Our boat threaded the stillness of the sea under gloomy skies and over calm waters to a place not frequented by tourists. Passing through tiny islands dominated by edgy limestone cliffs, our boatman, Russell, pointed out some of the perilous paths leading to hidden lakes where the Tagbanua tribe gathers their supply for the birds' nest trade. I imagined what it would be like to be transported back to the nineteen-fifties, but instead of heading to Coron Island, we were traveling to the mysterious Asmat region of Papua New Guinea.
Chapter 3: Lightness of Meeting Old Love in Coron
While no one will ever know what happened to the young member of the Rockefeller clan who mysteriously vanished in the Asmat region in nineteen sixty-one, one thing is certain: the Tagbanua people are not feared or isolated from the outside world, even decades prior. As Coron Island grew larger in my view, I felt like an intruder in their world. I reminded myself that we were not there to document their way of life as if it were entertainment fodder or a National Geographic feature. What we really wanted was to interact with some of the locals and learn a few things. Little did we know, a romantic story far more touching than most Hollywood films combined would be revealed to us a couple of hours later.
A Meeting with Elders Salong and Salome
We arrived at a house painted blue that stood out among the greenery after wading through knee-deep streams into the Tagbanua's quiet community. Lauren called it a "Coron Mariachi House." A few small houses behind it, we met an elderly couple who introduced themselves as Salong and Salome. Salong is the younger brother of Rodolfo Aguilar I, the Tagbanua tribe's tribal leader at the time.
Mang Salong's features are highlighted by the deep lines on his face, and the cataracts in his eyes were immediately noticeable. To the untrained eye, he appears frail and old, but once he begins speaking, it is clear that his spirit and mind have not slowed down in the least. We noticed a tattoo on Nanay Salome's shoulder and asked when she got it. She told us that Mang Salong himself inked her many years ago as a symbol of their enduring love for each other.
According to their story, they met many years after the war and were married through an arranged union. They had four children over the years, all of whom tragically passed away at a young age due to malaria. I couldn't help but shake my head hearing that the tragedies that befell them occurred more than twenty years ago—and that they could have been easily avoided today, now that basic medical care is accessible on the island of Coron.
Tourism and the Ancestral Domain
All I saw around their home were symbols of simplicity. I felt a little out of place walking through their neighborhood with a DSLR camera around my neck. It certainly felt as though outsiders like us were interrupting their modest lifestyle with unwarranted modern intrusions.
Mang Salong also informed us of a minor conflict between factions of their tribe. Since the Tagbanua tribe of Coron Island was granted jurisdiction and management of more than twenty-two thousand hectares of land as accorded by the Ancestral Domain Law of 1998, misunderstandings about how each area should be managed began to emerge among tribe members.
While I firmly believe they are entitled to claim ownership of their land, I suspected that we, as outsiders, were part of the underlying issue—frolicking on their territory, posing for photos, and treating sacred ground as a vacation destination. Many are unaware that these sites carry deep spiritual significance for the Tagbanua people, and opening them to mass tourism inevitably introduces complex social challenges.
On the other hand, fees collected from the tourist spots dotting the Coron archipelago can significantly bolster the local economy. I hope that leaders—both within their tribe and across local government units—can assist them in resolving these internal differences so that funds are distributed equitably. In turn, essential services such as healthcare to combat preventable diseases like malaria and clean water systems can be established.
Reflections on Sustainable Connections
Our visit was truly eye-opening. It caused me to reconsider tourism as a two-way street: it must not only satisfy visitors, but it must also nurture local communities, protect their economic interests, and safeguard their natural resources. We should all begin associating these places with the indigenous communities that have existed and thrived here long before our arrival. Their way of living may appear ancient to modern eyes, but if we removed our material comforts and walked in their shoes, could we survive a month, a year, or a lifetime? We know we couldn't.
While tourism can assist locals through employment and sustainable revenue, it is paramount that we respect their culture, tradition, and way of life. As we said our goodbyes to Salong and Salome, I realized how much I admired their quiet dignity and how deeply I wished to return to this island.
We came across other island residents as we walked back to our boat. Russell, our guide, introduced us to his mother, who lives on the island and is not of Tagbanua descent. Outsiders have been welcomed into communities throughout Busuanga and Coron over the years, resulting in Tagbanuas and non-Tagbanuas living side by side in harmony.
We also met with local barangay leaders, who politely declined our request for an interview. Understanding how the tide of development and commercial tourism has at times disrupted their sacred lands, we completely respected their choice. I only hope that in the near future, we can all find a balanced path that allows their community to thrive without sacrificing their sacred heritage to waves of holidaymakers.
Ron and Monette arrived at our boat minutes ahead of us, while Lauren and I took our time walking along the stream, getting our feet wet, admiring the forested path, and feeling the profound lightness of meeting old love in the heart of Coron.
