All islands are paradise. It is the unknowability of the place that it offers to the outsider that makes any shores separate from the mainland beautiful. But when vloggers and documentarians tremble at the mere mention of Ticao Island, I do not have the heart to tell them it is not entirely that, a paradise; that it is not a hidden island, metaphor or no metaphor.
I become, in other words, a vlogger, this individual whose naivety gets marketed into cuteness: Ah, where I am? What is this place? Where I am going? Those inquiries are meant to disarm the viewers who are supposed to be charmed by this adventurer’s lack of a sense of direction.
This quandary is not merely confined among travel vloggers; we see also this little-boy-lost affectation in the many documentarians from our local TV networks. Suddenly, farms become terra incognita for them. I recall this documentarian talking about the town of Camaligan in Camarines Sur, a town which is some 6 kilometers from the city of Naga, and separated only by a small bridge near a mall. If you did not check your map, you would have thought the reporter was in a village that could only be reached by the bravest of ethnographers.
The case of an island is altogether a different matter. Not as popular as Balesin or other tony destinations, Ticao, if we may use a cliché, is still shrouded in mist. Except for a few resorts, the island does not boast of hotels to suit the desire of the city tourist. The Bikolanos from the mainland would not put even Ticao on the top of their list.
Having been born in Ticao, I grew up aware that we were not Bicolanos. Even when we describe our language, we draw from the linkages with Samar and Leyte. Ticao gets a double whammy: we rarely call ourselves “Masbateño”, a term that refers to those in the mainland. Add to that the name these mainlanders affix to Ticao: Isla. We are the Island. Different. Othered.
Exoticism is our default heritage. Think of travel vloggers descending upon this island and you have a community besieged by people who are there to rhapsodize on the material beauty and singularity of the surroundings. Whether this is an evolved protocol, many of these vloggers represent the ancient form of documentary, a narrative of stasis where people are the backdrop and the politics or sociology of the land is ignored.
One explanation for this segmented view of a territory is that these vloggers serve as the eyes for the people in the country where they come from. They are in Ticao not to side-glance at poverty but to focus the lens on the immeasurable expanse of white sand, the diving spots untouched by diving schools, the sheer majesty of white cliffs. And always, always the enchanting Katandayagan Falls, with its clear, clean water plummeting down to the sea to cap the visual diary of these visitors.
There is almost a uniformity in the vlogger’s approach to the island. But every now and then, a different person arrives, with a fresh take on the island, and this makes quite a difference.
This was Erwan Huessaff.
Last Saturday, we watched his vlog, The Hidden Island, at Savage Mind, the current cultural hub in the city of Naga. My stake was personal: Will this guy do a good tribute to “my” island (note the sense of ownership, which I passionately share with the rest of the Tigaonons)?
We were unanimous: Heussaff had this sincerity and openness, a kind of “boot” or gentle manner which made his trip to the island less of an intrusion than an education. He was visibly interested in the place. There was no pretend curiosity, no sham eagerness. He was exploring the island and venturing into places that were the unbeaten path. He did not just stay on the quiet beach fronting the Alta Mar Resort of the Altarejos, perhaps the only place that could offer a sophistication otherwise not yet present in Ticao. He followed the tributaries of the river. When he jumped into that old water hole, a place I would not dare swim in, I, became a fan. It helped a lot that his command of the English language was way above the usual vlogger’s oral armament.
We knew he is an accomplished chef and we were curious what he would cook. He scoured the wooded areas looking for snails and gathered some shellfish. With Ticao Pass behind him, he prepared the table for the show. Would he honor the cuisine of the island, which uses all kinds of coconut milk or “gata”? He did but this was where a quasi-riot erupted among us.
With the snails and the shellfish waiting for his ministration, Erwan Heussaff produced from somewhere a box or tetra pack containing a coconut milk processed in Indonesia. I was appalled! And offended. You were in an island where everything could be subjected to the power of the coconut milk and you opted to use a boxed version. Come on, Mr. Huessaff!
But let us not end all this badly. Savage Mind is extending an invitation that you, Mr. Huessaff, visit Bicol again—Naga first—so you could vlog some more. We will provide all the coconut and all the coco milk you would need. We would produce the milk from a traditional grater or “kudkuran.” Then, we would arrange a trip to Ticao again when the seas are calmer (although in the video you seemed fearless of the high waves) and where you would prepare a dish, this time with the coconut milk from the coconut tree and some of our local chefs to welcome you back.