Hear Direk Freddie Santos

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The first two parts of this blog were named after cities, this one is named after the whole country for the reason that I also took a number of trips outside of the capital.

During the 70’s, there was a popular beauty contest held in the region known as Queen Of The Pacific. One of the countries represented there was Ceylon and I found it curious that the Ceylon finalist looked Indian. Only upon checking did I find out the country was located just south of India, as small an island nation as India was as large a sub-continent.

Over the years, Ceylon’s name was changed to Sri Lanka and its capital city of Colombo was deemed the nearest thing the producers could find to recreating the streets of Manila 1986.

I thought back on Miss Ceylon of a decade before and remembered thinking she couldn’t look Filipino by miles. Was this going to be a problem?

One of the best Filipino movie actors ever, the late Johnny Delgado, had gone on ahead to shoot some scenes there. He had come back and was now leaving again with the second group which included me.

At the airport counter, I asked him: How is Sri Lanka?

To which he gave one answer: Dadjangas.

I was caught between laughter and shock. Dadjangas was the old name of General Santos City, a name only people of my age would remember. It was a small place in Mindanao which in the 80’s was nothing more than a minor trading port. It has since much risen in prominence, no small thanks to GenSan (as we like to call it now) being the hometown of boxing great Manny Pacquiao. The fact that Johnny referred to Sri Lanka using this old name meant we were headed for backwater country.

The flight going to Colombo was uneventful but from the landing onwards, that city racked up more memories than I thought possible.

First, there was the landing…correction, landing strip. It was fine but where it ended, the runway was surrounded by grass and when our plane made its turn, I spotted untouchable Brahman bulls 20 feet away.

I’d only ever been to airports where no one and nothing was allowed near the runway, the danger alone was obvious, yet here were they considered sacred by many people in Sri Lanka and since they had chosen to graze beside the runway, so be it.

No passenger tunnels at that time, we stepped off the plane directly onto the tarmac and immediately, my eye and ear were caught by flights of crows above. Big, noisy birds, these, and I found the sight of their black winged bodies against the gray clouds slightly ominous. Then I noticed the trees that dotted the whole area. Indian trees, which I had never seen till that time and which look like this.

I remember thinking: Goodness, this place is so depressing even the trees grow downwards.

Going to the hotel, more enigmatic sights.

The road we used was flanked with large shrines, white gazebos made of cement, each one looking new and well-kept. Two out of three of them housed large statues of Hindu deities and Buddha.

The others, unbelievably, sheltered statues of Catholic characters: Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the saints…just about the whole New Testament accounted for.

But before I could even begin to figure out this religious scenario, we were given more baptism of fire, or more succinctly, smell. We crossed a bridge leading us into the city and the river beneath that bridge emitted a stench so strong, so solid, that it permeated the air-conditioned bus.

I looked through the window and saw that, at least back in 1988, the river was the dumping ground of much of the city’s garbage. I never saw river banks, just whole stretches of garbage floating in the water. I slumped back on my seat and recalled the words of that infamous Red Indian tribe: We’re the Hilarwi. (Where the hell are we?) Or Fakarwi, you get the gist.

Considering that back then Manila was notorious for its Smokey Mountain, a humongous landfill that exuded methane and was also dumping ground for political corpses (which is why it’s shown in the movie), I figured maybe THIS was why we were shooting in Colombo.

But before I could jump into any silly conclusions, I beheld another puzzling sight.

On the last mile leading to our hotel, the road ran along the beach. To my left stood a series of flashy, tall hotels reminding me of Waikiki. To my right, however, instead of countless, happy tourists, there was an empty beach and an ocean with water so brown, it was no surprise the beach was dotted with signs declaring: No Swimming Allowed. How much stranger was this city going to get?!

Thankfully, that aspect went on pause as we reached our hotel, the very sizeable Oberoi.

An expansive lobby, women violinists in white sarees, a front desk clerk who looked like Michael Jackson and warm smiles from everyone, I could only heave sighs of relief that Colombo was not Dadjangas.

As for the visual riddles along the way, I figure I would figure them out in time. Priority was work and happily, there was a call slip waiting for a shoot two days later.

