IT SEEMS that disconnecting from Manila's broadband network also dissipates the idea of "work" and the complications it brings. This we realized after spending the weekend in Puerto Galera's lesser known and quieter beach stretch of Talipanan. A week before her birthday, I took Rach to trip (I was part of the gift, haha) -- especially timely since she's emo from adjusting to her new corporate environment. I made reservations at Mountain View resort for a furnished Nipa hut. Our hut came with a kitchen (that we didn't use) and a mini-garden of mostly Gumamela plants. It's rainy October so room rates were half-priced; good thing the sun was bright up during our stay. Upon settling our bags after a four-hour bus-and-boat commute to Mindoro, we searched the beach for a place to have lunch. We found Luca's Cocina Italia right before the end stretch's rock formations. We had chicken in tomato sauce and flavorful herbs. Downed with mango shake, of course.



We were practically the only ones in the resort. And on our beachfront for that matter. Just three other people boarded off the Commandos boat to Talipanan with us. Peaceful; away from the madding crowd. After a nap, we planned on trekking to the nearby waterfalls. The resort manager showed us to a street where we could meet and ask native Mangyans to guide us to the destination. We came across a Mangyan mother carrying her child. She, however, discouraged us from going into the mountain since dark might catch up on us. We relented, even if it's just 4:30 in the afternoon; the trek was said to be around 45 minutes long. So instead we combed the beach some more. Walking east of Mountain Beach, we passed by and explored abandoned resort properties that are now graffiti-laden. We sat at the steps of a derelict structure and dared shout I Love You the loudest we can. By the beach we found a sea-washed and sand-filled Adventurer backpack; dogs barked at us.



After dinner, stars hang low from the Mindoro skies, set the mood for a slow dance. Fast forward to a breakfast of corned beef, coffee, and egg by the beach next day: no doubt it spelled paradise. In an ideal world, I'd have this kind of work: earning dough from writing, laptop on hand, telecommuting while sea waves lick my soles. The Sunday itinerary meant Bayanan, known for its church and excavation museum. Actually we still considered the waterfalls, but I had a bad feeling about trekking so the Plan B. We hired a tricycle to take us to and from Bayanan in Baco town for P300. Mass was already being heard when we got there by quarter to 10. We surveyed the museum and got to climbing midway the bell tower. We relished orders of Scramble (crushed ice, milk and choco syrup, sago), one that neither of us had since grade school. Following a trail to the church's backyard, we peaked at a nice view of the local yacht club.



Inside the museum were thousand-year old artifacts discovered from archaeological diggings in the surrounding native villages. The entrance sign said weeklong opening except Sundays -- but it welcomed tourists anyway, lucky us. No fees required, we just dropped cash in the donation box for the museum's upkeep. The collections were arranged according to era and source country. Centuries-old porcelain, burial jars, and earthenware from China and our Southeast Asian neighbors clue in on the healthy barter trade that existed in the region during pre-colonial Mindoro. There were pieces that date back from the Song, Ming, and other dynasties I can't recall, from more than a thousand years ago when sources of living were ages and ages away from IT outsourcing. It was in its own way a means for us to glimpse at how life was in an age before computers and mass media. There's Internet connection in today's Bayanan, by the way.



Before urban chaos got the better of us again, we were relieved to have washed off our feet by the shore, marveled at stars, and appreciated lost remnants of history.