Monday - LMS Girls School and BBQ

To assist in my new Kiwi friend's plans to recreate one of the original European structures on Tutuila, a group of us headed out to the old London Missionary Society's girls school that was built here in the late 19th century. It's an old, abandoned structure that served as a school for over half a century on the western edge of the island. Just west of the village of Leone (one of the larger towns on Tutuila, that had received extensive damage during the 2009 tsunami).

The building was condemned in the 1990s (after having been converted into apartments), as the he structure was not well maintained and started to fail. As of now the building is well past saving. The floor in the 2nd story had collapsed in several rooms and the surrounding jungle had moved into the structure. A bamboo forest and overtaken the courtyard and several plants had taken root in the wooden floors that remained on the top floor. My Kiwi friend had been here previously 4 years ago, at that point the top floor had still been intact through the whole structure and he had been able to take detailed measurements of the building. This trip was meant to pick up some of the measurements and details he had neglected to take previously.

The building is noted as being a good example of Victorian Colonial architecture. Growing up with a contractor/architect father and spending several summers working construction has left me with a deep appreciation of architecture and built structures. I couldn't refuse an opportunity to see what the historical architecture that graces our small island.

I was also able to climb up into the second story masonry portions of the building. The wooden portions showed extensive termite damage and many had collapsed. The original ceilings were 14 feet on the first floor and almost as high on the second. All the rooms had large vents to allow the air to flow through the building and keep it cool. Even with all that building volume and ventilation, you could feel the heat of the Equatorial sun beating through the tin roof.

I'm glad I made the trip, based on the rate the vegetation is taking over, there won't be much left of the structure in another decade or two. I'm glad I could see a little of the history before it's reclaimed by the rain forest.

This is the Kiwi, draftsman taking field measurements on the column details and the foundation. It was also fun to assist him and use a few of the skills I learned helping my father over the years. It's not often that knowing how to sketch and draft a building in the field comes in handy. Hopefully our measurements will get turned into a reproduction of the building down the road.

The markings of the London Missionary Society, who built this school, are still visible on the exposed wood. Some of the legacy of the strong influence that missionaries exerted over the Samoas at the turn of the 20th Century.

We also met a mother from the local village and her two sons at the site. They came to investigate who was poking around the ruins. We introduced ourselves and she proceeded to start telling us the local legends of the structure. Apparently the old girls school has taken on quite the reputation as a cursed/haunted place among the local residents. The local mother, was actually very afraid of the place and she came to warn us of the demons and curses we would incur by being there. She actually screamed at her two boys on a few occasions when they were making enough noise to catch the attention of the spirits that haunted the place.

She also mistook us for the Ghost Hunters TV show production crew, apparently they are on island right now and were potentially going to shoot an episode at the abandoned girls school. The highlights of the curses the woman warned us of were that women who wear red hibiscus flowers in their hair, near the site, are cursed by the former headmaster of the school and if you eat from the mango tree located near the graveyard, you will get possessed. Needless to say we immediately went to find the graveyard and old headmaster's residence located further up the jungle hillside. We however didn't find any ghosts or edible mangoes. Though the Kiwi did his best to screech like a ghost the whole hike up and back through the swampy forest.

After returning from our trip to the girls school, three of us did a jog/walk out along the coastal cliffs west from the Freddy's beach housing complex. Along the shore there were some spectacular lava cliffs. Along the route I was happy to be shown some of the local features live an explosive blow hole driven by waves, a cliff jumping spot, a flat picnic rock and a few mean spirited dog packs. I also discovered my fitness was not what it used to be, a four mile run/walk should not give me such fits. Especially the last quarter mile sprint after some rest. Time to commit myself to regular exercise, otherwise I may end up with the physique of the native Samoans.

