By the time we arrived at Holy Rosary Church, the sky had shown hints of impending rain, approximately two hours after our departure from Quezon.
Looking at the graying sky, I felt a sense of apprehension. I wondered how long it would take to explore the church before the drops would fall, and if the rain would arrive before we could reach the Angeles Museum by foot. Dad came later than expected earlier in the trip which conflicted the schedule a little, and the whole trip was spent in silence after a period of awkward waiting, which was quite uneventful, to say the least. Being the only one who resided in Angeles among the group (and the one who suggested it for the field work), I felt a little discouraged. I had been so sure of how the trip would go and of the plan to follow, however, life seemed to have a different objective in mind—so, gathering as much courage as I could get, I gathered my thoughts and led on with the expedition.
My family and I planned beforehand that Holy Rosary Church was the first place in the itinerary, as it had been one of those places that imbibed a sense of history upon its people and provided a convenient travel course for the rest of the trip. Dating back to the Spanish era, it was constructed by Angeleño townsfolk under the polos y servicios labor system, where native males aged 16-60 were required to do manual labor for free. What came out of it was a nice and sturdy edifice that embodied the typical grandiosity of all structures made during the Spanish era, with its enormous scale and period architecture, which was meant to last all throughout the ages. Now, it still remains as is (with the exception of the renovated interiors) in the midst of the bustling urbanity of the streets below it; a place where I, as a child, had marveled at its walls and played through its aisles during our visits. Not minding the draft that signaled the incoming drizzle, we continued to enter the parish to immerse ourselves further in the experience. Surprisingly, while in the midst of admiring the architectural majesty of its viscera, there were people in formal attire (some even versed themselves in ternos and barong tagalogs) with the aisle bound in a red carpet, and decorated with flowers on either side. Apparently, we had arrived just in time for a wedding, so we decided to egress after examining the inside further. Although weddings were a common occurrence, its commonality was outshined by its essence: the union of a man and a woman in one love, from whom springs forth a family, the heart and soul of the Philippine Society. It was like watching culture in process, when the city’s life force of citizens mingles with the stirrings of history.
We waited near the arch that housed the entrance to the church for a while to see what the bride looked like, the drizzle coming in the midst of our observance. Afterwards, we crossed the street (not minding the light drops that poured on our backs) to the next item on the itinerary, Museo Ning Angeles. I had been honestly oblivious about the place (although I remember seeing its structure for some time), and had only known of its existence when my group mate, Trista Vega, had mentioned it to me, so it was technically the first time any of us in the group had gone there. Taking it as an avenue for exploration, we first took some shots in front of the Jose Abad Santos statue in front of the museum and entered, where we had a little problem with paying the patronage since nobody was at the office. Fortunately, by the time we finished going through the diorama section, a lady (possibly the curator) had seen us and helped settle the confusion, so we were able to explore the rest of the museum guilt-free.
Museo Ning Angeles was the Kapampangan translation of Angeles Museum, which interestingly had once been an old municipio building during the Spanish era. Eventually it was converted into a museum in 1999 to address the growing need for awareness and concern of the city’s rich cultural history in the local citizens, by the Kuliat Foundation, whose name was taken from the city's old moniker after a vine that had grown abundantly in its wilderness. Aside from the dioramas that portrayed various occasions in an Angeleño’s life, there were also mementos and photographs of Angeles City way back when, with some reaching to the American era. In one of the rooms, we saw tidbits of information sophisticatedly displayed on glass, complete with visuals and photographs for further illustration. The second floor seemed to be a tribute to the Kapampangan kitchen, displaying various utensils and dining arrangements
from the old to the new. We took photographs with all of them and had a bit of fun with some mementos, taking a bit of liberty as well in exploring the nooks and crannies of the second floor. While admiring one of the rooms, however, one photograph took much of our interest: it was of an American soldier with a petite Filipina, who was sitting provocatively on his lap. We then departed from the museum and braced ourselves to run through rainy streets, but fortunately Dad had driven in front of the museum just in time. Loading ourselves in, we then drove inside Clark Air Base, where we were to visit the Clark Museum for another viewpoint regarding Angeles’ history. Unfortunately, by the time we reached our destination, the museum had already been closed, as the staff had left minutes earlier than the usual time. That meant that we’d be sidetracked again, and something had to be done to fill in the slot before we could eat out for dinner and go to Fields Avenue, which was supposed to be a night-time venture. Luckily, the lady guard who - had generously explained the situation to us - suggested Nayong Pilipino, and so there we went. 
