a weekend in Western Samoa

American Samoa is a fine place to be, but not to far from here, there is a nicer, bigger and cheaper heaven, known with different names: Western Samoa, Independent Samoa or simply Samoa. For us, going to Samoa (to be more precise, in the island of Upolu, the other island, Savai’I is much wilder) is like going to New York. There is a road that runs in a circle all around the island, and it takes more than 3 hours to run it all. There is the big “City” (still not sure if it can be defined like that, but definitely much bigger than the villages we have here) of Apia, with lots of shops, restaurants, nightclub… and there are tourists, germans, kiwis, aussies… and a couple of markets that sell local produces and tourists attraction (that is, wonderful beaches where you can wear a bikini and get some sun EVEN on your belly!). Last weekend, I caught up with Mia and Pietro in Apia (they have been in Samoa for a week, mainly exploring Savai’I), and I though you may enjoy a photographic diary of the trip.

Friday

The trip stars at the Pago Pago airport (located in Tafuna). The people from the company weight your bags, they weight you, and then they decide where you are going to seat, and if your bags will make it on this plane or on the next one. Just for fun, I ask them at what gate I need to go. They answer “Gate 7”. I laugh, thinking they are kidding as we have no gates here, just a big waiting room. But actually they are right, there is a gate (looks stolen from some Chinese garden) you need to pass through before entering. And there it goes, a sign that says “Gate 7”. I think about it a bit as I am flying to Apia, smashed against the window by 2 ladies that only occupy 2 seats and ½, and all the aisle … “maybe “gate 1” sounded to limiting. “gate 2”, too small, “gate 3”, no the number 3 is a holy number, better do not use it, “gate 4” too banal, “gate 5” that could work, but, ehi wait, “gate 7”!! Sounds so much cooler!!”.

As the plane takes off, the A/C is turned on. This, for some reasons, generates a cloud of white smokes that inevitably freaks out anyone that has never been on the plane before. Usually at this point you either start praying or check those loose screws on the windows, seeing if you can help by tiding them up.

The plane is small, maybe seats 20, and you can see what the pilots are doing all the time. Usually they read newspapers (both pilots at the same time), play with the computer, or text with the cell phone. All between one correction and the other of the plane trajectory. This time, a wonderful sunset bewitches you...

You fly across Upolu, to land on the western tip of the island. The view is impressive, the reefs, the mountains and the waterfalls… you know already you are in such a different world! And here you can buy everything with Talas, that go why farther than the dollars go and so you can actually afford to have fun!

I land around 7:00pm on Friday night, and take a taxi to my favorite Indian restaurant in Apia where Mia, Pietro, and Paul are waiting for me. I love Indian food!

Paul buys a bottle of red wine from the next pub (they cannot sell alcohol in the restaurant, but you are welcome to bring your own), I get very tipsy with just a glass… it has been a long week and I did not have enough sleep… We eat a wonderful starter, but after ½ hours wait, the waiter comes and tells us “sorry, we cannot cook your meal because the water it is not working anymore…”. It is already getting late, but, aua le popole, no problem, Apia is full of nice places to go… we run down to Giordano’s for a great pizza! I am in holiday, yeah!

Saturday

Paul leaves early Saturday morning for a training in Australia, Mia and I head for the market, and Pietro start worrying about being left alone with 2 women that want to go shopping. The market is wonderful; there are all sort of local produces, mats, kava’s bowls, Vailima t-shirts, hearings, necklaces… Pietro volunteers to go to change Mia’s ticket as we keep shopping. Mia decided not to come back with me on Monday, but to stay here until Friday, so she can see more of Upolu. By the time we finished shopping, I am exhausted, and the baggage I had with me is full with goodies (no plastic bags please) and looks like a cornucopia.

In the afternoon we go home to relax, sleep, do some work, and at night we walk back to the Indian restaurant… I hope they got their water problem fixed by now…

Sunday

Sunday is our Manono day. Manono is a very small island with 4 villages next to the airport, advertised as"no vehicles, no road, no dogs". The kids from the resort we are spending the night at come to pick us up with their fishing boat at the bar that also works as the Manono wharf. The day is sunny and I think I may finally get some tan… I am soon flying to Italy; my friends there hardly believe I live in a tropical island when they see how white I am… I realized that the kids on the boat are not just cruising along, but their work is to empty the boat from all the water it takes in from holes…

Of course, as soon as we arrived, we are served food. It is Sunday and the family prepared the Toanai, which is the traditional meal cooked in the Umu (a sort of ground oven)… fresh coconut cream with taro leaves, my favorite… and the fales where we sleep are just so nice, right in the water… but it is Sunday too, and we cannot go swimming, walking or do anything else, so we are constrict to a forced relaxing day, reading a book, enjoying the view, do some more work and playing domino with the kids…

At night, we drink our last red wine bottle, looking at the stars and pondering about the wonders and secrets of this and other worlds.

Monday

It’s Monday!!! We can walk, swim… what else? Well, the island is small, that is about it… so we walk around the island, they say it takes only ½ hour to go around, but it took us at least 2 hours. We took lots of pictures, of the island, of silver-painted coconuts, and of the ass of a Holland guy that came all the way down here to get a traditional tattoo ("excuse me, can i take a picture of your ass?" "Sure, take one of my inner tight too, look!"). Very interesting…

And then the kids takes up out on the reed for some snorkeling, the water is so crystal blue… what a holiday! I would have not come here if Mia had told me before she was not coming back with me, I do have plenty of work to do before I leave and I did not really wanted to take a break. But now I am so glad I did come. I enjoyed being with them and seeing all this so much.

