Come Again Another Day

I really cannot overemphasize how much it rains here. It makes sense, though, if you consider how much direct sunlight there is, combined with the fact that Pohnpei is surrounded by water for thousands of miles in every direction. That, and the interior of the island is mountainous, which affects the weather pattern in such a way as to empty the clouds.

Every day we get hit with at least a couple hours of what can be accurately described as a torrential downpour. If they got rain like this in Michigan, they would close schools and tell people to stay off the roads. There would be flash flood warnings. Bingo games in church basements would be canceled. Similarly, if they got rain like this in Los Angeles, the local news would call it Rain-mageddon, or something equally stupid. The city would unequivocally shut down. Indeed, one of my least favorite parts about living in L.A. was the fact that it never rains. Now I suppose I'm making up for that.   

In Pohnpei, the rain is just a part of daily life. It never sprinkles, and the weather rarely even gives hints that it's going to start raining soon. One minute, it's sunny, and the next, you are completely drenched... and it may also still be sunny. I've never owned an umbrella before, because frankly, I've never considered myself the kind of person who is bothered by a little bit of rain; here, however, I take an umbrella with me to school every day, because just about every day, I actually need it. Otherwise, I'd show up to teach in clothes that are completely saturated or have a laptop that no longer worked.

The drinking water in Kolonia, logically, comes from the rain. There are big reservoirs that catch the precipitation, where it is then dispensed through the city pipes. Personally, I do drink the tap water when I'm at work, but for the kids' sake, we also buy purified water for use at home. It only costs $1.50 to have a five gallon container filled, and some places even deliver.

Hot date and a cold shower

Zach and I celebrated our wedding anniversary and not knowing any babysitters we brought the kids out to dinner with us. You know: a date with the kids where, being without a car, we hike up a long, very steep mountainside road to arrive looking like sweat-drenched beggars. Good times. If there is anything that will make you appreciate the civilized essence of ice cubes, it is a hike like that.

The view from the restaurant patio is beyond spectacular and after taking a few pictures, we sat down to order. Our waitress, a pretty, local young woman with a dazzling smile approached to greet us. Before she said anything, our five-year-old daughter announced, “I’d like a cocktail, a tall one!” She said it with such confidence and sounded like she says this all the time with ordering it, "tall." We all looked astonished. The waitress looked to us with raised eyebrows and slight look of panic. I quickly realized that there is a plastic table tent displaying a luring picture of a tall, iced beverage adorned with fruit and a cocktail umbrella under the large caption ‘COCKTAILS’. Back paddling, I quickly say, “Oh, we don’t give her cocktails, um, uh.” I pointed to the sign and after a brief awkward moment told the waitress that Chloe reads. We all shared a relieved chuckle followed by deep belly laughs that come with the kind of shared moments that become inside jokes.

We oohed and awed at the gorgeous sunset while we ate our food. When I eat I sometimes daydream and could not help thinking of a shower. We do not have a water heater. Let's pause to consider this. In the morning and evening it is not particuarily hot here and a cold shower is a most affronting and daunting task. Taking a cold shower when you don't wish for one requires a certain amount of pep talk before hand. Little Engine on the count of three, one…two…three, GO! It is can be difficult to maneuver girlie tasks in a cold shower and sometimes I don't rinse all of the soap out of my hair in my haste of getting out and getting warm. We have a plastic tub for the kids that we top off with hot water from the stove so that their experience is less shocking. Being clean is worth the effort of two to three quick cold showers a day, but I will love a hot bubble bath that much more when I am reaquainted with it.

At Cupid's restaurant the service was great, the food good and the prices decent. Zach had a burger and fries, I had fresh fish (what else?) and the kids ate quesadillas. Everyone enjoyed their meals and we even treated the kids to a strawberry soda to ease any disappointment about not getting cocktails, and because family date night was a special occasion.

Struggling to get to dinner was a physical reminder that sometimes life’s treasures take hard work and perseverance. It is not always an uphill effort, but if we give all of ourselves, we get even more in return and we might even get to coast for a while. I will say that going back down the mountain was much easier that going up.






All in all, it was a good date to celebrate a great marriage.

