Tales of the South Seas

A South Pacific Christmas

2010-12-27T08:08:00.006-11:00

If there was a word that could describe our (first) American Samoan Christmas, it was nostalgia.

Even though we both had been living here for two years, last year did not really count, since we were off exploring Fiji, drinking kava, and generally celebrating in a grand tourist festive mood. This year, though, we had our winter trip early (see previous Tonga post), and decided to spend the holidays in good ole Pago Pago.

We started it off by (trying to) watching the much-vaunted Christmas Choir in the open-air stage in Utulei. Parking two blocks away in the new market (all spaces were full with the traditional Samoan big trucks), we skirted past the (unarmed) police sitting by the side of the street (hey, this is the Pacific, cops don't stand!) and took up a post to watch the event. We mused quietly about how, as palagis, we would always be strangers looking in through the Fa'a Samoa window, no matter how long we've stayed here.

The day before Christmas, when everyone held their breath and looked out of their houses in anticipation of waiting, was spent chatting up families and sending greetings through the wire. We had spinach lasagna for our Christmas eve dinner (it's got red and green -- counts as a christmassy food, right?), and reminisced about our families' holiday traditions (the Brinkers are nothing if not a ritualized clan). Old Christmas songs (donated by a friend) played in the background, and sighs rang out as we viewed the harbor at night, intermittently lit by garish lights, but otherwise serene beneath the shadow of the Samoan mountains.

We closed up our windows on Christmas day to go hiking on Mount Alava with the Swedish radiologist, and talked most of the way about departures, trips, adventures, travelers, and the people that always get left behind. We had our post-hike ice cream, instead of at our traditional Samu (home-made!) stop, in the local McDs, with Tim slightly sick at being seen in such a nefarious place. We did admire the beautiful glass-paned windows through which you can see the yachts sleeping on their moorings.

Craving for ham, guaranteed great dessert, and other people's insight, we headed over to another couple's house for dinner. Over glasses of wine/beer/water, we watched the sky darken to twilight, and smiled as the stars announced their arrival. It was, after all, like a black-and-white picture, a memory, a window to the past, that could only happen once in a while.

Kingdon of Tonga

2010-12-03T17:47:00.019-11:00

The History of Life

2010-08-01T15:17:00.013-11:00

I’m not sure why I became interested in the far reaches of the globe, how people interact with their various environments, or what historical events transpired to shape our present world. As a child i can remember spinning the world globe, but at the time those different colored places seemed like make-believe. Life is usually a cascade of events: my river flowed from searching for something else, being introduced/open to new ideas, meeting others with different backgrounds. These concepts have consumed my thoughts for the last decade or so.

Most people find history painstakingly boring, recalling days of falling asleep during high school civil war lessons. I’m not sure if this is by design or just the legacy of an educational system hollowed out from the inside. My view of modern education is that it makes you smart enough to pull the lever, but not to question why your pulling the lever. History is not just another subject, just as the “outdoors” should not be classified alongside other interests: such as computers or entertainment, or sports. History connects us with the past and allows us to view to future with a grain of salt. For indigenous people, their oral history was everything, how they viewed themselves, where they came from, & rituals connecting them to the land. Today, ask a teenager about an historical event which happened last year and they will say who cares or where Russia is on a map and you will receive a blank stare. Unfortunately, we can’t understand our present situation without recognizing the context of our time period. History does repeat itself and certain events are circular.

Rapidly disappearing ways of life and languages are a distressing aspect of modernization, some even view it as our slow decline into the abyss. Yet, at the same time humans have never before been able to transport themselves into the far reaches of the globe, literally arriving in London for afternoon tea. This has enabled a person interested in anthropology or geography to visit remote corners of the planet and observe other humans living another way different from their own. You cannot see these things behind the walls of an exclusive resort, from the deck of a stadium style cruise ship, or in front of your mind numbing television. Presently, we have the unique chance of interacting with others whose language, culture, and way life question the foundations of our own existence.

My interest in indigenous cultures and “third world” cultures stems from the desire to turn back the clock per se. Without the rapid technological transformation of society, you can still view a slightly adulterated picture of how we evolved culturally. Indigenous societies, are usually:

1. Rural- practicing farming
2. Traditional animist- recognizing animals and their environment as having spiritual qualities
3. Oral traditions- handing down history to the next generation
4. Specific focus on the family
5. Pace of life is accordance with natural biorhythms

This window to the past helps to explain or shed light on certain “mental illness”, alienation, or eccentric behaviors shown in our modern society. I encourage everyone to study the disciplines of psychology/sociology, anthropology, history, geography, and natural sciences.

It is one thing to read about these cultures and arrive at a perspective, but nothing replaces first hand experience. When the opportunity presented itself, we jumped about the chance to live in this hybrid society, caught between Polynesian tradition and American gluttony. The result is not always a story cut for national geographic and may be something for “purists” to thumb their noses at, but few places exhibit the results of such a violent collision of cultures as that of Pago Pago. Young men coming home from football practice, shoulder pads/helmet slung over their shoulder, with a traditional lavalava wrapped around their waist. An underground oven “umu” feast after a Sunday Mormon service of worship. The family, all 14, riding in the back of the pickup with American flags waving, as Samoan ukulele music blares from the speakers. Fafafines or tranvestites, holding a modern beauty pageant, with an opening prayer lead by the local minister. Young men arriving back from Iraq, venerated as traditional warriors- leis placed around their necks. Samoans even celebrate flag day, the official day that they came under the clutches of colonial rule by the united states.

Savaii Aquatic

2010-04-28T12:21:00.013-11:00

The verdant island of Savaii is the third largest landmass in Polynesia, following Hawaii and New Zealand. It is home to over 43,00 people and was once the center of the non-violent Mau a Pule movement against colonial rule in the early 1900s. Fa'a Samoa or traditional Samoan society remains strong on the oldest island off the Samoan archipelago. We
decided to spend a week in a traditional beach fale (hut) overlooking the sugary Manase beach.

Savaii is mountainous, fertile, and surrounded by coral reefs. In comparison to Tutuila (our island) the size 659sq miles to 54 sq miles, highest peaks of Mt. Silisili (6,096 ft) to Mt Matafao (2,142ft), Savaii is expansive and flat. The people are much thinner than those in American Samoa, due to more traditional lifestyle (diet & exercise), fewer cars grace its smooth straight roads. All cars drive on the left-side, changed last September in order for New Zeland car dealers to corner the market. This was the last country to change sides since the 1960's. I have to admit that im a bit partial to Tutuila's geography, where steep cliffs plunge into the pounding surf & coves are carved into the dramatic coastline. Yet, Savaii has the knid of beaches you dream of when someone mentions the south pacific.

The plan was to stay on the north side of Savaii, in the Manase district and scuba dive for several days. The area was covered in a series of volcanic explosions from Mt. Matavanu in the early 1900's, blackened rock dominates the landscape as far as the eye can see. The trip was planned with German percision, unfortunately we were using Samoan transportation.

A week before our departure date, the only plane of the stellar Inter-island Air fleet caught on fire in the outer island of Tau. This was the second aircraft fire in less than a month, the other being the Governor's plane. I frantically placed phone calls to the airport, only to be met with "we're not sure what the plan is, check the day before your flight." The day before we were set to leave, I was told they chartered the other airline's plane, only problem was we had to be ready by 3am.

At 5:30am we touched down on the island of Upolu, took a taxi to the wharf to catch the 7am ferry to Savaii. As the taxi driver unloaded our bags he stated, there is no ferry until 2pm. Thinking nothing of why we would want to sit at the ferry terminal for the next seven hours. An old woman laughing at us & selling breadfruit advised us about a ferry across the island in the capital of Apia. We caught another van taxi across Upolu with a driver who kept calling me champ. Finally, we boarded the 3 hour ferry to Savaii on the new boat donated by Japan. If you ever wonder why rich countries provide aid or donate things to poor countries, think about Japan's Whale lobby. Where they go around the world philantropically building schools, health centers, and donating ferries to third world nations in return for a voting consensus on whaling issues. Anyway the ferry was comfortable, and i spotted a peace corps volunteers whose website i had viewed on the internet. The Peace Corps program was started in 1967 and currently 35 volunteers serve mainly as teachers. To my knowledge many also specialized in hanging out, drinking beer, and scuba diving.

Crossing the Apolima straight to Savaii, while reading A People's History of the United States, my thougts mingled with the landscape & grappled with a moment in time that i was living. Where was I? How did I get here?
... Perhaps no other region conjures up so many romantic visions as Polynesia—swaying palms plopping their coconuts onto deserted beaches, the fabled missionaries, and beachcombers. Michener and Maugham have described it, Gauguin captured it on canvas. The names of Captain Cook, William Bligh, Bloody Mary and Sadie Thompson mingle together in a confusion of history and fantasy...

My Walter Middy daydream was rudely interupted by a bull horn announcing we had landed. We gathered our scuba gear and haggled for a reasonable taxi fare to Tanu Beach Fales. We passed people going about their daily lives, pigs running across the road, horses slapping flies from their backs, people living in open air fales- their things open for all eyes to see. Fales usually have a roof, thatch or corrugate, for posts, pull down thatch side or none at all. To the westerner our first paranoid thought is that there is no privacy, to the Samoan, have everyone hang out and share your life. We arrived at a family compound, waited for welcome drinks which never materialized, and were finally shown to our fale, perched on the powdery beach of manase. We were to spend the next week in a hut, scuba diving, reading, and feeling alive.

Unfortunately, we could not document this trip, due to someone pilfering our camera, but you can imagine. White beach as far as the eye could see, snuggled up to a technicolor reef, filled with bath water. As David Byrne of the Talking Heads said "oh heaven, this must be the place." Well, until the drunk Germans next door started wrestling on the beach (Nein! Nein!). Oh well...

As we settled in for the night, listening to the lapping of the waves, Michelle realized we had forgotten our contact solution, which for a dive trip is catastrophic. We argued about what to do when we remembered a similar situation, using 0.9% normal saline solution during our Papua New Guinea trip. We asked where the closest medical clinic was (10 mintues away), and arrived and gestured about our need (as they spoke no English) returning 20 minutes later with a syringe w/ needle intact filled with 50 cc of saline solution: mission accomplished.

The next morning Dive Savaii picked us up and brought us to the dive shop. Run by a wonderful French & South African, with 2 visiting dive masters from Czech Republic. The first day of diving was Coral Gardens. This dive site consists of a huge variety of corals: cabbage coral, bubble coral, leather coral, head coral, purple coral… you can reach a max depth of 18-20 meters, following the reef wall, enjoying the coral along with its inhabitants. Big schools of parrot fish, snappers, lazy turtles, eagle rays… sea cucumbers, nudibranches, clown fish, star fish and if you have a quick eye, the titan trigger fish. The second dive was wreck juno, a 3 mast missionary sailing ship which sunk in Lelepa bay in 1881. This iron wreck is full of corals, where one can easily see trumpet fish, turtles and a wide variety of colourful reef fish, parrot fish, yellow snappers, big-eyes and much more. The max. depth one reaches here is 25 meters. We dove with an argetinian guy, and shared the boat with 4 Peace Corps volunteers completing their PADI Open Water Training Course.

That night we were invited to a BBQ at the French owners house, consisting of chicken & burgers. Living in the South Pacific, you attend a wide variety of barbeques. It was wonderful, people from all over the world, Sweden, Germany, Switzerland, etc. Atmosphere was festive, with the dive shops daughter blowing soap bubbles, over a drinking game in Samoan, drowned out by South American singer Manu Ciao. Many Vailimas were consumed and we rested the next day, Sunday along with the whole archipelago.

At night we all ate together under the moonlight, serenated by traditional Samoan music and Siva Dancing. We walked on the beach, curled our toes into the sand, and swam under a Van Gogh esque starry night.

Monday's dive consisted of Lelapa bay self-swim w/o divemaster and the Juno Shipwreck to Coral Gardens route. We saw a 4 foot barracuda named Victor, who was very curious about what we were doing in his neighborhood. These dives were with a nice couple from the South Island of New Zeland, although they were pretty bad divers. Not to be a diving snob, but there is a big difference if everbody knows what they are doing vs not.

Michelle's 30+ birthday correlated with our last and most definitely best day of diving. All of the conditions lined up, minimal wind, calm seas, adequate sunlight to make excellent visibility. Luckily, we were all experienced divers and we made a congo line through Canyon Pinnacle. This dive site consists mainly of pinnacles with many swim-throughs and canyons to explore, reaching a depth of 25 meters. You will also enjoy the blue vastness of the ocean with usual 20m plus visibility. The ocean floor will reveal jenkin rays, cracks and crevices will reveal turtles and puffer fish, soft corals house clown fish and a variety of hard corals housse assorted reef fish. After snaking through the last of the 12 caves or swim-throughs, we all surfaced with big smiles on our faces. Its a feeling that divers get after they know that the conditions were just right.

Realizing the return journey home might be as adventurous as the original, we called the airlines, no problem, all systems are a go. Unfortunately, after crossing the straight and ariving at the airport, we were told "we're in a holding pattern." For the next 6 hours, we waited until at 6pm it was announced to no-one's surprise that the flight was canceled. Thankfully, the 1 aircraft airline, put us up at a decent hotel (well, thats after a week in a hut), paid for transportation and dinner- now that's Fa'a Samoa. We contacted work and told them of our predicament.

We finally arrived back on Tutuila, 1 day and 1/2 after leaving Savaii- yet we had smiles ear to ear. Sometimes simple pleasures are really the deepest and longest-lasting.

Lifestyle Design

2010-03-30T08:42:00.007-11:00

For many years now, Ive been experimenting with various aspects of lifestyle design. The more you learn about different places/cultures in the world, the more you uncover a vast array of different lifestyles, none "better" than the other. To my knowledge no one has found the only way or path to happiness.

The other day I came across a short story which summarizes why working 9-5 (wage slavery) for 40 years is overrated. This lifestyle places people into the category of deferred lifers, which we are unconsciously funneled into from our first day in organized education. Other categories consist of the working rich, the wealth seekers, dream jobbers, and finally lifestyle designers. The later category of people essentially ask, “why wait until you’re rich or retired to live the life you really want to live?” They start with the concept of an ideal lifestyle and work backwards to plan a career that will suit that lifestyle.

My wife & I are tossing around the idea of working 1/2 the year and more importantly not working 1/2 the year. This would enable us to pursue dreams not based upon money, stay tuned to see how this meshes with the modern wage system.

"Don't let your dreams be dreams." - Jack Johnson (Hawaiian singer/songwriter)

The Story of the Mexican Fisherman

by Henrik Edberg.

An American businessman was standing at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish.

“How long it took you to catch them?” The American asked.

“Only a little while.” The Mexican replied.

“Why don’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?” The American then asked.

“I have enough to support my family’s immediate needs.” The Mexican said.

“But,” The American then asked, “What do you do with the rest of your time?”

The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life, senor.”

The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds you buy a bigger boat, and with the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats.”

“Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the consumers, eventually opening your own can factory. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.”

The Mexican fisherman asked, “But senor, how long will this all take?”

To which the American replied, “15-20 years.”

“But what then, senor?”

The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO (Initial Public Offering) and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions.”

“Millions, senor? Then what?”

The American said slowly, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos…”

Tramping in Fiordland

2010-03-02T09:32:00.031-11:00

Imagine a land of snow-capped mountains, steep-sided fiords, deep lakes, and unbroken forests. This wild and remote region, consisting of 27,000 km2 of unbridled space, is known as Fiordland, and lies in the southwestern portion of the south island in New Zealand. Together with Mt Aoraki NP, Mt Aspiring NP, and Westland NP, they form Te Wāhipounamu (Maori for place of greenstone). In 1990 Unesco recognized the extraordinary beauty of this area and listed it as a world heritage site, which is thought to contain the original flora and fauna present in Gondwanaland (precursor super continent).

The indigenous people of New Zealand, known as Maori (meaning natural), are a Polynesian people thought to have originally migrated to New Zealand in the 1300's and developed a distinctive culture and language. Following the theft of their lands by European settlers in the 1800's, today the Maori (like virtually all indigenous people) have been subjugated to the lower class of society with all vices associated. For example, they represent 14% of total population, yet 50% of prison population.

Last year, we explored on the north island, the Whanganui River NP, the old Maori trading route which flows from the northern slopes of Mt. Tongariro. This expedition would retrace many of the "greenstone" trails, the Maori carved through the forest in order to collect this revered gemstone. The southern island was not heavily populated by the Maori, yet used it for seasonal hunting grounds and greenstone collection. Pounamu (a greenstone) is a form of nephrite jade, generally found in rivers as nondescript boulders and stones which are difficult to identify without cutting them open. These gems were highly prized by the Maori and they undertook perilous expeditions to collect these mainly for tools, ornaments, and weapons.

