Ça vaut le voyage
This piece was commissioned by Real Living for an upcoming issue. Ironically, however, I find myself committed to a growing number of projects that require me to be in Manila for the next several weeks. But I shall sneak a trip back up to BC very soon. Mark my words. *Boohoo!*
Living BC
My epiphany came in the strangest of places. Fresh off a bumpy, dusty, five-hour bus trip from Sagada, bearing two backpacks that seemed to weigh a ton and a half, in the midst of a stifling throng of thousands of marketgoers – and suddenly, I knew that I was home. I was so stupidly happy at the realization that I could have walked the entire distance from the Baguio market terminal to the steep inclines of Mirador Hill, just off Naguilian Road. Ça vaut le voyage! Arriving here – arriving home - was well worth the long metaphorical trip.
A Manila friend and fellow “BC” enthusiast remains fascinated at how Baguio’s residents all seem to be perenially in a good mood – and who wouldn’t be? The climate is comfortable, the community is inspiring, you’ve got all the conveniences of the city – with the Philippine Cordilleras, home to my forebears, as a backdrop. Quite the difference from the other “BC” I’ve called home since I was knee-high: Barangay Culiat, Quezon City.
Instead of bolting out of bed in an airconditioned bedroom purposely curtained-off from the sounds and scents of Tandang Sora traffic, I now wake up to birds serenading the hills in the early morning. I can afford to get out of bed extremely slowly, unperturbed by the usual metropolitan noises, watching sleepily through picture windows as sun languorously makes its way up into the cornflower-blue sky. From the very first week I started “living BC,” I’ve reveled in the relative lack of metropolitan urgency that I’d become so accustomed to (as if anyone could ever get accustomed to a constant state of drowning). My usual routine is to wake up with the sun, spend a generous amount of time in morning prayer, make breakfast, and decide what to do for the rest of my day. With a lot more time on my hands and a lot less “noise” than I’m regularly used to, I accomplish so much more, even having time left over to tap into long dormant reservoirs of hidden talents and interests that have been pushed to the far back of the proverbial shelf by the savage day-to-day demands of a vicious urban jungle.
“Baguio does that to you,” my friend and fellow Baguio-phile Carina told me lately. One’s creativity is amp’ed to record levels: on the first night of my first-ever writing retreat, poetry poured out of my head and heart onto my pen and pad like never before. “Never before” being the operative phrase, as I do not write poetry. Or did not write poetry, to be more precise. Just like I once did not do some things that even I am surprised to find myself now doing – playing the guitar, working with oil pastels, making mosaic murals, acquiring an interest in gardening (!) - Baguio really does stimulate the left hemisphere of the brain and inspire you to courageously reconnoiter strange creative territories.
Which is probably the reason why a number of artists have chosen to make BC their home: best-selling painter BenCab (Ben Cabrera); renowned sculptor and art pedagogue, Benhur Villanueva, together with his talented family that includes multimedia artist Bumbo and photographer Marney; BC native and émigré from Germany, filmmaker Kidlat Tahimik and his own family of artists; another Baguio local, Cordillera photographer Tommy Hafalla; and even Pinoy rock legend Joey “Pepe” Smith, to name-drop a few. In the first month alone of living here, I met many former lowlanders who have uprooted themselves from the madness of Metro Manila and found their place in this mountain town. Bliss Café’s Jim Ward, for instance, worked around the world before finally finding his groove as a BC vegetarian restauranteur; Grace Calleja runs a dimsum franchise at SM Baguio and one of the BC universities; the Missionaries of the Sacred Heart of Jesus’ (Sr. Patricia is from New York and Sr. Romy from Portugal) streetchildren apostolate is here. Even my next-door neighbors are originally from Marikina. To the last person, every single one of these BC converts told me that they have absolutely no regrets of moving out of crowded Manila and moving up to BC. Even as one of BC’s newest residents, I can easily say that, at this point, neither have I.
Perhaps I share many of their reasons for choosing to live here, but I have many more reasons of my own. The move was bound to happen sooner or later, considering all the time I’ve spent in the Cordilleras - Benguet, Mountain Province, my maternal home province Abra - much more so in the last year or so, with BC as a hub. BC itself is a city of great memories, a trove of reminescences starring those near and dear to me, with whom I’ve shared quality time in Baguio over the decades and into the new millenium. Some of these dear and silly friends have twitted me about likening my BC relocation to moving into my first apartment in Paris, but the experience is so similar in many ways that I’ve chosen a Parisian-apartment/Moulin Rouge (on hash?) meets Session Road theme in renovating the house. BC mornings are crisp and chilly, with sunny afternoons – especially in the hilly area where I live – punctuated by foggy interludes that cool the air, just like a good day during a Parisian spring. And BC is also a great walking town, never mind the doggy poo that you have to constantly watch out for, especially in my neighborhood. And of course, BC has the best market, hands down, of any I’ve seen or experienced in this country. I could spend the whole day in it, just like I spent many hours dreamily lost in the Sunday Bastille marche or the smaller weekday Mouton Duvernet market in my 14ème neighborhood. For a fraction of Manila’s (or Paris’!) prices, I can carry away my dinner of skewered meat or fish hot-off-the-grill, newly harvested vegetables in season, succulent strawberries by the kilo, and, my favorite indulgence: armfuls of freshly picked flowers. The Parisian comparison is not so superficial after all; but this time, with my own Cordillera Ilocano ancestry, I can actually talk the talk. And, unlike Paris, or any of the many other places I thought I’d settle down in, Baguio City truly feels like home.
I’m living, and loving BC – it’s Baguio City, Back to the Cordilleras for me.
posted by Honey Oliveros @ 10:50 PM
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