2C Update #129 - American
Samoa - July 25 to August 16, 2005
(Photographs by
the Two Captains)
We had a rousing 480-mile passage from
Suwarrow to American Samoa in 20-25 knot trade winds
setting a record for the fat old condo of three 150-mile
days in a row! We made such good time, our planned
Monday morning arrival actually happened Sunday evening,
and it would have been mid-afternoon had we not been
trounced by a huge and nasty squall system on our final
approach that blew straight from the direction we wanted
to go.
American Samoa is comprised of seven islands, the
principal island of territory Tutuila – where most of
the population lives – , three islands in the Manua
Group and plus outlying Rose Atoll way to the east and
Swains Island way to the NW. The Manua islands, said to
be the most stunning scenery in the territory and
culturally considered the Garden of Eden of the Samoan
people, of course lie sixty miles to windward of the
check-in port and are not supposed to be visited before
check-in. We, sadly, passed them in the night, although
other bots we know stopped and anchored for a few
nights.
Tutuila itself is beautiful. Steep and lush, it reminded
us as we approached of a cross between St. Thomas and
Tortola, and the Pago Pago harbor, when we pulled in at
sunset that first evening, was one of the most striking
we have yet seen. The waterway doglegs to the left, and
then left again, turns that totally block out sight of
the sea, and it is surrounded by steep mountains and an
almost vertical 1600' rise to wraparound Maugaloa Ridge.
The commercial wharf lines a good section of the town
waterfront on the southern shore, but work goes on
quietly and ships come and go less obtrusively than do
the cruise ships in St. Thomas. The yacht anchorage is
past all that, so deep into the bay that our
chartplotter shows us up a river.
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There were maybe ten boats here when we arrived along
with our newest best friends from Suwarrow, Bud and Nita
on their beautifully refitted Kelly Petersen 44 Passage.
Only about half of boats, some at anchor, the others on
private moorings, had anyone on board, and we were here
a week before any other boats came in. Some of the
cruisers here have been here for a couple of years,
having found jobs ashore to boost the cruising kitty,
and although all of them strike us as independent souls,
there is a comfortably regular social round : Friday
night cocktails at the Pago Pago Yacht Club (no docks),
Sunday nights at Evalani’s for Mexican food and a free
movie.
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We
had no idea what to expect from Pago Pago (pronounced
Pahngo Pahngo), American Samoa’s capital “city” and
principal harbor. A commercial port of some
significance, its reputation is not good. The harbor,
one of the naturally most protected in the South
Pacific, has a big container depot and two large tuna
canneries, and the scuttlebutt was that the bay was full
of trash, the holding poor thanks to debris on the
bottom, the water foul, and the air full of cannery
stink. For these persuasive reasons, and its pricey
harbor fees, most cruisers pass American Samoa by. Its
two acknowledged virtues are that it is part of the US
mail and phone systems, and that US products -- both
foodstuffs and 110v appliances -- are available at US
prices. This is what drew us to risk the horrors; we
simply couldn’t resist the chance to replace some things
on board either locally or by easy mail that otherwise
we would have had to either do without or schlep back
from the US by plane some time in the future.
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Well, it has been an unexpected surprise. Yes, there is
a cannery and a big generating plant to boot that emits
a 24-hour rumble, and yes, there is some trash that
appears and disappears with the state of the tide and
how much rain has fallen upriver, and yes, the bottom
does have some debris that can make anchoring a
challenge, and yes, on occasion there’s some smell, BUT
it’s our opinion that none of these things are worse
than some other popular cruiser destinations like
Trinidad, Golfito, Mazatlan or even back home in
Charlotte Amalie. In fact, American Samoa’s bad PR seems
very like the prejudice the USVI endures compared to the
BVI. Here the people are super nice, prices reasonable,
plus we have found plenty of the kind of services we
needed. Indeed, we finally were able to get our liferaft
serviced and inspected, something we had not found
anywhere since Panama. (Yes, we were a little overdue.)
