Guam

Hafa Adai!

I've been greeted with "hafa adai" everywhere here on Guam, which is funny because I don't remember hearing that very often when I lived here. It's becoming as endemic as "aloha" in Hawaii or "God bless" in the South. So, since the greeting has popped out to me on this trip, I too will use it as I greet you, the reader.

At the time of my last blog post, I had just landed in Guam, rediscovered its amazing tinyness, and felt the blunt of Micronesian humidity. A lot has happened since.

Wednesday

• With my body still stuck on Pacific time, I woke up at 3:45 am. I decided to go for a run to begin the day. I ran down the hill past darkened shops and apartments, jogged non-chalantly through the lobby of a mega-resort, meandered along the resort's lazy-river and kiddie-pools, and popped out along the entirely deserted Ypao Beach. It was really quite an awesome experience to have an entire beach to myself, with the stars out, and the gentle lapping of waves. Quite surreal. 
• After picking up my rental car, I drove north to Yigo. I lived in Yigo for 3 months in 2010 as a missioary, and I was eager to see the ol' stomping grounds once again. I drove down pretty much every street. It was so much fun to pass a house and instantly remember the people I met there and the conversations we had. I sat outside my old apartment for awhile, which instantly brought back a flood of memories (being quarantined for a week with the mumps, filling out the 2010 US census on the porch, etc.). I was tempted to knock on the door, but decided against it. Not much has really changed in Yigo in 4 1/2 years, other than an odd street here-and-there that has been paved.
  
   
  My old apartment in Yigo (top left)

• I sat for a time on the blinding white sand of Ritidian beach on Guam's northernmost point. It really is a fabulous beach, and if you ever visit Guam, Ritidian is a must-see. 
   
  Ritidian Beach

• In the evening I drove to Agana to watch the sun set and visit the Chamorro Village night market (only on Wednesdays). As I sat in the park watching the sun set over the Philippine Sea, I ran into a senior missionary couple in-charge of family history work for the LDS Church in Micronesia. We talked for a good long time as surfers caught their last few waves, rowers powered out to see in a traditional canoe, and as a Buddhist monk in bright orange robes strolled along the sea-wall talking on his cell-phone.  Once the sun set I grabbed a "fiesta plate" from a food tent at the night market: Chamorro BBQ sticks, red rice, chicken kelaguen, and pancit. I was planning on buying some souvenirs at the Village, but I didn't find anything worth buying. The atmosphere was amazing though, as usual.
  

Thursday

• I had never been further south than the Navy base, so my first priority today was to drive to the very south of Guam (some call it God's Country) to see what the other, less-inhabited side of Guam had to offer. It truly felt like a different island. While northern- and central-Guam can feel crowded, urban even, the south was rural and much more like other islands in Micronesia. Southern Guam features a series of different villages, each centered around a Catholic church. The first village I came across was Umatac - the landing point of Ferdinand Magellan on his round-the-world voyage in the 1500s (Guam was claimed for Spain, and remained a Spanish colony until 'Merica won her in the Spanish-American War of 1899). I mostly just drove around and explored, but I also found some time to take a swim on a lovely stretch of sand outside Talofofo, until a storm rolled in and I thought it wise to get out of the water.
   
  Umatac Bay, the sight of Magellan's landing in 1521

• As I mentioned, I ran into a senior missionary couple last night. During our conversation it came up that I had a missionary companion from Chuuk, Elder Kuss. He was from a very tiny island in Chuuk, and I had thought that I may never see him again. Well, as you can imagine, I was floored when this couple told me that Richard Kuss was living on Guam! I HAD TO FIND HIM! They gave me his phone number, but every time I tried it the phone went straight to a busy-tone (likely disconnected). So, this evening I ran over to the chapel to ask if they knew of any other way to get a hold of him.  Well, no, they didn't, but they were very helpful in trying to find someone who would. As luck would have it, Bishop Nicerio of Kuss' ward showed up at the church. He told me that Kuss was with a large group of members attending the annual Guam multi-faith Day of Thanksgiving inter-faith service and potluck, and that he would be going over right away and that I could come. So, I ended up sitting in on an 1 hour inter-faith meeting at the Methodist church, replete with readings of the Qur'an, Chamorro spiritualism chantings, a Buddhist song/chant, etc. Quite the experience. Even the governor of Guam was in attendance (I said hi after. Nice guy.) At the conclusion of the meeting I finally got over to see Kuss. He was as shocked as I was! It was soooooo great to see him again! We talked and talked and talked. He couldn't believe that I was on Guam. I couldn't believe that he was either. It was so amazing to see a good friend that I had convinced myself I would never see again. We talked and I drove him back to his place in Dededo. It was hard to say goodbye again, but it was so fabulous to get caught up.

