It’s taken me a month to put this blog on-line. Which is ridiculous. I’ve been horrible (as usual) at keeping in contact with all the folks I love the most. But I have a few excuses for myself, which make as good a blog entry as any.
I’ve been going pretty much non-stop. I’ve had a few weekend mornings off, but haven’t had a day of layin’ around and doing nothing as was my usual weekend modus operandi. I have a very busy schedule of meetings, conference calls, TPS reports, and networking. No, that’s not remotely true.
I have a busy schedule of experiencing every aspect of an awesome tropical island.
Weekdays do actually include some working (believe it or not). My amazing co-clerks, Scott and Megan, make that time bearable. On Wednesdays we go to yoga, taught by a local woman who generously donates her time to torture us into mind/body oneness. Or something. The first week I was here, I went to the class with Megan after work. The first fifteen minutes or so were relaxing. And then all of a sudden, our (pregnant!) teacher was coaxing everyone into hand stands. I do not have that kind of balance, but Megan helped me get into a head stand, which I promptly abandoned when the vertigo swallowed me. Megan was proud though and shouted, “You’re upside down in Palau!”
Megan and I have decided to get jacked. We run, lift, swim, yoga, aspire to bike, and outrigger canoe. Our first triathlon is this Saturday, but it looks increasingly like we won’t be able to get bikes. So we’ll swim and run. Even at 8 am, the running will be a battle against the heat. (Don’t believe the forecast you read – Palau is not a balmy 85º every day. Maybe it is, but it usually feels like it’s about 100º.) There is one 25 meter pool with lanes in Palau (which is remarkable given that Palau’s best Olympic sport is probably swimming!). We usually go at lunchtime during work.
In addition to exercising on the week days, we have tried to get out and experience the country as quickly as possible. The first weekend I was here, we set out to circumnavigate Babeldoab, Palau’s largest island, on the Compact Road. We got almost to the capital (about 1/5 of the way around the island) when Scott’s car ran out of steam (almost literally). One quick contrast to the United States: Almost every Palauan that drove by stopped to offer us help. The man who ultimately came up with a temporary solution to our overheating problem was a little inebriated (at about noon), but fashioned an ingenious solution to reattach the detached hose.
We did get to stop at the oldest Bai in Palau. A Bai is a meeting house used for all manner of public functions. I have yet to actually see or participate in any activities in a Bai, so I can’t really speak to the rituals and rules that go along with the structures. There is clearly a lot of symbolism associated with the artwork on Bais. Some of the scenes are simple depictions of warfare, which is not surprising given that disputes among clans have, from time immemorial, defined relations between the Palauan islands. I’ve learned what some of the animals symbolize, for example, the bird that has a circle coming out of its mouth and bum is a “money bird” that represents, you guessed it, wealth. Other popular animals are turtles, fish, rays, and bats.
Later that evening, after our misadventure, we all went to the local charity auction. (Raising money for the spelling bee, I think? In spite of my traumatic memories of trying to spell hemmorrage hemmorage hemmorhage hemorrhage, I think that it is good to torture children in this manner.) I “won” all kinds of goodies. A kayak tour for two. Lunch at a fancy hotel. Most importantly, Megan and I won a homemade basket of taro and fish. We picked up our basket with gusto, delighted to eat authentic, local, traditional, wholesome food. Never again. At least, never again with the smoked whole fish that looks at you with a vacant expression while you eat it. And never again with the flavorless and difficult to cook taro. I’ll stick with the sashimi thankyouverymuch.
Our second weekend here was our first weekend of diving. It was also the first weekend I decided to lose my wallet (we all knew it would happen, it was only a matter of when)! Luckily the dive shop was willing to front me the first day of the dive certification and, luckier still, the good folks at the restaurant we went to on Friday night carefully stowed my wallet away until I came to get it. Diving in Palau is supposed to be the best in the world. I think I would appreciate this more had I dived somewhere else. We did most of our practice in the pool (hello scalp sunburn!) and in Pincers’ Cove, a secluded white-sand-bottomed inlet in a nearby rock island. I found diving fairly terrifying but not as terrifying as I had expected. As long as I don’t think too hard about the fact that human beings have no business going more than 10 feet down in the water, I am fine. It’s when I start contemplating bubbles of nitrogen coursing through all of my tissues that I start to suck down the air a little harder.
Our second dive was right off the dock where Sam’s dive shop is located. This is also where the Yachties dock—and some of them are less conscientious than others in depositing their poo in the open ocean. And also did I mention that there are some issues with the sewage treatment plant? Yeah, there are. And it’s conveniently located near the dive shop! So, the water off of Sam’s was a bit murkier and a bit more trafficked. That being said, there was some sweet coral and star fish. And a few tires and Asahi beer cans.
The last dive we did was both the creepiest and most magical. We went to the wreck of the Chuyo Maru. It was in deeper water, the mast went up to about 50 feet and the rest of the ship was below us. The water was darker and colors were bizarrely distorted: Scott’s red swim trunks were a purply purple. All manner of coral and clams grew right on the metal, creating an exoskeleton for the iron husk. Like most of the ships off Palau’s islands, the Chuyo Maru was Japanese and was sunk by the Americans. Yet for some reason the Japanese government has been enlisted and obligated to tend to the unexploded ordinance on all the sunken ship (many of which now leak fun battery acid!). Another political mystery I’d like to get to the bottom of.
The Chuyo Maru definitely sold us on diving, although our dive instructor also did a good job of convincing me I don’t want to be around divers too much. He talked a lot about “chicks” and seemed determined to smoke away every dollar he earned (dive instructors get paid quite low wages). I think divers are like skiers and I don’t really like to be around either group (present company excluded).
I also went to the Palau Dog Show. The Palau Dog Show, unlike every other dog show, promotes happy healthy mutts rather than seeking eugenics-like purity. (Jeff will hate me, but I think the basset hound is a reminder that genetic purity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Give Russell a hug for me though!!) Most dogs in Palau are not fixed, live out doors, and spend most of their time chillin’ in the middle of the road or chasing joggers. That being said, most dogs seem relatively healthy and good-natured. Almost none of them are stray—they have humans, but are pretty self-sufficient. At the show, prizes were given for cutest tail, best trick, and quickest through an obstacle course. Meanwhile, the organizers emphasized the importance of exercising and feeding houndies. There were some really cute kids-with-puppies moments! Our yoga teacher won most of the awards with her very obedient dog, Sarge.
Between diving, getting jacked, dog shows, auctions, working, and eating, there is not much time for relaxing. But somehow we manage. Megan, Scott, and I have spent a disproportionate amount of our time living it up at the Palau Pacific Resort. This is not without a fair amount of guilt. PPR is expensive. Every ounce of my class warrior self cries out against going to the exclusive beach with its international tourists. But it’s beautiful. And there are very delicious, quite cheap, and very alcoholic beverages. And there’s a hot tub. And it faces west. So. Yeah. How could Marx himself argue with this? I think he would have been a more agreeable fellow had he lived in Palau.
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