Most importantly, however, the environment has seen real
improvement, thanks to the EPA which has done good
things here the past few years. The cannery debris is
now piped and/or shipped way offshore for disposal, and
unpleasant odor is infrequent. A major anti-littering
campaign is working at re-educating the locals, who
previously considered trash a reflection of their
ability to purchase it! To our eyes the floating stuff
and water quality of Pago Pago is no worse than
Trinidad, which, you'll remember is a hugely popular
cruising destination, and, while the bottom issues are
real (our friends hooked into a spool of rigging wire, a
coil of line and a plastic garbage bag the first time
they put the hook down), we have anchored twice with no
problems and a good set and have held in 25 knot
gusts…so far. The cannery stink is intermittent, maybe
10% of the time, and the generator roar quickly becomes
white noise over which you can easily hear the busy land
birds and the froggies in the hills at night.
The Samoan islands, logically and culturally one group,
became divided politically into two -- Samoa (formerly
called Western Samoa) and American Samoa – at the end of
the nineteenth century. An already existing schism
between local “kings” became formalized when the United
States took control of the eastern islands and Germany
the western group. Germany lost control of Western Samoa
during WWI (when they were busy elsewhere!), at which
time New Zealand took over. Western Samoa became
independent in 1962, during which time American Samoa
became, well, ever more American.
We
had always imagined American Samoa to be much like the
USVI., and in many ways it is. You have a tropical
island and a tropical people over which a veneer of
Americana lies; you have the lingering heritage of a
former military base; you have a slew of buildings with
Federal, bureaucratic-sounding signs scattered all over
in town, and, out in the area near the airport, known as
“Little America” you have the commercial familiarities
of Cost-U-Less (just like in St. Thomas, full of bulk
American goods) as well as McDonald’s, KFC, Pizza Hut,
Napa, True Value and Ace.
Most all the cars are US models (and
there are plenty of them), although the busses
definitely are not! (The busses are homemade boxes
plopped on top of cut-apart truck chassis and then
painted and decorated almost as much as a Panamanian
Bluebird.) There is even American TV – one
non-commercial, PBS-type station and one commercial
station mixing choices from the networks – and US
sounding radio. Money is US green, distances are in
miles, and at the fuel pump the price is for gallons.
Most
amazing to us of all, after four year in Spanish and
French-speaking countries, is the fact that the locals
actually speak English. I’m sure
storekeepers must think I’m slightly dull-witted since
every conversation I start begins with a 60 second pause
while I sort through what language should be coming out
of my mouth!
But as comforting as the familiarities
are, the fact is this is a very different place. The
first clue is the dress. One does not walk around town
in shorts and a tank top. Everyone wears shirts covering
their shoulders and dresses or skirts to mid-calf,
including many of the men! Seriously. We saw a few
lava-lava’s on men in town, including some of suit-like
colors with shirt and tie, but when we reached
Immigration and found about half the officers wearing
navy blue, government issue wrap-around skirts, we knew
we weren’t in Kansas, Toto. Even high-school boys wear
lava lava “skirts”, imprinted with their school seal and
colors. The boys usually have baggy shorts on
underneath, and I’ve noticed on rainy days that a lot
more people, women included, wear Capri-length pants.
The people themselves are a big change. They are big:
tall and solid. Bulk is prized. After years of our
feeling like “Gullivers in Lilliput-land”, we are
actually smaller (if not shorter) than the locals.
Belatedly you realize that while most people do speak
English well and colloquially, among themselves they
speak a different language – full of all the vowels and
glottal stops of Polynesia of which you can’t guess a
word.. …Well, perhaps that isn’t so different than the
VI! |
The missionaries must count Samoa as
one of their biggest successes. In addition to the
conservative dress, which makes little sense to us in a
hot humid climate, public behavior is somewhat
circumscribed. In other words my inclination to link
arms, hold hands, or smooch with my hubbie must be
curbed in public.
