The arch welcomes you to the province of
Quezon. Tiaong is its gateway town.
Alas. The welcome arch for the province of Quezon is again covered
by banners, these ones welcoming you to Villa Escudero"
- Sarap Mag Babad" and "Maligayang Pagdating"
- banner greetings compliments of Ginebra San Miguel, from afar
seemingly blazoned by a pair of gold-clad horn-tooting Deco angels.
And to boot, there's a political poster of Chavit for Senador
and a GTS DSL ad.
For shame. For shame. But, it has been worse. Time and again,
the arch gets plastered and wrapped up by posters of political
ads, alcoholic beverages, mall announcements, and a motley of
advertisements that you can barely see the golden deco angels
tooting their welcome. Thankfully, there are recurrent doses
of civic-mindedness that occasionally manage to clean up the
arch, waiting for the next assault of commercial abuse, misuse
and defacement.
But that's Tiaong. Small town, Philippines.
It gets most of its name recogniztion from Villa Escudero's resort
entrance on the left just inside the welcome arch. Otherwise,
it would have lingered in small-town anonymity. it's. . . . Uhmm.
. . . .Where's Tiaong?. . . . That town between San Pablo and
Candelaria. Uhmmm. . .. Tiaong? Hindi ba doon maraming NPA?
I use to call it Sleepy Hollow, Philippines.
A town that time forgot. Caught in some time warp or twilight
zone. I always marveled at how little changed in the interim
of visits. But inevitable with time, there were small changes
that taken together are measures of progress.
From the arch, the stretch of Maharlika
highway that cuts through Tiaong - Lalig, Poblacion, Lumingon,
Lusacan, Talissay, Lagalag and Masen- into Candelaria, reveals
strings of fast-food carenderias and clusters of make-do stalls
hawking seasonal fruits, pawnshops, grocery stores, banks, and
hardware stores, the essential cockfight arena, a sprouting of
new buildings for retail commerce and services, recently buiit
handsome stone residences hinting of OFW monies contrastingly
interspersed between older dwellings and buildings.
The town switches off at dark, the shallow
breathing of nightlife provided by about a dozen beer houses
marked by out-of-season christmas lights, passing off as roadside
cantina's, providing the townfolk's generic testosterone needs
for wine, women and song or beer, bar girls and videokes.
But the winds of change have been blowing
Tiaong's way. There has been talk of the "Bullet train"
Station in Lalig. Recently, construction and excavations at the
Tiaong end of the Escudero properties have started, with whispery
gossips about a casino, shopping mall, helipads and all. Giving
credence to the talk and setting it off, a new McDonald's is
already up and running. But this is all happening on the arch-end
of Tiaong, designed to draw in the commerce of.travelers and
the weekendiing tourists and burgis.
But of the old Tiaong, most of the gentry
- hacienderos and illustrados - have long gone. Many of the old
families have left, in search for greener pastures. Very few
have returned. Some chose to stay and with grits and guts, fashioned
a living, achieving measures of small town successes. For many
who stayed, there was no choice. With the same grits and guts,
but shackled by misfortunes of impoverishment and diluted opportunities,
they barely manage a hand-to-mouth existence, liviing on the
fringe, marginalized in their their lives of unending struggle
and impossible odds, propping up their hopes and dreams with
hueteng, lotto, doses of prayers and a resignation to God's will.
Salt of the Earth, with their thousand and one stories.
I am one of those who came back to Tiaong. After a long
absence, returnniing with a vision and a dream, buillding, setting
up a foundation. Kin and friends ponder the why and the madness.
But It was a decision slow in the making, brewed from many nights
tippling on lambanog with my brother.
Why? There are many answers, many reasons,
each one easily impassioned. It's my birthplace. I was born in
that old abandoned haunted stone
house with "the crocodile" in the middle of the
front yard. Too, there are so many childhood memories too corny
and sentimental for the telling.
After eight years, there have been disappointments,
failures, regrets. . . and a faltering vision. Now I ponder the
madness of staying on. And I ponder that madness from up where
I can look out into a panoramic vista of the Tiaong countryside.
A view unlike any other in Tiaong. . . . Tiaong. My town.
So, weary traveler, after you have seen
of Tiaong what you have come for or just passing through this
Any Town, Philippines, come on up and see Tiaong from the White
House at Pulang Lupa atop the small hilll in barangay Lumingon.
And It's free admission. . . Really.
And if we both find idle time, I can share
with you some of their thousand stories, of kapres, tikbalangs
and white ladies, and some stories to break your heart, some
to make you smile,
Uhmm. . . there will be a charge for a tipple
or two of the lambanog.
A resort replete
with all the essentials for a memorable experience. The slow carabao-drawn
cart ride around the grounds while being seranaded by native folk songs.
. . The Museum that houses a unique collection of religious art and
antiques and eclectic miscellanea that could easily absorb two hours
of your visit. A wading lunch by the waterfalls indulging on a spread
of native cuisine. Bamboo rafting, a cooling dip into the pool, and
on weekends, a cultural show to highlight your visit. 
.
. . AN
EFFORT THAT LASTED TWO YEARS. . FLOUNDERED, THEN. . . PFFT!