Pola Island Trail/ Vatia/Afono Bay

This morning we set off (fairly) early to explore the north side of the island and the national park. You'll know when you're in the national park when you start seeing garbage cans available to the public. For anyone in the neighborhood and interested, we followed Road 1 to Aua then drove up over Afono Pass and then followed the road around to Vitia. Great drive, but very steep roads -- I keep thinking these roads would be impossible in the snow, although the idea of snow and cold are fading from my memory. Intellectually I know snow exists, but emotionally it just doesn't seem possible that anything could be cold.   The photo to the left is of Pola island. We took a short (like fifty yard) hike to a spot where you can see Pola island from the mainland. I understand there is another trail (just opened this week), around the other side and that from there you can snorkel out to Pola island. Would be a good adventure for another day -- without kids. 

Here is the coast after the fifty foot hike. Nice beach but rocky with really big waves. Not for swimming in, but great scenery. The rocks are a little hard to walk on too. It would be easy to twist an ankle if you aren't careful. 

This is looking the other direction toward Pola Island. Cool arch in the rocks. I also love the color of the water here, especially in the spots where it is lighter. 

Why is it that on every hike, even ones that are only fifty yards long, little boys feel like they have to find and carry sticks. Is it programmed in their DNA? Some sort of hunter-gatherer instinct left over from the last ice age? 

Here are those big waves I was talking about. I think waves are really cool. I understand how they happen, but they still seem magical to me. I could sit and look at them all afternoon. 

Hannah and her Nana looking out at the water. 

Two lovely ladies negotiating the wobbly rocks along the beach. 

I think Benjamin's favorite activity in American Samoa is climbing trees. If you can't find him, check the trees. He is in heaven. 

Coming back over the pass, this is the view down into the bay on the other side. This is also the trail head for our second hike of the day, the lower Sauma ridge trail. 

We saw some local wildlife along our hike. Other than bats and sea creatures, there aren't really that many wild things in American Samoa -- thankfully no snakes. 

This is the end of the lower Sauma ridge trail. Nice views of the ocean. It was a steep decent however. 

Mary hitching a ride on the way back up. 

After the hike and a picnic we went to Afono Bay to cool off. We didn't bring swim suits, so the kids just stripped down and the adults (except for me) went in with their clothes on. You can see Daniel was happy to be in the ocean. 

Mary went in the water a few times too, but mostly she hung out with me and Emma near the shore. 

As her reward for staying with me on the beach, I took lots of cute photos of Mary. Love this one for some reason. 

I told you they went in with their clothes on. 

Coming in after a long day fighting the waves. This was actually a pretty nice beach. No sand, which was a drawback, but fairly shallow and some small waves for the kids to play in, body surf, etc. 

Daniel, the Samoan warrior. 

Matthew makes friends wherever he goes. Here he is organizing water games with some local boys. Can you guess which one is Matthew. 

I think Helen had more fun than the kids. 

Ride to Work

Nice ride in to work today. Lots of cloud cover which both keeps things cooler and motivates me to pedal hard to arrive before the silver-dollar-sized raindrops start falling.

Woodworking Skills

I’m not going to lie, weekend projects around the house have never really been my thing. I think that is because they usually are not my thing – they’re someone else’s thing like hanging curtains for my wife or hanging photos for my wife or assembling shelves for my wife. You get the idea. I realize I should be more charitable and take great pleasure in doing those things, but, well I’m still working on it.

Anyway, last weekend the stars in the southern hemisphere must have aligned because my wife asked me to do a weekend project that actually really excited me. I have always had this dream of taking wood and building something with it. When we lived in California I jointed habitat for humanity simply because I wanted to develop some awesome carpentry skills; however, all they wanted me to do was work on their legal issues. Big disappointment and I eventually dropped out. So, when my wife asked me to build a bed for our son Daniel (and to be used by Helen’s mom when she comes to visit), I was all over it. I made my plans and headed off to the hardware store to buy some tools and lumber.

Let me just tell you, it was great. I had so much fun. The bed wasn’t super hard to make or very fancy, but it took some time and elbow grease and at the end of the day I actually had something that looks and functions like a bed. I tell you, honestly, nothing I have done professionally has brought me as much satisfaction as making this bed. I think it must be because when you build something tangible you can see where all your effort went, that you actually produced something you can point at when it’s all said and done. What can I point to as an attorney? A bunch of emails, contracts, upset people? Hum. Not quite the same. Anyway, thank you dear wife for giving me this great project. I’m up for any more building projects you need – bedside tables?

Here I am with the raw materials. I had to make two trips to the lumber yard, because the plywood wouldn’t fit in the car with all the other wood.

