Gentle People

July 30 - Aug 2 Dumaguete, Negros Occidental

Originally planned either as a family vacation or the out-of-town get-together during H.'s return, this trip was conceived out of long-drawn exchanges in social networking sites. We had to arrive in a place with some "character" and a level of friendliness for travellers with infants. By "character" we automatically avoided the"party"scene. We were a big group, with most our friends-for-life along with us. I thought dealing with each other's idiosyncrasies had always been character enough, given our history of high-school/college drunkenness and the rest of the vicissitudes in our coming-of-age. We still fondly reminisce and crassly put, I never fail to acknowledge (to myself) what an idiot I was. 

While most of our crowd still had pretty interesting profiles with a global activist/UCLA PhD candidate, art critic, indie film director, indie film critic, researcher, jeweler, Vice President or loving moms and dads, it all blends in pretty evenly when we spend the night playing 20-peso buy-in poker with stones and rocks collected from the beach as poker chips. We were, after all, in the "City of Gentle People."

The weather was also on our side. A typhoon and forming weather systems left the city just the day before our departure. The storm didn't choose to unburden intself on our trip. The nights weren't fully stitched with stars, and as L. puts it, we didn't see a fiery sunset, but there was some sunshine.


We went a round the city a bit before heading off to the resort. I thought I had an impression of the inspiration that seeps into the writers who often this place for the Dumaguete Workshop. There are towering acasia trees, along with the open sea's imposing presence and a slow, serene pace that settled like a balm.

Because reading by the beach is probably the best way to read and we didn't have a lot of plans other than lazing and lounging around all day, everybody brought their literature. S. had Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses, M. had Gladwell's What The Dog Saw, A. had contemporary German Literature, and P. had his readings and answered NY Times Crosswords all day.I brought Kurt Vonnegut's Slapstick (Lonesome No More), but I also craved for a local read. Aside from the sea and the scenery, I speculate that one of other reasons why there are good writers in this part of the country is because there's a lot of striking contrasts on affluence and poverty concetrated here, the divide greatly defined by who owns the the sugar plantations. That affluence and poverty, history of feudalism, oppression, is always great raw material for stories and characters.

An underwater photo from S. & his A.'s time well-spent on the sea floor.

Along with snorkeling to see these promising live corals, fresh sea-food, kayaking, family-time, long conversations, a lot of lazing around, bottles of wine, rum, and over 3,000 bucks worth of booze we managed to have all the character we asked for.

I am thankful enough that while doing our partenting duties on a beach trip that needed a plane ride, we managed to find the time to read, get drunk or just lie on our own sea-view room's outdoor jacuzzi that bubbled with a cranberry scent.

Our little one, together with her little friend P., were also excellent travelling companions.

We couldn't have all done it withot the gift breastfeeding.