Boracay Island
After a week, Greg and I land in Caticlan (a small city), after an hour flight. We hop on a ferry to our next destination, the island of Boracay, in the province of Aklan. It lies at the northern tip of the island of Panay, my birthplace. We are here for three days. In addition to its spectacular white, sandy beaches and cerulean waters, Boracay Island is known as one of the best places in which to relax, which, after a week in Manila's hyperkinetic pace, we fully intend to do. There are three stations (sections of hotels and resorts), each with its own character and appeal. We are staying at Station 3 because it is farther from the main port, and, therefore, quieter. Ours is a boutique hotel, containing only about 20 rooms. Stations 1 and 2, in contrast, are more popular with a generally younger clientele.
We arrive in the early afternoon and immediately take to the beach, where, on a stroll, we take in the beautiful scenery and refreshing ocean breezes. My mother, Alice, and Tita (Auntie) Mary Baban, with whom we are connecting in Boracay, are not due for another few hours. Mum flew in from Winnipeg earlier in the week but bypassed Manila altogether. She's been in Iloilo City (our birthplace), on the island of Panay, staying with friends. She and Tita Mary are travelling to Boracay by bus, a 6-hour journey from Iloilo.
My Tita Mary has been a close friend of Mum's since the second world war, after Mary came to work for and live with Mum's family. Mary would look after my siblings and me when our parents were away and we enjoyed her company. She is a person who, somehow, manages to combine a regal demeanour with great humour and wit. My reunion with her, after close to 40 years of separation is highly emotional. Now in her late 70s, I am struck by her resemblance to our adored maternal grandmother, Luisa. Both share a preternaturally slim figure, mannerisms, and wry humour. Over the next two days, she recounts her history with our family, including her time working for the federal department of agriculture, for 27 years.
In addition to swimming, reading, and strolling on the beach, Greg, Mum, Tita Mary, and I go on an island-hopping excursion, one of many tour packages touted fairly aggressively by local young men - no doubt, due to the highly competitive nature of their work. We take in some of the spectacular cliffside villas and hotels of Boracay, snorkel by the side of the boat, and have some traditional Filipino cuisine. Evenings are spent eating at one of the many beach-side restaurants, the combination of wonderful company, balmy weather, and alcohol, encouraging relaxation. Christmas is just around the corner, and the occasion is adding to the excitement of the nightlife, with plenty of fireworks, music, and general merrymaking. We regret only staying a few days, and leave feeling far more rested than when we arrived, a testament to the beauty and tranquility of this island, which are regenerative.
Click here to see Boracay Island Slideshow
Iloilo City
Early on the morning of December 21st, Mum, Tita Mary, Greg, and I leave Boracay, take the ferry boat to Caticlan (at the northern tip of the island of Panay), and from there, board a local bus to Iloilo City, my birthplace. The ride is arduous - 6 hours - compounded by the incessant and clamourous Hollywood action movies playing on the lone monitor, which, because they are broadcast throughout the bus (earphones aren't provided), prevents one from doing much else than watch them. Greg and I try to take in the spectacular scenery of mountains, town squares (dressed to the nines for the holidays), and rice paddies, but are often distracted by the screams of people being shot, tortured, or skewered emanating from the bus's PA system. Passengers continually embark and disembark, keeping the bus quite full (the conductor has provided small stools for newly-boarded passengers to sit on in the aisles). Somehow, I doubt if any standards of safety are being enforced, so blithely, we continue.
We take a 30-minute lunch break in the town of Altavas, and disembark, 4 hours later, just outside of the new subdivision of New Lucena. Mum's friend, Elda and her family, like many immigrants, have built a new home on land she and her siblings inherited from their parents. Now retired, she spends half the year here, to escape the Canadian winters. They had both flown in from Winnipeg and Mum had stayed here prior to, with Tita Mary, meeting Greg and me in Boracay.