The
Lonely Planet says about half the population belongs to
the Congregational church, about 25% are Catholic, 12%
Methodist and the rest mostly Mormon, although we notice
many Latter Day Saints and Pentecostal churches as well.
The sheer number of churches is amazing, and they are
all large. Every evening between six and seven pm, gongs
(the gongs are made from old propane cylinders) sound
around the island to announce the beginning of “Sa”, a
period of prayer, where everything stops for about ten
minutes.
They say that if you are in a store
when Sa begins, they will lock you in, and if you are on
the street you should stop and sit or pull over if in a
car. From the boat, we haven’t noticed the traffic
stopping on the main road in Pago Pago, but then again
there isn’t much traffic by that time of night, since
the busses stop around six. Sundays are days of rest,
and playing tourist in small villages on a Sunday, when
our presence might disrupt the family routines, is
strongly discouraged.
Missionary
work is not just a thing of the past. The Pago Pago
Seafarers’ Center, who make themselves available as an
mailing address for cruisers, is an endeavor of the
Baptist church. Situated on the NW corner of the harbor,
this mission has books, videos, pool tables, computer
and telephone service for al sailors, from cruisers to
the seamen of the tuna boats and container ships.
But even the intense Christianity
seems to me still to lie like a veneer over something
older. It is called Fa’asamoa – The Samoan Way. The
Samoan culture is Polynesia’s oldest, and even the
political deal struck with the United States way back in
1899 insisted on protection of Samoan rights and ways.
Like the USVI, the territory is represented by
non-voting delegates to the Congress and the Senate and
like the USVI the residents can’t vote in Presidential
elections. But unlike the USVI, Samoa is an
unincorporated territory of the US and its residents are
American Nationals, not automatically granted
citizenship. They have their own constitution, and are
not governed by an Act of Congress.
Fundamental to the Fa’asamoa is its
hierarchical village structure. According to my trusty
Lonely Planet guidebook, the main component of this is
the extended family or ‘aiga. Each ‘aiga has a matai
(chief) who represents the family’s interest in the
village council, called a fono, and the fono itself has
a chief, and so on up the line. Our most pointed glimpse
of this came about at S.O.S, the company that services
life-rafts. The manager, Tony, with pony-tail, earring,
and manner, seemed pretty All-American at first glance
with typical sailor’s tattoos on his substantial biceps
But peeking out from under his knee length shorts were
the edges of a much more extensive tattoo.
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Over the hours spent inflating, inspecting and repacking
the life raft, we got a little of his story. In short,
although most of his childhood was in the US, his Samoan
father raised him in the Samoan way (tough love). When
Tony came back to Samoa to work and raise a family, he
found himself entwined in his very extended family, in a
culture where if someone needs something and you have
the means to help, you must. Because his family has some
chiefly rank, pressure has built for him to step up to
his inherited “duties.” This led to his recently getting
the traditional men’s tattoo – a dense patterning
reaching from the knees to the waist, and covering –
here Tony’s eyes opened wide for emphasis –everything in
between. The tattoo was applied in the traditional way
with a sharpened boar’s tusk, and took seven days, five
hours a day to apply, and is, Tony assured us, the most
painful thing he’d ever experienced. In the old days, he
said, it was supposed to prove your manhood, and, of
course, failure to complete the tattoo brought shame to
the family. Although I didn’t ask Tony, one wonders
when, in a society of knee length shorts and lava lavas,
anyone ever sees these tattoos.