My flight supposedly leaves at 4:30, so, soon after lunch, we take the boat back to Upolo and head to the airport. “Oh, sorry, no, you will fly out with the 8:00pm plane”. None flies that late at night here, I do not believe them, but what else can I do… oh yeah, there is a nice tourist resort close by, let’s go to get a pinya colada! If there is something I really learned here, is to accept events and people for what they are and how they come. Well, of course sometimes I fail and get frustrated, but I also definitely learned to come up with a back up plan is case the world decides not to collaborate with me. At the resort I also finally meet Giovanni (I literally ran after him and stopped him in the car!), one of the 4 italians living here. He is wonderful, and now I know where to go to watch the games next World Cup.

I do leave at 8:00 as I was told. As soon as we take off, the pilots turned off all lights, with the exception of those 2 blinking one on the wings. Usually on the planes, the pilots always leaves some sort of low light lights.. this plane clearly has none, so, it is either light or no complete darkness. We now are on a pitch-black plane, on a pitch-black night. It feels fearful and good at the same time.

It is late, and it is neither Thursday nor Sunday. As expected, as we arrive there is none at the customs to wait for us. Somebody removed the “Terminating passenger” sign (how could they?!?!) and replaced it with a fancy “Welcome to AS” sign.

We passenger, wait for a second behing the custom line, we know we are not supposed to cross it without showing our passport… but we are also not going to spend the night at the airport... oh well, we are going to do the custom another time, I am one of the first one to cross the line, and all the other passenger follow me. Oh wait, Leota, one of the passengers, is actually the airport manager and is going to look for somebody. , We get our stamp on the passport. “Sorry, no baggage today, they will come on one of tomorrow’s flights”. Only Leota’s bags made it.

My trucktosaurus is still there, and that is good, I go straight home to bed.

What a great long weekend.

hospital and roosters

there is much to be said about the hospital in American Samoa, but i think Paul did an excellent job describing it on his blog! check it out at:
http://tropicalbrowns.blogspot.com/2008/05/behind-hospital-walls.html
and I have to say that it is true, we often go to the hospital during lunch break because there is the best food (at a good price) on island!!!

I also have to offer all my support for the rooster story:
http://tropicalbrowns.blogspot.com/2007/07/little-red-rooster.html
I always had a deep respect for animal life, i even feel bad killing mosquitoes sometimes, but... yes, my secret dream is to kill a rooster (or two)... Lately they have been just unbearable. I wake up at night every 1-2 hours, turn the radio on (to cover their screams), and "sandwich" my head between two pillows. Sometimes I go down to Lion Park and beg the guys there if i can sleep at their place... just for a night, i just need a full night straight of sleep, fa'mole mole!
I hear roosters even at work. When they start with their "chicchirichi" (in english they say something like "kukkuroduulu", i never got that) (in samoan they say something like "Ba-ba-ba-ba..."), i get goose bumps all over my body, and my nails get stock on my desk... I will kill one soon... I will...
Well, I am sure it is just a bit of stress right now, things will be much better once I come back from Italy, and I will finally able to relax in my smurf blue room with ocean view!

Oh Maria, where art thou?

One upon a time a girl called Maria Jose, from a small town in the Valencia district, called Cullera. She was dreaming to be an oceanographer, and with some tricks, she finally convinced her parents to let her go and she moved in another very small town, Bangor, in North Wales. Dear Maria, since you say that you love my blog but then you never have time to connect to skype, I am officially asking you to make up some time for me, and have a skype date. This is dedicated to you.

I met Maria Jose on the very first class I attended during my undergraduate, September 2000. She was sitting right next to me in the very front. At that point, I was thinking that attending to university in English was totally a bad idea. I still did not realize that Welsh was not a dead language at all in Bangor, and I could not distinguish between Welsh and English, it was mixed in my head as a unique very difficult incomprehensible language. At the end of the lecture, I asked her with my broken English if I could copy her notes, as I did not understand anything. She replied with an even more broke English that she did not understand anything as well, and we both turned back looking for somebody else we could copy from.

We have been together since that day, until I decided to move to the south Pacific and she decided to return to Spain, 2 years ago. We never even spoke English to each other, spanglish as always been our language (even when we though we WERE speaking English).

1999-2000
(eve new year in Alcala’ de la Selva, Pyrenees, with Maria and Akiko, and my cheese…)

That first year together in Bangor was amazing: Bangor city of happiness, wasn’t that so? It did not matter that it rained every single day, that cloud that did not move east to west, but just spinned all the time on top of our heads. It did not matter it was dam windy and cold. That first year, the world revolved around me, Maria Jose, Akiko, Tyson, Roberto (you are due for a marriage! Where are you hiding???!!!), Juanito, Victor, Niel (brrr!!), Sebastian, Bruno and some others… (in my room, on the bed from left to right: Tyson, myself, Maria, Akiko. In front on right Victor, on the floor there is Roberto)

We were living in campus, in different building (I slept in Maria’s place for a while, until Tyson took my place…), but we nearly always had dinners together, all of us plus “the leg” (that was a pig leg –jammon- Maria’s father present during our Christmas vacation in Spain… Akiko, Sebastian, Bruno and I drove to Cullera from Bangor, and it was much easier to pass custom with a pig leg when you cross the channel by boat, rather than by plane…).

