Kulintang in Den Hohen Alpen
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Playing the traditional Maguindanaoan instrument with the Alps as background (photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
There was an Asian lady with her Swiss husband who was completely unconscious by journey's end, exhausted from having to manage her son, who for the life of her, wouldn’t look up from the very loud iPad he was glued to. Another Asian lady, much younger, either had the most accommodating Swiss BFF of all time, or her own personal tour guide that took every imaginable glamorous Insta shot as our electric train glided smoothly past the gorgeous, secluded valley towns and glaciered peaks of the Swiss Alps. There was also a short young brown man with a Bruno Mars haircut, definitely an influencer, who had an expensive camera and tiny microphone rigged to capture his narration of the awesomeness elapsing by. Then there was us, the Filipino-Korean couple with the rattan drumsticks, agong beaters, and colorful hand woven malongs weighing down their luggage, feeling improbably lucky to be on this UNESCO World Heritage train route because one of those driven, socially conscious Filipinas who become community bedrocks just happens to live in Chur. Her name is Adora Fischer.
Land of one hundred and fifty valleys (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
I gulped down the bit of sadness welling in my chest as we finally approached Switzerland’s oldest city, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time I’d return. I overheard the personal tour guide/best BFF ever tell her client/pal that they would have lunch and walk through the old town before catching the train to Zürich. I stopped myself from intruding with “Ooh! Go to Da Mamma’s for lunch! An Italian lola makes everything herself, including the gelato, which is THE BEST I’ve ever had!” Or, “You HAVE to go to Waffle Khur—delicate airy Belgian waffles made by Mohammed, who is from Palestine by way of Germany!” I could tell you about Chur. There’s a tram you take up to Brambrüesch and part way there you’ll hear the cutest cacophony of bells from the herd of cows grazing on the mountainside. The water becomes super cold at night like an alpine spring coming right out of your tap. The teenagers I taught there at the kantonsschule were shy at first, but after enticing them with their very own kubings, courtesy of Adora, they volunteered to play rhythms on the agong and dabakan and even melodies on the sarunay. They were earnest learners, and at the end of the lessons, giggled excitedly as they tried their kubings. I could tell you about Chur. There are a bunch of Filipina aunties there, who married Swiss men and made a life for themselves in an unlikely place. They built a community. They run a program to help newly arrived migrants adjust to life in Switzerland. They organized a showcase of Filipino indigenous arts and culture at the Rätisches Museum. I could tell you about Chur. I spent two weeks there sharing and playing kulintang music, and like a good San Franciscan, left a little piece of my heart in that old town.
Demonstrating at the Bündner Kantonsschule (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
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I drove to Chur, actually. I didn’t plan to, but Edi had other ideas. Edi (short for Eduard) is the Swiss husband of Adora, the bedrock auntie who made the whole trip possible. Nothing makes one feel more welcome in an airport than a local holding up a sign with your name on it. Edi had that and a very disarming smile that probably went a long way toward helping him journey through the world, from Europe, to Africa, to Asia, and finally the Philippines and Adora, whose every Filipino cultural and social endeavor he supports wholeheartedly as a happily retired pensioner. I have a tired joke about lugging heavy metal kulintang instruments to and from gigs (makes me wish I played the flute!), but in Switzerland, all I had to do was show up. That tells you what kind of guy Edi is and why he quickly became my BFF. Edi completely contradicts that Swiss stereotype of being reserved and unemotive. He was ebulliently welcoming and embracing of my wife, Catherine, and me from the very first greeting. After a bit of wandering around the airport parking garage in search of his station wagon, the man literally tried to hand me the keys. “Why don’t you drive?” Naturally, I demurred, but it only worked until the outskirts of Zürich, at which point Edi promptly turned off into a rest area and confidently reassured me that everything would be fine. I wasn’t sure I was even allowed to drive in Switzerland, but Edi’s clever grin convinced me that he could probably sweet talk our way out of it if we got pulled over. After a brief am-I-really-about-to-break-the-law-right-out-of-the-airport feeling of dread, the Swiss countryside was whizzing by me on the driver’s side: idyllic green fields with giant rolls of hay, punctuated by lakes of the sky, and of course those Alps, which surprisingly recall the lushness of the tropics until the tree line gives way to high crags, the highest of which wear their icy mantles year round.
