"You didn't drive three hours just to stay in the room," I started hearing in my head, so here I am, at the beach.
I'm not swimming, of course. I still don't want to, especially not when I'm alone. I mean, my folks are back in the rented flat, and I'm here, on the beach, solely to scratch that itch about being outside. And it's not like I haven't swam... no, soaked in this beach before. I've been to Pico de Loro many times before. I knew someone who somehow always got stung by jellyfish. But, one, there's a lot of people, and two, the waves are strong. I mean, I know there are no rip currents here, but that's still fresh in everyone else's mind - and will stay fresh for as long as people attempt to remain the image of an upstanding academic organization - so, nope.
Actually, I had planned on reading. With apologies to France, but I take forever to read books. I've had a copy of her first novel for half a year, and kept on bringing it on trips, but only now, on the beach, do I feel I have a shot at going past a few pages uninterrupted. I just have to find a spot. This is a really busy beach. It's a surprise there's one lounger left.
Pico de Loro is a member's club - or, at least, this slightly less fuller side of this beach is - and I'm lounging right by the drinks counter. Unfortunately, I am still alone. I have an "accompanied guest" wristband, but the member accompanying me is, again, in the rented flat. I was a member, by virtue of being my dad's son, but I lost that privilege when I turned 31. But at least I can still buy at the drinks counter right behind me, right?
"Sorry, sir, for members lang dito. Sa kanya dapat isa-swipe 'yung order. Pwede naman doon sa Reef Bar."
It's not fun walking from one end of the beach, past the line that divides the members-only area with the rest of the beach, and towards a bar that only offers softdrinks and cocktails. It's decent, but I wanted an iced coffee. But then, the coffee here isn't really that good, so did I really lose anything?
I got a Coke instead, but at least I was able to pay for it. By that, I mean "everything is cashless, so do you have a card?" which, of course, I do. I didn't drive three hours to inconvenience myself a lot more. I just want to read this book!
I start at the very beginning. I remembered I have two bookmarks here - the one that came with the book, and the other that came from Italy, when I met up with a new friend I had a surprisingly really good conversation with the first time around. None of that here. I am alone, with a book, and everyone around me is on the beach, doing what you do on the beach.
There were a group of friends in my view. Your typical urban youngsters. Saying that betrays my age, but how else do I put it? They look impeccably dressed and, more importantly, impeccable accessorized. One of them, a female, was wearing sheer pants - what do you call them? - that dropped just enough to show her bikini bottom. Looped around her waist was a shell-y... waistband, right? I wasn't staring, but I was trying to make out what that thing was. And I suppose, this is what happens when you dress up at the beach. You do it to be seen, whether you like it or not, and you can't stop anyone from seeing once they do.
Right ahead of them, another bunch of beachgoers set up one of those tripods that probably double as an extra-long selfie stick. They call their parents over, and they take a family portrait, and another, and another.
Meanwhile, the girl with the waistband has her photograph taken by all three of her friends. Isn't this too much? I think, before stopping myself. I'm here to read, damn it! But then the guy takes off his top and shows off his toned body, and they start taking photos of him.
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