It’s a river in the Philippines, one of two used in the filming of Apocalypse Now. The other was the Madapio River which is also nearby. About 47 years ago, that iconic film was first released to a global audience at the Cannes Film Festival, then later that fall, to the United States. To a few English majors, deja vu tickled our thinking to another time, whether recent or ages back. The film’s storyline is based on Joseph Conrad’s novella, Heart of Darkness.
This post is a small vignette of a single day traveling down this river. It was one of many days spent visiting or doing something with family. Three first cousins accompanied us on this venture; they were generous with their time and hospitality, and my language lifesavers when my Tagalog crashed and burned a few times.
Across several days, we met with those on my mother’s side as well as those from my father’s side. For my wife and 2 daughters, it was a journey ripe for discovery, for identifying–even relating to–customs and traditions that can now be associated with a relative, a special occasion, a particular saying or place, and even a recipe. To see their reactions, to hear their questions, comments and sense of wonder also brought to me a newness of the Philippines that refreshed, as well as anchored my own understanding of what it means to be a son of these islands. The 2-weeks spent there were the first for my family.
Bangka
These boats are not quite kayak or canoe. Granted, they’re distant cousins of what we recognize as either one or the other. Each bangka carries 2 passengers and 2 crew, one in the bow [front] and the other in the stern [back]. The boats are long, but stable.
River Life
As we passed homes and businesses along the waterway, I wondered about the strength of these elevated dwellings. The tropics are susceptible to typhoons and long days of rain in a season that spans June into November. A typhoon is referred to as the hurricane of the Tropics . Noticing the homes and businesses crafted from bamboo along the water’s edge made me wonder just how often folks had to repair and/or relocate these dwellings. They do either with their resourcefulness, patience and persistence. Help from neighbors and family are de rigueuer in the most challenging times of Life. That’s a universal truth for most part of the world.
The 2 guides in each bangka really know the route down this river. Their actions appear rote, yet calculated. There are several sections littered with rocks of all sizes and shapes; and in those instances, I’m specifically citing areas where the water is ankle to knee deep. Negotiating these tight places proved strenuous to the guides, but like sherpas in the Himalayas, they went about their tasks quietly and purposefully. However, now and then, you’d catch short, bursts of dialogue punctuated with a short, but hearty laugh. I’d like to think that they like this life stage. Life for them and their friends and families are pretty basic compared to the modern world. Wherever we were during our vacation, there’s this sense of work and gratitude which carry Filipinos from one day to the next. And that’s how it should be. A friend once told me that you really can’t miss something you’ve never owned. The Mobius strip in that saying implies that the feeling of missing something is quite different from wanting something that others own.
Water Veils & Vertical Walls
The Pagsanhan River courses through some of the tallest shores [walls, actually] I’ve ever seen. In these canyons a quiet, palpable strength, an anthropomorphic quality that had equal parts solidarity and that of a stoic individual, firmly planted in place. Falling water we passed often greeted us with a curtain of mist and the omnipresent sound of moving water.
The veils flowing [more like falling] along these walls into the river start at a height of 100 to 115 feet [30.5 to 35 meters] measured from the top of the water, to solid ground above. The tallest veils/falls run straight up to 300 feet [91 meters]. Scaling these walls could be deadly; the amount of wet stone, damp moss and greenery would put a quick stop to such a Quixotic attempt.
Without any prompts from anyone, Pagsanhan Falls and the celebrated Devil’s Cave came into view. Before you even see the falls, you can hear it. As it comes into view, a mist-filled breeze greets you, the falls resigned to cover everyone on the raft with water. The photo above shows the waiting area as another raft is at the cave. Our turn arrived and one of the boatmen pulled us straight into the rapidly falling water and finally into the cave.
Overall, the water is shallow often flowing smoothly, deep and quiet between shallow holes. Getting entirely wet in the cold water revived us from the heat. We were drenched minutes even before entering the Cave. We waded in the water feeling refreshed, just enough to thwart the heat we endured in that first hour skating down the river.
The waves lapping the stone “beach” a short distance into the cave provided a calming rhythm akin to the ocean touching the sands on a beach. As the sound of the crashing water just outside faded, each step into this dark, cave rendered an air of complacency. There was nothing to dwell on but only the moment we were all in. Happy, surprised, content with the here and now. Nothing else kept us from enjoying the unrehearsed, unanticipated joy that held us together. The boatmen even managed a smile and a few words, the latter acknowledged our silliness.
We left the cave, happy, quiet, tired and wet. The trip back to the loading dock was uneventful just as the first half of this trip. Whatever my camera managed to capture, I’m certain that each of us have already assembled a series of memories orchestrated and tied together with sounds, feelings and fragrances of the Pagsahan River. Perhaps the most invaluable memory of this and other things we experienced on this entire trip was that as a family, we were all in.
Carlo Centeno 