The LVVV

This story is not in any way related to Louis Vuitton.

Not this LV

Some ten years ago, I went to Vigan for the first time.  It’s the quaint Spanish-inspired capital city of Ilocos Sur.  Once you set foot on the cobblestones of Calle Crisologo, the heritage street near the plaza and the cathedral, you will feel an air of nostalgia, eventhough there’s nothing to be nostalgic about.  Probably it’s because of the city’s ambience—a classic Spanish colonial city. 

Calle Crisologo with its cobblestones and ancestral houses

The Vigan Cathedral is made of stone and steel and has stood there even before the Spaniards came to colonize the Philippines.  The ‘calesa’ or horse-drawn carriage is a means of transportation to roam around the vicinity, especially for tourists.  The tapping of the horse’ shoes against the cobblestones of the quiet street creates a sound, as if from the past. The calesa passes by ancestral houses and mansions made of mix wood, brick and stone structures and ‘capiz’ (a type of sea shell) windows.  Often, the front yards of the houses are adorned with mahogany benches with humongous wheels and exquisite carvings.  Sometimes, there’s an iron canyon in the yards, adding a more pre-war period touch to the sight.  It’s even dramatic to tour the street at night, with lamp-lit posts that cast shadows on the cobblestones.  The atmosphere is quite eerie and if your imagination is wild, you may sense the animated spirits of the Spaniards and the locals who inhabited the place in the 18^th century.  It’s a perfect setting for a beautiful nocturnal movie.

In the morning, the vicinity transforms into a festive mood.  The local entrepreneurs in the plaza are stirred to business.  One’s visit to Vigan is never complete without having a taste of the city’s famous ‘empanada’ (collapsed sausage and vegetable-filled pastry), which is different from the regular empanadas in Manila.  Vigan’s empanada is always made fresh, only fried when the customer orders.  The filling is a mixture of Vigan skinless longaniza (sausage) meat, whole egg, shredded green papaya, bean sprouts, carrots, garlic and seasonings. The pastry shell is made of rice flour that is kneaded to a thin crust, ‘achuete’ oil adds a yellowish-orangey color to the dough.  The filled crust is shaped into a crescent and then deep fried in cooking oil.  You eat the still hot empanada with a seasoned vinegar dip.  It tastes so good!  The experience of eating Vigan’s empanada is not authentic if you don’t eat it in the plaza, near the cathedral. Dine-in tables and benches are set up in front of the plaza, with busy sellers frying empanadas on copper pans over pump-up gas stoves.  You cannot take home the empanadas to Manila, it’s freshly-made and preservative-free, it may become stale during the trip home.  And if not stale, it gets soggy when it’s cold.  So Vigan’s empanadas can only be truly enjoyed in Vigan, nowhere else.  

The vinegar used as dip for the empanada is unique in taste.  It tastes like local wine—a little sweet with a hint of alcohol, with spices.   On our way home, our car passed though a highway, the roadside lined-up with vinegar, garlic and onion vendors.  We stopped over to buy some ‘pasalubong’ (take home products).  I wanted to buy a bottle of vinegar for my mom.  She’s fond of dips and condiments.  The vinegar bottles were recycled rhum bottles.  

The LVVV

I scanned the vinegar products and as I offered the peso bill as payment, I happened to look at the face of the peddler, a boy of about nine or ten years old.  His old shirt with large green stripes was paired with faded school-short pants.  His skin has been darkened by the sun, his hair needed a haircut.  My gaze lingered on his very angelic, almost pleading eyes.  He looked haggard inspite of his young age, I felt pity pinched my heart.  When he was handing over my change, I smiled at him and signaled that he keep the change.  His pleading eyes lit up, and a shy smile surprisingly peeped through his pale lips.  He did not say thank you, but I did not mind.  A genuine smile is another good way of saying thank you.  I wanted to ask him if he was still into school, but I decided not to, because I was sure he was not. 

When our car drove off, I threw one last look at the little vinegar vendor, he was arranging the rows of bottled vinegar over the peddling table.  And that was my vivid memory of him.  After a week back in Manila, I got my sketch pad and oil pastels and painted the vinegar boy the way I remembered him.  I titled my painting, The Little Vinegar Vendor of Vigan (The LVVV).

When I think of Vigan, the face of the LVVV, although already blurred in my memory, goes with the thought.  I hope he has a sweet life now.