Just like other town squares all over, there is a lot to remember in the bamboo grove fronting of San Pedro church (or what is now called the San Pedro cathedral). If this were not significant enough to younger generations, for my parents’ and Baby Boomers like us, that tiny space might as well be a mini heritage site, if there ever was such a distinction.
During my younger years when I was at the site for days on end, the development surrounding it had been slow, as if deliberate, unlike the rest of the city which at the time was already expanding rapidly. I used to play tennis almost everyday, being a member of the city tennis club situated just behind the grove of bamboos across the cathedral. From our baseline, we’d witness a whole-day roster of street magicians, herbal medicine peddlers, chess and dama players, as well as religious practitioners of many faiths gathered, with each group occupying their regular places under the shade of the grove.
How I wish I could again hook up with remaining old-timers who used to frequent that area, sit down with them in what remains of the spot, and relive the day-to-day spectacle that marked the spot as special. Who could ever forget the magician-cum-medicine man who always brought a large sack, knotted at the top by a thick rope, to prevent the escape of what he says is a huge python. This, he used as his come-on so everyone would stay and listen, while he peddled his herbs and bottles of elixirs. The opening of the sack was of course the main event of his presentation, but that usually took several hours and depended on the number of people who bought his herbs. For first-timers to his gig, the question in the back of their minds was whether there was indeed a snake in the sack or not. Those without anything else to do thus endured the duration of his act to find out. In between his peddling, he too would entertain the crowd with sleight-of-hand tricks using cards plus juggling plates and bottles on a stick which he firmly bit with his teeth.
Finally, the finale would always be anti-climatic in the real sense. When he at last pulled out the python to signal the end of his show, the poor animal, after having been trapped in the sack with little air, is just too tired to move. It just plopped like a piece of rag on the ground. Not thrilling at all.
On another side of the grove, a group of religious debaters gathered, with their own crowd encircling them. As always, the main topics of the day all seemed to center on one thing: whose religion was better. I’ll never forget what a tennis buddy once told me. One day, a stranger who did disappearing tricks with coins once confronted the group and dared them to do what he does. My god is the devil, he said and challenged their gods to beat him at making coins disappear. The debate, heated as it was, dispersed, with everyone either going to the medicine man or the chess games being played at the far end.
This Christmas season, I hope to visit what’s left of Barrio Kawayan, if indeed a trace remains. In all the years we passed it by, I have never really looked closely, just contented enough to see it in my mind’s eye and fading memory. Perhaps, as with some other things, that’s the best way to view them.
