CAVES that are dark, cold and mysterious have long been the setting for powerful transformations. Even Jesus rose from death to life in a cave one Sunday at dawn.
Every year on Good Friday, Siquijor's witches and healers are said to brew their potent spells and potions in Cantabon Cave, in the dark heart of the island.
Siquijor, about 39 kilometers northeast of Dumaguete City, is as warm and hospitable as any other Philippine island, with clear, brilliant waters and sandy white shores. Hopping from beach to waterfall on a motorcycle, my friends and I decided to save the darker, colder adventure of Cantabon for last. We had been told to just go straight up the steep road from the Provincial Capitol in the town of Siquijor.
The sun was sinking behind a mountain ridge as we stopped to ask for directions in San Antonio, a village popular for its merchandise of charms and curses. An old woman sitting outside a hut stared at us with large, penetrating eyes. Most of her teeth had fallen out; a wart made her nose look more crooked and sinister.
”Could you tell us where Cantabon is, please,” we asked. Pointing towards the direction we had come from, she started muttering something we couldn't understand. After about a minute or two of trying to decipher her words, we said goodbye politely and continued on our way up, our hair standing on end.
A few more stops to get coherent directions, and finally we found ourselves at the end of the long road at the Cantabon Barangay Hall. Two teenage guys instantly offered to be our guides. Wooden signs indicated that this was also the route to Mt. Bandilaan, known for its springs, butterfly sanctuary and good view of the island. A 13-year-old kid tagged along to learn the business from his elders.
In many ways, entering a cave is like descending into one's subconscious to face the unknown dark, terrifying things locked up inside. About a hundred meters away from the road, we came to a hole in the ground barred by a padlocked wooden gate. The way down was narrow and slippery, the ceiling low. Translucent and smooth cylindrical stones protruded from the clay-covered rocks, shining against the brownness.
Little by little, we saw more translucent stones on the walls and on the muddy floor as we came upon what seemed to be an underground stream. The cool water was mostly knee-high, although it varied from ankle-deep to waist-high in different parts. The deeper we went, the whiter the rocks became, snow-like, the way they sparkled under our single gas lamp. The stones took on strange forms--sometimes as driftwood, sometimes as corals and shells--almost as if the sandy stream were a memory of Siquijor's famous beaches, or perhaps a parallel underground universe.
In a cavernous part of the cave, halfway into the trek, was a pool with water flowing down the side of the rocks. Here we stayed longer to take photos, but before we could go for a swim, the guides said it was getting late, and that we still had far to go. We continued our alternating climb, descent and wading, with shorter breaks for pictorials.
Finally, we came to a fork. Following one path, we came to what they called "the bathtub"--a small pool of water on a rock raised above the stream. The low ceilings were covered with wax-like young stalactites. There was another chamber further on, with piles of brown stones that looked like little mud-people gathered on the shore of a river, but our guides said nobody had explored the part beyond that. Too scary, they said.
As in most caves, the trek back seemed to take place in a totally different setting; rocks and shadows were as unfamiliar as ever, like creatures that still refused to be our friends. A catfish-like form in the stream darted away as soon as it saw our lamp. Still, I took a dip in the pool, and dared to kiss water to drink off the face of a white, coralline rock.
Just a few meters away from the mouth of the cave, I slipped on the wet clay and ended up lying on rock, my arm and thigh throbbing with pain. It would be a long motorcycle ride back to town. We emerged into the mountain's eerie darkness, steeling ourselves against the cold Siquijor night.
