A Vigan journal
KELLY B. VERGEL DE DIOS, GMANews.TV
04/14/2008 | 10:21 PM
April 4, Friday (preparations, or the lack of it)
My husband and I always talked about making the long road trip to Vigan even before we got married. I took up photography after acquiring a secondhand Nikon from a colleague in 1987, and after attending a photojournalism workshop, I dreamt of making pictures of Vigan's grand old houses of wood, lime-mortar, coral stone, and brick, its cobblestone streets and century-old churches.
I love old things and Vigan – at least from the photographs I'd seen – is so old world.
So that Friday, with a three-day weekend ahead, Larry said let's do it.
And with no other preparations except to make a call to my brother to feed the dog and fish while we're away – we packed the kids, three changes of clothes, and a water jug and took off.
April 5, Saturday (road-trip notes)
We left our village in Plaridel, Bulacan, at six in the morning and stopped for breakfast at Plaza Luisita in San Miguel, Tarlac, after an hour's drive.
The stop took longer than necessary because of the large long-weekend crowd. The food took ages to be served and we were not able to pull out of there until about 8:30.
Three hours later – another pit stop in the village of Consolacion along the national highway – the kids needed to cool down with mais con hielo, sundaes, and ices and Larry needed to stretch his legs.
I remember getting a feeling of déjà vu. The place looked and felt strangely familiar like the remains of a dream. I only realized why after making the same stop during the long drive home. Eighteen years ago, my friends from work – Marissa, Jessica, Grace, and Jeannie – dragged me along on this Agoo trip as sort of despedida de soltera outing and this part of Consolacion was one of the places we explored one hot Saturday afternoon.
The restored 16th century basilica minore of the Señora de Caridad (Our Lady of Charity) was destroyed during the big earthquake of July 16, 1990 – just three months after our visit – but the old balón was still intact, and so part of the underground crypt where the remains of Jessica's uncle, the late minister Jose Aspiras, are buried.
The basilica's vaulted ceiling used to be higher, the belfry leaning a bit to the left and the old church grander, but there it was – my bridal shower gift waiting to be rediscovered – only difference is that this time I was with my husband Larry, my daughter Angela, and my son Matthew instead of my old circle of soltera friends.
Across the way was the Museo Iloko (the former presidencia) that houses artifacts like burial jars and old wooden handlooms, religious icons and other pieces of cultural importance to the Ilocanos. It being a Sunday on this my second visit, the museum was closed.
I texted the girls: I have come full circle and sent them photos via MMS.
More pictures, please – one of them texted back. Spooky! texted another.
We were off again after finishing our ices and stayed our course until Candon, Ilocos Sur, for a quick late lunch at two in the afternoon.
Along the way: the scenic Ilocos highway, with quick glimpses of the port of Agoo through breaks in the trees, the Narvacan seascape with mountains to the right and stony beaches to the left, a giant image of the Blessed Mother nestled in green foliage on the slope of a rise and a marker of Gabriela Silang's final resting place following her Vigan Plaza hanging in 1763, stamped on a broad mountainside.
Suddenly, round a bend in the winding road – the picturesque Quirino bridge spanning the meandering Abra river – the same channel used by Chinese sampans centuries before in their trade run with the Ilocos towns along its banks.
And then – Vigan!
My husband and I always talked about making the long road trip to Vigan even before we got married. I took up photography after acquiring a secondhand Nikon from a colleague in 1987, and after attending a photojournalism workshop, I dreamt of making pictures of Vigan's grand old houses of wood, lime-mortar, coral stone, and brick, its cobblestone streets and century-old churches.
I love old things and Vigan – at least from the photographs I'd seen – is so old world.
So that Friday, with a three-day weekend ahead, Larry said let's do it.
And with no other preparations except to make a call to my brother to feed the dog and fish while we're away – we packed the kids, three changes of clothes, and a water jug and took off.
April 5, Saturday (road-trip notes)
We left our village in Plaridel, Bulacan, at six in the morning and stopped for breakfast at Plaza Luisita in San Miguel, Tarlac, after an hour's drive.
The stop took longer than necessary because of the large long-weekend crowd. The food took ages to be served and we were not able to pull out of there until about 8:30.
Three hours later – another pit stop in the village of Consolacion along the national highway – the kids needed to cool down with mais con hielo, sundaes, and ices and Larry needed to stretch his legs.
I remember getting a feeling of déjà vu. The place looked and felt strangely familiar like the remains of a dream. I only realized why after making the same stop during the long drive home. Eighteen years ago, my friends from work – Marissa, Jessica, Grace, and Jeannie – dragged me along on this Agoo trip as sort of despedida de soltera outing and this part of Consolacion was one of the places we explored one hot Saturday afternoon.
The restored 16th century basilica minore of the Señora de Caridad (Our Lady of Charity) was destroyed during the big earthquake of July 16, 1990 – just three months after our visit – but the old balón was still intact, and so part of the underground crypt where the remains of Jessica's uncle, the late minister Jose Aspiras, are buried.
The basilica's vaulted ceiling used to be higher, the belfry leaning a bit to the left and the old church grander, but there it was – my bridal shower gift waiting to be rediscovered – only difference is that this time I was with my husband Larry, my daughter Angela, and my son Matthew instead of my old circle of soltera friends.
Across the way was the Museo Iloko (the former presidencia) that houses artifacts like burial jars and old wooden handlooms, religious icons and other pieces of cultural importance to the Ilocanos. It being a Sunday on this my second visit, the museum was closed.
I texted the girls: I have come full circle and sent them photos via MMS.
More pictures, please – one of them texted back. Spooky! texted another.
We were off again after finishing our ices and stayed our course until Candon, Ilocos Sur, for a quick late lunch at two in the afternoon.
Along the way: the scenic Ilocos highway, with quick glimpses of the port of Agoo through breaks in the trees, the Narvacan seascape with mountains to the right and stony beaches to the left, a giant image of the Blessed Mother nestled in green foliage on the slope of a rise and a marker of Gabriela Silang's final resting place following her Vigan Plaza hanging in 1763, stamped on a broad mountainside.
Suddenly, round a bend in the winding road – the picturesque Quirino bridge spanning the meandering Abra river – the same channel used by Chinese sampans centuries before in their trade run with the Ilocos towns along its banks.
And then – Vigan!