An old castle in Tirano (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
After a quick shower in our apartment right above Da Mamma’s in the old town, I finally met Adora, the architect of my Swiss Kulintang Summer, in her and Edi’s garden located in the suburban part of Chur. Nearby, the Plessur River pleasantly rambled on its way to joining the Rhine. Adora had literally found me on the internet and reached out on Messenger. “Do you think you’d like to visit Switzerland?” Oh boy, would I! Are you kidding? But I had to play it cool at first because, well, who is this person and I don’t want to get scammed. It turns out that Adora had actually first invited Abdul Farid Guinomla, a good friend who is a culture bearer from Mindanao and nephew of my late teacher Danongan “Danny” Kalanduyan. Unfortunately, his visa application ran into some of that chilliness the Swiss are known for. Adora needed someone who didn’t require a visa, so she had to look in the United States. Farid was the proper first choice, but since he could not come he graciously vetted me and I got the gig. Thank you, Farid!
Performing in front of the Theaterplatz in Chur (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
Aside from the longganisa, procured from a secret Filipino source in nearby Italy, the huge fluffs of homemade pandesal, grilled pork chops, and assorted Swiss cheeses, the best thing about that warm late afternoon was meeting the aunties, whose easy and convivial affection enveloped Adora’s garden in that comfortable bubble of belonging aunties have the power to conjure anywhere in the Philippine Diaspora. I was terribly jetlagged but soon we were all on the instruments. Weariness disappeared in fun as the ladies alternately ribbed and cheered each other on—“O ayan nanaman si Ms. Agong. Sige kaya mo yan (You can do it, Ms. Agong!”—taking turns trying rhythms I demonstrated for Tidtu and Sinulog a Kamamtuan. Marina and Adora actually managed to learn two melodic cycles for Kamamtuan. Despite many protests—“Another one? No, hindi na kaya (can’t do it anymore)!”—they squealed youthfully (kilig na kilig - thrilled to bits!) as they successfully played the parts they had learned. Could it get any better than this? I was at home in Switzerland playing music with my aunties. In some ways, yes; what I experienced in the coming days was truly unforgettable. But in one very sad sense, no, for this was the only time I was actually going to be able to teach them. During the public workshops, these incredible and loving women mostly deferred to the Swiss friends and colleagues they had invited.
Greeting the mountains from our apartment window (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
I was about to teach a third melodic cycle, when Joy pointedly directed my attention to Catherine, who despite having taken a walk along the Plessur with her, was now turning into a pumpkin. She had no music teaching adrenaline to ward off her jetlag. So I played a song called Tagunggo to summon healing spirits as a last gift, thinking it would be meaningful to invite them to Switzerland, before Catherine and I took our leave, whereupon I experienced another huge regret: we completely forgot to ask if we could take some of Adora’s pillowy pandesal back to our apartment.
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“Can I take this train to Zürich and then Bern?” I hurriedly asked the clean-cut conductor on the platform. With his straight posture, tucked white shirt, black leather satchel, and shiny shoes, this young man probably on a summer job reminded me of Freidrich, the eldest boy from The Sound of Music. “Yes, if you like,” he answered evenly. It wasn’t unfriendly, just non-committal, as in I could do that but there’s no guaranteeing the outcome. He looked cool and unruffled in his uniform. I was sticky and sweaty from having sprinted up to platform number nine after being told at the ticket office that our train was leaving in two minutes. Catherine was still thirty yards away, gamely charging up the ramp like a cute bear on a mission. “That’s my wife!” I pointed. “Don’t leave her.” By the time I’d heaved our suitcase onto the luggage rack she’d made it. We both staggered to our seats just as the train started moving, and collapsed. It was not an auspicious start to my engagement in Bern, where I was to perform for the Philippine Embassy’s celebration of the 127th anniversary of Philippine independence.
Independence Day at Hotel Schweizerhof
The ride was to Zürich and the connecting line to Bern was a much needed break. Swiss trains are polished and comfortable. We passed broad vistas and intimate glimpses into people’s yards, deep river gorges, and industrial complexes as the soothing female voice on the intercom announced each stop. The young conductor from earlier came to check our tickets, half fare cards, and passports, very businesslike, and gave us an encouraging smile that seemed to say you’re not so clueless after all when he saw that everything was in order. You know that eldest boy in the Sound of Music? Friedrich? You kind of…uh, let’s not. What are the chances that people there are sick of being told how much everyone and everything reminds them of that movie?
