Baclaran bounty

I used to hear the worst horror stories about Baclaran. Our helpers during my elementary years would come home from a Sunday afternoon shopping spree laden with printed housedresses and accounts on the traffic snarls, claustrophobic swarms, pickpockets, beggars, and harassed shopkeepers who could barely keep up with the motley crowd of churchgoers, bargain hunters, and tourists. Some years ago, there was news on a Baclaran renovation. People talked of how the local government cleaned up the place, relocating street vendors to more organized locations, building shopping stalls, and installing a more efficient security system. By this time, our Baclaran-shopping helpers had long gone and nobody could really give me a first-hand experience. So, up until a couple of months ago, I still had visions of squirming masses, streets abounding with rotting food produce, and the stealthiest crooks each time I thought of Baclaran. I figured that the devout Baclaran churchgoers had their prayers granted as a reward for having enough guts to go through such a distressing experience.

A couple of months ago, Cosmopolitan editor-in-chief Myrza Sison was showing off a few pairs of the kitschiest underwear I had ever seen (since Larry Flynt’s sex shop in downtown LA). There was a pair made of revealing canary yellow lace and another in polka-dotted cotton. They were from designer and Baclaran Church devotee Kate Toralba who had purchased them from one of the numerous stalls of Baclaran for about P80 a pair. "They now have all these kitschy stuff from Korea and China," said Myrza. "You have to go!"

The shopper in me duly intrigued, I gave Kate a call wanting more information on how to get to Baclaran and the best plan of action when I get there. She tells me that Tuesday and Wednesday nights are the best time to go. These are the times when the church is open, allowing for good parking, and when the surrounding nightmarket is alive and thriving until about three o’clock the next morning. Though still uncertain if I was ready to give up my Baclaran virgin status, I asked to tag along with Kate and her friend Marge on one of their Tuesday night visits.

What first hit me when we drove into the Baclaran Church parking lot was how bright the area was. Apart from the lights coming from the church, the streets were lined with fluorescent-lit stalls and streetlamps. It was also amazingly cleaner than I expected. There were no garbage mounds, no embarrassing stenches that stick to your hair and clothes. There were many people, although not the Midnight Madness weekend crowd that I had imagined. After paying our respects to the Catholic establishment – silently giving our thanks and supplications to God and lighting our respective candles, we embarked on my very first Baclaran experience.

Baclaran was not exactly the muddled maze I expected it to be. The shopping stalls make up one long stretch and a few side streets dotted with stalls selling the most unexpected finds. Though they sell the usual jeans and casual tops, Baclaran’s hidden wealth lies in the outlandish merchandise it sells – I could have bought my Halloween costume here. Floaty showgirl tops are displayed alongside black dominatrix underwear and skimpy bikinis in metallic lamé. Down the road are sequinned dresses that bring Cruella de Ville to mind, more lace underwear, and skimpy hotpants in the kitschiest prints. The most expensive piece still sells for under P500, bargaining excluded. Footwear is also abundant – imitation rubber shoes in the trendiest styles sell for about P300. I found one of my best buys in one of the side street stalls: A pair of camouflage underwear which cost me an afternoon’s worth of parking in Makati.

The street was also lined with stalls that sell merchandise for P10 – hair frills, costume jewelry, vanity aids, kitchen and household accessories. Unable to resist the cheap price, we loaded up on P10 buys, a few of them practical but most were delightfully unnecessary. Laden with plastic bags near the end of our shopping expedition, Kate laughingly declared, "This is what I don’t like about Baclaran – I always end up buying things I don’t really need."

It was almost 2 a.m. when we drove out of the Baclaran Church parking lot. I couldn’t stop waxing excited about how glad I was that I had made the trip. I had become something I never thought I would be – a Baclaran devotee.