Homeward Bound

I've just arrived in Saipan. Elan is probably home by now. The Typhoon, Nanmadol, now hitting the Phillipines has now reached Super Typhoon levels if you've been following the news.

I must admit that the excitment of experiencing a typhoon was very quickly overcome by the reality of actually being in one: It was no Universal Studios ride. The Typhoon at the last moment veered to the North and the eye missed Yap by 20 miles. However coming from the north it blew right into our hotel room. The sound was like a thousand banshees screaming and the water coursed off the windows like a firehose. Water came through every seem it could find, and we evacuated across the hall. As the wind was coming from the island side, it actually was blowing the sea off shore. It was like watching the surf in reverse as it blew off the beach. About half an hour into it, the power went out and we retreated to the dining room and waited
for the generator to kick in.

I SURVIVE THE SHARKS, THE "MOYLE EEL," BUT WILL I LIVE THROUGH THE TYPHOON?

A brush with death tends to bring people closer so it was with our merry group of divers here in Yap and there's plenty more mayhem on the way as I write. But let’s start at the beginning:

We arrived on Yap at 2:00am Sunday morning. I spent ten minutes at immigration trying to explain the concept of an e-ticket to Ralph the Immigration Guy. The good news was after I left I got a flower garland from a local native girl who was wearing nothing but a grass skirt. I thought, "Oh boy, everything they say about Yap and the topless girls are true." It’s going to be a combination of Playboy and National Geographic Magazines. I’d better buy more film.

It didn't take long to find out that the grass skirt girl must have been elected the official topless greeter. After looking around I think they may have a big problem replacing her when she retires.

Whereas the other Islands have a lot of Japanese tourists, Yap seems to attract a lot of Germans. Does anyone else see the irony here? Did nobody tell them they lost the war?

With barely 3 hours sleep we were awaken and told to get our gear together because we would be diving that morning. Going downstairs I got my first look at Yap. It's simply incredible the damage that Typhoons do here. There was one five months ago, and they’ve barely begun to fix the damage. Imagine a big freighter in English Bay tossed up on Beach Avenue or the roof blown off the old Sylvia Hotel or the Stanley Park Seawall totally obliterated and you'll just begin to get the idea.

The big thing here is Manta Rays and Sharks. We got to the first dive sight and after two dives
we sort of see one Manta Ray way off in the distance. They're suppose to come up to the reef where there are “Cleaning Stations” These are underwater sites where small fish come and clean the parasites off the Manta Rays. Obviously the stations were closed on Sunday as we didn’t see a single Manta Ray. I manage to stay down for about 35 minutes. The Dive Master wants me to work on my breathing. I tell him I'll be satisfied to just keep doing it.

Monday is our 2nd and last day of diving here on Yap and it's to be a three tank dive -
that means three separate dives during the day. The first dive is to the same spot we went to on Sunday. We're hoping the “Cleaning Stations" are open and we’ll actually see Manta Rays. It's also a chance for me to work on the Dive Master's breathing plan: Basically he says I can make my air last three times as long if only breathe a third of the time. What he wants me to do is inhale count to five, and then exhale. On this dive we actually see three big Manta Rays. It was awesome to watch these large fish "flying” through the water. As they are plankton eaters and don't have a stinger on their tail, I'm not terribly intimidated by them. My air lasts 48 minutes this time -a personal best! Maybe there is something to this method.

The second dive is an hour boat ride away and it's at a place called Yap Caves - a series of caves and canyons connected by short tunnels - almost an underwater amusement park. My air supply lasts nearly an hour this time. I figure if I can stop breathing totally I can stay underwater indefinitely! The problem is the third and final dive. My son Elan wants to go on a shark feeding dive. This is where they make a big shark popsicle out of old fish heads and tails, and chicken backs, etc - properly aged of course, to make it really
smelly, then coat the whole mess in a lot of blood. Then they suspend the whole frozen mess beneath a float, and as it begins to melt in the 80 degree plus water it begins to attract more and more sharks: big ones, little ones, reef sharks, white tip sharks, black tip sharks, all trying to elbow each other out of the way. The divers are supposed to sit or lie on the bottom, close by, and watch the action.