(Climbing Snowdonia. from left to right: Mike, Roberto, Tyson, Akiko, Maria, myself)

Somehow I convinced Maria (and her parents) to move to Oregon the next year. Then we had to convince our department, that at that time did not have any exchange program existing with Oregon State University. But Tyson was moving back there to continue his studies, Niel was moving back to Vancouver and Roberto was going to Missouri, so it seemed like the right place to go next. Our daily e-mails and weekly visits to many faculty members (from both Bangor and OSU) worked, and got authorization to leave for the far west!

2000-2001
(Eve New Year in Vancouver, polar bear swim, with Maria, Tyson, Niel, Roberto)

We soon realized we should have done our homework better before going west. Our first American experience was to live in Tyson’s fraternity until we found a nice cold house close by (also close to Damon - you can find the link to his blog on your right side).

Our first day of class resembled a lot our first day of class in Wales. We could not understand a word of American English. Plus it was frustrating because everybody there had Tyson’s accent, and we would think he was always around us. Even when we received phone calls for advertisement (another new experience) we though it was Tyson. I asked for rubbers around for many months (and I never got one!) until Tyson told me I should ask for erasers, rubbers were something else in the States.

But the most shocking thing happened when, one night, we were denied access to the pub. You need to be 21 years old to go out? What no-sense is this? We have been partying out all night since we are 15!!! I was 20, Maria was 19. Luckily the latino community in Corvallis (at OSU), was develop enough to grant us lots of fun, and crazy nights in Portland dancing salsa until we could no walk anymore. I also learned Spanish there. My life was 90% Spanish (any time), 9% English (at school), 1% Italian (on the phone). I learned by symbiosis. One day as we were going to a party, walking across campus with a huge pan filled with sangria (we were holding one handle each, bit serving spoon coming out from it), a guard stopped us and asked us what we were carrying: “sangria” we said, very naturally. “Uh, ok… go”. I guess that guy did not believe us, as we were walking, under age, with about 6 liters of alcoholic open beverage. We even did not have any clue that it was illegal.

For $1000, I bought a car, the Gonzalo-mobile, totally red (even the seat belts). I bough it the 20^th of December. The 21^st, Tyson, Maria, Roberto, myself and another girl, left to go to see the Grand Canyon. The 21^st night, maybe soon after midnight, we were pushing the car in the dark somewhere around Madera, I think, the geographical center of California, a place where the advertisements on the billboards were all in Spanish. We spent 2-3 days there for the water pump was fixed, sleeping and sharing the floor of a ranch with very fancy competition chickens. But we did it. (at the Grand Canyon! left to right: Tyson, myself, Maria, Roberto)

We got to the Grand Canyon after a visit in Las Vegas (none ask for ID there, amazing!), Maria cried of emotion just by seeing the sign, and we survived the coldest night ever in one of the edge of the canyon. And then back, to San Francisco (trying to avoid steep roads that the Gonzalo-mobile could not face), Yosemite, Los Angeles for Disney World and up, up again, Niel was waiting for us in Vancouver for eve new Year. I always had a weakness for that guy, but sleeping in Canada in winter with the window open, dear Niel, that is too much! And what a great idea going swimming for the polar bear swim!

Hitchy feet for me, need to have the best education ever for Maria, we even got accepted to a intensive Marine Biology class in Hatfield Marine Science Center in Newport, on the coast. It was the place that hosted Keiko, the star of “Free Willy”. For me being there was like walking on the moon (even if Keiko was already realized to the wild at that time).

(Maria and I working on a scientific vessel close to Newport, Oregon) (Maria, Tyson and myself, same summer, in Cullera)

2001-2002
(Eve New Year in the Italian Alps with Maria, Tyson, Akiko and I)

Oh well, now that we were 21 we left the States and moved back to Bangor, to finish our undergraduated. But Akiko was there waiting for us to be back! How much we missed her! That last year of school was definitely busier, but still very exciting, full of adventures! (a birthday without Maria??? can't be! on the extreme of the pic, Akiko and Baldomero!)

We founded, together with Alfonso and Baldomero, the university Latino Club and we organized killer parties that really made history!

(Baldomero, myself, Alfonso and Maria!)

(one of our latino parties: Maria, Akiko, Tyson and myself)

I was very busy, divided between school, a new love, work as the salsa teacher and the training of a horse…

And we did it. We graduated, we learned English (or a variation of it), how to dance salsa, we ride horses in Yellowstone wearing cowboys hats, we ran in front of bulls in Spain, we got stopped by the police in the States (all those lights on top of the car! Like in the movies!), we hiked in Italy, sky all day and night long in Canada… Maria! Next it is still on a bike in China!

(Maria and I in Montana...)
(and on our graduation day)

2002-2003
"Maria, let’s not go straight back to school after this, let’s take a sabbatical year all for ourselves and move to a new country, let’s have an adventure!"
I convinced her and Tyson... "ok, let’s go to South Korea, sounds great! I need to spend a bit longer in Italy and I will be right there… sorry Maria, I am not coming, I am still needed here… ok, see you back in Corvallis for the Master."