The story begins with the author and his Swedish colleague traveling along the southern alps, across tranquil pasture lands, scenic lakes, under the shadow of Mt Aoraki. It was to be a 10 day road trip, consisting of a figure 8 through the National Parks of the South Island. Our first stop was the highest mountain in New Zealand, Mt Aoraki (or Mt Cook), standing at 12,31ft. This eminent prominence is draped by 4 photogenic glaciers, which deposit glacial till in the lakes, creating emerald green heaven. I prefer the Maori name for many reasons, mainly because it means cloud piercer (which it does) versus the European name, which is named after the infamous Captain James Cook who never laid eyes on the Mountain. Geography is rife with the names of old white men, who never laid eyes on the things they were named after.

Following three flights (including 1 red-eye), 4 hours waiting for my traveling companion at the Christchurch airport, and 5 hours en route to Mt Aoraki- setting up camp and calling it a day seemed to be in order. My friend stated "you ready to hike to the glacier", thinking to myself are you completely mad, i replied "no thanks I'm going to set-up camp while it still light". Off he went, as i arranged camp next to a multitude of others, and made my way into the dreaming. The next morning before dawn, i awakened to a rapping on the side of the tent, "you ready to get the jump on the others." No, i thought, but a breakfast of bacon, eggs and coffee would be nice. Off we went in the cloak of darkness into the bucolic hooker valley. Traveling along a serene river we climbed into the glacier carved valley toward the foot of the glacier.

After a last minute change of plans we decided to go separate ways, and I would spend the next week in the mountains of Fiordland. So at the crest of the continental divide, I made my departure from organized society. The Routeburn Track traverses 32km of Fiordland NP over the Harris Saddle into Mt Aspiring NP. It is one of the fabled Great Walks of New Zealand, consisting of red/mountain beech, dense ferns, high alpine ridges, and clear flowing rivers and waterfalls. Having enough supplies for a party of three, including a bottle of pinot noir, jars of peanut butter and jam, a loaf of bread, and numerous other unnecessary equipment, I set off up the track, alone into the wild. The word tramping in New Zealand roughly corresponds with North American hiking, European trekking, or Australian bush walking. All are synonymous with carrying a backpack weighing around 35 pounds with tent, cold/rain gear, sleeping pad/bag, food, etc. Tramping is very popular in New Zealand, with lonely planet writing a guidebook on this sole activity, and a permit system in place to ensure protection of the local ecosystem. Typically, a maximum of 40 trampers can commence from the trail head and sleep in either a basic hut or campground. Huts consists of cooking burners, freshwater, mattress, and toilet, while the campground consists of whatever you bring.

While ascending into the alpine of the Routeburn track, i struggled under the weight of an immense pack, in addition to the comments of fellow hikers. Usually, they carried about a 1/4 of the load this yak had, commenting "that's a heavy pack there, "are you a Sherpa", "what do you have in there a library?" Although portrayed in a jovially manner, my first extended trek in over 1 year and feeling like atlas with the weight of the world on my shoulders, the emotional barbs were sharp. I took it in stride as New Zealand humor is a bit more dry than its American counterpart. After a few hours along the Jurassic park fern line, I came to Earland Falls (178m), which burst over the tall cliffs above creating a virtual mist.

I started to hit my stride after a quick PBJ sandwich, recalling the enjoyment of the mountains. There is truly nothing like an extended foray into the wild, leaving your fictional worries at the gates, while more immediate concerns surface. Such as, what am I going to eat, do I have enough water, or is this wine really necessary. Higher and higher the track climbed until it reached above the tree line and the magnificent alpine scenery came to life. I guess pain and pleasure do have a certain covalent bond, as the things in life you remember and truly hold dear are things you've struggled to obtain. Many weeks can pass in civilized life where you simply cannot recall many significant details, yet carry 40 pounds over a 4,000 foot mountain pass and you can remember the pungent smell of dew on a fern leaf (not to mention your body odor). The captivating landscape of the deeply carved fiord was spell-binding, with each step you were reminded of how truly small your existence really was. Ancient tress of 2,000-3,000 years old smiled as you the babe in the woods trudge past.

The first night lead to glacier fed Lake Mackenzie, where the campsite was located. After assembling the tent and arrangement of foodstuffs, I went for an evening stroll beside the lake. Around a bend in the lake I met an Australian couple in their late-seventies, who had been avid hikers for over 40 years. We discussed the different aspects of tramping in New Zealand, Australia, and South America with the warmth of old friends. It never ceases to amaze me the kindness you encounter when people slow down, you take away their possessions, and simply place them together in natural surroundings. People become very friendly, sharing, and reminiscent of life in general- loosely much closer to how human beings were designed to function. We got to discussing our gear, and they berated me for carrying so many things, telling me I needed to get "up to date" or "modernize" my equipment. Having senior citizens encouraging me to "get with it" provided instant humor to my evening. How had a man in his 30's living on a small island in the south pacific fell so far behind the times? They graciously agreed to share my bottle of wine that evening, so with another German couple we sat by the lakeside drinking a bottle of red wine as the sun disappeared behind the mountains. A small group of people from different age cohorts, various parts of the world, meeting on common ground of understanding in the wilds of Fiordland.

That night I was awakened to a neighboring tent listening to lord of the rings (part 1 fellowship of the rings) on their iPod. Although this seemed a bit tactless, before I fell back to sleep I recalled that just over the mountain pass was the fictitious town of Isengard. The next morning, as I packed my bag for the saddle crossing, I watched a park warden berate a German couple for not holding a camping ticket, thus having to pay double for laying on the earth. The sky looked overcast, which was not uncommon in the fiords, where the local weather consisted of either showers or rain (never saw a sunny day forecast). As the clouds mounted their strength for a storm, I passed the Australian couple on a switchback. The wife could hardly contain herself "calling me a crazy Samoan" for the size of my pack. As I walked through a fairy tale setting, winds ripped across my face and the rain began to fall. By the time I reached the Harris Saddle, my rainproof jacket didn't feel so rainproof and I had violated a strict law of the mountains- never wear cotton. After a quick refueling stop at the saddle hut, I picked up the pace down the beech lined path toward Routeburn flat falls. In the midst of the downpour, I opened my map, which stated to expect at least one day of rain during your hike, fair enough I thought, as a young Irishman rounded the corner. He was fixing to hike all 32km in one day, had only a fanny pack around his waist and stated his girlfriend was meeting him on the other side. I'm not sure which was more ridiculous, my pack which looked bound for Mt. Everest or his plan to complete the Routeburn in 1 day. I asked him if he had a headlamp and said thank goodness for girlfriends, we laughed and parted ways.

After covering 10km at an efficient pace, I arrived at the peaceful Routeburn falls, where I asked the warden if I could make it to the trail head in 2 hours, hoping to catch the last shuttle back to town for the day. She sized me up (briefly pausing at my pack) and stated that she could make it with a brisk pace and a small backpack. "Thanks, that's all I need to know!" I passed up on my 2nd night of camping due to the rain and made a dash for the end. Through the virgin mountain & red beech forest I spied a hilarious looking man in overtly small jogging shorts and a huge safari hat, which fairly screams of "tourist" down the mountain. We nodded to each other as I made my way over the last few suspension bridges and out of the of the forest. To my surprise there was a group of people cheering my last steps, congratulating me, and giving me high fives. I soon realized I had stumbled into a day hikers tour group, only to disappear from acknowledgment after they realized i wasn't with the tour. Further realizing that the last bus was not coming, I changed into some dry clothes and planned where to spend the night. When along came the marathon runner with the 10 gallon hat, I nearly cheered him in and gave him a high-5, but merely asked if he was headed back to town. Out of breath, he said yes, but after a 30 minute cool down. The runner turned out to be from southern california and agreed to give me a lift back to town. Along the way he shared his passion of orienteering, a sport where you run in the woods with a compass, and along the 2 hour drive I learned more than any man needed to know in a lifetime. We did have a nice conversation though, as we exited the last mountain pass back to the tourist center of queenstown (adventure capital of the world).

Having survived on strictly fruit/vegetables for 4 days, I gorged on bits of thai, turkish, and indian foods that day. I know its pathetic, but sometimes I hike faster with the thought of a dancing swarma (turkish kebab) in my head. After 1 local draft beer I awoke 10 hours later, nearly missing my bus to Te Anau (walking capital of the world) and the Kepler Track. After nearly recruiting 2 doctors to come to American Samoa during the bus ride, we arrived on the shore of lake Te Anau. Later that afternoon, i dropped 3/4 of my gear at a backpacker place for storage, rented a stove/pan/dehydrated food from Bev's camping, got a weather report from Dept. of Concervation Headquartes, and caught a shuttle to the trail head of the Kepler Track.

The Kepler Track is a 37-mile circular trail which passes from the lowland beech/podocarp forest to the alpine moss forest, to deep gorges with lake views. The track was named after Johannes Kepler, German astronomer famous for his laws of planetary motion. On a crisp blue afternoon i crossed a river and walked several miles through the dense/soggy forest to a campsite on the shores of Lake Manapouri. This was a spectacular area of Fiordland, with steep forested mountains plunging into the deep lake below. As I hiked into camp, I noticed a small hut and wandered in for a closer look. A friendly German guy was sitting inside and stated that there was plety of room for me to stay, which seemed be a perfect way to avoid a wet tent on the first night. As we closed mice holes in the floor boards with rocks, he stated that he was from the former East German Republic, (a place the allied military firebombed at the closure of WW2), known as Dresden. He related that he was traveling around New Zealand for 4 months, in an old beat-up van he purchased. its very popular to purchase used vehicles in New Zealand and resell them at the conclusion of their trip. New Zealand has no laws on importation of old cars and in fact no emission testing at all.

The sunset that evening left you with a feeling that the world is good and that you are exactly where you should be at that time. Dining on dehydrated curry chicken seemed extravagant after many days of PBJ sandwiches. We kept warm later that night by a fire, made by a New Foundland guy and his Quebecian girlfriend. They had the philosophy of bringing the kitchen sink, dining on steak, vegetable, wine and dessert. Everything was in place for a perfect evening, until the mosquitoes and sandflies invaded the hut (probably why everyone chose to set up tents). Corresponding with backcountry sharing he let me use his light, as mine had mysteriously disappeared. In the middle of the night I arranged an emergency tent setup, so the German guy (who I knew for 5 hours) and I snuggled in the tent happy to have survived the "mozzie" feast. For the record, this was my first experience sharing a tent with a strange man.

The next day we were met with skies so blue, no clouds seemed to have received an invitation. The Saxon and I climbed up the gradual slope discussing the bombing of Dresden, race relations in the U.S. south, and alternative forms of lifestyle. He was very typical German with strict orderliness, efficiency full tilt, and love of technological machines. He was an acoustic engineer, he loved camping from his mountain bike in his free time, cruising around NZ in order to improve his English.
Hiking though a pine forest we met a Brazilian, who had camped at the summit w/o a tent (to avoid the $15 dollar tariff) wearing 4 layers of clothing & nearly freezing to death, some people are just plain "bat-shit" crazy, I thought to myself. Amazing scenery was viewed up the iris burn valley to the next campsite next to a river. The Saxon & I parted ways as he was staying in the mountain hut.

As I prepared camp for the night and took some magic hour photos, a bedragled French men slumped into camp. He wore no shirt, and his pants hung a bit low around his waist. As he unloaded his Ramen noodles & white bread, he explained that his drawstring on his pants broke and his pants would fall down awkardly at times. Under his heavy French accent, he explained that he was from the Basque region in southwest France on the border with the Pyrennes. He had never been to Paris and that he recently finished his marketing degree, and planned to pick fruit for money as the season changed. I let the Frenchman use my cooker to heat his noodles, for a karmic repayment to backpacker code. That night after viewing 2 endangered blue ducks, I fell asleep to the sound of flowing water.

The next morning after a quick meal of white rice, the Frenchman & I ascended the Murchison Mountains. The warden had warned of winds of 100 km/hr which was going to be miserable, we thanked her for her kind words of encouragement and continued the climb. After 3 hours we reached the first emergency hut, I refueled with a cranberry snack, which provided nutrients for 1/3 of the day. The views of the fiords were astounding, although the winds did whip us around a bit. Luckily we received no rain and the sun beamed down on us as we wandered into the Mt Luxmore camp. We discussed many interesting things along the way, Basque independence movement, ethnic groups in France/Spain, & politics in Samoa.

The last section of the 10 hr downhill hike dragged on, but soon we were rewarded with panoramic views of broad bay campsite. There the Frenchman, Canadians & I enjoyed a well-deserved fully-clothed rest on the beach. Since the French guy was the only one crazy enough to go into the frigid waters, he was induced to procure everyone fresh water. The last night I passed out by 8 o'clock, feeling deeply satisfied. The last day of tramping brought me back to Te Anau, where I cleaned up, had some lamb Vindaloo, and sampled local brews. The next day I took a 12 hr bus ride back to Christchurch and civilization. I knew I was back when a red-headed Englishman next to me played loud metal music with no consideration for his surroundings. Ah the trappings of the modern world.

Against the Wind

2010-02-13T09:51:00.008-11:00

Anytime a natural disaster is imminent, people go into survival mode. They exaggerate, make outlandish statements, or hide in their basements as if under aerial bombardment. This survivalist tendency (while having an organic etiology) is stoked by the media, which elevates the fear factor, this is what we call "good business." I figured you can't live in the south pacific for over a year without experiencing a cyclone, so i went along for the ride. Our neighbors were boarding up their houses, local stores were packed with people stocking up on last minute goods, people had fear on their lips. Granted a life-shattering tsunami occured a few months back which helped shape the current environment of hysteria. I stayed glued to the radio, brought in my motorcycle, outdoor bench, and grill & fantasized about a tree slamming into our large windows facing the ocean.

Tropical cyclone Rene formed off the coast of the northern cook islands (east of us) and was gradually increasing in intensity as it headed toward the Samoan islands. It was classified originally as a tropical storm until it was upgraded to a category 1 hurricane, expected winds of 74-95mph & surf 15-20 feet. By Friday the hysteria was thicker than molasses, with a bulletin by the governor stating we should secure life and property, stock up on emergency items, board up houses, & not venture outside. Red cross workers were put on high alert, ready to swoop in following the path of the destruction. People could be heard on the radio, saying "we're in gods hands", "we're due for a direct hit", all signs point to the "big one." So i waited, munching on popcorn for the blockbuster film called Rene.

The term "cyclone" refers to such storms' cyclonic nature, with counterclockwise rotation in the Northern Hemisphere and clockwise rotation in the Southern Hemisphere. Depending on its location and strength, a tropical cyclone is referred to by names such as hurricane, typhoon, tropical storm, cyclonic storm, tropical depression, and simply cyclone. The naming of cyclones follows a series of set lists, numerous regions/countries have their own lists: north Atlantic, Australia, Philippines, Indonesia, Indian ocean, japan, etc. For the Samoa archipelago, we used the southwest pacific ocean system, list B, number 17#- Rene. These lists usually alternate genders and follow the roman alphabet, with Greek letters for additions. Also, the classification system of strength varies from tropical storm to category 5.

Each update by the national weather service placed the land-fall of the cyclone later and later, moved from 12pm to 4am, finally no cyclone. The truth be told, we experienced high winds, with gusts around 50mph. My internal cyclone radar clocked it as weak, as we slept through most of the night. The next morning driving to work i thought about the hysteria that the media preys upon. True, knowing a big storm is coming can protect lives, yet many times the media go way beyond this. Why? Because like it or not the modern media is a corporation driven solely by profits, scaring the hell out of people makes people stay tuned.

At a certain point, due to the annoying music & lethargy from scare tactics, i shut off the radio and just listened to the wind. Having no T.V., we are shielded from much of the culture of fear, but it still leaks through. Anyway, I'm sure you can think of many examples of the media exaggerating things (war, health, crime)- maybe next time you can just shut it off, and listen to the wind.

Quid Pro Who?

2010-01-08T17:53:00.008-11:00

Reciprocity is a way of defining people's informal exchange of goods and labour; that is, people's informal economic systems. It is the basis of most non-market economies.

Turning back the clock, we would all find ourselves living as hunter-gatherers at some point. This way of life focused on a system of exchange that predated even barter and trade. People were typically involved in a gift giving economy, where goods and services are regularly given without any explicit agreement on rewards. Simultaneous and recurring gift giving serves to circulate and redistribute any valuables within the community.