Sitting on the bottom in a swarm of feeding sharks isn't my idea of fun, but they are one short of a quorum for the dive, and unless I go they event will be cancelled. I say okay figuring I can always just stay on the boat when we get there. When I agree to go three other “chickens” say that if Jeff will dive, so will they. Now I’m trapped, I’ll lose a lot a face if I chicken out and stay on the boat. That's when I came up with the cunning plan I call “The Herring Ball Survival Technique”.

It works like this: When Herring are attacked they form themselves into a big ball: the guys in the middle of the ball have a better chance of survival, hoping that the predators will fill themselves up picking off the guys stuck on the outside. I plan to be smack middle in the group of divers. Anyways, that’s my strategy and I'm sticking with it! There’s a lawyer from Florida in our group: a tall guy with all the most expensive equipment that money can buy. He tends to spend most of his time on the boat posing, stretching and trying to make the rest of us feel inadequate. He’s not impressed with my Herring Ball Technique. He plans to be right up front with his expensive camera.

We arrive at the dive site and take up positions. Naturally Elan is in the front row and I'm about 10 feet behind him lying as flat as I can on the bottom.

They lower the bait ball and in a few minutes, the first sharks arrive and then more and more. The first of our divers bolts back for the boat: a lawyer from Florida. I don't know why. The sharks would never attack a lawyer - professional courtesy!

The shark Popsicle is being attacked from all sides now. You can actually hear the sound of bones crunching as the sharks chomp down on pieces of bone. I pushmyself down flat on the coral bottom trying to make my self as small a target as possible. I’ve noticed that the sharks seem to attack from beneath, so if I’m flat on the bottom I should be safe, unless they have a spatula.

I have a horrible premonition that the shark Popsicle will break loose and land right on my head – sort of like the pumpkin in The Headless Horseman. One of the guides motions me forward. I give him the diver sign for “No Way." That’s a violent shaking of my head from side to side and pointing to the surface with a raise middle finger. . He motions down to my groin. To my absolute horror I notice that I am laying RIGHT ON TOP of a Moray Eel. Judging on where the eel is lining up on, I immediatelyreclassify him as a “Moyle Eel:" (A Moyle is someone who performs Jewish Circumcisions.) Now I have real problem: If I move away from the Moyle Eel I move closer to the Sharks. I solve it by doing the crab maneuver: scuttling sideways about five feet closer to Elan

Eventually the shark Popsicle is consumed and we retreat to the boat bonded together by our near encounter with eminent death. The Florida lawyer is sitting at a table by himself, or should I say with himself.

Upon returning to the hotel we are greeted with the good news that a class 3 Typhoon is headed right for Yap! It will arrive Tuesday (today) night. I’ve only been in one Typhoon that being Vancouver’s Typhoon Frieda in 1962 and it was quite exciting – of course I was only 17 then, and now a chance to live through a real Typhoon – not a laid back west coast one.

Tuesday:
The morning looks like Vancouver: foggy, rainy and miserable - except that it's 75 degrees out. A typhoon may be coming but its business as usual at Yap tours. Elan and I are booked for a kayak tour, and typhoon or not we're going.

After three hours of being drenched kayaking our way through an endless maze of Mangrove swamps in the pouring rain, it's time to go back to the boat and home. Once we're in the boat, the rain and win pick up and you can't see twenty feet in front the boat. It’s at that exact moment that I notice the boat doesn't have a compass, radio or life jackets - I guess the Yap Coast Guard's a bit lapse on these small details. We have no idea where we are and it's getting rougher. And, oh yes, did I mention I typhoon was in it’s way? I can honestly say that this is only the second time in my life I've been afraid on a boat.

Eventually the fog lifts for a brief moment and we see home port and head into port as fast
as we can go. As I write this letter we’re hunkering down waiting for the typhoon to arrive. The authorities have told everyone in Yap to go home and find shelters. I guess the best I can hope for is it will blow by here quickly and not interfere with our planned trip home g tomorrow night.

I will email again soon and let you know how things turn out and where my laundry ended up.

In Flander's Field the Snorklers Lie

Well this is our last day on Palau. The time has gone by very quickly. Elan has gone to swim with the Dolphins, and I’m just having a quiet reflecting morning. This afternoon we’ll go see the main town of Koror, which will take all of about - - ten minutes. Then tonight onto Yap for the last few days of the trip.

