Threading thriving commerce and faith - a tour of Binondo

Before July ended, Gregg's "Bagbag" took a short leave from his volunteering with UN humanitarian missions, and landed into his beloved's arms (sometimes known as menacing tentacles, but that's another story). Gregg was inspired to have their short honeymoonish vacation together take a more culturati turn. No, our usual Malate weekend nights of bingeing and socializing don't count as culturati. One Sunday afternoon, we went on a tour from the Museum of the Filipino People to Binondo. I grabbed at the chance to pursue once again my pic-snapping hobby, so I brought my trusty point-and-click digital camera. (I couldn't call my hobby exactly "photography," that word sounds too "professional.")

Cameras were not allowed in the museum - I surrendered mine at the museum's entrance counter. But we were allowed to bring our cellphones, after a stern warning that built-in cameras were not be used. We didn't use them in the galleries, as matter of honor, but moreso for fear of later on being caught by security cameras and getting branded as cam-whore troglodytes. But we did get to use our camphones in unmonitored areas, such as the stairwell, where Gregg pleaded for some "chiaroscuro" moment with a window with delectable grillwork. Eon did some of his own "dramatization," though I was doubting if this was drama l'art pour l'art. He had been carrying  on queer and extreme mood swings as of late (but this too, as it should, be another story).

After the quickie museum tour, we took a quickie break of buko juice, candy and cigs in Luneta. Gregg was in a hurry to pursue his main itinerary for the day - a Binondo gastronomic feast. There were so many things happening around the park, and they're begging to be documented. I only had the chance to take a few snaps of the humongous Lapu-lapu statue, which actually looked grand and dignified if we discount that horrible pedestal it's standing on.

We took a cab to Binondo, landed in one of our favorite eateries beside the Binondo church. Gregg fattened himself with ma-chang and whatever else; I and the rest took our modest fill of lunch/merienda combined. Then, I realized that I had to hurry; I was fast losing the afternoon sunlight. I made a quick survey of the church, got sidelined a bit by Eon, who fell in love with a bright purple-colored firetruck. The truck matched his equally strangely colored and put together "get up" that day. Save for one curio item, I found my takes of the church somehow unappealing or unimpressive… haste made waste. *groan*

But I did make another disarming architecture re-discovery. As we headed towards Quiapo, Gregg stopped by at a store to buy prepaid load for his cellphone. Beside the store, after a few mental sweeping off of metalwork and signage pollution, I found a marvelously detailed art deco building. It must have been a movie house before, but now it's packed with smaller shops for clothes, lotto, foot spa, etc.

One who travels Manila's market hubs would never fail to get impressed by the dynamics of commerce and faith. Behind the Binondo church, just a few meters away from the fervent whispered wishes to saints, the faithful (or wishful?) of Fate's favor will be enticed by the vast array of Chinese traditional charms of prosperity, long life and good health, all glittery in red and gold. Near the Quiapo church, rows of stalls selling beads and what-nots proliferate, with matching demo displays of "fashionable" rosaries, bracelets, chokers, etc. I remember seeing young people lately donning rosaries and crosses as accessories - do they even realize that it was Madonna's fashion statement in the eighties (very far from her now Kabalah accentuations)? Looking down at an estante of beads, the composition was almost Mondrian, flourished with shimmers of art nouveau, all in context of Quiapo kitsch. Love it.

Commerce and faith is a forever ongoing two-fold story in these parts, not one that's neatly dissected in half but intermingled context in every cultural artifact you'd find. In Bindondo church, an image of a yet-to-be identified saint was wearing a custom-made woven hat and (now-dried) garlands of sampaguita. The image looked a lot like the sidewalk vendors that surrounded it. Behind the church, local folk pay homage to a crucifix, an homage influenced with Chinese traditions of lighting incense sticks, prayers and shake-and-throw of dice (to learn of chances of luck a.k.a. answer to prayers). When I took a pic of the crucifix, a devotee was repeatedly shaking and throwing dice; maybe she's not getting the answers she was hoping for.

After a quick cooling diversion to Isetann in Recto, the gang decided on their last destination: again, in favor of Gregg's bottomless appetite, we took dinner at Estero. We were all exhausted after all that walk; as we waited for our orders to arrive in Estero, the rest of the gang were passively watching television showing a corny children's comedy show. I was consumed with my own thoughts.

I knew I was ever conscious of not looking too much like an awestruck, camera-toting tourist, I was afraid of someone ill-motivated to take a chance at my property. I failed at complete concealment. One gay person whom we crossed paths en route to Isetann saw through me. Most definitely Manila-style streetsmart, he was clothed with light girly-colored and styled shirt and shorts over his dark oily skin, all the more made more shiny with too thick eye shadow, blush on and lipstick. He loudly confronted me (or at that time, I believed he confronted me): "Kung makatingin ka, kala mo ngayon ka lang nakakita ng pokpok na maganda!" All that without pause for breath. I wasn't ruffled, in fact, I was smiling to myself and thinking then what could the chances be that he'd give me a chance to take a picture of him.