The bagnet that fell from the sky and other stories

Misadventures on a road trip to and from Vigan that never seemed to end

The object in question that mysteriously took flight and a tub full of bagnet, a deep fried pork belly dish.

The object flew right past my left ear, bounced off the van's tinted window, and landed a few inches away from my feet.

I picked it up and felt its edges, eager to find out what it was.

The sharp tactile feedback brought me back to my (somewhat) misspent youth when I occasionally felt up a hard, plastic tile during a round of mahjongg, hoping to come up with a winner.

I must confess I've had my moments -- hitting inside straights in mahjongg (and, for that matter, Texas Hold 'Em) that they remain burned in other people's memories, especially after being sufficiently lubricated.

But that day, Lady Luck looked the other way.

The tan-colored, pebble-sized object and its provenance remained a mystery.

It either came from the sky, fell off a tree, or was propelled magically by a sensitive yet stern universe that reminded me I should check on a cranky father and an antsy girlfriend in Manila.

Establishments in Vigan have been able to use and, at the same time, preserve the city's historic structures.

After all, it was more than a week since I left Quezon City.

At that time, I was already on the road in a trip that started from Taguig, moving slowly northward to Bataan, Zambales, La Union, Ilocos Sur, and, as of this writing, Ilocos Norte. (I am currently enjoying the confines of a modest room in Pagudpud, hours after a short, if fortuitous, visit to Paoay Church from Vigan City. How I got entranced into buying a set of supposedly Ilocos-made knives before entering the church is best reserved for another blog entry. That is, if I find time to, uhm, take a stab at it, schedule-permitting, as I still don't know where the next destination is. In short, to borrow a phrase from a predominant religion, this journey is like a rosary because it's full of mystery. Amen.)

Since late May this year -- except for a week-long respite early this month -- I have been traveling with a group of five senior citizens, four of whom are my maternal relatives by blood and marriage. (Also with us during this journey is J., who is still nimble enough to assist my aunt and uncle in their daily activities.)

A few days ago, we arrived in Vigan City, Ilocos Sur in the afternoon, following an overnight stay in San Fernando City, La Union.

As soon as we checked into our AirBnB home, we met Maning, who took care of the place, and temporarily adopted him as part of our entourage. Besides riding with us in the van that day, he recommended a canteen that the locals frequented.

One of the few new taxicabs serving Vigan show that the city is slowly urbanizing while remaining true to its practices and traditions, as shown by a worker harvesting pork longganisa after being dried for a few hours in the sun.

It was around that time that the unidentified flying object came into my life.

A moment after I picked it up, I noticed a fellow in his thirties on my left. With a T-shirt draped over his shoulder, he eyed me with suspicion and annoyance. It looked like he wanted to bite my head off.

He reminded me of Billy (not his real name), a fellow co-worker who was always on my case since Day One of my last media job. The longest stick in the world was up his ass as far as I or anything I ever did was concerned.

He once tore up a leave form I endorsed and signed for a fellow co-worker. He also disallowed me from mixing serving cocktails during one office Christmas party. The restriction was lifted minutes later because, one, cooler heads prevailed, and two, the same cooler heads earlier got a taste of my Gin Buck and found that it was so good it could be served at brunch. (Which I did once.)

In any event, I never thought I would meet the likes of Billy ever again.

But figuratively speaking, there he was again -- or at least, a version of him right by a Vigan City canteen -- with his two butt cheeks clenched around a lengthy stick that probably had my name etched on it in all caps. BASILIO, the stick indicated.

I ignored him.

Unidentified object in hand, I walked over to Maning and showed him the gift from above.

That was when I figured out what the whole thing was all about. The object was a piece of bagnet; deep fried pork belly for which Ilocos is famous for.

Presumably, the Vigan version of Billy lobbed part of his lunch in my direction because he was pissed off that our van was parked in front of his gate (even though the actual driveway itself was arguably public property).

To avoid a direct confrontation, Maning came to the rescue, issuing an apology and reassuring our antagonist that we won't take too long. We moved the van to another spot as soon as it was vacant.

Meanwhile, I took the piece of bagnet and placed it in my pocket; a perishable reminder that no matter what you do and where you go, there will Billys around who will always try to break your balls.