Rizal in Dapitan

Rizal in Dapitan

By Ino Manalo

Every year, on December 30th, we commemorate Jose Rizal’s 1896 martyrdom at the hands of the Spanish colonizers. 1896 also effectively marks the 

the end of a four year hiatus which was one of the happier periods of the hero’s tragic life.

Rizal had just returned to the Philippines when, in July of 1892, he was deported to Dapitan, a tiny town on the north coast of Mindanao. He would stay there until August of 1896. One cannot begin to describe the kind of displacement that such an exile actually meant. Remember that Rizal was a global denizen, a man who had traveled to the great capitals of Europe to imbibe the rich intellectual life of the Continent. This was a man that flourished in the midst of vigorous discussions, who articulated the fate of his people in pioneering novels and vibrant essays. This was a man whose name was on everyone’s lips, who was the center of a nation’s attention. To draw a contemporary parallel with Rizal’s fate would mean marooning, say, one of our senators on a deserted island!

Yet the Son of Calamba took everything in stride. When he learned of the deportation order, he remained calm and composed. One writer attributes this tranquility to the fact that the hero had always believed that “wherever I go I shall always be in the hands of God, in Whose hands are the destinies of men.”

It is said that the news of the banishment resounded throughout the land. Though many newspapers supported the move, one, El Globo, was supposed to have expressed indignation that Rizal could be deported merely for having written against the friars.

While his case was being discussed in the capital, Rizal was then very far away, physically and spiritually.   He was probably already beginning to plan what he would do in his new home. Perhaps the idea of getting away from it all was not entirely unattractive to the great hero. It can be noted that he had considered pulling out his family from Laguna and founding a new colony in Borneo. He had even invited his dear friend, Ferdinand Blumentritt, to join him there and to set up a study center for Natural History.

I think that Rizal’s greatness is revealed in the way he dealt with his exile. Instead of languishing and becoming despondent the hero managed to carve out an amazingly productive life. Today, his place of banishment is a better place because it had once been his retreat.

Rizal continued his medical practice seeing poor and rich patients. One foreigner who had come all the way from Hongkong for treatment would bring Josephine Bracken as his companion. She and Rizal fell in love, eventually living together in Dapitan as man and wife.

Rizal set up a school for the local boys many of whom would grow up to occupy important positions in the region. Other projects included the electrification of the town, designs for the retablo of a church in neighboring Dipolog, the creation of a map of Mindanao for the plaza, the gathering of biological specimens as requested by European scientists, and the development of a water system.

This last enterprise would catch the attention of a school girl more than a century later. For the essay writing contest ran by the My Rizal team (led by Lisa Bayot and Maite Gallego) as part of the sesquicentennial celebrations this year, Jonalyn Juarez of Cantabaco Elementary School in Toledo City, Cebu would reveal her dream of becoming an engineer so that she could set up a waterworks for her community. 

Cantabaco School Principal, Macaria Solamillo, My Rizal Essay Winner Jonalyn Juarez, My Rizal's Lisa Tinio Bayot

It is almost painful to read, how, in the 21^st century, the vital liquid that the residents of a city in the Philippines have access to is actually dirty. Yes, it is a tragedy that clean water is still something that the youth can only aspire for. Clearly the contradictions and the social cancers which Rizal had written about are still very much in place.

Society’s problems, however virulent they may be, all seem to recede when one visits Rizal’s former compound in Dapitan which is now being maintained as a shrine by the National Historical Commission of the Philippines (NHCP). As I walked around, I could not help but notice how green my surroundings were, how lush and alive.

Rizal himself had this to say about his sojourn in this spot:

I shall tell you how we live here. I have three houses, one square, another hexagonal, and a third octagonal, all of bamboo, wood and nipa…From my house I hear the murmur of a crystal clear brook which comes from the high rocks. I see the seashore… where I have small boats or baroto as they say here…I have many fruit trees, mangoes, lanzones, guayabanos…I rise early – at five – visit my plants, feed my chickens….