Mango Lips

Mango has been my favorite fruit since I can remember. Living here in Micronesia is the first time I have had a mango tree in my front yard, an at least 80 foot tall tree. Sounds of a baseball falling through broad green leaves followed by a slightly metallic thud of the fallen mango hitting the jagged metamorphic rocks in a plink, plank, plunk down the steep slope is great music to my ears. A game we’ve devised is called ‘mango hunting’. Picking up fallen fruit might not sound like much of a game or an exciting hunt, but when you are playing ‘duck and cover’ at the first sound of the mango falling and then dodging the ripe fruit that is gaining speed until it crashes, ideally not on our heads, is great excitement for the kids and me.

(Pictured is a woman selling sugar and kool-aid "pickled" papaya and mango.)

Needless to say, I have been eating at least two fresh mangos per day. Not the large, far-traveled, orange when ripened mangos we are used to seeing in U.S. supermarkets, but smaller and stringier dark green mangos with tougher skin and sweeter juice. Every time I eat one of these delectable, heavenly treats I can barely believe my good fortune with every slurping, scraping bite.

Apparently, I had too much of a good thing. At a pot luck I indulged in a glorious mango and within minutes, to my dismay, I developed an itchy burning sensation all around my mouth and chin, everywhere the mango juice has kissed my face. What is this? What is happening? Surely my sweet mango could not be the culprit. Maybe it was rolled in something terrible before it was served on a shining platter. Maybe this particular mango tree is infected or sprayed with chemicals. Maybe the mango was stung by a bee, the only allergy I’ve ever known. Maybe…

Spare yourself the Google search on mango allergies- it ain’t pretty, but it is pretty common and I have the symptoms to the letter. Currently my lips are swelled to twice their normal size. Not in a sexy Angelina Jolie kind of way, more like a collagen lip plumping injection gone horribly wrong. The symptoms of a mango allergy are the same as poison ivy with blistering, itching, burning, swelling and spreading. I am not allergic to poison ivy – I know, it hardly seemed fair until now as I basically have poison ivy reaction on my lips. I have to talk to people with these lips and ask that my kids take me seriously with these lips and want to kiss my husband with these lips. The allergy medication and hydrocortisone helped. I feel confident that raw honey, if I had some, would help. Coconut oil did not help!

There goes another mango now. That one sounded especially juicy. Sniff.

Farewell dear mango, it was lovely to know you. I will try to remember the nuance of your taste. As I try to remember I wonder, what if I didn’t touch the skin or touched it to my lips, but allowed it to be fed to me as a baby bird is fed. I remind myself that allergic reactions can get worse with subsequent exposures and as my plump and bumpy itchy lips would have me remember, it is all too soon to try again.

This is a picture of a hairy spider with a three inch body and four inch legs. I did not take a picture of my mango lips, but find this crazy spider living outside our back door to be equally as disturbing.

Keep on Rockin' in the Free World

As Jamie mentioned in one of her posts, we put a lot of thought into what to bring with us to Micronesia. For me, however, the biggest issue was in determining which musical instrument to bring.

I've played piano almost all of my life, but it didn't seem very practical to bring a keyboard. Last time I brought it on a plane, from Chicago to L.A., the baggage handlers beat it all to hell, and ever since, it sometimes gives me error messages.

This was also enough to rule out bringing my banjo, which my parents unexpectedly got me for Christmas last year and that I had been playing quite a bit ever since. I was even starting to get the hang of it, but seeing as how it's a fairly fragile instrument and I only have a soft case for it, I didn't think it would be a good idea to try to take it on an airplane.

Frankly, I don't know why it is that we, as a society, simply accept that baggage handlers are going to be as rough with our luggage as humanly possible. (And which comes first, getting a job as a baggage handler or being a sociopath with no regard for other people's property?)

In any case, this left me with two choices as far as what instrument to bring, as these were the only two that have hard cases that are deemed "airline safe." These are: my Fender Jaguar electric guitar and my Fender Sonoran acoustic/electric. Despite the fact that the Jaguar is a surf rock guitar, and it almost seems silly to move to an island in the Pacific Ocean (where people actually surf) and not bring it with me, I opted for the acoustic/electric, just because it's more versatile. That is, I don't have to have it plugged into anything if I want to hear it, but I also can plug it in if I want to record.

