CRISTY IN THE CITY

There is something quietly magical about slow Sunday afternoons—the gentle pause before another busy work week begins. Sundays are for attending church, lingering backyard picnics, early morning city strolls, or simply settling into a cozy corner of a neighborhood café. Little rituals like these feel like soft reminders to tend to the soul.

The old and once-dilapidated wet markets of Iloilo City are finding their second lives.

What used to be crowded, worn, and often overlooked spaces are now being reimagined through redevelopment initiatives that aim to breathe life back into these familiar corners of the city. Jaro, La Paz, Super Terminal, and Central Market have all been redeveloped almost simultaneously. After what felt like a long wait, these cultural institutions are finally open again—reborn, but not entirely changed.

So what is there to see and experience?

Plenty.

I personally gravitate toward Central Market along Rizal Street, City Proper. That area has always held a special place in my memory. Back in the ’80s, it was my stomping ground. I studied in a Catholic school nearby, and after classes, I would wander into the market—usually in search of snacks, comics, or small toys that felt like treasures at the time. The place was messy, chaotic, and alive in a way only wet markets can be.

It was never pretty—but it was real.

As the years passed and adulthood quietly took over, my reasons for visiting changed. I found myself returning for more practical things—fresh flowers, native crafts, rice cakes, and of course, fruits, vegetables, and fish. The market, in its own way, grew with me. It adapted to my needs without losing its essence.

On one particularly hot Saturday afternoon, fresh from an indoor pool swim at a nearby hotel, I decided to check out the newly redeveloped Central Market.

And I was genuinely surprised.

The space now hosts cafés, froyo kiosks, and charming little gift shops—things I never imagined seeing in a place I once associated with muddy floors and makeshift stalls. It felt lighter, more curated, more intentional. And yet, it didn’t feel unfamiliar.

Because tucked within all that newness were the things that mattered most.

The native craft shops were still there—quietly holding their ground. Small remnants of childhood, still present despite the gloss of modernization. Seeing them felt like running into an old friend who hadn’t changed much at all.

That, to me, is the beauty of it.

Redevelopment often risks erasing the past in favor of something shinier. But here, it feels more like a layering—where memory and modernity coexist. Where the city evolves without completely letting go of who it used to be.

And in that space, somewhere between old and new, I found something familiar.

It still is my city, after all.