A silent hello and an American salute

There are culturally appropriate ways to greet people that differ from place to place. Here in Pohnpei, Micronesia, it is proper to say good day and to ask about the other person and their family's well-being.

When in passing, it is good to give a head bow. It is both a greeting and a sign of respect. The head bows from the neck at a 30 degree angle with a slight sideways turn and the other person will return the greting. It is quite an amazing unspoken form of communication as it is so efficient, both parties feel respected and it usually results in smiles. 

Whether I am a passenger in a car or walking on the road, I head bow to people we pass. It is a solid momentary connection made in a fleeting moment. 

The American Salute is a term a friend made up for when a person driving a Japanese car tries to engage the turn signal, but since it is on the opposite side of the steering wheel, they end up turning the windshield wipers on. I have, of course, done this myself numerous times, but in the spirit of commraderie, I enjoy seeing others do this as well.  

Experiences are a series of tiny happenings that taken out of context do not support the same conclusion as the whole. These small moments are my favorite part about traveling. A head bow here, an American salute there and my attitude about my day can change. What is the written equivalent of a head bow? 

Maybe the head bow means something like, "Go in peace and with my blessing for a fortunate life. That is at least what I intend and what I get out of it. 

Fish out of Water

I think Jamie and I had been married for about a year before she ever saw me in khaki shorts. It just wasn't part of my wardrobe. I had also never owned a pair of sandals, and I certainly wasn't the kind of guy who wore Hawaiian shirts.

This has all changed since we've lived in Micronesia. Here, I have four pairs of khaki shorts, about six Hawaiian shirts, and a pair of sport sandals, because frankly, it's too hot and humid to wear much of anything else. In the U.S., I would usually wear a tie when teaching, but here, even the thought of it makes me break a sweat. The only people that I've ever seen wear ties here are Jehovah's Witnesses. It's how I know to shut the curtains and pretend that we're not home.

In a few months, we'll be heading back to the United States, at which point it will be interesting to see if I can remember how I used to dress. My clothes are all in boxes in a storage unit, socks and all. When I put them on, will it still feel like an expression of who I am? Physically, I don't really think I've changed, but it will be interesting to see if the clothes still fit.

In my adult life, I've lived in Chicago, Los Angeles, southern Oregon, Michigan, Moldova, and a small town in northern Illinois. Each time I move, pieces of myself get left behind. I don't just mean the friends that I've made in each of these places, but rather, if ever there's something that I want to change about myself, what better time than when moving to a place where nobody knows me? Every new address is a blank slate.

Fundamentally, I'm the same person that I've always been, but every time that I've moved to a new place has provided an opportunity to refine how others see me, which ultimately affects how I see myself. Habits get left behind. The things I do for fun may dramatically change from place to place. In some cases, what I do for a living has also been vastly different, which also has a large impact on how others see me.

In Chicago, I was an ambitious and dedicated film student who also worked as a repairman for the telephone company. In Los Angeles, I was a musician and an aspiring screenwriter who worked miscellaneous office jobs to help pay the bills. In Oregon, I was a documentary filmmaker. In northern Illinois, I was a graduate student. In Moldova, I was a Fulbright Scholar. In Michigan, I was a freelance writer who also taught night classes. In Micronesia, I am a writer/college instructor who wears shorts, sandals and Hawaiian shirts every day. I might not have even recognized this person eight years ago.

The strange part, to me, is that only my family knows the whole story and how these pieces all fit together. Most of the people I knew in Illinois had no idea that I am a musician and have been playing guitar, among other instruments, for a very long time. On the same token, most people here have no idea that I hold a journeyman's license for low-voltage electrical work or that I directed a documentary seven years ago that was accepted into the Austin Film Festival. In some ways, these all seem like very different lives.   

With that said, I feel extremely fortunate that I have these opportunities to have such different experiences. Each time we move, much like the decisions that involve dividing our possessions into storage, donations and trash, I have the opportunity to do the same thing with the characteristics that define myself, to reevaluate what is important to me. For this reason above all others, I believe that change can be a very good thing. When you put yourself in a new environment, that which remains constant is yourself, but by leaving perceptions and expectations behind, you also have the freedom to grow into the person you want to be.