The second part of my day was spent getting to see a part of the local Samoan culture up close. On Sunday, on a walk along the beach/cliffs near where I live I met a few cousins having beers under some of the trees. After joining them for several beers, a rainstorm, and a little bit of conversation on the local history I ended up hitting it off with my new Samoan friends. We ended up hanging out for several hours and I got to know Lawrence and his cousin Abraham well. Before we parted ways that evening, they invited me to a barbecue on Monday. Wanting to branch out and meet some people outside of the contract worker community I readily accepted.

The barbecue was in a fale located in the front yard of Lawrence's family's home. One feature of the barbecue I had not anticipated was sharing it with the family's father, mother and grandmother, who are all deceased and entombed in aboveground graves inside the fale. Memorial Day takes on a new meaning when you spend it with the dead. Especially when the father's tomb had a glass window in it, so you could look in on the coffin.

The food was abundant and the company was great. Lawrence's whole family welcomed me in and never stopped pushing food on me. It was like having every member of the family acting like an Italian mother, making it difficult to refuse plate after plate of food offered. They have a large house where several of the siblings all live together. The only ones who don't live at home are either living off island or with spouses. Several aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews were there. It was an all afternoon family event. We talked the afternoon into evening, had a few Vailimas and I was sent packing with a huge plate of food. It was one of the most generous gatherings I ever had the pleasure to experience and they are ready to welcome us back when Sara arrives. This is the Samoa I am ready to spend the next two years experiencing.

Memorial Day Weekend - Friday-Saturday

The weekend was packed, everyday brought a new adventure. Starting out late last week, one of my coworkers informed me that there was a dying tradition for new pulangi arrivals on the island to throw a barbecue within their first week on island. Not being one to deny tradition or refuse a beer fueled event, I accepted the gauntlet. Thursday I sent out emails to the list serv that links the (mostly) contract ex-pat community in Tutuila. On Friday and Saturday, I spent some time day planning and gathering supplies.

Part of the challenge with starting from zero in a household in a new place is not having the basics. Everything you need requires a trip to the store. Your usual routine of stocking up on the items you know you recently ran out of and grabbing one or two special items because they were on sale or specifically needed no longer exists.

This situation gets compounded when even kitchen hardware and gadgets fall into that same situation. For example, I don't have a cooler on island (I shipped two on my pallet, but the pallet is still in transit and likely won't arrive for several weeks). Coolers are expensive in American Samoa. The cost of retail items here is almost directly related to how much they cost to ship here. The biggest driving factor in shipping freight overseas is the volume, not the weight of the cargo. Coolers, being large, bulky items that don't nest or pack close are costly. A standard backyard barbecue friendly cooler costs over $100 here.

Thus being cheap and inventive rather than a solution-focused consumer is often the best solution when making purchases on the island. For this BBQ, the chosen method to keep drinks cold was a plastic bin some my kitchenware set came in. The grill I used was a rusting heap that had remained from a prior tenant on my back porch. A few grocery runs and I'm set to host an event.

We set up at the pool area of my housing complex. I'd been warned people would show up late. With a 6pm start time, no guest who lived outside the housing complex came before 7pm. Everything here happens on "island time" even the pulangi. Despite the late start, approximately twenty people showed up and hung out until around midnight. The BBQ went well and I was glad to meet some more people. Definitely the right way to start off my social gatherings here in American Samoa.

Internet

Yay, it only took three trips to meet the installation crew, but I now have internet at home. Updates to follow this evening.

Laundry

Not having a washer/dryer is not something I'm used to yet. When doing the laundry back on the mainland I'm used to measuring out a spoonful of detergent, picking a mode and letting technology work its magic. Living in a house that's not even wired for a washer changes this chore (Yay for moving this weekend).

I'd avoided doing the laundry up until this point, hoping that I'd track down an affordable washer dryer. Finally having found one, I realized my house wasn't wired for the appliances. American Samoa, being a humid, sweaty place takes its toll on shirts and underwear. Since my supply of clean clothes won't make it through the weekend, I decided it was time for an old fashioned laundry evening.

