When retired photojournalist José Enrique “Derek” Soriano and I opened the second branch of our dive bar Fred’s Revolucion in Escolta—arguably Manila’s oldest street in the world’s oldest Chinatown—it was hard for me to accept that countless millennials had not heard of it.
I would fume every time I read their comments on social media. “Escolta? Saan ’yon?”
I calmed down after a spell, when I began to accept that in the early ’80s—when Makati was taking precedence as the premier commercial district—perhaps people didn’t want to take their children to this faded grand dame of a thoroughfare, still dignified, but perhaps reeking too much of the old school.
Not everyone has a father, like I do, who worked in the ’70s in the headquarters of Philippine National Bank, located between Capitol and Lyric theaters, two of the eight architecturally acclaimed buildings along the famed street, less than a kilometer long.
Not everyone had the chance to eat in then renowned restaurants such as Smart Panciteria or Marquina. There were after-work drinks at Wah Yuen and Savory, now burnt down, at the foot of Jones Bridge.
Not everyone has friends like Jimmy Yang, whose family owned Esquire Photo, and later put up his own shop in Malate called Mabini Photo. The place was celebrated among photojournalists who saw the transition from film to digital.
In the mid-2000s, long after Mabini closed down, Jimmy acted as de facto tour guide and neighborhood historian as Derek and I brought the kids on their first Chinatown jaunts.
“Pag Sunday, nandyan na yung Escolta walking club,” Jimmy would say in his slur-drawl, cigarette in hand, sauntering ahead of us.
By the time he finished his spiel, we’d have reached New Toho Center, originally called Toho Antigua, the oldest restaurant in Manila, built in 1888, on Tomas Pinpin Street.
In Escolta’s heyday, it might have taken you an hour or more to traverse the grand street. Depending on the era, you would’ve had several distractions: movies at Lyric or Capitol Theatre, ice cream at Clarke’s or Escolta Ice Cream Parlor (or ice cream sodas at Botica Boie), or shopping at Heacock’s or Berg’s Department Store in Perez-Samanillo Building.
Berg’s was founded in the 1930s, at the height of Escolta Street’s glamour, and was closed in the early ’80s.
The space experienced another rebirth in 2016, with that of HUB |Make:Lab, a community of artists and indie brands. It is in this space that Fred’s Revolucion makes its second home.
Roots
Derek traces his roots to the area; he was born on Doroteo José Street, a mere 800 meters from Fred’s Revolucion-Escolta. His grandfather Fred, after whom the bar is named, grew up in nearby Quiapo.
Despite negative feedback and misgivings from close friends about setting up shop there, Derek was drawn to the idea and was up to the challenge of proving naysayers wrong.
As it is, the lost shine and glory of Escolta today—save for very few areas—are yet to be discovered. You will get glimpses of it as you walk from El Hogar westward, toward Sta. Cruz Church, but you’ll have to look very closely.
Crossing from Polland bakery over to Crown Seafood Palace, I peer into the darkened windows. The bar is still intact, a bottle of Galliano still full and unopened. But the doors are padlocked and there are signs of homeless people’s sleeping gear on the pavement.
The stench of a garbage truck drives me out of my meandering mood. It’s a shame, as the breeze from the Pasig River is cool, even at the height of summer. I cross over to the other side and make it to Fred’s in less than 10 minutes.
Don’t get me wrong. Escolta’s charm still shines even amid the decay—and the players that have replaced the Spanish grandee or the Chinese tycoon ambling down this street make it all the more interesting and vibrant. As my son observed while walking to Ongpin Street one day, “It’s like a medieval tale at every turn.”
But there is no room for distraction in today’s Escolta. There is only a moving forward, a valiant effort from the different personalities from different generations who are invested in the street, to keep its legacy, and at the same time, keep it relevant and interesting enough to keep new blood and energy flowing.
The ‘real thing’
“There’s no way to artificially recreate the heritage ambience. Modern developments and townships try to, but we have the real thing,” said Art Dy, president of Escolta Commercial Association Inc. (ECAI, of which the Syliantengs are on the Board of Governors).
“We have all the basic ingredients to make it a great place—the river, heritage structures still standing, an authentic heritage feel. Our vision is to see that all these elements are maximized, adaptive reuse is in place, and a pleasant mix of heritage and modern structures is achieved.”
I’ve read a couple of articles that say Escolta is fast becoming known for its Escolta Block Parties (EBPs). The sixth one, held May 19, was the hottest and hippest summer party this year.
Shot in the arm
The hype the EBPs has created for the community is immense. As a business owner, we welcome the spike in sales; as an aging partygoer, I see it as a cathartic release, a shot in the arm to remind me how much I used to enjoy the dancing crowd.
But as someone whose part of her childhood memories lies in this storied street, and who genuinely wants to see it restored to its former stateliness, I feel Escolta should be known for more than just a quarterly EBP.
It should be a place where—translating Art Dy’s formula of blending heritage and modernity—its residents get a crack at improved, enhanced lives.
The danger of gentrification is the displacement of the character of the area and its characters. Wouldn’t it be wonderful for the Escolta streetkids to still hang around, but to be better versions of themselves?
Wouldn’t it be something if the Kagawad (a former stuntman and alalay of Dolphy, whom we regularly treat to beers), would find a new career or new direction in his sunset years?
“There are many other things that can and must be done so we do hope that more people from the area would be more involved,” said Marika Constantino, executive director of 98B.
There is also the danger of the focus being placed on the shiny, showbiz part of Escolta’s revival, rather than the long-term issues of waste disposal and cleanliness, plus the engagement of the other building owners, and the organization of the vendors and parking maids.
“I wish more buildings would actively participate in this revitalization,” said Lorraine Sylianteng, who used to work at Berg’s. Perhaps in as short as two years, in 2020, she said, “I would like simpler things to happen: vendors could be limited and have beautiful carts designed by our artists, plants can be planted in fences overlooking the estero, regular trips to Escolta by the ferry. A cleaner-looking Escolta.
“In five years, more buildings hosting more creatives or artists, more art work around Escolta, more buildings being recognized as historical landmarks. In 10 years, I’d like to see traffic improve so we can close the street. I wish that Escolta could be pedestrianized.”
Hope springs eternal in the dozens of souls truly invested—not just by lip service or PR—but in their actions, financial input, and active and consistent involvement in whatever Escolta needs to regain its crown.
Scratch that. Queens never die, and they never lose their crowns. They just turn into legend. —CONTRIBUTED