\

I lingered to examine the stream and the cascades at the base of the hill. I entered the reconstructed house but not before removing my shoes. Though only replicas of the original, the floors still represented surfaces hallowed by the steps of the valiant. Inside the large nipa hut, I noted that two women from a Rizalista group have taken up positions on the balcony. They were expert hilots offering Philippine style therapeutic massages to visitors. 

As I looked up at a huge tree that dominates the entire area, I fell to thinking about how this was one living creature which may actually have gazed down on the great man.  I touched its gnarled bark: perhaps Rizal had stopped momentarily here too, more than a century ago.

I gazed at the sea which surrounds the precinct. Finally I was certain: the vista, the mountains in the distance, the broad marine expanse, these all had been part of our hero’s view as well. What thoughts would have played on that magnificent mind as the day drew to a close?

It almost seems strange to read about this historical giant writing about tending fowl and fruit, spending time to fashion Japanese lanterns to decorate his garden to recall his childhood Christmases in Calamba, looking beneath ferns and stones for a tiny frog.

Yet all these too is part of the message of Dapitan. Unlike Luneta, this was not a place which commemorated death and the cutting short of a glorious career. This was a place that celebrated the pulsing rhythms of a life well lived.

Imagine how much Rizal had already accomplished by the time he was deported to Mindanao. He was truly a universal man, in touch with the pulse of the entire planet. Yet it would be his destiny to suddenly be called to this tiny corner of the earth where he would have to tend to the things that grow, blossom, and bear fruit.  Dapitan demonstrates that what made Rizal a hero was not just his game-changing vision, his literary feats, his selfless sacrifice. Equally remarkable is the fact that he had actually served a community, shared in its daily routine and concerns, laughed at its antics and wept with its disappointments.

In Dapitan, Rizal showed us all, that the real citizen of the world is she or he who knows how to reach out and touch the very ground in which we all happen to find ourselves. 

Designing Tibet

Painting by Nicholas Roerich 

Rummaging through the bins of a second-hand store in Makati, I came upon a volume with a curious title:  "Imagining Tibet”. That’s  when it struck me that, indeed, the Land at the Roof of the World is a place that exists not only on this planet but in our minds. 

The 1957 book by Peter Goullart, Forgotten Kingdom and the more recent Searching for Shangrila by Laurence Brahm (published in 2003) are additional examples which show how this entire region has been mythologized by writers from the West. The lovely paintings by the Russian mystic Nicholas Roerich of lonely citadels set in an expanse of mist shrouded peaks also helped to further enhance European fascination.

This fascination probably has something to do with His Holiness, the Dalai Lama himself. After all, the idea of how he was selected by searching throughout the land for the new incarnation of the departed ruler is truly enchanting. I suppose in an increasingly callous era, such a magical way of choosing a leader is certainly cause for pause.

Cover of Tintin in Tibet

In my case, this mountain realm first entered my imagination through a beloved comic book: Tintin in Tibet. As it turns out, this particular adventure is the favorite of many other fans of the young reporter. A friend of mine theorizes that this is because the story involves a selfless rescue in a faraway land. There is a journey on the icy slopes of the Himalayas, the weird but ultimately very human migou or Abominable Snowman, the unfathomable wisdom of the grand abbot, and the encounters with other forms of knowledge that took in stride clairvoyance and levitation.

Then again, as the tale of Tintin and his partner, Captain Haddock, unfolds, one glimpses in the colorful illustrations the solid square buildings whose interiors were brightened by rich textiles and polychrome statues. There were the sacred monuments known as chortens or stupas which held the relics of holy monks. 

One can even share in the sense of relief which the characters in the book must have felt when, after being knocked out by an avalanche, they awoke inside a monastery. All this made for an enchanting read, adding more images to the world’s concept of this fabled place.