Starting with a drain plug and sink I filled it with warm water and detergent. Add the dirty clothes, let them soak and then agitate. Scrubbing the load of dirty clothes with my hands was a first for me. I had cleaned individual garments in a sink before, but doing two loads with your hands quickly beats up your fingers. Then you continue to punish your hands, since you then need to rinse all the clothes you finished washing. Then you're left to wring out the excess water (how I miss you, spin cycle).

Now I just need to figure out how to get them dry when it's 100% humidity all of the time and rains most days. Time for indoor drying lines and some well positioned fans, since if the garments linger too long they will mold and end up dirtier than when I started.

Moving

So after thinking I was going to have to live with a floor that wanted to swallow me whole, hornets and wasps coming through my window screen and light bulbs that were corroded into their sockets; it looks like I'm moving. After a few of the issues in my original house were referred to the government housing office an inspection determined that the these issues were going to be long term problem. Now I'm being moved from Freddy's Beach #13 to #23.

The new place has got two air conditioning units in the windows. It's also wired with a 220V outlet for laundry, something I wasn't looking forward to doing at my old place. It's also got better cabinets and drawers in the kitchen. Plus, this is the view from the deck. You can just see the ocean peaking through between the palm trees, which is really all you can hope for when living on a island.

Rocks for Dogs

I had one of those "You're not Kansas anymore" moments last night. I was gathering fist sized rocks from the road behind my house, after dark, in the rain while drinking a 750mL of Stienlager.

Why you may ask. The wild dogs have been actively having a turf war in the trees behind my house. I get woken up most nights to the snarls and yelps of dogs battling for the pathways hidden in the tropical overgrowth between the dumpsters of our housing complex. Some nights this will happen three or four times while I try and sleep. Needless to say this is making my acclimatizing to the new time zone particularly difficult.

Asking the other residents of my housing complex for suggested solutions, I received the advice that the best way to dissuade the wild dogs from hanging out is to throw rocks at them (that seemed the better option than feeding them poisoned food suggestion I received). You don't even need to hit the dogs, just let them know that they are not wanted and give them reason to pause before choosing to use the paths near your house.

Under mainland circumstances I take a much different approach to animals. I'm a vegetarian on animal cruelty grounds. I got my dog, Tucker, as a rescue. But at a certain point I need to sleep to dawn, even at the expense of my mainland morals.

Thus yesterday I was out in the rain after getting home from work, gathering rocks that will get the attention of the dogs, enjoying a beer while it was raining. Definitely not how I would have spent an evening as of two weeks ago in California.

Staples

Sometimes it's the little creature comforts that get you through. It's the hot cocoa on a snowy day or lemonade during summer. For me it's Mexican food and a few other vegetarian staples for dinner. These are the ingredients that can make a dinner that will make me forget even the most rotten of days.

Living in American Samoa, I assumed I was going to be doing without these basics while I was here. I may be able to grab a mission burrito on every street corner in San Francisco, but here on island the only option was the Green Burrito housed inside the Carl's Jr. No ideal for a picky (read snobby) vegetarian.

Last's night's shopping trip may have made my two year stint here survivable. The container ship came in on Friday and this was my first trip to the market since the island was resupplied. I wasn't expecting to strike gold quite like I did. I was able to get flour and corn tortillas, Morning Star soy sausage patties and Boca burgers. With a few basics in my freezer I may be able to feed myself well and that's enough to keep his picky vegetarian pretty happy. Now if only I could find some firm tofu and tempeh, I'd have my Chinese stir frys covered too.

Sad News

I just got an email from the mainland. A friend of mine, Crystel Stanford passed away over the weekend. She was injured while riding her bike and passed later on in the ICU. I'd emailed with her before coming out to American Samoa and am glad to have been friends with her since we met at UC Davis. She loved adventure and had a passion for the activities she chose to pursue. Crystel you will be missed.

Part of living on an island is learning to cope with the isolation be being out of touch with the world. This is the first event that has really made me miss some of the constant contact that living on the mainland allows. I just wish it was a lesson learned under better circumstances.

