Monday, March 16, 2015


Both of us, in our younger days, came to Minalungao.

Me with my starry eyed artist/activist friends, lugging a case of San Miguel Beer, cooking rice in a bamboo tube, exploring one of the caves.

She with the family of a neighbor and perhaps a boyfriend.

I walked, and maybe she did too.

That was many years ago.

Today, a road connect Minalungao to the rest of the world.

A checkpoint collects P20 from each visitor.

And bamboo huts and concrete and humanity litter what was once a pristine and raw almost-paradise. 

For us, Minalungao is somehow one of the dots that brought us into this single continuing journey.

It is a small pocket where a bit of a happy memory is stored. 

But that aside, the Minalungao of today is misspelled tourism at its best.

And I say that a challenging mountain biking trail is its sole and only redemption.

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