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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.

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Sunday, October 19, 2025

entry arrow3:00 PM | In Frankfurt

So this is Europe, Germany specifically. First off: it’s cold, but not too cold—it has been perfect autumn weather, requiring just a jacket, since we arrived. I have never been to Europe before. I’ve been to Malaysia, to India, to Singapore, and to Thailand for conferences or for pleasure. I’ve spent months in Iowa [and elsewhere] in the United States as the Philippine representative to the International Writing Program. I’ve lived and studied in Japan. But Europe for so long had always been a tantalizing dream, the kind that makes you go wistful and say, “Someday…,” ellipses included. So now I’m in Frankfurt, Germany—after 28 hours of travel, from Dumaguete to Manila to Doha to here, I’m loving the pleasurable peace and quiet of my nice hotel room.



This trip is not for pleasure—although pleasure can be had in visiting places, in meeting people, in the partaking of the culture. It’s for work. I’m one of the 500 or so delegates representing the Philippines, which is Guest of Honor this year at the Frankfurter Buchmesse [or the Frankfurt Book Fair]. I am tasked to be part of several panels to introduce the European public to specific things about the literary culture of the country. By the time this essay sees print, we would be at the tail-end of this international book fair, which began last October 15, and is slated to end, today, October 19. It has been a whirlwind trip, ending much too soon. [But that’s how life goes.] A short trip—but something from which I have learned a lot: lessons for my writing life and practice, and lessons for valuing the culture that we produce.

As of this writing, I have done some touristy stuff, and have gone around the Dom-Romer Quarter, the so-called “new old town” of the city—essentially a cluster of beautiful heritage buildings reconstructed only in the 1980s from the ruins of World War II. But I have yet to see the museums though. I’ve sampled the currywurst, apparently a must-have in Germany. Did this on our second day in Frankfurt, right after our kick-off brunch with all of the national delegates to the book fair.


On our third day, I got my wish: to visit Heidelberg for a day trip—a bucket list item checked with so much satisfaction. I was advised that if I could, I really should make a side trip to Heidelberg, an hour south of Frankfurt, and do a pilgrimage for Jose Rizal. This place was, after all, the setting of his poem, “To the Flowers of Heidelberg,” where he studied ophthalmology at the world-famous university, and where, in the nearby village of Wilhelmsfeld, he wrote the final chapters of Noli Me Tangere. There’s a monument in Wilhelmsfeld dedicated to him, and also the house where he lived, still perfectly preserved. I was apprehensive about taking this particular trip because it would take more than a half a day [and the official opening ceremony of the Frankfurter Buchmesse was scheduled at 5 PM the same day]. It was also of considerable expense [a one-way Uber ride is roughly a one-way plane ticket between Manila and Dumaguete]. Pero kebs. When will I ever be here again?




Truth to tell, this Heidelberg visit was mostly an impromptu, organic trip. I was down for breakfast at my hotel when someone whispered to me: “Jay Ignacio is organizing a trip to Heidelberg, and he’s in the lobby now to wait for an Uber!” I hurriedly consumed my breakfast, called Jay on Messenger, and did not even bother to take a shower. While we were hammering out the logistics at the lobby, the historian Ambeth Ocampo wandered into our midst, and started advising us where to go.

Jay said: “Sama ka na lang sa amin!”

And then Ambeth said, “Okay.”

What? To be toured around Heidelberg with our eminent Rizal historian?

Then Ige Ramos also wandered into our midst, and we told him what’s afoot.

“With Ambeth?” Ige said.

“Uh-huh,” we said.

“Let me just get a croissant and then wash my face,” he said.

And so off we all went, around eleven of us, to Heidelberg, where we also met other groups who had the same plans. I do like Frankfurt, but I was surprised to find it very quiet and with almost no bustle, the hum of the financial capital of Germany very sedate. [Maybe that’s the sound of money?] The buildings are also very modern. In Heidelberg, however, I finally got a sense of an old European city, and when I was walking down the narrow cobblestone streets surrounded by very old buildings, I couldn’t help but yelp: “Mao ni ang Europe sa akong imagination!” Compared to Frankfurt, Heidelberg was bustling, with the old feel of the architecture perfectly balanced by the youth that populate the city, since it is very much a university town, like Dumaguete—and looming over us like a charm, the beautiful Heidelberg Castle. I loved that Heidelberg the old town and Heidelberg the university felt like a seamless fit, classrooms and shops sharing space. And for all the Rizaliana that embraces this city for us Pinoys, I actually began wondering how come no Star Cinema romcom had ever been filmed here. Because it is so freakin’ beautiful and deserves a movie! [But maybe I should write that screenplay...]

We got back to Frankfurt that day, just in time to change into our Filipiniana for the opening ceremony—where the Philippine Madrigal Singers sang, where Senator Loren Legarda gave a fantastic speech, and where Dumaguete poets Merlie Alunan and Marjorie Evasco read excerpts from their poetry, together with Mookie Katigbak-Lacuesta. Truth to tell, nanimbarot akong balahibo to hear Binisaya in a poem uttered in that huge auditorium filled with book sellers from all over the world, in the heart of Europe. I resolved right then and there to enjoy my stay in Frankfurt—and most of all to meet people I would never otherwise meet in ordinary circumstances.


For example, upon entering the Philippine Pavilion after the opening ceremony, I bumped into indie filmmaker and National Artist for Cinema Kidlat Tahimik, wearing his signature wanoh [bahag]! When I was a college freshman back in the day, I chanced upon a VHS copy of Mababangong Bangungot [The Perfumed Nightmare], which he directed. I remember being floored by that film. It was a bootleg copy, but nevertheless I was hooked by this man’s spirit and philosophy captured meticulously and spritely on film. I’ve never met him before, so bumping into him, and chatting with him, was quite an experience. I wanted my Frankfurt experience to be a series of that kind of encounters.