Down a steep ravine the Aare River greeted us fleetingly before the train glided into the busy main station. Staying true to the day’s theme of sweaty confusion, we could not find the embassy people sent to collect us and ended up dragging our luggage to Hotel Schweizerhof on foot. It was midday and the crowded concrete was baking. As H.E. Bernard Faustino M. Dy, the Philippine Ambassador to the Swiss Confederation and the Principality of Liechtenstein, would observe in his remarks later, we seemed to have brought the Philippine weather to our independence day celebration in Bern. When we finally arrived, I was hot, still jetlagged, and out of sorts; not in the best condition for this first gig. Fortunately, all the instruments had already been brought and set up by Edi, and my apprentice, Jinji Sayson, had arrived.
Me in the Glorious Schweizerischer_Swiss National Park (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
I lobbied Adora strongly for Jinji. Danny used to bring me everywhere too. I’d managed to make myself pretty indispensable as his drummer. But Jinji isn’t just my drummer, she’s the dashing William Riker to my Jean Luc Picard. I may be the captain of our starship, Kulintang Dialect, but she’s the one with a full head of hair and swaggy mustache. In other words, she’s the one that turns heads when we play. After the Swiss and Pilipino anthems and a few pleasant speeches, we took the stage and performed right next to a bronze bust of Jose Rizal. The newly procured instruments, thankfully tuned by Wahab “Tokan” Bano, another relative of Danny, sounded like old friends. Jinji gave them a sizzling christening with her signature Maranao medley and I played Tidtu and then Tagunggo to invite healing spirits to Bern. After the program, we played again while the various dignitaries mingled.
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I didn’t see enough of it to know if the spirits would have enjoyed Switzerland’s capital. The three of us left Bern in a Range Rover with two diplomats at eight the very next morning. We walked the cobblestone streets the evening before and took a picture in front of a famous clock with moving figurines. Apparently, Bern is so named because the Duke who founded the city vowed to name it after the first animal he killed while hunting. It was a bear. What I’ll most remember that city for is almost getting run over by a clanging electric street car, in front of some locals, with a stupid tourist grin on my face. I was still in a fugue.
Teaching at the Bündner Kantonsschule (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
I exchanged the sights and sounds of the freeway between Bern and Chur for a three-hour nap. We arrived in time for lunch at the Veltliner Weinstube at Hotel Stern with Ambassador Dy and the newly appointed Swiss ambassadors to the Philippines. Lunch featured rosti, a traditional potato pancake. This one was elevated, however. It was a crispy golden bird's nest made out of potato strings. Its usual pair, a nice sausage with brown sauce, was wrapped with locally sourced bacon, and wine accompanied the rather fancy meal inside a private wood-paneled dining room with antique cow bells and saddles on the walls. Later that week, when things were a bit less official, inside a beer hall I had a proper rosti topped with melted cheese. With beer.
Traditional Rosti (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
“Boy, wouldn’t it be neat if we could replicate that opening scene where Julie Andrews sings in the Sound of Music, but instead of vocals, it’s kulintang?”
After lunch, at the Rätisches Museum, everything began to align for me as an artist and cultural practitioner. I started to feel a genuine sense of purpose, of being in Switzerland not just for the excitement of performing there and being able to say I did so, but recognizing who I was truly doing it for and understanding what it meant to them. Inside a stately old building made of stone, housing artifacts that spoke of history and identity, finely woven textiles and antique bronze instruments from the Philippines were arrayed next to delicate oil paintings and crested armor. Inside display casings, ancient Philippine script whispered stories alongside weathered documents from Graubünden. Jinji and I were playing for the official opening of Panahanan sa Graübunden, Adora’s and the other Filipina aunties’ powerful statement that the bubble of belonging I experienced on that first day shall not be confined solely to their kitchens and backyards but felt within the institutions of the community as well. When Adora gave her keynote address, I understood not one whit of her German, but there was no mistake in the quavering of her voice and the tears. All the aunties were in attendance and their affection, pride, and strength were palpable. It wasn’t just a bubble, it was an aura. I was so happy that Jinji was there too because, after all, the kulintang is historically primarily a woman’s instrument and it seemed fitting that this was acknowledged. Performing for a deeper reason—to speak out against genocide, to assert one’s humanity with love, to honor the good works of others—is in the end really the only reason. That reason, that feeling, is in Chur.
