Every morning I would take my coffee at the patio fronting the small hotel and facing the single-row parking lot, and this is a picture of what unfolded before me. This is a house in Baguio.
I had been spending part of the humid month at a Beach resort in Subic when the heat, combined with the noxious fumes from the exhausts of jeepneys and tricycles started an annoying irritation in my throat. Thinking that the cooler climate of the mountains might offer a relief, I climbed on a Victory liner bus and headed for Baguio.
It was at the tail end of the holy week observation in the Philippines and lodging was pretty scarce and to make matters worse, I got there just before midnight. But a retail vendor at the bus station in Olongapo, knowing beforehand what predicament I would be in in Baguio, gave me a number to call if and when the circumstance presented itself. So I ended up at this small hotel where some residents shared a community bathroom located down the hall. I had my own bathroom though and it was clean, as were the room and bed. But like everyone else's, my room lacked an air-conditioning unit.
What my room had, to offset that little inconvenience, was a set of French doors that opened out to a small deck. I had these doors wide open all day and night to mitigate the problem of the heat.
It could have been written somewhere in the hotel's brochure that it offered rooms with a view, and if it did, then this ( the house) was it. The only view it could have had as it was flanked on the other three sides by taller buildings.
It is a house that has seen better days. And probably better times.
It sits on a gently sloping part of the mountain and the gradient probably affected the design of the bi-level first floor and basement. The second story probably houses most if not all of the bedrooms. Wide windows let in abundant southern light to the living and dining room on the first floor and the family room at the basement. They also provided a sweeping view of the area. Twin dormers added personality to the facade and flood the mezzanine with soft natural light. A red-brick veneered flue towers over all structures, pierces the corrugated iron roof and drops down to fireplaces on the first and basement floors. It is a big house, but balance and symmetry are not lost in the over-all design. Yes, in its day, it was a nicely built house.
And this is how it looks today. It was a well-built house and the structural integrity of the building including the fireplace and the retaining wall below the metal fence has pretty much held-up through the years. But regular maintenance especially at the exterior has been neglected. The wood sidings, unpainted to show natural colors, are blackened by layers of watermarks and long exposure to the elements. The iron roofing exhibits rust in most areas and the eave gutter has sagged.
In the early days, one looked out the wide windows and saw a sweeping view of the rolling mountains, perennially kept green by the constant tropical rains. Beyond the first few ridges, winding roads hugged the mountain sides slipping in and out of view as they find their way slowly into the valleys. Majestic pine trees mingled with sturdy hardwoods as the winds playfully agitate their leaves. And on a clear day , some of the the famous rice terraces are visible. In the summer, when the hot air from the lowlands rose up to meet descending cold front, they formed a fog that blanketed the sides of the mountains hiding its lore and mysteries.
Today, the view is blocked by the hotel where I stayed in and the other commercial high-rise, mostly hotels, in the area. But even if the hotels weren't there the view has been forever changed.
The thick forests of pines have dwindled, their growth stunted by, among other things, the changing environmental temperature which is increasing unrestrained and intractable. The hills are alive with the unchecked proliferation of construction of squalid and nondescript dwellings of squatters. But even the ones that were built through proper channels, didn't adhere to any planning restrictions, it seems like. Setbacks were ignored and architectural aesthetics were thrown out the window.
You can see the whole width of most roads now because the trees have diminished. You can see the rivers too and the bridges that span across them. The roads are littered with trash and stained with grime. The bridges have become dumping grounds for garbage and the garbage remain uncollected for who-knows- how-long; the next one seems to be a bigger dump than the last. The rivers receive the overflow of trash and garbage. And do not look down into them, they don't look like rivers you can swim in; they are brown, red, murky and dirty.
When you're in town, especially downtown, don't try to listen to the rustle of the leaves of the trees, it won't be there. It is lost behind the cacophony of noise spewed out from the buses, taxis, jeepneys, tricycles and motorcycles that were angrily contending among themselves.
And that fog that you see is probably an illusion. The lofty fog has been reduced to its foul portmanteau - the smog.
note:
apologies to the owner of the house. I have nothing against the house, it is still a beautiful house- this is merely a metaphor.
I was disappointed with the city of Baguio.
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