Cultural Exploration 53: Honking

Once, when I was very young, I called my grandpa an idiot. Confined to a car seat in the backseat of the car, I was unable to see out the front windshield. As we approached the intersection at Hesperian and Win ton, my mom saw my grandpa in his car across the intersection, so she honked and waved. When I heard the honk, even at my young age, my Pavlovian response was to shout, “Idiot!” This kneejerk aversion to honking has stayed with me, which has made life in Samoa difficult.

Spend ten minutes riding in a car around Apia, and you’ll hear no less than 8 honks; probably more. Taking a taxi across town is a veritable symphony of car horns. Backing out, pulling in, passing, being passed, assuming right of way, acknowledging right of way, saying hi to your cousin walking down the street. I think even if you drive in a straight line at a constant speed in Samoa, it’s customary to honk every two minutes, just for good measure.

In addition to honking frequency, there’s also high value placed on a having an elaborate customized honk. Lately I’ve noticed a lot of drivers around town have installed a new horn that honks once and then echoes that honk over and over and over, slowly fading to silence. There’s also the ever-popular synthesized catcall. I’ve also taken cabs where I didn't realize the weird sound I was hearing was the taxi’s horn until we were nearly at our destination.

And as I’ve mentioned previously in Cultural Exploration, RPCV Cale once had a million-tala idea that involved inventing a car horn that simply sounded like a long kissing noise.

The one time I drove a car on the island, I had a difficult time perfecting the staccato Samoan honking technique. On occasion we do a similar thing in America in which we punch the horn with the side of a fist, but the American style is a little too short. On the other hand, the normal, open-handed American honk is way too long of a tone. I get the impression it’s an acquired skill.

The worst part of Samoan honking, for me, is getting honked at while I’m on my bike. I’ve been told drivers honk at cyclists as a means of making the cyclist aware of the car’s presence. And because the practice is essentially obligatory, riding a bike down the street inevitably means honk after honk after honk after honk from a line of drivers passing.

The sound never fails to grate on my ears, and I sometimes feel an un-diplomatic urge—one which I’ve never acted on, one which might be described as Pavlovian—to yell back at passing cars, “Idiot!”

Tomorrow’s Cultural Exploration: Laughing

I hope you’re well. Pictures will be posted later tonight or tomorrow morning.

This Ain't My First Rodeo

“I was sitting at the bus stop, waiting with 5 or 6 other people, and I was clipping my fingernails. That was when I knew I’d finally become a bus rider,” my friend Liam told me once. After we’d lived in San Francisco and ridden the public transportation system Muni daily for a substantial amount of time, a couple of us hopped on BART, and we were amazed by its posh decor. By Muni standards, BART was built for a king, what with its cushions, carpeting, and capaciousness. “These people are spoiled,” said Liam.

Cut to yesterday’s bus ride to the south side of the island. I got on the rickety wooden-roofed bus at 3:40 p.m. With an nebulous departure time, I took out my book and read to pass the time. Usually by Friday afternoon I’ve worked up a lot of sleep debt, and after 5 or 10 pages, I hit a wall. Since buses here tend to be packed to the gills with people, and since the hard wooden benches have seatbacks that are only about 8 inches high, sleeping on the bus in Samoa can be difficult. I chose to fold myself at the waist and fell asleep resting with my head on my own lap. This takes practice; I don’t think I could have done this when I first arrived in Samoa.

I’m guessing I slept in this position for roughly 25 minutes. I woke up when some kid tumbled past me. Not too long after I awoke, the bus driver started the bus’s engine, and a slew of stragglers got on.

Once the seats are filled on the bus, the common practice is to si’i, people sit on other people’s lap. So as a bunch of guys boarded, the girl across from me asked if I would be willing to have someone sit on my lap. I nodded and told her that was fine.

She handed the child sitting on her lap to the woman next to her, and then got up and sat on my lap. I should note this is slightly unusual. For the most part, unless a male and female know each other—usually family members of some sort—women sit on other women and men sit on other men. So there was a little bit of social rule-breaking here.

In any case, she sat down on my lap and then turned to me. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Lē afaina.” No problem.