2003-2006
Maria, I need to shorten this up! We are back in Oregon! (Maria, Ally and I behind an american pizza -they call it "pepperoni pizza". In italian would be translated as "bell pepper pizza...)

"Maria, I have nightmares again, thanks for sleeping with me. Maria, I do not want to clean the restroom again! Maria, joder! You were so right, the color we choose to paint our house are really bright! Wow, what a tropical looking house we have now! Maria, let’s go back to Portland to dance until we can’t move no more as we used to do (Fernando is still there! Yeahhh!)! Ehi! We are not underage anymore! Wow, he got married, wow, he is a dad now! Maria, I am moving with Biniam, I really need to fatten him up! Yes, a minor in GIS is a great idea! Maria, meet Paul. Yes, that PISCO class in Newport, I will try to make it in too. What do you mean you want to go back to Europe? Maria, ok, I will wait to get married. Maria, what? Tyson finally asked? You are engaged??? Maria, I am moving to the South Pacific with Paul."

(Still, Maria can make the best birthday party ever! Paty on the right side of the picture)

2006-2008
Maria Jose moved back to Spain with a scholarship to pursue her PhD. Tyson went with her and they got married. I moved to the American Samoa with my loved one, but I am single now. In 10 days I am flying to Corvallis for the weekend on my way back to Italy. Maria is flying to Vancouver a day after I leave for Italy to attend to a training (she is also going to meet with Niel). Now that we live on the opposite side of the Earth, how can we be so close and not seeing each other? Can we make it somehow so what we can meet? Maria, get on skype so we can talk!!! Te quiero mucho!!! Mi hermanita!!! Tysona! dile a Maria de llamarme!!! Te quiero mucho a ti tambien!

After all this time i spent thinking about you... give a call ok? ciao bella!

Back to school?!!!

These past days have been very busy working, I am working often after hours, I just want to have everything ready and done for my upcoming trip (and there is lot that needs to be organized there too!).
I think my life is going to slow down considerably in July when I will be back (I still cannot believe it is June already!), I feel full and energy and looking forward to learn many new things (also, I have been sleeping very well the last 2 days, finally!). And I decided I should take advantage of the fact that I am going to be here, working on very interesting data, being able to do field work, and being in contact with many people doing their research here… to start my PhD. I am still at the exploratory phase, looking at schools and programs, but if you hear of something interesting let me know!

I love being in school, taking class and producing something! So cross your fingers for me! J

This afternoon I am leaving for Western Samoa where I will meet with Mia, Pietro, Paul, and Sam… Paul is leaving tomorrow for training in Australia so I won’t be able to see him much, the plans include shopping at the market and then moving to Manono island, that “does not have cars and dogs”. Be back on Monday! Ciao!

Jane, and my ass & ASG

I wish my name were much more articulated something with more vowels, rather then a simple "Bar-ba-ra". Roosters can in fact imitate this sounds soo well, and I am still waking up every night and every morning thinking that somebody is calling my name. Very frustrating and freaking, I am looking forward to leave the island to get more good night sleep! Anyway, this are the latest news…

(pictures will come later on... i got none here at the moment...)

Yesterday I had the honor to host a wonderful woman from Russia living in Australia. Janie is presently traveling in Samoa with the son and the mother and decided to have one night off and come to visit me in American Samoa. We met in the Yacht Club (well, she first contacted me through the couch surfing project) and I decided to take her to see the WWII cannons that I once found in the jungle as I was looking for a piggery. The hike was at first difficult, and she must have initially have lost some faith in me, as we had to fight back some dogs, walk both through and on the edge of a recent landslide, and climb up on all fours on the side of the hill (and barefoot, to get more traction with our toes). Suddenly, we met a path of the size of a highway (exaggeration, but it was very big –at least 80cm wide-- and very clean). Never saw that path before. When we got to the cannons, they were all cleaned up and freshly repainted! Apparently the archaeological office is "restructuring" it and making a path for easy access during the Pacific Art Festival (this July). I have to say I was very disappointed at first, as these cannons were a bit like "my secret" place… well, few people knew about it, but the joy of the random discovery that day really made me feel like an Indiana Jones. The view from the cannons is anyway great, the entire harbor and all the way to Tafuna.

On the way back, we used the "highway" instead of sliding down the hill on my butt (as I would have down otherwise), and we noticed a new small path… why not, we decided to take it and explore it a bit. We ended up on the top of a very tall waterfall! They noise of the water falling and the shivers for being on the edge of the cliff were so energizing! And on the way back, instead of the dogs, we met a wonderful old man offering us cold drinks. Driving back home, we also picked up a full rugby team on the trunk of the truckosaurous and they serenade us… good day…

At night we had a BBQ with the fish that Capt John gave me on Sunday (did I ever mention that, as the only representative of the Italian mafia, I get 3 fishes every time the fishing boat comes in? Nadia and Brian helped me cleaning them on Sunday night, such a bloody and smelly job! But worth it!). Ben joined us. I just realized how he became one of those "island" myths, like it was Maximo (the Argentinean). When they are off-island the island somehow feels different…

This morning it was more of an adventure… To renew my contract I need to have a physical exam, but it is, truly, the stupidest thing ever! This would fit under the section: why you do not want to renew your contract…. In fact, why does Human Resource need to know about my gynecological visits? Why do I need to take a chest X-ray to work for ASG (American Samoa Government)? I am surprise they did not ask me to sing for them too, maybe if I am not good enough they won't let me work here because I would not be able to represent the agency with honor when we sing to the governor every Christmas… a note for the physician at the bottom says "This applicant will be working and living in an isolated, small tropical environment. Please take this into consideration during your physical and mental assessment of this person.” How many people went crazy here? Or they just want to make sure that none will need to use the hospital here? Who created this form and what on earth did he smoke when he did it???