Surely the most striking thing about this territory’s
Americanism is its patriotism. Upon arrival in Pago Pago,
we ended up after the circuit through Immigration and
Customs in the Harbormaster’s Office. Captain Silila
Patane settled us on the sofa in his office and launched
into a long explanation of why he must receive us with
his foot propped up on his desk (an injury), which then
led to an explanation of how, as squad leader of the
local Army Reserve Unit, he should be in Iraq right now
with his men, but that because his medical had not been
approved he was here and his replacement, a staff
sergeant well liked on the island, was coming home from
Iraq in a box this very week, the first American Samoan
casualty of the war. We had noticed the yellow ribbons
proliferating everywhere, the American flags, and the
“We support our Troops” bumper stickers, Captain Patane
wanted us to be aware of what was going on in the
community, and so in some way be a part of it, which I
think we have, following events in the daily paper and
watching processionals go by with sirens wailing. The
Harbormaster’s two oldest sons are serving in Iraq and
the youngest wants to sign-up. The only indignation we
heard in his voice was that he was not there himself,
and he let us know that Samoans understood very clearly
the importance of taking care of the fight there and
keeping it away from your own mainland. It’s quite a
thought, thinking about burly Samoan reservists worrying
about protecting a “mainland” some 4000 miles away from
their island.
When
we arrived in Pago Pago, we didn’t expect to stay longer
than a week or at tops two, whatever it took to get our
packages here. We got a misleading impression of the
mail’s efficiency when our packet of forwarded St.
Thomas mail arrived two days after it was sent. However,
we later learned that the mail actually arrives on
island only twice a week, and has been known to gets
bumped when passenger seats are full, so our time here
stretched over that as we waited for our big lumps, a
new water heater and the wind generator we sent to
Florida for servicing and balancing by the manufacturer.
We have easily kept ourselves occupied. Our first
package to arrive was a new satellite telephone. We have
thought about a satellite phone since before we left St.
Thomas, but the high price kept putting us off,
especially as the HF radio email systems continued to
serve our daily email needs. From the Marquesas onwards,
though, connections on the radio became harder and
harder to effect, not just thanks to narrowing
propagation opportunities, fewer stations to choose
from, and greater distances, but also to the number of
boats trying to use them. Increasingly, we became aware
of how many boats we knew had Iridium phones aboard
(Iridium being the only service covering the mid-Pacific
other than the big-boat Immarsat) and how they could use
those phones to get weather reports any time of day as
they needed or wanted them. With the longer passages to
plan for, this was an attractive option. And finally, we
had acquaintances from Raiatea who suffered a terrible
tragedy when in moments their rig came down and the boat
broke apart in a collision with a remote reef leaving
the family injured and adrift in their life raft for
eleven hours. Although the Amateur Radio folks maintain
a vigilant Maritime Mobil Net all day on 14,300 mHz, if
things are happening fast, it is hard to imagine a
two-person crew managing such an accident AND calling
for help by radio at the same time while the boat
perhaps is sinking underneath them. Unlike the radio,
the sat-phone can abandon ship with you. That incident
was more persuasive than any of the value of the sat
phone investment, so we promptly placed our order with
Sea Tech Systems, the company I worked for at the Miami
Boat Show last March, and the phone was all but waiting
for us upon our arrival in Pago Pago. Of course having
the phone, and figuring out how to use it are two
different things. Somehow the suppliers of these high
tech toys just assume that if the item is something you
need, you must already know how to use it. For us, we
had about a week-long learning curve to get our email
working properly. I still don’t entirely understand how
to get the weather!
Meanwhile
Don has kept himself busy with replacing our microwave
and water heater, the two big projects we had in mind
when we came here, as well as repairs to the Aries
windvane and the wind-generator. In between we have
shopped taking advantage of all the bounty in the
American scale stores. And we have shipped out packages
of French Polynesian charts and guidebooks back to VI
friends Judy and Bryan who are making noises about
following our wake in the next year or so.
It has not all been projects, though. There have been
lots of social activities, most centered on eating and
drinking. The two regular cruiser get-togethers in the
harbor are, as I mentioned before, Friday-night happy
hours at the Pago Pago Yacht Club and Mexican and movie
night at Evalani’s. These simple evening events loom far
more important to us than one might think coming as they
do after so much time in French Polynesia where such
things simply don’t have a chance. Hang-outs –
affordable hang-outs – with fellow cruisers over good
food and drink have been sorely missed. There is a
comfort to it I can’t stress enough, and it is like
cream on top that English is the spoken language.
