Visions of Vigan: set in sepia (in my mind)

Set in sepia – that’s how Vigan is etched in my mind. Her colonial houses worthy of MTV that would send a shutter-happy photographer into paroxysms of delight. The days are temperate, much like autumn’s landfall; and the nights embrace warmly, languidly -- certainly not as hot as an Aedes aegyptian kiss. Sa madaling salita, napakadaling magka-“eVigan” sa makalumang mala-paraisong probinsyang ito. Siyempre pa, para lamang sa mga “ebelebel” o yung mga “singgol.”

Travel would be twice as long as going to Baguio, without the endless cliff drops. Try sleeping in the office for four hours straight, and you'd have an idea how my arse felt as we neared the province. As the bus coasted away, the road would sometimes tease the coastline by brushing against it, then, as if playing a game of hide-and-seek, would hide behind lush foliage. I liked that.

On that company trip, our gracious hostess was Em Manalaysay with mom Liza who was also visiting, whisked away by the urban life for several years.

The comfy bed inside the room looked inviting. But I was tempted to try to siesta on the bamboo papag couch, which, if given attention by an interior designer, would do wonders of boosting that indigenous material. The rattan sofa and dining chair I pronounced world-class.

Relatives and their families lived in one compound, and it felt like a fiesta, really, having breakfast in the house you slept in, then merienda in an aunt’s house just beside it; lunch of bagnit, cousin to the lechon kawali, only juicier and crispier; and dinner with lola. You’d be a regular part of the family, being introduced to the whole clan – but the test was in remembering all their names. You try to make friends even with the pitbull that guards the family sari-sari (general merchandise) store.

I was foolish enough to go on a trip and forget my anti-perspirant, so there I was, scouring for one in that relatively remote part of Vigan, in Paoa. Good thing Uncle Lando, an ex-OFW who now works as a van-for-hire slash tourist guide slash political analyst, was generous enough to aid me in my time of utmost urgency. My underarm emergency.

Kahayupan at the Baluarte. Literally and figuratively. We saw horses, cows, wild boars, goats, deer, and imported animals, like the star of the show – the tiger. All the people were crowded around the once proud beast, now reduced to a theatrical production for all ages. Have your picture taken, and not be eaten is the slogan for the ad that in my mind stayed hidden. I preferred to have my glam shots behind the real-live Diplodocus sculpture.

We went to Crisologo Museum, an ancestral house of one of the prominent families, which had a gabi-like plant, called "Bigaa," potted and hanging by the entrance. Possibly, it was from the name of plant the town's moniker Vigan came about. There I discovered the low dining table I’d have customized for my house. My mom said they also had one in her ancestral residence in Pangasinan when she was young. The Japanese may have introduced that. Other notables are the kalesa carriage, a huge dining table optimal for hush-hush revolutionary meetings, and a vintage restroom with wooden toilet bowl and organic sewage system that can make a hippie blush with delight.

(Humor me this one time. Let’s set the mood as you listen to “Drowning in Your Eyes” by Ephraim Lewis by clicking and loading this YouTube link..)

Boso Boso beach is where you can go, with only green mangoes and your flip-flops. It has native sand on its banks, undisturbed, blending well with the spectacle of ticklish waves playing with the shore.

About an hour’s drive from Paoa. If you don’t have a cottage, no sweat. They’ll have one for you free of charge, that is, if you’ve got the veteran tour guide Uncle Lando with you. Being a new hire at the time, and bashful at that, I passed the time talking to Uncle while we were in Vigan, and I got to know him, his family history, and his political views better there.

As luck would have it, Em and her female cousins were harassed by a drunk in Olympic trunks (Yes, you pictured it right), thinking that since he’s in a beach literally named “voyeur,” his behavior would be tolerated. Lucky Uncle Lando was there, with blood from his ancestors, being contemporaries of GOMBURZA, running through his veins.

Nightlife is much like in Libis, Eastwood -- open air, but with quiet pervading the atmosphere. Conducive to small talk! But pretty soon, one would find himself nodding from time to time, eyes pulling shut, despite steaming coffee. The others busied themselves with kodakan on the cobbled walks of Crisologo Street, and afterwards munching on oversized Vigan empanadas.

Shopping for pasalubong is not an errand but a treat. We went to the Vigan public market, the size of a mall, which gathered everything the province had to offer from longganisa to the royal bibingka, brownies, and others. More souvenirs of the less perishable kind were available along Crisologo street.

We were not able to stay long enough for the Longganisa Festival, nor go to the modern wind turbines in Bangui which meant several more hours of travel. There’s always a next time, though.

What I saw in Vigan is how tourism has been intertwined with what others would consider mundane daily pursuits, giving the place a cultured aspect and a vibrant rhythm. Amazing, how even street stall owners are able to talk to native and foreign patrons alike with confident nonchalance. Where else can you can “Ooh!” and “Aah!” inside a wondrous museum and only have to donate the amount you are willing to part with? At a time when some of us think that money talks and it’s every man for himself, we will discover that in Vigan, at a time when you are at your wit’s end, Uncle Landoses would be willing to part with their time and gasoline for your underarm-in-waiting that needs rescuing.

Pag sa Vigan ika’y napapunta

Tumpak na palalawigin nito iyong saya

Hanggang sa masambit,

“Pag-ibig anaki’y aking nakilala.”

Photo: from http://hotelsphilippines.info/pilipinas/historic-experience-vigan-city

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