We’ve spent four days here in Palau and we found that on the first day of checking into Sam’s Tours who provide our diving and Kayak tours that we were assigned to the same group of people for the dive days. That group included myself, Elan, and Josh who is a submariner and the same age as Elan, and a family of five from Utah, we nicknamed the Flanders, after the cloyingly cheerful neighbour of Homer Simpson. The Flanders consist of three teenage boys, dad and a manic mom who herds them around like a mother hen on Crack Cocaine. You could

say that they are infectiously cheerful – infectious like Athlete’s Foot, annoying itchy and irritating. Lots of hoping, hollering, and family high fives. As Josh said, “No Family can be that cheerful all the time!” They seem to operate like the sharks they’re so fond of: If there’s food or drinks to be had, they grab them first, leaving the rest of us the scraps.

The Flanders seem to be on quest: They want to catalogue the entire ocean. They have a list of things they have to see, and they scurry from here to there to check off each thing:
“Wow, a white tip shark!” One shouts.
“Where?” shouts another.
“Over here.” The first responds.
And the remaing Flanders make a bee line over elbowing out of the way anyone in their path.
“That’s the sixth one! Family High Five!!”

The strange thing is that nobody, I mean nobody else sees these things! Now I know I can’t be relied on as a quality observer, because most of my time is spent watching my ever decreasing air supply, the elusive Dive Master, and the Elan’s flippers. I keep Elan in front of me at all times as a buffer should we actually ever come face to face with a shark. After all I do have a spare kid back home, but there’s only one of me. But neither Elan or Josh or the Dive Master sees these mythical fish the Flanders seem to find, which of course, led us to the game.

When we’re snorkeling, Josh, Elan or I would cry out to one of the others:
“Look, Look! Shark!”
And of course all five Flanders would come scurrying for a look see.
“

No, No, it’s over here!” one of us would shout, “And there’s two!”
And of course the Flanders would head off in the other direction. They never seemed to tire of this game. The closest I ever saw them to an argument is whether our sightings should count.
Over the three days we did three dives a day, and some of them were absolutely incredible. I mentioned Jelly Fish lake, and yesterday we dove into three dark caves (with flashlights). The stalagmites look a lot likechandeliers, hence the name “Chandelier” caves. We’ve also dived on two WW2 wrecks and countless coral reefs and rocks. I’m going to let you in on a secret, after one or two coral reefs, they all begin to look the same to me: It’s like someone had a bottle of cheap red wine, a Hawiian Pizza with Green Peppers, and threw up over the rocks. Sorry folks, doesn’t sound romantic, but that’s my thoughs on a bunch of coloured rocks. The Dive Masters say their alive, but I know it’s not true, otherwise the Flanders would have counted them.

Yesterday was our last day with Sam’s Tours and it was to be a Kayak Tour. We showed up at the assigned time, and looked at the board and there was good news and bad news. The bad news was we were once again assigned with the Flanders, the good news was Josh was with us and another couple: An Opthamologist and his valley girl wife. I wanted to do the German LightHouse Tour, but all other tours had been cancelled because they were filming Survivor there, and it would ruin the illusion that they’re stranded away from civilization of a bunch of Kayaks floated through every ten minutes. I can only imagine what would happen if one of those groups happed to contain the Flanders.

So the only option was the “Tarzan Tour”, something that appeared a little more enthusiastic for me, considering I’ve got about 25 years on the next closest person in the tour. I asked if they had a “Jane”

tour. I’d pefer that, but given no alternative I went along. Elan really wanted his own Kayak, but the Flanders had grabbed most of them, even though they would be towing their youngest in one, so Elan had no alternative but to spend the day grumbling and looking at the back of my head in a double Kayak and criticizing my paddling form.
The kayak trip consisted of about four 30 – 40 minute Kayak trips to different Islands and about an hour stop at each place for snorkeling. At the first snorkeling stop I swear I heard a 9 year old girl squealing andshrieking. I asked Elan if we had someone join us I didn’t see. He said the noise was coming from the Valley Girl Wife.

Now I’ve heard “low talkers”, and “fast talkers” but this was a first: a grown woman who sounds exactly like a 9 year old girl! It made me wonder what the doc saw in her, but I don’t think we want to go down that road.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, they were bonding with the Flanders!

