A two-hour drive from Manila, a community of creatives welcomes tired city dwellers

A two-hour drive takes me from the jam-packed streets of Metro Manila to the foot of Mount Cristobal, a dormant volcano that spans the provinces of Laguna and Quezon and is named after the patron saint of travelers. As I make my way through fallen coconut fruits, dried twigs and uneven earth, the land slopes down before gently rising to reveal a sculpture garden and a two-level brick house. It looks out of place in this rural setting, surrounded by fighting cocks and off-leash farm dogs.

Serving as my guide is Don Quibilan, who owns and runs two art galleries in Manila and is currently busy developing three hectares of this land into an artists’ colony. When it’s finished, it will be the latest in a string of studios, restaurants and artist-run accommodations in San Pablo City attracting city slickers seeking a balm for the soul.

It may seem like an unlikely location for an arts hub, but San Pablo City was once a thriving center of culture. At the turn of the century, copra and coconut oil were in worldwide demand, turning Laguna-based coconut farmers in the Philippines into veritable barons. This windfall meant that the area’s families easily fell into a life of luxury, complete with all the trappings of wealth – sending their children abroad to study, building grand mansions and hosting extravagant parties where private orchestras would entertain guests.

But this genteel lifestyle changed abruptly during World War II when the Japanese bombed and set fire to the city’s palatial houses, leaving estates razed to the ground and fields left to ruin. Soon after, large plantations moved to fertile but faraway Mindanao, palm oil became the next big thing and the heyday of the San Pablo City elite was over. Only one pre-war structure stands to this day – the Fule-Malvar mansion on Rizal Avenue, built in 1915 in the Romantic classic style by the first town mayor, Dr Potenciano Malvar.

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I DROP BY CASA SAN PABLO, a bed and breakfast in a former coconut plantation, to speak with husband-and-wife owners Boots and An Mercado-Alcantara. Over a decade ago, they helped create the very first Viaje del Sol map – a loose itinerary of charming country inns, off-the-beaten-path cafés and inspiring artist’s studios that line the highway from San Pablo City in Laguna to Tiaong in Quezon.

Over a lunch of pipian (chicken in peanut sauce), pianete (toasted freshwater shrimp mashed and cooked in coconut milk) and kulawo (eggplant salad in a smoky coconut vinaigrette), An, who is also a writer and clay artist, tries to articulate what exactly it is about this area that spawns and attracts creative spirits.

We are at Casa San Pablo’s dining hall, a rustic, chic and airy space with vintage Filipino furniture, modern art on the walls and hanging shelves and tables that are packed with books, quirky accents and An’s own figurines. Various hammocks and mats decorated with oversized pillows line the outside area. Little notes written by An are posted under a painting or a memento, explaining the sentimental value of the items.

“Our dream is to be known as a creative city,” An explains. “There is an abundance of artistry in our hometown that needs to be recognized and celebrated, from visual arts and crafts to music and our cuisine. We’ve been waiting for this to happen for so long, and now, even without a master plan, this vision is coming together somehow, amazingly and organically. Right now, the time is ripe for creative adventures in San Pablo City.”

Our dream is to be known as a creative city. There is an abundance of artistry in our hometown that needs to be recognized and celebrated

After lunch, An and I make our way to Lake Sampaloc, one of the natural wonders of San Pablo City. With its 3.7km circumference, it’s the biggest of the seven crater lakes found here, but in 2014 it was declared threatened by a non-profit environmental foundation in Germany. Since then, residents have been organizing clean-ups of the area and the lake is now a popular attraction once more, with many visitors coming to enjoy the breathtaking views and fresh air.

The outlines of tilapia pens are visible in the placid water. Young couples sit on concrete benches, holding hands and giggling; kids run past us, darting around the trees and stopping every now and then to point and laugh at dogs out for an afternoon walk. Near the concrete tables, where a family of four has sat down for an early supper, an artist sets up his easel.

According to environmentalist Mandy Marino, who jumpstarted efforts to save Lake Sampaloc in 1998, there is still much to be done to preserve this lakeside scene for future generations. Proper trash cans still need to be installed, and the remnants of shanties – un-degraded bits of plastic and old rubble – can still be seen embedded in the lake’s edge. The native dalag (catfish) and hito (mudfish) must also be brought back, as their numbers were decimated by the invasive tilapia species.