Very slowly she swiveled her head to look at me. “Have you spoken Samoan the whole time?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“Almost two years.”

“Two years?!”

Yeah, lady. I just folded myself like a map and took a 20 minute nap in the middle of a crowded bus. That’s an advanced skill. It’s not nail clipping, but it’s proof that I’m a bus rider.

I hope you’re well. Pictures from the village below.

Me and the baby. New Facebook photo?

Akanese (in the middle) and friends.

It's hard to tell from this picture, but Akanese is playing jacks with these small rocks.

Keleme again.

The Horizon

“Did you know the horizon is the straightest line in the world,” my friend Ruane said once on our way to Lalomanu during the aftermath of the tsunami. “And the funny thing is, it’s not even straight.” I’m not sure why those words have stuck with me, but I remembered them yesterday morning when Paul and I rode the upper deck of the new boat back across the channel from Savai’i to Upolu. With the listing of the boat, the horizon bobbed in the distance.

In Yann Martel’s Life of Pi, the survivor manual Pi finds on board tells him that from a sitting position on his tiny lifeboat, it’s estimated he has a 2.5-mile radius of sight, and I often think about that too. From 30 metres up in the air, how does my radius of sight improve?

When we were slightly more than halfway across the channel, Paul pointed to one of the hills on Savai’i behind us. “My house is right at the bottom of the other side of that hill,” he said. “I always think about that when I’m on the boat—about how it’s kind of cool that I know exactly where my house is.” All I wanted to do was quantify.

“How far do you think that hill is?” I asked. “Like, as the crow flies, what is that distance? 30 miles?” Paul shrugged.

Distance over the ocean is always difficult to gauge. When I did the swim from Alcatraz to San Francisco, I remember I could see the finish line a mile-and-a-half away, and it seemed so close. 40 minutes later, it was hard to tell if I’d made any progress at all; the ocean always seems to look the same.

Here in the South Pacific, the absence of much light pollution makes for amazing night skies. On many occasions I’ve seen a burst of lightning with no accompanying thunder because, despite the bright flash across the sky, the actual bolt of lightning was so far away the sound of thunder is nearly inaudible.

But my fixation with the horizon yesterday morning seemed to flow from a more figurative perspective. The horizon is at once such a tangible border between the sky and the water, and yet so ethereal and elusive. It’s always there in the distance, just out of grasp. There’s that scene at the end of “The Truman Show” where Jim Carey’s sailboat bumps into a wall posing as the horizon; an image surreally satisfying.

But really, the horizon is always at a distance. You can only be where you are.

There’s all this talk about the future—what things will be like back in The States, who’s leaving on what date, grad school applications—but the fact is my group is still here for another 3.5 months.

With the new Lady Samoa III, the boat ride from Savai’i to Upolu is fairly short; it’s a shame to spend the whole time staring at the teetering horizon.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Me making a strange face on the little boat on the way to Savai'i earlier in the weekend.

Paul snoozing.

More GMAT Maths! This one had me stumped for a good hour tonight, and then the solution turned out to be absurdly straightforward.

O is at the center of the semicircle. B, C, and D are points on the semicircle. The length of segment AB is equal to that of segment OC. Given the measure of angle COD is 60°, what is the measure of angle BAO?

Answer Thursday.

Early in the Morning

I’m going to be short because I’m tired. Why am I tired? I slept at Phil’s house last night and made it to my school this morning in time to teach first period. That’s a taxi ride, a boat ride, a bus ride, and another taxi ride before 8:00 a.m. True, it was a plan of my own design, but it’s one thing to make the bed and another to lie in it.

Speaking of bed, I was still asleep when the taxi showed up at Phil’s house this morning. Though when we made arrangements with the driver last night, he had agreed to be at Phil’s at 5:00 a.m., he woke me up at 4:18 shouting, “Lipo! Lipo!”

When I showed up at the window groggy and confused, he asked in Samoan if I was going to Apia. “Yo!” I shouted as I put on my ’ie faitaga.

The taxi ride seemed short, probably because I came in and out of sleep. Stevie Wonder was on the radio, and the driver’s son sat in the passenger seat. I asked if we could stop at the bank on the way to the wharf. When we reached our final destination, the driver wished me a good trip back, “Manuia le malaga.”

