Charmed by Silay
July 15, 2001 | 12:00am
There are no beaches here. No hammocks under coconut trees or expansive golf courses. There are no extreme sports, saunas or waterfront cottages. Not that any of the things mentioned above are undesired – a milk bath and massage or a dive to a shipwreck are most welcome, thank you very much. While Silay seems to be lacking in this category, its charm lies in the calmness and grandeur of its architecture. And because of the inclination of its people toward the arts and culture highlighted by her historical architecture, it is often called the "Paris of Negros Occidental."
As one enters Silay, there is a noticeable transition from modernity to colonial Philippines, an obvious demarcation of present and things past. The cobblestoned streets are filled with ancestral houses which seem to have literally slid off the pages of a Rizal novel.
They are resplendent and nostalgic, echoing the glory days of the haciendas and the ilustrados, of elegant parties and early evening processions.
The houses typify the Spanish-influenced bahay na bato which centuries ago housed Spanish aristocracy and several hacienderos. They are two-storey structures, the first floor built from concrete and the upper level of wood paneling. They usually have grand salas, azoteas, verandas and tiled roofs. The fusion of American and French architecture brought about by some of the settlers in the city are evident in the arched windows, balustraded balconies and magnificent staircases. Capiz-shell windows with carved ornamentation and wooden balusters were later on introduced by the Filipinos.
Perhaps best known among the houses is the Balay Negrense, home of the Gaston family. It is the ultimate postcard image – picturesque arch windows, large and lofty halls, column supports, balusters used as grills and manicured lawns. It has been opened for viewing for visitors to get, at most, a feel of the opulence of a bygone era and hopefully spark in the collective consciences the need to preserve these structures as shrines of our legacy.
At present, these narrow streets and the enchanting landmark houses have been designated by the National Historical Institute (NHI) as national treasures. They are the living, breathing settings of the sepia photographs from ages ago. I may sound like a propagandist for heritage preservation, but it would be tragic if we lose these houses to neglect. They are as beautiful as the houses in Florence, Italy or the rustic streets of Prague.
On my last day, I spent the whole afternoon exploring the quaint city. Passing from house to house, I longed for the tales of each individual home – of their inhabitants and the opulent lifestyle I can only read about now. In almost a surreal way flashed scenes of romantic interludes that are both harrowing and poignant. Off courtship in the balcony, of history unknowingly created in the daily discussions in the large sala.
An idyllic image persists every time I think of Silay – leisurely afternoon walks, windblown faces of ladies waiting by the windows and calesa rides.
There are no beaches here, only grandeur and memories to live by, there are no hammocks, only sweeping stories of unfamiliar faces vicariously connected to us, here and now. And it is this invisible connection that tempts me to visit Silay once again.
As one enters Silay, there is a noticeable transition from modernity to colonial Philippines, an obvious demarcation of present and things past. The cobblestoned streets are filled with ancestral houses which seem to have literally slid off the pages of a Rizal novel.
They are resplendent and nostalgic, echoing the glory days of the haciendas and the ilustrados, of elegant parties and early evening processions.
The houses typify the Spanish-influenced bahay na bato which centuries ago housed Spanish aristocracy and several hacienderos. They are two-storey structures, the first floor built from concrete and the upper level of wood paneling. They usually have grand salas, azoteas, verandas and tiled roofs. The fusion of American and French architecture brought about by some of the settlers in the city are evident in the arched windows, balustraded balconies and magnificent staircases. Capiz-shell windows with carved ornamentation and wooden balusters were later on introduced by the Filipinos.
Perhaps best known among the houses is the Balay Negrense, home of the Gaston family. It is the ultimate postcard image – picturesque arch windows, large and lofty halls, column supports, balusters used as grills and manicured lawns. It has been opened for viewing for visitors to get, at most, a feel of the opulence of a bygone era and hopefully spark in the collective consciences the need to preserve these structures as shrines of our legacy.
At present, these narrow streets and the enchanting landmark houses have been designated by the National Historical Institute (NHI) as national treasures. They are the living, breathing settings of the sepia photographs from ages ago. I may sound like a propagandist for heritage preservation, but it would be tragic if we lose these houses to neglect. They are as beautiful as the houses in Florence, Italy or the rustic streets of Prague.
On my last day, I spent the whole afternoon exploring the quaint city. Passing from house to house, I longed for the tales of each individual home – of their inhabitants and the opulent lifestyle I can only read about now. In almost a surreal way flashed scenes of romantic interludes that are both harrowing and poignant. Off courtship in the balcony, of history unknowingly created in the daily discussions in the large sala.
An idyllic image persists every time I think of Silay – leisurely afternoon walks, windblown faces of ladies waiting by the windows and calesa rides.
There are no beaches here, only grandeur and memories to live by, there are no hammocks, only sweeping stories of unfamiliar faces vicariously connected to us, here and now. And it is this invisible connection that tempts me to visit Silay once again.
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