We were ready to call it Sampaloc Lake Swamp. But it’s finally back. The people are back, and that’s my reward

“It’ll take maybe five more clean-ups,” Mandy says at Café Lago, where a panoramic view of Sampaloc Lake can be seen through the windows. “We were ready to call it Sampaloc Lake Swamp. But it’s finally back. The people are back, and that’s my reward.”

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THE NEXT DAY, I MEET PATIS TESORO, a high-society fashion designer known for her creative use of native textiles and traditional embroidery, who came to San Pablo City four decades ago. “I just thought it would be a nice place to grow my plants and escape from Manila every weekend,” she says. “Initially, all I had was a nipa hut. But last year, I sold my house in the city to live here permanently. I never thought this place would be for the long term, but here I am.”

Her house now doubles as PatisTito Garden Café, and she also rents out rooms to short-term guests. The charming structure is a traditional Filipino home built with pieces salvaged from other old houses, done up in a style that reflects the owner’s bohemian spirit. Stepping inside gives me a head rush followed by a moment of serenity, as Patis slowly opens the capiz windows to reveal a lush and colorful garden of bromeliads, jasmine, birds of paradise and fruit trees.

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A half-hour drive away from San Pablo City, in the neighboring province of Quezon, is the pottery studio of artist Ugu Bigyan – a clean-cut, trim man sporting tiny diamond studs in each earlobe and a bright smile. Ugu speaks with the glottal stop and soft interjections of a true Tagalog, one born and raised in these parts. “The classes are very serious,” he says, referring to the pottery workshops he holds on the premises. “I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. I want the classes to be memorable, for both the students and me.”

I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. I want the classes to be memorable, for both the students and me

The afternoon I visit, Ugu’s place is empty, so birds are bold enough to swoop in and out and rest in the rafters of three large open-air pavilions. The high bamboo roofs, brick pillars and thin terra cotta walls make a graceful line with the brick pathways that lead to bamboo gazebos on raised daises.

A short walk leads us to Ugu’s guest room, where his overnight students – and the occasional house guest – are lodged. It’s a gorgeous affair of polished concrete, crushed terra cotta, and gleaming hardwood in subdued neutral colors and clean lines. Even when it’s sweltering outside, the room remains cool.

At the back of the compound is Ugu’s slick new workspace – worlds away from the humble hut where he used to demonstrate hand-forming lumps of clay at the potter’s wheel. “Now, guests can be immersed in the whole creative process,” Ugu says, stopping to check on a man making a giant leaf pattern for a client who wants a tropical-themed wall. Two younger workers are methodically and delicately crushing chunks of concrete to be upcycled into cement art. The tap-tapping of their hammers, coupled with the tinkering of the stoneware wind chimes, is soothing to the ear.

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BEFORE I HEAD back to Manila, I pass by Sulyap Gallery Café, a picturesque restaurant housed in Casa de Cabay. The latter is an ancestral house originally built in the town of Cabay, Quezon in 1907 and physically transplanted to a private compound in San Pablo City owned by Roy Empalmado, an architect and antiques enthusiast.

Roy is a solidly built man, who turns giddy and childlike as he talks about his passion for restoring old houses. Other than Casa de Cabay, he’s had a hand in converting three old properties into dreamy boutique hotels – two built in 1895 and 1897 in Batangas province, and the other constructed in 1890 in Bulacan province.

Roy says Sulyap is his way of promoting slow living. “Houses like these in San Pablo City all burned down in World War II. I want to show how it really was in those days,” he tells me as he points out favorites from his antique collection – an old weaving apparatus, four-poster beds and almario (pillow and mat shelves). “I think Philippine architecture and design should be taught more in schools,” says Roy. “It’s part of our lives, part of our identity. Everyone needs to have a history to go back to.”

I think Philippine architecture and design should be taught more in schools… everyone needs to have a history to go back to

I look up at the restored houses and take in their whitewashed walls, the sweeping staircases decorated with baldoza tiles, the espejos (mirrors) and lacework in the transoms. I imagine the ladies and gents of decades’ past, exchanging pleasantries and laughter across the wide balconies – how sophisticated they must’ve been, and how oblivious to the impending end of their halcyon days. But how delighted their spirits must be now, seeing their progeny pick up where they left off, finding their bearings once again in art and nature, day after sunny day.