CORREGIDOR'S WAR

As a child, I used to sit with my grandmother Isidra on the family porch and hear stories of her life over cups of steaming coffee and hot bibingka. She regaled me with tales of a pre-war Gusa— from her idyllic days climbing trees, horseback riding and visiting the family’s granaries, through the time when the sirens wailed and barbed fences were rolled on the beachfronts. Running for shelter in the mountains and surviving on kasahos from the horses and cows gone astray from the devastated ranchos. My grandmother as a young girl cowering in fear from the sound of marching boots, her delight at the sight of American soldiers handing out chocolate bars, her horror at seeing them hanging lifeless from the trees. The pain of losing her beloved older sister Perfecta to malaria. Her rekindled hope at the onset of the Liberation, the families’ courage in going back to their ruined homes, the rebuilding, the return of the baille, the handsome officers and the highlights of blossoming romances.

It was during the Liberation that my grandmother, barely out of her teens, met her dashing Lt. Forteza and Lt. Fuentes --- names that will forever be ingrained in our memories and into whose images our girlhood heroes were molded. Oh how her eyes must’ve sparkled then! Courtship was so much more romantic during those days, when men wore starched shirts and the ladies pouted in their red lipstick. But then she met my grandfather, Juan Faburada, who was working as a radio technician for the US military encamped in what is now the Villa Ernesto Subdivision in Barangay Gusa, Cagayan de Oro City. My grandfather hails from Jimalalud in Negros Oriental. The war brought him to far off Mindanao, separated from his own family, his only companion a huge image of the “Christ the King” he saved from a bombed out church. He faithfully believed it was the image that delivered him from the carnage of the war. To this very day, our family still keeps that image, together with the old bronze crucifix and the gold-trimmed Latin misalette that are some of my Papa’s greatest possessions.

The war shaped my grandparents’ character. And as we grew with them, I guess it also shaped ours.

Men in uniform are perpetual heroes in my eyes. I remember squinting over black and white images of Vic Morrow on Combat when I was a little girl. My sisters, cousins and I devotedly watched Nam:Tour of Duty, Platoon and all the other war movies shown during our teens. Recently, I never missed an episode of The Band of Brothers or The Pacific and I have watched Pearl Harbor and Saving Private Ryan more times than I may care to admit.

The Pacific War began on December 7, 1941 upon the attack on Pearl Harbor and the invasion of British Malaya by the Empire of Japan. The war in the Pacific was only one of the theaters of the greater conflict that was World War II.

The island fortress of Corregidor was a key stronghold of the Allied forces during the Pacific War. Located about 48 kilometers west of Manila, it is strategically located at the entrance of Manila Bay. During the Japanese invasion of 1941, the USAFFE tried to delay the Japanese advance by keeping a valiant fight at Bataan. When Bataan finally fell on April 9, 1942, the Philippine and American forces held out at Corregidor for twenty seven days, until, their rations depleted, they were forced to surrender Corregidor on May 6, 1942 to Lt. Gen. Masaharu Homma of the Japanese Imperial Army.

The name Corregidor comes from the Spanish word corregir, which means to correct. This 900-hectare tadpole shaped island was used by the Spanish as a signal station to alert Manila of homecoming galleons or approaching enemies. A lighthouse, built in 1836, continued to be in use until the outbreak of the Pacific War. Upon the cessation of the Philippines to the United States under the Treaty of Paris, the island was designated as a U.S. Military Reservation, and an army post, named Fort Mills, was built. From 1908 to 1915, army engineers from the United States laid down the groundwork for the concrete emplacements and bomb proof shelters that transformed this small fishing village into the great military bastion that it was known to be.

It was a balmy Saturday morning when my sister Katrina and I sailed off on a day tour to historic Corregidor. The hour-long crossing emulated a retelling of a war movie experience. The image of anxious soldiers crammed inside a U-Boat, trying to make sense of their unsettled stomachs and trembling spirits, strongly came to mind. The incompatibility of choppy waves and a speeding sea craft made the experience as realistic as it can possibly get. To those who are planning a similar trip, my advise is that you seriously (and I mean seriously!), take your Bonamines. Nobody can ever be too macho for this. I’ve seen alpha males begging for the bag. (I don’t think they would be selling the Meclizines at the Corregidor Hotel for no reason). The rough ride is a fact of this passage and it makes for a more interesting tale. The moment we reached port, my head was still reeling and the temptation to crawl out of the fast craft the way those soldiers crawled along the beach of Normandy on D-Day was simply so appealing. I believe I was seriously getting into the rhythm of the entire experience and hoping to get my message across to the smiling welcoming committee.

