CXXXVIII: The Oldest in Town: The 1859 Canarias-Sarmiento “Balay na Tisa” in Carcar, Cebu

After visiting the 1873 Noel House in Carcar, I subsequently found out that it had a nickname, “Ang Dakong Balay” or “the big house”, and of course that was entirely appropriate as we had seen.  My next Akyat-Bahay object in town was just down the road, and I had already established that it was better-known that the Noel House, having previously read about it in the popular press and online.  This was the “Balay na Tisa”, named for its original terra-cotta clay roof tiles that are still in place as the structure’s roofing material.
 

What I next discovered was that while it was certainly not as large as “Ang Dakong Balay”, it was even older and is in fact the town’s oldest stone structure, beating even the church and other public buildings.  It was originally built by spouses Roman Sarmiento and Ana Canarias in 1859.  In fact, the house’s side yard fence was decorated with tarpaulins commemorating its then-recent milestone 150^th anniversary.

Don Roman had been Mayor of Carcar even before the house was built.  His and Doña Ana’s great-great-grandsons, cousins Manny Castro and Marc van Zwoll, are the house’s present-day custodians and guardians. 

If the house looks somewhat squat from the outside

compared to other surviving specimens from among its mid-19^th century contemporaries in other Philippine towns, that’s because the street fronting it had been raised significantly over the last several years,

in the hope of beating the rising flood levels during the rainy season (climate change, no doubt), which probably isn’t helped by the fact that the seafront is just a kilometer away. 

But while this road surface elevation may have kept the street itself flood-free (or so it was hoped), the structure itself obviously remained at the same elevation, as evidenced by the ground-floor’s windows now half-buried

and the original main entrance, now primarily suitable for midgets.

Rather than risk hitting our pointy head against the door jamb, we make our way to the side of the house, left of the façade, and along the perpendicular road (as the house is situated on a corner),

through a pedestrian gate,

that leads to the house’s backyard.

We look for the backstairs

that leads up to the well-greened azotea

and through to the kitchen

which was very spacious indeed.

Before proceeding further with this Akyat-Bahay visit from the back of the house towards the front, I attempt to remedy this upside-down situation somewhat by finding my way to the ground floor of the house, which I could not access earlier via the too-short (and actually shut) front door from the street.  I locate the house’s main staircase near where the living room must be

and descend it.

The wooden stairs ends in a stone landing,

from where I am greeted by a flooded ground floor.

The entire zaguan of the house is now below the usual ground water level,

consistent with our earlier discovery of the much-raised street that fronted the house, a tangible effect of climate change.  Certain sections of the floor have been elevated, such that they were relatively water-free even if other portions were not.  But everything had still been raised on stilts as a further precaution especially during the more flood-prone rainy months.

Thus, armchairs are mounted on concrete blocks

or are placed atop antique beds, which are then also mounted on blocks.

Much of the rest of this zaguan was organized this way.

An interesting-looking Visayan-style altar table on which is placed a small Holy Family ensemble within an urna avoids having to be elevated, but maybe only temporarily.

On a well-elevated stump on one side are stacked several batibot chairs, avoiding rust-inducing flood waters, and ready to use for when the house hosts more numerous visitors.

Even what is presumably the homebound calandra of Carcar’s Santo Entierro is elevated on stands, though that would probably be the case even if it were not in this flooded basement.

Unfortunately, the house’s venerable antique upright piano had not been saved from previous flooding, therefore its lower portion appeared soggy.

Perhaps a skilled restorer (of which there are a number in Manila) might be able to rehabilitate this and make it playable once again.

A slightly (though not completely) drier section of the space was set aside for a religious art exhibit

A closer view reveals that the featured artworks all (or mostly) depict Saint Catherine of Alexandria, Carcar’s patroness.

Before going back upstairs, we look for the doorway that goes out into the street in front.

Consistent with its shut appearance from outside, it appears to be securely barred from within, which is just as well as it is separated from us by a pool of flood water.

Window openings are also securely barred

or iron-grilled

even if they only lead to other sections of the zaguan.

We find our way back to the main staircase, past the distressed antique piano

and eagerly climb back up to the main storey

and away from the somewhat dank and damp squalor below.

