Street Beat
"Rave party without the beer."
That was how Nel described the experience of dancing in the streets of Obando, Bulacan.
For the record, i never saw our trip to Obando as a pilgrimage. While we haven't had any kids yet, the doctors were all in assurance that we're okay and all, and it's waaaay too early to throw in the towel and seek intervention, divine or surgical. However, the idea of going to Obando was thrown about a couple times during our three-year marriage that it was a matter of curiosity getting the better of me. My thinking was, it may not be needed at this point, but what's there to lose? I have no idea to the answer, but i was sure that i had to gain this much: a road trip, a reason to mingle, and a chance to shoot some pictures. So sign me up please.
For starters, the travel wasn't much of a road trip. Obando lies in the boundary of metro manila (via malabon) and is easily accessible by jeepney for the price of a soft drink. It's not like you have to pass the invisible line that separates the urban jungle of metro manila and the idyllic provincial life.
Getting there was easy, the parking was La Sallian in difficulty. After all, the rest of the country, childless or no, were there to see nine thousand ladies dancing.
Anyway, we got there a bit early, drab smack middle of Mass, and waited patiently at the courtyard. And the whole thing caught me offguard. I took my time observing the scene: the streets were gaily decorated, the people were friendly, and plenty of food and trinkets were available if you got the pockets. Nel even had fond childhood memories flooding back upong seeing toy clay pots with matching clay fruits on sale.
Apart from the rampant commercialism from a few opportunitistic companies (although this is more likely a directive from insensitive sales managers rather than company policy), the place was was great, and you don't get the Department of Tourism-induced feeling you get when you visit WOW Philippines or any other tourist trap. Don't get me wrong, those places are also awesome, but somehow you get the feeling that some people are being friendly because they get paid to do so.
Not Obando. Not the colorful men or the dancing ladies all garbed in baro't sayas in all colors of the rainbow. They were calmly assembled at the church courtyard and waiting for the priest's (via loudspeakers) go signal to start the shindig.
And they were real friendly. They gamely posed for pictures. Inquired to whether we were there to ask for kids, how long were we married, what do we do, etc. And they end all conversations with the reassurance that yes, we will get what we wish for.
I smiled and nodded. Having a kid is something i've always wanted, but i already guessed that fatherhood will come when it does.
So we joined the procession, gamely shook off the heat and thirst. While no one was looking, we took some unauthorized shortcuts to change shirts back at the car, and then went straight back to where it all started.
Now, this was different. The highlight of the festival was the dance inside the church. I've heard of dancing on courtyards and on plazas, but this will be the first time i'll be seeing loose merrymaking inside a church. Well, a lot of people thought so too, and we had to barrel our way to the altar to get a better foothold.
The dancing started suddenly, as the orchestra played "Santa Clara" repeatedly. While working our way up front, we were swaying to the happy tune, both voluntarily and involuntarily. The atmosphere was like a U2 concert, but without the lights and smoke and just a brass band instead of Edge, Adam and Larry playing. We were like kids laughing and dancing and shouting "Uy!" after every line in the chorus. Everybody was having so much fun that they never noticed that i could never keep time with the bass drum.
When the music died down, there was one mission left: to get a wipe of the sacred relic of santa clara. I have no idea why i should but since we were already there, what the heck. I joined the gaggle and witnessed for the first time a lay minister running for his life from a mob intent on touching what he held. That was when the pushing and squeezing got a bit of out hand. Since we're in the middle, we had np choice but hold on. Order was restored when the enterprising minister positioned himself beside a door and made people to line up and exit as soon as they got a clean swipe.
Thirty minutes and 10 pounds (each) later, it was mission accomplished - we were out the door, dripping with sweat and panting from the lack of breathable air. We hiked back to the car still smiling at the experience of Santa Clara crowd surfing.
I guess the ladies were right. My wish came true: I wished for a great time here, and i got exactly that: the feeling of being a wide-eyed tourist, without the alienation, right in the middle of a festive street frenzy.
