Back in August 2008, I received a work assignment in Bongao, Tawi-Tawi. At first, I hesitated. A quick glance at the map made me feel like I was being sent to the edge of the world—Bongao looked like it was barely hanging on to the Philippine Archipelago. But then, the adventurer in me kicked in. The idea of going somewhere few people had the chance to visit was enough to get me packing. One day, I thought, I’d be able to say, “I’ve been to Bongao, Tawi-Tawi!” and watch people’s eyes widen in curiosity.
My supervisor accompanied me on my first trip, ensuring I was properly introduced to the people I’d be working with. On our way there, he couldn’t stop raving about the seafood in Bongao. “Fresh, abundant, and cheap!” he declared proudly.
Now, here’s the thing—I had just come from work assignments in Roxas City and Surigao, where I had been fed an almost exclusive diet of fish and shellfish. At that point, my enthusiasm for seafood had been boiled, grilled, and deep-fried out of me. So, while my supervisor was practically drooling in anticipation, I nodded politely and kept my expectations low.
We arrived around lunchtime, and my first impression of Bongao took me by surprise. It wasn’t the tiny, quiet town I had imagined. There were hotels, resorts, and far more people than I had expected. Not exactly the remote outpost my mind had conjured up.
Feeling hungry, we wandered around looking for a place to eat. Food shops were everywhere, but something was off. I scanned menu after menu—chicken, beef, chicken, beef. Where was the legendary seafood? Had we entered some kind of alternate reality where fish were endangered and chickens ruled the land?
Perplexed, I checked the hotel restaurant’s menu, hoping for better luck. Still, the same pattern: chicken and beef. Unable to hold back my curiosity any longer, I asked the hotel staff where all the seafood had gone.
With a knowing smile, the lady at the counter explained, “Oh, seafood is cheap and fresh at the market, but we don’t serve it much in restaurants. People here are tired of eating it.”
Wait, what?
So, the island famous for its seafood was keeping it out of restaurants because locals had eaten too much of it? The irony hit me like a slap from a disgruntled tuna.
As it turned out, Bongao wasn’t exactly a tourist hotspot. Most visitors, like me, were there for work. The local residents—the ones supporting the food establishments—had grown weary of their abundant seafood supply and craved something different. Meanwhile, the rare outsiders who might have wanted to indulge in fresh fish and shellfish had to venture to the market, buy their seafood, and pay the hotel to cook it.
For a lone traveler like me, that wasn’t exactly an economical option. So there I was, in a place where seafood was practically swimming up to shore, and yet I found myself ordering beef stew. The universe clearly had a sense of humor.
Moral of the story? If you ever find yourself in Bongao dreaming of a seafood feast, be prepared to go fishing—or at least shopping—before you eat. And if anyone ever tells you that a place is famous for something, don’t be surprised if the locals are too tired of it to care!
