Baguio: Present past
Most people from my generation speak of Baguio in the past tense. They recall the scent of pine that is no more. It can still be found outside the city center, in wooded places that await overbuilding for seasonal tourism. They hark back to the mountain landscape when it was still lush, green, and not disfigured by houses with rusty galvanized iron roofing. These old-timers complain about congestion, the noise of jeeps, the smell of exhaust, and the proliferation of ukay-ukay.
My own memories of Session Road are of hot lugaw at Star Café or Dainty Café, which have been replaced by Starbucks, McDonald’s, and Jollibee. Business establishments on old Session Road were memorable. Old Pagoda was manned by a little old lady who sold charms and divined your future and fortune. Ato Bookshop was a basement shop that stocked Filipiniana. One of the formative books of my childhood was bought from Ato Bookshop, “Creatures of Midnight” by the folklorist Maximo D. Ramos, which taught me how to classify, detect, and repel all sorts of “aswang” described academically as “creatures of lower mythology.” Tiyanak, manananggal, mangkukulam, etc., lost their sting after I learned about their weaknesses. CID on Session Road was a school supply store pretending to be a bookstore. Items were displayed helter-skelter, so diving in for a pen or a notebook was a major operation. Each time we entered, we chanted: “sa CID kailangan mo pang sumisid.”
Two Indian bazaars used to be on Session Road, one was called Poohumul’s, the other Bheroumool’s. We never entered these shops, fearful of the “Bombay” who snatched naughty children away. Sunshine, down the road by the edge of Burnham Park, was the biggest supermarket in town, across the street from the public market. While my mother did a grocery run, I browsed their wide selection of imported comics. I bought a lot, and in time became a “suki,” so the shopkeeper allowed me behind the display to choose from their stock. I used up my allowance to buy comics, read all of them while in Baguio, and flipped them for a profit back in Manila.
My family usually went up to Baguio after Christmas and stayed till the New Year. On the way back on Kennon Road, somewhere before the Lion Monument, my father would declare dryly: “Sorry folks, vacation is over.” That brought us back to earth and the dread of returning to school. We stayed longer during the summer, when I joined my cousins at the Baguio Country Club, where we were placed in the care of the staff who knew us by name and treated us like their own children. They made sure we ate on time and kept us out of mischief, even if we had a run of the place, exploring the rooms, kitchen, elevator shaft, golf course, and even the drivers’ quarters. When I became an adult, the Country Club became cold and impersonal like a hotel. Staff asked for a membership card when we sat down for a meal, so different from an earlier time when everyone knew you (and your parents’ membership numbers) by face.
On previous trips, I would contrast the Baguio of my childhood with the congested, noisy, multicultural city of 2026. Reading accounts of Baguio in the 1900s made me realize we cannot return to the past. I stopped complaining because I realized it is hard to live up to nostalgia. I have to take Baguio for what it is today, not what it was yesterday or even a century ago.
I went up by bus this week, disappointed that the “sleeper bus” I booked was not available, and I was downgraded by Victory Liner to first class. While the fare difference was refunded, I had to endure the crappy seats left over. Five hours later, I was in Baguio and walked from the Victory Liner Terminal to Casa Vallejo, a hotel established in 1909. Four hours before check-in, I decided to kill time by strolling down Session Road in search of brunch. As I walked on the uneven sidewalks, I was surprised that cars actually stopped for pedestrians on a crosswalk! In Metro Manila, pedestrians have no rights on the road. Cars, motorcycles, and even bicycles rarely yield to pedestrians. On Ayala Avenue, some drivers ignore the red lights on the crosswalks. They speed up instead of slowing down and blow their horns at pedestrians, or even drive dangerously close to get them out of the way. At times like these, I wish I had a gun.
Physical newspapers are still sold at newsstands on Session Road. Both national and local newspapers, even the Ilocano language magazine Bannawag, share space with candy and boiled peanuts. Vendors are only on the cathedral side of Session Road, selling all sorts of local produce: cucumber, eggplant, siniguelas, chico, and lettuce at “tumpok” prices that don’t require fractional currency in change. Everything is priced at P50 or P100. I ignored McDonald’s, Starbucks, Jollibee, or any of the restaurants I could find in Manila, preferring local brands like Beans Talk, James Wright, and OMG (Oh My Gulay). Baguio must be a major supplier of corn because many business names were puns like: “Ihaw Juan” (Ihawan), “Zara Oll” (Sana All), and “OngKoleyt” (Ang Kulit). These made me smile and helped to make me take Baguio for what it is now rather than what it was.
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