A week from now, Balanga would again be celebrating the first of its two town fiestas (March 19, Entrance of Saint Joseph into Heaven; April 28, Pistang Bayan). As the former always fall during the penitential season of Lent, no overtly gaudy and noisy activity ensues save for the solemn and beautiful procession of the tableaus of the key events in the life of St. Joseph (from the visitation of the Archangel Gabriel in his dream to his dying moments in the company, presumably, of Our Lord and the Blessed Mother).
Of the two, it is the Pistang Bayan which has left a greater impact in my repository of delightful experiences. Here's an account I have written almost a year ago of what I have seen, heard and tasted of last year's celebrations:
It was a surprisingly sober celebration for a provincial poblacion, save for what seemed like a dozen brass bands snaking through their respective baranggay’s streets since yesterday, the fiesta eve. The happy confusion of brass music and tangled traffic of tricycles and pedestrians culminated last night with the traditional serenata at the city plaza in front of the cathedral.
I always loved brass bands. I even got CDs of the more celebrated ones that I kept on playing on just about every occasion in the parishes I once served. Still, a dozen of them is not impressive enough. I grew up waking to the sound of rampaging brass bands, the really mighty ones, every 9th of January. They start marching through the then relatively safer and cleaner Elizondo neighborhood from Plaza Miranda at around 4 a.m., and would not have yet reached the end of the parade ‘til about 10.30 or 11. There were usually around 80 to a hundred and fifty of them, especially during Quiapo’s more prosperous days. Each of the band would be preceded by factory or bakery workers of some Chinese devotees of our beloved Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno, hoisting giant lanterns and effigies that advertise their wares. My personal favorite was this really humongous, feathered, paper chicken atop an equally enormous nest of half-cracked paper mache eggs, some of which have even had yellow, felt chicks peering through the cracks. The name of the Chinese poultry-and-eggs supplier now escapes my already rusty memory. But I could still vividly see in my mind the giant, bloated Leg-horn bobbing its wobbly head over the spectators. Another was Excellente Ham’s miniature of Quiapo church’s façade, complete with a real, wooden image of the Nazareno atop the canopy of the mock main portal. Even then, just looking at that faux church model already kept my young mind busy as to how such a beauty could have possibly been created out of egg cartons and some white Styrofoam and cartolina.
Back at the Bahay Pari, I went home early after concelebrating at the pontifical mass. I had Menudo, Embutido, and Kare-Kare for lunch, plus a hefty serving of Genio’s ice cream – a local favorite in Balanga. Two flavors only. Ube, which tastes great but feels rough on the palate, more like crumbly, boiled taro tinted pale violet, and Macapuno, which also tastes satisfyingly rich and milky, but really seems more like, well, crumbly, boiled taro, un-tinted. Sister Luth insisted that I drink the glass of cold, milk-infused Melon Tagalog juice that she saved for me but I am not really a big fan of Honey Dew. I’d rather have my 500ml, ice-cold Coke regular wash down my fiesta indulgences…really makes you burp in quicker succession and provides that intensely satisfying feeling of being stuffed and very happy at the same time. It’s already 9:52 p.m. as I write this and I am still burping!
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