I remember — and miss — the Philippines

My previous post about West Covina brought back memories of the Philippines, particularly the food I used to enjoy and the places I used to haunt.  So forgive me for rambling on in this post about the Philippines I remember — the people, places, events, and everything else my memory serves up to me as I write. I remember Kalibo, Aklan, and the Ati-Atihan Festival.  I was in high school when I attended it, and have kept memories of it tucked away in my mind all this time.  This was no ordinary fiesta, as fiestas went.

The Ati-atihan in Kalibo, Aklan, is one of the few places in the world that Christians and Muslims celebrate together.

There was food and drinking, laughter and music, dancing in the streets, costumes more colorful than the mardi gras.  And of course, there were the people of the south…hospitable, generally unsophisticated, warm and friendly, and like everyone in the area, malambing. I spent three days there — three days of fun and frolic — without getting tired or even sleepy.  The rhythm of the ati-atihan drummed through the town the whole day, and at night loudspeakers blared with music as people partied in houses and in the streets. The ati-atihan, which started in the 13th century from pagan origins, is now a Christian festival honoring the Santo Nino (the Infant Jesus).  Kalibo is one of the rare places in the world today that Christians and Muslims take to the streets together in celebration and festivity.

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A Tagaytay fruitstand along the main highway.

I remember Tagaytay… fruit stands at the crossroads on the highway, ponies at the picnic grove, chilly mountain air and occasional fog, fresh beef off the beaten track, bulalo, and fresh Batangas coffee in the dining room of Taal Vista Lodge.  It was the only other place in the Philippines (that I know of) that justified the use of a fireplace. I remember stopping in makeshift carinderias perched precipitously along the ridge offering views of Taal Volcano and, on a good day, glimpses of the little crater in a lake in the big crater.  (Get it?)

During the eruption of Taal Volcano.

When the volcano erupted — I don’t even remember what year it was — we sat in one of those carinderias marveling at this awesome display by Mother Nature.   After sunset, we would have dinner at Taal Vista Lodge and wait for the next eruption, awed by the sight of molten lava shooting up in the dark sky.

Bulalo!

And who will go to Tagaytay without sampling the “old reliable” bulalo.  This dish of beef, bone marrow and vegetable soup is best enjoyed in chilly weather, and Tagaytay is the perfect venue to enjoy it.  Served steaming hot, with patis and calamansi on the side, bulalo will always be one of my favorites.

Close enough to Tagaytay is Pagsanjan, Laguna.  This is the family hometown.  I have not been there in ages, but many of my fondest memories are from “the ol’ hometown.”  My earliest — and lasting — memories of Pagsanjan center around the home of my father’s sister, Tia Conching.  She was an elementary school teacher at the public school.  Originally, she had this small “almost-nipa” hut with a sari-sari store in front of it.  I remember sleeping on the floor, on a mat — banig — that covered the bamboo slats that made up the floor.  Out back was a small piece of land planted to fruit trees.  There was no grass, no lawn — just cleanly-swept soil out of which sprung countless fruit trees.  I used to tend the sari-sari store whenever I was on vacation there, though I probably ate up more than the profit I made selling the stuff she had in the store. Soon enough, she built a newer house across the street.  That’s when her full collection of American magazines, books, and other reading material miraculously “appeared.”  She had saved (and still continued to save, every monthly edition of National Geographic and Readers’ Digest.  She had every issue of Life magazine.  Out front, a bougainvillea vine bloomed forever, its dark fuchsia blossoms so lush that her house was a landmark to many (“Yung bahay na maraming buganvilya sa harap.”)

Do you remember the sampaloc candy Tia Conching made?

Pagsanjan was a town rich with a history that began long before the Spanish came.  In fact, our family traces its roots to pre-Spanish times, to when our kinanununuan founded a barrio in the town of Lumban.  This barrio eventually became the town of Pagsanjan.

The municipal government is still run from the same building -- almost a hundred years later.

Today, there are traces of time and history throughout the town.  Old houses still remain a “staple,” gladly.  Municipal government is run from the same old building, built originally almost a hundred years ago.

The Pagsanjan church, "Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe."

The church, across the street, was built in 1890 and dedicated to Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe.  My Tia Conching‘s house was about 100 meters away, across the bridge that spanned the Pagsanjan River, which ran behind the municipio.

The welcome arch dedicated to Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe.

Take a walk through the town, and you’ll notice a proliferation of old, stately houses — architecture of years past, when Pagsanjan was the center of class and culture.  And, of course, you won’t fail to notice the welcoming arch as you enter the town.  Built in 1880, it commemorates the legend of the Senora de Guadalupe‘s appearance at the town entry to halt approaching enemy forces known as Tangkad

One of Pagsanjan's many old houses.

Fortunately, many of Pagsanjan’s “older families” keep the town the focus of their largesse and attention.  They still call Pagsanjan “home,” no matter where they are.  Most of the older houses are well maintained, because the families always “come back home.”

About 30 minutes further north are the towns of Paete and Pakil.  But I couldn’t help but mention Kalayaan, halfway between Paete and Pagsanjan.

When I was younger, my Dad would bring me to the Pagsanjan cemetery to visit the graves of my grandparents.  At that time, it was small, and the paths were lined by trees whose overhangs shaded the tombstones.  (I’m sure it’s different now.)

Fresh kesong puti and hot pandesal. Need I say more?

After the cemetery visit, he would drive to the next town, Kalayaan, where we would buy kesong puti.  At the corner store, after buying the kesong puti, he would stop to buy pan de sal.  That still is the best merienda for me, though I haven’t had it in more than 20 years.

Anyway, back to Paete and Pakil…

I will always treasure this 50-year-old statue of the Sacred Heart from Paete, Laguna.

More than 50 years ago, my parents ordered a statue of the Sacred Heart from a woodcarver in Paete.  This is a town built on the talent of woodcarvers, a gift handed down from generation to generation.  From this town come the best woodcarvings in the Philippines.  It was memorialized by many artists and in many books, among them the pen-and-ink art of artist Manuel Baldemor, who dedicated an entire book to this town.

You don't get fresh, succulent lanzones in the US.

The town next to Paete, along the banks of Laguna de Bay, is Pakil.  To me (no matter what anyone else says), Pakil is the lanzones center. An uncle of mine (or was it cousin?) owned several lanzones trees in the hills behind Pakil.  Each year, not knowing when we might come or if we would, he would leave kaings of lanzones on his small porch.  All we had to do was go and feast on the fruit, and take home as much as we wanted.  Heaven!

Built in 1864 and named after San Pedro de Alcantara, one of today's best-preserved churches is the Pakil church.

My late uncle, Tio Dandoy, had a small, cozy vacation house in this town.  He had a swimming pool which was filled with constantly-running spring water, and a couple of mini-bancas that we, as kids, would paddle across the pool.  Inside the cottage, he had a life-sized, stand-up cardboard cutout of the then-famous “BB” — Brigitte Bardot.  That was always a source of discussion and much humor.

Finally, among the many memories that I treasure, is the time that we would spend in the clear, knee-deep water of Pagsanjan River.  There, in nipa sheds with bamboo tables and benches, we would enjoy summer picnics, eating rice and the favorite small fish caught in the river (what were they called?) and everything else from watermelons to mangoes, pork chops to sinigang – practically anything you could ask for.  (Does anyone in the family have any of the old pictures of the river picnics?)

I’ll always remember Tagaytay, Pagsanjan, Kalayaan, Paete and Pakil…

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