At the lunch break, I stayed behind with the Kayaks while the Josh and Elan went snorkeling on one side of the bay, and the Flanders and the Doc and Valley Girl went to the other. It was beautifully ideal, except for the racket coming from one side of the bay. There was something very different about the racket and it took me a few minutes to figure out what it was. The Valley Girl and the

Flanders were actually communicating through their snorkels underwater – sort of like mutant dolphins talking in “twin” talk.Even the guides who stayed behind with me and were having their own conversation, fell silent in stunned amazement.

On the last leg of our voyage to “lost lake” we had a monsoon. It just pelted rain, but it was warm and over in 5 minutes. At Lost lake, we put on our snorkeling gear and went in the water. I poked around the reefs by myself for a while, and when I looked around everyone was gone! I had no idea where they went! Eventually the guide showed up and took me through the underwater entrance to a little totally enclosed Lagoon.The evening was spent at Kramers – our restaurant of choice and then home to bed early, as we were both quite tired from the long strenuous day. Josh was very depressed about Leaving and having to go back to Guam – especially when he found he’d be sharing the flight with the Flanders. He was seriously looking at upgrading to business class just to be rid of them.

Tonight off to Yap, then off to yap to be Self Propelled Bait (SPB) –my term for SCUBA to dive with the Manta Rays and Sharks. Hopefully there’ll be Internet there, otherwise you’ll have to wait till I get to Saipan on
Thursday for the final chapters.

Elan's Out of the Will!

Well we’ve been in Palau for a couple of days and we haven’t seen too much above the waterline. Our hotel is the nicest so far. So far on all the Islands the employees have been Filipinos and are both beautiful and
wonderful. It’s a pity they are paid so little (only 3.05US an hour)! Like at home they send a lot of their wages home to the Philippines.

So far we’ve done 6 dives (3 a day). I have found that Scuba diving is hard on my neck. I’m spending a lot of my time just staring at my air gauge as it slowly spirals to zero. I am still the world champion (much to Elan’s chagrin) at using my air up first in our group. (As Elan is always assigned as my “buddy” it means when I’m done – he’s done). I’ve pointed out that if anything happens to me, Elan is out of the will, as he will be the chief suspect in my demise (since they always say in the cop shows the chief suspect is the one with the most to lose). Elan points out I have nothing he wants – which really makes me feel my life has been worthwhile! To get back to my neck. I’m busy trying to keep track of my air, where Elan (my alternate air source) is, and to make sure there are no large predators in my vicinity, hence the constant spinning of my head.

Today we saw several 5 foot white tip sharks. This made all the group, with my exception very happy. I used up more air trying to keep several other divers between me and the sharks, until I nearly backed into a hole that had a rather large moray eel. As I had now used up my air in a super fast time I figured I’d be allowed to return to the safety of the dive boat. No such luck. The dive Master offered me some of his air!

Early today we went to Jelly Fish Lake. This is a salt water lake that has been isolated from the ocean for thousands of years. One has to take a rather rocky hike up a hill, then down a hill to get to the lake (Conny from Gambier would love the hike). Once there you don your mask and flippers and swim to the far end of the lake. It truly is amazing. There are literary millions of jelly fish that you’re swimming with. You can’t even see the bottom of the lake because of the countless jellyfish. It’s like looking at the night sky in a very dark place and seeing the almost countless stars. Elan and I took a lot of pictures but I don’t think any of them will do justice to the experience of swimming in this lake. Because the jellyfish have had no predators for thousands of years they have lost their ability to sting, so there is no problem swimming with them.

On the way back to the boat from the lake I ran into a large tour of Japanese people. I impressed them with my command of the Japanese language saying good afternoon, excuse me and thank you in Japanese. They all
seemed impressed and I was quite pleased with myself until Elan informed me that they were from Taiwan!

According to my certification I am certified to dive to 60 feet. Here in Micronesia they tend to look at that as merely a signpost – pointing to 100 feet!
Elan has made a friend. A navy guy from a submarine the same age as him, so it looks like they are going to do the Tarzan kayak tour on Friday. I think I’ll do the “Jane” tour.

Still three more dives tomorrow until I can stay ABOVE the surface. Tonight I’ve suggested that we go to a seafood restaurant. I’m tired of looking at fish – I want to eat some.