The Sun Cruises Tour is conducted by very well-versed and articulate tour guides. We were captivated as we listened to the chronicles of Corregidor as narrated by individuals who are knowledgeable about this part of World War II’s history. It rendered the stories more significant and poignant…a poke at the general ennui of the 21st century.

Several tramvias are available for the tourists, each marked for either English or Tagalog guiding. We were informed that several years back, owing to the implications of the war story in Corregidor, Japanese tourists were always given a separate tour. But as the years passed, the tours became a mix of Filipinos, Americans and other Asians including the Japanese. We had a young Japanese couple in our tram. The stories can now be told in the same perspective, with the same depth and with a shared understanding of the painful lessons of war. Our generation has come of age and I pay tribute to the words of Gen. Douglas MacArthur during the signing of the surrender of Japan aboard the U.S.S. Missouri, “It is my earnest hope and indeed the hope of all mankind that a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past – a world founded upon faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance and justice.”

The island of Corregidor is uninhabited, except for the people who run the tours and those who operate the Corregidor Hotel. This means that most of the memorials, batteries and ruins remain as they were after the war and are thus better preserved. Age old trees cover bombed out buildings, silent witnesses to its historic past. The air was cool and fresh and the breeze from the sea awakens the senses. It was not hard to imagine how pleasant life must have been on the island before the war.

The island of Corregidor is divided into four geographic sectors --- Topside, Middleside, Bottomside and Tail-End.

Our first stop was to the east of Bottomside, up a hill to the famous Malinta Tunnel. The Malinta Tunnel was so called because of the presence of linta or leeches when the tunnel was built. With its twenty-four laterals branching out from the 835 feet long East-West passage or main tunnel, it took the Americans ten years to finish its construction. The tunnel had been dug from solid rock and was designed to offer complete protection from artillery or air attack. Its laterals house a 1,000 bed capacity underground hospital, storage for supplies and ammunition, fuel reservoir and offices. It was inside the tunnel that Gen. MacArthur set up the headquarters of the USAFFE. It served as the last stronghold of the joint Philippine and U.S. military before the Japanese take over. It was also at Malinta Tunnel where the seat of the Philippine Commonwealth government was housed and where President Manuel L. Quezon and Vice President Sergio Osmena took their oaths to begin their second term in office.

The Light and Sound Show inside the tunnel which was scripted by National Artist Lamberto Avellana was probably one of the most moving audio visual experiences I have ever had. We were enveloped in total darkness with a sole beam of light alternately focused on the scenes that are being depicted in the show. The sculptures used for the scenes were made by no less than National Artist Napoleon Abueva. I found myself half afraid of seeing someone in different garb standing beside me. With the darkness, you can never really tell. The voices, the shouts and the bombs all sounded so real. The tunnel, despite the air shafts and the blowers, was suffocating and damp. Imagine the torment of those who had to stay inside its confines during the entire duration of the siege amid the fear, the pain and the anxiety. Their heroism and valor truly deserve all the tribute that the post-war generation is giving them. At the end of the show, the beam fell on the flagpole standing in the middle, bearing the flag of the Republic of the Philippines. The Pambansang Awit was sung and I believe I wasn’t alone in feeling the goosebumps rise on my arms.

It has been said that on several night tours inside the tunnel, some guests find soldiers’ dog tags amid the ruins. These items were documented and surrendered to the U.S. Embassy, who tracks down remaining family members to whom the tags are returned. Imagine if you were lucky enough to find one. And imagine the family who receives the tag of their father or grandfather whose body they never even had the chance to bury. The mere thought brings a lump to my throat.

Topside, with a height of about 400 feet above sea level, was considered the nerve center of the island. It is here where the famous Mile-Long Barracks is located. With its actual length standing at 1,520 feet, it is actually short of measuring a mile long, but is known to be the world’s longest military barracks. This three-story, hurricane-proof building housed some two thousand US officials, including Gen. Douglas MacArthur.