We are stopping here for a snack and fetching the rest of Mum's luggage, before continuing on to Iloilo City. We enjoy a small feast of rice, spring rolls, fish, and pork, with plenty of mangoes and other fresh tropical fruits. I spend time talking to her myna bird and the family dogs who scamper about scratching themselves (the pups, who likely have mange, have scratched themselves down to their bare skin!).
Post meal, Mum, Tita Mary, Greg and I are driven to Iloilo City, where we say goodbye to Tita Mary, who insists on taking the evening ferry to the island of Guimaras, where she lives. Mum is driven to another long-time friend's home (Tita Purification [Puring]), where she will stay for most of our time in Iloilo City, while Greg and I are dropped off at the Biscocho House Pension, owned by the Guadarrama Family. Kim Guadarrama, a cousin, has offered to host us for our time in Iloilo.
Regrettably, we are only in Iloilo for three days, one of which, we spend on the island of Guimaras, so Greg and I are not able to take in much of the city, on foot, a past time we usually enjoy. The limited walking we do takes place close to the Pension, in Jaro, a district adjacent to Iloilo City proper. Given the season, enormous crowds pack the local Jaro Cathedral and the square in front of it is occupied with a carnival, complete with rides, games booths, and food kiosks. In contrast to when I lived there from the mid-60s to early 70s, Iloilo City's population has boomed, but so has its poverty. Several times we see women seemingly living on the street, carrying or dragging behind them small children, begging for handouts. Many looked reminiscent of the Atis (Aetis), the indigenous population I was taught to avoid, in childhood, and who were some of the earliest settlers of Panay Island (where Iloilo City is located). Their extensive problems, including social marginalization and poverty, often belies the annual festival that celebrates their culture - the Ati-Atihan Festival - through displays of colourful costumes and dance. I'm struck by the parallels between their plights and those of Canada's aboriginals.
We visit the Collegio Del Sagrado Corazon de Jesus (College of the Sacred Heart of Jesus), the Catholic school both Mum and I attended in our respective childhood, and Kim Guadarrama takes us on a tour of the famous churches in the towns surrounding Iloilo City. We also visit another long-time friend of mum and my grandmother, Mother Marie Javelosa, who lives in what has to be one of the most beautiful nursing homes (exclusively for retired nuns), I have ever seen. Mother Marie (whom my mother and other close family members refer to as Tita Ophelia), is now in her 80s and confined to a wheelchair. Prior to retirement, she was the Mother Provincial of the Philippines and assistant to the Mother General in Rome. Greg and I are struck by how sharp and lucid she is. She enthralls us with her conversation and wit and, presuming he is able, proceeds to converse with Greg in French.
One of my biggest regrets about Iloilo City was not being able to pay a visit to our family home in Molo, one of its older districts. In the early 1960s, my maternal grandfather had bought and built a house on the property, a wedding gift for my parents. It was a modest bungalow with a lovely porch, separated from the interiors with enormous sliding doors, and a fish pond around one of its sides. Back then, the property had a high concrete fence with two sets of wrought iron gates. Today, as we drive past the property, the high concrete fence has been replaced with an even higher one; and, in place of the two sets of wrought iron, there is one enormous and solid iron gate, obstructive and unwelcoming.
In addition to swimming, reading, and strolling on the beach, Greg, Mum, Tita Mary, and I go on an island-hopping excursion, one of many tour packages touted fairly aggressively by local young men - no doubt, due to the highly competitive nature of their work. We take in some of the spectacular cliffside villas and hotels of Boracay, snorkel by the side of the boat, and have some traditional Filipino cuisine. Evenings are spent eating at one of the many beach-side restaurants, the combination of wonderful company, balmy weather, and alcohol, encouraging relaxation. Christmas is just around the corner, and the occasion is adding to the excitement of the nightlife, with plenty of fireworks, music, and general merrymaking. We regret only staying a few days, and leave feeling far more rested than when we arrived, a testament to the beauty and tranquility of this island, which are regenerative.