Sliding Rock

I managed to take another little trip today. Sunday started off slowly, the residents of American Samoa are very religious. The missionaries started coming to the islands 140 years ago and were particularly effective at converting the natives. As a result churches hold a huge sway with the local population. Most residents of AmSam spend Sundays in church, all of Sunday in church. No businesses are open and there is little to do in any of the towns or villages besides eat and pray (at the church).

Not being much of a church goer myself, I spent most of Sunday reading, cleaning the house and prepping food for the rest of the week. After wrapping up those tasks I took a little initiative and swam a few turns in our modest and semi-clean pool. Our noted risk taker from yesterday found me there and suggested an outing to Sliding Rock. With nothing pending for the rest of the afternoon, I accepted the offer.

We hopped into a car with the risk taker, his son and two guys. Along the drive out we gathered another vehicle of people and headed out to Sliding Rock. The second car was filled with three generations of a family, the grandparents were visiting the island, the adults worked here and their three children were all along to the Sliding Rock trip.

The locals who live nearby charge $5 for parking right at the site, so we drive a quarter of a mile further down the road and parked at a turnoff. There were two options to hike to Sliding Rock scramble along the rocky shore or hike through the forest, we opted for the forest. The hike took us through a Samoan family graveyard and past two fales under construction. A short scramble down steep slope and were we at Sliding Rock.

Our destination was a series of tide pools that are normally calm at low tide. There is a large series of rocks that protect the pools from most waves, with a small opening that allows an occasional wave to break and the runoff to feed the pools. Today wasn’t a typical low tide. The waves again were coming in with 15 foot swells. Instead of the occasional waves feeding the pools most waves were breaking through the opening, keeping most people out of the closer to the ocean, larger pool. Placing my backpack and shirt on a high spot, I opted to take a few jumps in the big pool. After a quick dip, I got out to explore the rock wall that was on the ocean side of the tide pools.

The rock was mostly soaked and looking out to the ocean you could see large waves rolling in from the south. They would frequently crash against the natural sea wall with enough force to splash through to the first tide pool. Occasionally ones would come in with enough fury to splash some water into the second, further inland tide pool where the majority of the group was wading around.

Our risk taking leader opted to jump off the cliff on the ocean side. He had to wait a long while to find the right lull to climb back in on the rocks. Showing I learned something from my trip yesterday, I opted to play spotter to this adventure rather than make myself a full participant.

Once we made it back to the tide pools there was some good relaxing hangouts. I moved my stuff to higher ground due to the pounding waves I had spied from the ocean-side, rock wall. Soon enough we did start to get waves that were crashing through inundating the big, close pool and splashing over into the pool where everyone was. A few people’s things got caught in the tidal wash and a small amount of panic ensued. Once the kids were spooked people packed up real fast and our trip was over a little sooner than I would have liked, but I did get to experience another great spot. Next time I just need to make sure the waves and tide aren’t going to be a deal breaker.

Fagatele Bay

After almost a week of being on Tutuila and most of my time being spent in the office, I finally managed to jump in the Pacific. Though it wasn’t without its trials. I woke early Saturday morning and gave Sara a call to see how her last day of firm life for the foreseeable future went. After reading a few chapters in the book I brought, one of my neighbors stopped in to suggest I go to the gym with him. Needing a workout and lacking a plan for the morning I jumped at the chance to get out. Turns out the gym is free and is run by a native Samoan who makes his living as a professional MMA fighter on the mainland. He then uses his income to support a gym he trains at and spreads the gospel of sanctioned violence to his homeland. Needless to say it was unlike any gym I have seen before.

It was an old auto-repair garage that had been updated with a few stacks of weights and large mats for sparring. Turns out my neighbor was coming to the gym to teach a jujitsu class. Never having participated in jujitsu and being the only person besides a professional fighter, who won his last fight in 23 seconds, and the instructor at the gym at 8 in the morning I gamely decided to try it out. Turns out long gangly guys are not ideally adapted to rolling around on the floor and applying choke holds. Though it was a good work out and I managed to fit in some weightlifting after being shown the finer points of an arm lock and guard. Being off of lifting for a few months, my arms were jello by the end of the workout.