We find many modern day examples of the gift economy, particularly in the Pacific Region:

Native Americans Pacific Northwest Tribes potlatch (meaning gift), where one commnunity invites another to a huge feast, with the main purpose of the redistribution or reciprocity of wealth.
New Zealand Maori koha (gift),gift giving by visitors to a host, traditionally involving food or a tresured possession.
Papua New Guinea moka, big men (local leaders) are involved in complex exchange of pigs and sweet potatoes which serves to elevate prestige.
South African Bushmen- ecomonomy based on gift giving instead of trade or purchasing goods
SouthEast Asia Buddhists- feasts of merit, similar to potlatch and occurs after the rainy season.

The concept of Fa'a Samoa or "The Samoan Way" is the fabric that glues the traditional society here together. Each person has a clearly defined relationship to another in the extended family, which is orchestrated by a matai or chief. Certain cultural mores or taboos are enforced via this network and it is one of the first lessons learned by a palagi. At first glance an outsider may view these proceedings as strange, odd, or even corrupt on a certain level. The sooner one comes to accept these laws of the land, the smoother their transition or stay will be.

One of the chief tenets of Fa'a Samoa is reciprocity, or more clearly defined by cultural anthropologists as balanced reciprocity. One look no further than the elaborate feasts that Samoans hold called Fa'alavelaves (any event where the extended family gathers together), usually held for weddings and funerals. The matai or chief of the family solicits funds from the extended family, which can be a considerable amount. In addition to hard cash, they may arrange for canned fish, fine mats, and other items to be included. The family members arrive at the gathering, where elaborate rituals, dancing, talking chief speeches are taking place. In exchange, 1/2 of the money or gifts may be returned, the visitor given food for more than one sitting (take home bag necessary). Others will be pressured to have a more elaboarate faalavelave and thus the cycle continues. Unfortunately, in modern day society the sums of money are huge, corruption, excessive family pressure, and virtual extortion of off-island members can taint the pureness of the practice.

Reciprocity extendes its tentacles into virtaully every fabirc of Samoan society.
One need only spend an afternoon in Samoa, before you start to scratch your head and wonder, what the hell is going on here? Doors are locked, people not available, normal everday items sold out. This facade will drive the average person crazy until you rip away the curtain and expose an ordinary man behind the curtain, The Samoan Way. At first many sneer at this system, describing it as corrupt or unfair, but sooner or later they will be involved in paybacks.

My first in depth encounter with Fa'a Samoa, occured down at the shipping container yard, where our car had arrived from California. Excited at the prospect of transportation after sharing a hospital vehicle for the past few months, we were met by a stiff lipped receptionist, who stated that indeed our shipping container had arrived and no we could not have our car today. We were handed numerous forms, which we had to conduct a virtual scavenger hunt (nobody was where they were supposed to be) to complete. Confident in our completion, we returned to the yard later that week. The next move in the chess match had to do with bargaining. A little known fact is that the American Samoa government collects 10% of the blue book value of your car upon arrival. Rook to knight, our car was a junker, after a few minutes of negotiating, we handed over 50 bucks. Sorry, but you will have to return after the weekend, as we will need to process the paperwork. The next monday, we were stonewalled, as they told us a visiting cruise ship had closed the shipping yard and customs.

At this point we decided to come in through the back door, local style. Our new landlord happened to be the manager down at the stevedoring company. When we cruised in with him, the tight lips became smiles, the no becomes yes, and closed was indeed open for business. We went through the backworkings of the customs building, into a room with (no lie) at least 10 customs officers, with feet kicked up, eating breadfuit and smoking under the constant hum of the aircon unit. The motherlode, we had the key which now fit the keyhole; of course we could have are car inspected today. With a few waves of the hand our container was unloded from the stack, pried open, and 1 sweet 1997 ford taurus sedan, complete with cracked windshiled and smashed in r side rolled off the palate. The customs officer said "you sent this thing across the pacific" everyone laughed as we pulled out less than 3 hours later.

After a while, you don't even notice when a police officer pulls you over, you conveniently mention that you work at the hospital, and the next monday he is sitting in your office explaining that he is constipated. Or, that your neighboorhood store drives your empty scuba tanks across island to be filled, which you repay with a chocolate cake all around. Or you help load crates of beer on a motor boat and find that your fare has gone down to zero. Bring food anywhere and like it or not you may have friends for life.

The most recent episode of The Samoan Way, happened as a result of a drivers license citation I received in a holiday weekend roadblock. The cop asked if I had a local license, which is not valid on the mainland, at which I said no. Having been on island more than 3 months, I was given a citation and told I needed to appear in court and obtain a local license. My first attempt to dial into the system was busy, as i went down to the court house to ask a favor from a judge that was a patient of mine. He denies my access, as he reiterated that that was the law, informed me of the course of action, and even flagged me down in the parking lot to tell me to bring my passport to court. Arghh! My next dial in was accidental, almost a wrong number. The clerk at the court house, where I was obtaining a sercuity clearance, asked if I worked at the hospital. Looking down at my scrubs, I stated yes I do, yes I do. Do you know Dr. X., of course we go way back, well in that case why don't you just pay a fine and get the license later, scouts honor style. I almost fell over laughing, when the clerk suggested that I just pay $10 dollars instead of the required $60. Attention, we have a green light! One can easily see how relative law in general is especially when someone picks up on the other end of the Fa'a Samoa batline.

Of course traditional mechanisms for control break down from the onslaught of modernization, rapid corruption sinks its teeth in. Intense prssure is exerted on individuals and families to pay to the chief of a village for a fa'a lavelave, funeral, or festival. When governments become involved, just like in many backwaters in the world, kickbacks are handed out. This corruption has many of the current administration under indictment or investigation. Living in a small community in the south pacific, lives up to the phrase, it's who you know.

“Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.” Oscar Wilde

The Cannibal Isles

2009-12-30T09:40:00.026-11:00

The Fijian archipelago, consists of 322 mountainous islands of volcanic origin. In the past, these islands were known as the cannibal islands (although documentation is scarce) and were avoided by sailors due to treacherous waters and fierce warriors. The industries are tourism, sugar, clothing, copra, gold, silver, lumber, and small cottage industries. Although located in Melanesia (black islands), the demographics reflect 54.3% indigenous Fijian, 38.1% Indian (from India), and 1.2% Polynesian. The Indians were brought to Fiji as indentured servants to toil away in the sugar cane fields. As they weren't allowed to own land, they evolved into shop keepers, business people, and money lenders. The current political landscape has been marked by several military coup d'etat (1998, 1998, 2000, 2006), as native Fijians fear the encroachment of Indo-Fijians into their traditional sphere of influence. As a result, many Indo-Fijians have returned to India for safety reasons. The 2 major ethnic communities are further divided by religion (christianity vs hinduism) and language (fijian vs hindi).

Aside from the recent political turmoil, The Republic of Fiji is blessed with amazing scenery above and below the water. Home to some of the most spectacular coral reefs in the world, we planed to travel to the outer islands and "walk on the moon". In the northwest corner of the archiplego, between the islands of Vanua Levu and Taveuni lies the Somosomo strait. Fed by nutrients that emerge from the depths of the Tongan trench, rainbow reef is world famous for its multitude of reef fish and soft corals. The trademark or signature species in the area is the soft coral, which billows and undulates in the currents. The soft coral comes in dramatic, often electric hues of orange, red, pink, and white-fringed by purple. The visiblity is typically around 40 meters, making the diving similar to an aquarium.

This trip differed from our normal wilderness expeditions due to the fact that we were staying at an eco-resort. This was necessary for several reasons, mainly due to accessing the reefs. Although Fiji is less than 2 horus from Samoa you would think that getting there would be a breeze. In actuality, we had to take a 30 minute puddle jumper plane to western samoa, then take an overnight light into Nadi, Fiji. No comment on the city area of Nadi, as urban centers were not the focus of this trip. After crashing at Mama's place, we boarded our 15 seater plane for Matei, Taveuni nearly 2 1/2 hours late. At the airport, after listing the plane as delayed, our flight was taken off the board, with new boarding schedule as "pacific time" or whenever. I noticed the planes' right tire was 2/3 full and the left was completely bald as we taxied down the runway. Although expecting a crash landing, we safely touched down onto the "garden isle" as Taveuni is known due to its abundant flora.

We were met by a wild-eyed 1/2 German dude and a straight laced Indo-fijian who took us to the dock for a 40-minute crossing of the strait. The German explained that he was Silesian, which as a result of World War II and the redrawing of political boundaries, he was a German and Polish citizen - which sounded like a great place to come from if you're a secret agent. We boarded the aluminum boat and roared full-throttle across the pounding waves of the strait. As usual the boat driver said the rough waves were nothing. On the website Dolphin Bay Divers Retreat sounded remote, describing itself as without roads, disco, or electricity. As we approached a sandy cove of the south of Vanua Levu, I saw no roads or disco, yet also no resort. Immediate paranoia set in, as i thought we could be on the menu, until i noticed a smiling Fijian lady come out of the rainforest. She was a documented smiler, as she later showed us a Book of Smiles with her picture in it.

We were introduced to our hosts, a wonderful lady from germany who ran the retreat and her partner from switzerland who operated the dive shop. Our bure was constructed of bamboo and corrugate, and located a stones throw from the ocean. The host said not to worry about the paper work, just relax. Note to self- we had truly entered the garden of eden. To our surprise there were solar powered lights during the day and a generator in the morning and evening hours. We were free to enjoy heaven, except for a few simple rules. The brown dog could not be petted, the 7 cats could not be fed, yet the white bog named socks was fair game for anything. The retreat was in the middle of nowhere, but run with german efficiency. We spent the first evening meeting the other guests, and drinking Fijian bitter beer.

The other clientele were reminiscent of the casts of a television show. There was a semi gay Swiss man, who was traveling with an Indian guy from Australia. The swiss guy was famous for yelling obscenities in English, out of context and for seemingly no reason at all. The first time i met the Austrlaian guy i thought he was mentally retarded, michelle thought he had too many drinks. We were both wrong, as this was his normal persona, which included walking up to you and identifying his name and where he was from in a thick Australian accent, although he grew up in India&England. He would sing songs into the night, accompanied by one of the dive masters who played guitar. He would ask you to visit him or tell you when he was coming to your home for a visit -- the day he left we breathed a sigh of relief. There was the 1/2 german who had come to the island for an undetermined amount of time, to do undetermined things, as he recently received an inheritance (German spy anyone?). There was an angry German man, who reminded me of a prussian general, who had dived over 10,000 times and had done everything known to man. There was a California blond, who had a sushi roll named after her and believed you could pick wild oranges from any tree in California. A Cardiology medical student, who instantly attended to anyone complaining of sniffles or sore muscles. This collection of characters spent christmas together on a remote, small island in the south pacific.

Adhering to German time standards, at exactly 7:15am each morning the generator would snap into action, which was the signal for the start of the day. We would stroll over to the dive shop, organize our gear, and sit down for a breakfast of brewed coffee, fresh fruit, and toast. My only complaint (which being American Im entitled to at least one) revolved around the family style seating, where every meal was shared at a communal table. This sounds organic and wonderful, until the Australian man started bellowing an Indian love song and the Swiss man commences to belt out obscenities at awkard moments. In hindsight it was interesting to meet such a strange cast of characters and learn about their lives.

Around 8am, the dive boat would pull out and we would discuss the dive plan for the day. Depending on the currents, weather, and who was diving a suitable site would be discussed en route. Boat dives are a bit different from land dives, which we had been doing in Samoa. Each person has a partner, who simultaneously backrolls with you off the boat into the water, and you rendezvous before descending. Usually, there are 4-5 divers and 2 dive masters, who know the reef and its inhabitants. The first dive was a bit of a shock as the current was excessively strong, blowing the divers down the reef, meeting up at the bottom was difficult, as we all had to hang onto the various hard corals to keep from being blown away. My first glimpse of the reef was memorable, as the visibility was amazing and the colors of the reef reminiscent of a district of neon signs. After re-grouping, we changed directions in order to follow the current. After 45 minutes of interstellar moonwalking, we surfaced and reboarded the boat, many sustaining deep cuts and bruises. The Prussian General sustained the worse injries, and stated that he had never been in such a strong diving current. To pass the time during the hour wait on the surface in order to avoid nitrogen building up in the bloodstream, we drank tea and ate biscuits and discussed the dive plan for the 2nd dive.

When first learning to dive the underwater world seems supernatural, yet as you return to the ocean depths, things become more familiar, and as humans we begin to categorize. The most difficult thing for new divers is learning buoyancy. Each diver wears a weight belt to help them sink, and regulate their depth with their BCD or Bouyancy Control Device, which has 2 buttons for ascending/descending. Depending on how deep you go, a mandatory safety stop occurs before surfacing, lasting from 3-5 minutes. This is based on mathematical formulas, to keep you from getting The Bends (joint pain) or a condition arising from the precipitation of dissolved gasses into bubbles inside the body on depressurisation. Its effects may vary from joint pain and rashes, to paralysis and death If you do get the bends, you must be taken immediately to a re-compression chamber, and the nearest one to rainbow reef was a 2 hour flight to the main island of Vitu Liti.

The week was filled with artistically named dive sites called: The Zoo, Rainbow End, The White Wall, Jerry's Jelly, The Edge, Annie's Bommies, Cabbage Patch, Fish Factory, ect. The aquarium was filled with white tip & black tip reef sharks, which are typically smaller and less aggressive types of sharks (divers are generally more agressive). Other larger species included green turtles, spotted sting rays, baarcuda schools, Picasso triggerfish, Moorish Idol, Anemones, etc. The geography of the dives ranged from pure drift dives (where the boat drops you off at one end and you basically float on the current to the other end), caves and tunnel dives, hard coral and soft coral walls. Like a choreographed dance, the weather was sunny and brilliant each dive, wind was minimal, vibility 40 meters, water temperatures around 29 degreees celcius.

After diving we would clean the gear with fresh water, as salt water is extremely corrosive. Have lunch, which could include a freshly caught fish from the local fisherman. Followed by reading and nap time, the amount of energy spent diving makes even the most energetic spaz take a snooze. Communal dinners were in the open air with beach view. The Swiss Dive Operator and I spent many a night talking about Polynesian, Africa and south East Asian adventures, politics, and religion. for such a remote location and limited electricity, the bungalows were comfortable, spotless, and the food excellent. They even have a wine list, to share boozy evenings with fellow divers swapping fish stories. Being a closet romantic, I arranged for a candle lit dinner for 2 on the the beach with a bottle of red. We laughed away the evening as the tide creeped under the table.

The valley where the retreat was located had an arid micro-climate, where little rainfall occured. They told us that a cyclone had come through last week and brought a bit of rain, if not they would have been switching to bucket showers. On all toilets the slogan- "if its yellow stay mellow & if its brown flush it down" got to the point of water conservation. The organization of the retreat had Fijian women working in the kitchen and cleaning rooms, Fijian men as dive masters and boatsmen, Tuvaluan as groundskeepers, and Indians as taxi drivers to/from airport. Tuvalu is a small coral atoll in the south pacfifc, which may be one of the first victims of global warming. As a result of the threat, they bought an island in Fiji and moved 12,00 people to Kaio near the rainbow reef.

Mid-week, we decided to experience some of the beauty of Taveuni above the water line. Early one morning, we crossed the Somosomo strait and traveled north through the greenery of Taveuni. The only drawback was dropping the Australian at the airport, where he gave us his information and said before we came to visit, to write him an email about where we met, who we where, and the circumstances. We both laughed about how many people this poor soul had accosted during his aggressive traveling campaign. We were headed to the secluded Lavena Coast within Bouma National Park. The guide looked a bit disappointed as we asked him to cover us for the entrance fee and that we liked to hike alone. A 4km windy path took us along a rocky coast, with secluded sandy coves, suspension bridges, and a sleeping banded coral snake that we almost stepped on (it had been sunning itself). At the end of the magical walk, we reached a stunning display of beauty, including two intersecting waterfalls leading to a crystal clear river. We had to wade a small distance upriver to the base of these majestic falls. When in Rome I thought, as I climbed the smaller falls and commenced the time honored rock slide into a pool below. Great blue herons flew overhead and time stood still. Why more people can't appreciate nature is inconceivable to me. It's always right in front of us, beckoning us to come home. At times we feel as if we're seeing things that the next generation cannot comprehend. There's something deeply satisfying about doing the dead man float in a pool under the convergence of 2 waterfalls on a sunny day. I had succumbed to the euphoric powers of the fiji tourism moniker that states: FIJI ME.

