Las Casas Filipinas de Acuzar, a collection of antique Philippine houses—each one painstakingly broken down into its parts, carted from its original location and re-assembled in Bagac, Bataan—could be an antiquarian’s dream or a preservationist’s nightmare, depending on your point of view.
While it’s typical for structures with historical or cultural value to be preserved as heritage sites (hallowed ground so to speak), rarely does anyone relocate remnants of a bygone era to a 400-hectare seaside property, styled as a “heritage resort.” That said, it has an odd charm that does grow on you.
Over a decade ago, Jose Rizalino "Jerry" L. Acuzar, chairman of New San Jose Builders, Inc., started collecting and restoring old houses as a hobby. From a shipment of an Estonian homestead, he switched to local houses, and what started as a village became a town.
Each house is a tangible representation of an earlier way of life. He wants the young and/or romantic to enjoy the antiques, rather than keep the houses emptied of life. You cannot teach children about our past without physical things, Mr. Acuzar never tires of saying. The younger generation cannot learn by books alone. They must see history, touch it, feel it.
He has achieved his objective, as Las Casas Filipinas de Acuzar feels like traveling back in time.
At the gate, one is motioned in by a security guard wearing a uniform reminiscent of the Guardia Civil. The entire staff wears period costume, from the fast-talking tour guide in baro't saya, to the ever-polite waiters and workmen in camisa de chino. Even the salesclerks counting money at La Tiendecita (the souvenir shop in the replica of Spanish-era Escolta) look like they’ve just stepped out of an Amorsolo painting.
By day, the mood is set by folk music piping from a discreetly hidden sound system and pouring out into cobblestone streets (hell on high heels and wheels). At night, achingly lovely music is provided by guitarist/singer Roel Roma and singer Hazel Corpus, who call themselves “Kundiman si Lolo, si Lola.”
The musicians haunt Marivent (seawind) Café, located at Casa Unisan, which is said to have been the site of a massacre—all but the baby of the family murdered in a hidey-hole—during more tumultuous times. No ghosts have been spied, and it remains a favorite hangout for guests with a penchant for gabi ice cream and chicken binakol. (An Italian restaurant and a tapas restaurant will soon provide competition).
It all adds to the Old World ambience of being surrounded by the Filipino bahay na bato (literally, stone houses), now numbering 29. The architectural hodgepodge dates as far back as 1780 (Casa Candaba, formerly the Pampanga residence of the Spanish governor-general, and setting of the 1961 film adaptation of Noli Me Tangere by National Artist Gerardo "Gerry" de Leon), to 1920 (Casa Lubao, also from Pampanga, which belonged to the family supposedly responsible for educating Diosdado Macapagal, the “poor boy from Lubao” who became ninth president of the republic; incidentally, this is also where the television series Zorro was filmed in 2009).
The various houses were chosen for their beauty and for having interesting stories. Notables are Casa Quiapo, the original University of the Philippines (circa 1908) at R. Hidalgo St. in Ermita, Manila, and Casa Biñan, the heritage house of National Hero Jose Rizal’s mother Teodora Alonzo. Both are sore points among preservationists who argue that the structures should be maintained in their original locale. In particular, the latter donation to Mr. Acuzar is currently tied up in litigation, which explains why only part of the house with the blue door is authentic and the rest, still in its original spot in Biñan Plaza in Laguna, replicated.
The camp of Mr. Acuzar argues that relocating these old houses is necessary for their preservation, as many of these are white elephants that will end up rotting away or being torn down because neither heirs nor the state can afford to maintain them.
One can hardly dispute such logic, considering that Casa Quiapo, before being transplanted to Bagac, had fallen into disrepair and had allegedly served, by turns, as a bordello, a drug den, and an abortion clinic. Now restored to its former respectability, the spacious rooms are rented out for legitimate functions; there’s even a chapel on the ground floor.
"Most of the prominent old houses are in good locations, near the plaza," pointed out Jose “Ping” Ceriola, the art director at Las Casas Filipinas de Acuzar, in the vernacular. How much would those lots fetch per square meter, he asked. (The unspoken answer: a pretty penny.) "You can't earn if you keep the house, so you tear it down. But before you tear it down—now that people know about us—you knock on our door.”
