We took a taxi to Session Road and got out by the market. Other than the cooler temperature, this could have been any large provincial town. It was bustling. The last time I’d been to Baguio had been in the pre-earthquake days, when it was very popular. The rich of Manila didn’t really come anymore. Baguio was said to be too crowded and the post-earthquake building projects made the town less old-fashioned, which had been part of its charm. It was easier to get to Batangas, where there were also beaches. But Baguio was the only place where you could escape the heat. It was the Philippines’ Simla, although standing on the sidewalk in front of a Jollibee and a store that seemed to sell nothing but large women’s panties and reflector sunglasses, I, too, was having a hard time feeling the town’s mystique. The music was a sputtering of jeepney engines underscored with the occasional blast of disco radio romance. Up the street a policeman was tweeting plaintively on a whistle, trying to manage the onslaught of vehicles.

“Now what?” said Inchoy.

“We only have two full days, and this full day is half gone, so we should get our shopping out of the way,” I suggested. “Although I don’t really feel like shopping.”

“Ting, you never feel like shopping.”

But Inchoy did. He was a socialist who loved to shop. I had once spent forty-five minutes in Kamuning Market as he searched for the Platonic pair of rubber flip-flops, even though—to me—they were all the same.

The Baguio Market was, even by the standards of Filipino markets, immense. It stretched in an enormous network of alleyways as far as I could see, an acreage of dry goods, produce, and sweets, clothing and bags, the spoils of the rich soil and cool climate on show in pyramids of strawberries, the finery of the factories of China blanketing the walls of the stalls with T-shirts and bags that shifted in the breeze. Brooms displayed their plumage, bundled in endless racks, alongside vendors of enormous rosaries and three-foot wooden spoons. All of these were traditional Baguio purchases, although who could say why?

“Big or heavy first?” asked Inchoy.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to carry jars or brooms?”

“Jars,” I said.

“So ube first.”

“I don’t have ube on my list. Just strawberry jam and peanut brittle.”

“Your tita probably left the ube off her list so that you could bring it as pasalubong.” He smiled. “Ube is always a welcome gift.”