American Samoa is a funny place, no doubts. If you go to the CIA webpage and you look at the country profile, under "government type" you find a big "N/A" (Not Applicable).

(https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/aq.html)

This tells you a lot about this place. If the CIA gave up understanding it, maybe I should too, but… seriously, none at ASG needs to know about my ass!!!

Abstinence, please!

These past days have been very monotonous indeed: work, stress over my coming trip to Italy, going to bed waking up every time a rooster –apparently- calls my name.

Pietro and Mia were in Ofu for 3 days, and they left again this morning for Western Samoa. I am missing them so much already. I finally made time to paint my room some color that was not white. I really knew when I came back from Alaska, that I am not made to sleep in a white room.

I bought a cool “sea-harbor” blue that, from the 1x1 cm little colored box you look at when you buy the color, seemed so nice. Of course, after half room is painted you realize it was not really the kind of blue you wanted, and “why don’t they just call the colors with their real name? Smurf-blue. Easy. Everybody would know what to expect”. I have to say, the room does look great even with a smurf-blue.

But all this time alone, gave my mind lots of “free” time to run wild with all sort of thoughts. Reading Jeremy’s blog (Jeremy is another lost child on this island –his link is on the right side of this post), it seems to me that I have not been the only one getting the “let’s save the planet” kind of thoughts.

Last night I went to for a short time to potluck, and I learned that 32.5% of the island population is under 14 years of age! Now, that is scaring! The median age is now 24 years old! This means that very soon there will be an abundance of young adults looking for land to build a house, with a car, probably weighting around 100 kg, eating a shit-load of crappy food, producing even more garbage and shit, of course. Yes, I knew that the population triple in the past (what?) 40 years, but… I am going to be here to see all this happening? 2 more years on the rock?

And following thoughts: “am I doing the wrong job? Should I just try to focus on the kids’ education, teach them not to trash, how to recycle, how to eat healthy food? And how on earth can you teach birth control here?!?” Abstinence (that is what the government goes for here –there are so many signs along the road about abstinence --) is clearly not working, considering the rate of teenager pregnancy.

American Samoa population density (353/km2 or 914/sq m) wins the 33^rd place in the list of the most populated countries. Right now, I swear, it does not really look that overpopulated, all you see from a boat is just jungle green; you can still drive on that 1 road without too many delays for traffic (I should also add that I grow up in Rome were traffic is much worst)… how different would that be when all these kids will grow up? Will the last low land rain forest existing in the US still survive? Considering that last month they clear-cut a big piece of it to build a new house. Why none seems to be able to pass a bill to protect it?

Buying land in Alaska all of a sudden seems like such a good idea…

I am leaving you with this though for the moment…soon would like to write about YOU reader, and about some ideas to help the planet…

(kids are everywhere!!! the cutest!)

the meaning of life

(Ofu island - east of here)

For some reasons, that I cannot explain since I have no clue myself, I have been thinking about the meaning of life recently. I am happy in this little island, in this little bubble of nonsense isolated by the rest of the world by thousands of miles of open deep blue water.

The connections with the rest of the world are so negligible (twice a week with the Hawaiian Airline plane, and throughout the day mainly via internet) that you think “well, the rest of the world can go crazy, but it will definitely take a while before it reaches me here” (without considering, of course, more global events like global warning, sea level rise, or tsunami risk…)

But then, one day on the BBC-news webpage you read about cyclones in Burma and earthquakes in China, about Bush and Berlusconi (what! again!!??!!), about the Amazon forest and about Australian beer, and you think: “Why all this?” And “What am I doing here?”

I reached the following conclusion: I do not know what the meaning of life is, and more specifically, why does life have to have a meaning to start with? Can’t we just take the way it comes? On my opinion, is not that important WHERE we are going, because after all we all know, death and taxes are the only secure things on life, right?
To me, it is more important HOW you go to the end of your life. Can’t we just enjoy by the day, remembering that your own freedom ends where somebody else freedom starts (live and let live, mainly), and do things that makes us happy as long as it does not make somebody else unhappy?
Moreover, I do not really care about the meaning of life, I rather care about the meaning of MY life. I want to do good, leave something useful behind. I feel that down here I am doing something good; not only, I am also enjoying life (well, if it wasn’t for those stupid roosters that, seems to me, like to call my name any time during the night), but I am also learning a lot and improving myself. I do not need to reach “greatness” over night, I can find it day by day (I am thinking about Shakespeare quote here: “Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”).
Every year I feel more completed, more mature and more serene. And who knows, maybe one day you will all learn something good from me. I cannot make the world a more righteous one, but I can act correctly myself, and spread the good humor!