Upon our return to Dolphin Bay, the hostess suggested that we may want to spend Christmas in the next bay over where they manage an upscale resort for a California couple. I stated that we prefered our bure, and when she said that we could transfer for 3 days, 2 nights at the same price i sold out, and it was phenomenal. The rainbow reef resort had handcrafted bungalows perched on a white-sand beach: large front porch, comfortable family room, outdoor bamboo shower, ornate bedroom, we were spoiled on christmas. Im a big believer, like many americans, in free stuff or perks.

Following the conclusion of Christmas dinner (cooked in underground lovo oven) we sat on fine mats underneath the stars in a circle. Guitar music filled the background, as flying foxes swooped underneath the southern cross. In the center was the kava master of ceremonies and a large handcarved bowl of muddy colored water, before us was a 1/2 coconut sheel called a "bilo." Kava is sedating and is primarily consumed to relax without disrupting mental clarity. Its active ingredients are called kavalactones. In some parts of the Western World, kava extract is marketed as herbal medicine against stress, insomnia, and anxiety. Fijians call it "grog", due to its relaxing and groggy effects on the drinker, made by pounding sun-dried kava root into a fine powder, straining and mixing it with cold water. when the Kava master fills your cup, he asks "high tide or low tide" (small or large), you say bula and clap 2 times, followed by everyone chanting bula and clapping. Bula is a word that you hear more than any other in Fiji. It can mean hello, welcome, or even exclaimed when you sneeze. It means life and is a way of saying good health to the recipient. By the end of the 800th round, we were all laying supine and singing songs like west virginia, buffalo soldier, and many fijian songs we didn't know the words to.

The last few days we lazed on our private beach deck, snorkeled, and hiked through the extensive trail network in the hills surrounding the resort. With only 2 other groups, the resort was more like a wealthy person's house that we were squatting in for a few days. The Prussian general's girlfriend had arrived, and a swiss souple working for the international red cross were our distant neighboors. After many sedating afternoons reading books: Paul Farmer in Haiti, The Sushi Revolution, and Ann Raynd cult classic Fountainhead our time in the garden of eden was coming to a close. The whole staff including the owners presented us with symbolic beads and sang us a farewell song. As we crossed the Somosomo strait one last time, we felt like we were returning from some strange planet. Im still not a resort kind of guy, but Dolphin Bay Divers is a special place, truly a retreat from the world.

While waiting for our red-eye flight back to samoa, somebody came up and said "hey doc you headed back to pago?". You know you live in a small place when 2 countries over someone recognizes you and wants to share a taxi when you get back. After arriving back in Samoa, we split the fare to transfer airports. He and his wife stated that they had spent a week shopping in the 2 largest cities on the main island and were disappointed. When asked about our experience we stated " it was ok," at which the man replied "there's nothing like pago though right doc". We arrived at the airport at 4am, which had no lights and the guard had to let us in. We shared 4 slabs on concrete for the next 3 hours with an old solo Italian lady, who had visited 235 countries, and 3 guys from Vanuatu who had never left their small islands. They had been on 4 flights (their first flying experience), and were headed to pago to work on the fishing vessels for 2 years. We helped them with their immigration papers and called their company to notify them of their arrival. Imagine the culture shock for these guys who had never met an American before, let alone an American Samoan. Our car was not towed from the airport, started without trouble, and our house was not broken into during our vacation. All in all it was a great excursion into the Melanisian crossroads of Fiji.

Enter the Dragon

2009-12-06T12:08:00.014-11:00

The dilapidated car screeched up the steep incline to the highest village on the island, A'oloaufou, elevation roughly 1317ft. Through the cracked windshield rain clouds loomed heavy in the distance, as we explained our itinerary to the local land owner- the plan was to hike along the ridge line, due west until reaching the end of the island, where we would bisect the road and hitchhike back. The man asked where our machetes were and we explained we had none, only a compass with altimeter. As with many instances when Samoans think Palagi's are behaving irrationally, he just smiled and said have a nice day.

On the map, the area looked like a mass of unbroken green, transected only by the ridge line. No roads, paths, Pizza Hut, Disco music- only wilderness. My brief encounters with the largest section of virgin rain forest on the island, had been camping in sandy coves during kayak trips and an unsuccessful boar hunting trip on the edge of one of the valleys. In modern times only wild boar roamed this section of the island, yet in traditional society, footpaths dotted the landscape and people used to walk between villages. The retracing of ancient footpaths, just a sea kayaking along the abandoned northern coast provides a time machine into the olden ways. Where roads and sport utility vehicles had not carved up the soporific coastline.

The Swedish radiologist & I followed a small toe-path through the back of the village, as the skies opened up. We huddled under a thicket, and discussed the educational television project that had been instituted in the 1960's here. Within 3 years of its inception, the subsistence farming dropped significantly, progress on the move. As the mist lifted off our shoulders, we continued the trek. After backtracking a time or two, we came to a taro field next to a corrugate shelter. The swede, being on-call from the hospital received a call from the emergency room. Head CT needed to be read as soon as possible, unfortunately being in one of the more remote regions of the island without a vehicle, mobility was limited. Luckily another Scandinavian radiologist was at home and accepted the job as we continued our quest.

We walked to the edge of the scorched taro plantation, and found a pig trail behind some bushes. Taro, aka steroid of the pacific, provided much needed complex carbohydrates in the past, now it secures American Samoa's title as the most obese nation in the world at 93.5%. When the novice hiker is walking in the woods, they feel alienated by their surroundings, things can seem almost threatening. After spending some time in nature, you begin to realize how interconnected things are and your senses become heightened. One of these aspects is following animal tracks or in this case a pig track. The low shrubbery concealed all but a glimpse of the well-trodden soil below, but without question provided a reliable track if you looked close enough.

We maintained an elevation of 350m with westward direction, discussing the importance of The Swede's compass and altimeter. Without these aides, the bush would become disorienting, as the ridge line twist and turns gaining and losing altitude. We did not here the ocean during the course of the trek, only the rushing sounds from clear mountain streams as they navigated the divide. If there is one thing besides taro and bananas that Samoa has in abundance, its water. The only sign of the elusive boar was a few tracks in mud pits along the spine of the dragon. Occasionally, losing the trail we stumbled on many artifacts of traditional society, stones from foundations and some type of rounded bowl carved from solid rock.

Except for a colony of flying foxes, occasional birds such as the kingfisher, we were alone with the mountain. After six hours of rappelling down steep hillsides, rock climbing cliff faces, and maintaining our western bearing, the concept of darkness entered the play. With only a headlamp and some peanuts, spending a night with the mosquitoes in the forest seemed like good possibility. Hence, we decided to enter the veins of the mountain, and follow the river system south to civilization. This proved very difficult, as the streams became rivers, and the rivers ultimately waterfalls. Being a microscopic organism would have been a great way to run the rapids, but unfortunately being a human, it was overtly awkward and dangerous. Luckily, rivers change their direction over years, leaving a lower grade on one side for coming down the mountain.

We had descended over 200 meters, yet knew at some point the small waterfalls would become a miniature Niagara falls, we had too much elevation. As the slopes of the water system became steeper and the flow of the water increased, we knew that spending a night in the green maze was all but inevitable. This prospect would eventually require us to re-climb the mountain, as there was no suitable level ground to sleep horizontally. Just when the situation looked dire, i noticed a lone banana plant to my right. I had not seen a banana plant along the entire trek, and as we pulled ourselves over the ledge- the mother lode- a plantation and sounds of the sea crashing along the shoreline. We had reached the end of the island, and had stumbled onto taro fields interspersed with old army surplus tents. A few Samoans where constructing a small house, and looked no more surprised to see us then had we been one of the chickens strutting around.

A "Malo" greeting was exchanged and they pointed us in the direction of the road. I asked why they were living in tents so far up in the mountains. They explained that that the tsunami had destroyed their village and they were afraid to live along the coast. They had been squatting in the hills for almost 2 months and planned to rebuild there settlement here. In order not to intrude, we thanked them for there help and proceeded down the path. We had not heard of people living in the mountains after the disaster. The path was well constructed with a slight grade, providing a wonderful descent to sea level. The Swede & i joked about what good fortune it was to encounter the camp, which had been the best route all day, no tracking skills required.

As we descended to the road, we marveled at how camouflaged the trail was and what great effort was needed to climb the 1/2 mile trail to their homes. Only, a tsunami could make a Samoan leave his idyllic seaside village and coerce them live in the hills. We wondered how many other tents were in the mountains, people reconstructing their lives after so much loss. A truck appeared from around the bend and we hopped in the back. We guzzled a cold beer and beamed at the adventure, which seemed almost choreographed, as if pulled by marionette strings.

We ended the afternoon at the local Filipino pizza shop, finishing every last slice from a large hand tossed vegetarian. The emergency room paged The Swede again, this time his presence was mandatory. We parted ways covered in dirt, smelling like wet dogs, and completely content. The map stated we had walked only 10 miles, but like many things in life- if you take the road less traveled, the experience cannot be quantified.

Orwellian Pleasure Spots

2009-11-09T18:46:00.003-11:00

If there is only one thing that i know deep down in my soul, its that we (civilization) are way off track. People may pick something that they find troubling: industrialized war, garbage, obesity, environmental destruction, computerized interpersonal relations- yet they fail to see the larger picture or gestalt- the whole system is faulty. I know there are many others who think along the same lines, but seems as if we are the vast minority. Personally, i think that if more people read history (not only European based), we would start to see a trend. Is the United States really a beacon of freedom, where we only have to return to the ideals of the founding fathers (who at the time of writing the constitution owned slaves, massacred Indians, and treated women as cattle).

Ive written before about the concept of free time- how shall i live my life-
we are programmed to accept leisure activities after 8 hours of work and a 40 hour work week (compared with hunter gathers who worked 4 hours). All told people receive on average 2 weeks of vacation per year until retirement age. As they toil away their waking hours, people focus their spiritual energy of these times away from "the grind." Unfortuantely, the way people utilize these hours neither fulfiils or refreshes them in any susbstantial manner. Here lies the root of aspects of mental illness, stress- and its friends anxiety & depression.

The author George Orwell (1984, animal farm) mused on these issues in his short story Pleasure Spots, which he wrote while living in an isolated farmhouse in the Shetland islands off the northern coast of Scotland in 1948. He picture these future pleasure spots where people would spend their leisure hours.

1. One is never alone.
2. One never does anything for oneself.
3. One is never within sight of wild vegetation or natural objects of any kind.
4. Light and temperature are always artificially regulated.
5. One is never out of the sound of music.

(sounds like a carnival cruise or the modern tourism industry)

The music should be the same music for everybody-its the most important ingredient. Its function is to prevent thought and conversation, and to shut out any natural sound, such as the song of birds or the whistling of the wind, that might otherwise intrude.

The lights must never go out.
The music must always play,
Lest we should see where we are;
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the dark
Who have never been happy or good.

The question only arises because in exploring the physical universe man has made no attempt to explore himself. Much of what goes by the name of pleasure is simply an effort to destroy consciousness. If one started by asking, what is man? what are his needs? how can he best express himself? one would discover that merely having the power to avoid work and live one's life from birth to death in electric light and to the tune of tinned music is not a reason for doing so. Man needs warmth, society, leisure, comfort and security: he also needs solitude, creative work and the sense of wonder. If he recognised this he could use the products of science and industrialism eclectically, applying always the same test: does this make me more human or less human? He would then learn that the highest happiness does not lie in relaxing, resting, playing poker, drinking and making love simultaneously. And the instinctive horror which all sensitive people feel at the progressive mechanisation of life would be seen not to be a mere sentimental archaism, but to be fully justified. For man only stays human by preserving large patches of simplicity in his life, while the tendency of many modern inventions-in particular the film, the radio and the aeroplane-is to weaken his consciousness, dull his curiosity, and, in general, drive him nearer to the animals.

I Fought the Law & the Law Won

2009-10-28T19:06:00.004-11:00

Pago Pago, American Samoa (CNN) -- When an earthquake-triggered tsunami cascaded into this tiny island in late September, the result was 34 lives lost and untold millions in property damage. But a CNN investigation to air on tonight's "AC 360" has uncovered an array of unsettling facts that point to a single conclusion: this natural disaster was in many ways a man-made tragedy.

Public records show that the Department of Homeland Security had awarded millions of federal dollars in grants for disaster preparedness here, including the construction of an island-wide siren warning system. But all the federal funding was frozen in early 2007 after DHS inspectors found that the local American Samoan government had been diverting millions of those dollars for its own uses.

Birdsall Alailima, director of American Samoa's territorial office of Homeland Security from 2003 through 2007, now lives in southern Illinois, not far from St. Louis, Missouri. He showed CNN on a map exactly where on the island the sirens were to have been placed. Thirty towers in all, he said, with 30 sirens that could have been activated by the push of a single button.

"You're saying that the systems should have been in place?" CNN correspondent Drew Griffin asked him.

"Absolutely," Alailima said.

"And people died as a result?"

"Yes."

He's not the only one who thinks so. Federal sources told CNN they believe that had the warning system been built, the death toll would likely have been lower.

In American Samoa, however, territorial Gov. Togiola Tulafono, told CNN that he knew of no viable plan for the siren system.

"There was a study, I believe, but never a plan for a system," the governor said. "I was trying to get verification of what happened to that system, but I could not get the definite information."

Alailima said he was fired by the governor when the federal funding was frozen, and that the governor was aware of the preparations.

"I'm not going to fault them for freezing the funds," Tulafono said. "These are federal funds that they have oversight responsibility for and they saw fit to freeze the funds."

The governor told CNN he had tried to correct the problem by firing his entire homeland security staff. But, he said, that failed to solve the problem.

"All I'm saying is we have tried to work with them and have tried to get partial releases (of the money), and so far that hasn't happened."

A federal official calls the governor's statement "nonsense." American Samoa would have access to the frozen funds if it had agreed to pay back even some of the money it misused, said the official. The government and the governor refused, and the tsunami siren system was stopped, according to the official.

A spokesman for the governor's office later declined comment on the nature of the negotiations.

American Samoan government officials said they purchased another warning system -- radios that would have triggered alarms across the island. But during the CNN interview, Tulafono conceded that the system "was not in place" when the tsunami struck.

CNN has learned that the FBI is now conducting an investigation into exactly what did happen to the federal preparedness dollars sent to American Samoa. It was launched, sources tell CNN, by the Interior Department as its Insular Affairs office has federal administrative responsibility for the island.

The FBI investigation is only the latest and most recent attempt by the federal government to try to track what one federal official told CNN was "endemic" corruption on the island.

Here are only a few instances of the alleged corruption:

• Both the current Samoan lieutenant governor and a former state senator are under federal indictment on allegations of fraud, bribery and conspiracy. A trial is pending in Washington because there are no federal courts on the island. Attorneys for both men have refuted the indictment in court filings and say their clients are innocent of all the charges.

• An inspector general's report by the Department of Homeland Security issued in May 2007 cites numerous examples of American Samoan officials misusing federal grant money. The report's findings include the purchase of six flat-screen televisions for more than $25,000; purchase of executive leather chairs for $4,000; spending $77,000 on equipment no auditor could find; and extensive travel and entertainment charges, including money spent in Las Vegas, Nevada, by a Samoan official for a conference he was scheduled to have attended in Colorado.

• The DHS letter freezing its funding was sent on January 12, 2007. The action was taken because "we have found that Homeland Security Grant funds have been diverted to uses by State government offices for other than the intended use of Homeland Security funds. This is not only in violation of public trust but In Lieu of agreement as well."

In the Samoan villages destroyed by the tsunami, stories of corruption are not new.

"The government here gets a lot of money from the U.S. federal government," Heinrich Tavai told CNN as he watched members of his Lofatonoa Pentacostal Church help in the clean up. "Every year, they get millions and millions of dollars. As you see, we look like a Third World country when we should be looking more like a U.S. territory."

In half a dozen villages either wiped out or badly damaged by the tsunami, CNN could find no visible evidence of local government assistance. Workers from a tuna fish processing plant were helping in one village; in another, students from an island community college were dredging rubbish out of a stream. Red Cross officials distributed tents in other villages. Children in another village were hauling furniture on their backs to help clear the debris.

When asked about the seeming lack of local government assistance, the governor told CNN, "Our departments are out there working and working very hard, and to say they haven't seen any assistance is totally false."

