It was midday when we arrived in Dapya River. The road going to this popular riverside destination in Cabangan, Zambales isn't exactly made for Sunday driving, in fact, the paved road literally disappeared about halfway to our destination.

A year ago, I explored the stretch of Melaka River, not from its elevated concrete banks, but right from its midst. Boarding the popular Melaka River Cruise on the first evening we arrived in the city, I saw how vibrant the riverside was. And although the cruise was enchanting—passing glittering buildings from the comfort of our boat—I wished I could savor all its sights on a more leisurely pace; I wanted to explore it on foot, or on a bicycle perhaps, but we didn’t have the luxury of time back then.

RIVER CRUISE BOAT ALONG THE MELAKA RIVER

Coming back to Melaka, we promised ourselves that we would take the time to really explore the riverside of this UNESCO World Heritage City. And so it was that on our third day, we set off from The Pines Melaka, our hotel which was conveniently located right beside the waterways, and walked all the way to the Melaka Dutch Square.

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Steadily, our canoe started to dock at a floating platform at Kompong Phluk’s Flooded Forest. We just finished a magical ride along the gnarled trees, flooded by the nearby Tonlé Sap Lake. And it was such a wonderful encounter that we absolutely didn’t mind paying a relatively hefty amount just to experience it.

BOAT RIDE THROUGH SIEM REAP’S FLOODED FOREST

My buddy jumped off the canoe on to the ledge, and as I was about to follow her when a motorboat suddenly roared across the other side of the river. Our canoe started to drift away from the platform exactly as my right foot planted itself on its wooden boards.

Everything started to play in slow motion as the distance between the boat I was on and the platform, where my other foot was now planted on, started to widen. I can’t freakin’ believe this is happening.

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I drifted. Flat on my back on an inflated tire tube, slowly moving across the silent waters of the Siitan River. On both sides of the bank, soaring limestone cliffs rose, flanking me. It felt surreal. Then the current started to get stronger, propelling me faster than I would’ve preferred.

Snapping out of my reverie, I looked around and found that it was just me, the rumbling river and the mute limestone sentinels.

Where the heck were my companions?

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I was in grade 5 the last time I remember taking a dip at the brook at the back of our house in Cabanatuan. I’d still check on the river every time we’d go back, but the most I’d do was just wade in the water and see how much it has changed over the course of the years.

The brook out back is a minor tributary to the much larger one found in Valdefuente, but unlike that river, this one’s pretty small. About twenty five meters across at its widest, with a depth ranging from an inch to ten feet deep. Trees surround both banks, and only the warbling of birds disturbs its otherwise quiet environment.

I remember my grandfather bringing our papag or wooden bed at the stream at the back of our house in Cabanatuan City during Holy Week. He’d place it in the middle of the water, put up palm fronds as shades, and my aunts would bring in all sorts of dishes for lunch. We’d eat, swim, and eat again right in the middle of the stream. It was an annual thing back then; but as summers passed, the tradition somehow faded until it was totally forgotten. 
Yesterday, we got a chance to somehow relive that tradition as the whole clan rode for an hour and a half to the neighboring municipality of Gabaldon, a town east of Nueva Ecija. The original plan was to visit the Stone 8 resort in the area, but due to the massive influx of vacationeers, we had to settle for the Dupinga River instead.

It’s been two long years since I last visited my province up north.

Cabanatuan has always been a summer escape when I was a kid; swimming at the brook at the back of my grandma’s house, picking and eating mangoes and star apples, running around the rice fields, biking through the woods and swinging endlessly on the makeshift tire swing beneath the shade of our huge mango trees.
There was this one summer though that was forever etched on my mind. I’m not sure what the occasion was, but our grandma decided we should hike from Buliran to Obrero through the backfields. It took us half the day, passing streams, mini dams, dessert-like patches and a mighty river before reaching our aunt’s house at the other side of town.

Passing through another metal bridge, this one more precarious than the previous one we traversed on the way to the watchtower, we crossed over Wawa Dam’s raging water into the tranquility of the Wawa River on the other side.

The trail here becomes softer; grass-laden brown soil, compared to the rocky terrain off the dam’s mountainside. A few small shacks, very much like those found along rural areas dot the river’s edge.

I forget this is a rural area.

The proximity of Rodriguez (formerly called Montalban) to Manila can play tricks on one’s mind and I can’t seem to reconcile the nearby city’s barrage of pollution with the tranquility and peacefulness found here.

I revisited my mom’s hometown, Cabanatuan City, a few weeks ago for my grandmother’s wake.  It was a chance to celebrate my grandma’s long and fruitful life, get reacquainted with my relatives and visit some of the familiar sights in the small town of Buliran.

Cabanatuan has been our summer vacation place during childhood.  We would spend a month there living the slow provincial life.  Getting up early to accompany my cousins milk our carabao, buy duck eggs at the farm, pick ripe mangoes, guavas and star apples, and my most favorite part, swim and play at the brook at the back of our mango orchard.