The wharf in Salelologa is surprisingly busy on Monday mornings because so many people spend Sunday resting and rely on that first boat to get them back to Apia in time. The gates were still closed when I arrived, so I decided to head to the satellite Peace Corps office across the street to kill some time.

After a brief fight with the faulty Internet connection, I headed back to the wharf in time to join in the obligatory minor scuffle at the ticket counter. Either I’ve gotten much better at maneuvering this crowd, or people have started to give me space because I’m a palagi; I’m not sure which, but I’ve been getting through that madness a lot faster lately.

When I boarded the boat, I first went for a seat in the air-conditioned cabin, but the pre-dawn air was already cold, and the air conditioning was freezing. So I headed upstairs to the observation deck, where I found Supy. He was headed into town to see the Medical Officer.

We chatted for a bit and watched the sun rise. The girl down the row from me ended up sleeping on the floor, covering herself with an ’ie.

There was more pandemonium getting off the boat, but somehow Supy and I both got seats on one of the buses headed for Apia.

Me and Supy.

A bleary (blurry) sun rises on the horizon just north of Upolu.

Loading the Little Boat

The “little boat” is the smallest of Samoa Shipping Corporation’s ferries; there’s only one platform, and it is used to carry people and vehicles. Loading up the boat is an awkward process because the vehicles usually get packed in so tightly it would be difficult for the people to get on the boat after the vehicles are already on. Instead, they let people on the boat first, then they load the cars and trucks.

But, like I said, they pack the cars in tightly. Phil describes it as a giant game of Tetris. There’s lots of maneuvering to pack all the cars on there; parallel parking, throwing it into reverse, etc. And all this happens with crowds of people standing around.

It is a uniquely Samoan experience.

Yesterday I was able to get a spot on the boat’s tower, so I got to see the entire process from above, and I snapped some photos. Enjoy the pictures below.

I hope you’re well.

Here is the boat, all loaded up with people along the edges of the deck.

A truck backs into a narrow space toward the front of the deck. Notice the person on the wall getting pushed by the truck.

The boat half-full.  The white car is backing into people and the orange truck is about to be.

The deck is finally full.

I followed a lady holding a baby through this narrow crevasse between cars near the end of the ferry ride.

I was surprised when the guy sitting next to me pulled out a Toshiba laptop. Unexpected.

Sitting Waiting Wishing

I'm at Phil's house on Savai'i this weekend, and I don't really feel like writing the usual 500-word post, so I'm just going to say my piece here and post some pictures and let that suffice. I planned on taking the 8:00 a.m. boat yesterday, but woke up late and ended up getting to the wharf in time for the 12:00 p.m. boat. Unfortunately there was no boat at 12:00 p.m., so I had to sit at the wharf for a couple hours until the 2:00 p.m. boat showed up. These pictures are from that wait.

I hope you're well.

The waiting area through which passengers normally get on the boat is closed so everyone had to wait in the main area. People were bored. Many laid down and took naps. Like me.

This guy played guitar. He is blind. He sang funny songs in Samoan, most of which I didn't understand. One of them had a verse that ended with "fa'afafine fa'alavelave".

When the ticket booth finally opened, there was a small riot.

These boys stood outside along the dock.

With the waiting area closed, it was difficult to manage the crowd.

The boat that finally showed up at 2:00 p.m. was the smallest of Samoa Shipping Corporation's ferries. There was much angry tsking. Tomorrow I'll tell you about what it's like to take the little boat.

The Lemon

Peace Corps Volunteers can’t drive. For whatever reason—maybe a bunch of volunteers in the past wrecked it for everyone else, maybe because we don’t fall under the State department and thus don’t have diplomatic immunity, maybe because we’re seen as a bunch of kids who shouldn’t be trusted to operate heavy machinery—it’s officially in our contracts we cannot drive. We can walk, we can bike, we can take taxis wherever we want, but under no circumstances are we allowed to climb behind the wheel. And so for many of us this inevitably leads to a deep yearning desire to drive a car.