Click here to see Boracay Island Slideshow
Iloilo City
Early on the morning of December 21st, Mum, Tita Mary, Greg, and I leave Boracay, take the ferry boat to Caticlan (at the northern tip of the island of Panay), and from there, board a local bus to Iloilo City, my birthplace. The ride is arduous - 6 hours - compounded by the incessant and clamourous Hollywood action movies playing on the lone monitor, which, because they are broadcast throughout the bus (earphones aren't provided), prevents one from doing much else than watch them. Greg and I try to take in the spectacular scenery of mountains, town squares (dressed to the nines for the holidays), and rice paddies, but are often distracted by the screams of people being shot, tortured, or skewered emanating from the bus's PA system. Passengers continually embark and disembark, keeping the bus quite full (the conductor has provided small stools for newly-boarded passengers to sit on in the aisles). Somehow, I doubt if any standards of safety are being enforced, so blithely, we continue.
We take a 30-minute lunch break in the town of Altavas, and disembark, 4 hours later, just outside of the new subdivision of New Lucena. Mum's friend, Elda and her family, like many immigrants, have built a new home on land she and her siblings inherited from their parents. Now retired, she spends half the year here, to escape the Canadian winters. They had both flown in from Winnipeg and Mum had stayed here prior to, with Tita Mary, meeting Greg and me in Boracay.
We are stopping here for a snack and fetching the rest of Mum's luggage, before continuing on to Iloilo City. We enjoy a small feast of rice, spring rolls, fish, and pork, with plenty of mangoes and other fresh tropical fruits. I spend time talking to her myna bird and the family dogs who scamper about scratching themselves (the pups, who likely have mange, have scratched themselves down to their bare skin!).
Post meal, Mum, Tita Mary, Greg and I are driven to Iloilo City, where we say goodbye to Tita Mary, who insists on taking the evening ferry to the island of Guimaras, where she lives. Mum is driven to another long-time friend's home (Tita Purification [Puring]), where she will stay for most of our time in Iloilo City, while Greg and I are dropped off at the Biscocho House Pension, owned by the Guadarrama Family. Kim Guadarrama, a cousin, has offered to host us for our time in Iloilo.
Regrettably, we are only in Iloilo for three days, one of which, we spend on the island of Guimaras, so Greg and I are not able to take in much of the city, on foot, a past time we usually enjoy. The limited walking we do takes place close to the Pension, in Jaro, a district adjacent to Iloilo City proper. Given the season, enormous crowds pack the local Jaro Cathedral and the square in front of it is occupied with a carnival, complete with rides, games booths, and food kiosks. In contrast to when I lived there from the mid-60s to early 70s, Iloilo City's population has boomed, but so has its poverty. Several times we see women seemingly living on the street, carrying or dragging behind them small children, begging for handouts. Many looked reminiscent of the Atis (Aetis), the indigenous population I was taught to avoid, in childhood, and who were some of the earliest settlers of Panay Island (where Iloilo City is located). Their extensive problems, including social marginalization and poverty, often belies the annual festival that celebrates their culture - the Ati-Atihan Festival - through displays of colourful costumes and dance. I'm struck by the parallels between their plights and those of Canada's aboriginals.
We visit the Collegio Del Sagrado Corazon de Jesus (College of the Sacred Heart of Jesus), the Catholic school both Mum and I attended in our respective childhood, and Kim Guadarrama takes us on a tour of the famous churches in the towns surrounding Iloilo City. We also visit another long-time friend of mum and my grandmother, Mother Marie Javelosa, who lives in what has to be one of the most beautiful nursing homes (exclusively for retired nuns), I have ever seen. Mother Marie (whom my mother and other close family members refer to as Tita Ophelia), is now in her 80s and confined to a wheelchair. Prior to retirement, she was the Mother Provincial of the Philippines and assistant to the Mother General in Rome. Greg and I are struck by how sharp and lucid she is. She enthralls us with her conversation and wit and, presuming he is able, proceeds to converse with Greg in French.
