asianTraveler Magazine

We are chauffeured to a quick lunch at the home of Col. Jose, tucked away in the factory of the now regionally-famous pastel. This is a cupcake—a soft and spongy round bun injected with yema, a filling made from egg yolks and sugar, then packed in a box of six which finds its way across the region from Cagayan de Oro to Cebu. The smell permeating the entire structure is thick with the aroma of fresh baked bread, sugar and confectionary, filling our olfactories with the sweetness of a successful formula. In what can only be called provincial home-style cooking, we dine amidst the buns on fragrant steamed rice, a simply enormous fish fillet, escabter fried chicken, and a genetically modified fillet of maya maya (it has to be, because nothing can be that big), washed down with San Miguel Beer… Then after that, it begins—LANZONES!!

Now on its 26th year, the Lanzones Festival is that one big event in the year when Camiguin opens its doors to all who seek to enter. The province posted a 40% volume of production growth rate in lanzones during 1994 to 1998, way ahead of all its neighboring producers, although there are no real organized plantations that grow it in dizzying quantities here.

However, it is a fruit that bears the hallmark of Camiguinon ingenuity, as the lanzones seed and rind are rich in tannin and contain chemical substances that are medicinally and industrially useful. The flesh and juice are used by rural folk to treat sore eyes, while the fruit peel serves as a mosquito repellant and the bark is used on malaria and dysentery patients.

The Parade

As we wrap up our breakfast at the Villa Paraiso Apartelle the next day, we hear the beating of drums in the distance—a pitched beat just low enough to be felt rather than heard reverberates through the trees. This is our cue to make our way to the town plaza and see what this Lanzones Festival is all about.

Wave after wave of thunderous drumming sends ripples of energy coursing through the crowd. With each shout, a round of applause from the appreciative audience! From the grandstand—the center of all activity, like in any other town—you cannot tell that temperatures are rising well above 32 degrees centigrade, primarily because the energy in the festival is the momentous climax to a year’s worth of practice day-in and day-out.

“Lanzones!” each team, or “tribe” as they are called, shouts as they turn into the town’s main street. The beat is reminiscent of the Ati’s, a steady 4/4 beat punctuated by a double beat on the 4th and 1st count. Prrrrat tatat . . . . Prrrrat tatat . . . . The slow undulation of shoulders in unison with the beat of the drums creates wave upon wave of synchronized movement, as all manner of typical Filipino inhibition is shed with each tribe marching under the heat of the midmorning sun, each in his own way praising the glory of the fruit with every shout of “Lanzones.”

You realize that this is what denizens of shows have tried to emulate—the excitement, color and pompous display of an ethnic festival. From Las Vegas to Enchanted Kingdom, they try but pale in comparison to the real festival’s appeal. But this is but a portent of even greater things to come at the tableau presentation later in the afternoon.

Le Tableau

It is at the tableau presentation where the real display of zeal and the culmination of the whole year’s preparations come to the fore.

Carved out of the rural landscape, the parade ground as big as two football fields stretches across a flat valley, ringed on either side by volcanoes. The wind blows freely across this landscape and conjures up images of rodeos and polo games played across time. This is where it all ends. The victor will emerge from this field, to be talked about throughout the rest of the year as the one who bested the other tribes in this final test.

A line forms outside the entrance to the bullring, each tribe numbered from 1 to 9. In the noonday sun the heat beats down on the crowd as they crush themselves onto the retaining fence, straining to get a good look at each presentation. Each tribe is composed of a maximum of 200 participants. There is a clearly delineated time limit—three minutes’ ingress to prepare the stage, five minutes to present, and one minute to egress before the next team comes in. This gives us a full two hours to witness the spectacle of the Tableau.

Each tribe tries to outdo each other in a buffet of eye candy splashed with reds, yellows, bright greens, and blue, with the buahan, as the locals call the lanzones, at the center of each presentation. Each tribe presents its own version of what seems to be the destruction and rebirth of the island in a hail of fire and brimstone, like a phoenix rising out of the ashes of multiple volcanic explosions. All repeat this story, showing how deep it runs in the Camiguinons’ veins.

Slowly, the show starts with an impressive rendition of what was the beauty of the island in an age of innocence, with fairy beings cavorting in a lush tropical forest, dancing amid the throng of drums. The dance itself is an expression of wanton disregard for worries about her future—the arms are raised slightly in front, crooked at the elbows, palms down; the shoulders rotate in their sockets; the feet stomp in rhythm to the beat of the drums, gongs, and percussion. . . Then the volcano erupts, destroying the beauty of the landscape, flattening everything in its path. The poor pixies flit from tree to tree and from flower to flower, straining with cries, lamenting the demise of their paradise. Cries of, “Diwata! Diwata!” can be heard from each tribe, and the crowd, seemingly in a trance of silence, awaits the arrival of the goddess who will put everything right.

From out of the sea she rises; with a dose of pixie dust from her magic wand, she brings life once again to the lifeless island and together with it, the lanzones scatter everywhere, bringing their luscious loveliness back. There are 10 versions of this event, each bringing forth oohs and aaahs from the appreciative crowd. Another version is one where the diwata rises from waterfalls to bring life to the land—in this presentation, a waterfall, pump-driven but pouring nonetheless from a makeshift waterfall stage, rivals those on the sets of Broadway and the Lido in Paris!!

The moment of truth arrives. First the tribes are shooed back into the bullring. There are no enemies here, only friends, all joined together by a celebration of their culture, but as each secondary winner is announced, you can see the strain on the tribes. A drum beat heralds each announcement. As the winner of the street parade is declared, the shouts and whoops of joy grow like wildfire among the members of Group One, as the others are content with just a casual glance and their own cheers for their own greatness. Finally, the winner for the Tableau competition is announced. Once again, Group One is victorious! All around them, other tribes accept this decision, reflecting the respect they have for the judges’ choices.

As the day ends, we reflect on what it must be like for the victors—a night of merriment, all across the barangay, as they receive the biggest hero’s welcome, replete with its own brand of small town celebration.

Meantime, the losing teams skulk away, denied the simple pleasure of savoring victory for their hometowns, but as a famous line from a TV series goes, “There can only be one. . .”