I keep a bunch of desiccant (silica gel) packets in the case, which the guitar is always in when not actively in use, but I am still a little worried about the humidity. I changed the strings shortly after we got here, and within a week, they were already corroded and dull. I have to clean them with WD-40 once a week and change them every three weeks or so, and I've noticed that the action on the guitar has already been affected somewhat by the climate here. This could mean that the wood is starting to warp or simply that the truss rod needs to be adjusted. I'm hoping for the latter, but either way, it's got me a bit concerned.

On a sidenote, what is it about silica gel packets that necessitates that the words "DO NOT EAT" be printed on the side of every package? Is there something especially appetizing about them? I mean, there are a lot of things that we shouldn't eat, so what makes these so special? Should "In God We Trust," as written on American coinage, be replaced with the somewhat more pragmatic, "Do Not Eat"?

In any case, about a week ago, I was lamenting to a friend of mine here about missing my banjo, and he said that he happened to have one in his closet that someone gave him two years ago but that he had only played a couple of times. After I changed the strings (there were three sets left with the banjo), he asked if I wanted to borrow it.

Well played, universe...
Well played.

Smashin' Fashion

The first thing I notice everyday about the Micronesian people are not their clothes, but the smiles as bright as sunshine they wear. I am amazed at the smiles here. People smile at us for no reason. We receive smiles for walking, crossing a path at the grocery store or passing someone on the street. We lived in Moldova for ten months last year and saw very few smiles on the stoic, Eastern Eurpoean faces we encountered. I am sure the smiling here on Pohnpei seems so surprising because of this contrast, but regardless, it is pretty great to get a full smile from someone.

People here on Pohnpei do wear more than just a smile, it is not that primitive and is the island nation’s capital after all.

I like wearing skirts. It makes me feel feminine and in this hot weather, a skirt (unless hiking) is the only way to go. Skirts are cooler because they allow for airflow. I don’t mind a bit of modesty either. I like to draw the kind of attention that I feel comfortable with. This is not to say that I would be the only person dressed in a Turkish bath. When in Istanbul, right? When in Pohnpei, Micronesia it is culturally appropriate for women to wear a calf-length skirt, so here I am flowing in the breeze with a frequent desire to twirl.

There are a myriad of hand-made skirts for about $20 dollars and these are what 90% of the women here wear. The material these skirts are made of is a kind of polyester blend and not very breathable, so I am glad I brought several cotton skirts that are not see-through when wet.The skirts are either worn with a t-shirt or pulled up over the breasts as a kind of dress. We are told that up until a few years ago it was common to go topless with the skirts. Showing the thighs is unseemly and to a much lesser extent, the breasts. Sunday Best are dresses in a style that I know as a muu-muu.

Men wear pants when doing business and on Sundays. Some younger people wear sleeveless tops and you’ll see girls in knee-length shorts, but this is seen by as showy and flaunting. Many people have hand towels or clip large banana leaves that they wear over their heads in direct sunlight as a kind of makeshift hat. Many people wear flowers in their hair, but there is more to follow on this topic as it is related to traditions of social hierarchy I have yet to fully understand.

Flip flops are the choice by almost everyone who chooses to wear footwear. I have seen makeup on some people, but I notice it because it is in the process of running off. It is too hot and humid for more than waterproof mascara and lip-gloss. All in all, people here are beautiful, not because of a meticulously manicured presentation but resonating beauty from warm, generous smiles and true kindness of spirit.

Right Side of the Road, Wrong Side of the Car

Within the first two weeks that we lived here, we bought a car from a local guy with whom I work. The vehicle lasted for about six days, and then it died. The guy has promised to give our money back, which is a process that is still in the works. The lesson here is: when it comes to cars, don't buy locally, as they tend to be run into the ground by the time they get passed on to anybody else.

We have since ordered a car from Japan, which is due to arrive on October 5. In the meantime, our new landlords, who are good people, have let us borrow the car that was abandoned here by the previous tenant. As you can imagine, it's a fine piece of machinery.

I had to put duct tape on the roof to cover up the holes where the rust had made its way through. While I was at it, I decided that a duct tape racing stripe would be a nice touch, too. (My guess is that it makes the car go at least ten miles per hour faster.) It also complements the pink silhouetted rodeo scene decal on both sides and the pink eyeballs and teeth on the back. Classy, right?