A view of a monastery from Tintin in Tibet

Monastery interior 

Traditional bench

Given my early exposure, it was with a child’s joy that, while exploring the Eastern flank of what had once been part of the ancient territory of Tibet, I realized that I could recognize my surroundings.  The building silhouettes and the architectural details, the window shapes, even the brilliantly colored furniture and sculpture – all these were familiar to me because of Tintin.

Weathered facade of an old house in Dukezong

We were exploring Dukezong, the heritage quarter of Zhongdian, a town that had once been an important outpost on the traditional trade routes between China and the Himalayan kingdoms. Our host took us inside an old Tibetan house, entering through a crumbling gate that was overgrown with weeds. The interiors were quite dim yet I could still make out magnificent murals depicting the sacred symbols associated with the Buddha.

Interior of traditional houses

 

Outside, the district was all abuzz with many fashionable tourist establishments. One café-gallery we entered preserved the same homey feel of the antiquated house we saw. The wooden furnishings were lovingly preserved so that one could relish the time-worn textures which contrasted with the jolting colors of the throw pillows.

Heritage tourism in Dukezong utilizing local resources

In our host’s office we saw the same technique of introducing traditional touches into contemporary settings. The meeting room had a canopy and curtains festooned with the same sacred symbols we had seen in the residence. 

Meeting room with traditional patterns in an NGO office 

When I mentioned that the tranquility of the chamber made it the perfect place for conferences, our host explained that the decorative scheme was inspired by his advocacy to safeguard the historical dimension. For centuries, the cold stone spaces of Tibetan structures were always softened by draperies – reminding the occupants of a nomadic past lived out in tents made more habitable by blankets and carpets.

I would notice this same concern to marry the traditional with the contemporary in the Banyan Tree Resort in nearby Ringha. The setting alone is already so emblematic of the region. One drives through sleepy villages and mountain valleys dominated by distant snow-bound summits. I was reminded that this is the land that the great botanist Joseph Rock had come to love during the years he spent here searching for plant specimens.

The area has some of the richest bio-diversity in the planet because of the various micro-climates created by the varying altitudes. For this reason, I even suggested that the resort could offer flower collecting expeditions where guests could go out into the surrounding countryside accompanied by experts to learn about the unusual flora. Non-endangered examples could then be collected and, after a blossom-pressing or drying workshop, transformed into quaint cards or frames.

A view of the resort

Entering the Banyan Tree, I felt that I had simply wandered into another section of one of the villages I had just visited. As one of the resort owners explained to me, they had dismantled abandoned vernacular houses and moved them to the site. It was actually more cost-effective to do this since buying fresh materials to erect an entirely new building would have been much more expensive. What gave the resort a sense of cohesion, though, was the fact that the houses had come from the same locality and were stylistically related to each other.

Racks used for drying corn decorating the resort

I was amused to spy about the grounds the huge racks which the villagers would use to dry corn or peppers. An administrative office was even set-up in a tent. I noted too that the entrance façade of the spa was exactly like that of the house in Dukezong but it was livened up with jaunty lanterns. Meanwhile, the guest cottages had gates that would have fit right into any streetscape in the region.

Facade of a house in the Old Quarter of Dukezong

Facade of the resort spa

The bedrooms once again featured brilliant fabrics juxtaposed with gnarled beams. Beautiful thangka-like paintings were everywhere adding a meditative salve to the already soothing interiors. I noted interesting innovations such as drums used as side tables and a huge wooden bucket fashioned into a soaking tub. I was happy to learn that the restaurant menu featured an adaptation of my favorite Tibetan dumplings whose name I find inexplicably comforting: momos!

Resort interiors

Resort shop

Tibetan drum used as side table

 What impressed me most though were the elements that spoke of a more spiritual dimension. The paths that connect the guest cottages are not smoothly paved but covered with large stones rounded from having spent an eternity at the bottom of rushing alpine streams. Since it is not easy to walk on these uneven surfaces, one is initially puzzled: why had such an inconvenience been introduced? Then one realizes that these unusual paths allude to the deep spirituality of the Himalayan peoples. 

