Ah, Christmas in Samoa, or Police Road-e-Block (for fans of Twisted Christmas songs); thereby hang some tales. Not particularly photogenic, but it has to have been the oddest Christmas in memory.
Begin, of all things, with the Vikings last Monday night; the game played in the U Stadium in consequence of the Dome's collapse due to excessive snow. My plan to find a bar with a TV and catch the game was frustrated. The Batmobile had developed a bad battery. I learned that this is far from uncommon. The lives of car batteries here are measured in months, rarely years. The humidity, salt air and heat just kill them. A kindly man and utter stranger - Richard, by name - helped me get my car going by ingeniously taking the battery from another car, putting it in mine, starting my car, then removing the borrowed battery while keeping the Batmobile running. That battery got replaced into its true home, while my old one replaced in my car as it ran merrily on, hopefully to charge on my drive home. By this time, watching the Vikings lose (they did lose) was off my radar, I just wanted home. One stop - to buy that old Minnesota standby, jumper cables - on the way. Good thing; next day my battery was again deader than the proverbial doornail. So my new purchase was put to use; I got the Batmobile to a shop; I ran to get a battery; they put it in; and a chunk of Tuesday thus spent. But the Batmobile lives on! And so my Christmas present to myself was a brand new battery, hopefully the last I need to buy here, and a new set of jumper cables just in case it isn't.
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| Batmobile, at home, in happier times |
I ran into Richard again on Tuesday; the beer money I had advanced him Monday being but a memory, he hit me up for another session. Oh well, he took over an hour of his time to help me get going, asking nothing, so I enabled him to imbibe a second night too.
Work intervened for a couple days, as it is wont to do, bringing us to Friday, Christmas Eve day. Whilst those of you in Minnesota were digging out yet again, and those elsewhere making last minute shopping trips, I played golf. It was a beautiful day, warm, breezy, views of the ocean to die for:
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| Iliili Golf Club, the range |
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| Iliili,Golf Club, from the Clubhouse |
Never before have I played golf Christmas Eve, but I can assure everyone it is a habit well worth developing. Especially as I had no responsibilities to anyone but myself here, except to call home and talk with my wonderful family on Christmas Eve. Rick & Barb Swanson were over for dinner, and thanks to Skype we had a delightful Christmas Eve chat. I make light, but absence of family on Christmas is a trial. It was great to talk; Cyndi, Lisa and Tom – love you all!
Christmas Day dawned warm and sunny. I walked down to the nearby Catholic Church, where they were starting Mass. So I went in, was seated, and thus attended a very beautiful Samoan Christmas Mass celebration. Someone gave me a loop of flowers for around the neck (the Hawaiians call it a lei, here, some name I don't know, but they are gorgeous). Here's the Church; you may recognize it from my Christmas e-card:
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| Holy Cross Catholic Church, Leone |
It's essentially a Samoan fale style, but with enclosed sides that are all windows. Opened, they allow in a nice breeze, making this essentially an open-air Mass. In Samoan, mostly, but I was able to follow the course of the Mass quite easily. The priest sang “It's Now or Never” solo during his sermon – enjoyed by the congregation – which morphed into his theme for the day. Much singing throughout; and in the Samoan way, the singing was strong and natural. The interior decorations made much use of that great Samoan resource, flowers – flowers of all kinds, everywhere. I didn't take a photo of the interior, though I wanted to very much, but that would not have been proper. Some day, maybe, when no ceremony is taking place.
Later, another call home for Christmas, and on to the palagi party. Many of the non-Samoan community are, like me, here for contracts of varying length, but all are away from home at Christmas. A doctor up at the only hospital on the island hosted. Lots of food, some drink, and merriment. There was a gift exchange, with the twist that you could either pick a gift, or “steal” one already picked and that person would then have to pick again. A certain bottle of wine went around and around until it finally came to roost with one lucky soul. Not me. I ended up with a super soaker. :( The activity in the latter stages became quite interesting, with the nicer gifts stolen and re-stolen, ad nauseum. As it later turned out, good thing I didn't end up with the wine.
Thus we come to the drive home, Christmas Day evening. As you all know, there is but one road through the island. Gotta take it, can't go round it. So the local gendarmes in their zeal to make sure everyone has a not-too-merry Christmas, set up a sobriety road block. It sat between the palagi party and my nice, comfortable bed at home. The opening dialogue went something like this:
Cop: Good evening sir. Have you been at a party?
Me: Yes, sir.
Cop: Had anything alcoholic to drink at the party?
Me: Yes I did, sir.
Cop: What did you have to drink?
Me: A couple glasses of wine, at dinner, about 4 hours ago (true!), sir.
Cop: Please pull your car over there.
Me: Yes, sir.
So for the first and hopefully last time ever, I had the privilege of following a moving pen with my eyes, walking heel to toe, and standing on one foot far too long for comfort. I can't do that stuff even without some wine several hours ago. Then I get the standard implied consent warning, and being no fool say “No, I'm not going to waive my rights and talk to you” and “Yes, please, give me that test.” It's pretty odd, spending much of my career complaining about how these tests aren't accurate, or the cops foul them up, etc. - now my evening's lodging depends on (a) the test being accurate, and (b) the cop not fouling it up either deliberately or by accident. I must confess to a few nervous moments around this time.
But, whew, my PBT reading (whatever it was) was far below what they certainly wanted to see, so I was sent on my way home. By the way, in case anyone is wondering whatever happened to the old Breathalyzer machines once they became outmoded about 20 years ago back in the States, I can now tell you: they came here. Cutting edge stuff has American Samoa.
Cop: Have a safe drive home. Merry Christmas to you, sir.
Me: Thank you for your courtesy, sir. Merry Christmas, sir, from the bottom of my heart.
They didn't even yap at me about the rather eccentric set of lights on the Batmobile, some of which work once in a while but most of which, including those in the back, don't work often. I showed them whatever in the back of the car happened to be working right then as I moseyed away at the maximum island speed limit, a big 25 mph, all the way home.
God must have been pleased by my attendance at mass that morning, for He kept me from drinking any more wine the last 4 hours at the palagi party! And He found me a golf course, and golf clubs too! He put flowers all over, and it is perpetually warm here. Fruit hangs from trees and sunsets light the sky every night. It's better then Eden, there are no snakes. Never has a flake of snow touched this land. Is this heaven, or what? That's what Samoan license plates say - Motu O Fiafiega – our paradise. So, as a special photo bonus, here are flowers direct from American Samoa to you:
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| Along a driveway |
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| Flowering tree |
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| Don't know what, but Wow! |
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| Spectacular display |
I depart Thursday on the short air hop to Western Samoa, to live in a beach fale for a couple days over New Years weekend. Good snorkeling, I'm told. No computers there, so will post that experience after my return. In the meantime, I hope to show my fa'a Samoa – my life here, starting with the most beautiful commute ever created. Keep checking in, faithful readers.
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