Vigan Dust (April 2006)

I think I must have been in between work when I thought of Vigan. It came to me like some exotic place in the North, "a place where time stood still," the brochures say! lol. A UNESCO World Heritage Site they mean to say.

So I recruited my cousin for a companion and we set off for Ilocos Sur. I didn't book any hotels nor call any travel agent. But I did do my research as to what we could do there. There would be a street parade they said. And we could tour the old town. We bought the bus tickets at the bus station itself an hour before departure time. We fought our way to the bus door, waving our money at the conductor, yelling "manong! dua!" (mister, just the two of us).

When he had arbitrarily selected who could go on, we made ourselves comfortable - it would be an 8 hour ride.

We slept most of the way as it was a night bus. But I did delve deep into my cousin's life which was the reason I found out later was her reason for distancing herself from me. "It hurt too much," it was reported she had said.

But for the meantime, I am naive. And lonely. I had only moved to the Philippines four months back on a whim. Should I stay? I ask my best friend. (I had come originally for Christmas). Yes! she replies. And that was that. It was April. And I was still here. [There would be 3 more Aprils! But that's another story...]

There is an information desk on arrival. And we ask about hotels. We take a mid-range one with a/c and unpack.

We then go back into the centre of town and take a calesa ride. The carriages are much bigger than the ones in Manila and the horses seem better cared for. The World Heritage Site however, turns out to be only two streets long. Everything after that is like every other small town in the Philippines.

And so we visit the shops and museums. And as they are all on the two World Heritage Site streets, it feels like being in the old world. I always loved museums, the opportunity to touch, bear witness to and read about things of old.

That night we watch the centre of town (the grounds near the church) fill with crowds. Several boys make a pass at my cousin. And the black nazarene parades from afar on a float. The crowds flock to follow it.

We devour the famous Vigan empanada and longganisa. And retire to our mid-range hotel with an a/c room.

I wake up the next morning and think first of him. And I find it strange to be so far away from him and to still have him as the first thing on my mind. I almost laugh at the irony. Laugh - cry - it would be the same to me.

They say that before names and details, we remember how someone made us feel. I remember Vigan because it was perhaps the last of those anguished mornings. A stark realisation that henceforth I would only be tasting the dust of what once was.

And unbeknownst to me at the time, the beginning of the end of some family ties.