Resort path with large stones

Woman from Dukezong Old Quarter

All throughout Tibet, pilgrims come to sacred spots to pray and perform rituals. One remarkable practice is to circle a holy site while remaining completely prostrate. What makes this especially difficult is the roughness of the terrain which is filled with skin-piercing rocks. There are also the great distances involved: sometimes what is being circled is not just a temple, but in the case of Mt Kailash, an entire mountain.

Interestingly, the whole Banyan Tree compound is dominated by a ridge on which the developers had built three chorten. These were eloquent indicators that though this may be a plush resort, it was also a sanctuary, an integral part of a magnificent land that had endured so much through the centuries.

Old door in Dukezong

Resort Doorway

Some may find the use of religious imagery in resorts inappropriate. There have been whole discussions on how tourism can commodify even what is sacred. For me, though, I am grateful for the reminder that travel is not just about pleasuring the body but also about nourishing the soul.

The writer would like to thank Lorenzo Urra of Global Nomad for recommending The Banyan Tree in Ringha.

Taal: Surviving with Grace

Taal: Surviving with Grace

Old map of Taal from the Mexican Archives

Unaware that Taal is the name of a genteel town filled with heritage architecture, many people confuse it with Tagaytay.  I guess it has to do with that magnificent view. Mesmerized by the sapphire oval of water and its eruption-prone occupant, many think of the City on the Ridge instead of the former capital of Batangas province after which the lake itself is named. 

In the 18^th century , Taal actually stood right on the shores of its namesake. A map I was recently given by the visiting director of the Mexican Archives, Dr Aurora Gomez Galvarriato (who came to Manila courtesy of her Embassy) revealed major settlements on the water’s edge where there are none today.  Apparently, the lacustrine communities had been enduring the temperamental outbursts of the tyrannical volcano for decades. The eruption of 1754 was so cataclysmic, however, that the people finally gave up and moved away. All that remains are the ruins of the old church.

Ruins of the old church of Taal

The town of Taal relocated to a site atop Caysaysay which had, in the past, been a far-flung barrio. One can just imagine what such an exodus must have entailed: It would have been a day darkened by the clouds of ash covering the sun. In the distance was a glowing column of fire spewing from the volcano, fearsome harbinger of death.

This terrible journey through a black abyss is actually recorded in the words which accompany the Subli, a traditional dance that the Batanguenos perform during special days. Despite the dangers, the Taal folk pressed on, braving the stifling darkness to seek a new place for a new life.

Dancing the Subli

I consider myself fortunate because I have had a chance to witness how this life eventually flourished. As a boy, I had the pleasure of being invited to spend weekends with the various members of the Laulhati Family who are well-known citizens of Taal.

Old houses on Calle Real, Taal

One of the Lualhati ladies, Mrs Herminia L. Alcasid is the mother of Tony, a classmate of mine.  Her other son is the singer, Ogie Alcasid. Tony would bring me along during our Holy Week breaks or at fiesta time in December.

Having grown up in the concrete barrios of Makati, I was completely entranced with this cradle of culture: the three storey houses on the plaza, the strange carved sea-stone arch in the middle of a forest, the simple but glorious food.  I also grew to love the pageantry of the processions and the devotion which radiated from the pabasa or readings of the Passion in front of the bloodied statue of the dead Christ.

Basilica of Taal

Through the years I would listen while Mrs Alcasid (or Tita Minnie as we called her) endlessly discussed with her sister Mrs Ligaya Tankeh (or Tita Aya) how to restore the town’s monumental temple, the Basilica of St Martin. I recall how they regretted that one of the original wooden retablos had been replaced by a cement construction and how concerned they were that the pendentive paintings of the Four Evangelists had been lost. It seemed that something else always needed fixing in this ancient community and the two sisters never tired of rising to the occasion. While Tita Minnie was involved with CHARM which focused on the church, Tita Aya headed the Taal Heritage Foundation which covered practically everything else.