Since 1995, American Samoa has received nearly $2 billion in federal grants from nearly every federal agency. On average the 65,000-population -- the size of a typical American suburb -- receives about $250 million in federal money each year. Congressional sources tell CNN that oversight has always been a problem because of Samoa's isolation and the expense involved in even mounting an investigation.

"They can do half a dozen investigations in Wyoming or California for the amount just one investigation would cost in Samoa," a source told CNN.

Federal sources said they don't believe any official is getting rich off the U.S. Treasury. Instead, they said, federal funds -- including disaster-preparedness money that was to have gone to the warning system -- were instead used to create local government jobs in an economy almost totally dependent on U.S. federal grants.

Moreover, the source added, each federal agency may have many employees whose jobs are to allocate federal funds, but only a relative handful whose jobs are to "manage" or account for that money.

In an e-mail to CNN, an Interior Department spokeswoman said that in previous administrations "there were real issues of neglect and failed oversight that must be addressed quickly, thoroughly and responsibly."

"We will help the islands rebuild and recover," said Kendra Barkoff, "but taxpayer dollars will be invested with strong oversight and full accountability."

Man on the Moon

2009-10-25T11:30:00.019-11:00

"From birth, man carries the weight of gravity on his shoulders. He is bolted to earth. But man has only to sink beneath the surface and he is free."

In all probability, I may never walk on the moon or hula the rings of saturn. Yet living on an island surrounded by coral, a chance to come close exists. There is a reason that cosmonauts undertake extensive scuba training, in order to simulate the effects of outer space. Diving enables one to transcend the boundaries of space and experience altered gravity.

Due to budget constraints, it took Michelle 10 months to acquire her entire scuba arsenal. On Tutuila there is no local dive shop & the "de facto operator" from the National Park Service recently left the island for good. There is however a local dive scene, consisting of business owners, construction workers, engineers, and doctors. To fill your tank, take 5 bucks to Industrial Gases and return in the afternoon for pick-up. Previously, someone even delivered my tank to the hardware store near our house for free (that was until the tsunami leveled the store), which I reciprocated with chocolate cake.

The recent tsunami has decimated certain parts of the coral reef, leaving other sections virtually untouched. On an overcast Saturday afternoon, we headed over the pass to sleepy Fagasa Bay. The house next to where we usually launch our sea kayak and dive was decimated. A large crack split the foundation of the house in 2, all windows blown out, and our friend's things on the street. He recounted the day of the tsunami- frantically driving his family to higher ground when the first wave slammed their car into a concrete wall, water rushing over top of the vehicle. Luckily, they managed to emerge unscathed, he said "families are harder to repair than houses." He was sweeping up the rubbish that once was all his earthly belongings, said he "never saw anything like this before."

After such a melancholic story, we descended beneath the 1.37ft high tide. Fagasa reef is a land of enchantment, with coral spirals resembling Gothic architecture. The dive plan followed a northeast bearing, returning at 1500 psi or half-tank. Species encountered: Green turtle, Moorish idol, Surgeonfish, Giant clams, Sea slugs, Pipefish, Racoonfish, Clownfish, Trevally, among others. Dive log maximum depth 42 feet, 57 minutes, overcast. For you camera geeks, photography was shot with Olympus 740 stylus with Pt-035 waterproof case.

As a student in July/August of 2008, I recall thinking how great it would be to live in a place where you could scuba dive after work. With Faga'alu reef in front of the hospital and Utelei reef 5 minutes from the house, we can dive twice per week. The world seems to become larger when you dive, as you transcend into another medium. Also, the cardiovascular work-up keeps the arteries open.

Our brief diving history started in September 2008, becoming PADI certified after a 5 day course in Hilo, Hawaii. After much research, we embarked on a 3 month trip through the coral triangle- Philippines, Indonesia, Papua New Guinea. Home to the highest density of marine life/coral diversity in the world. Now living in the Samoan islands, we are slowly building a catalog of diving experience.

"A lot of people attack the sea, I make love to it."
Jacques Yves Cousteau

The Rising of the Palolo

2009-10-20T13:02:00.000-11:00

The palolo (Eunice viridis) is a segmented saltwater reef worm that lives below the low tide level in the crevices of shallow coral reefs. The worms seldom leave their burrows and are active mostly at night. Once or twice a year, however, great masses of the worms swarm to the ocean's surface to spawn as part of a predictable life cycle.

The palolo itself consists of two parts, a worm-like forward portion up to 10 centimeters long with eyes and a mouth, and a narrower 20-centimeter rear portion which is used for reproduction. The rear part is blue-green in the female and reddish in the male, and has a light-sensative eyespot. When the moment to spawn arrives one night, the palolos back out of their burrows and detach their rear portions. The front parts squirm back into the reef to begin growing new appendages for the next season, while the male and female tails swarm to the surface, writhing together until dawn when they burst, releasing the eggs and sperm. The fertilized eggs become larvae that drift along until they find a place in the coral to colonize.

The numberless worms must rise simultaneously for fertilization to take place, and this mass spawning always occurs on the last quarter moon in late spring, which in Samoa is seven days after full moon in late October or early November. Swarming can occur on two or three successive nights, with the second night being the most important. A brown foamy slick on the ocean surface and a strong salty smell, usually caused by a mass spawning of corals, often signals that the palolo will spawn two days later.

This event takes place in spring because at that time the larvae have their best chance of survival. Many species of fish and shellfish have adapted their lifestyles to that of the palolo, spawning around the same time so the palolo larvae will be available as a food source for their own offspring.

Although the palolo is common throughout the South Pacific, it doesn't swarm everywhere. The phenomena is best known in Samoa and Fiji, although it also occurs in Tonga and parts of Melanesia. The islanders have long considered palolo a delicacy to be eaten raw or fried, and it has an extremely rich taste and is high in protein. Thus each year on the assigned night, locals will be waiting with hand nets to scoop up in large numbers this caviar of the Pacific.

In Samoa, the people traditionally adorn themselves in the fragrant yellow blossoms of the moso'oi flower for the occasion. If you happen to be in Samoa or Fiji in October or early November, it's certainly worth asking when the rising of the palolo will occur. Sadly though, environmental degradation and overharvesting have taken their toll, and you must get away from major population centers to witness the spectacle at its best.

Radio Pago

2009-10-13T17:56:00.010-11:00

In the early hours of September 29th a wall of water crashed over the jagged shoreline of Tutuila and changed the lives of its inhabitants forever. All told, 32 physical bodies were counted in American Samoa, yet the emotional lives affected roughly 69,000. This is a place where everyone knows everyone in some way or another.

Nearly 2 weeks after the tsunami, the remaining destruction is still staggering, the lingering stories spellbinding. Two neighbors drowned to the left of our house, in front the house flooded, cars were thrown into telephone polls, on the right 3 FEMA tents stand where once a persons home stood.

Stories

1. A women saw the water surging through her village, crushing houses instantly, her house is barely habitable. Yet, she has the only running toilet in her village, where everyone must come and do their business.
2. A co-worker know lives in a tent as her house simply doesn't exist anymore. Yet, she is at work just as before.
3. Children were recalled to school, even though some do not have homes any longer, their uniforms have been washed away, power flickers throughout the day.
4. A women has difficulty sleeping, because her village has no electricity, every sound in the night feels like another tsunami.
5. Emergency personnel have difficulty putting the image of a drowned child out of their minds, so much innocence.
6. Groups of villagers not wanting to leave the safety of the mountains elevation, for fear of the water returning.
7. A man driving his pickup truck to outrun the wall of water, not fast enough, as the car simply starts to float.
8. A couple tries to sail their boat against the rising waves as their boat capsizes, leaving only the wife to tell the story.
9. Cruise ships arrive to gawk and snap photos of others misery, the governor states that we cannot jeopardize the burgeoning tourist industry.
10. The golf course was officially closed last week, in order for top officials to conduct village assessment, if not they would be working on their swing.
11. Valium 5mg by mouth before bed, being handed out by the hospital to help an island avoid the nightmares.
12. An old man tells me that he was sipping tea as they waves poured through his house, laughing because he had Jesus in his heart.
13. Two elderly women were weaving baskets following the earthquake, when a palangi (white person)told them a tsunami warning was issued- they laughed at the fear of the foreigner- these women were swept out to sea.
14. At first, when a retired marine saw he waters rise- he thought to himself, "man this could be some good fishing".
15. Many people around the island believe the villages that were swept away, were due to the wickedness of the people. God's vengeance as non-believers.

As the worlds media attention, forgets the name Pago, the people slowly pickup the pieces. Picture 2 sets of fingers grasping onto edge of a ledge and you have the current state of affairs in Pago. This coincides with the demise of the local tuna industry, which employs 80% (in some shape or form) of the island. Seems like poor people always get the short end of the stick.

As one surveys the damage, ships are sprinkled randomly on the hillsides, the air is thick with dust/debris, water contaminated, cars upside down, buildings demolished, things not where they used to be. Yet, through all this carnage I counted as many smiles on the street as before, Samoans pushing on with pride and dignity.

These images are all within 2 minutes drive of our home. We feel lucky to be have spared the brunt of this tragedy, as our cottage sits on a hillside overlooking the may lay. I distinctly remember, saying to Michelle "i want a house by the seaside, a real south pacific dream," with my better half responding "we want a place that won't flood on a hillside." I will update as the saga continues and i travel to the outer villages. That's all from Radio Pago.

This blog took a week to publish, as electricity returned last night- 3 weeks after the tsunami.

Tsunami ER- surgical technician perspective

2009-10-02T01:17:00.002-11:00

The ER is getting there but we still have people coming in who didn't have a way to get in before because of the road damages on the western side of the Island. Lots of infected wounds are coming back in from being seen on tues. It was not entirely a thorough treatment because everyone was doing everything at one time and were focusing on a treat-n-go type of treatment. We were overwhelmed in the first half of the day and soon after help came but that was after we treated most of the injuries. No Iv abx, tet tox, pain meds. Just look, local and clean. All of the wounds were dirty and filled with sand and stuff. The elderly were coming in also because of some mental breakdown and came in just because they were frightened, loss of loved ones, house gone, and all. The emotionally disturbed, drug seekers, those with the casper pain syndrome, and to tell you about the smell.

Tsunami Eyewitness

2009-09-30T13:52:00.001-11:00

Hi everyone,

First off, I wanted to let everyone know that Meow (our cat) and I are both ok. We were lucky enough to have a house up on a hill, and was left largely unaffected. To everyone who doesn't know the story, though:

Yesterday morning, I was jolted awake by the earthquake, and waited for it to end, and waited, and waited. It seemed like one of the longest moments in my life. I finally got up and eyed the door frame to see if I should start standing under it. Finally, though, it subsided.

I walked out of the bedroom and tried to find Meow. She was hanging by her claws on one of the curtain rods. I didn't know if she was rattled by the earthquake, or was just excited by the buoyancy it gave her. Either way, I grabbed her and started preparing for work. As I was fiddling with the computer, I looked out of the window, and saw the first tidal wave heaving all the boats in the harbor to and fro, like so much dead twigs in a pond. That's when I ran to the other window for a better view. It was a storm without the rain. A perfect sunny day, but with the damage of a hurricane. There were a series of waves that swept to and fro, and only later did I hear that the force was so strong that it literally sucked the water dry from the reef when it receded, and then smashed the water against the shore when it came back in. This went on for a good part of an hour, after which I only remembered to start calling people. I got a hold of Tim in Maryland (he's on a conference trip), and told him excitedly about what happened. It was still exhilarating at this point, since I've never seen anything like it.

But only after putting the phone down did the horrors actually start. Groups of people started running up our steep driveway. I waited for a bit, because our landlord's wife was crying and screaming for her kids. After a little bit, I ventured outside, and asked her if they were ok. She said that their house is flooded, and that on the next fale over, a woman had drowned, and her 4-year old girl was missing. I don't know if they have found her already.

The power went out shortly after I spoke to Tim, and the water, and then the phones. It was at this time that I started cataloguing the contents of the fridge and pantry. Around 1pm, I finally took out our camping stove and cooked my lunch (our stove is electrical), and slept/read the day away. This was around the time that I became really grateful that Tim had bought that case of water for emergency. The sirens went non-stop the whole morning and evening, and since I had no other sources of information, so I just decided to stay indoors and avoid getting in the rescue people's way.

Towards afternoon, I tried the cellphone again, and was able to call my mom, and assured her I was ok. Dada, another Filipina I know here, finally got a hold of me too via phone, and offered me a place to stay. However, seeing as I couldn't leave Meow, I told her I was fine for now. Instead, I passed the night away, reading with our camping flashlights, and sleeping with Meow in bed.

In the morning, I woke up and was half expecting another earthquake or tsunami to happen (yes, worst-case scenario), but I didn't know that the disaster I was expecting would happen as I drove through the blasted landscape later that morning. Instead, I got up and took out all the food that I could save from the fridge, took a bar of soap, and grabbed my backpack. I would be taking a shower at work, and cooking my dinner in our work kitchen.

When I finally got out, they had cleared off the debris on the road from yesterday, so that people could drive already. However, they could not clear the destruction on the sides of the road. I drove through a landscape so unreal, so unlike the familiar, that it felt like I was driving on another land. There were so many cars that were stranded on the sides of the road, smashed up and beyond repair, that any Samoan who first looked upon them would probably end up sobbing. I counted 10 boats on people's lawns, and finally stopped counting; it was just too depressing. It turned out that the only boats that were saved were the ones that had people living on them, i.e. rich people's yachts, who were able to maneuver throughout the tempest the whole time. All the other boats, the fishermen's boats, the working men's boats, the poor people's boats, are now decorating people's yards. I passed by a large wooden house that was uprooted and smashed against a neighbor's. There were spaces of land that seemed strange to me, and only later did I find that some whole houses were completely swept away.

It turned out that the areas most affected was a village (Leone) on the far west side, and Pago Harbor, where we lived. The water had funneled through the harbor's opening, and added impetus to the already terrifying rush of water, so that the bottom part of the harbor was devastated. Only the upper arms of the harbor escaped with only a slight rising of water. The gas station that Tim liked, the korean market, and countless homes were smashed up, but hey, at least McDonald's is still standing, hooray hooray.

When I got to work, I started hearing more stories of what happened. The power plant close to us was destroyed and we would have no power for the next month, another Filipina was washed away and found in a creek, a Korean store owner drowned inside his store. So many stories, so many people that someone knew.

What finally got through the fog to me though was how small the community here was. One person would call someone else and started checking if everyone there was ok, and then that person would call other people they knew, and so on. By this morning, everyone knew who was missing, who was there when it happened, and who has survived. Two completely unrelated people that I know was able to track and call each other, trying to find out if either one had talked to me. Tenuous relationships like this become even more tangible, networks of people become even more defined, and stories of people you know are more heartfelt. Indeed, in a small community, your best resource, whether for help, for information, or just for comfort, is the people around you.

Michelle Brinker

Ofu on My Mind

2009-09-10T14:32:00.012-11:00

When living on an island (no matter the size or environment), at a certain interval a desire exists to get off and search for something else. This logic may have been similar to what lead Polynesians to sail thousands of miles across open ocean without knowledge of their destination. The urge to explore lies dormant in much of our daily existence, repressed beneath TVO, Mcdonalds, and Survivor re-runs. Without quite the bravado as our predecessors, we planned a weekend getaway to volcanic bow-tie shaped Ofu/Olesega islands (2.786 sq m). These idyllic islands are the definition of remote <14.175°S 169.618°W>, as time marches along much as its has in the past. Islanders retain many traditional ways that have fallen by the wayside in Tutuila.

The only transport (besides the 8 hr overnight ferry), interisland airlines, has a "charter" license which allows them to fly when ever they want, reservations are relative. For labor day weekend, we planned on departing on friday and returning on monday- simple enough. After a cancellation to the friday flight for unknown reasons we were flying high the next day in a 9-Seater Britten-Norman Islander. To give you an idea- it was similar to riding in a crowded soccer mom van on the way to the big game. It was disimilar with respect to the 65.3 million square miles of vast blue water underneath the wings of the prop islander.

After 27 minutes of airtime Ofu island airstrip came into full view and the pilot (with backward baseball cap) touched down about 20 feet from the sea. Thankfully, the driveway/airstrip is also the front lawn of the lodge, leaving us a 2 minute walk to our oceanfront room. Heavenly, peaceful, & serene are the words that pop into most visitors heads as they grab a large vailima brew and switch the auto-pilot on "hang" mode. The open vista of steep cliffs, golden beaches, and crayola reefs are reminisent of a Salavador Dali painting.