Through much of my time at university in Los Angeles I didn’t have a car, and that was hell. Not having a car in LA is like being a shut-in. Cars and traffic and smog are the lifeblood of the city, and abstaining from all that you feel cut-off, imprisoned. I feel like that’s also true in Samoa to a certain extent. Los Angeles is a sprawling city where landmarks and museums and places of interest are so distant from one another, taking public transportation would literally take hours. Samoa doesn’t have the same history of corporate and governmental greed, but its nice spots are still far between. In Apia the grocery store, the open-air market, and the department store may all be conveniently across the street from one another, but taking a bus out to the beaches on the south side of the island almost always means spending the night out there. It’s a hike.

For whatever reason, the Peace Corps does allow volunteers to rent and drive cars provided they take a vacation day. So I pulled some strings yesterday morning and got my paperwork streamlined in order to drive the rental car yesterday afternoon. And then Dustin and I, along with Koa and his brother, toured the island today.

It was an eye-opening experience.

On one hand, having a car was great. I love to drive. Love it. The thrill of the open road, the meandering esses climbing mountains, the satisfying hum of the downshift—it’s fantastic. And it’s so liberating to go across town on a whim, to skip the taxi, to not lather up in sunscreen or worry about sweat stains. In all of these matters, having a car was fantastic.

On the other hand, we got a lemon.

The lady at SouthPac Rentals had promised a Hyundai Getz with a manual transmission. When we showed up it turned out the Getz was already booked, but she upgraded us to a Toyota RAV4, free of charge.

Looking back now, I’m guessing the RAV4 was the owner’s own car, scarred by many years of wear and tear. The odometer showed 200,000 miles, and that was no surprise to me.

I watched the mechanic dump a pint of water into the radiator before we left. It was a sign of problems to come. By the time we’d climbed the cross-island road, the motor was emitting steam and the temperature gauge began to climb. It dropped a little going down the mountain, but on the relatively flat roads along the south island, the temperature kept climbing into the red. We pulled over.

At Faofao this morning we put over a gallon of water into the thirsty radiator, and headed out on our way. The car was happier for the water, and we got through most of the day unscathed. We stopped off to tour some of the resorts on the south side of the island. It was nice, and Phil’s host sister from Fausaga gave us a couple of free bottles of soda. When we got back to the car, it wouldn’t start. No power in the battery.

We got a jump from some tourists at the hotel. After that we opted to cut our trip short and make a B-line for Apia. The clutch was old and worn, and I had a difficult time telling when it was and was not in neutral, and so a half-hour after we’d got the jump (the battery having ample time to re-charge), I accidentally killed the engine when we dropped off Koa and his brother. But had the battery charged? Nope.

We were back in Apia by then, and the rental agency agreed to come pick up the car. What a mess.

I do indeed miss having a car, and I think it would make life here a lot easier. But dealing with the maintenance and agitation involved, maybe it’s preferable to simply call a taxi.

I hope you’re well.

Ferry Bad Day

Dustin and I woke up at 6:00 a.m. to catch the 8:00 ferry that leaves from Apia. The new boat, Lady Samoa III, has been leaving Apia because the Mulifanua wharf on the western side of the island (where ferries normally berth) isn’t deep enough to accommodate the new boat. Blakey and I have been hoping dredging efforts are slow because the convenience of having a ferry directly from Apia is awesome. It’s walking distance from my house.

This morning we were actually walking that distance when we ran into PCV Dan who had gone for a morning jog down to the Apia wharf to check out the situation there. “There’s no 8 o’clock boat,” he said. I looked at him quizzically. “They said the boat leaves at 12.”

I rolled my eyes. There’s a disclaimer on the Samoa Shipping Corporation’s website that says, “Please note schedule subject to change without notice.” Understatement of the year.

With nothing to do and 4 hours to kill, Dustin and I posted ourselves in the Peace Corps resource room which provided air conditioning and couches to sleep on. I tinkered about on the Internet for a while, and we both took naps.

After a while Supy showed up. “Which boat are you taking?” he asked.

Me: The noon boat from here.
Supy: There are no boats from here anymore. They finished dredging the wharf.
Me: Whaaa?! When?
Supy: 2 or 3 weeks ago.

