Micah Avry Guiao

by Micah Avry Guiao

Published on May 25, 2025

(SPOT.ph) On an ordinary street corner in Intramuros, a small bakery sits quietly in the shade while locals sip Coca-Cola from plastic bags to beat the heat. Inside the shop, an electric fan hums while trays of freshly baked pandesal cool by the window. There’s no reason to think this place special—until you spot the heritage marker by the entrance and realize this was once the home of Jose Rizal’s uncle Antonio Rivera. It was here, while studying at the nearby University of Santo Tomas (UST), that our national hero lived.

Rizal's time here placed him in the middle of the Manila that would later inform his novels. Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo may be works of fiction, but much of what’s in them—settings, institutions, even some characters—were pulled straight from the city he knew and grew up in. Parts of it are still here, hiding in plain sight.

In 2022, when GMA-7’s Maria Clara at Ibarra became a pop culture phenomenon, it sparked renewed interest in the two Rizal novels, with younger audiences seeing the world of Noli and Fili with fresh eyes. It was then that heritage advocates Diego Torres of Renacimiento Manila and Stephen Pamorada of The Heritage Collective saw an opportunity. What if you could walk through the Manila that shaped Rizal's fiction—or at least what’s left of it? The interest was already there, after all.

The only problem? They didn't have the luxury of set designs, a hefty production budget, or David Licauco as reenactor. How do you revive a Manila that no longer exists? As teachers like to say, you go back to the text. Torres and Pamorada turned to the novels for help. “The books preserve the customs and norms of the time, as well as the cityscape of Manila," Torres said. "You could see those places described by Rizal, how they would look during that time.”

So armed with Rizal’s books, extensive research, and a whole lot of imagination, Renacimiento Manila and The Heritage Collective launched Lakad Pamana: Mundo Nina Ibarra at Maria Clara, a special heritage walking tour exploring Intramuros and Binondo through the lens of Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo. It only runs three times a year in May (National Heritage Month), June (Rizal’s birth anniversary), and December (Rizal's death anniversary). We recently joined the May one, and without spoiling the entire tour, we'd like to share with you a few of the stops worth noting.

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Cover design by Warren Espejo.

Enter the world of Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo

The ghost of Intramuros

Most tours in Intramuros begin with the big-ticket stops—Fort Santiago, Plaza Roma, the ones everyone expects. The Lakad Pamana is no different, but it doesn’t stay in the popular stops long. The real focus lies elsewhere: in the nondescript spaces and side streets you’d probably overlook on your way to somewhere with a name more familiar-sounding. One such location is a wide, sunbaked parking lot. According to our tour guides, this was once the site of the Royal Monastery of Santa Clara, a cloistered nunnery from 1621 to 1945; where women who are called to serve lived for years in isolation.

Among these women, at least in Noli Me Tangere, was Maria Clara de los Santos.

The place wasn’t like a typical convent where nuns could go out whenever they felt like it, Torres explained. “Once women entered the walls of the institution, they were dead to the world. They’ll spend the rest of their lives dedicated to prayer.” Maria Clara made the decision to enter the monastery when she heard about the supposed death of her lover Crisostomo Ibarra. “It was her way of saying she won’t be married to anyone anymore.” The same setting reappears in El Filibusterismo, but this time in light of a tragedy. Ibarra as Simoun tries to rescue Maria Clara out of the convent but she dies the same day he arrives. 

The Royal Monastery of Santa Clara was destroyed during the Battle of Manila in 1945, after American forces mistakenly assumed there were defenders hiding behind its thick walls.

The Royal Monastery of Santa Clara
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Photo by Jilson Tiu.

Not far from the monastery is where you'll find a trace of the oldest university in Asia. Yes, Intramuros was the original home of UST, and for over 300 years, too, beginning in 1611 up to 1945. Back then, it was the only real college in Metro Manila—Torres pointed out that many schools labeled “kolehiyo” were actually just high schools. So young Rizal only needed to walk a few meters from his home to get to his classes. Much of what he experienced here inspired the world of El Filibusterismo, where student activist characters like Basilio, Isagani, and Macaraig give voices to his own hopes and frustrations during his time at UST.

Today, in place of the grand halls and lecture rooms of old, there’s a statue of Bishop Miguel de Benavides, the university's benefactor, standing at the center of a plaza. Beyond this, there’s little to suggest this place was once the center of education in colonial-era Manila.