After dropping your bags, the national park is less than a five minute walk. Soon the crown of the American Samoa National Park comes into view, a powder keg of fine white sand stretching forever. When a person conjures up an image of polynesia, they are thinking of Ofu Island. The protected reef, namely hurricane hole is the icing on the cake, as a dazzingly array of marine creatures mingled between castle-like corals. Attention all neurons! We are now commencing stress reduction.
Hidden within the lodge bookshelf, I found an excellent book about a biologist who joined a troop of baboons in the Serengetti Plains, thus i commenced to disappear for 2 days. After feasting on barracuda, draining the beer supply, and reading about far away lands- the rains came. More like a wall of rain, which nearly blew the roof off. Needless to say, the airline cancelled all flights (2) and we were holed up in paradise. The winds continued to howl through the night into the next day. I was a bit nervous calling work and explaining that i was stuck on the most beautiful island in the archipelago, yet they seemed to understand as flood conditions had gripped the main island.Even returning on Tuesday seemed like a long shot- as the clouds obstructed the landing strip and winds persisted. When suddenly the courageous little islander bursts through the clouds and did a swan dive onto the 10 X 10 landing strip. Through the pouring rain the pilot yelled "all aboard" and we literally sprinted into the van, i mean plane. Before the fake background music could roll, the left engine stalled. The determined pilot seemed to look up and think why me, finally the engine roared and came to life. We taxied down the airstrip and took off into a sheet of gray, blown by the occasional wind gusts. As we all bumped fists "obama style," as i vaguely recalled that there was no radar (or windshield wipers) and the pilot was basically shooting from the hip.
Anyway, all ended well as your reading the author's blog.

General Meow Zedong Jr.

Blackfeet Dreams

2009-08-16T09:55:00.005-11:00

The Sweat

After two weeks on the Blackfeet Indian reservation in Browning Montana, I was sitting around the tiny community health clinic of Heart Butte thinking about community service projects. I knew that I wanted to experience the spiritual side of traditional medicine and had heard that certain tribe members practice sweat lodge ceremonies. The only way to be invited to one of these is through word of mouth, as they are not advertised in the local paper. Also, I wanted the lodge to be a learning experience for all those involved, where I could learn things and also teach others about health. As fate would have it, I worked with a half-blood doctor that day who invited me to a sweat lodge.

The sweat lodge is a ceremonial sauna and an important ritual used by some North American First Nations or Native American peoples. There are several styles of sweat lodges that include a domed or oblong hut similar to a wickiup, or even a simple hole dug into the ground and covered with planks or tree trunks. Stones are typically heated in an exterior fire and then placed in a central pit in the ground. The traditions vary from tribe to tribe, but a few themes remain the same:

1. Orientation- the door usually faces the fire (we faced a lake)

2. Construction- the lodge is built with great care and respect to the local environment (skins, furs, wood)

3. Clothing- native american participants usually wear simple garments: a short dress or shorts (swim trunks)

4. Offerings- various types of plant medicines are used to make prayers (tobacco, sage)

5. Support- one or more participants will remain outside the lodge to provide protection (fire-keeper)

6. Darkness- it is important to provide complete darkness, except for the stones (dark as night)

The doctor told me that I should come with an open mind, swim trunks and a towel. As I approached the lodge, I noticed a man stoking a fire next to a lake, where the setting sun was reflected off the waters and two geese played with each other in the distance. As I entered the lodge I noticed eight other people, grouped by gender, surrounding an open pit. Soon flaming red stones were rolled into the pit and sprinkled with sage, and the door was sealed. I thought to myself that maybe this was a mistake as the temperature continued to rise, Dante’s Inferno had begun. The leader of the sweat was an older chief who spoke mostly in Blackfoot, but occasionally in English for my convenience. Hand carved tobacco pipes were passed around and one by one people prayed for whatever they wanted or just talked about life. Some talked about the need for healing of the earth, praying for a sick friend, stories of old ways, and ways to live by in the future. As the eagle feather was passed to me, indicating my turn to speak, my mind groped for something appropriate. It’s not as easy as it sounds when you’re barely clothed minority in the dead of winter among a group of strangers and drenched in perspiration.

Finally, I took a deep breath and said my thanks to everyone for allowing me to sweat with them, and to the community as a whole for making me feel welcome.

I said that I had learned a great deal from hearing others speak and would like add something to the evening. I decided to speak about metabolic syndrome, a disorder consisting of hypertension, high cholesterol, elevated blood sugar, and obesity. I stated that I was not there to talk about modern pharmaceutical and technological procedures, but simply lifestyle. There was a time that before the white man when there was no need to worry about this epidemic. However, in modern times, as the lifestyle has become more “Americanized” indigenous people around the world were experiencing this disease at higher rates than other ethnic groups. I explained that in the early 1900s, groups of scientist had traveled around the world to societies untouched by modern civilization, and found that little to no hypertension, diabetes, obesity, cancer, heart disease, gout, etc. existed. These groups ate a variety of different diets consisting of fish, meat, vegetables, animal milk and blood. The only consensus the scientists could agree on was that as the groups were introduced to civilization, namely processed foods, and their health correspondingly deteriorated.

I defined each component of the disease and stated that each has at its root cause the same element, eating processed foods and lack of exercise. In addition to utilizing the advances of modern medicine, we needed to focus on our eating habits and activities of daily living. With a change in these, we could limit the need for pharmaceutical drugs and expensive testing procedures. Finally, I stated that ceremonies like these, which used to be repressed by the government, where exponentially beneficial to health as body, mind, and spirit were aligned in a holistic way. I ended my ramble with a prayer about the need for two simple commodities that all could agree on, the need for clean air and clean water. With that I passed the eagle feather to the next person and looked around the lodge to see others nodding with approval. Three more rounds of stones were introduced into the lodge, as prayers and songs were sung into the night. .

The heat, darkness seemed to intensify with each round, as one passed between states of unconscious meditation and the discomfort of the flesh. It hard to describe the beauty of the sweat, I guess it’s akin to the struggles of life being the only ones you remember. As I sat there in my swim trunks dripping with sweat, I felt a communal sense of well-being rarely experienced. Why do the simplest things provide the greatest pleasures in life?

Timothy M. Brinker

Blackfeet Indian Reservation

April 9, 2008

A Samoan Family Reunion

2009-08-15T16:32:00.018-11:00

When you move to a remote outpost in the world having visitors takes on the atmosphere of a carnival, where you want your visitor to sample all of the exotic delicacies and vistas that make your location unique. My mother and sister braved 2 days of flying across 7 time zones from the east coast of the U.S. Wanting to combine some vacation time where we could share something new, with the desire to show where i had been living required weeks of preparation.

Finally, the biweekly Hawaiian air flight arrived in Pago amid a downpour and Michelle & I welcomed our family with lei's and hugs. After a few glasses of Australian wine, we all slept comfortably in our bedroom (Michelle and I took the air mattress) serenaded by a mix of rain hitting the window and the methodical drone of the air-conditioning. The next morning we departed for Apia, Western Samoa on a different airline then planned, as our airline was waiting on an engine part from Florida. We planned to explore the sultry islands of 'Upolu and Savai'i over the next week, followed by a home-coming on Tutuila.

Western Samoa has been labeled "Best kept secret in the Pacific! A cultural gem with beautiful lonely beaches against a background of magnificent volcanoes and rain forest" & "Beautiful sandy beaches, many without large crowds. Culture is important. Tourists advised of and expected to comply with Fa'a Samoa—the Samoan way of life." by the National Geographic. By chance the taping of the series Survivor was also being shot on location in Upolu, Samoa- not to squash any one's pipe dream- but they were actually staying at the posh, 5 star hotel in Apia.

Samoa shares a common language/culture with American Samoa, yet has remained very traditional: with music, social hierarchy, division of labor, agriculture, fishing, diet, and lifestyle maintained at similar levels to pre-European contact. The difference between the Samoa's (west vs east) is vast and illustrates the trappings of modernization upon traditional indigenous life. I explored these issues through my masters thesis "Troubles of Modernization," which draws upon the impacts of modernization on lifestyle, more precisely the deterioration of overall health. Another stark difference is the road system, which for the most part is better is western, clocking 50+ mph for the first time in 6 months, as Tutuila's roads are too windy for more than 20 mph. With the compass set for Virgin Cove on the south side of the island, we took a sketchy back road where we forded a river, peeled wheels up the side of a mountain, and dodged voluminous chickens, pigs, and humans.

Western Samoa or Samoa declared its independence in 1962 from New Zealand. A brief colonial history of the Samoan archipelago, saw Germany, Britain, and the United States competing for its submission. As the Germans began to show more interest in the Samoan Islands, the United States laid its own claim to them. Britain also sent troops to express its interest. There followed an eight-year civil war, where each of the three powers supplied arms, training, and in some cases combat troops, to the warring Samoan parties. All three sent warships into Apia harbour, and a larger-scale war seemed imminent, until a massive storm damaged or destroyed the warships, ending the military conflict. At the turn of the twentieth century, the Tripartite Convention partitioned the Samoan Islands into two parts: the eastern island group became a territory of the United States (the Tutuila Islands in 1900 and officially Manu'a in 1904) and is today known as American Samoa; the western islands, by far the greater landmass, became known as German Samoa after Britain vacated all claims to Samoa and accepted termination of German rights in Tonga and certain areas in the Solomon Islands and West Africa. Germany went onto develop extensive copra (dried coconut meat) plantations and the U.S. developed Pago Harbor (the deepest in the South Pacific) for a naval coal refueling station.

Michelle & I stayed in a traditional fale (palm roof, open sides, no toilet) on stilts perched over a ribbon of sugar, while mom/molly were tucked away in the mangrove in a quaint chalet with private facilities. We all swam the first night in the aquamarine lagoon and were indeed living in the moment. The next morning, we traveled out the pot-hole lined road up the mountain to the Robert Louise Stevenson Estate, famed writer of Treasure Island and Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. The prolific Scotsman suffered from tuberculosis and took refuge in the alpine domain of 'Upolu, where the local people referred to him as Tusitala or teller of tales. After a brief tour of his house, we climbed a very steep track to his tomb- overlooking the flood plain of Apia.

Feeling nostalgic, we scampered back down the hill, paused briefly at the thundering 300 foot Papapapai-tai falls, and zoomed down to the sandy outpost of Lalomanu Beach. After a refreshing swim in Sopo'aga falls, we reached the wide sandy confines of Lalomanu. Feeling a bit too touristy we retreating back to the confines of secluded Virgin Cove. On our last night we were treated to a traditional Fiafia performance of dancing, singing, & music. The highlight of the evening was Molly dancing with one of the warriors to the coconut song (what happens on 'Upolu stays in 'Upolu). Good fun was had by all and we watched the sun set over the picturesque cove- God is Samoa.

The next day we traveled over the mountain pass and dropped Michelle off at the airport, as she had a project to finish on Tutuila. A trip to Apia is not compete without a visit to the Papasee'a Sliding Rock, accessed via 200-odd steep and slippery steps. The ritual involves a 16 foot slide down a waterfall into a jungle pool; mom balked at the idea and molly conceded after some persuasion to make the plunge- living la vida loca. We passed the afternoon with lunch at the iconic Aggie Grey Hotel, and introduced molly to snorkeling at the Palolo Deep Marine Reserve. Vivid hues of blue, green, & yellow corals, laid the backdrop against the kaleidoscope of fish species. Following an well-timed ice cream we retreated to Dave's Eco-lodge overlooking Apia. Only problem was Dave didn't know we were coming and had closed the lodge for the week because of local swine flu outbreak. After some coaxing, he reluctantly agreed to to provide room & board (which gave 2 out of 3 of us gastroenteritis). After using the bathroom around 2000 times, I drove us toward the ferry doc leading to Savai'i.

The scenery outside the ferry must have been amazing, unfortunately we were locked in an airtight room with little ventilation, with front row seats to the latest Australian hip-hop videos (of course the volume was all the way up). Feeling claustrophobic, we piled out the ferry and made our way to Luisa's Lagoon Chalets. A dream-like setting was waiting, our fale was overhanging the lagoon, with a ladder into the lagoon from the balcony. That night we swam under Afu Aau falls and marveled at the Alofaaga Blowholes, resembling a pacific version of old faithful. Exhausted, yet content we watched the sunset on our private balcony overlooking the lagoon.

The last day we circumnavigated the island, and briefly stopped at Vaisala Beach hotel, where mom learned to snorkel and after some coaching was motoring around the lagoon without abandon. The beach was a large swath of powder, which was pleasing to all senses. After climbing up a 10-story tree house in the Falealupo Peninsula rain forest, we leisurely cruised around the beautiful south shore and returned to Luisa's.

The return back to Tutuila was uneventful and later that night we feasted Polynesian style at a traditional umu feast at Tisa's barefoot bar. The setting was festive as they roasted shrimp, octopus, pig, chicken, fish in the underground oven. In total there were 59 participants, with doctors, politicians, teachers, pirates, and visitors sharing the merriment. The next day it rained cats n dogs, which gave us time to just relax and process the adventure of Samoa. The following day the sun peaked out from behind the clouds as we ascended a very muddy Mt Alava trail in the National Park. The 5.5km trail resembled a riverbed, with hug pieces of earth displaced. After agonizing to the top we were rewarded with beautiful vista of the harbor and surrounds. Luckily, the trail cutting crew was also on top and they offered us a ride back down. The ride turned out to be similar to Mr Toad's wild ride, as we slipped, skidded, and bucked our way down to Fagasa Pass- which sure beat walking. The evening closed with a dip in the secret lagoon and viewing of Pola Tai bird sanctuary. For dinner we cooked fresh lobster and pink snapper at Chez Brinker.

The itinerary proceeded along with a trip to serene Aunu'u island, where we circumnavigated the island. We had a wonderful picnic at the Natural Arch and did the dead man float under the verdant slopes of Pofala Hill. The ferryman took us back across to Tutuila for $1 each. No cars, very few stray dogs, and great weather provided a superb backdrop for the day trip. The last day of their visit we toured the National Marine Sanctuary and hiked to Larsen's Cove. One of the more pristine coves on Tutuila, we swam in the calm waters in the peaceful cove. To be comprehensive, I provided a tour of the LBJ Tropical Medical Center primary care clinic, which was abbreviated due to the lock down next door of a mental patient at the psychiatry clinic. Despite this, mom & molly were able to see were I toil my hours away, providing service on a 2-year contract for the National Health Scholar Corps, 1 hospital= population 69,000.

How quickly the 10 days of their visit passed. We really enjoyed entertaining and showing our family this part of the world and a glimpse into the Fa'a Samoa vortex. A person cannot fully experience a place until they personally visit and let go of their otherworldly trappings.

"I was an outsider before i was a traveler; I was a traveler before I was a writer; I think one lead to the other." Paul Theroux, Writer/Peace Corps Volunteer, Malawi 1963-65.

Tau Te Ching

2009-07-19T18:47:00.000-11:00

The Manu'a Islands group consists of three main islands: Ta'u, Ofu, and Olosega. These islands are located 70 miles east of Tutuila island (where i live) and are part of American Samoa. Having spent a week last summer on the islands of Ofu & Olosega (studying for my board exams), I wanted to visit mystical Tau, the least visited island of the Samoan archipelago. According to Samoan tradition, Tau is the birthplace of all Polynesia. It is believed that ancient people voyaged by sea from the sacred site of Saua to settle all the Polynesian islands. The island is the eroded remnant of a shield volcano with a caldera complex or collapse feature (Liu Bench) on the south face (it looks like half the island just fell into the sea). The summit of the island, called Lata Mountain, is at an elevation of 931 metres (3,050 ft), making it the highest point in American Samoa. Also, Ta‘ū is where Margaret Mead conducted her dissertation research in Samoa in the 1920s. Getting to Tau is half the challenge...the first day i spent 6 hours at the airport, repeatedly watching other passengers depart for their destinations, only to be told "were in a holding pattern." The thunderstorms seemed to prevent only Tau passengers from embarking. Finally, i noticed an old man get up and walk to the road to wait for his ride. I asked him if he had intended to go to Tau, to which he replied "tomorrow at 8." Unbeknowest to me this was no ordinary man, for this was the Se of Tau (literally meaning flower behind woman's ear). He told me to look him up once i settled in, i had acheived a connection- Fa'a Samoa. The next day the 10-seater Dornier 212 departed Pago without incident and we soon were hovering over the clear blue sea. After passing the powdery beaches of Ofu, hulking Tau came into view. Steep mountain slopes fell upon black volcanic rocks, which were slapped by the crashing waves. The National Park covers the southside of the island, protecting virgin forest, the pacific boa, flying foxes, as well as many species only found on Tau. My first adventure would be to hike down the east coast of the island and curl up around to Laufuti river (one of the purest in the pacific). Upon landing, i was greeted by Meli, who house i would be squatting in for the weekend. She seemed indifferent to my presence, but had a great view of the ocean from her back deck. The pictures of the National Park homestay program had people weaving baskets and passing around kava, Meli told me where the bathroom was and said she would be at her store (which sold imported chips, soda, and beer). Oh well, i commenced down 8km beach/cliff hike to the river. Walking along spectacular reefs, pebbly beaches, and through jungle seemed like an ideal way to spend a friday afternoon. After 6km the road thinned to path, then eventually broken brush, making trekking quite difficult. Failing to reach the fabled Laufuti river was a momentary setback; so i shifted gears & decided to take a swim and read away the afternoon. After returning home Meli and i sat on her families gravestone (which all samoans put in the front hard) eating chocolate ice cream as the Sa bell rang. This is a 15 minute period, where every village bangs gongs and you must sit and wait for the 2nd bell before returning to your activity. It signifies a time of prayer/contemplation, yet Tau has a second gong at 9pm signifiying a curfew of the streets for the night.
That night i laid in the grass under the stars and read Into the Wild. The next day i hiked up over the mountain ridge to Tau village, hoping to find the Se of Tau. The hike became extremely taxing under the blistering sun, as the road climbed steeper upon each switchback. Unfortunately, no car passed during my 6km walk through the mountains, although the vistas were quite impressive. Numerous bird species- booby, egret, kingfisher, robin...