I’ll write more in a day or so.

I'm A Scratch for the Rota Triathlon!

Well I guess you guys have been wondering what happened to me! Well Rota happened. Things are a little more laid back here than I anticipated – no public Internet. There is one place hoping to get their DSL in this week, but they’ve been hoping that for weeks. So I’m paying them a visit and keeping a journal on a USB SanDisk drive (thank you SanDisk) and will email you this journal when I arrive on Guam.

Tuesday:
My driver dropped me off at the wrong Terminal in Saipan – the domestic one. There was no one there, so I dragged my luggage (now with square wheels) over to the big new International terminal and guess what? No one there either, except for me and the government employees. Although I’m the only person in the terminal it takes them nearly half an hour to process me and issue me a boarding pass to the wrong destination, which immigration rejects, and it’s
back to Continental to get the correct pass.

Time to leave and there’s only one other older couple in the waiting room. We get on the commuter plane, a 46 seater, with only three passengers. I settle into my seat 5A, after a few moments the flight attendant comes up and asks if all 3 of us would mind moving to the rear of the aircraft to compensate for the luggage. I point out there’s only three bags! Why not move them? The older couple now sitting in the back of the plane ( one on either side of the aisle to “equalize” the load ask me how I think I’m going to do in the Triathlon.
Half an hour later I’m in Rota.

Rota is a beautiful Island, a friendly island – it’s just that I might have to wait a few years till it’s safe for me to return. It all has to do with big Triathlon they’re having this weekend. Rota is a very quiet island and has only two major functions a year. Some large Church function commemorating a saint, San Francisco de borgia. Somehow given all the suicide cliffs on these Islands I’m not surprised there’s a feast honoring a member of Borgia clan.

I’m met at the airport by a driver who wants to know if I’m there for the Triathlon that coming weekend meets me at the airport. and taken to my logging at the Coral Garden Hotel. It’s clean, but a little more threadbare than my lodgings in Saipan. But it has a million dollar view. The lady who hands me the key again asks about the Triathlon. The first two or three times I’ve been asked about the Triathlon, I’m flattered. I’ll bet Dr. Atkins is beaming down on me from that big Carb garden in the sky. But now it’s getting a little tedious. I explain that I would compete, except I have a bit a problem with some of the events, namely the running, swimming, and biking. If they want to build a Triathlon that includes a three legged race, a sack race and a potato and spoon event, I’m there man.

I decide to walk around the little tiny town with the picturesque name of SongSong. It’s about the size of Ganges in Saltspring Island back home, about 40 buildings in total, many of the falling apart – a combination of typhoons and the bad Japanese economy. As I’m passing a bar two of the local guys cry out:
“Viva Luta”
I look around there’s no one but me around.
“Viva Luta!” they should out again, and seem a little agitated that I don’t respond. So I scream back the first thing that comes to my mind: “Aviva Mandleman!” (my daughter’s name)

That seemed to confuse them enough for me to walk on. I could cover the whole town in less than half an hour – It comprises of about four restaurants, two garages, and about 8 convenience stores. I decided to drop in and buy some small cheese snacks for my hotel room. I visited every store and the only cheese they have are the processed Kraft Cheese sheets –
evidently led cheese sandwiches must be big here in Rota. The lady in the store wanted to know if I was here for the Triathlon. At this point I just smile and go about my business.

Dinner is at one of the three restaurants, “Ah Paris” – sounds French – it definitely is not. It’s sort of a quazi Chinese. While I’m waiting for my dinner there seems to be one song that is playing over and over and over. It’s a soppy ballad about Jimmy and Joany. Something about how Joany is only 15 and Jimmy is in his 20’s (which at this point gets my attention) and
Joany whining about how if Jimmy will wait till she grows up, but of course he doesn’t and moves a way, and when he finally comes back she’s married again. In between “Jimmy and Joany” the phone continually rings, and I notice it’s an old fashioned Northern Telecom. The only they had to pry out of my mother and mother in laws hands about ten years ago. It actually has a real bell in it! time it recycles for the fourth time I don’t know whether to sing along or throw up!