Although it wasn’t my first time to go to Nayong Pilipino, my memory of it had gotten quite rusty, so we were left again to our own devices. Since it wasn’t really supposed to be on the itinerary (and had bordered more on Filipino culture in general than that specifically of Angeles), we decided to slack around a bit and take a break from schedule. Luckily it had stopped raining at that point, so we went to the exhibits featuring the various homes of the different indigenous tribes of the Philippines, and took pictures: most of them featuring Sherjan Rana, the only boy in the group and the most energetic of us. We laughed a bit as we goofed off in the “heroes’ homes” exhibit and took some pictures of them as well, ending the venture with a hilarious boating incident before we left for my house to settle down. We passed the time by watching some episodes of Hell’s Kitchen at my house after settling down, and by eight we were out on the roads again for dinner. Dad had planned for us to eat at 19 Copung-Copung to get firsthand experience in Kapampangan cuisine, and upon entering the venue we were greeted by a festive atmosphere, with the place festooned with banderitas, warm lights, and old school cooking paraphernalia. The food was displayed in such a way reminiscent of traditional Filipino carinderias, and the service people (garbed in native baro’t sayas and camisa de chinos) exuded hospitable auras. We got ourselves a seat in one of the common kubos (nipa roofs that sheltered the tables and chairs), whereas Dad and I took the liberty of ordering the most unique of the dishes for a full immersive gastronomic experience, which we had the license to order having eaten the dishes previously. The chilling wind of the night brought about some discomfort while waiting, but it was worth it nonetheless, as all chilly thoughts had disappeared with the smell of home cooking.
We ate dishes like batute tugak (stuffed field frogs) and kamaru (sautéed crickets in soy sauce), whose odd appearance were made up for with their pleasing tastes. The batute tasted exactly like chicken with a meaty stuffing, while the kamaru gave a mildly itchy sensation after being swallowed, even after chewing, with all the legs and antennae involved in the dish. Other dishes included kare-kare, a delicious stew dish which made use of a peanut butter base, and carabao tocino, which tasted sweeter than the conventional beef tocinos of the breakfasts of old. It was a food trip of peculiar proportions, but it was nonetheless a great experience ending up with five full bellies. Dousing everything off with leche flan and buko juice in a shell, we then gave the guard our leftovers right before going to our final—and perhaps, the most bizarre—item in the itinerary. Located alongside the Fil-Am Friendship Highway and Clark Air Base (which had been occupied by the US Military Forces during the American colonization), Fields Avenue contains a chain of bars arranged side-by-side along the roads, said to have come into existence during the early years of the the American military forces in the Philippines. Although the Philippines is now an independent country and far from threat of a global-scale war, the bars in Fields still remain functional, giving Angeles City its notorious reputation as “the center of the Philippine sex industry”, as deemed by BBC. It had recently become a walking street, so Dad had to park the car in front of a police station just in case(in a fit of paranoia, I had also decided to bring my arnis just in case), and talked to someone there to ensure our safety, right before we headed to the world of neon lights and monkey business. In the past, I used to pass through Fields as an alternative route after school, since I'd then been espousing the services of the school transportation. But ever since it closed to vehicles, I had not seen what happened to it since, save for some quick snippets every time we passed the entrance while en route to Mabalacat. It's one thing to have seen a place, but another to actually be there, and when in Fields Avenue, one would realize how true the old maxim was. A lot of people were walking on the streets by then, a mix of foreigners and locals apparently out for a night-time conquest. The bars seemed to come alive at that hour, boasting of all they kept hidden with their large glowing signs, interesting gigs, and pretty girls: all of which a ploy to lure customers for a profit. In my previous visits to Fields (before it became a walking street), I remember seeing scantily-dressed ladies sitting boredly outside the bars, seemingly unassertive and like any other person on a warm day. Now, however, they were scattered upon the streets in all their provocative glory, doing their best to persuade customers into joining them in their fun, as they were not merely call girls, but representatives of their respective bars - all geared up to bring home the bacon. Near the exit, an adult shop stood ominously, with their wares exhibited through a glass window.
After one round of walking it was time to go home, where we settled down and opted to watch The Exorcist before sleeping, seeing as it was our last night in Angeles before we had to leave for Quezon the next day. Reflectively while watching Linda Blair’s acclaimed portrayal, I think about Angeles, the city where I was born and raised, and wonder if it also prepares to sleep like I do. Why, with all its flaws and beauty, one could say that it was much like a human being: who breathes and remembers and keeps mementos of the past.
Works Cited
_________. Heritage Tour. __________. Angeles City Site. 20 Aug. 2011.
BBC News. Far East sex tourists exposed. __________. British Broadcasting Company. 4 Nov.
Kuliat Foundation Inc. KULIAT FOUNDATION INCORPORATED: Restoring Angeles City’s
Noli. Nayong Pilipino at Clark Field, Pampanga. 10 Sep. 2007. _________. __________.
pampanga>.
Wikimapia. Holy Rosary Parish Church (Angeles City). _________. Wikimedia. 20 Jan. 2010.