And when I am deep in shit (because it happens to me too, apparently all in the same time too!), I can only look at the future and think that this won’t last forever, and learn from mistakes and misadventures. And if I have to die tomorrow, oh well, at least I did enjoy my days!!! As Brian of Nazareth said “Always look at the bright side of life, tu-tu, tututtu-tu-tu’”…

I will end this post with Horace (Horatio)’s “Carpe Diem” that has been idealized for a long time, as romantic, inspirational etc… but that was in reality written to his loved one, Leucona, with the following message: “don’t worry about tomorrow, you don’t know if you will die. Instead of worrying, you should just enjoy life and come to bed and sleep with me today!” (My latin/greek teacher was really firm on this interpretation was many many many reasons I cannot recall at the moment). And YES, men were that romantic and wanted the same things as today’s men even 2000 years ago (2021 to be more exact)…

….going back to the original subject… so, what is the meaning of life? What is what men have been seeking since the very dawn of humanity? Comments welcome!!!

Tu ne quaesieris (scire nefas), quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. Ut melius, quidquid erit, pati!
Seu pluris hiemes, seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
quae nunc opposites debilitat pumicibus mare
Tyrrhenum: sapias, vina liques et spatio brevi
spem longam reseces. Dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

Quintus Horatius Flaccus

Translated, more or less:

“Do not ask, brings bad luck, what end the gods will give me or you, Leucona, and do not try (to read the future with) the Babylonian dices. Better just deal with whatever comes your way (me, me me!!!).
Whether Zeus has allowed you many winters or this is your last one, with opposing rocks in the Tyrrhenian sea (mainly, you boat is going to hit one and sink): be smart, POUR the wine, scale back your long hopes. As we speak the envious time is running away from us: take the day (and sleep with me), trust the future as little as possible".

Horace (the 5^th and the skinny one)

Heads up!!!

(one of my new favorite activities on weekends: read a book in my house's porch)

I cannot believe it is May already. This year just been flying incredibly fast, my life went through so many changes and I am in a way starting a new life. I guess this is what makes it so exciting, just having a full week without tragedies, make the weekend feeling so nice and deserved and relaxing… (even totally crashing the truck and not being able to walk for a week it looks like a mosquito bite after last year storms!!!) A very good year so far.

Anyway, heads up! I will be soon leaving the island again, visiting, this time, Oregon, Italy and California:
Oregon’s friends: I will be there from Friday night the 6^th of June to to Tuesday the 10^th. Let’s go backpacking the weekend!! Maybe the 3 Sisters again? Or Mt St Ellen?
Italians: I will be landing in Rome and make my way up to the Alps… Stops and dates to be announced … Of course I am planning on some day in Firenze!!!
California… it just happened to be on the way back from Italy to the South Sea… my mission will be kept top secret for the moment.. J

As far as island life… I love being with Mia and Pietro, of course, and very sorry that they will be leaving soon. The are trying to get to Ofu to spend a couple of day in real paradise (but because of a funeral, all flights are full, and so you never know if you will make it or not). After Ofu, they will fly out to Western Samoa, where they will be exploring both Savai’i and Upolu islands. I will cacth up with them in 2 weekends from now, so that I can buy some presents in the local market, and Mia will be flying back to AS with me while Pietro will continue from there to New Zealand…

and soon May will end and it will be time to go back to Italy for about a month… and it will be July in a second! Month number 7! How is it that some years seems like they are never going to end and some other, you can’t just slow them down???

(Pietro, Mia and myself last night coming home after a funny relaxing night out with some friends)

sitting on a stranger lap...

These days I have been using the bus to go to work considering that my knees still hurt and I cannot press on the clutch (nor the brakes) and that Mia and Pietro need the green truckosaurous to move around the island.

First of all, the bus is not JUST as bus, it is an AigaBus, Aiga meaning family. In fact, the bus borns in the family garden. It slowly comes to light, starting from the frame (and engine) of an old truck (like the one that I just destroyed). Wooden pieces (sometimes taken from as old boats) are used to built a big “passenger-container” on the back frame of the truck. Only after the aigabus is painted with interesting design, colorful feathers are attached anywhere in the front, and the sound system is powerful enough to be hear from far far away, THEN it is ready for the road.

The aigabuses do not have numbers or set itineraries or timetables. You just have to stand on the side of the road, wait for a bus to pass by, flag him. You do not even need to be on the right side of the road, as the driver would even cross the line of traffic to pick you up. If you already are on the bus and you want to get out, you simply knock on wood, anywhere you want (not on your neighbor’s head preferably, but that would probably stop the bus as well). There aren’t many roads here in American Samoa, so mainly the buses run eastward/westward on the main road. Some buses explore the roads in the tafuna’s plain, and 4 buses climb the mountain where I live. Like that bicycle that seels ice-cream in the States, you can hear the aigabus approaching from my house thanks to the music. Not having any sort of number, each Aigabus is baptized with his own name, like “Easy Rider”, “Motu o fiafiaga”, “Finding Nemo”. Colorful drawings of course accompany the name. There are two buses, own by the same family (a chain, if you want), both called “Titanic”: one has a nice drawing of theTitanic sailing in the sea, the other as a drawing of the boat sinking… I mainly know that I need to take the white bus with the pink roof, or the one the flames painted all over the front.

Inside the aigabus is another world. The music plays out load, usually island music coming from a huge variety of cds speared through a nail planted on the driver side.

The seats are wooden benches, incredibly slippery, and you need to hold strong on the bench in front of you every time the aigabus turns. There are usually 5 rows of benches, each seating 1-2 persons (depending from the bottom’s size), and a longer bench at the end holding about 5 persons.

