A heritage tour

 In the past few weeks, I have been taking the train from my home in Quezon City to go to meetings in Intramuros. I take the LRT 2, the ube-colored line, at around nine in the morning and see the throng of students in their uniforms going the University Belt. Students from medical schools and those taking courses in allied fields like dentistry and physical therapy can be distinguished by their white uniforms. Students from San Beda wear neckties and vests and always remind me of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the “Harry Potter” series.

 The LRT 2 coaches are wider and more comfortable than the blue MRT trains that run along EDSA from Trinoma Mall to Taft Avenue. While most LRT 2 coaches are filled with commercial advertisements for various consumer products, a few of them have posters with Spanish poems translated to Filipino. They provide an opportunity to test how much Spanish I can still remember from lessons taken twenty years ago.

 My train ride from the Katipunan Station to the Legarda Station takes about twenty minutes. Most of the students get down on this station. Recto, the last station, is the stop for those going to Divisoria. There are fast food stalls selling donuts, fishball, and ice cream inside the Legarda Station complex. The presence of security guards and guard dogs helps make commuters feel safe.

 As soon as I step out of the Legarda Station gate, I am accosted by sidecar and kuliglig drivers offering me a ride. They have effectively taken over the sidewalk and I need to walk on the road to get to a spot where I can wait for a cab. Across me is a wet market where I can see stalls with a single light bulb hanging over meat. Jeepneys stop everywhere, their drivers honking their horns to attract passengers. After the peaceful trade ride, I am reminded that this is the Manila of dust and grime that I always try to avoid.

 If I’m lucky, I find a cab immediately and spend less time wondering if the person standing next to me is a potential robber. I dislike thinking of the University Belt as a haven for snatchers and hold-uppers but everyone I meet reminds me to be vigilant, specially those who lived and/or studied in that area.

 From my cab, I can see the old buildings of Manila, reminders of what the city must have looked like before it was pulverized by World War II. The Manila City Hall is still majestic despite being dwarfed by an SM mall behind it. The art deco Manila Metropolitan Theater looks sad and faded, like beautiful woman hostaged and needing rescue. The National Art Gallery, previously occupied by the Senate, and the Museum of the Filipino People look spiffy with new coats of paint.

 Inside Intramuros, bicycles with sidecars race along the narrow streets. There are buildings that try to comply with the law to make the designs match that of the walled city. Think wrought iron and tegula tiles. There are also makeshift shanties everywhere. If you read the memoirs of people who experienced Intramuros before World War II, you would want to weep.

 I think of Republic Act No. 10066 or the National Cultural Heritage Act and the pending bills on a national land use policy, all of which mention heritage zones. I wonder what percentage of local government executives know and understand what a heritage zone is or even what cultural heritage is. It is a daunting thought. I’m just glad that I’m surrounded by veteran and youthful heritage advocates. We know we have a long way to go and we are not giving up.

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