One of my biggest regrets about Iloilo City was not being able to pay a visit to our family home in Molo, one of its older districts. In the early 1960s, my maternal grandfather had bought and built a house on the property, a wedding gift for my parents. It was a modest bungalow with a lovely porch, separated from the interiors with enormous sliding doors, and a fish pond around one of its sides. Back then, the property had a high concrete fence with two sets of wrought iron gates. Today, as we drive past the property, the high concrete fence has been replaced with an even higher one; and, in place of the two sets of wrought iron, there is one enormous and solid iron gate, obstructive and unwelcoming.
The new owners are said to be of
Chinese ancestry and it is typical of this new merchant class to be
discreet. Relatives speculate that our family home has been replaced
with a larger, more modern house, so in a way, there would not have been
much point to seeing the property. To me, though, being allowed to enter
and explore the site, recalling the original house with all its attendant memories, would have been worthwhile.
Click here to see Iloilo City Slideshow
Guimaras Island
On the southwest coast of the island of Panay (where my birthplace, Iloilo City, is located), lies the island of Guimaras, home of my Tita (Auntie) Mary and my second cousin Emilie and her family. We would be visiting both today (Saturday, December 22nd). From Kim Guadarrama's pension house, we are driven to one of Iloilo City's ports to board a large pontoon boat, for the 15-minute crossing to Guimaras Island. Joining us on this trip are my cousins Teray (Maria Teresa) and Bebot (Emilio) Gorres. Teray would be mum's travelling companion for the rest of her visit.
The family on my mother's side owns a few plots of land on Guimaras Island. For many years, many of them have lain empty or rented to a few local families, to farm. Since my maternal grandmother's death, in 2003, one of the plots she owned was donated to the municipality of Supang. A school was recently built on it and this will be one of our stops today. We start off, though, with a visit to my cousin Emilie's home. Emilie is the daughter of my great uncle Ernesto, who used to live in the same compound as my immediate family, in Molo, Iloilo City. Emilie, an accountant, now lives on Guimaras Island, with her in-laws; she has two boys.
After lunch of delicious fresh seafood and mangoes (for which Guimaras Island is famous) at Emilie's, Greg, mum, Teray, Bebot, Emilie, her son, Eli, and I board a mini-jeepney, for Tita Mary's home in Supang. On arrival, a delightful surprise: Flor, a former nanny and kitchen helper of our family, who now lives just behind the new school, has come to meet Mum. The reunion was touchingly nostalgic for both. Flor's children now live abroad and provide her with sufficient support to live a comfortable life.
It was great to finally see Tita Mary's family house, to which I'd never been. It was built in the early part of the 20th century, for her father, and she's lived there ever since. She struggles to maintain it on her limited pension, resulting in a slightly shabby but elegant home. In a quasi-Spanish colonial style, it is well proportioned and airy and has a balcony-topped veranda. Extensive dilapidation in both ceiling and flooring has forced Tita Mary to decamp to the first floor - she feared waking after a tropical storm, to find herself there anyway. True to her feisty nature, she has no intention of investing any more money on repairs and resolves to live out the rest of her days in the house, until, as she puts it, "it crashes down on her". Tita Mary's daughter and granddaughter live next door. After sitting down for a chat and merienda (a small meal of refreshments) with them, we board the mini-jeepney once more with Tita Mary and Flor in tow, and head off to the school.
On arrival, I am struck by the beauty of the setting. The school sits in a small valley, dotted with farmlands and trees, and it slopes into a small river. Flor lives on the other side of the property's rear boundary. We take a few minutes to walk around and Mum discusses the school and how it should be named, with Bebot, Teray, and Flor, and Tita Mary.
Back on the mini-jeepney, we head to our next destination, Roca Encantada (Enchanted Rock), a large house, built on an outcropping rock on the south end of Guimaras Island. It belongs to the Lopez family, one of the earliest sugar-plantation owning families on the island. As a child, I would occasionally come here to play with Teray and my older sister, Maria, running up and down its steep front staircase and capacious veranda. We're not able to access the property today, but I remark on how well-kept it looks. Evidently, the family still maintains it.