We have also been twice to the Wednesday night dance
performance, in Samoan called a fiafia, in the courtyard
of Sadie Thompson Restaurant just up from the dinghy
dock. This nice little show follows Sadie’s $19 buffet,
but you can attend at no charge if you wish. It features
a troupe of Sadie’s female employees – attractive gals
in full length red outfits – presenting three or four
traditional Samoan dances backed by a small percussion
group.
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These dances are much more conservative than other
Polynesian dancing we have seen, using hands much more
than hips to tell the story, although you can see and
hear the shared ancestry. Just in case you forget that
difference, a troupe of three young gals takes turns
with Sadie’s Girls presenting the more sexually-charged
Tahitian-style tamure and Hawaian hula.
The show is capped off by the featured
fire-dancing, surely one of the most exciting and almost
scary performances we have seen in our travels. The
fire-dancers, all brothers from one family, clothe
themselves in skimpy lava-lavas and palm leaves and
dance with knives which they set alight through
gasoline. These they twirl and toss like batons singly
and doubly and even triply to the feverish beat of the
drums. This is a good time not to be in the front row. I
actually saw girls cowering in the face of some of the
acrobatics. It is hot…literally and figuratively!
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Finally, we went one night to a Samoan umu as presented
by Teesa’s Barefoot Bar in Alega Beach. As it was in the
Marquesas and Easter Island, the umu is a Polynesian
barbecue baked in hot stones and banana leaves. Unlike
the ones we attended before, which were buried in a pit,
Samoan umus are above ground. According to my guide
books, it is traditional for the families to have an umu
feast on their leisurely Sundays, hence the noticeable
increase in smoky wood fires we see burning all around
us on that day.
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Interestingly, although the buffet and fiafia at Sadie’s
drew lots of local folk, Teesa’s more traditional-style
dinner drew only Americans. I guess why pay for what you
can get easily (and more cheaply) at home? We went with
Dale and Heather of C’est La Vie, cruising friends from
last year who’d left their boat on a mooring here in
Pago Pago through cyclone season. In addition to us
there was a group of teachers on Tutuila for a week
doing language skills testing, a young couple from
Georgia who’d been here a couple of years working and
teaching, and a sole American lady from Chicago who was
the only regular tourist we’ve met, and a repeat one at
that. We sat at one long table covered in banana leaves
and our food was served traditionally, placed in piles
in front of us without plates or utensils. Not even
napkins! I will say the food was great.
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Unlike our Marquesan umu experiences, nothing was
overcooked, and the variety of food cooked in the umu
much more interesting. In addition to the expected pork,
there were prawns, turkey, chicken, octopus, lamb and
beef riblets as wells as breadfruit, plantain, pumpkin
and papaya. The breadfruit was accompanied by two dips
of taro-leaf and seafood-flavored coconut cream baked in
coconut husks that were rich and scrumptious, but the
starchy whole plaintains were a bust and lay largely
untouched the length of the table.
The drive to Teesa’s, unfortunately at dusk in deeply
overcast weather, took us in a direction we had not yet
had occasion to travel, and reminded us forcefully that
despite having been in American Samoa two whole weeks,
we had yet to make an island tour. I don’t know when we
will learn not to let ourselves get so wrapped up in
practical matters that we don’t leave seeing the island
we’ve come to visit until the last minute!
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It wasn’t until Saturday, August 13 – Don’s Birthday –
that we found ourselves in a rental car, along with Bud
and Nita of Passage, finally setting out on a drive
around the island. People had said the island could be
seen in one day, but I don’t see how. We spent all day
Saturday and only saw the rugged Eastern half, although
we did go up and over every side road that crossed to
the spectacularly scenic north side.
