The Best (or worst) Hash Yet

After an amazing afternoon among the fish, I headed out for another hash. Hashing has only become better and better. Each week the hash is somewhat easier, somewhat harder, always different and always an adventure. I am a very lazy person by nature and sometimes it is difficult to find motivation to do something, especially something physical, even though I know I will enjoy it. But this is not the case with hashing. I can not wait to hash and look forward to Saturday evenings.

This week we again ventured to the southland (third week in a row). The south of Guam is more mountainous and hilly than the rather flat plateau of the north. The south has a mixture of grassy and rocky mountain sides combined with jungle river valleys and waterfalls. This time the two hairs quickly begin the hash with a warning, “You all had better run faster this time, because this one is going to take a while.” This warning turned out to be prophetic.

The run began normally enough with the prerequisite waterfall and steep hill side, but then began to deteriorate. The trail ran right through a large patch of “boonie bees” some sort of Guamanian wasp. Although there was much hilarity, "BEES!!!" this broke up the group and the trail. I ventured off on my own going through a desolate valley where a wild fire had recently ravaged the area. After an exhausting climb, I collapsed at the top of a hill and was ecstatic to see some of the front runners close by. This was the first time I have “flown” on a hash, or run off trail on my own, thinking that I knew where I was going. Luckily it worked.

Over an hour and a half had gone by, the end must be near I thought. The trail led us on to an amazing vista, a sea side cliff that overlooks the Philippine Sea and the sun was close to the horizon. Although I always regret not being able to bring a camera on the hash, this was by far the best view I have seen on Guam. I looked down the cliff and into the deep ocean bay hundreds of feet bellow. Much to my surprise I could make out a few tiny people on the deserted beach and then it began to dawn on me, those guys are hashing. This trail is not even close to being done.

Eventually I made it down the cliff and onto the beach where we walked completely around the bay and then straight up the cliff on the other side. After getting to the top, I looked back to the north and saw people on the cliff opposite me where I was about an hour ago. Whoa, I hope they have flashlights, I thought. Then I looked to the south and saw another group of tiny people on the horizon several hills over ahead of me. Screw the trail, I thought, I can find my own way over there and save time. After all, I’ve done it before and it was starting to get dark.

Much to my surprise, an FNG (F%*@g New Guy) – what everyone calls the rookies, decided to follow me. After much initial progress, I nearly led us both off the side of a cliff and in the growing dark I couldn’t see the bottom. We had to retrace our steps all the way back to the trail in order to continue. After over three hours total and the dark of night, I arrived at the on home utterly exhausted and spent.

Despite my time consuming error, however, most of the hashers were still unaccounted for. Over another hour and a half went by before everyone made it in. Some were enraged at the difficulty and length, but most were just glad it was over. Everyone demanded a full explanation from the hairs. Instead of planning the hash as a team, the two hairs had divided the task in two and neither of them was familiar with the trail in its entirety. As a consequence, it was nearly double the length of a typical trail and one of the hairs had lost his glasses, gone astray, and had to be rescued. Everyone relentlessly eviscerated the hairs for their many errors and celebrated the conclusion of another Guam hash.

In my opinion, it was by far the greatest hash yet.

The Ocean

I suddenly woke up Saturday morning in the middle of a vivid dream. In the dream I was scuba diving down to a sunken ship in Apra Harbor. The ship was in excellent condition and I ventured inside the wreck into someone’s former living quarters then I awoke.

Later that morning as I was trying to remember the dream it dawned on me; I have been here almost two months but I still haven’t snorkeled or even so much as dipped my feet in the ocean! So Saturday I decided a snorkel trip was long overdue. After a leisurely breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, I lathered up my torso in 1000 SPF sunscreen so that my pale skin wouldn’t spontaneously combust after contact with direct rays of the sun. I was once a lifeguard and although I am in all probability doomed to skin cancer, I don’t want to further antagonize either the sun or my skin.

I set out to Tumon, the tourist Mecca and also the best beach on the island. Amid the towering beach front resorts and hotels is a small public park, Ipao Beach. After fighting the weekend traffic, I arrived at Ipao. Clearly Ipao is a beach for the locals. Nestled in between the Hilton and Marriott resorts, the beach parking lot was loaded with the run down cars and Chamorro people that tended to clash with the swanky resorts and Japanese tourists a few yards away.

Perhaps the public beach park is merely an attempt to placate the local people so that they might not notice that hotel chains and resorts have gobbled up the best beachfront property on Guam. I parked my run down sputtering corolla next to another run down sputtering corolla and made my way to the white coral beach. I gathered my newly purchased snorkel gear and waded into the surprisingly clean teal water.