Our final destination is the oldest church on Guimaras Island, Navalas Catholic Church, which dates back to the early 19th century. Despite its worn and aged facade, the interior is painted in vibrant shades of pink and purple, a reminder, that the interiors of this as well as many of the other churches we visit, date from the mid-20th century, just after the second world war, when they were renovated, after suffering much damage.
Click here to see Guimaras Island Slideshow
Click here to see Iloilo City Slideshow
Guimaras Island
On the southwest coast of the island of Panay (where my birthplace, Iloilo City, is located), lies the island of Guimaras, home of my Tita (Auntie) Mary and my second cousin Emilie and her family. We would be visiting both today (Saturday, December 22nd). From Kim Guadarrama's pension house, we are driven to one of Iloilo City's ports to board a large pontoon boat, for the 15-minute crossing to Guimaras Island. Joining us on this trip are my cousins Teray (Maria Teresa) and Bebot (Emilio) Gorres. Teray would be mum's travelling companion for the rest of her visit.
The family on my mother's side owns a few plots of land on Guimaras Island. For many years, many of them have lain empty or rented to a few local families, to farm. Since my maternal grandmother's death, in 2003, one of the plots she owned was donated to the municipality of Supang. A school was recently built on it and this will be one of our stops today. We start off, though, with a visit to my cousin Emilie's home. Emilie is the daughter of my great uncle Ernesto, who used to live in the same compound as my immediate family, in Molo, Iloilo City. Emilie, an accountant, now lives on Guimaras Island, with her in-laws; she has two boys.
After lunch of delicious fresh seafood and mangoes (for which Guimaras Island is famous) at Emilie's, Greg, mum, Teray, Bebot, Emilie, her son, Eli, and I board a mini-jeepney, for Tita Mary's home in Supang. On arrival, a delightful surprise: Flor, a former nanny and kitchen helper of our family, who now lives just behind the new school, has come to meet Mum. The reunion was touchingly nostalgic for both. Flor's children now live abroad and provide her with sufficient support to live a comfortable life.
It was great to finally see Tita Mary's family house, to which I'd never been. It was built in the early part of the 20th century, for her father, and she's lived there ever since. She struggles to maintain it on her limited pension, resulting in a slightly shabby but elegant home. In a quasi-Spanish colonial style, it is well proportioned and airy and has a balcony-topped veranda. Extensive dilapidation in both ceiling and flooring has forced Tita Mary to decamp to the first floor - she feared waking after a tropical storm, to find herself there anyway. True to her feisty nature, she has no intention of investing any more money on repairs and resolves to live out the rest of her days in the house, until, as she puts it, "it crashes down on her". Tita Mary's daughter and granddaughter live next door. After sitting down for a chat and merienda (a small meal of refreshments) with them, we board the mini-jeepney once more with Tita Mary and Flor in tow, and head off to the school.
On arrival, I am struck by the beauty of the setting. The school sits in a small valley, dotted with farmlands and trees, and it slopes into a small river. Flor lives on the other side of the property's rear boundary. We take a few minutes to walk around and Mum discusses the school and how it should be named, with Bebot, Teray, and Flor, and Tita Mary.
Back on the mini-jeepney, we head to our next destination, Roca Encantada (Enchanted Rock), a large house, built on an outcropping rock on the south end of Guimaras Island. It belongs to the Lopez family, one of the earliest sugar-plantation owning families on the island. As a child, I would occasionally come here to play with Teray and my older sister, Maria, running up and down its steep front staircase and capacious veranda. We're not able to access the property today, but I remark on how well-kept it looks. Evidently, the family still maintains it.
Our final destination is the oldest church on Guimaras Island, Navalas Catholic Church, which dates back to the early 19th century. Despite its worn and aged facade, the interior is painted in vibrant shades of pink and purple, a reminder, that the interiors of this as well as many of the other churches we visit, date from the mid-20th century, just after the second world war, when they were renovated, after suffering much damage.
Click here to see Guimaras Island Slideshow
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