Dan was long gone having taken the pasiovaa from Fugalei to take the next possible boat. So I called Samoa Shipping Corporation and Supy was right. No boats from Apia today. Lady Samoa leaves Mulifanua at 4:00 this afternoon.

As I write this it’s 11:30 a.m., and we’re contemplating what to do with the next 2.5 hours we have to kill until the bus leaves to take us to the wharf. Tide is too low to check out Palolo Deep, and 2.5 hours isn’t really enough time to hike Mt. Vaea. It feels like a waste of a day.

At this point I shouldn’t feel too surprised to be caught off-guard. It happens frequently enough the feeling is pretty familiar. But I still get annoyed when my cheese gets moved. I’m not sure if I should be annoyed with the Samoan Shipping Corporation for being so unpredictable or at other volunteers for not disseminating information or at myself for being so out of the loop.

I guess I’m just cranky because I woke up so early. We got up at 6:00 a.m. to catch a boat that leaves 10 hours later. What a joke.

I hope you’re well. Happy birthday, Monika! Pictures below.

Dustin sliding down the rock face at Papase'ea Sliding Rocks.

Group pic at Sliding Rocks. Left to right: Lili 82, Rachel's friend Gwen, Rachel 82, Me, Dustin.

Salelologa Transfer

“I hate it,” said Harris. “It’s genius.” Harris was this guy I met near the end of my junior year of college. He was a film student, and he was talking about a scene in the movie “Almost Famous” in which the characters are all on a tour bus, and they’re all angry at one another, and then they slowly and spontaneously start singing Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.” I think Harris was simultaneously jealous of Cameron Crowe’s brilliance and annoyed at the simplicity and contrivance. Oh well, Harris.

Spontaneous singing is a special thing in America; not something we experience on a regular basis. I remember my family once started singing “American Pie” during a game of Catch Phrase. There was also one night at the CNET sales conference in 2006 when our party bus of inebriated salespeople broke out into Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing”. Beyond that, I have a hard time recalling any other big musical moments.

I wouldn’t say it’s common in Samoa, but I would say it’s more common. People sing a lot here, and it seems like everyone knows all the words. Our staff party in December was essentially a 2-hour sing-along at a public restaurant in Apia. It was pretty great. But it didn’t seem quite as spontaneous as what just happened on the bus.

I stayed at Supy’s house last night, and he, Jordan, and I took the bus into Salelologa to go to the bank and the Peace Corps office and such. The ride wasn’t too long, maybe 20 or 30 minutes.

I took a seat next to Jordan, Supy sat across the aisle from us.

Last night I whined a lot about the buses that run from the wharf back to Apia, and how I’m not excited about taking that bus tomorrow. So when we got on the bus this afternoon, Jordan asked if there were other things I didn’t like about the bus.

On the contrary, I very much enjoy riding the bus. I like public transportation in general. My first time in New York City, my friend Dustin and I packed our trip wall-to-wall with tourist stuff, but my favorite part was the subway. I like moving, I like going places. I like the idea of a bunch of strangers coming together to share the same space.

And it was impeccable because the moment I finished explaining all this to Jordan, we could hear it coming from the back.

At first it was just 2 or 3 guys in the very back row of the bus, all singing—not at the top of their lungs, but not quietly either. It seemed to move like a wave up toward the front, row by row. After 20 seconds, the entire bus might as well have been a choir.

Forgive me, I didn’t recognize the song. But for a moment, the bus was very into it.

And just as quickly as it started, the song and the moment were over.

I looked at Jordan. “Yeah. The bus is cool.”

I hope you’re well. Picture below.

The choir. Me halfway in the frame in my aviators.

All the Way Home

I took a flight from San Francisco to Geneva once. That was a long way. I flew from Los Angeles to Rio de Janeiro. I think that might be a longer distance; I’ll have to Google that. My point is in the grand scheme of things, today’s entire trip was a relatively short distance. But with the exception of my New Years Eve trip to Falealupo, today’s trip back to Apia from Manase was my longest one-day journey in country, point-to-point.

One other thing that sets today’s trip apart from that NYE trip: a bunch of us went in on a taxi for the longest leg of that trip. Our trek today comprised wholly of public transportation. That’s a little more of a headache.