 Me and Pwipwi

 Tonight's sunset from Two Lovers Point

There was, of course, much more that I did here on Guam. Unfortunately, there isn't enough time to write about all of it here. Tomorrow morning I fly to my favorite place on Earth. Off to Pohnpei! Kaselel!

-Taylor

Hafa Adai! Traveling Back to Micronesia

Hafa Adai!

For those of you unfamiliar with the ubiquitous Guamanian welcome greeting, hafa adai is pronounced "half-a-day," and I begin this blog post with that phrase because I AM ON GUAM!! Wow! It's still hard to believe. I spent the majority of my mission on the absolutely wonderful island of Pohnpei (we'll get there Friday!), but I also lived on Palau and Guam. I left Guam, and Micronesia, for good on June 11, 2010. I've always drempt of going back, but until today, a dream is all it was. I'm truly blessed to have the opportunity to come back.  That fact isn't lost on me.

I left Seattle Monday morning on Hawaiian Airlines, flew 5+ hours in coach class, enjoyed a delightful breakfast of fruit, cheese and crackers, and chocolate macadamia nuts (yes, Hawaiian still serves complimentary meals), and landed in Honolulu around mid-day.  After a quick lunch at a Panda Express knock-off, I sat in the waiting lounge for my flight to Guam - the same flight I took on my first and only other trip to Micronesia. The waiting area was a tiny demographic model of Guam itself: military families returning from leave, suited government officials, Asian tourists ready to hit Tumon Bay and its attractions, Chamorro families returning home, and Micronesians speaking quietly amongst themselves in many of the languages of the islands.

The first real BAM! moment in which I realized I was truly going to Micronesia came as the flight attendants announced that smoking and bettlenut were not allowed on-board. Good luck hearing that on a flight from Boston to St Louis.

My first two impressions upon reaching Guam:
1) Wow, Guam is even smaller than I remember. (And Guam is the largest island in all of Micronesia!)
2) Oppressive humidity and heat! Even after-dark it is unbearable. Man, I've missed that!

I'd love to include more on this post, but it is late, and I haven't slept in almost 24 hours. Time to fuel-up for tomorrow! I can't wait.

-Taylor

United #201 Honolulu-Guam

Micronesia: Why I Have Returned to Writing

Tomorrow I leave on an adventure rooted in 4 years, 5 months, and 5 days of unapologetic nostalgia. Tomorrow I, finally, return to the beautiful islands of Micronesia!

But first, let me explain why I have returned to my blog (this blog) after a long absence. I am generally hesitant to write much about, or post pictures from, or generally acknowledge my travels on Facebook or other social media. While I enjoy social media, I realize that it can be a cause of jealousy and self-pity, a trap I too often fall into. I don't want to appear as braggadocios or arrogant, and as a result I tend to keep a lot of the neat experiences I enjoy to myself. That said, several people have asked me to keep them updated on where I go. They'd like to see pictures and follow along for the ride. I post pictures on Facebook from time-to-time for that reason, but I have done so reluctantly.

My little sister (Hi Emily!) asked me today if I would be updating my blog at all on this trip. I replied, quite succinctly I might add, "no." She then changed her tune and asked if I would should our dogs request it. I said I would, but only if they verbally asked me to write on my blog. Well, a miracle of miracles occurred tonight, and Misha (allegedly) asked (in remarkably clear and American-accented English) that I update my blog while traveling this week. So, true to my word, I will be posting to this forum from time-to-time as I explore Guam and visit friends on Pohnpei. It may not end up being an every-day sort of thing. It likely won't, especially on Pohnpei, as I don't always know what my access to internet will be like. But, I will try, and I will try to not feel guilty about doing so.

So, if you'd like, you're welcome to follow along! If you fear that reading about my adventures will cause too much jealousy (as I know I would feel, should I be the one reading about another's vacation), then please feel free to ignore me for the next week.  Whether you do or do not follow my trip through Micronesia this week, remember that there are new places and people and things right in your own backyard. Have fun!

We leave in the morning.

