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.

I Found Amelia Earhart!

I'd like to tell you that there were lots of adventures on the trip over, but there weren't - it was just god awful long 19 plus hours in the air in a 26 hour long day. Everything went as planned.

There was one interesting thing that happened during the last leg of the trip which was from Nagoya to Saipan. An older gentleman sat in the seat next to me. I asked him if he was going to Tinian, as he looked of the age that he might have served there, which was indeed the fact.

He told me that he worked loading the B29's and he worked with some of the locals who had been forced conscription by the Japanese. One of these guys told him that he had been on burial duty when they burried an woman American flyer that had been captured and executed - obviously Ameila Erhart and showed him the grave. Nobody believed the old guy until recently, and now a team had been put together to dig up the grave and try and get a genetic sample. Evidentally the Mariana Government wasn't very supportive, but members of the team got the US State Department to put pressure on the Mariana's government to let them exhume the grave.

While the guy was telling me this, another passenger up in first class was watching and not very happy with this guy talking to me, so he came down and moved the guy up to first class. Of course this was after 19 hours up and maybe I dreamed the whole thing. Maybe the guy was making it all up, I didn't believe the Hurricane either when he told me that Denzel Washington
was going to play him. So if something DOES happen, remember you got the scoop here.

Update:
I just had lunch to day, and guess what I didn't imagine it! The story made front news here in Saipan. Have you heard anything back there?

Another letter coming

The Shroud of Tinian

Well here I am in Saipain! Just a simple 24 hours after I left Seattle. I'm in an Internet

Cafe/fishstore/livepoultry store around the corner from my hotel.
Do you bring you up to date. I left Vancouver around noon on Monday. I was the prescribed three hours early, so early in fact that I made the 2:00pm flight instead of the 3:30pm and got picked up and delivered to the "Best Value Motel"

Now here's my question? If it's called the "Best Value Motel" what's the "Least Value" Hotel? A packing grate under and overpass?


Actually it isn't too bad - except for the stain on the sheet. I think it's blood. It's not a big blood stain, just a few drops dribbled out along the top right hand corner. In fact they look strikingly like the Northern Marianas: I can see Guam, Saipan, Rota and even tiny Tinian. It's my own
shroud of Turin, or should I say "Shroud of Tinian?" I wasn't too concerned because it was a king size bed and I could always sleep on the left hand side, except for one thing... There's no nitetable or light on the left hand side. I settle the matter by covering the stain with a taht towel.

Now I know most of you are asking why don't I just ask the Better Value folks just to come up and change the damn thing. Well that would mean I would have to take down the barricade I've erected in front of the door. You see I recently paid a visit to the office to complain about a non-
functioning tv remote control. Rashee, the night guy had already mentioned that he lived a short time in Surrey B.C. before he had to leave rather suddenly.

'No problem, man, I'll come up to your room and reprogram it.' He offered.
'Can't you do it here?' I asked, not wanting Rashee in my room.
'Nah, I need to have the remote and the tv together.'

I seriously consider carry the tv down to the office. About a half hour later Rasheed shows up withmy remote and piece of paper with the programing instructions. He's distracted by the MP3 players on the desk.

'So how much does one of those cost?' he asks. 'I don't know,' I respond, ''We get them free on the show'
I can see the wheels turning inside Rasheed's head.
'Did you get that Epson camera for free too?'
'Yeah, but it's old I say trying to make it seem that it might fetch a good price at the Sport's Bar up the street (Which is for Rasheed, unfortunately closed since a patron decided to turn it into a drive thru the night before.)

Rasheed finished programming my remote, tosses it on the bed , and with one final apraising look around the room leaves. That's when I decided to erect the barricade in front of the door with the heaviest object I could find, which according to the airlines, is my luggage.
Everything was still in tact in the morning when I left for the airport to begin the 24 hour saga to Saipan.

More next time, the smell of dog and geese is getting to me.