In any case, I'm thankful for their generosity in letting us borrow this while we're waiting for our car from Japan to arrive, because some places are a little too far to comfortably walk, including the college where I work, as well as Chloe's school. Our neighbor, whose son goes to the same school, has offered to take Chloe to school in the morning, and Jamie has been able to take a cab to go get her. Unfortunately, by the time they come back out, the cab's gone and they have to walk the mile and a half back to our house, which is an especially long distance for little legs.

Exemplifying our proximity to the western border between East and West, most of the cars here are from Japan, which means that most (but not all) of the steering wheels are on the right. Keep in mind, though, that most of the infrastructure was set up by the U.S. government, so just like in the U.S., people drive on the right side of the road.

This makes for a whole population of potential mail delivery drivers, except for the fact that there is no mail delivery here. Everything has to be picked up at the post office. Micronesia has no physical addresses. If you have to tell a cab driver where to go or the utility company where to install service, you give them the landowner's name.

Yes, it seems like assigning addresses would be an effective way to make life at least a little easier here in a lot of respects, but it kind of illustrates the importance of land ownership here, which tends to only change hands between members of the same family.

As for driving on the wrong side of the car, that hasn't taken as much getting used to as the fact that the turn signal and windshield wipers are also on opposite sides of the steering column. I can't even tell you how many times I've went to signal my intention of turning only to activate the windshield wipers by mistake. On the other hand, if I'm driving, there's a pretty good chance that it's raining anyway.

The Micronesian Weight Loss Plan

In the month and a half that we've been here, I think Jamie and have each lost about ten pounds. I say this despite the fact that we've never owned a scale, but I can tell you that I feel a hell of a lot skinnier - not in an unhealthy way, but rather, quite the opposite.

Consider that we eat fresh fish and rice just about every day, we consume very little processed foods and we tend to do a lot of walking. Most of what we need is within a manageable distance and walking just about anywhere is usually enough to break a healthy sweat.

The kids, on the other hand, are still growing at the same rate that they always have. We make sure that they get all of the nutrients that they need, and since Jamie's culinary skills are considerably more advanced than mine, she's done almost all of the cooking since we've been here, which I think has been to the advantage of all of our health.

I tend to cook like most guys, that is: based on what sounds good, letting the primary ingredients carry most of the flavor, whereas Jamie takes the nutritional value into far more consideration and creates combinations of raw ingredients that make for interesting and often unexpected flavors. Basically, she's a much better cook than me, so despite that I really do enjoy cooking, with Jamie's blessing, I defer this responsibility to her, at least for the time being. Frankly, I've come to the conclusion that my culinary repertoire is of little value here, considering that I tend to overcook fish and my rice is usually either swampy or burnt… or sometimes, oddly, both.

It's amazing what a healthy diet and even a little physical activity can do. Strangely, though, a lot of people here do tend to be what I would consider slightly overweight, but I suspect that has a lot to do with the prevalence of processed import foods that provide a break from the staple diet that has perhaps become a bit too routine over the past thousand or so years.

Spam is very popular in this part of the world, which I suspect is because for a lot of people in this region, their first exposure to western cuisine came to them through G.I. rations, which included things like canned meat. I can see how when the basic ingredients are as limited as they are here, something that breaks the monotony could seem like a real delicacy, even Spam*.

* which for those of you who don't know, stands for: Slime Passing As Meat

  

The Sandman Cometh

For the first month that we were here, I don't think any of us got a good night's sleep. There were three main reasons for this:

1. Even in the summer, we're used to it getting a little bit cooler at night. Seventy-five isn't what I would consider good sleeping weather. That has taken some getting used to. In fact, this blog could also reasonably be called, "a life without pajamas."

2. The bed that Jamie and I had in the first house that we were renting not only smelled like a cheap motel room, but it was also hands down the least comfortable mattress I've ever encountered. If you've ever seen a mattress sitting out by a dumpster and thought, "If I put sheets over it, the stains won't even be visible," then you might have a lot in common with our previous landlord.