There is something that I must say, though. We do not mean to offend, but my sister and I are of the shared opinion that no matter our excitement at being a part of historical monuments, bombed out edifices or battle worn cannons are magnificent in their own right, in the story that they tell and the history that they evoke. They do not need a grinning, peace-sign waving genX’er in bermuda shorts to enhance their beauty. They simply do not. It is for this reason that we do not relish the idea of posing in every unfortunate lamppost, tomb, statue or marker along our path. And we also do not like the idea of taking our photos while someone in the background cannot seem to get enough poses to fill his Facebook album. It is in light of this that we decided to stay behind the crowds, let them be done, before we take over…even at the risk of always having to run after the leaving tramvia. It was during this time, at the Mile-Long Barracks while we silently took our photos, trying to capture “something”, when we got a delightful scare that had us scampering to the crowds we abhorred. We heard something inside the barracks, like a huge slab of wood slammed against the wall. It was an insanely loud crack, the kind that makes your spirit jump out of your skin. Now we have to remember, Corregidor is uninhabited, there are no kids playing behind the walls or handymen working on repairs. It was just us and that imposing structure. We don’t know what that could have been. There was really no time to look, we just ran like our life depended on it. They must have had quite a laugh.

Across the Mile-Long Barracks is Cine Corregidor, which, even in its bombed out state, one can easily picture to be totally resplendent during its time. The last movie to be shown here was Gone With the Wind. In my general nostalgia, I was a little bit comforted by the thought that perhaps in one soldier’s dying moment, he was having a vision of the beautiful Scarlett O’Hara watching over him in her billowing white gown.

Across the street from Cine Corregidor is the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters. Now this is one place that had me gaping for some moments than was actually necessary. The Lt. Fortezas and the Lt. Fuenteses…..okay, I know, they’re not American. But theirs were the first names that came to mind. The building was surrounded by a terrace with balustrades. How perfect can that be? I was already picturing a party with beautiful nurses and handsome young officers, and when it gets stuffy inside, there’s always the porch where you can share a light, have a little chat…..I saw Danny, Evelyn and Rafe…..I’m getting carried away, goodness I know! But when I looked at my sister, she was also nursing a little smile. Ha! I had the strong impulse to scale the cordon and climb up the stairs when I realized that the tramvia driver already had his hand on the bellpull.

All of these buildings face the parade grounds where several paratroopers were said to have died suspended from the outlying trees. Now the grounds are covered in tall grasses that bow to the strength of the wind. A little farther off we could see broken chimneys jutting out from the foliage of trees. Those were from the houses of the married officers, where they lived with their wives and children.

The new additions at Topside are the Pacific War Memorial and the Eternal Flame of Freedom. The memorial is a circular structure, with a dome that is shaped like a helmet in honor of the fallen heroes. Inside is an oculus where light passes to fall directly on an altar that symbolizes the wreath of victory, inscribed with probably the most heartbreaking words I have ever encountered --- “Sleep my sons, your duty done…For freedom’s light has come; Sleep in the silent depths of the sea, or in your bed of hallowed sod, until you hear at dawn the clear reveille of God.” This is one of the only two memorials built by the U.S. to mark the war. The other one is at Pearl Harbor.

The other notable structure at Topside is the old Spanish flagpole where the American flag was lowered down upon the surrender to the Japanese in May 6, 1942. Near it stands the old Spanish Lighthouse which boasted of a beam range of 33 miles.

At Middleside are located the Filipino-American Friendship Park, the old YMCA with its Youth for Peace Campsite, the Army Hospital that was shaped like a cross and the Middleside Barracks. The Middleside Barracks housed the personnel of the 60th Coast Artillery Regiment and the 91st Philippine Scout Coast Artillery Regiment. I was staring at the network of stairs, balconies and archways and realized that these walls must’ve been filled with the echoes of raucous laughter and discordant singing. From its balconies must've twinkled the glowing tips of Camels. Now the ruined buildings seem to be held together by the tree branches that embrace them, their only company the shrieking creatures that swing from the vines and take delight in the comfort of the thick foliage that the forest has to offer.

Bottomside is the location of the Corregidor Hotel, the Lorcha Dock and the North and South Dock. It is also the former site of the old Barrio San Jose where the families of Filipino servicemen stationed in Corregidor lived.

It is along the shores of the South Dock where the famous “bloodstones” can be found. These stones are said to be tainted with the blood of Filipino, American and Japanese soldiers who died along the beach, an idea that geologists are quick to refute. North Dock, which faces the Province of Bataan, serves as the island’s service dock. To facilitate the movement of supplies, ammunition and equipment from the docks to the different areas of the island, American engineers built an electric railroad track that runs around it.