Original UST campus in Intramuros
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A replica of the statue of Bishop Miguel de Benavides, founder of the University of Santo Tomas, stands in Intramuros where the university was first established. Photo by Jilson Tiu.
Where Rizal walked as a student, Maria Clara lived as a daughter bound by expectations. Just around the corner is another school—but one exclusively for women. Although never directly named in Rizal’s novels, Torres said the Beaterio-Colegio de Santa Catalina is widely believed to be the school where Capitan Tiago sends Maria Clara for a “strict religious education” while Ibarra is away in Europe. Rizal describes it in detail: a strict dormitory for upper-class girls run by Dominican sisters, where students were taught religion, sewing, and how to be proper wives and mothers. Maria Clara lived here for seven years.

Like the monastery, the Beaterio-Colegio de Santa Catalina was eventually destroyed although much earlier—during the Japanese bombings of 1941. After the war, the school relocated to Sampaloc.

“’Yun ‘yung nakakalungkot sa Intramuros. Most of the sites connected to the books wala na talaga. Descriptions na lang sila,” Torres lamented. Sadly, this is true too for many of the stops on the rest of the tour.   
Beaterio-Colegio de Santa Catalina
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Photo by Jilson Tiu.

As the tour gets closer to the Pasig River, you will spot a short street with a “Binondo” sign—one of the few physical hints that you’re nearing what used to be a major crossing point between two of Manila’s most historic districts.

According to Torres, this stretch of the river was once home to the Port of Manila, which played a huge role in the city’s growth in the 19th century as it opened the Philippines to international trade. It is in this area where Ibarra/Simoun would be departing from and arriving in the country, with each return a new purpose: first hope, then vengeance. Of course, who can forget the famous opening of El Filibusterismo in Bapor Tabo? That plied the Pasig River, too.

Pasig River
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Diego Torres of Renacimiento Manila shares a rare glimpse of the old Port of Manila through a vintage photograph. Photo by Jilson Tiu.

What is left of old Binondo

Walking to Binondo
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Crossing towards Binondo for the second leg of the tour. Photo by Jilson Tiu.

Long before Makati and Bonifacio Global City became the centers of commerce, there was Escolta which boasted Spanish establishments and European architecture. This was the strip Manila’s colonial elite flocked to for business. Just a short walk from here is Calle Anloague (San Juan Street), location of one of the most important settings in Rizal’s novels: the residence of Kapitan Tiago.

It’s the same house where Ibarra and Maria Clara share a heartfelt conversation on the balcony in Noli Me Tangere, and where Paulita Gomez’s ill-fated wedding reception takes place in El Filibusterismo. Like many structures in the area, the real house that inspired Capitan Tiago’s was destroyed during World War II. Today, the State Investment Trust Building stands in its place.

Rizal didn’t just write about the respectable side of town. Opium dens were a common sight in the 1800s, especially as the area became a hub for Chinese merchants and trade. Dimly lit establishments along Calle Santo Cristo (Sto. Cristo Street) catered to a wide range of clientele—from laborers to wealthy mestizos. Even the highly respectable Capitan Tiago fell prey to it in El Filibusterismo. Devastated by Maria Clara’s decision to enter the convent, he turned to opium as a means of escape.
San Juan Street in Binondo
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Before the street name was changed to San Juan, it was called Calle Anloague, which translates to "street of the carpenter" from the Tagalog word anluwagi. Photo by Jilson Tiu.

From Sto. Cristo Street, the tour slips back into the rhythm of the busy parts of town back in the day. The wide open road you see here used to be Plaza Cervantes, once bustling with private carriages weaving through the crowd. 

Ibarra walks through the plaza fresh from Europe, expecting to see a city that has moved forward. Instead, he’s met with the exact same sights he left behind. Years had passed but nothing had changed. Not in ways that matter.

“He was thus pondering the phenomenon of an unchanging city in a country of uncertainties,” Rizal wrote in Chapter 4 of Noli Me Tangere. 

Plaza Vivac in Binondo
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Photo by Jilson Tiu.
Not far from the plaza is a narrow, often overlooked body of water: the Estero de Binondo (Binondo River). You’d hardly give it a second glance today—unless you caught a whiff of it first. 