3. Chickens. Just like how there are wild turkeys in Michigan, Pohnpei has feral chickens. Every morning, without fail, somewhere between 4:30 and 5:00, one of the roosters would start out the competition as to which of them could crow the loudest. Inevitably, at least one of them would be right outside our window, cock-a-doodle doing when I'd wish more than anything that it would cock-a-doodle don't. To be honest, I didn't think I had it in me to harbor such an intense hatred for chickens. I'm only vaguely familiar with the book, "Chicken Soup for the Soul." Does anybody know if it included any recipes for wild roosters?

In any case, I'm happy to report that we have since moved into a new house. We've now got fans in our bedrooms, Jamie and I have a much better mattress, and since we're living in a slightly more "urbanized" area, the wild chickens aren't nearly as much of an issue. That is to say that they travel in smaller flocks here. 

I will say that every time I've had barbecue chicken since, I think the sweet taste of revenge makes it all the more delectable. Of course, now we have the barking packs of stray dogs to deal with…  but even though man's best friend is also considered man's fourth best source of protein here, don't expect a blog post called "Dog, the Other White Meat," anytime soon.

How about that weather?

I've never lived in a tropical climate before. To be perfectly honest, before coming to Micronesia, I had never even been anywhere tropical, so as you can no doubt imagine, living on a small island situated less than seven degrees north of the equator has required a bit of an adjustment. 

I grew up in Michigan, where the first snowfall usually comes around Halloween and the ground doesn't begin to thaw until mid-April. In case you're keeping score, that's about seven long months of winter, give or take. 

Don't get me wrong, Michigan is beautiful, but the seasons there, in my opinion, are grossly disproportionate. Spring and fall go by far too quickly, and the two months or so of summer in the upper midwest are often marked by sweltering temperatures coupled with oppressive humidity, during which the mosquitos make the most of their brief existence. 

The wild fluctuation or extremes in temperature that has been a daily consideration virtually every day of my life isn't so much of an issue here. That is to say that there's no heat index of a hundred and ten and no forty degree changes in weather in matter of a day. Just eighty-five degrees with at least an hour or two of heavy rain every day, then seventy-five or so at night. It's predictable to the point of rendering weather forecasts virtually useless. 

Everywhere on the island, vegetation abounds. Cars that die on the side of the road are consumed by plant life. In a very literal sense, it's unquestionably the greenest place I've ever been. The air is fresh, cleansed by a substantial amount of daily rainfall, and my allergies have been almost non-existent since we've been here. 

Of course, there's a part of me that will undoubtedly miss wearing jackets, sweaters and jeans... and maybe even socks. I might even miss snow at some point. But I will say that even though it's not difficult to break a sweat here, there's very little self-consciousness that comes with walking into a store and looking like you ran a mile to get there.  

This brings me to a broader point, which is that the weather in Micronesia isn't really a topic of constant concern, nor is it the material of idle banter between strangers. On any given day, I can plan on wearing shorts and sandals and either getting wet or bringing an umbrella. I do expect, however, that the longer we're here, the more conscious thought I'll have to apply in remembering what month it is, and by the time we return to the U.S., it will probably feel good to wear a jacket again.

A Damp Word on Humidity

As it rains 200 inches of rain per year on the outskirts of sunny Pohnpei, Micronesia and 400 plus in the inner rainforest, things are likely to be a bit humid. We brought along an excellent thermometer/hygrometer (measures temperature and humidity) device mainly out of concern for the electronic equipment that should not be in humidity levels of 90%. I can report with assured accuracy that the temperature during the day is between 80° and 98° Fahrenheit (26.7 -34.4° Celsius)  in sunlight, a fairly constant 82° in the shade and 75° F at night, the temperature is between 73° and 82°F (22.8- 27.8° C). A quantitative response to, “So what is the humidity like?” is that it is between 78% and 90% humidity. There you have it. Unless you have been here or somewhere like India during Monsoon season, the humidity percentages are meaningless, so a better response is a qualitative one represented by anecdotal evidence of humidity.

Top ten reasons I know it is humid…

10. Even if it is not raining my skin feels damp.

9. My son set a potato chip down on the kitchen table and 30 minutes later I went to steal it to eat myself, but by then it was soggy and floppy.

8. When we first moved in I had to bleach the house. Ceilings, windows, walls and floors. Not everything was moldy, but the few spots were enough for me to go all Mr. Clean on a Rambo mission. Note: wear protective eye gear when bleaching ceilings.

