The discreet charm of Iloilo

Metro Manila has many charms but between the noise, pollution, congestion, stress and traffic it can fray your nerves until they snap. The way to survive this chaos is to get out of the city once in a while and remind your lungs what oxygen tastes like. I had not left Manila in months and I was getting stir-crazy. When I heard that the SM malls were launching their tourism project My City, My SM in Iloilo I immediately volunteered to tag along. To my shock and delight they said okay.

The last time I was in Iloilo was in 1998. I gave a talk at UP and stayed at Sarabia Manor. My friend and I visited Molo Church, looked for the house of Graciano Lopez-Jaena, ate La Paz bachoy, and saw a snake-charmer in the plaza. Iloilo seemed quaint and laid-back, like the suburbs.

This time out Iloilo has a more cosmopolitan but still laid-back feel.

The streets, I keep pointing out, are clean; there is some vehicular traffic in the commercial areas but not the sort to cause road rage.

Remarkably there is little honking of horns. Buildings dating back to the Spanish colonial era, such as the Post Office, are well-preserved and still in use.

Iloilo’s citizens are gracious and considerate, the wait staff at restaurants helpful without being overly familiar. One particular waiter at Freska, a popular local restaurant which has branches in Manila, explains the items on the menu and makes recommendations: chicken binakol, managat, scallops. Every time he brings a dish I say “Thank you” and he replies, “You’re welcome!” Back home I do a double-take when service staff say “You’re welcome.”

Being outside Manila makes me realize that we live like orcs. (“Gimme that! Where’s my order? I was here ahead of him! This place sucks! Guard!”)

We are billeted at Iloilo Business Hotel, smack in the middle of a dining and entertainment complex called The Avenue. Next to it is a restaurant in the shape of a pirate ship. At 1:30 p.m. the speakers at the hotel entrance are blasting house music, which should tell you that if it’s a quiet, restful evening you seek, this is not the hotel for you. On the other hand if you want to sample Iloilo’s thriving nightlife, or wish to experience sleeping inside a boombox, you have come to the right place. It’s the height of the very popular Dinagyang festival and tourists have arrived from all over.

The highlight of the festival is the competition in which “tribes” representing schools, barangays and civic groups compete for prizes.

This competition is taken very seriously: set and costume design, choreography and rehearsals take months. One would think that the Ati-Atihan with its simple beats does not require much choreography; trust me, the people of Iloilo have turned it into a complex spectacle.

The annual festival has drawn some flak: so much time, energy, and money is devoted to celebrating the Aetas’ rituals, the dancers smear soot on themselves to play Aetas, but real Aetas roam the streets begging for handouts. In response to the criticism the city council has announced projects for the benefit of the Aetas.

On Sunday the citizens flock to the Freedom Grandstand off the waterfront to watch the dancing tribes. Again I keep professing my amazement at how courteous the people are: the stadium is full, but there is no pushing and jostling, and despite the size of the crowd you can actually have a conversation. Even with the booming drumbeats.

It’s almost noon but it’s quite cool. The last five performers to take the stage are the winners and runners-up from the previous year.

Before the tribe makes its entrance, street sweepers clear the performance area. Then a lone warrior holding up a spear bearing the name of his tribe walks around the stage, much like the gladiators of ancient Rome circled the arena to greet the audience. A large wooden stage is wheeled into the center of the arena, the doors open, and dozens of warriors in elaborate costume pour out, dancing in perfect time. They fan out across the arena in formation, running, jumping, vigorously shaking spears and shields. So that’s where all the sugar in Iloilo’s famous sweets goes.

There are costume changes, perfectly executed, and backdrop changes on the stage-on-wheels. Towards the end of each 10-minute performance, the dancers produce statues of the Infant Jesus and there is a chorus of “Viva Santo Niño!” Think of it as the mutant spawn of Cecil B. DeMille and Kuya Germs run amuck, but in a good way.

After lunch at Breakthrough we drive to Santo Tomas de Villanueva Church in Miag-ao, a UNESCO World Heritage site. Construction of this massive Baroque church began in 1787; along with the limestone it required huge amounts of egg white. (I presume the egg yolks were used to make cookies and pastry.) The building was completed 10 years later, and in the centuries that followed it has survived damaged by revolution, fire and earthquake. It is currently undergoing restoration.

We go around the stone edifice, taking pictures. An old man, neatly dressed, walks up to me and starts telling me his life story. At least I think it’s his life story, since I don’t speak Ilonggo. From what I understand he had served in the Korean War, where he was part of the military contingent guarding the 38th Parallel, and he married a Korean woman. “A Korean!” he repeats. I nod, smile, and move away. He approaches another member of our party. Perhaps he just needs someone to talk to, but then he starts going on about his intelligence agents and how they are still “in there.” I’m not sure if he means inside North Korea or inside the church. In any case he seems harmless, and when no one chats him up he walks away. In Iloilo even the crazy people are considerate.