(Published in This Week in Manila, a Travelguide Magazine, in the early 90s
and in Pensieve Moments on Wednesday, 27 October 2010)
From across the Ayuntamiento, ladies with
colourful parasols and intricately embroidered billowing skirts and gentlemen
with their de rigueur tropical whites and diadem-encrusted walking sticks, take
a leisurely walk along a road of cobblestones, a promenade that is preferable
to what could otherwise have been a very bumpy ride on a caromata. Along the
fringes of the calzada which is parallel to the Pasig River are balconies with
ornamental iron lattice-work grilles and awnings that are directly proportional
to the flare of the ladies’ skirts. Children scamper about in their game of
hide-and-go-shriek, mindful of the occasional rickety calesas and tiburins
while the scent of dinner wafts in the unpolluted air, competing with the aroma
from a profusion of sidewalk food stalls. Street hawkers blare their wares to
the consternation of permanent food stall operators. A horse-drawn vehicle that
careens on a street compel fretful womenfolk to make the sign of the cross as
they eye nearby rooftops for signs of bricks about to surrender to gravity. In
a moment, everything is occluded by the bells of the seven churches of
Intramuros across the Pasig River, as they peal the oracion. Silence prevails
with intimations of mortality. And then a sputtering of felicitations is heard,
but for the children of the Indios, this alone would not suffice. Thus, they
scamper homeward, kissing their elder’s foreheads or touching their elder’s
hand to their lips. Who does what to whom is dictated by relationships and the
difference in their chronological ages. This was Escolta at the dawning of the
19th century—the
zenith of its popularity.
Less than a kilometer in length, Escolta is
neither a cul-de-sac nor main thoroughfare. But the march of history resounds,
even pulsates in this calzada that shows silhouettes of a bygone era. Those who
have seen for themselves the grandeur that was Escolta’s halcyon days can only
sigh and reminisce when the area was the place to see and be seen. The elite
who once lived on its fringes, be they insulares or peninsulares, added élan to
the place. Its proximity to an already crowded Intramuros ensured its growth
and development, with the added advantage of being adjacent to the Pasig river
which was the route of trade and industry then.
Prior to Escolta’s development, propelled
by the burgeoning confines of Intramuros, a breathtaking view of Cavite’s
Bundok ng Susong Dalaga (Mountain of the Maiden’s Breasts) was discernible. The
quest for development shielded the sight with multi-storied buildings, forever
changing the skyline of the Loyal City. Disasters likewise played a crucial,
albeit integral part in changing Escolta’s landmark structures. An 1880
earthquake prompted the government to issue a mandate requiring galvanized iron
roofing in lieu of bricks and shingles in an attempt to ensure the safety of
passers-by from the deluge of falling debris in the event of another tremor.
Nine years later, a great fire gutted a considerable portion of Escolta which
resulted to a face lifting of the area.
The mid-1800s saw Escolta as just another
street in what was then the plush district of Manila, with erstwhile
ultra-modish, European-inspired, two-storey buildings whence shopping was a
convenience the moneyed society took to like ducks to water. Chivalry was alive
and well, and drivers of caromatas patiently waited for their fare for hours on
end amidst peltering rain—unwittingly getting drenched during the oracion
because one had to be uncovered—a very literal translation of an inculcated
foreign tongue and acculturated custom. The Spaniards, Portuguese and the
Japanese lorded it over in business as kerosene lamps began to light the
street, an indication of Escolta’s prestige over the other districts of Manila,
extra muros.
The early 1900s saw Escolta become a
compleat commercial center replete with electric lights, an advantage it once
again enjoyed before other districts had a foretaste of this luxury. By then,
Intramuros was somewhat already truant in the scintillating display of
colourful gay merchandise, most of which were already confined to the shops of
Escolta but soon spilled-over to Rosario and Santo Cristo. Makati, which was by
then very provincial (Quijano de Manila remembers it as a place where one had
to bring at least a change of clothes) was for all intents and purposes,
practically unheard of, while Cubao was cogonal, unproductive land.
Escolta, being a place to see and be
seen—demanded an informal dress code—people who were not properly dressed would
not be caught dead in the vicinity. Escolta exuded a touch of class, and sought
to maintain, even demand, a certain dignity, like Makati as we know it today.
Escolta was tantamount to a good trademark, and goods bought there became a
source of pride, at least until the shops began to specialise. It soon became
harder shopping there, hopping from one specialty store to another, lugging
bulks of paper packages and cartons with snap-on holders. Banks, which used to
transact business there either branched out or transferred to less crowded and
up-and-coming locations.
The 1970s saw the sluggish demise of
already crowded Escolta and the kindling of multi-storied department stores in
the vicinity as well as the genesis of shopping complexes in Cubao and Makati.
The advent of shopping malls finally wrote finis to the Escolta of yore. The
process of urbanization swiped the classy image Escolta bore for so long …
choked by its largess, constrained by time and space. Now, only the silhouettes
of a bygone era remain in the hallowed street of cobblestones and asphalt and
concrete that was—like layers of history—piled on high.
Today, one who walks the length and breadth
of the famous calzada cannot help but sigh at the almost palpable rhythm of the
ancient place—bereft of all the glories of an apogee that could no longer be
sustained, unable to incessantly defy physics—like a pot of gold at the end of
the rainbow which when found, one finds too heavy to carry. Even the offices of
movie production companies that proliferated in the area could not hold a
candle to the glory that was. Attempts at modernization were hemmed by
constraints of space, albeit viability in the face of one-stop, sprawling
shopping malls which made readily available the acquisition of more than just
the bare essentials. To confound the problem, the proliferation of beggars and
street urchins in Escolta is a dismal welcome—with some of them making lean-tos
as permanent homes in the periphery. Traffic is another bleary headache, with a
procession of cars parked bumper to dented bumper along with the ubiquitous
Love Buses that replaced the trambia in this narrow calzada.
People who persists on calling Recto Avenue
by its old name, Azcarraga, are beyond doubt, diminishing in great numbers. But
while Escolta does not face the threat of being renamed in the dawning of the
21st century, it is
disheartening to note that it will remain but a shadow of its old self—not even
a kiss on its forehead can suffice to resuscitate the silhouettes of a bygone
era that spanned more than a century.
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