Lorcha Dock is made significant by Gen MacArthur’s promise – “I shall return.” It was here where the good general boarded Torpedo Boat 41 to the port of Cagayan de Oro(not to the Del Monte Port in Baranggay Bugo), before he proceeded to Bukindon where he boarded an aircraft for Australia. On its place stands a statue of Gen. MacArthur, hand raised, immortalizing the man and the promise that determined much of the outcome of that side of the war.

At Tail End stand the Statue of the Filipino Woman, The Filipino Heroes Memorial, the Kindley Field and the Japanese Garden of Peace. Around the Filipino Heroes Memorial, designed by Francisco Manosa, are fourteen murals made by Manuel Casas, depicting heroic battles fought by the Filipinos from the 15th century to the present. Standing guard at the Japanese Garden of Peace is a 10-foot high Buddha with a reflecting pool and a Shinto Shrine. The garden serves as a praying area for Japanese war veterans and their families. It was also said that they chose this area because it is where a mass grave of dead Japanese soldiers was said to be located. The site was determined through an old photograph that was found after the war which showed several landmarks of the gravesite pointing to this particular location.

Corregidor took pride in its strong defense and heavy fortification. It was installed with 23 batteries consisting of 56 coastal guns and mortars; 13 anti-aircraft artillery batteries with 76 guns and 10 60-inch sperry searchlights. These gallant guns of the Pacific still stand proudly around the island--- battle-scarred, silent sentinels ….. their duty done.

The most notable of these are Battery Way, Battery Geary, Battery Hearn, Battery Grubbs and Battery Crocket. Battery Geary and Battery Way were considered the best and most effective emplacements to the defense of Corregidor during the Japanese siege. Battery Way, with its 4 12-inch mortars that can fire in any direction, had the last gun to fire out before the fall to the Japanese.

Battery Geary, with its vertical plunging trajectories, targeted enemies that were ensconced on the higher grounds of Bataan. Battery Hearn’s sea coast gun is the largest in the island with a firing range of 17 miles. It was installed to defend the island against naval threats from the South China Sea. When the Japanese took control of Corregidor, they were able to repair Battery Hearn and use it for their own defense, before it was neutralized by American aerial bombardments.

Battery Crockett has 2 12-inch seacoast guns that are mounted on carriages. These carriages move the guns and disappear behind a parapet. This battery fired south towards Manila Bay.

Around these batteries are the cartridge and shell rooms with bent steel doors and the quarters of the crew who manned them. They were dark and damp and I couldn’t imagine how it must have felt to be inside there, continuously feeding the canons with those heavy mortars. Trying to survive the ceaseless bombardment. Battery Way, before it fired its last, was said to be continuously firing for 12 hours. Around the canons, the walls are covered in pock marks, on one roof was a gaping hole where grass now struggled to grow. Inside the battery structures, the air was thick with the feeling of panic, terror and anxiety. Did they even bother to eat while the assault was going on? Amidst the running, the shouting, there must’ve been no time to cower anymore. I was so moved just thinking about it.

Standing atop Battery Crockett, gazing at the foaming sea towards Manila Bay, I found myself beside an elderly American gentleman. We were both staring, perhaps were having the same thoughts. He looked at me and let out a deep sigh…”Yes sir, I feel it, too.” After a while he smiled at me and said, “I think it’s going to get worse on the way back.” I guess we were down to talking abut the weather. We always talk about the weather when we feel bad and we don’t know what else to say. But that sigh gave him away.

Corregidor gave me the chance to see with my own eyes the scenes that the war left us with, the lessons they impart, the feelings they invoke. I profess my eternal devotion to the men and women who served it with supreme courage. It was no longer just a movie I watched with a bowl of popcorn on my lap. The war was real. And no matter how painful the lessons humanity has to pay out of the carnage of the past, we cannot shake the feeling that the world is constantly moving towards that direction again. We may or will be fighting it differently, but the definition of war remains the same.

We should be guided by the thought that by living in peace we honor the sacrifice of those who had to give up their lives so we can have ours.

Savoring our chocolate sundaes back at Harbour Square, I looked around me and thought about how far we’ve come and how far we still need to go. I vowed to enjoy them while they last….the peace and the sundae.

Ilocos Chronicles (Part 2)

The Road to Vigan

The Spanish colonial town of Vigan, established in the 16th century, remains the most well-preserved historical town in the entire Philippines. It is the image of Vigan that has lured many local and foreign tourists to brave the scorching Ilocos sun, for a chance to walk its cobbled streets and take shelter among its many secret passages and old, musky walls.

