Public markets have always been my favorite destination whenever I travel. They pulsate with life, always mirroring the triumphs and struggles of the village or town. The fruits and vegetables proudly displayed and peddled reflect the town’s geography, history, and experience with foreign traders and invaders. We should visit them and enjoy what they offer while we can.

When Martial Law was proclaimed in September 1972, media companies were shut down, leaving thousands jobless and without any prospects for employment. The usually jolly National Press Club bar became a shelter for dour, raucous middle-aged men being consoled by rebellious angry young writers bent on resisting all government strategies.

overnment strategies. Amid all these was a 40-something Manila Times senior writer assigned to cover Manila City Hall. He could hardly wait to cash in his early retirement check and Social Security benefits to fulfill a childhood dream—be the fulltime captain of his own basnig (commercial fishing boat).

Knowing how much I loved the sea (and seafood), he invited me to visit once he had a regular crew, all the permits, and a fishing schedule routine.

The basnig he bought was based in Guinayangan, a third-class municipality in Quezon province. With a population of farmers and fishermen, Guinayangan lacked the basic necessities like water and electricity, and could be reached by bus after an uncomfortable 270-kilometer ride, which often took up to 20 hours in those days before the Maharlika Highway was completed.

I had traveled with a gift pack for my host, who was an amateur chef—onions, heads of garlic, black pepper, soy sauce, cans of tomato sauce, a can of cheese.

I arrived Saturday night. I was taken to the town's big market day at dawn the next day. Nothing prepared me for what I saw. Two groups met at a clearing under the coconut trees: uplanders (mostly indigenous tribes) and lowlanders (fishermen and visiting city folk).

Palitan is what market day was called. I wondered out loud whether I had enough cash to buy anything worth taking back to the city. My hosts said I did not need cash, but could barter anything I had for whatever I wanted.

The uplanders brought livestock: chicken, goats, duck, wild pig, domesticated deer, forest fruits, and vegetables. The lowlanders offered salt, sugar, clothes, blankets, canned food, flour, basic medical needs, and used clothes. Colorful candy and cookies pleased the tribal children.

With the little stash of ingredients, I decided to make enough goodies for my host and crew, plus more for the mountain people. My main ingredients were the small fish that the basnig fishers caught a lot of.

I asked the fishermen to pick a lot of mature coconut and make oil for frying. I washed, seasoned, and dried two kilos of dilis (anchovy), which I deep-fried in batches over low heat to prevent overcooking. The crunchy, sweet-spicy pulutan was repacked into small servings.

A special viand and pulutan was herring (tamban) made into hot Spanish sardines. I taught all my new friends how to cook the dishes, including dilis tempura using corn starch in lieu of flour. The tribal children could not get enough of camote French fries.

The natives insisted on gifting us with a goat and a deer, which the fishermen sliced, seasoned, and dried into tapa and kaldereta for their next long fishing voyage.

My children, who had wanted to experience Guinayangan’s palitan, have just sadly informed me that the cashless market is no more. They found out through the Internet. I hope that’s fake news.