Traveling around the island of Guimaras catapulted me back to a timelessly remote past where life was hard maybe but with infectious simplicity. Living in materials-wealthy America we become inured to its hasty cadences. We forget how a slower pace if not as productive of material goods could make us more appreciative just for being alive and for having the time to contemplate this marvelous fact. There were few large motorized vehicles on the island. We got around, the three of us, riding in this tiny tricycle, bumpy but superlative for reconnoitering this lost paradise.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Coconut Roads
Traveling around the island of Guimaras catapulted me back to a timelessly remote past where life was hard maybe but with infectious simplicity. Living in materials-wealthy America we become inured to its hasty cadences. We forget how a slower pace if not as productive of material goods could make us more appreciative just for being alive and for having the time to contemplate this marvelous fact. There were few large motorized vehicles on the island. We got around, the three of us, riding in this tiny tricycle, bumpy but superlative for reconnoitering this lost paradise.
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