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Once
out of Pago Pago, the countryside becomes abruptly rural
with small, neat, and very quiet villages strung out
along the one road. Everybody waves as we pass and says
“Hi!” or “Bye!”
Most intriguing to us (beyond the
incredible number of very large churches) are the fales.
The word fale means house, but these days most American
Samoans live in vaguely westernized houses, clustered in
family groups, with the fales built in the front yard.
The best way I can describe them is large empty
pavilions – roofed, floored, with support columns around
the outside -- built in the traditional, oblong fale
shape – each large enough to hold 50-100 people or more.
My best guess is that these pavilions are where the
large extended families gather for meetings, but we have
seen little more than a few people chilling out in their
shade. The other unusual custom is the burial crypts in
the front yard. This takes keeping the extended family
together to a whole new level!
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Since the main road on Tutuila only runs along the south
coast, we had to double back to town. We stopped at
Teesa’s to show Bud and Nita the site of our umu feast,
with hopes of lunch, but it seems Teesa’s doesn’t
operate as a full time restaurant. However she made us
welcome, provided a round of cold beer, and fixed us a
snack of grilled prawns.
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AND we had a chance to watch a traditional tattoo like
Tony’s being applied to a guy’s backside (on the same
platform we’d eaten dinner from three nights earlier!)
with boar’s tooth, mallet and “support staff”. We were
told they’d been at it three days, eight hours a day!
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With hunger temporarily staved
off, we drove over Rte 006, the road twisting up past
Rainmaker Mountain through the Afono Pass and the Amalau
Valley where it is said you can see flying foxes (fruit
bats) during the day. But the male appetites in the car
were more focused on getting to a restaurant in town
than any naturalist activities so we hustled back to Mel
and Gretchen’s, a kind of all-day Chinese buffet with
very tasty food at very cheap prices. By now it was
mid-afternoon, so instead of continuing on we doubled
back to watch the rugby matches going on in the local
playing field. Since the PA announcements were in
Samoan, we all relied on Don’s vague understanding of
the game to have a clue what was happening. Rugby seems
a made-to-order sport for tough Samoans….but they can’t
wear their lava-lavas on the field. It was nice to see
some leg!Our car rental was a
two-day package, so we set off the next morning to drive
the western end of the island. From town west, the road
hugs a narrow shore much like Tortola’s road from
Roadtown to West End. Extensive shoring projects are
underway to protect this artery from erosion. About five
miles out of town the coastal plain widens and this is
the area of more suburban development, including the
airport, the old military base, car dealers, industrial
businesses and all the other commercial Americana – eg
McDonalds and KFC. The residential areas also seem more
westernized, at least as far as the town of Leone, where
the coast narrows again, the road twists, and the
villages once again become small and more traditional.
Possibly
the most pleasing stretch of road we traveled all
weekend was the five miles past Cape Taputapu where the
road snakes its way back northeastward above a series of
indented coves of clear blue water and green reef. On
the islands leeward side, the clouds cleared and the sun
shone hot. Here the tiny villages on the shores of the
coves were spurs away from the road, so we did not have
to worry about intruding on the sacred Sunday
activities, and we were able to stop for a picnic under
a big shade tree.
All in all, as I suspect you can tell, we have really
enjoyed our stay in American Samoa. We’ve been here
three weeks, and there are twenty-three boats now at
anchor here! Although staying so long in one port seems
wasteful of good cruising season, we do seem to be
happiest with the places where we have taken enough time
for them to grow familiar. American Samoa is the type of
place where locals quickly recognize you, remember your
orders, and make you feel at home. It’s a place of easy
shopping, good food and convivial gatherings. It’s been
a great place for cheap phone calls home and lots of
mail. However those empty coves we saw on our drive have
nudged awake our instincts for more remote anchorages,
so I think we are ready at last to give up the comforts
of civilization and move on. |
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