The third day of our Ilocos rendezvous saw us on the long winding road to Vigan. The two-hour trip allowed us a glimpse of the culture-rich Ilocos countryside. With the wind in my face, I savored the sight of expansive rice fields proudly showing the colors of a bountiful harvest, the majestic Cordilleras keeping watch in the background, big pink-colored houses lording over open fields, unmindful of the contrasting picture they present. When on a road trip, I always derive a different kind of high from spying on the open windows and doors of houses we pass by. On this particular journey, I was fascinated by the fact that this is probably the only place in the Philippines where one can still see faded calendars with the photo of a young Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos faithfully plastered on the walls, alongside old KBL election posters. I wondered at the number of funeral corteges we passed along the way and learned that burials are always held on Saturdays. As a testament to the Ilocanos’ faithfulness to tradition, they still follow old burial customs, including wearing black and red headbands as signs of mourning. Needless to say, no burial can ever be too humble for the omnipresent banda.

We stopped by the “Bahay ni Luna” in Badoc town. It is a simple brick structure containing the basics of a Filipino household, and where imposing replicas of Antonio Luna’s famous “Spolarium” and “El Pacto de Sangre” take dominance on the living room walls. The house was ordered rebuilt by Imelda Marcos when a fire destroyed most of the original structure in 1861. The townsfolk relay that this magnanimous act came about when Mrs. Marcos found out that she and the esteemed Antonio Luna belong to the same family tree.

Further along our journey was garlic country. Clumps of garlic were hung on every road side stall. A sign with the words “garlic ice cream” brought a startled screech from my mouth, the driver instinctively slammed on his brakes from fright. Wonderful Ilocandia does offer so many surprises at every bend in the road.

Jostling for attention with the garlic is the famous sugarcane wine called Basi. The Ilocanos love their wine so much it spurred a well known revolt in 1807. During this time, the Spanish regime banned the private manufacture of basi and Ilocanos were forced to buy from government stores. Their angst was so great, they took up arms to protest this unjust law, thus history came to know of the Basi or Ambaristo Revolt.

All this time, the only person I could think of was my dad. Marcos and Basi. Total bliss.

When we crossed the Mestizo River and entered the gates of Vigan with its Spanish lamp posts lined along the streets, I sent a silent prayer to heaven, thanking God for bringing me here at last. I must have beamed like a cherub because my husband looked like he wanted to cover me in a bear hug and our driver’s chest puffed with pride with the thought that he is now part of my personal history. Yes Aro, I will never forget you.

Vigan derived its name form the word “ka-bigaan” which refers to the abundance of the biga plant that grew along the banks of the Biga and Mestizo rivers. Being on the UNESCO’s World Heritage List must have inspired the people of Vigan to work conscientiously together towards the preservation of their town. Entering Plaza Burgos was like being transported to a different era. All the buildings were standing courageously in all their faded, old world glory. Most prominent of these is the Archbishop’s Palace. Built in 1783, it is the only surviving 18th century Arzobizpado in the entire Philippines. Modern shops, restaurants, cell phone stores are housed in old structures with elaborate edifices, braving rot and decay. Calesas and tricycles ply its four main streets --- Calle Crisologo, Calle Plaridel, Calle V. delos Reyes and Calle Salcedo.

In my ardent desire to experience sleeping under the roof of an 18th century mansion, I made special arrangements to be booked at the Aniceto Mansion, along Plaza Burgos. Located in the heart of the main square, it is a street away from the Vigan Cathedral and across the lane from a school that used to be an old cemetery. It has wide hardwood floors that creaked at every step, a wide staircase with photos of its previous owners lined against the walls and a big dresser mirror that faced the canopied bed. Our room was located next to the ballroom where I expected to hear the pianoforte or the gramophone play a waltz in the middle of the night. Mike’s expression was priceless!

It was fascinating to watch the potters expertly work with their hands and feet at the Pagburnayan. A burnay is actually a big earthen jar used for storing water or preserving fish. The potters’ creations are placed inside a big, long earthen oven closely resembling a cave, then dried in different stages that took months to complete. Aside from the burnay, Vigan is also known for producing those well loved Vigan tiles, prominent in most Philippine-inspired homes.

