Concert stages set up along the road (Photos by Alvin Alcantara)
TWENTY-five thousand bangus, 660 grills, nine concert stages.
Dubbed as the biggest street party of the North, the Bangusan Street Party brought the month-long Bangus Festival in Dagupan City to an unforgettable close.
Hundreds of thousands of visitors filled the 2-km stretch of De Venecia Road Extension, all eager to witness the most exciting part of the event—the grilling of 25,000 pieces of milkfish, cooked together by groups from across the province, while live music echoed from nine concert stages set up along the road.
People from all sectors took part in the tradition. Government agencies, private companies, civic groups, professionals, and families became part of the most anticipated activity of the festival. Even groups of friends joined in, setting up their own grilling stations or simply claiming their spot on the sidewalk to celebrate together.
I arrived before lunch, not because anything had started yet, but because we needed to secure our grilling station and unload everything before the road closure. The sun was brutal, and sweat came quickly, but it was better to do it early than try to squeeze through crowds later in the day. A few members of our group stayed behind to guard our spot, while the rest of us prepared for what would be a long, exciting night ahead.
We were assigned station numbers 647 and 648, which were practically at the very end of the stretch. As much as it was exciting, I also realized I had quite a walk ahead of me if I wanted to witness the ceremonial lighting up close. So I went for it. It was a 2-km walk under the sun, surrounded by strangers who, like me, were slowly making their way toward the starting point. The heat was unforgiving, and just before I reached the front, I was already drenched in sweat, but I didn’t really mind, because it felt like everyone else was experiencing the same thing and there was a strange comfort in that shared discomfort.
This wasn’t my first time attending the Bangus Festival, but it was my first time to actually grill. Before, I was just one of the many in the crowd, walking, listening to music, and enjoying the party from the sidelines. This time, I finally felt like I had stepped into the heart of it, which was the actual grilling, the smoke, and the joy of sharing food.
When I reached the lighting ceremony, I was honestly expecting that all 660 grills would be aligned and lit at the same time. But only the first 50 were lit. A little underwhelming, sure, but the moment still had magic. Street dancers flooded the road immediately after, performing with milkfish props while their accompanying bands pounded out rhythms that seemed to vibrate through the pavement. Their energy, their smiles, the way they moved—you could tell they were giving their all, and it was impossible not to smile while watching.
As I walked back toward our station, the street was now covered in smoke. The smell of grilled milkfish filled the air, mixing with the scent of hotdogs, seafood, and meat from other stations. It was strong, fishy, and mouthwatering. I couldn’t believe how much fish we had been given. By the end of the night, I still had 10 pieces left, which I packed to take home.
The smell of grilled milkfish filled the air—strong, fishy, and mouthwatering
People had clearly prepared well for the night. Some had full tables set up like buffets. Others had speakers blaring pop hits, and a few even brought karaoke machines, turning their corner of the road into their own little street party.
On my way down the stretch, I saw familiar faces. Friends waved from their stations, former classmates called out. One group sat on the curb, passing around their favorite grilled milkfish with bare hands. I asked if I could take a photo. “Sige lang!” they said, posing mid-bite, grinning.
The festival welcomed everyone. I saw babies asleep in strollers and older folk walking slowly with walking sticks. The road was tightly packed, a sea of people flowing in both directions, and the crowd could only move one careful step at a time. But no one was in a rush. The slow movement became part of the rhythm of the night.
And then, the rain came.
Performances had to pause for safety. I found shelter in a nearby tent, watching as umbrellas went up across the street, and people laughed while getting soaked. Still, many continued grilling, protecting their food with anything they could find. The smoke didn’t stop; it just rose alongside the steam.
The rain didn’t last long—less than an hour—but when it cleared, the performances picked up where they left off. People screamed in excitement as the bands came back on. Everyone joined in, singing with their favorite artists, clapping to the beat, dancing without hesitation.
More than a street party, the Bangus Festival felt like a chance to reset. A chance to let go of stress, reconnect with friends, and have long, unhurried conversations in between bites of grilled milkfish and favorite songs. Maybe it was the food or the music or the sheer joy of being outdoors among thousands, but it felt like everyone was a little more open, a little more human that night.
For many, it was also a chance to earn. Vendors walked the entire stretch selling ice-cold water, snacks, and everything in between. There was no food shortage. Sponsors were present too, giving out freebies, letting people try products, or hosting games. That part of the celebration always draws a crowd, and this year was no different.
What did disappoint me slightly were the politicians who came with endorsers, handing out flyers and trying to take advantage of the massive crowd. Most of those flyers ended up on the pavement, stepped on or tossed aside, but I suppose that, too, was part of the scene.
As the night came to a close, a grand fireworks display lit up the sky just before midnight, bursting over the crowd with color and thunder. I watched it from our station as people kept passing by, hundreds at a time. The road felt endless, and the crowd felt unstoppable. You could really see it—how massive this event had become. Hundreds of thousands attended, and yet somehow, the night still felt intimate.
I left around 2 am, exhausted and reeking of smoke and grilled fish, my shirt stiff from dried sweat, my ears still ringing from the music and laughter. But my heart was full. And if I’m lucky enough to do it again next year, I won’t hesitate—not even for a second.