7. The guitar strings need wd40 every week to keep the rust at bay and the pick guard has slowly slid three inches from its original spot. 

6. People here keep the cereal, flour and most dry goods in the refrigerator. The dry spices need to be kept in the icebox to prevent caking, or bricking rather.
5. Moss grows on concrete and asphalt and Mold grows inside quite easily, hence the bleach. Counter intuitively, it is worse inside places that leave the windows closed with air conditioning. Since I bleached the house we have not had any mold grow back in over a month.

4. The glue holding the soles of shoes on seems to slowly melt away

3. Paint does not stick well to things. Wall paint blisters and slumps away from the walls.*

2. All of our unused envelopes have sealed themselves and the toilet paper set to the back of the tank actually molded.

1. I know it's humid beacuse 10 - 22 percent more and we'd be swimming.

There is an upside to humidity.

There is less dust.

Zach's allergies have not once bothered him since we have been here.

My lips don't feel like they need lip balm

and the bottoms of my feet are soft like a baby's bum.

No complaints, just need to get more t.p., again.

Drinking coffee from a cereal bowl

Our new landlord came over to our furnished apartment on the second night we were here to take all the decorations, plates, glasses, the Cars themed mini chair and table set that the kids loved and wanted, the curtains and broom. The decorations were not my style and the curtains looked like they belonged in a funeral parlor, but these things were here when we looked at the house and we were not told about her de-decorating plan. Poor Xander, our two-year-old, really did not understand why she was taking the little table and chairs he had been playing with for two days and he called out the door to her “be careful with meine table please.” Even though it is so cute when he sounds like German is his first language I could not help feeling bad because his voice sounded so vulnerable.

I think the worst part was that she took the ¼ roll of toilet paper off the dispenser. This is the toilet paper that I took from our hotel room in Hawaii so we would have something to start out with when we arrived in Pohnpei. I do not think this is indicative of the culture here, but what do I know? Maybe taking toilet paper from someone who is new to the country, who has no way of getting to a market to buy more is a welcoming, initiating gesture. Somehow I doubt that is the case, but I do like to look on the bright side.

On day three it somehow feels like we’ve been here much longer.

We have a few disposable plastic cups I kept from the airplane, but the hot coffee would melt them, so I made the coffee in cereal bowls. It feels a bit like the tea ceremony scene from Karate Kid I. All I need is a clean little old-fashioned shaving cream brush to stir with and this coffee could almost feel steeped in tradition instead of instant granular.

Things are looking up as we look down over this amazing view of the valley. (View shown is from the other side of the mountain we live on.)

Greetings, from the future...

Our plane left Grand Rapids at 6:00 am and landed in Chicago at 5:54. From the beginning of our journey, we were already time travelers. 

The following day, when we flew from Honolulu to Guam, we crossed the international date line, propelling us exactly one day into the future. For all intents and purposes, from our perspective, July 31 never happened.

Considering our proximity to the easternmost longitude of the planet, we are the pioneers of every tomorrow. What's the future like, you ask? 

Mostly sunny, with a ninety percent chance of rain. 

Actually, in many ways, it feels like we're living in some parallel version of the not-too-distant past, where family names stand in place of physical addresses, and women walk barefoot along the side of the road with a naked baby in one hand and a rusted machete in the other. 

Meanwhile, gas costs a constant $5.10 a gallon and the internet comes to us by means of a thousand miles of underwater fiber optics cable. Micronesia is an anachronistic anomaly, trying to find its place in the future while maintaining its connections to the past. The products that populate the shelves of local stores are reflective of fifteen more years of added inflation, despite that most items are already well past their expiration dates. 

A box of cereal costs about eight bucks. A package of ten disposable razor blades costs seventeen fifty. A can of parmesan cheese goes for about fourteen dollars. Conversely, products that originate here are ridiculously cheap, though limited in variety. Fresh tuna, pineapple and coconuts are a tiny fraction of what they cost in the U.S., while Budweiser, the self-proclaimed king of beers, is at a price reserved for royalty. 

As poor as many of the people are who live here, frankly, I don't know how they can afford it. Globalization, in this case, seems like less of a blessing than it is a curse. But hey, at least there's no McDonald's here.