Back at my hotel I turn on the tv and make an interesting discovery. They may be a day ahead, but in the real world of television they’re two weeks behind! While it’s November 17th hear, they’re running TV from October 31st! The American election hasn’t happened yet. If I could find a bookie here, I’d make a fortune!

Wednesday:
My first visit is to the dive shop to meet Mark, the guy the divers on Saipan refer to as the “Dive Nazi”. (ala Seinfeld’s soup Nazi). They say if you do the slightest thing wrong he won’t take you diving. He seems nice to me – particularly since he’s the FIRST guy who hasn’t asked me about the Triathlon (I almost feel hurt). There’s no one to go with me that day, maybe
tomorrow.

I rent a car from Avis. They have to wait till the afternoon till “the car” (singular) is returned. After my experience on Saipan I’m not looking forward to what ‘the car’ might be. I’m pleasantly surprised to find it’s an almost new version of the car I had on Saipan (1 2004 Nissan Sentra). I spend the next three hours touring the island, and only get myself lost once on my quest to find an old Japanese locomotive on an old dirt road that circles the airport. When I thought I discovered a 2nd locomotive I realize I had missed the exit. They have one of the most beautiful golf courses I’ve ever seen on the other end of the Island by the big expensive hotel. Absolutely breathtaking and the only people I could see on it were groundskeepers. If you want to golf, this is the place to go.

Thursday
I go to the local place for breakfast. There’s a hauntingly familiar tune playing. I unconsciously begin to hum along. Then I realize it’s Jimmy and Joany again! This time in the local dialect! They love this soppy stuff down here. I should send them the best of the Poppy Family or Laura and Tommy were Lovers, or Tell Laura I Love Her. I’m never going to get that tune out of my mind!

I visit Mark the Dive Nazi at 8:00am. While I am waiting for him to arrive, I meet Rai(pronounced Rye – like the drink). Rai is a member of the local constabulary and is gearing up for…. What else? The triathlon. He shows me his bikes. I point out that I have a 40 year old Ralaegh three speed. I mention that I only need three speeds. I had no idea that this innocent
comment was going to cause me so much trouble later.

Mark arrives and tells me that he’s arranged for me to dive with a Japanese dive group and he’ll provide one of his instructors to dive with me. A short time later an attractive blonde woman arrives and introduces herself. Nanette is to be my diving buddy. They equip me out and we leave to join the Japanese group at their shop. When we arrives there is some excited talk in Japanese. I can make out the word “Canadian”. I ask what they’re talking about. Evidently they’re excited about meeting the Canadian who will be doing the Triathlon on the antique bicycle!!! News travels fast on Rota – especially when it’s delivered by the police. Given the language problem I haven’t a hope in explaining to them that I’m not racing.

It was explained to me by Nanette that we would be doing a negative buoyancy entry from the boat. Did I know how to do this? No, was the answer.

Well It’s quite simple you sit with your ass on the edge of the boat facing in, then you do a backward somersault into the water, and to make it more interesting, you don’t come up to the surface to get your bearings (or in my case to clear my mask) but you continue straight down to the bottom at 45 feet.

The visibility was stunning. You could see for hundreds of feet in every direction. Our destination was to be an underwater cave, which was a bit scary getting into, but with Nanette’s encouragement wasn’t that bad. The top of the cave had collapsed ions ago, so once inside the cave it lit up a brilliant blue. It was very magical and awe inspiring. BTW I’m now up to
35 minutes of air time. The Japanese or at an hour. So I’ve still got to work on relaxing and not thinking about things like: I’m 80’ underwater and there are large animals around here that could eat me.

That night I go to the local bar for dinner where I’m greeted with much bowing and ceremony by the contingents from Japan and elsewhere. They want to see my bike, and that’s when I tell them about the tragedy: The typhoon that just swept through earlier in the week swept the container that my bike overboard. Not only that I lost my special seal blubber that all us
Canadians need to swather over us before we can swim. I’m afraid I won’t be able to race this year!

Friday:Today I went down to the Dive shop to offer to help with setting up buoys etc for the race and that’s when I was deeply touched to find that the race committee had met and decided to call me an honorary entrant and present me a race t-shirt.

I took Nanette to lunch to thank her for everything (she wouldn’t accept a tip) and then off to the airport to meet Elan in Guam
Saturday:
Met Elan last night, spent the morning getting oriented, a car and finding an internet café.