That was how Nel described the experience of dancing in the streets of Obando, Bulacan.
For the record, i never saw our trip to Obando as a pilgrimage. While we haven't had any kids yet, the doctors were all in assurance that we're okay and all, and it's waaaay too early to throw in the towel and seek intervention, divine or surgical. However, the idea of going to Obando was thrown about a couple times during our three-year marriage that it was a matter of curiosity getting the better of me. My thinking was, it may not be needed at this point, but what's there to lose? I have no idea to the answer, but i was sure that i had to gain this much: a road trip, a reason to mingle, and a chance to shoot some pictures. So sign me up please.
For starters, the travel wasn't much of a road trip. Obando lies in the boundary of metro manila (via malabon) and is easily accessible by jeepney for the price of a soft drink. It's not like you have to pass the invisible line that separates the urban jungle of metro manila and the idyllic provincial life.
Getting there was easy, the parking was La Sallian in difficulty. After all, the rest of the country, childless or no, were there to see nine thousand ladies dancing.
Anyway, we got there a bit early, drab smack middle of Mass, and waited patiently at the courtyard. And the whole thing caught me offguard. I took my time observing the scene: the streets were gaily decorated, the people were friendly, and plenty of food and trinkets were available if you got the pockets. Nel even had fond childhood memories flooding back upong seeing toy clay pots with matching clay fruits on sale.
Apart from the rampant commercialism from a few opportunitistic companies (although this is more likely a directive from insensitive sales managers rather than company policy), the place was was great, and you don't get the Department of Tourism-induced feeling you get when you visit WOW Philippines or any other tourist trap. Don't get me wrong, those places are also awesome, but somehow you get the feeling that some people are being friendly because they get paid to do so.
Not Obando. Not the colorful men or the dancing ladies all garbed in baro't sayas in all colors of the rainbow. They were calmly assembled at the church courtyard and waiting for the priest's (via loudspeakers) go signal to start the shindig. And they were real friendly. They gamely posed for pictures. Inquired to whether we were there to ask for kids, how long were we married, what do we do, etc. And they end all conversations with the reassurance that yes, we will get what we wish for.
I smiled and nodded. Having a kid is something i've always wanted, but i already guessed that fatherhood will come when it does. So we joined the procession, gamely shook off the heat and thirst. While no one was looking, we took some unauthorized shortcuts to change shirts back at the car, and then went straight back to where it all started.
Now, this was different. The highlight of the festival was the dance inside the church. I've heard of dancing on courtyards and on plazas, but this will be the first time i'll be seeing loose merrymaking inside a church. Well, a lot of people thought so too, and we had to barrel our way to the altar to get a better foothold. The dancing started suddenly, as the orchestra played "Santa Clara" repeatedly. While working our way up front, we were swaying to the happy tune, both voluntarily and involuntarily. The atmosphere was like a U2 concert, but without the lights and smoke and just a brass band instead of Edge, Adam and Larry playing. We were like kids laughing and dancing and shouting "Uy!" after every line in the chorus. Everybody was having so much fun that they never noticed that i could never keep time with the bass drum.
When the music died down, there was one mission left: to get a wipe of the sacred relic of santa clara. I have no idea why i should but since we were already there, what the heck. I joined the gaggle and witnessed for the first time a lay minister running for his life from a mob intent on touching what he held. That was when the pushing and squeezing got a bit of out hand. Since we're in the middle, we had np choice but hold on. Order was restored when the enterprising minister positioned himself beside a door and made people to line up and exit as soon as they got a clean swipe.
Thirty minutes and 10 pounds (each) later, it was mission accomplished - we were out the door, dripping with sweat and panting from the lack of breathable air. We hiked back to the car still smiling at the experience of Santa Clara crowd surfing.
I guess the ladies were right. My wish came true: I wished for a great time here, and i got exactly that: the feeling of being a wide-eyed tourist, without the alienation, right in the middle of a festive street frenzy.
Comments
Photogenic kayo ni Nel, uuy!