My neighbor then suggested some snorkeling to clean up. Desperate to get out and see some beaches I agreed with the condition that I get to eat breakfast. After eating we picked up a two other guys who were up for some aquatic adventures at our housing complex and headed out Fagatele Bay National Marine Sanctuary. The hike in started at a gate where we asked the Samoan family living there if we could cross their land to access a jeep track that led to a path down to the Bay. The husband (who suffers from some fierce elephantitis) said yes, and the wife berated him in Samoan. We figure we better get moving before she convinced him that letting us bypass the gate with a 40 feet jaunt across their front yard was a bad idea.

The jeep track ran down a ridge that looked over Fagatele Bay to the west and Larsen Bay to the east. It was a serene stroll through a coconut forest. After about a mile the trail to the Fagatele branched off. It was a steep dirt track that cut down the slope to one of the few beaches in the Marine Reserve. A native family was making their journey up the trail as we were descending. They warned us the waves were large and hinted that we would be disappointed by what we would find at the beach. Not to be deterred, we continued down the steep trail towards the Marine Reserve access beach.

The trail was steep, rocky in spots, eroded dirt in other areas and littered with coconuts shells in various states of sprouting and decay. Careful attention had to be paid to foot placement and slips did occur. My flip-flops survived, but there were a number of broken and cast off sandals along the route. I made a mental note to bring heavier duty footwear next time I took this way.

The beach was tiny at high tide, surrounded by rock cliffs on three sides and the ocean on the fourth with only a wooden staircase to access the sheer hillside above. The bay was pretty spectacular, the waves were crashing against the lava rock cliffs that line almost every other point in the bay. The cliffs reflected the incoming wave, making echoes of as the bounces the reverberated back and forth. Actually, the waves were huge and breaking very close to shore, even making the beach we were on disappear underneath the break’s runout. After diving on the coast of Northern California for years, I thought I had been in some big surf, but these tall mid-Pacific waves were out to prove that notion wrong.

On this small patch of sand we undertook donning our fins and masks and made our way out into the shallows. It was then I realized this beach was right up on a reef, a shallow reef. A reef that was getting pounded by 15 foot breakers for a few hundred yards out. Not wanting to get caught in the waves, I put my arms and legs to work and sprinted to deeper water. The big waves I encountered on my way out were big, but I was able to see them coming and dive under them, letting the mountains of water pass harmlessly over me. After 5 waves I was hyperventilating and regretting the extra sets of lifting I did with my arms and shoulders at the gym that morning. It wasn’t until I kicked and pulled myself into deeper water that the waves reduced to swells that I was given a moment to relax. A long float later in the water made murky with the detritus stirred up by the waves and some time spent observing the aquatic life of the reserve I contemplated the swim back into shore with the wave intensity seemingly increasing in the shallows.

Our fearless leader, who I was now remembering a few other coworkers called a risk taker, opined that the best way back was to figure out a break in the sets of waves and then make a dash back in and hope the next set doesn’t roll in. One of the smarter members of our expedition opted to try a different beach ono the other side of the bay with a less intense break and make the overland route back to our gear. Nearing the point of exhaustion I didn’t think I could muster the swim and barefoot rock scramble back across the Bay. After watching my fellow newbie begin his swim in and get lost behind the swells I was worried.

The trip leader went next picking his spot during a lull and suddenly I was alone, bobbing in a bay with huge waves breaking on a sharp, shallow coral reef between me and dry land. Mustering up what little strength my arms had left, I watched a large set pass by and then launched myself towards shore. I surfed one smaller wave through the first the first 20 yards of quickly shallowing reef, still 100 to go. The rip current from my benefactor wave started to pull me backwards. I looked down through my mask and could see myself being pulled away from shore. Turning, the next breaker was upon me. The only option was to turn and dive through the avalanche of water. I spun, again and returned to my effort to get myself ashore without chunks of the reef imbedded in my skin or worse. I also realized that my gaming of the waves had pulled me off target. Instead of heading towards our small beach, I was pointed towards the rock wall that hemmed in that little tract of sand.