Float Like a Cork - Sink like an Anchor!

Well I’m back at the Goose and Fin Internet shop, trying to concentrate while the local bill collector is

trying to get his money from the attendant in the front room.
Some of you have asked where Saipan is, so to answer Larry’s question: Saipan is part of the Northern Mariana Islands (there are no Southern Marianas that I can find). It’s a little closer to the equator than Hawaii and about mid way between Hawaii, the Philippines and Japan, about 5 hours flight from each, unless you fly Air Aviva, then it’s ten hours. It’s an American Commonwealth – like Puerto Rico. Saipan is about 85 square miles, a little bigger than Salt Spring Island and it was home to some of the most horrific battles in WWII . In the space of a week in July 1944, over 40,000.00 troops lost their lives (approx 30,000 Japanese and 8,000 Americans) – and that’s just one Island. Consider that when we look at the casualties in Iraq over a year, not that any deaths are warranted. The scars and memorials of the battles are everywhere here, both above and below the sea.

On Friday I went to Manahagaha Island. It’s prononounced Manya –ga-ha. Unfortnuately I sometimes put to many ha’s on, and get strange looks. The Island is a short little ferry ride (it’s only 2 miles off shore) and when I got there I realized I had made a mistake. The Island is populated entirely by young Japanese couples and their children under 4 years old. It reminded me of what Penticton was like some fifty years ago, except with Jewish families instead of Japanese. Since I was neither Japanese or have small children, you’d think I’d stick out. However it appears I was totally invisible! Nobody even noticed me. I was seriously thinking of taking my bathing suit off and wearing it on my head to see if anyone would notice! I left after a couple of hours. I was the only person on the little ferry coming back, and the crew asked me if I wanted to snorkel on a crashed Japanese zero. It only took me a 2nd to say yes, so they stopped the boat and let me snorkel above the wrecked plane. I was the only one there, and for a brief moment I thought they might leave me! It was really incredible gazing down on it.
On Saturday I went for my first dive day. It was an experience. The dive shop is run by Sasha, a Russian who has a chain of dive shops on the Islands and Russia. It appears that the immigration laws in the Marianas is more forgiving when it comes to Russians than the Americans. I dutifully brought my dive certification and log book. They seemed totally uninterested in it, which should have been a tip off! All they seemed interested in was the slip of paper that said I’d prepaid. I was suppose to do a simple “beach dive” to get re-acquainted, but they decided that it would be more economical if I went on a boat dive with the other customers. I asked how deep it would be and they said only 80 or 90 feet. I pointed out I was only certified to 60’.
“What’s another 20 feet?” Sasha asked.
“A hell of a long way, when you’re out of air.” I replied.

They did assign a dive master to be my buddy, so that made me feel a lot better. When we got to the dive site I started to go over the check out I’d been taught.
“What are you doing” Eric, the dive master asked.
“Going through my pre-dive check out.” I stated.
“Just get in the water!”

Once in the water I joined my buddy and we started our descent. Unfortunately I kept bobbing back to the surface. Finally in desperation, Dale, my dive buddy tried to DRAG me down. That’s when we learned I hadlost my weight belt when I got in the water. They eventually scrounged some weights and stuffed them into my dive suit and I sort of could descend.

The good news is that I did very well – if finishing up 1 hour of air up in 17 minutes. Something of a record, I’m told.On the way to the 2nd dive site a monsoon hit. Imagine being hit in the face by a fire hose of wet water, coming at you so hard, you have to put your hand over your mouth to breathe! I suggested that we just get dragged to the site underwater where it would be dryer. The 2nd site was shallower only about 25 feet and was a torpedoed Japanese Freigher. The decided to triple the weights I had from the first dive. It worked very well. I sank like an anchor when I jumped in. I did much better this time only using up all my air in 19 minutes!
While waiting the half hour for the others to return, I had a chance to talk to the crew about some of my experiences. I mentioned my encounter with the Japanese tour group the other day. They explained to me that the new generation of Japanese know hardly anything about WWII. It’s still considered a tremendous loss of face. We bombed Pearl Harbour. The US dropped to A bombs. The end. No details, hence their surprise about the battles on Saipan. (And you guys think I make all this up!). About this time the rest of the divers began to return.
“You left early”one told me, “You missed a 8 foot white tip shark.”
I told him I figured I left about the right time then, or I would have used up my air even quicker!