-Taylor

Misha, the Dog That Speaks (and the dog that needs a grooming, and soon)

71 Degrees North

Some people argue that travel can be immensely disappointing. We visit places to escape our current lives and situations, only to find that life carries on much like our own in the places we visit. I suppose if you are predisposed to pessimism this view makes perfect sense. I don’t subscribe to that line of thinking. However, there are some places that even the most pessimistic travelers would be hard pressed to find disappointing; places that are so unique and different that we overlook the similarities and simply gawk in awe at the novelty of the place itself.  I set off on a whirlwind weekend adventure and found myself in just such a place – Barrow, Alaska. 

Hanging forlornly on the wall of the airport terminal (a generous term to be sure) is a small picture of Sir John Barrow, the namesake of the northernmost town in the United States of America.  Barrow was a British naval officer who advocated the exploration of the arctic regions in the late 1700s.  Though he never visited the point and city that now bears his name, Barrow can rest in peace knowing that his name is now synonymous with the idea of being “really, really far north.”  At 71 degrees north latitude, Barrow is as far north as you can go without leaving land in the USA, though that is misleading as well. There are no roads to Barrow. None at all. The only way to come and go is by plane, which is what I found myself doing on a Saturday in July.

Accompanied by a fellow Alaska Airlines intern, Sam, I stepped off the plane to a refreshing temperature of 38 degrees (Did I mention that I was there in July? I did? Okay. Just want to make that point clear).  Sam and I briskly stepped into the airport and met with Debra, the Alaska Airlines station manager in Barrow. After exchanging pleasantries (and a bribe of fresh fruits – a commodity that far north), Debra gave us the keys to the late-90s Ford Ranger the airline uses around town. We were told that the road to Point Barrow, the true northernmost spot of land in the US, had been washed out in a recent storm, but that we were free to drive as far as the road was navigable and anywhere else around town that we pleased. She must have been secretly laughing inside at her knowledge about how little there was to drive to, but we were grateful none-the-less.

Yes, people live lives in Barrow that are not too-different than the lives we live down here in the contiguous 48. There are schools, a hospital, and a post office. There’s a very nice library carrying the latest new releases and computers connected to the internet with teenagers eagerly posting Facebook status updates. There’s even a fairly well-stocked grocery store, though the prices…well, those are unique. Still, life goes on at 71 degrees north. What drove us to Barrow and what made our trip to the town immensely exciting and rewarding, was the knowledge of how far north we really were.  Literally, there is nothing/nobody to the west, east, and north of you at that latitude. Only the extreme northern reaches of Russia and Canada, and the icy expanse of Greenland, are level with you. 

Because of the excitement of finding ourselves in such a remote outpost, Sam and I loaded into the truck and set-off at once for the road to Point Barrow. We wanted to go as far as you could go, right away.  After making our way down the dirt roads and among the elevated wooden homes of Barrow proper, we found ourselves driving parallel with the icy Arctic Ocean. Wow! We were staring at a sea that was, until this moment, almost mythical. To begin with, very few people ever actually find themselves along the coast of the Arctic Ocean. Secondly, the ocean only resembles an ocean a few months a year. For 9+ months every year the Arctic Ocean becomes entirely covered in ice.  Even now, in mid-July, icebergs floated idly off the beach and the ice-shelf began a few hundred yards away. It looked cold, and it felt cold! Sam and I pulled over, ran down the rocky beach and stuck our hands in the water. Almost immediately, I lost feeling in my right hand. I didn’t care. I had just touched the mythical, elusive, and mighty Arctic Ocean! I stuck my hand in again. And again. And again. And I spent the next ten minutes feverously rubbing my hands together in a desperate attempt at generating heat. It was wonderful.

Farther down the road we came across, entirely unexpectedly, a sight that I was hoping to find but unprepared for at that moment. Sandwiched between the Arctic Ocean 30 yards to the north and an expansive bay ten yards to the south was the home field of the local Barrow High School Whalers football team. I had seen an ESPN vignette about the team and its field, the true Frozen Tundra (sorry, Lambeau), almost 6 years earlier. Surprised and saddened to learn that the Whalers had been playing football on gravel for years, a rich woman from Alabama had paid for an artificial-turf field to be built for the school. Years after watching that vignette in awe and wonder (mostly amazed that Barrow High played football at all), I found myself running across the blue-turf in near-freezing temperatures in July. How on earth could they play football here in October with wicked winter winds coming in off the frozen Arctic Ocean a mere 30 yards away?!  Again, it was wonderful.