Actually, the only tools I had were a jigsaw, drill, and a palm sander I picked up at the store because I didn’t want to sand the whole thing by hand. Two good helper as you can see above and several others not shown in the photos here. Everyone wanted to hammer in a nail, but I was only using screws in case I need to disassemble at some point down the road. So, the kids took my hammer and some nails and went to work on their own. Let’s just say the garage is now booby trapped with small pieces of scrap wood bearing half hammered bent nails.

Starting to take shape here. My biggest concern was finishing and then finding out that mattress wouldn’t fit. But I didn’t want to bring the mattress out into the dirty garage. So I measured twice and held my breath. (Thanks Helen for taking the photos to document this adventure)

Getting more confidence now, pleased that yes in fact this will be a bed.

It’s hard to say which part of this project was the best, but certainly the staining and varnishing are right up there. What magic to see the wood transformed in to something that looks really cool, like you actually knew what you were doing. Really I just followed the instructions on the can.

Here it is, the finished product in its new home – Daniel’s bedroom. I realize most people will have stopped reading before they get to this point, but I just love looking at this photo.

And here it is, fully functional with mattress and all and me enjoying the fruit of my labors. I’m so into building now. I want to get more tools –a router, a dovetail saw, a table saw, the list goes on. Ahh, deep joy.

The Commute

After several weeks of driving a company paid for rental car, I was told I am on my own. I get a monthly car allowance; however, it’s not enough to even make a lease payment on a subcompact manual car from the Ford dealership (by the way, that is not due so much to the low amount of the car allowance as it is to the high amount of the lease payments).

I’ve always enjoyed cycling, so I thought I’d give that a try. One of the families we have become friends with is leaving the island for a month and the wife told me I could use her husband’s bike (hope he’s okay with that) while they are gone.

The bike is actually pretty nice – a Specialized mountain bike (see photo to the right only the one I am using is red); however, the salty sea air has taken its toll on the components (glad I didn’t bring any of my nice bikes down). The frame is also too big for me.  But it will work for a month while I try to find something of my own. Unfortunately, a month may not be enough time. No bike stores on the island. I found some good options online, but most places won’t ship to American Samoa and the ones that will have quoted me shipping in the neighborhood of $900 – for a bike that costs half that much.

So, unless I can find someone who is leaving the island and wants to sell their bike, it looks like I may have to buy one of the Huffy bikes from the local Costco-style store.

The commute in is only three miles. The first two miles run parallel to the coast and there is a nice cool breeze. The last mile; however, is a raging inferno of death heat. I showed up at the office soaked through two layers of clothing and dripping sweat from my chin like an NBA player standing at the foul line during overtime.

Fortunately there is a shower at work. Only cold water comes out but that isn’t too intolerable given the heat and the fact that it only comes out in a trickle anyway. I’ve hung my clothes out to dry in my office – hopefully they won’t be damp when I put them back on for the ride home. I brought a lava lava (man-skirt) and shirt to wear at work. I have given up on socks and shoe except for at church, so I threw some flip flops in my backpack as well.

So, the cycling commute looks like it may work out. The biggest danger – being attacked by dogs on the way in. I didn’t have any problems this morning. My friend the bike owner has also put a squirt bottle full of vinegar in the water bottle cage to fend off any attackers.  Good to know I’m covered just in case. 

Top Ten

Top Ten Favorite Activities in American Samoa (from last weekend)

10. Swimming in the ocean

9. Getting out of the ocean and feeling cool for a minute before feeling hot again

8. Sitting in front of a fan

7. Sitting in front of a fan eating ice cream

6. Driving around looking at the beautiful island

5. Feeling the air conditioner will driving around looking at the beautiful island

4. Taking nice cool showers

3. Getting out of nice cool showers and feeling cool for a minute before feeling hot again

2. Standing in front of an open freezer while reaching for a tub of ice cream

1. Meeting wonderful people  

Food Poisoning

No matter how good it smells, do not under any circumstances eat the BBQ chicken from the roadside stand.  Ask my wife Helen if you want the unpleasant details.

The Turtle and Shark Lodge

The road to the Turtle and Shark Lodge would make the surface of the moon seem like a smooth ride. After several minutes of bouncing along under the thick jungle canopy, we arrived. The spontaneous extension of a Sunday afternoon drive, we had no intention of making a reservation -- we were just exploring, checking things out.  The best air conditioning on the island, it seems, is in the minivan we are borrowing, so car rides in the afternoon are a favorite.

The Lodge is perched on the edge of a cliff. And beyond the black cliffs, turquoise water stretching on for what seems like infinity. What is on the other side of all that water anyway? Antarctica I guess, unless you happen to veer a little to the west and hit Tonga. And to the north, on the other side of the island? Nothing until you hit that sticky-outy tail part of Alaska and then the Arctic Ocean. When I think about that I feel very isolated and vulnerable. So I try not to think about it.

