Trip to San Esteban and Meeting with Feria
Very early on the next day after the June 30 wedding of Bernadette to Anthony Palmer, I was on my way to the Philippines. After a ten hour-trip by plane via Sydney and another four hour-journey by public transport through the traffic of MetroManila, I was in Bulacán 10 p.m. July 1.
Early in the morning of Monday, July 3, I got into an FX public vehicle in my hometown, Pulilan, Bulacan. At 6:30 a.m. I was in San Fernando, Pampanga where I boarded a bus to Baguio. The trip was uneventful but I had no inkling how the entire journey would be like. My plan was to visit my son’s parents-in-law, spent the night in their place at Aurora Hill, Baguio, leave as early as possible the following day for the four-hour-trip to San Esteban, Ilocos Sur, spent two hours at most there, then return to Bulacan on the same day. That was the simple plan, but Nature had another plan.
Arriving at Baguio, I had been told of of a typhoon named Feria approaching Mindanao. I did not know that within twelve hours Feria’s path and mine would cross. I made contact with Imelda’s daughter and sister but did not have the opportunity to meet them personally. Imelda Vergara-Lasam, originally from San Esteban, has been working very hard on the San Esteban Vergara clan. After a sumptuous meal, courtesy of my ‘balaes’, I opted for an early bed to prepare myself for the trip next day. And what a trip it would turn out to be!
It must be around two a.m. when I was awakened by strong wind and pelting rains. It was very cold. Having had a heavy breakfast, again courtesy of my ‘balaes’, I found myself to be the only passenger in a Partas bus that left the terminal at 5:30 a.m. for Laoag, Ilocos Norte. The tropical downpour and strong winds have been continuous. Visibility was almost zero but occasionally I had a glimpse of the beautiful mini-waterfalls cascading from the towering side of the Naguillan Road. The bus driver, a cheerful bloke, was happily chatting with the conductor. A nursing student dressed in immaculate white became the second passenger, but she got off at San Fernando, La Union. At the terminal the conductor advised me to transfer to another bus as it would not be economical for the company to ferry me all alone to my destination.
Strong winds continued without abatement. There were fallen tree branches along the highway to Bacnotan. At Balaoan, it was real tropical downpour with the continuous, pelting rains. Many parts of the highway were under at least three feet of water. I thought I could see China Sea but I was told they were inundated ricefields. Many houses in the low lying areas along the highway were being flooded, some of them being washed away. Trees that had fallen across the highway were immediately cut and removed by dutiful citizens. Many vehicles stopped and had to be pushed by young people. The traffic had gradually built up. Many animals found their way on the main highway as they instinctively sought safety from their pastures now under raging water.
The bus was slowly inching its way in Santa Lucia when there was a massive explosion. I felt like being punched on the face. Two windows on the right side of the bus were shattered. A big acacia tree had fallen on our bus! Broken glasses were everywhere but luckily no one was hurt. Some were in shock. The bus’ massive front windows were cracked. The roof was bent but did not give way. The water was knee-deep as we got out of the bus. A tractor removed the tree as it rested on our stricken bus. It was definitely not going to complete the journey but the driver coached it up to where the municipal hall was to make a police report.
As we waited for another bus, one from the north bound for Manila appeared and slowly passed. literally making waves on the water which was more than knee-deep. A great temptation urged me to flag it down, jump into it and end my agony. I was facing a dilemma. Should I proceed on this kind of weather to San Esteban which was two towns away or go for the long journey home? For more than hour the south-bound buses tantalizingly cruised by as they literally made waves along the water-covered highway and appeared temptingly inviting me to hop in and head for safety in the South. I strongly resisted the temptation. Meanwhile, the rains and winds continued unabated. All of a sudden a bus for Narvacan appeared and I unhesitatingly boarded it. I noticed that some small bridges were becoming dangerous to cross as strong water slow ate away the soil around their foundations. Attempting to revive my spirit, I started conversing with a friendly passenger to whom I disclosed the purpose of my trip He proudly claimed to be a close friend of the town mayor of San Esteban. The mayor’s middle name is Vergara. The amicable friend of the mayor then pointed at a passenger in front who had got in at Candon and said he was the mayor’s cousin. I was, however, embarrassed to approach him but when he got out, I followed him and introduced myself.
Antonio Vergara Racela, Jr. the PNB Bank Manager at Cabugao, invited me to the house where I noticed some guests. I felt very embarrassed at my intrusion. As I explained the purpose of my visit, I noticed that the people looked very solemn. As I looked around, I was almost in shock. There was funeral wake in the house. The family was grieving for Elizabeth Vergara Racela who had passed away on June 26. I felt myself in a very awkward position. I felt like leaving but Antonio ‘Boy’ Jr. understandingly made me feel at home despite the current situation. Because of the bad weather, he asked me to stay. I got all the information I needed. I met many people whom I knew by names only from the family tree.
During the night the wind intensified its fury and heavy rains continued unabated. Early in the morning I walked around the town proper. I finally met the mayor but our conversation was brief as he apologetically took leave to attend to the miseries of his constituents The devastation caused by the typhoon was evident.
Ireneo, Antonio’s older brother, arrived from Manila where he had left 24 hours ago. A younger brother, Mario was with Ricardo whom they had picked at he airport from Honolulu. They were still to make their way to San Esteban by public transport. With the latest first-hand information on road conditions from Ireneo, I decided to start my long journey home. They offered to have me driven by car as far as possible. I then continued the journey by foot as no vehicles except trycicles were allowed across the Sta. Cruz bridge with its south end ready to cave in. The queues of vehicles in both directions were miles long. I made my way by foot across the bridge and got a jeepney to Tagudin, then tricycle to Bangor. Another tricycle ferried me to Napaset where the highway was completely cut. After a jeepney trip to Balaoan, I got on a bus for San Fernando, La Union where I boarded a departing bus for Cubao. A diversion was made at Mangaldan, Pangasinan as the main road somewhere in Rosario was impassable.
I was in my brother’s house in Pulilan, Bulacan nearly twelve hours after I had begun my journey from San Esteban. The fullness of devastation and the number of casualties hit me from the TV coverage. My brother disclosed he had been trying to recognize the casualties for fear that I might be one of them. Well, it was close, too close. From my balaes in Baguio, I learnt one casualty was a neighbour of them in a landslide close to them.