As the road descended toward Tau village, i noticed a sign board posted on a coconut tree, stating "i will blow your truck into pieces " if you trespass. That was the first time all day that i was glad to be on foot, as having my truck blown up would have spoiled a beautiful day. Later the Se explained that the sign post, reflected a ongoing disupte about one village dumping their trash over the mountain in the other village. Either way it seemed to me that the guy meant business.

Dehydrated and fatigued, i pathetically limped into the village babbling to passersby about the Se of Tau. For having not seen many Palangi's (white people) recently, many villagers seemed fairly relaxed toward this sunburned lunatic hobbling through their village. Suddenly the Se of Tau appeared and ushered me into his house and offered me some ice water. "Where are the people who are looking after you here," i replied "your the only person i know on the island." Maybe ive perfected looking helpless to others after years of backpacking around on thin budgets... the Se gave me directions to a beautiful lagoon where i could swim and read, while he finished preparing a barbeque, followed by inisiting that he take me back to Meli's house over the mountain. I spent the rest of the afternoon in paradise, swimming in multiple coves, lagoons, and a small boat harbor. I read a bit about the founding of Australia by convicts and took a nap in the shade. I casually strolled back to Tau proper, and sat down for a feast of fresh pig, chicken, and breadfuit. The family made sure i ate a samoan style portion, which i gladly obliged. Afterwards the Se of Tau and i dicussed fishing, seafood, and samoan myths under the swaying palms as the sun began to dip. The Se took me in his familes "beat-to-hell" pickup for a small tour of the island before returning to Meli's house. The sense of serenity was overwhelming, the mystical Tau had a palpable life force. The next day i returned by plane to Pago without incident, well almost. I forgot my keys after opening a bottle of Vailima the night before. Luckily, one of my patients worked at the airline counter, and he called Meli from his cell. 2 hours later he handed me my keys and told me to go light on the Vailima next time, we both had a good laugh and he said he would be into the clinic this week. I was sinking fast under a mountain of fa'a samoa paybacks that would need to be repaid. All in all, Tau was my favorite island and the Se invited me back for more adventures sooner than later. The next trip will be camping style.

2009-06-20T12:06:00.000-11:00

LBJ expands healthcare in the territory with Primary Care clinic

by Teri Hunkin

Samoa News staff writer

For many years, and for most of us, a visit to the hospital meant a long wait at the Emergency Room. Whether or not our case qualified as a true emergency, that was the first place we headed.

LBJ Medical Center wants you to know that those days are officially behind us. There's a better way to visit the hospital in order to be seen by a physician now.... and it doesn’t involve waiting for hours in the Emergency Room (often surrounded by people ready and able to pass on contagious ailments)

In an ongoing effort to deliver better health care to the territory, LBJ has opened a Primary Care Clinic, and as the name implies- it is- and should be- the primary source of health care for the residents of the territory, and the very first place we go for health care.

‘Primary care’ is a term used to describe the activity of a health care provider who acts as the first point of consultation for a patient. It is designed to treat patients who are not having a life-threatening emergency, and its advantages are numerous.

One of the clearest advantages of using the Primary Care clinic is a reduction in waiting time. Because patients can call ahead and schedule an appointment, they will be seen close to their scheduled time- rather than waiting an average of four to five hours to see a physician in the ER. In addition, utilizing a Primary Care clinic ensures that patients' chronic medical conditions are better managed, thus preventing multiple ER visits.

This is a savings realized in time and money, not just by the patient, but by the hospital as well. Cutting down on non-emergencies, the ER physicians have more time to spend managing and treating authentic medical emergencies. ( According to LBJ, 91% of the ER traffic does not qualify as an emergency; instead they are patients would be best served by Primary Care)

Primary Care emphasizes continuity of care and health maintenance, and involves a wide scope of health care concerns, from non-emergency acute illness to managing multiple chronic diseases. In American Samoa, the most commonly seen chronic illnesses include hypertension (high blood pressure), diabetes mellitus, asthma, gout, and chronic back pain.

Other examples of illnesses, injuries and general health concerns that can be managed in the Primary Care Clinic are: flu-like illnesses, sore throat, high cholesterol problems, knee pain, urinary tract infections, headache, rashes, problems associated with tobacco abuse, and medication refills. Yearly check-ups~ one of the best tools for maintening optimum health-~can be done in Primary Care.

A patient seen in the Primary Care clinic who needs a referral to other specialty clinics will receive the appropriate referral, again bypassing the ER and making the hospital a more efficient place for taking care of the health needs of our growing population.

Anyone 17 years old and over is welcomed at the new clinic, which is located next to the Administration offices at the "top" of the hospital compound. The clinic can be reached by calling 633-4572, and while appointments are not necessary, they are recommended, and patients will be seen according to their appointments. "Walk-ins" will be seen as they can be fit in with the regular appointment patients.

It is a truism in the health care profession that having a medical "home" for your records and health care promotes better health overall. Primary Care doctors have more time to spend with patients, more time to discuss concerns, and more time for education and imparting important knowledge-- the life-saving and health promoting information that can make a difference between a vigorous and energetic life, and one weighed down with medical problems.

Practitioners at Primary Care are under the direction of David Bouslough, MD, and include another MD, Dr. Sean Stracensky, who is the clinic manager, and three Certified Physician Assistants, or PA-Cs: Katrina Hoke, Timothy Brinker and Jamie Stevens.

Speaking to Samoa News, Dr. Bouslough noted, " the Primary Care cinic is a wonderful addtion to the health care system here in American Samoa, and provides a need that has been neglected for decades."

While both the Emergency Room and Primary Care are part of one department headed by Bouslough, the acuity of care and different needs are better addressed by separating the areas of concern. They are not competitive, but rather, they complement one another, and according to Bouslough, they are meant to assure " seamless care" for patients.

Bouslough also noted that If an ER visit is required, follow-through can be done at Primary Care to ensure that medical issues have been resolved. In many cases where ongoing treatment is necessary, Primary Care clinic fills that need.

Where the Wild Things Are

2009-06-14T21:52:00.000-11:00

A paved road turns off the main highway at Spenser's Store in Pago Pago and leads up Vaipito Valley, across a ridge, and down to Fagasa, a village huddled beside picturesque Fagasa, or Forbidden Bay, on Tutuila's wild north shore. Legend says that porpoises long ago led a group of three men and three women to safety in Fagasa Bay, which has long been a porpoise sanctuary.

With the assistance of some local village children, we removed the kayak from the roof and placed it gently inside the reef. After a quick gear check: stove, sleeping bag, air mattress, tent, food, scuba gear, fishing spear- we located the ava and paddled out of the bay. Coral reefs usually have an ava or channel through the reef, where water ebbs and flows . Rain fell upon our shoulders as we steered westward out of fagasa bay, destination unknown.

There is scare information available regarding Tutuila's remote northwest shore. The lonely planet makes it seem as it there are only 3 sides to the island, yet in recent history villages dotted the northwest shore of the island. Unfortunately, due to modernization, warfare, and remoteness these were abandoned in the recent past.

Around the island, no one ever seemed to talk about this region of steep forests, clear rivers, and psychedelic reefs. I had been to the north a handful of times, hiking over the spine of the dragon as the central mountain range is known as. The hike down from the central ridge is very difficult, 5-6 hours, as the trail becomes overgrown and the hiker can become disoriented. From our launch we hoped to reach the campsite within an hour, although these were uncharted waters.

The rain slowed as we navigated along the rocky shoreline, as waterfalls cascaded in the background. We passed several coves until we came across the secluded Fagafue Bay. A white sand beach was interrupted by a cool flowing river off to the left. We landed the klepper and proceeded to unpack the supplies. After collecting firewood & making camp, we were treated by a full moon & a bottle of pinot noir.

The next morning we paddled over to the abandoned village of A'asu on massacre bay, site of a french genocide on local Samoans in the late 1800's. The only artifacts were an old house, vacated several years ago by the last remaining family. A waterfall can be viewed by wading 200m up through the stream. The white sand on this beach is very fine, almost powdery in texture. We paddled back through the ava and continued our surveying of the north coast.

The next cove for exploration was A'oloau Bay, where my dentist friend has a rudimentary shack for boar hunting expeditions. The water visibility was excellent, as we could see many beautiful corals directly from the side of the kayak. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to try spear fishing, it couldn't be that difficult, could it?

As soon as i jumped in the water, i sensed that the fish new what was up. They must have thought, does this palangi really think we don't notice that 4 foot spear in his right hand? The fish moved extremely quick, as i awkwardly stabbed into rock after rock. Not wanting to spear Minos for dinner, i reluctantly let go of my cave man hunger for fresh meat and rejoined the kayak. The sun was vibrant as we paddled in tandem back to the forbidden bay and said goodbye the wild coast, we shall meet again another day.

The Boar Hunt

2009-06-04T19:22:00.000-11:00

Around 5:30AM i stumbled out of bed, grabbed a cup of java, and jumped on the scooter headed for the highest village on the island. Cloaked in full rain gear, i gently navigated through the heavy rain and potholes, as this is the day of the boar hunt. Many thoughts passed through my head during my hour long drive to the west. The only thing i was told, was to pack light and bring cleats. By 6:30am, the local dentist was waiting by the side of the road, and i followed his lead up the mountainside. His garage was lined with the skulls of fallen boar, some of the tusks measured 1-2 feet

I briefly met the crew, five local guys & four hunting dogs. We packed all of the gear: 2 shotguns, machetes, bucket of bbq chicken, rice, outboard motor, and some gas. We drove through the rain towards the westernmost village (end of the road). We unloaded and huddled in a rudimentary shack, grilled some chicken, and waited out the storm. Here in samoa, sometimes that means never, so we loaded up the small 16 foot aluminum boat and paddled out through the reef. Soon we were cruising past cascading waterfalls and sheltered coves and entering the fairytale landscapes of the northern coast. The cove we finally entered looked a bit rocky, but i figured these guys knew what they were doing. Unexpectedly, a huge wave threw us onto the rocks nearly flipping the vessel, after which they remarked with a stoic face "first crash landing ever." Phrases like this are all to common on the island of tutuila.

We organized the gear, and let loose the hounds up the steeply forested valley. I soon realized the importance of the cleats, as the mud made tracking nearly impossible. The rainforest was beautiful on the inside, a cacophony of birds and exotic plants. Many of the banyan trees must have been 200-300 years old, extending ancient, giant roots above ground much like an octopus does underwater. I learned many things during my journey through time & space- how to smell the boar, the difficulty of hearing barking dogs in a rainforest during a downpour, and about the fao tree, which is used for rope and in making the traditional fale dwelling. Although the tracks of the pigs and signs of their path of destruction were all around, they remained elusive. After several hours of ravine crossing, river wading, and mountain climbing, the scent of the boars was lost, and the hunting party returned to base camp.

All was not lost, as one of the group emerged from the forest carrying a 5 lb. coconut crab (larger than a lobster). This crustacean, collects coconut cream in its abdomen, which is considered a local delicacy. Another member of the party emerged from the sea, with a traditional spear filled with octopus and various reef fish. Before long the sense of loss from not returning with a boar was replaced by the gathering of various local fruits de mer. A beach fire was started, stories were told of past adventures and future plans to catch the elusive boar, and the bounty was grilled to perfection.

Banana leaves were laid out and the food was literally thrown to each member sitting around the smorgasboard. After lazying about under the spell of such a magnificent feast, we re-boarded the boat and traveled back to the village launch. Half the party was asleep as we returned to the mountainside village of our departure. The group slowly dispersed and went its separate ways, vowing to reclaim glory next time, and bring home the king of the samoan forests, the boar.

A Whanganui Jouney

2009-05-24T09:24:00.000-11:00

After researching for several months for our latest trip, we settled on the Whanganui River on the north island of New Zealand. This is the longest navigable river in New Zealand and consequently the South Pacific. The journey would take us from the glacier clad mountains of Tongariro National Park (aka mordor from lord of the rings) to the heavily forested canyons of Whanganui National Park (where maori settlements still remain). For 6 glorious days we canoed 145 km through kings country following the meandering river. The whaganui river, named by the local iwi people, literally means big harbor (in reference to its eventual outlet to the sea).

The section from Taumarunui to Pipiriki is part of the New Zealand "great walks" program, and includes over 200 rapids (grade 2), intact native podocarp forest, countless natural springs & tributaries, and the endangered brown kiwi bird. The first 4 nights we slept in our tent under the bright lights of the southern hemisphere milky way. After a mechanical failure, we moved indoors by the warm fires of the John Coull & Teike Kainga huts. We were fortunate to cross paths with only 2 other boating parties during this epic journey. The native Maori resolve to relcaim this "treasure" from the gov't, and is one of the longest running court battles over land claims.

The weather was kind as usual, with only 1 day of rain during our paddle. The feeling of floating on water, following the laws of gravity w/o roads or noise pollution was medicine, for a crazy world. I invite the masses to put down their TV remotes and go to their nearest patch "nature" (while it still exists) and listen to the land.

As an existentialist, i will never understand why people slave away their years for a few weeks off- only to spend them on a cruise ship or luxury hotel (surrounded by people paid to make you happy). I strongly believe it is important to let the mind go free from time to time, outside of the boundaries of the artificial "modern" world. There is a reason people feel refreshed after sitting by the beach side watching the waves tumble or walking through the mountains scanning the horizon. These activities engage all of our senses and put us in touch with our human self. Why is this important, just ask your neighbor if they have been stressed out lately?

Klepper Dreams

2009-05-03T19:15:00.000-11:00

The call came a little before 7am Saturday morning. Barely conscious, I managed to grab the phone- it was Keith, a fellow scuba diver-he was taking his company's boat out and wanted me to join them. Only problem being the 5 hours of sleep i received after working the midnight shift in the ER. Putting reason aside, after taking a quick shower and throwing my gear in the car, I was speeding toward a beachside resort on the west of the island. The plan was for me to swim out through the breakers and rendezvous with the boat. A few mishaps later and I was clambering aboard the boat, with Keith stating that he's never seen any one swim through that side of the channel.

The boat anchored over a magnificent coral bed and off we went. The visibility was excellent, coral quality was high, and schools of fish were everywhere. This was definitively the nicest dive site I've seen in American Samoa. Following the dive, we set out fishing lines and caught a good size yellow fin tuna on our way around Anu'u island. Flying fish, dolphins, and a deep blue sky rounded out the morning.

Keith dropped me back by our house in Pago, were Michelle and I headed back to the western side via my scooter to complete the shuttle. The only road in Samoa parallels the sea in a snakewise fashion, providing vista after vista. After returning home, we decided that the time was right to christen our new klepper tandem folding kayak. We gently tied down the kayak on top of the taurus and 5 minutes later pulled up to the yacht club for the beach launch. As the sun sank upon the horizon we slowly paddled across pago bay, feeling lucky to be alive.