Anyway, we parked the car in what looked like a parking spot at the Lodge. There weren't any other cars. The kids were bouncing off the seats and the air conditioning, turned down to 60 degrees, was actually starting to feel too cold. We decided to get out, stretch our legs, and let the sun sap some of the kids' energy (could it be that because Helen and I are taller and therefore closer to the sun that it drains our energy faster than the kids'? Not likely, but it definitely does have a greater effect on us for some reason).

After crossing a small, well kept field, and what turned out to be a putting green, we came to a little platform surrounded by a railing overlooking the ocean. This is nice, we thought, and then we heard a hiss, like a dragon, coming up from the rocks far below. Then a mist from the caverns.

So this must be how stories about things like sea monsters and puff the magic dragon got started (well not puff the magic dragon, which reminds me, some people at the end of our street have a very strange farming operation going on. Hum). Anyway, after the puff -- a roar. 

And then kapow, water shooting up everywhere. This made the other blow holes seem like sissy impersonators, like going to a preseason WNBA game after watching Dirk Nowitzki in the finals.

 After seeing that, of course my wife and kids wanted to go down the scary looking stairs with no handrail to get a closer look. Didn't seem like a good idea to me, but as you can see...

Well, no one got swept out to sea, thank goodness, but I had no idea of the real danger we were in. When we came back up we decided to have a look around the rest of the place. With a blowhole that awesome, surely there would be other cool things to see. We found a tennis court but not much else. My wife had the good idea to get a brochure or something from the front office -- perhaps we could come here for an anniversary or something. The front office looked closed. Not unusual for a Sunday in Samoa. As we turned to go back to the car, we were met by a barefoot Samoan. 

"Can I help you?" he asked and it wasn't one of those are-you-looking-for-a-toilet-or-the-vending-machines can I help yous, it was more like a what-are-you-doing-here kind of can I help yous. 

"Just looking around. It is very beautiful," I said. "I hope that's okay." 

His eyes darted, his weight shifted from one foot to the other. 

"Where did you go?" he asked. 

"Just down to the blowhole, looked around a little."

"You should make an appointment first," he said. 

I explained that we were just out for a drive, saw the signs for the lodge and decided to drive down and see it. We thought we might spend a night there some time. His demeanor eased up a little, but then we heard them. Barking from around the corner and then a rottweiler and his two German Shepherd looking pals. 

"It's just that," the man explained, "if I know people are coming, I lock up the dogs."

"I see," I said.

"They don't like kids," he said. 

He shouted at the snarling dogs and told us he would walk us to our car. I'm not exaggerating or employing a common phrase casually when I say that I believe it was divine intervention that saved us from those dogs. If they had come upon us before the Lodge owner was there, I am sure one or maybe even all of us would have been mauled. 

As we drove away, the dogs nipped at the car. The rottweiler even threw himself into the side of the car. What if he bites a tire? Images of a certain scene from Jurassic Park crowded rational thoughts out of my mind. Forget the potholes, I thought, and sped down the road, leaving the savage animals behind.  

They're Finally Here

The night air in the airport clung to my skin like a dirty sweat. People were everywhere mulling around me, dressed in bright clothes, beads or flowers around their necks, welcome banners custom made rolled up in their hands.  They were waiting for someone, their hero – the local kid who had made it big in the NFL coming home to a hero’s welcome – one of them, but now all moneyed up and famous, bringing with him a cohort of recruiters and coaches, all searching for the heir apparent, the next thick necked, broad shouldered, flip flop wearing diamond in the rough. 

 

But not me. I couldn’t care less about Mr. NFL whatever is name is (Troy Polamalu). On some level I suppose I’m glad that he’s done well, hasn’t forgotten his roots, but I was waiting for the arrival of my wife and kids – it had been nearly a month -- and Mr. Big Time’s big return was just making things harder for me.

For a week I had been chasing leads, trying to find the right person that could give me a special pass to get through security and into the baggage area so I could help my wife and kids with eight suitcases, seven pieces of carryon luggage, a baby, a toddler, four just past toddler age toddlers, two strollers, a car seat, and whatever else they brought with them.

The first guy I contacted about access to the luggage area no longer had the authority to grant passes. The second guy sent me to the third guy. The third guy had to talk to the fourth guy who never got back to him. The fifth guy new a woman who is related to the fifth guy, but she either forgot to call him or he was off island. I can’t remember.

So, the day of my family’s arrival came and I had no pass. I imaged my wife and children, huddled in the corner of the airport, collapsed in exhaustion, roaches and rats crawling around and over them while their luggage circled endless on the conveyor belt, too impossibly heavy and voluminous for them to even attempt gathering. 

I had one last hope. A friend from work was coming with me to the airport to help get the luggage home. He knows everyone on the island, or so it seems whenever we are in public and in a rush to get somewhere. Surely he would have some contact, some string he could pull, some favor he was owed that could get me through.