I’m suppose to do another 2 dives tomorrow (Monday), and I’m hoping to make it to 25 minutes on air consumption.
Today is Sunday, and I’m spending a relatively quiet day around the motel and visiting the few places I’ve missed, including a zoo that I could fit into my carport. The most impressive thing there was the fruit bat, which is about the size of a small cat. They're very rare as the Micronesian natives consider them a delicacy and eat them - every bit of them! They're now endangered, and the crops are suffering as these bats actually serve as bees fertilizing the trees


Hope you are all well, thanks to those who’ve written.

Would You trade a 1995 Japanese Nissan for a 1945 Tank?

Thursday November 11th
I wanted to sleep in, but I woke up bright eyed at 6:00am - which was aboutnoon Vancouver time. The first order of business was to rent a car. The locals recommended Cars Unlimited, so off I went. They rented me a 1995 Nissan Sentra that made the car I rented in Rarotonga look like a 2004 Mercedes. After the paperwork was done, I went out with the guy to mark the diagram where the car was already damaged.

This car looked like it had come in dead last in a demolition derby! I suggested we just mark the diagram with parts of the car that WEREN'T damaged - which essentially meant nothing! I was also warned not to park the car in any 'bad places' as the car wasn't covered for Vandalism. I wanted to know what self respecting Vandal would get within a block of this wreck. Further, I wanted to know what there was left on it to Vandalize? If this car was left in the worse neighbourhood in Watts they'd actually put parts BACK on it!! I was given a map to find my way back to my hotel and told it was physically impossible to get lost.

I got lost.

Because it's a small Island, I eventually found my way back to my motel. Driving along the road I was overwhelmed by the amount of Poker Parlors and Pawnshops, which sort of makes sense in a weird sort of way.

If you have a yen for suicide then Saipan's the place for you - with colourful places like Banzai and Suicide Cliffs to name just a few. These are places where the Japanese threw themselves off of during the war rather than surrender. Today I nearly witnessed a re-enactment as a Japanese tour was lining up at the edge of Banzaii cliff to have their picture taken and were having trouble getting everyone in the shot. I don't speak Japanese, but I think the jist of it was: 'I can't get you all in the shot. Everyone take one step back.'

Speaking of Japanese tours, they make up about 90% of the tourists. My next stop was at the last Command post. This is a ruin built into the rock where the last Japanese commander committed suicide. What I want to know is what happened to the 2nd Last Command Post? Was there a penultimate Command Post? Maybe if he'd held out another day, he'd have been famous and have people lighting memorial candles and lighting incence in his honour for sixty years. I voiced this question to the Japanese Tour leader who either ignored me or feined he didn't speak English.

I was taking a picture of a destroyed rusted out Japanese tank in front of the Last Command Post when one of the Japanese tourist asked me. 'Is that a Japense Tank?'

‘No,’ I told him, ‘It’s an Israeli tank. They were big during the Pacific War. Weren’t you guys there?? What does it look like? A 1995 Nissan?’ I said pointing to my car.

At that point he whisked away by the Janpanese Tour Leader who I’m sure was thinking about giving me a personal retour of the Banzaii cliff.

I also had a small probem with a security guy who was not happy with me wanting to move my rusted out Japanese Nissan next to the tank giving a graphic illustration that the Japanese haven’t made much progress on rust prevention in 60 years. I was seriously considering leaving my car there and driving the tank back to the motel and you gotta see the picture of the tank!!

I kept meeting people at these sights that I had met on the flight from Nagoya. I began to have a feeling that we are some sort of pictorial scavenger hunt: who ever gets the most pictures and gets back to the hotel first wins – and I’m determined that it’s going to be me even if I have to run every local guy on a bike off the road to do it! I just point and click – I’ll try and figure out what I actually saw when I get home and read the guide book.

If the projected monsoon holds off I’m going to take a boat over to manyagaha Island for some quality snorkeling.

By the way, it’s already tomorrow here, so I’ll give you a scoop on something - Yassir Arafat died. First Amelia Earhart and now Arafat – you get all the news first – from me.

More Tomorrow.