Cape Taputapu

2009-04-12T19:26:00.000-11:00

The idea of living a vacation rather than waiting for the typical 2-3 weeks off per year from the modern"slave" economy always seemed like a good move. Time is the thing most people want back or desire more of at some point during their lifetime. I wanted to live in a place that could capture that idea every weekend or even after work. Tutuilla is filled with enough amazing landscapes and adventure to satisfy that concept.

Easter Egg Hunt

2009-04-12T19:20:00.000-11:00

Palangi Tide Pool

2009-04-12T19:17:00.001-11:00

Easter Sunday

2009-04-12T19:03:00.000-11:00

Easter Sunday was filled with the joyous hymns sung by the local congregations as hiked out to Palangi beach. This virgin strip of sand is one of the islands most beautiful, but requires wading into chest deep water, rock scrambling, and determination to reach it. The name "palangi" is the Samoan word for white people or literally people who fell from the sky. There is a wonderful wading pool and lookout from cape taputapu. Meditation feels easy as you dead man float into another time.

The Road Less Traveled

2009-04-04T08:59:00.000-11:00

In life we are only giving a certain amount of time to walk the face of the earth. Sometimes it barely moves at all-almost freezing, at other times its gone before you know it- time is truly relative. Whatever your belief system, at the end of it all you will probably sit down and think about- how did i use this precious time? Most people in today's society spend it chasing money in one way, shape, or form. This is indeed an illusion and forms the basic unhappiness of our world today. As an existentialist, i ponder what would be the most interesting, valuable experience i could have at any given time. This of course must be synthesized into living within the constraints of the modern "slave" economy, where i too succumb to the wear/tear of the system. The true path lies behind man's search for meaning (Viktor Frankl)- did i take this job for the money or the experience? did i buy that car/house for practical purposes or my neighbor/social groups envy? The answers are self-evident by the way we go about our daily business. Why not make your decisions base upon meaning or experience? Gross Domestic Happiness.

If you spend your whole life within the confines of your "safe little" world, you may never truly learn anything, especially about your self. Ive found people struggling with change instead of embracing it; where in the entire universe are things static? Release the chains that bind you, do not make walls in order to climb over them. From my humble personal experience, those seemingly impossible tasks or difficulties have a solution- walk through the pain and into the light.

The trials & tribulations we experience as humans are similar, but the way we react is truly where the differences lie. When one has a once in a lifetime opportunity, they must shift through the muck and recognize it as such. The pain & pleasure experienced are the things we remember when the sun sets upon the horizon.

Rained out

2009-04-03T19:32:00.000-11:00

It's Friday, 5:30 pm, and on our way home in the constant drizzle, we go by the open air market, where local growers usually sell their wares. You only really catch them in this market on a Friday night, and it is almost sacrilegious not to come in and check their latest offerings. We pick up some cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, pineapple, and the local mixed drink of banana, some kind of nut, and some kind of something else. Don't ask me what. I just know it's good.

We got into the house and started a discussion of how good our life is (after all, it IS a Friday). Living a life in Baltimore may be enough for some people, but you do miss out on some of the quirkiest experiences. In the east coast, especially, people follow an established script for dealing with everything, whether it is calling about cable services, seeing your doctor, or just driving to work. You don't really deal with people. You deal with companies or departments or agencies. Take your pick, it is well laid out and structured. Out here, you have to ambush someone to get any sort of reply to your email, you know the first name of the person handling your cable service account, and you actually get to spend more than the 30 minutes with your doctor as mandated by your HMO. It's just different, that's all.

We cautiously look outside our house, and finally see a sky that is not raining, after FIVE full days of getting drenched. We take our wine glasses (not filled with water, thank you), and just sit outside on our camp chairs (we still have to get our outside bench, but we'll get to it soon). We crank up iTunes to play all Bob Marley, and just look out over the Pago harbor. It's 7 pm and hardly any cars (or honking of) reach us in our house up in the hill. The only lights that we see skirt the mountains standing majestically along the island. Virtually none are seen on its slopes. Humanity worships the mountains here, bringing out their pitiful electric candles and hoping that the seas don't rise up in indignation. They most definitely don't impinge on the mountains domain.

Slowly, ever so slowly, we shed our "working" skins, if there is such a thing in American Samoa. One co-worker actually advised me to "slow it down" today. Imagine that. We can actually slow down on a Friday? I thought that was just for the government people? We slowly (well, compared to some) sip our $10 bottle of pinot, and talk about how other people's lives are going to hell (come on, you can't help it if you were in our position). No, we don't have it perfect, but damn it all, we definitely have it better than most.

Bob is singing about stirring it up, but we're just too lazy to even get up from our chairs. We're supposed to meet another couple for dinner at Sadie's Inn (a lady of the night who appreciated the charms of Samoa), and we just couldn't summon the strength to get on our (almost) new scooter and drive down the five minutes to the restaurant.

Aaaaah, in whatever way you slice or dice it, life is good. Easy skanking indeed.

2009-03-09T18:02:00.000-11:00

Spectacular views along the rugged northern coast of tutuilla. The tropical rainforest hugs hillsides as water crashes against the volcanic rocks below.

2009-03-09T17:53:00.000-11:00

Surrounded by tropical flowers.

Radiohead Lagoon

2009-03-09T17:31:00.000-11:00

Craggy Point tide pool

2009-03-09T17:22:00.000-11:00

Craggy Point hike:

Start near the national park fale on the road in between vatia & afono. The level of the hike is graded as easy and takes around 20 minutes each way. The nicely cleared path travels down through the rainforest and out to the point, passing nice viewpoints along the northern coast. There is a small loop at the end of the trail, which provides access to the tide pool. The path down to the pools may be a bit overgrown, though, and is a moderate scramble; but it's well worth it. Climb down the volcanic rocks until you reach the water. On calm days or at low tide a wonderful coral encrusted pool is found beneath the rocks. Once at the foot of the rocks, you overlook the seething tide on one side, and the inviting water on the other, and you are suddenly overwhelmed with the unfettered freedom of youth, calling out to you to jump right in; ignore the intermittent waves that crash over the opening, and sink yourself in its emerald embrace. After all, this is American Samoa. There are no 'No Swimming' signs, no bureaucratic hubbub, and no 'adult' supervision looking over your shoulder. Just you, the water, and-- oh look -- one of the coast guard guys taking a hike, blandly saying even he wouldn't jump in. Oh well, he turns around and leaves you in peace.

ER SAMOAN STYLE

2009-03-06T12:56:00.000-11:00

The chickens file past the entrance of the ER as a flatbed pickup pulls up. a patient too large to fit in the regular ambulance is helped from the truck and placed on a hospital bed, to be wheeled into the mayhem. the chart rack is filled, patient wait time 5 hours. people of various ages and ailments line the interior of the ward, iv poles next to breathing machines, in front of the xray lightboard, and so it goes. the office i see patients in doubles as an ekg room, a woman with a cellulitic ulcer lays on a stretcher in one corner, as i diagnose pregnancy via urinanalysis to an unsuspecting young mother in the other. a cpr code is called in the trauma room, sometimes conducted on a patient already deceased to ease family grief. unfortunately it's the weekend, and all mothers bring their screaming infants to the only game in town, as pediatrics is a mon-fri gig.

I fumble through a differential diagnosis for a right lower quadrant pain, keeping in mind the (1 and only) swedish radiologist left town a few days earlier, and there won't be another one til august. the patient tells me they used traditional fofo medicine consisting of leaves for treatment. No problem, order some labs- well, they may take 4 hours and you may have to go to the lab yourself to ask where the results are. otoscopes on the wall all have their heads mysteriously missing, keep an eye on your bag. trying to speak a few words of samoan, it comes out like gibberish, making no sense to the patient or myself- time to get the translator/nurse.

Welcome to Samoan ER.

South Central Pago

2009-03-03T18:12:00.000-11:00

Searching for a house is always an adventure in itself, but in American Samoa it can border on the absurd. Mitch & i were lucky to secure a solid new abode, with little drama, despite the former tenant being completely insane. Others housing seekers were not so lucky- having excitedly answered ads in the paper, only to find houses w/o water, stove, fridge, water heater, or cabinets. Our 2 bedroom pad is perched over Pago Pago harbor, with excellent views of the forested mountains & tranquil waters below. Songbirds fill the background over the distant hums of the tuna cannery down the only road. Fruit bats fly overhead as the busy harbor sleeps once again.
Anytime you move you feel a sense of freedom & of the possibilities that may lie ahead. Living in the south pacific is a wonderful base camp for exploring the surrounding territory- be it remote the Manu'a islands , traditional Western Samoa, wild New Zealand, or hedonistic Tahiti. One of the greatest things about our location on Tutuilla is that it's less than 10 minutes from LBJ Hosptial & the launching of a kayak into the harbor is footsteps. On an island this small you can be hiking into the remote north side within 30 minutes. Of course you must utilize jedi mind tricks to ignore the wild dogs, 2-story mcdonalds, and tuna cannery olfactory delights.
Here are a few photos of the house.

Survival Guide

2009-02-20T12:04:00.000-11:00

Permanently relocating here in American Samoa (at least as permanently as Tim's wanderlust allows), you certainly get the feeling that you are far removed from the rest of the world. Some have referred to it as "falling off the edge of the world," "living in a parallel universe," or "weeell, this cert-AIN-ly ain't rural Missourah!" (okay, I can't reproduce the accent, but it's there, trust me). However which way you might call it, it is certainly different from the ubiquitous American way of life.

For starters, most tv broadcasted here is about two weeks late. This isn't too much of a hardship, since most everything on tv is garbage anyway. But watching news (i.e. daily show and colbert report) two weeks late is a little disconcerting, bordering on prophetic (you already know how it's going to end). Also, there is only one theater that plays the two worst possible movies currently in circulation (as of posting date, Mall Cop and Hotel for Dogs), which explains why there are so many dvd rental places for a place this small. The speed limit is at most 25 mph, and everyone actually follows it (but you don't hear anyone cursing or honking at the slow pace). There are no street signs; if you need directions, you get landmarks instead ("make a left on that banyan tree after ks mart, you can't miss it"). Everyone seems to "step out" of their offices for hours at a time (just try getting something done at any government office in one day). Banks have the weirdest hours (they think that they are government offices too). And $20 of gas can last you for almost 2 weeks (even though we use our 97 Ford Taurus every day, there's just not enough roads to drive on). Overall, life is just slooooow (one recent expat complained that when he sent an email to the college here, he received the automated Out-of-Office email after five days -- apparently even the servers here are on island time).

Unfortunately, American culture has still left its indelible mark on this island. There are about a dozen fastfood places here for a population of 60k (which shows on the 99% obesity rate, according to LBJ Tropical Medical Center statistics). Rampant capitalism is covered up with a cutesy mascot (Starkist had recently changed hands and is now under Korean ownership owing to the impending minimum wage hike -- which forebodes a relocation for Charlie the Tuna). And a very expensive, state-of-the-art sound booth for children is installed in the hospital, but funding has been drastically cut for off-island medical services (which means that any serious illness would have to be treated in AS, whether they have the facilities or not). Aaah, the American imperial ideals of foreign markets, economic globalization, and profligate government spending is alive and kicking here.

And so to keep sane here, there are a few survival techniques that various people have compiled.

1. It's not what you know, it's who you know. This particular nugget of wisdom was due to the fact that we would never have gotten our car off the docks, if we did not run into a stevedoring big weight. In less than an hour, we got our car from the crate and through customs (he's ours, by the way, we're not giving his name to anyone!!).
2. Get a hobby. Seriously. An island this small, you're going to need one. The greath thing is, there are so many activities here, you can try them all and still not exhaust them. Some of the ones we know: hiking, scuba diving (get your own gear), snorkeling, swimming in secret beaches, rockface climbing (at your own risk), paddling single-outrigger canoes, kayaking, golfing, gardening (limited, since area is so rocky), fishing (fresh fish is so awesome!), gutting fresh fish (not so awesome), bowling, dancing in the single nightclub here, bumming out in one of the fales, barbecuing (on holidays, the whole island reeks of bbq sauce, that I think they dump them by the barrels in the harbor and just cook all the fish in the reef -- it's hot enough to do so, anyway), playing the usual court sports, and playing one of those weird outdoor British games (cricket, rugby, euro football, and euros jogging around in just lavalavas -- talk about body hair overload).3. Get a food place. They have one of the best ice cream places here, that I think I just died and went to heaven. We also have a regular "fish person" that sells great fresh seafood just along the road, freshly caught from the sea (they also have octopus, but we haven't gotten any yet).
4. Get an after-work watering hole. There's the back of Sadie's, with the great view of the harbor, there's Tisa's Barefoot Bar, with one of the most interesting characters in town (Tisa and Candyman both), and there's Rubbles, which looks exactly like how a bar ought to look like (cheesy decor, cheap beer).
5. And, most important of all, don't recreate your previous life here. Listen, you came here because it's different, so don't look for similarities with US towns. The most common thing that trips up expats here is that they can't adapt to life here. They keep looking back to the lives they left behind. It is different here, so celebrate that diversity instead of condemning it. There are going to be things that don't work or isn't available. Deal with it.

Driving back to our temporary housing, with the mountains in front of you shrugging into their mantles of darkness, the ocean rushing back in to reclaim its place, and the realization dawning that this view cannot be replicated anywhere else in the world, you get the feeling that you're in a different place. Many people have different names for that feeling. I only call it by one word: happiness.

2008-07-27T18:56:00.000-11:00

Traditional cooking of pig is done in a stone oven called umu. Free food for all is passed around to the festival goers.

2008-07-27T18:52:00.000-11:00

Hiking down to massacre bay in the Samoan rain forest, which covers 80% of the island. Wild boar, fruit bats, flying squirrels, and numerous species of birds.

2008-07-27T18:46:00.000-11:00

The ethnic people from New Zealand, The Maori perform a traditional dance.

2008-07-27T18:38:00.000-11:00

The south pacific is divided into 3 different regions: polynesia, melanesia, micronesia. Here is a group from New Caledonia- the colonial language is french.

2008-07-27T18:31:00.000-11:00

Girl wearing coconut outfit from the Cook Islands. A great book about the these Islands is called "An island to myself" by Tom Neale.

2008-07-27T18:17:00.000-11:00

Easter Island located off the coast of Chile; the inhabitants speak Spanish as well as local dialect. Here the performers dance on the beach stage.

2008-07-27T18:03:00.000-11:00

This is a scene from the 10th annual Pacific Arts Festival which occurs every 4 years in a different south pacific nation. I am standing here with 2 performers from papua new guinea.

2008-07-13T16:14:00.000-11:00

Fagatele Bay National Marine Sanctuary on a cloudy day. This bay is an ancient flooded volcano. The water visibility in the bay is normally around 70 feet. The steep slopes surrounding the small bay contain some of Americas's rare paleo-tropical rainforest. Fagatele Bay is a vibrant tropical reef marine ecosystem, filled with all sorts of brightly-colored tropical fish including parrot fish, damselfish and butterfly fish, as well as other sea creatures like lobster, crabs, sharks and octopus. From June to September, Southern humpback whales migrate north from Antarctica to calve and court in Samoan waters.

2008-07-13T16:03:00.000-11:00

I will completing Physician Assistant school with a rotation at Lyndon Baines Johnson Tropical Medical Center, opened in 1968. Its a 128-bed general acute care hospital, and is the only hospital in the territory. LBJ has 4 major departments: Medicine, Pediatrics, Surgery, and OB/GYN. I will be moonlighting in the primary care clinic & the emergency room.

2008-07-13T15:19:00.000-11:00

Talofa & welcome to American Samoa! The serpentine island of Tutuila, with Pago Pago as its capital lies 14s/173w within the central south pacific ocean. Tutuila ranks 3rd in size (out of 7), 54.75 sq miles, within the samoan archipelago. The 2000 census listed a population of 55,876, 92% being samoan. The highest point on the island is Matafao peak, 2142 ft.

2008-07-13T15:00:00.000-11:00

This is an aerial view of Pago harbor, taken atop mt. alava elevation 1610 ft. This is within American Samoa National park, the only U.S. national park south of the equator. Pago forms one of the deepest and best protected harbor in the south pacific.

2008-07-13T14:50:00.000-11:00

This is a shot from Tisa's Barefoot Bar overlooking Alega beach, where the annual tatoo festival is held. The snorkelling is excellent & if you start getting pulled out to sea, her partner "candyman" will rescue you. Tisa's is where i enjoyed my first samoan beer vailima.

Baltimore

2008-06-27T13:56:00.000-11:00

testing 1,2,3 samoa testing 1,2,3 samoa