Mr. Ceriola allowed that mistakes were made during the learning curve of rehabilitating the houses, but asserts that they were able to document the process and can now teach preservationists how to rebuild an antique, as they say, brick by brick and plank by plank.
For Paseo de Escolta, which is a replica of the bazaar-type marketplace, they only needed to keep the façade (complete with caryatids and atlantes, female and male figures that used to serve as supportive pillars but are now merely aesthetic in the restored building). The interior was furnished as a modern hotel with traditional leanings.
Changes should be subtle when providing modern amenities so that guests are comfortable, he said, but dismissed criticism of aesthetic embellishments as being unfaithful to the architectural period. He pointed out that there are very few photographs with which to gauge authenticity of interiors. Moreover, private homes have their own quirks. According to Mr. Ceriola, old houses rarely have a "set" interior design. Instead, they exhibit a mishmash of unrelated doodads and flourishes, usually picked up by the owners from foreign travels. "The more garish it is, the better, so you can show your affluence,” posited Mr. Ceriola.
He is not opposed to using his imagination to achieve a desired “grandeur” in the bahay na bato. The premier Casa Bizantina, for example, borrows Turkish elements such as a tiled mosaic—the subjects of which are reminiscent of paintings by the likes of Amorsolo and Carlos "Botong" Francisco. Mr. Ceriola justified the move by saying that the “floral” style of architecture in the 19th century (as opposed to the earlier “geometric” style) was arguably influenced by the Neo-Mudéjar style, which traces its origins from the Byzantine.
Casa Bizantina pushes grand Euro chic to the hilt: marble flooring and gold-leaf pillars, carpets and chandeliers, swathed four-poster beds, tiled ceilings alongside callado-style carvings, gothic armoires, large bathrooms with roomy tubs (twin bathtubs at the penthouse suite, complete with Hermès toiletries), and so on. Little wonder that the seven-bedroom house is a favorite of politicians and corporate clients (P120,000 per overnight stay for the entire house, bedrooms can range from P16,000-P40,000, butler service included).
(In contrast, the next best thing, six-bedroom Casa San Miguel, has a pleasing aspect with media agua shielding the windows and flowered tiles, and comfortable if simpler bedrooms. Despite the advantage of a common sala converted into a game room with billiards and mahjong/card tables, it is less expensive at P38,250 per overnight stay on the weekdays and P45,000 at peak season).
It should be noted that Casa Bizantina, once a palatial home in Binondo and later Instituto de Manila and University of Manila, had been an abandoned, decaying hovel occupied by throngs of informal settlers prior to restoration. Little is said about the cost of the turnaround, but old photos show that it was an impressive feat.
"The interior was a mess. In order for it to become a premier hotel, we needed to change the ceiling—everything… If we tried to stick with what it used to be, no one would rent it,” said Mr. Ceriola.
To quiet the naysayers, however, Mr. Acuzar has instructed Mr. Ceriola and his over 100 artisans to research down to the last detail before completing Casa Candaba, the aforementioned abode of a Spanish governor-general. “It will be 100 percent authentic. If we have to remake an old-school nail, we will,” said Mr. Ceriola.
They are also currently building a replica of the Balanga Cathedral at the very heart of the community. The proportions will be similar, with different materials—marble walls and an altar decorated with 24-karat gold. The basic structure will be completed by 2013, while the interior will take a decade to finish.
Ultimately, Mr. Acuzar envisions the heritage resort to be a kind of “Venice,” a flight of fancy inspired by the concept of Manila being riddled by rivers in the olden days. It makes for picturesque bridges, most notably the whimsical riverstone bridges featuring creatures from Philippine folklore, including the manananggal and tikbalang. Mr. Ceriola says that anything is possible, perhaps a glass bridge, and the effect they wan is "magical."
Plans include an Artists’ Village, and possibly a residential block for odd ducks who want to design their own anachronistic vacation home. Given that only five hectares of the 400-hecatre property have been completed, they still have a long way to get to 100 houses.
“Every year we’ll add something new, and in 10 more years you'll find it difficult to tour the place in just one day,” said Mr. Ceriola.
Originally published in the July 2012 issue of BusinessWorld High Life. (Republished here with a few minor changes, for brevity's sake.)
Photos courtesy of Las Casa Filipinas de Acuzar.