Once I took the bus with Andrew, a skinny young guy. He was sitting right behind me when we boarded on the bus, but, at the end of the trip, when I looked back, he was sitting on the lap of a big masculine samoan whose hands were covered with tattoos. Oh my! He stepped out soon after. The next day I asked him if he was ok, if that guy was abusing him or something, but he said, no, it is normal. I though for a while that that brute was probably just playing with him, making him believe it was normal. But I was wrong, it is really normal sitting on a stranger’s lap when the bus is full is normal. Alyssa once told me how she felt so much less homesick after sitting a whole trip on the lap of an old motherly woman that was holding her tight every time the bus turned. But she is also small. I am very tall, and not that light, and I do not think I would feel comfortable sitting on a stranger lap. Especially a guy.

Today, when I entered in the bus, I realized that there were no places to sit. As I was valuating what to do, a woman stand up and sat on the lap of the guy that was sitting next to her, making some sitting place for me. Maybe the husband…uhm, maybe the brother (she is wearing a wedding ring, he is not). They do not talk or look each other, they just ignore each other… do they know each other?? I looked around. I was the next “skinny” one that should probably find some lap to sit on. The bus stopped again and picked up 3 more persons! Magically, some more space was done, and I was still holding to my place. I have to say that this trip felt very long indeed, every time the bus stopped I though “where, where? Where can this person possibly fit?”। But at the end I did arrive home without having to sit on anybody lap। After all, I still find the bus rides very interesting, especially when, running along the beach, you see a sea turtle swimming: suddenly, all the romanticism of living in Polynesia comes back to you…

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This was added on May 15 and it answered a question:
...
Yesterday was my apex in bus riding... it was just like shuffling cards over and over... my don't people just choose a sit and keep it? why every time somebody enters, they need to re-arrange all the seats (people move on the back, some on the front, some seat on other people laps..)? I was begging Andrew for sitting on my laps. I know he is not too heavy. There were at least 3 persons per seat! Can you imagine such a packed bus in a very hot and humid island with very bumpy roads?
About the price for a bus ride... none has a clue. half-island fare is about $1, but if you are palagi they may try to charge you $2, but sometimes they charge $.50. Did you ever noticed how samoan keep their quarters to pay for the bus inside their ears? they told me it was so that they won't loose the coins by putting them into their lava lava pockets... i will post a picture one day! ciao!

the 300 degrees Club and other stories

Something very fascinating about living on a small island is the feeling that everything is "under your hands", reachable, down to earth. If you walk around, or enter in a bar, and you see a new face, you feel totally entitled to ask who he/she is, what is he/she doing on island etc… And generally those new faces do have very interesting stories about their life: if they got all the way to Samoa, they must be somehow unique.

Yesterday we went to see the "Aida" at the Auditorium. It was a great show, shaped from Disney's musical (the story comes from Verdi). The room was filled, even the governor came and sat 2 rows in front of me. After the show, we went to the Yacth Club to enjoy an earlier celebration of the 5 of Mayo. For the not American ones reading this blog, the 5^th of May is Mexico liberation's day. In the US they also celebrate it, because, I guess, it is another excuse for a party (american's also celebrate San Patrick day, that is an Irish festivity). At first I though it was funny (especially when I got sympathy from a woman once because I told her we do not celebrate San Patrick day in Italy –we are Italian, why should we?-). Of course, there are tons of Mexican in the US, so as people from Irish heritage, so it makes more sense. But I do not think there is any Mexican on island. And even if there was one, and they make such a big party for his day of independence, why didn't they celebrate the Italian' victory in the World Cup 2 years ago? Anyway, not to get too much sidetracked, we went to the Yacht club. Lots of unknown faces were there, and we –old palagi school- were all wondering where all these other palagi came out from. Lots of new faces, and lots of new stories. In particular I was bewitched by two guy, and here I want to share their experience with you, may them inspire you.

Three days ago at the Yacht Club, I saw a nice tan young palagi guy that I never saw before. Curiosity took over and the question started. "I never saw you before here, are you new to the island?". Brad is a Californian guy that has been traveling for the past 4 years around the world. Yesterday, I hear more about his story.

(Brad rowing to his boat in Pago Pago Harbour)

Four years ago, Brad left for a backpacking trip in Brazil, where he ended up for 6 months, met tons of people from all over south America, and of course, went to visit them in their own countries. He got the traveler's vice. Upon the return of his trip, he was ready to settle down in California, when suddenly he felt the urge to leave again. Through Internet, he found an announcement from a French guy that just bought an old boat in Hong Kong. He needed help to fix the boat, and whoever helped him could join him to sail around the South Pacific. Sounded good to Brad, that was now tired of backpacking and wanted to give a new meaning to his travels. He spent 3 months in Hong Kong fixing the boat, and finally won his prized journey to Philippine, where they "lived as bums" for 5 months. Following 3 more months of sailing in other islands, until he landed in Malaysia, where he backpacked around for a month with his cousin. After that, he knew he wanted to sail. He got another sailing job on a bigger boat in Fiji, going to Kiribas, Marshal Island.. and off to Australia, where he traveled for another while until boarding on another boat. He landed in New Zealand for a while, and then boarded again this time from New York on a huge sailing boat going to Spain. Arrived on the European continent, he felt he had enough about sailing for a while, and caught the occasion to visit friends around Europe. A year ago he returned in New Zealand, bought his own 40feet long sailing boat, fixed it, sailed to Tonga and finally arrived in Neverland. Next it will be Hawaii, where his family leaves.