The day started at Tanu Beach Fales where we had complimentary breakfast and I took a brief swim since the tide was in. Luisa and I had our bags packed and our fale cleaned by 9:45 since we’d been told the bus would come through the village to pick us up at 10. I was told over the phone when I made the reservation, we were told yesterday when we checked in, we were told this morning when we checked out. 10 a.m., 10 a.m., 10 a.m.

The bus came at 11:30.

It was cool though. The family that owns Tanu is very nice, and when the bus finally did show up, there were plenty of open seats. We sat in the bench at the back and we were off.

Though Los Angeles is a bigger city with a wilder reputation, I find drivers in the San Francisco Bay Area drive a lot faster on average. This same juxtaposition seems to be true of Upolu and Savai’i: despite being the quieter, more laid back island, drivers on Savai’i haul ass. It took us an hour to get to Salelologa. On an Upoluan (Upolutian?) bus, the same distance would have taken twice as long. No exaggeration.

We got food at a hotel in Salelologa, and then walked to the wharf where most passengers had already boarded the ferry. With the new boat in and out of commission, the boat schedule has been all over the place. Today, the (old) little boat was not running so there was an extra large crowd on the (old) big boat. The air conditioners were off, and by the time we got on, there were very few seats left. Luisa squeezed in to a bench. I sat on the floor.

At first this arrangement wasn’t ideal, but I got sleepy and laid down in the aisle and took a nap. And it was awesome.

Getting off the boat is a crucial point in any journey given the scarcity of bus seats back to Apia. I have no idea why they send 3 tiny buses for a boat carrying >400 people. I try not to use the blog to complain, but the whole pasiovaa arrangement is absurd. Cramming that many people on to that few buses makes no sense in terms of safety, comfort, business, or efficiency. I don’t expect things to be overly accommodating or hoity-toity, but surely someone could scrounge up one more bus? Particularly on Sundays when only one boat is running and there’s bound to be hoards of people? It’s about the same as when there would be one Muni bus waiting after a San Francisco Giants game.

As you can probably surmise, the bus back to Apia was not fun. By the time we got on, there was standing room only, and we were near the front. Looking out the window, there were still at least 20 people waiting to get on. Luisa ended up riding on a random lady’s lap. I had to contort my legs and arms to fit into a tiny space in the aisle.

In the end, we made it back to Apia about 6 hours after we left Manase. On the whole, this was good time. Especially considering we got to eat lunch. But I’m still ready to take a break from buses for a while.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Phil and Luisa on the rocks out in back of his house.

I finally got to use the underwater camera bag this weekend.

Coral at Manase.

You can always tell a Milford Man.

Boat and Photos

Scout and I are back in Apia. Despite waiting 2 hours for a bus that never showed and a taxi driver who took his sweet time picking us up, we made the boat with seconds to spare. In addition to carrying people across the isthmus, the boat also ferries cars. Usually the cars are loaded on after the people are already on board, but today I had to walk the narrow paths between cars, cat in box in hand, up to the front of the boat, where I realized the doors to the upper levels—where most passengers ride—were locked.

So I sat with the cars and a handful of passengers who were staying down there by choice. The car compartment has no windows, so it was a strange way to ride a boat. I hear some people prefer to ride on the bottom because being low and near the center of the boat is a good way to avoid seasickness. I, on the other hand, like to look out and the horizon and watch it move with the listing of the boat. Not an option today.

But after a while I took out my book and wiled away the time. And now we’re back in Apia.

I figure I’ll keep today’s post short so I can catch you up on pictures from the past couple days.

I hope you’re well. Enjoy.

This is the inside of the air-conditioned cabin of the new boat. It's got seats, not benches, and passengers are not allowed to lay in the aisles contrary to the common practice on the other boats.

Blakey and the cat (inside her box) on the new boat Thursday morning.

The upper level of the new boat is outside (and therefore not air-conditioned), but it does have a translucent roof, and laying in the aisles is allowed up here.

The air-conditioned level has a canteen/snack bar where they sell saimini and tea and coffee among other things.

Also, there's a lady who walks around selling coffee. It costs $2.

Both levels allow passengers to sit outside and watch water go by.

