Scent of Grapes

With the very narrow and bumpy roads, it will take you a few hours’ drive from metropolitan Manila to a little town off the coast of Batangas called Mabini. Even farther, past the steep slopes that wind all the way to a dead end is a quaint Bgy. Pulang Anahao, aptly called “Little Italy” from the uniform architecture of the mid-sized houses that follow traditional Italy’s, especially those in Modena.

What takes unusually longer, though, is the amount of dialogue one needs to engage in before any piece of ice is broken with the locals. Often times reserved, they seem thrifty with how much they share. This would confuse anyone, at the outset, but after a more prudent prodding, one would surmise it’s really the perplexing nature of their stories that keep them away from the limelight. For starters, Little Italy is a place where spouses are cousins and the village captain is connected to everyone by the second degree, at most, much like the Amish Village of the United States.

Another parallelism between the Amish Village and Little Italy is the quasi-resistance to the ‘outside world,’ thus necessitating a deliberate reach-out if one were to know them deeply. It is a place of contrasts, too, where dim nipa huts are juxtaposed with bright-colored mansions, which only goes to show the ambiguity of Little Italy’s way of life: relatively advanced yet rooted, progressive with the huge influx of remittances but very, very laidback.

It is a place where relationships border arbitrary but, on the other hand, individual income is clearly delineated. One would hear stories, albeit unclear, about competition where dog eats dog for money. Another would bawl broken relationships that came second to bold ambitions. Still another would find children loitering the streets, instead of attending to their lessons in school because they presume a domestic job in Italy way ahead of university graduation. But what happens if they can’t?

Seemingly, that’s not the case. Little Italy enjoys a certain camaraderie not seen anywhere in the Philippines- locals take turns sending one another overseas. This selfless act has gone a long way in instigating a culture of generosity among the locals and overseas workers. Remittances have not only built extravagant homes for families, but a church and a smooth road for the community, as well. The council is well-organized and respected that a mere visit to any resident while you are accompanied by any of the officers already springs trust. Most of all, one would witness how much the place has progressed; the disparity between Little Italy and all the towns preceding it is so immense, it’s difficult to ignore.

Indeed, it is a very narrow road to Little Italy. One would endure the difficult terrain and extremely impoverished areas in order to get there. Likewise, Little Italy is every facet a representation of what suffering these Filipino workers stomach on their road to success- hunger, deportation, homesickness and the worst of these I could not even imagine- walking all the way from Austria in order to discreetly pass through the border while risking one’s life to random gunshots.

When people talk about diaspora, more often than not, Italy is left out what with all these horrifying stories. True. However, the scent of apples in America may be infinite but, to this day, has it pioneered a place that can emulate Little Italy?

You climb up the narrow road and, in the end, you start to feel the warmth the place exudes, as every local runs to assist you. Then, you realize that the residents of Pulang Anahao are not any less hospitable than the rest of the Philippines’. What sets them apart, however, is that they have a secret and a reputation to keep. Their secret stems from decades of hardships that photographs cannot conceal despite extremely indulging magazine write-ups (the very reason why locals do not pose for pictures).

And their reputation?

Unlike apples, the lush of grapes has no scent, much less lucrative. But, unlike apples, the lush of grapes does not rot in one’s backyard, rather evolve into fecund wines and spirits. True enough, the beauty of Italy lies not on going there, but on coming back to a town that has seen the fruits of one’s labor. More importantly, unlike apples, this is achieved not by an individual endeavor but a cluster of equally passionate people with only the success of a Modena-counterpart in tow.

The Little Italy in Mabini is famed not because of people’s exodus from Pulang Anahao to cities in Italy, nor from tales of motherless generations thriving on balikbayan boxes from Modena. It is those conspicuously picturesque houses lining a rustic, narrow street that serve witness to the success of OFWs amid disturbing stories of life-and-death and passing hunger and, most of all, to giving back to the place where they come from. And if you’re lucky, you find a man in his 70s sipping Nescafe Gusto Ricco by the terrazza as he speaks about children and children’s children raised in Italy but will always find their way to the better Little Italy.