Adjusting my course back towards our beach I began to fight the current. As an experience abalone diver and beach goer, I know on some intellectual level that fighting a strong current is only a way to exhaust yourself and make your chances of reaching shore dwindle. However, this really didn’t register until I fought the crosscurrent for the amplitude of another wave. Seeing my destination draw further away as the current swept me to the rocky and steep portion of the bay triggered the memories on fighting currents from some dark corner of my brain.

I changed course and started making for a rocky shelf that I could see between the waves that were breaking against it and lazily washing over it. I pulled with all the strength my arms had and managed to catch a rock on the shelf just as a wave surged me up to the outcropping. Thankfully, Spencer had given me an older pair of warm water diving gloves the day before I departed. These saved my fingers from scraped up, my left leg was less lucky and ended up worse for wear from being dragged over the sharp lava rock. Scrambling up the rock I pulled my mask from my face and my fins from my feet and assessed what the next step in my improvised exit strategy would be.

The rock platform that I washed up on had cliff that looked unscalable looming over it, especially considering the noodles my arms had become during my odessey in from the edge of the reef. Another, lower bench of rock was in the direction I need to go to make it back to our starting beach. The waves would crash over the bench, but it would empty of water quickly and have a few moments before the next wall of water came through. Judging this way the best alternative, I timed my jump down, scrambled in the lull between the waves and managed to pull myself up to the next, taller bench along the shoreline. This rock outcropping was high enough to be out of the waves’ reach. Finally securing a moment of peace I leaned against the cliff wall and made sure my wounds were not going to be the end of me.

My current perch had a tree growing out of some fissures in the rock. With a long drop down to the water in the direction I need to go, the foliage was my best route out. I used what little strength I could recover in my arms to shimmy up the tree and reach a spot I could hike over to the staircase down to the beach.

Making my way there, only one of the four people I started this swim with was waiting for me, it was our noted guide/risk taker. The other two were nowhere to be seen. After a long wait the guy who chose the other side of the bay as his exit point came trotting up, much to the joy of his puppy. My other newbie coworker was still MIA. Our searching eyes could not locate him anywhere in the water. We started to gather our gear and contemplate the hike to a spot were a phone call to rescuers could be made. Close to the time we finished changing and packing our gear, our missing snorkeler came stumbling out of the woods.

He had gotten pulled further down the bay by the same currents that had taken me and had to scramble across more lava than I care to contemplate. Our party reestablished, we made the long steep hike out.

A rinse in the pool at our housing complex revived me. I washed my gear out and realized that my rash-guard had not made it back into my bag. I went and check the truck we took and it wasn’t there either. Damn, I knew where it was already, hanging on the tree watching over Fagatele Bay.

A shower later I had recovered some of my senses. At least enough sense to make a trip to the gas station to ensure I could make it out and back the dirt road that led to the trailhead. I was driving the bumpy dirt road back to the trailhead. Another successful negotiation with the native family dwelling at the start of the trail and I was headed back down the same track again.

The second trip allowed me to take a little more time to appreciate the views from the ridge. The bays on both sides looked spectacular from up high. The steep green slopes jut straight up from the water. It’s a place unlike anywhere else I’ve been.

Back down at the beach, the tide had gone out and the breaks were no longer swamping my sandals. Dangling from the tree I’d placed it on hours ago was my rash guard, waiting for its owner to claim it.

The trek up was trying, but not bad. Reaching the car I realized another trail led off to Larsen Bay. Having some daylight left and not knowing when the next time I’d be this far out, I opted to do a little exploring. I veered down the single track trail that cut down the slope to the next bay east. It was another path cut into the slope, but I did remember to change into my Chacos from the second trip and the more secure sandals were up to all the trail had to throw at us.

