Postcards from the past

When we were growing up, my father Frank was a sales executive. Since he had two major postings in the archipelago — in Iloilo City in the Visayas for five years and Legazpi City in the Bicol region for one year, my three sisters and I literally went places. You could say we collected postcards from different places in our youth, except that each postcard was laden with memories of a life, not just a vacation.

My sister Mae and I can still speak and understand Ilonggo, but my younger sisters Geraldine and Valerie were too young to remember sinugba, piyaya, Villa Beach and Assumption Iloilo.

But we all remember our year-long stay in Legazpi City in the mid-’70s so a visit over the weekend to the beautiful city by the foot of Mayon Volcano was a shared trip down memory lane, with one sister reinforcing the memories of the other. Mae is the sister with the photographic memory, and she remembers names, places (even former classmates’ homes) and events with such clarity that in her memories, your own story unfolds, too. Valerie remembers the corner bakery where we used to buy pan de sal, the store where we used to buy ice candy and the house of the old lady who used to scold her when she would play on the street. They were all still there (but we didn’t check on the old lady!).

We were in Legazpi enroute to CamSur, where we were invited by Gov. LRay Villafuerte for the Kaogma festival (which included a People Asia party) at the CamSur Watersports Complex (CWC).

I remember Legazpi most for the breathtaking view of the Mayon Volcano. You have to blink twice when the Mayon peeps on your window as your plane (we had a very smooth 50-minute ride on Philippine Airlines) descends to the tarmac. In Legazpi and its suburbs, you see the Mayon from virtually every street. It’s as if Legazpi were a balcony created by God for people to view one of His most wondrous creations — the breathtaking but moody Mayon, a near-perfect cone seemingly etched with a steady hand against the blue sky.

Before we proceeded on a sentimental journey to our old house on Lotivio street in the suburb of Daraga, about 10 minutes from the city, we asked our guide to take us to St. Agnes Academy (run by the Benedictine sisters of St. Scholastica’s College), where we went for one school year. The school is still painted a Mediterranean pink, and the campus looks even prettier than I recall. My sisters and I just bounded out of the van and ran to our respective former classrooms. We were graciously met by the school’s principal, Sister Mikaela, OSB. How nice to revisit a landmark of one’s past, especially when it still stands proud. (When my nephew Miguel asked my husband Ed, “Did my mom and her sisters really go to school here?” Ed nodded and sighed, “That’s why they’re volcanic!”)

From St. Agnes, we proceeded to the house we used to call home, and as we neared it, we felt like we were closing a gap to the past.

The house on Lotivio street is a pre-World War II Spanish-style house with sliding capiz windows and thick narra wooden floors, each plank of which was a foot wide. Intricate carvings bordered the walls that divided each room. The minute you walked out of the gate and turned right, you beheld the Mayon. It was a view I never tired of each day.

Sadly, the house is a bit run-down now, and the tenant of the last few years was packing up to go. We asked to take a look inside the house, a heart-tugging tour because the house was in a state of disrepair. The living room’s floors were intact, but the dining room floors had obviously seen better days. Our old dining table of solid narra, where we had many happy feasts in the past, was still there. Looking out to the garden, we saw that the stone fountain was gone.

But Mae, Valerie and I were heartened when the outgoing tenant told us the house was bought by a family who was going to restore it. A few houses down the road was another old house that was beautifully restored and turned into a restaurant called Cena Una. The owners of Cena Una reportedly were the ones who bought our old house. Hopefully, they will restore it to its former glory.

Our hearts filled with memories, we decided to fill our stomachs as well with the food we used to know and now missed. My brother-in-law Ping Sotto remembered a place in Legazpi that even Shell expats patronized. Called Alamo eatery, it is tucked away in a middle-class house without airconditioning in an esquinita near downtown Legazpi. At 10 a.m., we had brunch of King crabs, prawns, crispy pata, bulalo and Bicol Express. I would recommend the place for authentic Bicol food that will clear your nasal passages. But it was quite expensive for lutong bahay-style dining: our bill for our party of 10 run up to P5,000.

After brunch, we made a pilgrimage to Daraga Church, another centuries-old stone church with a photogenic façade. Daraga Church, where the family used to hear Sunday Mass, is perched on the hills of Daraga. From here, the Mayon looks just a stone’s throw away. When you go to Daraga Church you worship twice — inside the church and when you behold the Mayon, for you cannot help but say a prayer of praise for the Creator of such majesty.

When do you usually say “There is a God!”? You usually say it when you are blessed by a miracle or when you behold one.

In Legazpi, when you behold the Mayon, you say “There is a God!” virtually every waking moment of your life.

Just like I did as a young girl, for 365 breathtaking days.

(Next week: The allure of CamSur.)

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