I spent a few hours touring this cavernous hotel. Coffee shop here, restaurant there, swimming pool there and oh! surprise seating areas along hallways and in between buildings, charming oases decorated with colourful tapestries which made sipping coffee more than the usual delight.

Third day in and I was out…in the streets, ready to shoot the other one of my two “big moments” in the movie. This was my standing-atop-a-tank scene involving countless extras defiantly facing the oncoming soldiers and tanks.

I was ready. But not so ready as not to be taken aback by the measly seventy extras they could hire and garb…and the singular tank on which I would stand. That there was only one tank was bad enough, what made it really awkward was that 68 of the 70 extras looked as Indian as Bollywood. 12 of them who were dressed as nuns holding rosaries were, I swear, the sisterhood of Mother Teresa.

They were supposed to be chanting with me: Cory! Cory! (Ninoy Aquino’s wife who beat Marcos in the snap elections). When we rehearsed, all I could hear was: Curry! Curry!

I began playing a game in my mind. I would shout one thing and they would answer another.

Shrimp! (Curry!)

Pork! (Curry!)

Chicken! (Curry!)

Oh goodness, it was a trial.

But the thought of that nonsense game kept me in pleasant spirits even as I waited in a folding chair at a nearby sidewalk. The smile must have come out on my face because next thing I knew I was surrounded by loads of kids from the residential buildings surrounding us.

“The most beautiful children in the world” is how one tourist book I read described the young of Sri Lanka and believe me, it is not as extreme a claim as it may sound.

Smiles from East to West, eyelashes from North to forever and laughter as musical as nightingales, these kids who spoke little English made the biggest, warmest impressions on my heart.

When I got back to the hotel, I wondered how the editors (Richard Francis Bruce, Tony Kavanagh, Michael Honey) would make sense out of what actually happened and what we just shot. This is the finished product.

The day after what I thought would be my one and only shoot in Colombo, I heard that the Inaugural Scene (where Cory took the Presidential Oath) would also be shot in Colombo, at our hotel ballroom, in fact. I reminded the staff that in the actual Inauguration, my character, Butz Aquino, was standing beside Cory when it happened. That said, it was decided I would also be included in that scene which then gave me an extra week to spend in Colombo.

And what a week it turned out to be!

First great joy I discovered was that Sri Lanka was overrun with gems. Just about every gem in the world except diamonds and pearls could be mined in Sri Lanka and in every one of those flashy hotels I wrote about earlier lining the Oceanside boulevard, there were gem stores galore. I was not a student of Gemology then but I enjoyed looking at and learning about them.

Quartzes (topaz, citrine, amethyst) there were plenty, but at 1,000 carat sizes, they were eye-popping to say the least. I fell in love with the blue topazes which, because they’re treated, were quite affordable.

Our leading man Gary Busey, looking for sapphires one morning was advised to look for the Cornflower blue as the ideal color. I was more into the star sapphires, never had I seen them so clean and clear and large, nearly every cabochon crowned by a 6-ray star well-centered and full-legged from tip of the dome all the way to the edge.

And of course, where there are sapphires, there are also rubies, both being the mineral Corundum, second in hardness only to the diamond. Star rubies I had never before seen until Sri Lanka and I promptly got myself to tour Ratnapura about 100 kilometers southeast of Columbo, a town renowned for its many gem stores. Unfortunately, when I went, tourism had all but flown out the window and Ratnapura resembled a ghost town with just a spattering of gem stores left.

Still in all, I saw some of the most beautiful star rubies I could ever imagine, one of them owned by the wife of an ambassador. It was currently being set in diamonds and the dealer was only too thrilled to show it to me.

Back in Colombo, I made it a point to visit every one of the Oceanside hotels that I could and in every one, I met gem dealers whose openness to conversation brought answers to some of the many questions I had about Sri Lanka.

According to them, in the 60’s and 70’s, Sri Lanka was the traffic junction for intense drug-trafficking. Such activity brought a lot of heavy spenders to town and in the 80’s, despite the fact that pollution from that River of Stench I wrote about had unbearably tainted the ocean, 5-star hotels mushroomed alongside the waters to accommodate the travellers.