We drove even farther down the road, past the remains of an old Navy airfield and radar station, and eventually encountered a sign informing us that the road beyond was impassable. We had made it! It was now impossible to travel farther north inside the United States without hiking and risking death-by-polar-bear.  Mission accomplished.

The town of Barrow itself is nothing much to write home about. Every building is elevated off the ground a few feet and built on pillars that dig into the perma-frost below. The homes are little more than sheds with a few windows. Everything is incredibly simple.  As we drove back into town we chanced upon a rare town festival – a Nulakataq. In celebration of a successful whale-hunt, the town gets together once-a-year to feast and party the day away. The town “park” (a dirt and gravel lot about the size of a soccer field) was enclosed with a tarp-fence, a noble effort to keep the winds from pummeling Nulakataq party-goers. The entire town was inside. Literally, everyone was there – children, adults, elders, visitors. Teenagers, all wearing the same bright-yellow hoodies, walked around the perimeter of the park and passed out food. Rice pudding, watermelon (a special treat), whale blubber, macaroni salad, and Halloween-like proportions of candy were given out freely to all in attendance. Music blared loudly in the background. 

Lying loosely on the ground in the middle of the complex was a circular mat attached at four points to long ropes.  No one seemed to be using the contraption, but it was evidently a key-piece of the celebrations to come.  As Sam and I stood discretely to the side and observed the scene before us, an elderly white lady turned to us and asked us who we were. We explained where we were from and that we were only visiting for the day. It was clear from her obvious New York accent that she was not from Barrow either. She had visited the town 20 years prior and fell in love. She never wanted to leave. Unfortunately (her words), she had a family back home in New York and a life to live there. Still, every summer for 20 years she had moved to Barrow to “live the life.” She loved it there. Between numerous part-time jobs around town and a broken leg suffered at the football field mentioned earlier (she was hit by an out-of-control player), our New York friend had managed to become more-or-less a local over the past two decades. She knew everyone and everything about Barrow. She explained that the circular mat was dried and stretched seal skins and that they would use it later to toss people into the air. This sounded immensely exciting to watch, but alas! she told us that the toss wouldn’t be for hours more. We were scheduled to leave in only a few hours.  I cannot remember her name anymore, but Sam and I made a friend that day in Barrow. She fed us watermelon and offered us candy. It was a wonderful experience.

Freezing and finding little more to do in Barrow, Sam and I decided to head back to the airport and wait out our flight south.  After making a detour at the town craft store to buy a postcard (an interesting store that sold cloth, trinkets, souvenirs, postcards, and an extensive selection of tobacco products), we pulled up to the terminal, parked, and sought shelter inside. Sitting next to us inside was a middle-aged couple from Tennessee. Like us, they had traveled to Barrow simply to say that they had been to Barrow. And, like us, they had found Barrow to be much like the rest of our great country, but at the same time, satisfyingly unique and special.  They were not disappointed, and neither were we. Yes, life goes on in Barrow much like it does in less-exotic locales. People wake up, eat, go to school or work, return home to families, and live life like the rest of us. All of that didn’t matter. We hadn’t traveled that far north to escape anything – we were there to experience Barrow. We were there to know what normal life is like at 71 degrees north. We were there to feel like we were a long ways from anywhere. We were there to be there. And it was wonderful. 

  

How Do They Do It?!

Travel writing, as it turns out, is an incredibly challenging endeavor. I am convinced the only souls capable of putting travel to paper are those too stubborn to quit, or too blissfully ignorant not to. How do they do it? How can someone condense a million images he sees surrounding him, each unique, each hiding a story, each worthy of further exploration and investment, into words? And not just words, but crisp, to-the-point kind of words that manage to accurately tell the story but also do so concisely? And then, to make the task all-the-more difficult, how does one make that appealing to others? It is a monumental task, to be sure.

Over the past year or so, my mind has consistently settled upon a desire to document and share my copious travel experiences.  I'm not sure why I feel this inner desire to write. I've never been much of a writer before. I suppose I feel incredibly blessed to have been so many places at such a young age and, seeing the lack of wanderlust and travel experience in those around me, desire to share my blessing with them.  The challenge, of course, is beginning. Moments of pure inspiration will come to me at the most inopportune times. Driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic always seems to open the flood-gates of travel-writing inspiration. By the time I reach a computer to document my now-finished brainstorming session on the I-405, the thoughts have stormed away, rarely to be found again. The moment my fingers grace the slick surface of this keyboard, my thoughts fade away, and distractions creep in. If only there was a thought vacuum to capture my moments of inspiration and save them for a later, more convenient time. If anyone manages to invent such a device, I would really appreciate the heads-up.