The northern coast of Upolu as seen from the new boat.

I don't remember this from last year, but I guess that's because I spent Good Friday in Apia last year. Apparently it's fairly common to construct a cross and put it in the middle of your front yard on Good Friday. It's a little like hanging your American flag on Memorial Day or something like that, I guess. Although the cross makes it look like you're going to have a ritual crucifixion, which is kinda weird.

Phil, Blakey, and I sat down to play cards, and the cat wandered in and sat down directly opposite me, as though she wanted to be my partner in Bridge. It was funny.

I don't have much to say about this picture. I like the storefront.

Phil and Blakey eating lunch at Lusia's on Friday.

I like this picture, so I'm posting it twice. Doesn't it sort of look like a more tropical version of that popular Pink Floyd poster? Left to right: Slovenian tourist whose name escapes me, Leah 82, Dan 81, A.J. 81.

Which Boat?

For whatever reason, heaps of people in Apia and its surrounding areas have family in Savai’i. Or were born there or grew up there or still stay there on weekends. Thus Friday boats are more crowded than those during the week, and like most airports in The States around Thanksgiving, the boats get insanely crowded during the holidays in December and in the lead up to Aso Maliu, Good Friday. In fact, most schools in the country have Thursday off so students can get home.

I have decided to spend the weekend in Savai’i this year, and sometime late last week I started weighing my options to decide when to leave and which boat to take. Monday’s going to be hellish, there’s no way around that, but being smart about things should yield a comfortable trip going out, at least.

In the past there would have been two options: leaving Wednesday afternoon or leaving Thursday morning. But right now, there is a third option in the mix. The Samoa Port Authority recently received a third ferry from the Japanese. This ferry, in a stroke of genius, leaves from Apia Harbour, not from the wharf an hour’s drive outside of Apia.

Oh, and one more complication: Scout’s coming. I’m bringing the cat along with me, which means lugging around a bulky box and having other passengers stare at me.

Here is how things break out:

Wednesday Afternoon Boat
Pros: Time-wise, farthest away from Friday rush. Also allows for most time away from home.
Cons: The 4 o’clock boat is always a bit of a zoo. Also, since today is the last day of school for most students, they’re all out, and it’s conceivable many headed straight to the boat. Oh yeah, and I’d have to pay the $3.20 bus fare to get to the wharf.
Bottom line: Too much of a rush. Also, I’m writing this post on Wednesday afternoon. A little late.

Thursday Boat: Wharf
Pros: Likely to be least crowded option, particularly if I was to leave in the morning. Every boat tomorrow will still be pretty crowded though.
Cons: I’d have to leave at 6:00 a.m. to make the big boat at 8:00. Also, bus fare.
Bottom line: A good fallback.

Thursday Boat: Apia
Pros: No bus fare. I can walk to the dock from my house. Also, did I mention the new ferry has a much larger seating capacity than the other 2 ferries? Also, I haven’t taken this brand new ferry yet, and it sound pretty exciting.
Cons: This one also leaves at 8:00 a.m., which means I’ll have to get there pretty early. Since it’s the last boat from Apia before the weekend (Port Authority’s closed for Good Friday and Easter), it will also be crowded.
Bottom Line: It makes the most sense, so long as I can get a seat.

So it looks like I’m going from Apia tomorrow morning. The final complication: though students aren’t coming tomorrow, it’s considered a staff work day. My pule said it’s cool if I miss since I’m heading to Savai’i, but my staff has opted to meet up at the seawall at 6:00 a.m. to do a 2-mile walk. Anyone who doesn’t show up by 6 will have to buy lunch for everyone else on Tuesday. Since it’s early enough that I can make it, I think I’m obligated to show up.

So here’s the plan. They’re meeting up at Seafood Gourmet, which is pretty close to the dock. I’ll show up, show my face, and they’ll take off one way, and I’ll go the other way.

Also, I’ll be carrying my cat. In a box.

Wish you were here! Pictures will be uploaded later.

The parade for the Manu Samoa, fresh off their victory at the Hong Kong 7s Tournament, was this afternoon.

Parade.

More parade.

Kids from the junior league.

They never shut down the other side of the street. We had oncoming traffic the whole time.