At the opening of Panahanan sa Graübunden (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
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After the museum, things settled into a kind of routine, giving me the fond sensation of having lived in Chur briefly instead of just visiting. Most days, Jinji and I walked to work, whether it was teaching classes at the kantonschule or workshops at local venues. The events fell into an effective and wholesome pattern: the schtick was to say that our band was incomplete and that we would like to teach the audience about the music in a hands-on way so that we could have a full ensemble. At the end, after ample learning by volunteers, we could announce that there just might be enough players to actually have the first ever all Swiss kulintang band. It worked pretty much the entire time. We managed to impress everyone a little by demonstrating more complicated pieces and techniques on all the instruments, while also keeping the artform accessible and allowing participants to experience success.
During our free time Catherine, Jinji, and I explored every corner of the old city, finding gorgeous water fountains, green parks, the tiramisu of Jinji’s dreams, and of course the best views of the mountains that cradled Chur on all sides but one. One afternoon we were strolling along a cobbled roadway when suddenly there was my face on a poster. In Switzerland. It was advertising our gig at Kulturpunkt. Quite a thrill. But the absolute highlight of the trip was during one of our days off when Edi took us (I drove) to a friend’s chalet near Glas Pass where we played kulintang in the Alps.
Performing at the Kulturpunkt (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
The Rhineschlucht or Rhinegorge (Photo Courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
Dipping our feet in the Rhine (Photo Courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
Picture a 2012 black Mercedes Benz station wagon with a kulintang stand strapped to the roof rack rolling along the freeway where the Vorderrhine and the Hinterrhine merge to become the Rhine. We headed toward Bonaduz, then Realta, and finally Cazis where we exited the expressway onto a mountain road. But first we stopped at a Lidl grocery store for some breakfast. We found the usual delicious pastries and assorted cheeses, then I spied some Iberian ham next to the Salsiz in the fleisch section (fleisch just means meat but the word somehow freaks me out a little). At the rest stop down the road where you pay one franc, redeemable at the store, in order to go to the WC or restroom, I discovered the wonders of salty, fatty, gossamer slices of Iberian ham.
At our despedida party with all the aunties (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
The clouds were thick and a bit gray, but it looked like maybe, just maybe they’d blow over the peaks by noon and the sun would shine on the mountain meadow I imagined Jinji and I playing in when I first made this request to Adora in April. I thought, boy, wouldn’t it be neat if we could replicate that opening scene where Julie Andrews sings in the Sound of Music, but instead of vocals, it’s kulintang?
Catherine amidst the alpeblueme (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
It wasn’t an easily fulfilled wish, not because the setting is hard to find–every mountain road leads to a Sound of Music setting and every road is eventually a mountain one–but because most land is privately owned. Luckily, Edi has an old childhood friend by the name of Arthur who happens to own one of those chalets people take a ski lift to in the winter. It’s at the same elevation as cumulus congestus clouds and right next to it in the summer is a mountain meadow that cows in California envision when they think of going to heaven. The variety of wildflowers dressed in the most vivid corollas filling a single square meter would be enough to make anyone suddenly burst into a musical number. Here, amidst the asters, lupins, arnicas, gentians, and Pasqueflowers, we played our pieces, ancient and new, while Catherine played cinematographer. Kulintang translates roughly to “golden sound moving” and it pleased me to hear it ring, enlivening those hills with a different kind of song.
One last pic with Adora and Edi Fischer (Photo courtesy of Conrad Benedicto)
Later that day, at Glas Pass, I looked out at the throng of titans crowding the sky and imagined the deafening roar of their ascension as the European and African plates collided millions of years ago. There was still much of my time in Switzerland left. We were yet to visit Juf, the highest inhabited village in Switzerland, and drive to the Rhinegorge and Via Mala with our new Swissipina friend, Cindy. I would invite the spirits thrice more before finally playing the song to guide them home. But we had done it. We had played kulintang in the Alps. We were here.
Conrad Benedicto is a teacher, author, and musician. His fantasy novel, Musalaya’s Gift, was published by Kularts in 2021 and the music of his band, Kulintang Dialect, is available on all streaming platforms courtesy of Gongs Away Music.
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