This proves two points:

• traveling is a vice, a drug and , the more you do it, the more you want to do it, and the harder it is to stop
• you do not need to be a millionaire to travel around, just good will (and a positive mind that will also help anyway to enjoy life more).

Rusty had another captivating story to tell. He is one of the oceanographers that is doing research on our beautiful island, and that is always ready to join us at our dinner. ;)

Rusty lived for more than a year in the South Pole. Now, I just cannot imagine that, to live in such a freezing environment for so long, without facilities, ways out… share such an harsh environment with something like 20 more scientists (He is the first one on the left side of the picture, on the bottom).

During the summer months there are many planes coming from New Zealand, so as many people coming and leaving, but during the 9 months of winter, something happens: it is so cold that the skies of the plane cannot slide anymore along the runaway, and the friction makes landing and taking off very hard. Therefore, if you are down there at the start of the winter, you will stay there until summer comes back. You get months long starring night, and frequent aurora borealis. It is so cold that you can hear your breath frost. Definitly check this website for pics of the camps and interesting stories: ftp://ftp.cira.colostate.edu/liston/shows/work_trips/1982_South_Pole.pdf

(Thanks Rusty for the link! Here and example of the slide you can find there! totally worth it!)

The camp is made of a big dome (165 feet in diameter -50meters) kept at “ambient” temperature (therefore very cold, but at least protected by wind and snow) and small cabin where scientists sleep, kept a bit warmer (but below freezing anyway, since Rusty was telling me how the inside walls will get covered with ice after a while, coming from the small humidity that you breath out –the South Pole is a extremely dry place-).

A then, at the South Pole, there is “the 300 degrees club”. Rusty’s description was amazing, but I found this other description on internet and I am going to copy it, because it has come the time for me to start the working day! I do not know who the author is, but if you know please let me know! Plus, if you pictures I could add!?! Thanks!

And I though I was brave because I participated to the Polar Bear Swim in Vancouver, Canada, one New Year! Puff!

“The 300 degree club is possibly the most exclusive club on Earth, certainly it is one of the stupidest. Entry requirements are challenging. First you need to be at the South Pole in winter. Then youneed to wait for the temperature to drop to -100F (-73’C). This only occurs a few times each year. When it happens the sauna (yes we have a sauna at the South Pole) is cranked up to plus 200’ F (93’C!!!)and all potential members climb in and get really sweaty for 20 minutes. When you can bear the heat no longer you strip off all your clothes (some form of footwear and a face mask are permitted) and run all the way to the South Pole! The temperature drop of 300 degrees gives the club its name. You don't actually have to reach the pole, most people just run to the top of the snow drift outside the dome. A few more make it to the Ceremonial Pole and one or two even make it as far as the Geographic Pole marker.

In 1996 it was not until the 17th of July that we got temperatures below -100F. Fortunately it was a clear crisp day with almost no wind, perfect conditions for the 300 degree club. It took a couple of hours to get the sauna up to +200F and then 19 of us (a record I think?) crammed into the sauna for a good sweat. 200 F becomes very unpleasant in a short space of time and with the large crowd we had there was not much air to breath. Most people were a bit nervous waiting to go outside and so we were egging each other on and trying to get psyched up for the challenge ahead.

The tradition is to do the 300 degree club naked but footwear is allowed. A face mask is also advised since running at such low temperatures forces the lungs to take deep breaths of very cold air. After 15 minutes of sweating we could bear the heat no longer and cheering we ran from the sauna dropping our towels to the floor. Instantly we hit the cool outside air the sweat on our bodies turned to steam filling the entrance archway of the dome as we raced through the front door.

Luckily the sauna had raised my core temperature high enough that I didn't feel the cold initially but once outside and on route to the Pole the sweat began to freeze.

Its a steep climb up the snow drift outside the dome and then a straight 100 yard dash to the Pole. Unfortunately I had forgotten my face mask and my lungs were screaming with the pain of the cold air by the time I was halfway there. I slowed to a walk and saw others returning from the Pole racing back to the warmth.

I walked up to the Ceremonial Pole marker, touched it and turned to home and then I realised just how far I had to walk back, naked cold and with frostbitten lungs.
I tried jogging slowly as I was starting to feel the cold. I could feel the flesh on my shoulders, now frozen solid, crack as I moved. My fingers were getting the tell-tale numbness of frostbite. I knew the next 100 yards was going to hurt. Just then Dan came jogging along his usual smiling and joking self. He had been all the way to the Geographic Pole and along with me was the last one outside.
Dan could tell I was hurting and stayed with me as we jogged the rest of the way back.
Just as I reached the top of the snow drift I looked around. What a perfect sight. The stars were out, the skies were clear and dark and floating gently over the station was the arc of a bright green aurora. For a second I forgot the pain and just marveled at the view, remembering just were I was. Then the cold reminded me that it was -100F and I was naked. With a last burst of speed Dan and I returned to the dome.
Back in the sauna, the air was filled with the sounds of cheering and coughing.
Most people, even those wearing facemasks, had frosted their lungs. For the next half hour as we warmed ourselves in the sauna I broke into convulsive body-shaking fits of coughing. It was very unpleasant but between coughing fits we were patting each other on the back, giving high fives, comparing our experiences, and vowing, never again.”