The Larsen Bay trail saw much less traffic than the route to Fagatele. Spiderwebs were frequently catching my face and arms. Tearing my way through I made the hike down to the bay. I was greeted with a beach made up of large, broken coral. I will definitely need to bring some swim or dive gear here next time and see if the water is any less treacherous here.

Back at home I rewarded myself with a Stienlager, treated my wounds with a rubbing alcohol/hydrogen peroxide/neosporin regime and took some time to appreciate surviving the day and the “Rapture” that billboards proclaimed would happen today.

On the Island so far

Here is Sara and I's new home. We're in a spot called Freddie's Beach. It actually a block away from the beach, but there's supposed to to be some good snorkeling and fishing on the lava flows that make up the beach. The wild dogs everywhere were a bit much for me. When I showed up on the first night there were 5 camped out on my front patio. My place had been vacant for several month and it looks like they took advantage of the deck to escape the rain. They got into a few snarl fights during the evening (part of the reason I woke up at 3am), but a few days of activity at my house and they haven't made my porch their bed since then.

Apparently the strategy for dealing with the wild dog packs is to adopt one of the less trashy/diseased one. Feed him and treat him well and he keeps the rest at bay. Good thing I didn't try and bring Tucker, he wouldn't make it here.

The highlight of the trip so far was on the first morning. Daniel, a new coworker who arrived at the same time as me, bumped into one of our new neighbors on a walk and he showed us the way out to Airport Beach. It's a mile walk along the lava flows and the fence line for the airport, past a few WW2 pillboxes and some amazing scenery. Looks like this is going to be a spot with some great ocean access. We'll see if my work schedule will let me take advantage of these amenities.

I'll leave you with some romantic island shots, since the rest of the week has been spent getting me up to speed at work and dealing with all the bureaucratic nightmares that come from moving to a place that works on island-time full-time.

Travel Day

Sara graciously dropped me off at Sacramento Airport early on Monday morning. That was easily the most awkward baggage arrangement I have ever traveled with. Luckily, I only had to handle it to the ticket counter (where I had a missing passport scare) and through customs in Pago Pago. But 3 pieces of luggage hanging from your shoulders is tough work and I walked away from that trip with a few bruises and sore spots.

The plane flight to Honolulu went smoothly, I met a Hawaiian grandmother of Japanese ancestry returning to her home on Oahu after attending a grandson's graduation from pharmacology school. She had some interesting stories from Hawaii prior to statehood and how there was a big shift from the traditional tribal culture that predominated prior to the 1960s and how it changed after statehood. This little bit of information was a bit of foreshadowing to my experiences once I arrived in AS.

I had a 6 hour lay over in Honolulu, so I grabbed a city bus and went into town for lunch and some exploration. Might as well fit a 6 hour Hawaiian vacation into my transit out to AmSam. I had a nice lunch and a few beers at a pub downtown. Managed to meet a developer who has been living in Hawaii since 1989 and had a few boat trips to outlying Pacific islands (mostly the Marshalls, which apparently are known for their amorous women). Another bus trip let me get to the Royal Hawaiian (at my Dad's recommendation) to explore for a little and get to walk a little on Waikiki Beach. Then it was a bus ride back to the airport and catching my flight to Pago Pago.

The Hawaiian Air Flight from Honolulu to Pago Pago only runs on Monday and Thursday evenings. The flight was delayed by a few hours as there was a discrepancy in the number of passengers that boarded and the tickets recorded that took the flight staff awhile to reconcile. Which is one way to turn a 17 hour travel day into a 20 hour travel day. I avoided sleeping on the plane to attempt to start my internal clock on Samoan time.

Walking off the plane into the Pago Pago evening was steam bath. It was 11pm at night and it was close to 80 degrees and 100% humidity on the tarmac. Thankfully I dressed for hot and wasn't disappointed. Then came the joy of waiting in line at customs.