But authorities were not slow to awareness. Massive crackdowns on the trafficking curtailed many such activities resulting in a major drop of visitors.

Nearly all these hotels were modern, flashy and, by the time I got there, empty. As a result, in 1988, the Sri Lankan economy was badly tilted and I deplored how a country so naturally wealthy could have so many people unnaturally poor.

I believed more than ever that illegal drugs were a curse and I truly beg anyone who deals with them to desist lest their lives take irretrievably tragic turns.

With each day that I stepped out, I saw more and more sights of pain and poverty and I found myself constantly running back to my “safehouse” hotel just to distract myself from what I had seen outside.

Even trips to the markets, supposedly boisterous places, had only occasional uplifting moments. One such involved Sri Lanka’s leading product: Tea.

I’ve lots of friends who would appreciate tea, I thought, and went about looking for smartly packaged tea that I could buy by the dozen and bring home to give away. I didn’t know then that tea could come flavoured and I was intrigued by a bag that said: Vaniler.

Huh? What flavour could this be, I wondered? Something in my mind told me to say it slowly and aloud: Va-ni-ler. Oh my gosh, VANILLA! Spelt the way it’s pronounced in Sri Lanka!

I was so amused by this that I bought countless packs of Vaniler tea as well as, feeling in a very shopping mood by then, 10 lbs. of beautiful brasswork for which the Sri Lankans are renowned.

One particular treasure I picked up wasn’t an object but a trip…to Kandy. Most of the Pinoy actors were free that day and we decided to treat ourselves to a train ride up to this historic royal capital situated amid lush mountains. The train itself was a slight throwback to the days of the Orient Express and, though rustic, still felt luxurious.

Laurice Guillen, noted Pinoy director and the actress playing the role of Cory Aquino, could not help but comment on the impossibility of two leap year babies in one tour group. She was referring to her husband, actor Johnny Delgado, and me…both of us having been born on February 29, 8 years apart.

There was much laughter on that trip (very Pinoy), laughter which soon turned to silent delight as we toured this ancient, beautiful city. I am not so much into temples as I am into the architecture of them and my eye kept wandering from one ornate pillar to another. Yet the one design in that whole Kandy trip that sticks to my mind till this day was something man had nothing to do with: Bible Rock, Aranayaka.

Being a Bible-reader in this land of Hinduism and Buddhism, to hear the word “Bible” was a heartwarming surprise and I am egoistic enough to assume that God designed that mountain so that one day I may pass by on the railway to Kandy and realize, in no uncertain terms, He, indeed, is everywhere.

The other set of intangible gems I discovered were found no farther than across the street from my hotel. There stood a relatively abandoned shopping center with but a few shops left open, one of them a jewellery store run by K. He, first of all, introduced me to the world of tourmalines, so named because the Sinhalese word (Sinhalese is the Sri Lankan language) “turamali” loosely refers to “mixed gems”. True enough, tourmalines carry every color of the rainbow and aptly, is also the national gemstone of melting-pot America.

But don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t referring to tourmalines as my intangible treasures. I refer, first of all, to K, as gracious and gentlemanly in his ways as I could hope to find in any man. He introduced me to his wife, P, composed, warm and lovely. They had some gems and necklaces I desired to purchase but since I didn’t have enough money, K allowed me to get them with only a promise that I would mail him the payment soon as I got back to Manila. Then, as if I were a friend from long ago, the couple invited me to have dinner in their house.

K picked me up at the hotel in his car, an honest-to-goodness, all-original 1954 Hillman that tickled me no end. I met his family, his son M, his daughter N, and P’s niece, S, who was a writer for a local broadsheet and who wrote a half-page feature on Laurice Guillen while we were there.

Dinner was curry and I was given a set-aside portion that was supposed to be less spicy. Couldn’t tell. I almost died after the first bite, so this is what swallowing fire felt like. Coconut milk and fruit slices later, I was able to keep digging in, it actually was quite delicious.

I also noticed that I had a fork and spoon but nobody else did. I asked about this and was told that Sri Lankans preferred to use their hands when eating. Eating with hands? How Pinoy was that! Unknown to them, that’s how Filipinos love to eat their native food and, tossing my silverware aside, I promptly joined them in the “handfest”, albeit a bit more gingerly after that first searing bite.

