How Camiguin intensified the yearner in me

One day is not enough to learn about the beauty of this volcanic island.

What’s there

It was around 7 am on a Friday when we set foot on White Island. Although bare and straightforward, the C-shaped sandbar was captivating as it was wrapped in calm, impossibly vibrant turquoise waters. Despite the grey clouds that blanketed the skies, a cold, gentle breeze swept across the islet. Early as we were, the islet was already dotted with tourists.

Where most people hope for blue skies to capture the peaks of Mt. Hibok-Hibok and Mt. Vulcan in the backdrop, the gloomy September morning veiled them in soft clouds instead. Staring at those hidden peaks, I found myself hooked and caught in the mystery of what was out of sight.

Yet, my newfound boldness had its limits. Further out, my new friends were calling for me to swim over and spot the sea turtles. But I didn’t trust my skills (or the lack of them) on open water just yet, so I stayed behind. Standing there, a quiet regret settled in. I knew at that moment that it became one of the reasons why I wish I would go back someday, hopefully, with enough summoned courage to explore further.

Seeking a different kind of comfort, we also wandered over to the island’s forest boardwalk. In seconds, you're transported into a sanctuary. Shaded by trees, it was easy to forget we were surrounded by the ocean. It was a place to breathe in the island’s deep, undisturbed quiet. High in the trees, the birds chirped as they stayed hidden in the leaves. Much like the turtles out at sea, they hid their world out of sight.

We ran through a series of iconic spots the rest of the day – from the freezing waters of Sto Nino Cold Spring and the rush of Tuasan Falls, to the lingering histories of the Old Church Ruins and Sunken Cemetery. We were moving fast, taking in as much of Camiguin as the night approached.

While the island’s landscapes and our speedrun of activities left my mind wishing we stayed longer, it’s the food that anchored me to the present. During our lunch in Mantigue, we tasted Surol, a comfortingly familiar soup like Tinola, but cooked with native chicken elevated by the aromatics of lemongrass and oregano. For a change, I did not take the usual rice route, but went with a boiled sweet potato. Outside the cold springs, we tried kiping, a massive cassava chip drizzled in rich, sweet latik sauce.

What really surprised me was Camiguin’s unexpected culinary range. At Txaleta de Camiguin, a single meal of gambas and callos set a new standard for my palate. The flavors and texture of the shrimp and beef tripe were striking and deeply memorable. These dishes made me realize that even if I left the island incomplete, I had another reason to long for my return.

An ode to the island in film

What exists unseen

Because the afternoon spots were squeezed in together, the trip left me wanting more. I remember hoping to stick around longer and enjoy Tuasan Falls’ cold mountain water, and how every step on the barefoot walk across its riverbed sharpened my senses. I remember stepping into the deep waters of the Sto. Nino Cold Spring and nervously padding toward the edge, savoring even the fear. At the Old Church Ruins and Sunken Cemetery, I found myself holding back, wishing I had been given the quiet space to truly learn about the island’s past.

Most of all, the visit left me longing for a connection with the local life. When Camiguin Governor Xavier Jesus Romualdo spoke of local traditions where fishermen’s wives gather their husbands’ daily catch, host a community cookfest, and share meals with visitors, my heart sank a little knowing we missed the chance to witness these. I yearned to sit with the locals, and wished I could listen to their stories of how they defend and conserve their home in its purest form.

I realized that my yearning wasn’t just about missed photo ops, it was about depth. Getting to know a place is like meeting a new friend or a potential lover–it demands patience. It requires deep, quiet conversations with people who know its secrets, and the space to ask the right questions in return. On this trip, I was left mostly with lingering questions and the gentle ache of passing time.

Yet, for an emotional traveler, that longing isn’t defeat; it’s an invitation. If a place is meant to be part of your story, time will find a way to weave it back in.

The encounter was brief, but Camiguin moved slowly enough to leave a mark. Now I only wonder: what chapter of my life will bring me back?