Portents in the Sky

I haven’t even left town yet and already there are portents and signs in the sky that I definitely should rethink this trip. The lunar eclipse earlier in the week must have been a warning. On Friday my daughter Aviva brought home my standby tickets to Saipan. Given that this was her and her husband, Colin’s last night in B.C. (They are moving to Calgary), I should have perhaps looked at the tickets a little more closely. However due to an overabundance of wine, I did not look at them until 6:30am the next morning when I noticed a few discrepancies. First of all they had me leaving Seattle a day earlier, with a day stop over in Tokyo. One of my greatest fears in life (next to rats) is to be trapped at Narita airport: One small Jewish guy who speaks no Japanese, and whose finances will be financially and emotionally drained by an indefinite wait in the land of the rising sun. I mentioned this to someone once and they made a movie about it, called Terminal starring Tom Hank. Not only that, the tickets indicate they are invalid AFTER Nov 8^th – that’s a day BEFORE I leave!! I make a mental note to cut Aviva out of my will.

Well to heck with how early it is in the morning, my daughter screwed up and she’s going to have to fix it. I have no regrets about waking them up this early. Unfortunately (for me) as they are leaving that morning for Calgary, they have disconnected their phones – all except one, Aviva’s cell, which she has conveniently turned off.

Well I can’t go through the whole day with this hanging over my head. There’s nothing else that can be done but go to the airport myself – right away - 6:45am - and straighten this mess out. After all, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

Upon arriving at the NWA ticket booths, I notice there’s only one person wandering around (not unusual for 6:45 on a Saturday morning). Furthermore, I’m not sure if this person is a ticket agent or security guard. And to add to my confusion I’m not sure if this person is a man or a woman. The androgynous nametag “Kelly” isn’t helping either. I take a calculated risk. I sidle up beside the person:

“Sir,” I begin.

Her look tells me I have made a big mistake.

“Step to the other side of the counter, SIR.”

Given the lack of alternatives I press on anyways. I explain that my daughter must have not followed my implicit and exact instructions and I have been issued a defective ticket.

Kelly explains that it is an open ticket and I can travel whenever I want. A few clicks of the computer shows I’m properly listed.

“But it says that the ticket is invalid after Nov 8^th, I point out.

“Nov 8, 2005” Kelly retorts, looking at me like I’m a complete idiot.

“Oh.” It appears that my daughter does know what she’s doing. I thank my lucky stars that their phones were disconnected, or I’d be spitting out even more black feathers.

I leave and head back to the parking lot, where more problems await me. I insert the parking ticket into the machine.

“Parking is 2.25. Please insert credit card.”

I insert and withdraw my credit card.

“Parking is 2.25. Please insert credit card.”

I insert and withdraw my credit card again.

“Parking is 2.25. Please insert credit card.”

I’m about to insert my credit card for the third time, when I happen to glance down and see two receipts in the tray at the bottom of the machine. Obviously I’ve paid TWICE!

I drive out to the automated exit and insert the ticket into the machine.

“Please Drive Forward” the machine states.

I drive forward. Nothing happens. The gate does not open. I back up and try again:

“Please Drive Forward”

Again I drive forward and nothing happens. I try inserting the ticket backwards, upside down; I even try jamming the receipts into the slot. Still nothing. I back out and go to the pay window. I explain what happened to the attendant. I show him my TWO receipts. I pointed out I’ve paid TWICE and I should be allowed to leave. In fact, I should be allowed to leave and come back and leave again if I want.

“Let me see the receipts, “he asks.

I show him the two receipts.

“Let me see your credit card.”

He examines the ticket. He studies the receipts. He scrutinizes my credit card. All the time the lineup behind me is growing.

“You’ll have to pay again,” he states.

“But I already paid twice!”

“These receipts don’t match your credit card. Did you actually see them drop down?”

“No.” I admit. Now some impatient jerk behind me is laying on the horn.

“Someone else must have left them behind. You’ll have to pay me or you can’t leave.”

Now there’s a symphony of horns blaring. I give him my credit card and pay again and leave to a bunch of cheers behind me.

And there’s still seven days to go before I leave Vancouver.