Another example of that kind of meeting came a two days later. I sat down for breakfast at the hotel, and I found sitting in front of me this beautiful older woman with white hair—who turned out to be Noelle Sy-Quia, the great grandniece of Jose Rizal! She was part of the national delegation to represent the family of our national hero. Of course, I asked her about her lineage, and she readily whipped out this family tree, which she had prepared the day before to answer just the kind of question I was asking. She’s the descendant of Rizal’s sister Maria, via her son Morris, then his daughter Caridad, who is Noelle’s mother. She told me she’d been to Dumaguete before, and said she enjoyed the food immensely. She lives in Barcelona now, and I told her: “You’re living my dream life!” We talked about many other things as well—really just a nice chit chat over bacon and eggplants and scrambled eggs and cappuccino.


But there was also the work, of course. I was tasked to be part of four panels—one on “First Books, First Writing Workshop” [with Patricia May Jurilla, where I was tasked to talk about the Silliman University National Writers Workshop, the first writing workshop in Southeast Asia], another on “The Haunting of the Regions” [with Genevieve Asenjo and Darwin Absari, where I talked about uncovering the folk literature of Negros Oriental], another one on “Ladlad, The Optics of Gender” [with Danton Remoto, Blaise Gacoscos, and Chuckberry Pascual, where I talked about my work as a queer writer as something that embody the third wave of Philippine gay literature], and the last one on “Fictionalizing Time” [with Jose Dalisay and Robin Sebolino, where I talked about my work as something that explores both a sense of place and a sense of time]. I also read poetry with Nicolas Pichay and Ned Parfan for one segment of the “Poetry for Freedom, Justice, and Peace” series, where I read from my own poetry [in Binisaya], as well as the poetry of Dumaguete-based Pakistani writer Mohammad Malik, and, in tandem with Nick and Ned, a poem by Eric Gamalinda. All my panels were held at the cavernous Philippine Pavilion at Forum 1 of the gargantuan Frankfurt Messe, a dedicated exhibition space designed by Stanley Ruiz and curated by Patrick Flores.


The main action for us, however, is at Hall 5.1, where the Philippine National Stand is located—and here, surrounded by other international exhibitors at the Frankfurter Buchmesse, the Philippines and its book publishers have taken center stage, occupying a large area where the books of various publishers are exhibited—ready for rights to be sold. I am in Frankfurt as an author under Anvil Publishing, for my book Don’t Tell Anyone: Literary Smut. I am grateful to Anvil’s Xandra Ramos for including the title in its roster, although it was published long ago, in 2017—because the truth is, I never prepared any of my books for this book fair, nor asked any of my publishers to put them forward as part of the official catalogue. I honestly didn’t think I’d be here in Frankfurt, and had no plans to be here: I didn’t apply for my spot in the national delegation, because I’m not really a joiner—and I knew the paperwork would overwhelm me. My invitation from the National Book Development Board [NBDB] came late, only at the beginning of August. By then it was too late to have my recent books prepared for publication but Anvil nevertheless included my 2017 book in the display—so, yes, this is the book I have been representing in Frankfurt, and also actively talking about while I’m here.


This was my first time to see up close the business [capitalist?] side of book-making, and I have been quite the sponge: listening to pitches, observing how writers market themselves, detailing how publishers display their books, listening to talks about copyright, etc. I have been happily flailing around as a noob—but what I’ve learned thus far, a lesson that needs marinating in, is really how to put value into my work as a writer. One other thing I liked about being part of the national delegation: getting to know your own publishers up close! Now they know your faces! It really helps to have a personal connection.

The Frankfurter Buchmesse is huge, encompassing many halls, and I am grateful for having the foresight to come with sensible and comfortable walking shoes, gifted to me by Golda Benjamin, who told me: “Frankfurt is all cobble stones! And the venue of the book fair is big and punishing and you need good shoes!” So she bought me a pair of classic Stan Smiths from Adidas—perfect for traversing the long corridors separating the various venues—and I had all the intentions to visit every single hall. After my first panel on October 16 at the Philippine Pavilion, where I presented a brief on the Silliman University National Writers Workshop—which felt very appropriate for my first talk at the Frankfurter Buchmesse—the only plan I had for the rest of the afternoon was to do an interview with media, then attend one event, and then go to Hall 6.1. But I bumped into Apple, a cousin I had not seen in years.


I abandoned all my plans to that we could spend most of the afternoon talking about her life in Germany, over Vietnamese food we found in the grounds of the Frankfurt Messe. Afterwards, there was the reception at the Philippine National Stand back in Hall 5.1. Receptions are little parties every country stand is expected to throw. [On my first day, I had laksa courtesy of the Singapore National Stand, a stone’s throw away from the Philippines National Stand.] But the Philippines threw quite a party for its reception last October 16. The food and drinks overflowed. Pastil! Ube Yema! Tanduay! It was quite a reception. Doing the Frankfurter Buchmesse is kind of fun because of such things—but alas it’s also quite a relief to get back to our hotel at the end of the day.


The work we did here has been immense and, indeed, tiring—but for some reason, this German stay had been somewhat restful for me. I was very surprised that for someone like me who kept very nocturnal, very erratic hours back home—sleeping at 2 AM and waking at 10 AM on the regular—my sleep here had been deep and uninterrupted, usually 7-8 hours. I’d be sleepy by 9 PM and wake up at 5 AM. I mean, was my body keeping European time all along?

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