoy. Chengoy told me he would give me my passport that same day. My uncle Antonio really came bringing me the passport. We went to Henry's&lt;sup&gt;5&lt;/sup&gt; house to get my ticket and afterward we went shopping. That afternoon I ordered a lounging chair and then I wrote letters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a night that was! How distressful it was for me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shall I see my &lt;a href="http://pages.prodigy.net/manila_girl/rizal/tree.htm"&gt;family&lt;/a&gt;, my father, mother, brothers, and brothers-in-law? Oh! One who has never left the bosom of his home; one who has left it amid a thousand loving goodbyes and farewells can consider himself happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(The ticket cost me...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;This is a translation of the diary published in Unitas, Manila, October-December 1953, pp. 854-872. Obvious errors in the transcription have been corrected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;Light two-wheeled covered vehicles, usually horse-drawn, and more spacious than a calesa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt;Mariano Herbosa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;4&lt;/sup&gt;Jos&amp;eacute; M. Cecilio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;sup&gt;5&lt;/sup&gt;Henry, a Frenchman, owner of Bazar Filipino located on the corner of Escolta and T. Pinpin, and agent of the &lt;a href="http://www.es-conseil.fr/pramona/e1mm.htm"&gt;Messageries Maritimes&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16881121-112709927954123946?l=rizaldiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/112709927954123946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16881121&amp;postID=112709927954123946' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112709927954123946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16881121/posts/default/112709927954123946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rizaldiaries.blogspot.com/2005/08/calamba-to-barcelona-1-may-to-16-june.html' title=''/><author><name>Send submissions to peopleofforthood@gmail.com</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