I explained the predicament. He understood.

“Come with me,” he said.

I followed as we made our way, stopping ever few feet for him to greet friends, toward the customs office.

Inside the ceiling fans did little but push the flies back down. A group of men in pale blue uniforms sat behind desks, slumped and lounging, swatting at the flies, percolating small shining beads of sweat on their brows.

“I just explain to them, okay?” my friend said with a laugh. He always laughs.

The exchange began. Why weren’t they speaking in English? Where they trying to hide something from me, or is this just how “special” deals are made, favor’s granted?

I tried to read their faces. They laughed. Is that good? Just small talk or have negotiations begun? Do they find my predicament funny, my appearance (I was wearing a lava lava). Now my friend’s eyebrows were pinching together above his nose. Not a good sign. More laughing. Hum. The guy who seems to be the leader of the blue shirts is shaking his head. More explaining from my friend. Everyone is nodding. This may just work. A miracle in the eleventh hour. More laughing and then my friend turns to me.

“They say we have to talk to the Treasurer.”

Great the old deflect and dodge technique. I’ve seen this one before. My heart sank.

“We go find him. He is here,” my friend said.

I smiled at the blue shirts and waved. They waved back. Nice but not particularly helpful.

Back in the crowd my friend informed me that he had seen the treasurer earlier that night and that he knew him -- but not very well. “But it’s okay,” he told me. “We’ll find him.”

Making our way through the crowd, my friend stopped to greet people. Was this the treasurer? They were speaking in Samoan. They said good bye. We moved on. A few more greetings, some men, some women, no Treasurer. Finally my friend turned to me and said, “I think he is maybe in the VIP lounge.”

Great I think, off to the VIP lounge we go. But, apparently, we are not VIP material. So is that it? Game over? Sorry Monson family we gave it the old college try. My friend shrugged, “We can go wait for them over there.”

We took our position at the end of a long tunnel that leads up from the baggage area. The crowd suddenly moved with a collective gasp and then cheers. My friend pointed to a TV screen and there was the football star coming down off the plane. I watch the screen intently, waiting to see an exhausted woman and six tiny children come tumbling down the stairs behind him. But they don’t come.

“Maybe you go a little closer to look for them,” my friend said.

What’s the point I wonder, but I go anyway.

Just a few feet away the customs officials were loitering, mostly watching the TV screens or talking to the people holding banners. I checked to see if they were carrying guns. Don’t see any, but even the smallest of them easily outweighed me by a few hundred pounds.

I watched them for a minute. They didn’t care, they weren’t watching, who would it hurt really if I just walked down? Then again, I would get hurt if I got tackled and deflated under the crush of 400 pounds of Samoan flesh, but things were getting desperate. I checked the TV again. Passengers were now flooding down the stairs, forming a slow moving river of bodies flowing out of the plane and into the customs and baggage area. My wife and kids could already be out. Time to act.

I checked the guards again and then walked forward briskly, looking straight ahead, trying to make it look like I was on official business. It was a technique I had used at jobs in the past to make myself appear busy. It had worked then but the stakes were higher now.

Past the first few customs officials. They didn’t even notice or if they did, they didn’t seem to care. The baggage area came into view. Almost there. Focus. Stay on target. Don’t look nervous or uncertain, just march straight in there.”

“Stop.”

Oh no.

“You can’t go in there sir.”

I turned. A Samoan stepped in front of me.

“Just for ticketed passengers.”

“My wife and kids are traveling, they have bags -- eight or ten, they need my help.”

“But you can’t.” He put a hand up to my chest.

“You don’t understand it will be physically impossible…”

Just then I saw the head blue shirt from earlier. He sees me. I give up on the I’m-on-official-business façade and shoot him the most desperate, pathetic, raised eyebrows, scrunched shoulders, palms up expression I’ve got in my bag of expressions.   

He frowns one of those poor-sucker friendly frowns and waves me through. The beefcake Samoa guard tells me to stop.

“No, look, he says it’s okay.” I point to the head blue shirt with me eyes. Beefcake has apparently heard that one before, but at my insistence turns and sees the head guy. "Okay," he says, "go on." Bless you, I think to myself, a thousand blessing to you and the large family that is waiting for you at home.

After scanning the baggage area and not seeing the wife and kids, I turn to the luggage rack. Coming toward me are bags with bright colored ribbons tied on their handles. Instantly I know they are ours, I know it the way I know my son, Daniel, will tell me he loves me “super duper” as soon as he comes through the gate, I know it the way I know my daughter Emma will say “dadeeee” and cry when I put her down to finish getting the luggage, I know it the way I know my wife will be exhausted but some how under control. And I am right on the luggage and the other things too.