Sloth

06-18-23 Sunday What can be said about a life with so little substance? I wake up; I take a tour on the hammock that occupies half of my porch, maybe an hour each morning?; then I read for a couple hours on the rattan couch in my living room; followed by a couple hours looking at YouTube videos on my laptop; then more reading and hammockery. Somehow the hours pass and the day is gone. All the while I persecute myself with accusations of sloth (the charges are clearly valid). How do I justify doing nothing for two weeks? Generally on my travels I don’t tarry anywhere very long, always seeking out museums, bicycle tours, parks, restaurants, riversides. But Princesa has none of these. There is a small port that I visited one of the first days. I’ve spent some hours investigating the city with its myriad shops and markets, but there isn’t much to see. I took a ride to the nearest tourist attraction, the ‘Underground River’, but that was a vapid exercise further ruined by an argument I had with the tour provider. I can argue that I’m testing out a hypothesis. What if I substituted all that active touristry for………nothing……doing nothing. The weather is sublime. As I am five minutes from the ocean the wind generally provides relief from any severe heat. Temps have been in the upper 80’s, warm enough to allow me to spend most of my day in shorts-and-nothing-else. Most days there is rain in the afternoon for an hour or so, just enough to set up cool evenings. (Last night we had a thunderous storm just before midnight, fierce enough to frighten me a bit, but nothing came of it.) The perfect habitat for a bum. Am I revealing my true nature? Wastrel? Idler? I have two pursuits that suggest some small amount of forward motion in my existence: Not eating, i.e. trying to shed some pounds. It’s probably futile; any weight I shed will be regained in a couple weeks after my return. It has happened almost every year that I traveled. But this year does have an advantage in that I’m going to be idle for nearly a month, perhaps enough time to make a more permanent dent in my obesity? Hartman Beach. Five minutes walk from me is the city beach, the biggest disappointment of my journey. It is more like a swamp than the white sand meccas you see in the adverts. I was introduced to Hartman my first day here by the caretaker of my lodgings. I was immediately aghast. Not only was there no true beach but the area that passed for such was strewn with candy wrappers, liquor bottles, cigarette butts, and other items of mostly-plastic basura. An insane notion wormed into my head; I wanted to clean up this ‘beach’. It was such an absurd idea that I was able to hold off a couple days before the worm took over my will. The whole project was wrongheaded. I envisioned the derisive stares I would get from natives. They might even attack me on the basis that I was insulting the whole community. I wasn’t sure I could find the necessary equipment. (I did notice on my first visit that there was an area near the beach entrance that seemed to be a gathering point for household trash.) I went to the local mall and sought out what I thought I needed. To my surprise I easily espied an Ace Hardware store. Back in the far corner of the place I found what I was looking for, a metal rake, work gloves and plastic bags. Next day I waited until the early evening when it was cooler, then sauntered down to Hartman trying to keep from whacking pedestrians with my rake. There was more trash than I could handle in one sojourn but I found a prime spot and set to work. My first objective was a short (18 inch) stone wall that formed the border of the waterfront. In ninety minutes I was able to make a dent in the sea of rubbish that lay alee the wall.. I had three medium-sized bags of booty, a tiny chink in the moat of junk that cloaked the area, but a start. I also had an aching lower back and a fatigue that shocked me. At home I’ve played two hours of pickleball without disabling weariness, but this work was something different. I was appalled and, frankly, scared. My age had suddenly risen up and smacked me right in the torso. I’m embarrassed to admit that I began thinking about the Grim Reaper (if I’m this weak I must be closer to the end than I had wanted to recognize). At this point I became aware of a dozen or so little bodies scurrying around me. I was to learn that Hartman is mostly the hangout of preteens. Probably 80% of the users of the littoral fit that description. I soon became conscious that a number of the kids had been lured into joining my crusade. One after another they bent to the task of excavating pieces of plastic from the sand and thrusting it into my bag, which soon became two bags. In five minutes I doubled my production. I passed around a few coins that I had in my pocket out of gratitude. At that moment the skies opened and a thunderstorm chased all of us to a little wooden shack that sat astride the beach entrance. Thankfully there was a place to sit down. When the rain slackened a bit I trudged back to my lodgings feeling like I’d just done nine rounds with Mike Tyson. I showered and lay prostrate for the balance of the night. My strategy formed quickly. I would only undertake my trash duties every other evening. My informal goal would be five bags. It was certainly possible that I’d become discouraged. I was sure that the area I had cleaned would acquire some new trash before I returned — which turned out to be correct — and I wasn’t sure my body could take the beating. I had no clear idea how long it might take me to do the full deed. So far I’ve gone five more times. And each time a different squad of children has, unbidden, leant their labor to the scheme. We’ve removed about 30 bags so far. Yesterday I/we dislodged a large pile of plastic mixed in with coconuts and coconut tree fronds. The only stuff that remains is lodged in tall weeds behind the beach or in massive piles that someone else seems to have amassed sometime in the past. I don’t think I have the stamina to tackle that obstacle. I’m headed for a white sand beach, Port Barton, tomorrow. It’s a three hour van ride north. I’ll stay there for two days before returning here. By then there will be four days of garbage at Hartman, which will keep me/us busy for one more time. After that I think my labor will be done except for occasional plastic pickup sessions. The fact is, though, that the vast majority of my time here is spent in idleness. I’m not sure I like the person I am now.