The ocean is almost always a perfect 82 degrees. Many people have told me about the fantastic snorkeling at Tumon, but never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that it could be so amazing. A few dozen yards from the shore, I was suddenly inside an aquarium.

I couldn’t believe the tremendous amount of fish and coral. There were large schools of fish of a vast rainbow of colors and shapes. After swimming around for a while I just floated still and watched the show. Several times I surfaced to look around, certain that I had unwittingly ventured miles out to sea, only to realize I was still less than fifty yards from shore and a few feet from kids playing in the water.

I don’t know what impressed me more, the tremendous sea life, or the fact that that sea life could exist and even thrive despite the impact of millions of tourists. I left Ipao blown away and more determined to get a scuba certification.

My First Earthquake

It was a quiet Saturday morning, it was my day off and I was asleep. In the middle of a particularly entertaining dream, I feel a jolting sensation as if someone is shaking me awake. I open my bleary eyes ready to punch someone, but to my surprise no one is around yet the shaking continues. I am utterly confused. In my sleepy stupor it begins to dawn on me what is happening - an earthquake! Before I can panic or try to enjoy the ride it is over. I look around briefly and then glance at the clock - 7:52AM. I mutter out loud, "earthquake... I'm alive... cool." I immediately roll over and go back to sleep. I wake up two hours later not sure if I was dreaming or if it was real. By the evening I have completely forgotten about it. Robert gets home from work at 6 and the first question he asks is "Did you feel the earthquake?" So it was real! I described my dreamlike experience and ask him to give his accounting: Robert was awake and getting ready for work. He began to hear a distant deep moan that grew closer. The sound quickly intensified until it resembled a freight train. Suddenly the entire house shifted violently to the north followed by another sudden shift back to the south. Then the house shook for another three to four seconds in its place. Today I looked up the quake on the USGS website, it was a 6.7:

http://earthquake.usgs.gov/eqcenter/recenteqsww/Quakes/us2008rvcj.php

Living in "God's Country"

I have moved to my new permanent house. My new street address is along Enrique San Nicolas Lane in the village of Talafofo high in the southern hills of Guam. It is beautiful and quiet, save for the occasional rooster crow. The San Nicolas family lives in the dozen or so houses along my street which terminates into the jungle a few hundred yards away from my house. There is almost no car traffic and because of the elevation, it is about ten degrees cooler than down on the coast. Most of the time, my roommate and coworker Robert and I don't even use the a/c. We simply open up all the doors and windows and let the constant ocean breeze flow gently through the house. The local people call Talafofo "God's Country."

This is my bedroom.

This is the view from my window.

The Guamanian Car Saga Part III: Hope, Obama Style

Well, dear reader, I bring you yet another episode of the expensive and frustrating Guamanian Car Saga. To review, I have already bought two vehicles for use on Guam. The first one lasted twenty minutes. The second lasted two weeks. I was able to drive a coworkers car for a week and a half while she was off island. Desperate for a functioning car and with my bankroll growing smaller and smaller, I called a girl named Delores about a 1993 Toyota Corolla Wagon. She apologized but she could not show me the car for several days. She was volunteering for the Obama campaign here on Guam.

This month Guam was center stage in the presidential race. The 2008 Democratic primary will probably be the first and only time that Guam will play any significant roll in any election. After the primary, Guam will revert to its unremarkable and nationally irrelevant status as a territorial pariah. Not only does Guam lack any electoral votes, but there isn't even a meaningless popular vote. On this island, no one can cast a vote for president at all. Period. So, with the added importance of the democratic primary, both Hillary and Obama bombarded the Guamanian airwaves with adds, totally perplexing the local people unaccustomed to political commercials. For once people on Guam were actually given an opportunity to cast a meaningful vote for president, if only in the Democratic primary.

Several Days after my call, Delores and I met to check out the car. The car started (unlike my first car) and drove and the brakes worked (unlike my second car). Although the car is a little banged up, runs loud, paint is going fast, and the tires are as bald as Mr. Clean, it did seem pretty solid. I recounted my car saga as pathetically as possible. Delores expressed sympathy and offered for me to drive her car for two weeks without paying! In review: Delores will sell me a car that works, allow me to test drive it for two weeks and she is an Obama supporter = Delores is a saint.

After the meeting I followed her back to Obama HQ and offered to help during the primary on Saturday. I returned on the day of the primary to answer phones. On two occasions I delivered more ballots to the polls, but only voted once. Needless to say, the primary was extremely disorganized. In the end Obama won Guam by 7 votes.

Today I am still driving the car. It still runs and the a/c still works. I have not paid for it, but Delores has already signed over the title and given me everything. I can not believe that she has not required some form of payment, her trusting naivete is like a mirror image of my own. Tomorrow I will finally pay her with my last amount of money.

For the next episode: Selling the Cadillac.