We reemerge onto the caida or antesala, which we had obviously passed through earlier on the way downstairs, but this time we take our time and note the profusion of artifacts and furnishings around, including  side chairs and settees tucked in behind the balustrade,

an Art Nouveau light fixture illuminating the stairwell from above,

and numerous artworks, many depicting the house from the outside.

Inserted among the artworks was an old and blurry photograph of what I’m guessing is a very tall and elaborate processional calandra,

presumably transporting the resident Santo Entierro image (when not ensconced in the domestic calandra that we had seen earlier on the ground floor) on a Good Friday many decades ago.   (I wonder where it is kept though these days?)

A small-scale three-dimensional model of the house doubles as a donation box.

From this antesala, we take the doorway towards the front part of the house, through elegantly-crocheted curtains,

which passage looks like this from the other side, revealing a handsome set of arch-topped double doors.

We now find ourselves in the expansive, abundantly decorated, and naturally well-lit sala.

This, the house's principal room, is furnished with every variety of furniture from the 19th century, from Visayan-style comodas

to butacas

to divans-daybeds

to altar tables.

There was even a mariposa divan, with not just solihiya upholstery but also pillows and cushions.

More conventional upright seating was also available, either beside a small occasional table with an Art Nouveau lamp and picture frames

or next to a musical instrument. 

The sala was also artificially lit with appropriate period fixtures,

hung from what appears to have been an original metal ceiling,

and the walls were covered with Art Nouveau-framed ancestor portraits.

Adjacent to this sala was the original master bedroom, accessed via a doorway with more crocheting.

This room is now a home office or study, with a work table,

hanging book cabinets,

additional storage, courtesy of a pair of comodas,

a writing area in a quiet corner,

and a fully-upholstered sitting area.

The room still had what appears to be its original sawali (matted bamboo) ceiling, or a more recent but identical replacement, from which was suspended an electrified “globo” lamp.

This private study, like the living room, bordered the main street fronting the house, therefore the glare and noise had to be managed via half-paneled half-louvered window panels and more crocheted curtains.

We make our way through the crocheted doorway

back to the sala

and back out to the antesala, and through the doorway on the opposite side.

It was not really a normal doorway, more like an opening in the ornately pierced wall of the antesala.

This led us to the large dining room, nearly as generously sized as the sala.

The space was furnished with several seating areas, including a round table for six

and a rectangular table for eight

with two armchairs and two benches.

If these seating areas were insufficient, there was auxiliary space via small rectangular tables, benches, and side chairs

positioned symmetrically on either side of a row of windows

and bisected by a small round table.

Any remaining room space was given over to further table settings

to enable the household to show off its extensive collection of artifacts

including a tall floor-standing candelabra.

Further collections were housed in vajilleras (crockery cabinets)

or plateras (plate cabinets)

of which this dining room had at least three.

Adjoining this dining room were two identical crochet-decorated doorways

that led to the house’s two proper bedrooms.

Since only one bedroom door was open and available to be entered (perhaps the locked neighbour actually now held the precious Santo Entierro?),

I just presumed that they were near-identically furnished

with canopied beds,

mirrored

as well as tambol (wood-paneled) aparadors,

a divan by one side,

and a comoda as a nightstand.

In one corner was a narrow communicating door to the other (locked) bedroom.

By this point, the remaining part of the house that we had not yet examined closely

was the kitchen out back.

As we had briefly observed earlier on our way from the outside, it was spacious and airy.

It was also tastefully yet practically furnished, with period-appropriate equipment including a paminggalan with decorative inlay, unusual for such a utilitarian piece of furniture,

and a work table with beautifully reeded legs.

On one wall hung an obsolete calendar, now merely a poster, featuring several ancestral houses; our current host is in the upper right.

This large kitchen space, like the study adjacent to the sala that we had seen earlier, has a sawali ceiling, from which is suspended a beautiful cast iron light fixture.

Further rearward via this passage

is the azotea

which is a nice little oasis of green.

In another direction, past this doorway

are the house’s “facilities”

which are even properly labelled.

From this corner of the back, we can look out towards the front of the house along the side and appreciate the crawlers adorning the bedroom windows.

And we’ve also seen earlier from when we entered the house from back here that this end is nicely populated with greenery.

Which brings us back to where we started, and thus the end of this visit, to Carcar’s oldest extant structure.

Originally published on 24 July 2018.  All text and photos (except where attributed otherwise) copyright ©2018 Leo D Cloma. The moral right of Leo D Cloma to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.