Under Tita Aya’s leadership, the Foundation acquired an old house which was transformed into a bed and breakfast. So dedicated was this admirable lady to her conservation work that she even braved a court case when her right to use the house was challenged. I even remember , back in the days when my own  interest in heritage work was just beginning, feeling so honored when Tita Aya invited me to a meeting with former mayor Fe Cabrera to discuss historical preservation options for Taal.

The Lualhati siblings were by no means alone in their task. Later on I would meet Dindo Montenegro  who organized wonderful tours complete with craft showcases. There were also the descendants of Dona Gliceria Villavicencio, who have  restored the houses that this formidable heroine of the Revolution had left them. Ernie Villavicencio worked with his vivacious wife Ria who is an interior designer. The couple, together with the current mayor, Michael Montenegro, would go on to found the Taal Alliance which was dedicated to revitalizing their beloved town.

Craft demonstration

Since its inception, the Alliance has undertaken many important heritage programs such as a comprehensive cultural mapping of the entire municipality. There are also plans to coordinate more closely with the National Historical Commission headed by Dr Maris Diokno which runs two museums in Taal. Meanwhile, Ernie’s cousin, Baby Joven Quiblat, with the full support of her husband Benny, took on board Sonny Tinio as heritage house consultant.

With such a broad context of caring for the pieces of the past, I was not at all surprised when my good friend, Tony, decided it was time to restore his own ancestral home.  Tita Aya and Tita Minnie are the daughters of Mrs Conchita de las Alas Lualhati, enterprising rural banker, Papal awardee and pillar of Taal society. Her distinguished legacy includes a charming house a few steps away from the plaza.

Entering the newly refurbished Casa Conchita , I was happy to see Tony’s creative touches everywhere. I smiled when I saw Lola Conch’s portrait in rainbow colors a la Andy Warhol, festooned with kalachuchi blossoms.   Tony had ran a furniture factory in Indonesia for many years and it was clear that the style that now pervaded Casa Conchita was nothing less than Bali meets Batangas. 

Lola Conchi

Tony Alcasid inspects the buffet

Ogie Alcasid, son of Taal

Moving around, I saw that Tony had carved out an arts gallery, a shop, and a café from what had once been a storage area. Upstairs still retained the sleepy feeling that characterized the house when Lola Conch was still alive – except for the gossamer orange curtains which livened things up a notch. I was glad to see the dining set with its carvings of Philippine scenes that were clearly by a Chinese hand.

Casa Conchita is just one of the many new establishments opening in Taal. There is Ramon Orlina’s art gallery as well as Lito Perez’s dining venue, Casa Tortuga. In the latter, one will find a photography studio with period costumes. Singapore-based architect, Robert Arambulo has refurbished a heritage home too – Casa Severina – which he opens to guests by appointment. In recognition of his interest in the town, the mayor has named him municipal tourism officer.

Casa Severina

My visit ended at the Basilica were I was overjoyed to see that the ceiling, long bare, had been restored. Even the pendentives sported new images of the evangelists and best of all the original neo-Classical retablo had been brought back. Taking in the splendor which surrounded me, I suddenly found myself in tears. I felt such a deep sense of gratitude, realizing that what I was seeing was the product of the sacrifice of the people of Taal, descendants of those that had migrated here to rebuild their lives with such grace.  

Most of all, it was reassuring to know that long before there was an Ivan Henares or an Ambeth Ocampo, there were already dear Tita Minnie and dear Tita Aya, quietly pointing the way, patiently inspiring us all with their love for the older places of this world which are so delicate and yet so essential for understanding ourselves.

Interior of Taal Basilica