Filipino Country Furnishings




The Philippines has a rich history of furniture, however it is hardly or loosely curated as in other cultures. I have yet to hear a local (Filipino) term that would classify  country furniture into an equivalent of "Shaker" in the United States or "Provençal" in France.

We have a wealth of artisanal pieces that have survived to this day, despite the fact that country furniture are extensively used and abused, left to the elements even. You don't have to go very far: a lot of times, they are the familiar pieces we have grown up with yet we do not see them as the next stylish piece for the weekend house! I have been scouring around for many years, collecting and streamlining as I go along. Way before we acquired the farm, I gravitated already towards more rustic pieces; with simple lines, hardly any ornamentation, spartan hardware, weathered edges, and a whole lot of character. I don't have much, but what I have all looks and works harmoniously together.

One of the very first things I moved years ago is a very straightforward mésa altár (top), rather uneventful in the Manila house but looked very appropriate in the cabáňa. A wooden batyâ (basin), a brass kawáli (wok), and a burnáy (Ilócos earthenware) jar complete the rustic tableau. The batya is now hung in the kitchen (where it really should be anyway), the kawali we use to burn incense to fumigate the huts, and the burnay always receives brightly colored heliconias or whatever flowers are in season.

Also looking odd in a bedroom in Manila then was this armário (above left), which I recall contained some books on one level and a boom box and some CDs on another. But now, it serves its original purpose as a pillow rack (and baníg [sleeping mats] in the olden days).

Old kitchen implements like these two mortars (below, left and right) serve as accent pieces around our place. A stone almirés gives visual contrast to white sampaguíta and kalachúchi, and a beaten lusóng (wooden mortar) which I just found among my neighbor's junk and asked for is now re-purposed as a bromeliad pot. I'm even on the lookout for more labangán (trough, bottom), in case you have a lólo or lóla who took care of pigs!

More Huts

Apart from the anáhaw cabaña, we have so far three other huts that we have and use. One is a simple concrete hut (above & below) with Mádre de Cacáo (Gliricidia sepium) posts that we cut from the start when we were still clearing the land. The roof is made of cogón (blade grass) which we just ordered from a neighbor. The louvered closet doors are just hand-me-downs from someone renovating in Manila; I felt it can still be re-used and I have yet to re-finish them.


The bamboo sofa is cut from our own grove and made by my staff. I wish we have access to wild rattan but I have to admit that the mat is something I bought on a trip to Paláwan while the round pandán pillows are apparently from Quézon Province.

I would jokingly tell people that one of the reasons why we still have not built a proper house is because we are still growing the needed parts! It may sound a bit radical but it actually makes a lot of sense (and savings). Meantime, from the nearby beach town of San Juan, I ordered palápas with sturdy muláwin posts, saság (split-bamboo) platforms and roofs made of nipà (mangrove palm) leaves. These are almost three years old now and of all the thatch roofs we have, it's the nipa that's beginning to wear off. I guess it really is not suited for inland and humid areas.

And did you know that the word "palápa" is of Malay origin but is now adopted by English to mean "an open-sided hut?" In the era of the Galleon Trade, Filipinos (then called Indios) would make the trip to Acapulco and were responsible for introducing to the Mexicans the use of palm leaves (palápa) for casual or temporary roofing. I guess this style of roofing fluorished along the coast where it made a lot of sense to have open-sided, casual-looking huts and so the name (of the roof, which is essentially what it all is) was eventually used to mean the hut itself.