But in Noli Me Tangere, Ibarra describes it as a vital artery of daily life, one that “functions as public bath, sewer, laundry, fishery, waterway, and should the Chinese water-peddlers find it convenient, even a source of drinking water.” Today, it’s hard to imagine anyone daring to do the same with this murky stretch, dark and motionless, with plastic bags and flip-flops floating on the surface.
Binondo River
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The Binondo River was once a busy trade route; now it flows quietly through the city. Photo by Jilson Tiu.

When Renacimiento Manila and The Heritage Collective began planning this tour, one of the biggest concerns wasn’t just what had been lost but what remains. Pamorada recalled having to seriously ask himself whether people would be open to the realities of present day Manila.

“Madumi ‘yung lugar, magtu-tour pa rin ba tayo?”

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The tour makes it a point not to look away from Binondo's present day realities. Photo by Jilson Tiu.
But rather than trick the turistas to look the other way, they decided to be upfront. Expectations are set from the start, with participants told exactly what they will be walking into—grime, poverty, uneven sidewalks, and all that. For Pamorada, being honest about the state of these places is part of the point why they're organizing these tours: “Baka sila rin mismo maging part of the solution in the long run, para they take part in the advocacy rin.”

Over at Plaza del Conde within the San Nicolas district, we find the place where Ibarra stayed upon his return from Europe. Historians were able to trace Fonda de Lala (Hotel Lala) by searching for clues in the Noli Me Tangere—his room was said to face the river, with music drifting in from Capitan Tiago’s house across the Estero de Binondo.

“The house across the river was brightly lighted, and he could hear the merry strains of string-music," says the book. "If he had been less preoccupied with his thoughts, and more curious, he might have been tempted to turn a pair of binoculars on the brilliant scene on the opposite bank.” 

Bea Dolores of Renacimiento Manila admitted that for a time, even the tour guides had Hotel Lala's location wrong—an honest mistake based on limited information. But the tour, they admitted, is a constant work in progress.

Fonda de Lala closed in the late 1800s. Today, a building called San Fernando Tower stands in its stead.

Hotel Lala in Binondo
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The San Fernando Tower has replaced the Fonda de Lala. Photo by Jilson Tiu.

At this point in the tour, it's pretty clear that nearly every site of significance has been reduced to rubble, renamed, or replaced, which makes what comes next all the more surprising. On our way to Binondo Church, we passed by the only surviving three-story structure from the Spanish period in this part of the city, at least according to Pamorada. The Panciteria Macanista de Buen Gusto is a Chinese restaurant where the UST students of El Fili—including Basilio, Isagani, Macaraig, Pecson, and others—gather to celebrate after formally requesting the establishment of a Spanish-language academy for Filipinos (the meeting would later be used as an excuse to arrest them). 

We know the location of Panciteria Macanista de Buen Gusto through archival photographs, where its sign is clearly visible among the businesses lining the streets near Binondo Church. Pamorada explained the building is classified as a "Presumed Important Cultural Property" under the National Heritage Act for being over 50 years old—a designation that should protect it from demolition.

Panciteria Macanista de Buen Gusto
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Photo by Jilson Tiu.
After three hours of walking, our journey came to a close.

There’s no big reveal at the end of the tour. No restored house, no replica of what used to be, just streets that feel a little different after you got to knowing what once stood there. A parking lot that used to be a monastery. A hotel that was witness to grand parties from across the river. A bakery that once housed a student named Jose. 

For now, the work falls to small groups like Renacimiento Manila and The Heritage Collective to get people to take notice, remember, and perhaps realize just how much of our history can now only be found in the pages of books. Where Maria Clara at Ibarra brought the present into the past, this tour brings the past into the present—on foot, under the sun, and without the help of a quirky, time-traveling Gen Z lead. It might not sound like a lot but in a city where so much has already disappeared, it’s something.
Renacimiento Manila and The Heritage Collective
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Folks from Renicimento Manila and The Heritage Collective pose for a photo, alongside reenactors from Historia Viviente Manila. Photo by Jilson Tiu.
Micah Avry Guiao

Micah believes that writing is always political. Beyond the byline, you’ll find her bruising herself in a pole studio or napping with her beagle. Reach her at micah@spot.ph.

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