Life itself is a work in progress.

Food Shopping

"The boat is in!" A phrase like this might not mean much to you. I know that before we moved to Micronesia, if someone told me that “the boat is in” I would have felt a mix between indifference and confusion, as in “Why tell me that?” Now when a friend calls, texts or IMs me to tell me this very phrase I feel a strong sense of urgency verging on panic. I've got to get to the store before all the good stuff is gone.

Food shopping in Pohnpei is like going on a treasure hunt without the clues. There is no one-stop shopping, so to knock out a shopping list requires several store visits. Different stores seem to stock different things or if they have the same things, the prices are quite different. Items found one place at one time are not guaranteed to be there a second time. It is almost as if the supplier is different every time. It is possible we receive rejects. Like, “This is not selling well. Get it off our shelves and send it to Micronesia – they’ll eat anything.” I am just guessing, but I would not be surprised if that was an actual quote. That is the only way I can explain turkey tails. Turkey tails are very popular here and as you may imagine, they are at least 90% fat with bits of hidden meat.

Food prices are at least twice that of the U.S. It is $6 for a pound of butter, so I don’t cook much in the way of French cuisine here. Cheese is about $8 for 8oz, so that is a rare luxury. Flour is about $5 for a 5# bag, but like most imported items, it is not always available on island. A common phrase is “stock-up” meaning if you see it, get a lot of it because you might not see it again. This enkindles a food hoarding impulse that is amplified by the fact that other people are stocking-up too. There are four bags of popcorn in my fridge right now so I won’t run out for a while. I once bought three bags of a stir-fry vegetable that looked decent. I found them to be quite good and went back to buy six more bags. That was many months ago and I have not seen anything comparable since. For some reason I can always find frozen okra and canned beets. Food donation centers in the U.S. seem to have the same inventory right down to the expired goods. By law, stores here are expected to pull expired items from the shelves and place them on separate shelving labeled “Expired – Not for Human Consumption – Animal Food”. This does happen, but without a task force insuring adherence, many regularly shelved items are outdated. Check the packaging.

Most everything needs to be kept in the freezer or refrigerator or it will spoil in the heat and humidity or bugs will get into it. Not having a separate freezer is a major disadvantage. 

Wall-Mart is not a knock-off of the hyper-consumerism superstore. It is a small version of a western style grocery that is located next to an historic landmark called ‘the Spanish Wall.’

Most local stores do not have signage. Why put a sign up if all your family and friends already know where your store is?

A store I call “Hut Mart” is actually known locally as Simon’s. Thatched roof local markets sell fish and locally-grown produce. I will arrange my meals around what I can find locally and fill it out with imported items such as rice or bread I bake from imported flour. Surprisingly, there is not always fish for sale or coconuts and bananas. I wondered why local items are frequently out-of-stock even within the right growing/fishing season. The market owner told me that when someone in the fisher or farmer persons’ family has a payday (every two weeks) or a social security check (at the end of the month) they don’t need to work and take a few days off so there is little brought into the market.

You can find local eggs for $5 a carton. This is surprising; I guess the value of fresh local eggs justifies the highest egg prices I have ever seen. The other option is $3.50 for one to two month old imported eggs (without an expiration date). Pohnpei is known for its black pepper, but is sells here for $5.25 for two tablespoons, so it is far more expensive than imported pepper and locals can’t even afford it.

Ellen’s market will grind the hard coconut (copra) from the shell – which sure beats me taking 30 minutes to work up a sweat doing the same thing. Simon’s market will fillet fish for a nominal fee. The local food is spectacular such as taro root, breadfruit, 32 different varieties of bananas, pineapple, starfruit, cucumbers, purple sweet potatoes, avocados, papaya, pumpkin, mangos, limes, bok choy, insanely spicy miniature chiles, small eggplant and a green leaf called ging ghan with a peppery taste.

The up side is that I am now a more efficient shopper and more creative with my meals.  When I return to the U.S., I may live at the local farmer’s market, but I will also miss the fresh tropical bounty.