The largest roadblock I face, and this could be entirely self-imposed, is finding my "voice." I love travel literature. Reading these books provides me with an insatiable appetite to write down my memories, but it also leaves me feeling terribly far from writing anything resembling the works I read. Bill Bryson is by-far my favorite author. He is endowed with an absolutely mind-blowing ability to relate his experiences in a self-deprecating, honest, humorous, enlightening, informative, and descriptive way. His passages are concise enough to be readable, but descriptive enough to make you feel as if you are riding along with him on his shoulder. Clearly, Bryson has found his voice. J. Maarten Troost is remarkably blunt, delightful, and ingenious in his works. Andrew Evans manages to make his travels personal and pertinent to those reading. While reading his writings, you can almost picture yourself engaged in conversation with him. His words are so real and simple that it makes reading pleasantly enjoyable. I don't know what my style is yet. And that is incredibly frustrating.

Rarely have I ever desired to be ignorant. But in this case, in my personal pursuit to write about and share my memories with others, I sincerely hope I become blissfully ignorant of the difficulty involved in writing about travel. May I bumble along foolishly in my quest to write! May I become 1/100th the travel writer that Bill Bryson has become! May I find my voice! May I press-on in my passionate pursuit.

Update on My 2013 Travels

• So far in 2013 I've visited 10 states (UT, ID, OR, WA, CA, NV, AZ, AK, HI, TX). I've been to United States #49 and #50 (AK and HI), and the only two states that were, at one time, their own legal countries (TX and HI).
• I traveled farther north than I ever had before, reaching a latitude of 61degrees, 13 minutes North in Anchorage, Alaska. (Though I have a strong suspicion that that record will stand only briefly...)
• I've flown through seven airports so far in 2013. Four of those airports I had never flown through before: San Diego, Oakland, San Antonio, and Anchorage.
• Where else will I find myself this year? Great question! We have six more months to find out!

Just When You Thought You Knew Everything...

Today's weather has led me to write another educational piece for my blog.  I promise that the next post I write will somehow relate to my own personal travels. That said, I really hope to visit all of these places someday!

It snowed in Utah today, and although it's April 16th, that is not entirely unexpected.  Weird stuff like that happens here.  After living on the tropical isles of the South Pacific for so long, I welcome snow whenever I can get it. But you know what would be really, really weird? Incredible even? Finding snow in some tropical place like...central Africa, for example. Now that would be truly something, no?! Right. Like that would ever happen...

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So what? What's the big deal about these pictures? Surprisingly, all of these photos reveal that it DOES snow in some really exotic, tropical locations - places you thought snow would never be seen in 1,000 years.

Picture 1: Ruwenzori Mountains; Democratic Republic of the Congo and Uganda. This mountain range, located a mere 25 miles north of the equator, features mountain peaks that rise to an astounding 16,700+ feet! While most people picture equatorial Africa as endless rainforest, a peak or mountain range will occasionally rise majestically out of the lowlands and reveal snow-capped peaks.  The Ruwenzori Mountains are snow-covered year-round and feature some of Africa's only glacial fields.

Picture 2: Mzaar Ski Resort, Lebanon. It turns out that people from the Middle East can stay in their own backyard to ski.  Lebanon features six ski resorts that sit high in the Lebanon Mountains.  Although far north of the equator, Lebanon sits squarely in the middle of the Middle East, a region known largely for sand dunes, heat, and little moisture.

Picture 3: Puncak Jaya, Indonesia. The highest peak in a country straddling the equator, Puncak Jaya defies geographical logic. The peak is located 16,000 feet above sea level and is just one peak among many in the Maoke Mountains of New Guinea.  Although the lowland jungles surrounding the range feature some of Earth's most pristine and untouched rainforests, the Maoke Mountains receive significant snowfall each winter.

Picture 4: Oukaïmden Ski Area, Morocco. Despite overlooking the endless sand dunes of the notoriously hot-and-dry Sahara desert, the Atlas Mountains of Morocco receive enough snow to operate several ski areas in the winter.

Picture 5: Mauna Kea, Hawaii. Perhaps a location most closely associated with sea, sand, and palm trees, Hawaii also receives snow.  The mountain tops of the Big Island regularly receive snow in the winter.  Though the snow-totals aren't grand, there is enough for the intrepid snowboarder to attempt a small descent.

 

Now you know.  It really does snow in some of the most unbelievable locations.