The dynamics of loom-weaving were equally interesting to watch. All the work that goes into drying the threads, spinning and finally weaving them to produce those soft abel blankets is worthy of hero worship. After watching an 80-year old Lilang skillfully weave a complex pattern for a table runner, I could never have the heart to ask for a tawad when I bought blankets for pasalubong.

While we were beating the heat with some iced tea at the Hidden Garden in Bulala, I was lusting over some beautifully carved wooden figures of a little rural boy in different states of repose: atop a log, on a banana leaf. So relaxed, so worry-free, so Juan. Actually, it won’t be surprising to see someone sleeping in such a manner amidst the lush, peaceful environs of the hidden garden.

Chavit Singson’s Baluarte in Salindeg is several hectares of animal haven. Ostriches, sheep, goats, cows roam freely around the area guarded by giant dinosaur replicas. For a dose of fun, one can ride those little chariots of fire they call the tiburin. These are actually small carriages drawn by miniature horses. It was fun to eat ice cream while rubbing shoulders with the parrots, cockatoos, turtles, alpacas, tigers and deer or being chased by an ostrich or playing with the butterflies or posing beside that yellow submarine. Best of all, entrance is free. God Bless Chavit.

Finally, the old houses. The Burgos House in Plaza Burgos is the home of one of the Gomburza martyrs, Padre Jose Burgos. Looking out of his bedroom window, one can have an uninterrupted view of Plaza Burgos, with the Vigan Cathedral in the distance. Sitting on his butaka, it was this constant sight and the regular sound of the tolling bells that was said to have inspired Fr. Burgos to enter the priesthood.

Built in 1870 by Gobernadorcillo Agapito Florendo y Bonifacio, Villa Angela was made famous by the wide, airy bedroom where Tom Cruise slept while filming the movie, Born on the Fourth of July. I was honestly having second thoughts about the bed. I think it takes courage to sleep on it. One wrong move and you might find yourself crashing through the floor. Good thing he stayed there long before he got the inspiration to do what he did on Oprah’s couch. On a different note, I am a bit puzzled why they continue to harp about Mr. Cruise’ sleepover as a selling point, when the house clearly must have earned some history to its credit.

The house of Floro and Carmeling Crisologo along Calle Delos Reyes, housed not only family memorabilia but also a load of bad memories. I was struck at the photos from the assassination of Floro Crisologo at the Vigan Cathedral in October 1970. Displayed below the photos were his cracked eyeglasses and bloodstained clothes. It was surreal to watch. Old albums, books, documents, moth eaten ternos and a bullet riddled car chronicle the family’s tragic history. Floro Crisologo’s sister is the mother of Chavit Singson. His assassination brought on the onset of a dreadful and long suffering family battle that, as history would tell us, made them the victims of their own anger and vendetta.

I used to think that Casa Manila in Intramuros, with its intricate lattice carvings along its large ballroom is the grandest of all old Philippine houses. That is until I learned that, although it is made from parts of real houses and furnished with real heirlooms donated by prominent families, it is just a replica built by the National Historical Institute to showcase how the bourgeoisie lived during the Spanish era. That is also, until I’ve set foot inside the home of the parents of Alicia Syquia, wife to former Philippine President Elpidio Quirino. The Syquia Mansion. The father of Alicia Syquia is an enterprising Chinese merchant who set to make his fortune in Vigan after loathing the idea of building a life within the walls of the Chinese Pariah in Binondo. The house, built in 1830, is a repository of rich treasures culled from what must have been an exciting sea-faring life. A golden vase with the Emperor’s stamp at the bottom, a eucalyptus chest that continues to emit its strong vapors after several centuries, Victorian figurines and paintings that speak of good taste even to this day, a rich collection of ivory santos in the impressive family chapel, beds carved by the famous Ah-Tay. I was oohhing and ahhing while given the tour by Rusty Ponce, the family’s caretaker who comes from a long line of Syquia family cooks. I loved the idea of a secret door to the children’s bedroom, the ventanillas, the passageways along the bedrooms where househelps may pass through without being seen by visitors, the inner courtyard with the fountain and the spy hole in the master’s suite to check on visitors who may either be allowed to enter the hallowed hall of the grand ballroom or keep their unworthy selves within the boundaries of the entresuelo. Mike and I were of the shared opinion that when we build our own house, it will follow the lines of the beloved bahay na bato.

Driving around the historic town, it is inspiring to see just how much of history is preserved in Vigan. The new blending in with the old, contemporary citizens and old ghosts cohabiting peacefully in a town that courageously lives in the shadow of its glorious past. History basks in the devoted embrace it gets from the people of Vigan.