Walking out of customs (carrying that ridiculous load of luggage) I walked past my ride to the government housing complex. They didn't think I was the person they were looking for since I was dressed to much like a local in flip-flops and lightweight clothes. It wasn't until they looped back around 45 minutes later and checked the designated meeting spot, the Fale hut near the front of the airport, and we were able to connect. But I did get to chat with Rome, a local 25-year-old who likes the Oakland Raiders. I guess I may have something in common with people here after all.

So after a long travel day I was finally able to settle into my house for the next few years. I wasn't quite able to make a smooth transition to Samoan time, since I was up at 3am, but I did get to see a pretty great sunrise from my bedroom deck.

Shipping

It's been a little while since my last post. The rush around packing up, seeing friends and family, and shipping items consumed me prior to leaving. Sara and I packed up a pallet of things that weren't practical to carry on the plane. I loaded the car, drove it down to Oakland and left our precious cargo at the shipping agent's warehouse ready to be sent off to LA and then Pago Pago. We tried to include items that are difficult to obtain or are expensive in American Samoa. Thus the bikes and coolers. Items that take up a large amount of space in a shipping container are prime for being sent by sea. Word is I will see the items three to eight weeks from shipping date. Only 2 to 7 weeks to go...

Samoa in the News and Car Issues

After weeks of looking for new and researching the Samoas, I've come to the conclusion that there is relatively little available online about the Samoan Island chain. That said, it's nice to see a little news about the part of the world I'll be moving to in less than a week: Samoa Proposes Moving the International Date Line

Looks like "Independent" Samoa is looking to move forward a day, or potentially be a day off from the island Sara and I are moving. Should make for easy time travel once we're there.

Also, Sacramento got a parting shot at me over the weekend. I've been trying to sell my Jeep for the past few weeks. Unfortunately someone took a fancy to less than the whole of my Cherokee on Saturday and smashed the window and left with the stereo. All of a sudden my effort to get a decent price for my car just got much harder. I'm ready to put that aspect of mainland life behind me.

Socializing and Biking

I’m in the midst of a whirlwind tour of socializing and activities that I will soon be leaving behind. Tuesday I was off to Napa to hang out with a college rugby buddy and help him brew some beer (one of many hobbies I will be leaving on the mainland). Yesterday I was at an Oakland A’s game with Spencer, I even got to kick it with Stomper. Win.


There have also been errands and other responsibilities mixed into my schedule. I managed to find a cheap mountain bike and am working on fixing it up to ship off to the island. As a longtime cyclist I have done various amounts of building and rebuilding. I’ve built up just about every aspect of bike. The system on the bike I had yet to venture into was the derailleurs and cables. I didn’t notice that the handlebar mounts for the rear break and shifter was broken when I purchased the bike, thus a full replacement of the shifter and break. As the components are too old for retailers to stock the parts and there’s not enough time to order or track down the parts I needed, I’m doing a full cable replacement. The replacing part isn’t the difficult part, it’s getting the brakes and derailleurs adjusted after the new cable goes in. Hours spent tweaking a screw or trying to properly tension the cables are trying my bike mechanic skills. Hopefully I’ll get this bike fully functional soon, since it may be all the transportation I’ll be left with if my car sells.



I also received word of when I’ll be flying out. May 16 is my departure.

Out of our house

After a frantic week plus of packing, moving and cleaning we are out of our Sacramento house. All of our worldly possessions are either packed into bags, in boxes ready to be shipped or in our storage unit. Now the waiting begins.

I have roughly two weeks before I fly out, so there's a little downtime to fill. My plan is to track down a few old mountain bikes to get into peak shape before shipping them to AS. There's also trying to see as many friends as possible before we head overseas, as there will soon be a few thousand miles between us and them. Let us know when you have time to hang out so we can get in all the quality time we can.

Sara needs to work for the next two weeks and then it's off to Ohio to visit friends and family before heading off to American Samoa. Our time on the mainland is quickly slipping away.