You asked me what brought me to Bohol?

I don’t think I have the ready answers to this. Instead, I will tell you how I spent the first nights in Baclayon.

It was an uneasy mix. Diverse at one point and contented on another. On a Sunday, when memories of home raced through mind,  I was struck by the repeated peals of the bells of Baclayon Church.  I buried my head between two pillows until the sounds dissipated. The altar boy- in-charge tasked to pull down the ropes of the bells must be so strong he wouldn’t stop nary a second. He did a good job. The sounds were constant. The parishioners have gone home to rest from the wrappings of the recent Masses and the reminders were heard all over Baclayon.

This form of quietude is Bohol’s enviable trait alongside laidback principles steeped in pious activities.

But when reality seethes in, mundane relations could be irrepressibly amusing.

For one, I found the story of the motor banca an interesting one.
The banca was fiercely swept by wind on its landing dock; it could not get by. The men had been used to this scenario. They said it came from Balicasag.  By my inspection, the banca could be from “Imelda,” a nearby  town. I knew because the left face bore its name, something I had skimmed over in the map.

Problem was Imelda could not safely dock at bay.

The passengers bobbed their heads, cried for help and looked irate by the delay. Everything turned unsteady--- the waters, most importantly.  The banca slammed its body to the cemented dock wall that resulted in a commotion.

I looked farther toward another direction. There was a group of men huddled around a smaller bench fraught in bets on their respective dices. Their shirts rolled up chest high, hollered in jocular spirits in contrast to the young captain of the banca, whose sweat were like pearl-sized. Young as he could, he stretched his limbs. He held the banca tightly. He obviously struggled.

“Hoy, tulong,” the portly-sized lady led the voices. She craned her neck further out and soon the males from that another direction rushed toward the port. Everyone flexed their arms more than the times the young captain did. They reached for the other end of the rope. They took another round and soon the passengers grappled for some balance. They came out unscathed and everyone heaved a sigh.

Suddenly, the laidback air of Bohol was momentarily miffed with an activity. The placid atmosphere halted by mundane interruptions, images I loved playing in mind many times.

When you see a landscape that has the necessary elements of good order, you are grateful for the old ways coming into force.  I have seen a slew of Bohol’s radical adaptations in the city proper. I have seen how traditions were modified but Bohol is tough not to obscure them.

I knew the Boholanos are the most hospitable people this side of the Visayas. Perhaps, this is the reason why I had come to stay for weeks at my own expense. 

Don’t ask me other than these. These are answers to your query on what brought me to Bohol.

Attachment	Size
Baclayon Church (Photo by MARIA CONGEE S. GOMEZ)	9.67 KB