The dinner lasted half an hour, the conversation way longer. The warmth in my heart? Until today.

Soon after that night, we shot the Inaugural Scene complete with Indian-accented Judge leading the oath-taking.

Couple of days later, I was off back to Manila.

Yet, judging from the length of this blog on Sri Lanka alone, you can just imagine the impression that country left in me. Three weeks later, on my own volition and at my own expense, I was back.

Direksions:

1. It’s not what you see… – the cast and I had much to complain about in terms of the production design in this movie. Interiors can be faked well but exteriors are another story. Not a single one of Tessie Tomas’s gowns or shoes (she played Imelda Marcos and was nominated for a Cable TV Best Actress award) could hold a candle to the least of Imelda’s actual dresses. And a horde of people is a horde of people, not a few dozen shot from every which way.

2. …it’s what you get. – Yet, despite the above, you gotta credit the director and editors for conveying a real, complete story. Well-thought out camera angles here, clever editing there and whatever shortcomings we may have seen behind the scenes, the viewing audience never felt. (Although friends of the actual Butz Aquino did comment on how fat he was portrayed in the film. Haaay.)

Yet watching the director in action and viewing the end product was like a year in film school.

No doubt, this applies as well to real life.

When I came back to Sri Lanka, I immediately visited K and paid him what I owed. P was her smiling self but for some reason, I could not help but notice that something was amiss.

I went back to my hotel and next thing I knew, K was there, by himself, asking if we could have tea together. He began ranting about how upset he was with his wife, P, and that he was planning to leave her.

He showed me a newspaper clip with a photo of her attending a party, a very social thing, nothing raunchy or anything like that, but K went on and on about how he was a hajj (having gone to Mecca twice) and that wives of hajj’s should not be publicly shown socializing and the like.

I took it all in but for some reason, my heart kept branding the story as incomplete. Still, I said nothing and we parted ways before it got dark.

A little later, though, I got a phone invitation to have dinner with P and I instantly accepted.

I found my way to her house and noticed that K wasn’t there. After the usual hello’s, P sat me down and poured HER heart out.

It seems that K had not been faithful and had been seeing a much younger woman for some time now. Her children, son M and daughter N, were right there quietly nodding. M, in particular, looked deeply troubled.

More stories were shared that night, stories that in my spirit rang true, and it was with a bit of a heavy heart that I left their company.

You may be wondering why they shared these things with me. One simple reason: prayer.

They wanted me to pray for them. For K. For the whole situation. It seems that in my past times with them, I had quoted the Bible freely, not to evangelize but merely to confirm and support certain opinions, situations and possibilities. This led them into thinking I was some kind of a “religious man” and therefore, prayerful.

Those are the last things I would ever admit myself to being, believe me, but when someone asks you to pray for them, you don’t turn away. Period.

I assured P I would and as I bade goodbye, M offered to guide me back to my hotel. We took a tuk-tuk and this time, it was M who opened up. At the age of 18, he had already led a relatively erratic life with not a few scrapes with the law over drinking and marijuana. He wondered how much of his parents’ situation was his fault and he begged for answers on what he could do to alleviate it

By the time we got to my hotel, I was feeling absolutely helpless. All I could think of was to share with M what had changed MY life and at the risk of overstepping boundaries, asked him to come up to my hotel room where I searched the night table drawers and happily found a Gideon Bible.

I showed him verses that meant much to me (that Bible was in both English and Sinhalese) and tried my darndest to explain how they could mean something to him. Then I led M in a sinner’s prayer accepting Jesus Christ as his Lord and Saviour, not unlike those said on 700 Club. Truthfully, I didn’t know what else to do.

I gave M the Bible (thank you, Gideons) and as he turned to leave, I asked him if he had enough money to go home. He answered: No, but if He (Jesus) is what you say He is, He will make sure I get home.

A Muslim’s conversion to Christianity is never taken lightly by other Muslims, ergo, my usage only of initials, and not the actual ones either, to identify the members of this precious family.

Except for one letter from P, I never heard from them again. Nor have I returned since to Colombo. But the memories, and the prayers, are still there.