Living heritage

THE SON raised an eyebrow: You bought not just another one but two?

He was reacting to my sudden appearance at his side, with an unplanned purchase of two Abel Iloko hand towels.

Made of cotton and undyed, the small towels are made of cotton, woven by hand in the looms of Northern Luzon. I’ve collected about two dozens of them, while accompanying the husband to trips in Vigan.

Abel can be made of many materials, colors and designs. The most beautiful ones are bedcovers, blankets and table runners that deserve to be framed and admired, as works of art.

I cannot afford the prices of these heirloom pieces, which run to thousands of pesos. I wash the Abel by hand and don’t see myself doing the back-breaking washing demanded by a heavy sodden blanket as generations of finicky housewives may have done.

The hand towels, though, are a good compromise between art and utility. My old ones were sold at three pieces for P100 at Vigan’s Calle Crisologo.

When I was commuting to UP Diliman, the Abel would be grimy at the end of the day. After being hand-washed, the Abel would be back to its creamy softness. During the monsoon months, the towel converted into a cozy neck warmer.

Fast forward to a mall in Makati where, on the way to the MRT, our group strayed to check out a Christmas fair organized by the Department of Trade and Industry. The exhibitors were micro, small and medium enterprises (MSMEs) selling holiday decors, gifts, processed food, bags, gems and accessories, and other products.

Wandering among the stalls, I reached the periphery and came upon a young woman tending a stall which displayed Abel Iloko.

In jeans and shirt, the young woman was a quiet counterpoint to the gemlike colors and tapestry of designs of the Abel. The other MSMEs were minded by salespersons.

However, it adds value when the vendor has a connection to the product, specially the intangible aspects that distinguish a traditional handicraft from a factory-produced commodity.

A smile swept her face when I mentioned Abel. Their firm has its own looms. It takes an experienced weaver a month to produce the panels that go into a queen-sized bed cover.

When I touched a cream-colored sheet, she said that cotton was used for the design but polyester comprised the panel. She was also honest to admit that she did not know the names of the designs displayed in the bolts of weaving. Honest and informed: a surfeit of virtues in a person so young.

The hand towels were sold at P50 apiece. Cream-colored, the cotton rectangles had, at each end, three parallel lines in color to relieve the simplicity. If one looked closely, the Abel was not plain at all. There was a web of hexagons connected by a chain of links. Like the Vigan towels, every Abel weaver has a particular design.

It is hard to imagine that a lot of effort and artistry goes into an article used to wipe away sweat. Even harder to ponder is that Abel, priced this low (one is spared the whole-day drive to Vigan, one way), will have to compete with a thick, heavy imported hand towel made of “100% cotton made in India,” sold in supermarkets and priced thrice as much.

This is my longwinded reply to my son’s query. If we want heritage to surround us and not gather dust in museums, we must buy Filipino.


(mayette.tabada@gmail.com/ mayettetabada.blogspot.com/ 09173226131)

*First published in Sun.Star Cebu’s July 24, 2016 issue of the Sunday editorial-page column, “Matamata”

Inside heritage

A CLUSTER of mangoes ripening outside the window greets our morning. The fruits are within reach. If I hold out my hand, it would be like plucking pale suns.

Vigan in Ilocos Sur does not disappoint tourists. From March to May, peak time for travel, finding rooms to fit a modest budget may be a challenge around and near Plaza Burgos.

It’s worthwhile, though, to stay within the area. A few steps away is Calle Crisologo, stocked with all the handicrafts and local delicacies to satisfy the serious tourist, who must haul back home “pasalubong (souvenirs)” for families and friends to show they’ve traveled nine hours from Metro Manila to reach this far in Ilocos Sur.

In Plaza Burgos is the 441-year-old St. Paul’s Cathedral, open to sightseers from morning till night. There are rosaries, icons and other religious items for sale under the high vaulted ceilings. For the social media generation, there are unlimited opportunities for selfies in posing with Spanish-era relics and paintings.

Ringing the plaza are all the familiar comforts offered by the major fast food outlets. One’s favorite “halo-halo” may no longer be available near closing time (from lack of shaved ice or ingredients) but the crews’ willingness to serve customers way past nine-thirty says much about Vigan, positioning itself as a heritage destination but willing to adapt to the demands of a market in search of novelty but expecting all the creature comforts of metros.

After you’ve given shopping and sightseeing a rest, you might want to slow down and watch the other side of Vigan. Strolling down Calle Crisologo at dinner will not always mean nearly walking into the pictorial of Chavit Singson sharing the spotlight with a parakeet (no, the bird didn’t answer to the name of “Manny”).

If you show more interest beyond asking for the “last price,” “Abel Iloco” sellers will talk about the century-old tradition of hand-weaving that produces the fabric, which gets softer, thicker and heavier with use and washing.

And yes, the St. Paul’s Cathedral fills with parishioners who are not posing for selfies. Hearing an entire mass in Ilocano, which I don’t understand, is an unusual communion, the incomprehensible somehow inexplicably palpable.


Like other places that rely on heritage as a tourism come-on, Vigan has food and culture as staples. Aside from “bagnet,” Ilocos “empanada,” Vigan longganiza, and “Abel Iloco,” the city’s attraction is in its old houses, converted into inns.

We stayed in one such place, constructed in 1840. Staying in a place that’s like a museum is not for everyone. Two husky men checking in before us asked a staff member if there was a resident “multo (ghost)” and answered their own question. The heavy ornate furniture and floor and staircase made of narra slabs made me feel like an interloper, with less right to be there than any being hovering unseen in the corridors.

But old houses have their charm. Walls are thick, as if more than a century ago, the residents knew already to build a barrier to keep out the incessant buzzing of tricycles. Gardens are lush but retain their individuality, every creeper and blossom a throwback to days when windows were wide and unbarred, inviting one to take a look outside. Smell the flowers. Pick a fruit. Value what’s passing and gone too soon.


(mayette.tabada@gmail.com/ mayettetabada.blogspot.com/ 09173226131)

*First published in Sun.Star Cebu’s April 19, 2015 issue of the Sunday editorial-page column, “Matamata”