The afternoon has become cooler. Perfect for a leisurely stroll, stopping for a cup of coffee and loosening the purse strings. Where else would our guide drop us off but at that beautiful place that spurred my Vigan dream --- my beloved Calle Crisologo.

The moment I stepped off the van and became a living part of a scene that I have only seen in photographs, I felt like a child let loose at Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. Didn’t they tell you that ”…when your happy and you know it, clap your hands!”? Well, I was happy and I knew it and I did clap my hands! Hooray!

I left my husband standing baffled on the curb and explored that wonderful plethora of shops, inns, cafes, bakeries and funeral parlors with incomparable delight. Stuffy shops held treasures of old santos, mismatched silverware, centuries old photographs, gilded mirrors, antique chests, rusting instruments. Angels in different moods and poses. Dollhouse furniture carved from hardwood. Baskets of bagnet sitting on top of soft abel blankets. I must have looked like my daughter at the toy store because Mike was giving me the same indulgent smile. But I knew that at the back of his mind he was having these thoughts: “Honestly? What does one do with a bunch of old spoons with the previous owner’s initials engraved at the back?... What is she going to do with that angel?... She can’t be serious about lugging that chest to CDO!” But he knew better than to voice them out loud. We were, after all, staying at an old mansion with a mirror facing the bed. He can’t risk a change in the sleeping arrangements. So just like what good husbands do, he willingly offered his brawn and his wallet. And in the spirit of boosting the local economy, he asked me to stop the haggling. I love my man!

Satisfied with my finds, we couldn’t resist sampling the tricycle ride, where you actually squat, not sit. We ate dinner al fresco at Café Leona’s, named after the famous Ilocano poet Leona Florentino, whose tomb can be found inside the Vigan Cathedral. Sipping our drinks with the cool breeze in our faces, folk music blaring from a stereo nearby and a steady stream of tourists pounding the cobbled street of Calle Crisologo, I was happy as a bee in summer. It was a wonderful day!

I woke up on our final day in Vigan to the rhythmic sound of horses’ hooves clanking on the street outside and the church bells tolling softly a block away. How blissful the lives of Maria Clara and Maruja must have been. After breakfast of Vigan longganisa and steaming tsokolate, we bravely attended Sunday mass said in Iloko at the St. Paul’s Cathedral. While I was trying my best to follow the homily, I feasted my eyes on the beautiful frescoes, the graceful arches and the interesting people speaking in a dialect I could not understand. It was beautiful, nonetheless. After the mass, we marched out to Plaza Salcedo, which is also the site of Gabriela Silang’s public hanging in 1763.

The Vigan experience will not be complete without the calesa ride, so Mike and I hopped on our chariot and asked Mamang Kutchero to take the reins and show us his town, as far as his horse’s hooves can take us. We went around Vigan once more, past the 18th century cemetery that remains intact to this day, the busy markets, the quaint streets, the Singson Funeral Parlor. We climbed the eighty-five steps to the Sta. Maria Church. The church, dedicated to the Nuestra Senora dela Assuncion and used as a fortress during the Philippine revolution of 1896, is also named a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

While licking a cone of dirty ice cream, we traipsed to nearby Tongson’s for a taste of their well loved royal bibingka. Standing inside the bakery brought me back to childhood moments when we nibbled on galletas and peeked at counters groaning with huge garapons full of chicharon, dalunggan, patatas and bakos-bakos (these are the names we call them in Visayan). The store looked like something out of a Sampaguita Pictures black and white movie.

It was nearing twelve noon when we slowly trudged back to the Aniceto Mansion, where Aro was already waiting for us. Cinderella’s ball is over.

On our way back to Laoag, I feasted my eyes at the serene beauty of Ilocos, trying to imprint every scene in my Bonamine-logged brain. There are still so many places to see, delights to savor, adventures to experience. I am quite certain I will be passing this way again.

The people of Ilocandia are so blessed to be living in this raw, beautiful land, where the wind blows strong and the waves crash with fury. It has taught them to be resilient and brave in the face of a storm. They are fortunate to have known this arid soil, this scorching sun, for it shaped their character as a people. They are lucky to be guarded by the imposing Cordilleras, to have held the hand of Apo Marcos, to have carried so much of history on their proud backs. They are a blessed people, and they must know it.

Agpakadaakon Ilocos. Agyamanak!