Wheww!!!!

Well that post sure shot up my hit meter! I have heard that, as W would say, "Mission Accomplished." Hopefully that will improve the safety and security of the PCVs and all Palangis on TBU, especially after the alleged arson over there.

Auric Adventure

Summer in Arizona. Lots of sun, lots of heat... Wonderful.

As I explore my new digs I am enthralled with the local history. Rather than buy a coffee table book, I decide to check it out in person.

Miners explored these mountains, panning the washes and tunneling into the mountain sides. I have managed to dig up records from the 1800s until today and a bunch of the claims are in my GPS.

It is Sunday morning. I stop in Cave Creek and have breakfast in a saloon full of scruffy motorcycle people. Probably look a lot like the prospectors that founded this town.

My first stop is Three Fools Placer. This was probably the first gold strike in the area. As a placer it is just a bunch of gravel in a wash that happened to have some gold mixed in with it.

I find the wash, it is now someones back yard. I laugh. I wonder how often they see color as they dig to plant a new bush and assume it is fools gold. I also wonder who the three fools were that named the claim.

Not wanting to trespass I drive my little Honda Fit off the paved road up toward the Tonto National Forest. I park, take a bearing from my GPS and head up a hill. My first stop is the Phoenix Gold Mine. This is a big mine that was seriously mined in this century, but has been closed. I pass the mine and discover some of the original shafts that preceded the mine. A huge horizontal shaft heads into the mountain, much of the entrance is blocked by a recent cave in. Other shafts penetrate the area.

I traverse some canyons and cross Cottonwood Creek. Up the hill and I see the remains of the Cottonwood Creek Gold Mine claim marker. I peer down a deep vertical shaft, spooking a giant owl. The owl dives for the bottom of the shaft and turns into a side tunnel. I wonder how many animals fall into this open hole. I see tailing above and hike up the loose rocky hill. Beneath a desert palo verde tree is a horizontal shaft leading deep into the hill. (See photos)

I have my WalMart LED headlamp and the usual hiking tools including heavy gloves and a camp shovel. In I go.

The tunnel is full of desiccated cholla balls. These are balls of cactus quills. They quickly cover my hiking boots. I pass a small cave-in and head into the dark. The shaft is perhaps four feet wide and less than six tall. There is dried animal poop everywhere and the strong smell of a carnivore. I assume mountain lions have made this thier home. Nests on the walls house mice. There noses peek out at me as they try to see the source of the light. The walls are loose rock. If I bump them large pieces fall. This freaks me out a bit, as I'd rather not make this my permanent resting place.

I scurry out, covered in sweat. I had expected the mine to be cool, but this one was not.

Climbing up the hill I spot an unusual piece of quartz. It turns out it is an Apache arrowhead. Apaches hid here as they raided settlers in the mid 1800s.

Up the hill further I go. At the top of a nearby peak I find a big deep square shaft heading straight down. I peer over the edge, it looks bottomless. I drop a small stone... it takes three seconds to hear a thump.

Unlike the other shafts these walls are straight. Clearly a newer dig. This is the valcarce Claim registered to the Department of Energy (DOE). It was a thorite mine. Thorite is a mineral containing both thorium and uranium. All kinds of stuff in them thar hills.

All-in-all I found ten shafts this morning.

How do I take it to the next level? I'd like to find an Apache mine. The most famous legendary Apache mine in our area is the Lost Dutchman. Now we're talking an adventure!

Holy Meteor Crater Batman!

I hear my daughter up and about at 06:00. This is unheard of, at least four or five hours too early.

She's up because we are off on an Arizona Adventure.

We stop at the local McDonald's for a coffee and McMuffin, actually the first time I've eaten there since returning from Tonga. We peruse a WalMart road atlas and decide that today will be a visit to Winslow Arizona.

We cruise up I17 towards Flagstaff. As we go we gain altitude. Terrain changes from Saguaros to shrub junipers to flat dry expanses with nothing bigger than a weed. Volcanic mountains leap from the flat plains, many still sport expanses of snow, a sight for those of us used to 115 degree heat.

We head east following the route of the infamous Route 66. We turn at Meteor Crater road. In we drive across a flat red martian landscape. A prairie dog stands to watch us, then bolts for his burrow.

Ahead is a gray ridge rising from the red expanse. It is the ejecta from the crater.

We pay our $30 each and explore the museum and take a walk around part of the rim with a local guide. Most of the employees are Navajo. I am happy being surrounded by big brown friendly tattooed people again.

The crater is huge. The Washington Monument could stand in the bottom and not poke out the top. For a hundred years the consensus of the world's geologists was that it was a volcanic crater like the others in the area. A mining engineer found evidence that eventually proved that it was an impact crater, but the scientific community called him a fool for fifty years because they has a consensus. Sound familiar?

NASA trained the Apollo astronauts here and still trains their new astronauts in the crater.

The impact released the equivalent of 20 megatons of energy. Not too far up the road in New Mexico is another crater, this one at the Trinity Site. This is where the first atom bomb was tested. It released about one thousandth of the energy of the meteor. We are disappointed that we can't go stand in that crater, but it is only open two days a year, so that will have to wait until October.

Arizona Desert

It rained here a few weeks ago and the desert is blooming. The cactus in the foreground is a fishhook barrel. That is a saguaro in the background.
Here's a fishhook barrel flower up close and personal.
This is one of the trails that leads to the gnarly singletrack I bike.
Well, this is the American west. The desert is full of shells, including these from assault rifles. Go second amendment!
Lots of big boulders for Jason to climb.


Camelback Mountain - Look close in the center of the photo and you'll see a Chuckwalla lizard sunning on a rock. I am a kindred spirit with these lizards.

Another shot on Camelback. Again, look at the silhouette on the rock at the top. Zoom in and you'll see another Chuckwalla.

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I am living the life. It doesn't get much better than this.

I'm sure I'll eventually gt bored and feel the need for some jet setting, but for now I'm really enjoying the chance to get back in shape after Tonga. I'm still amazed how good it is to take a shower where the water is clean and goes down the drain. The other thing is how dry it is here. Even when I sweat like a puaka I'm still dry. No problems with fungus here. I think the Peace Corps should send Bria here for rehab.

I've been climbing a local "mountain" a few times a week, and mountain biking way out in the desert on other days. Camelback Mountain is in the middle of the Phoenix area and is covered with hikers when its cool. I like to climb in the afternoon and there is almost no one there.

I mountain bike in the Sonoran Mountain Preserve at Pima and Dynamite roads. Parts of this are civilized and parts are really remote.

I've included some pictures for your viewing pleasure. Click on them for lots of detail, unless you're in Tonga, there they'll take to long to load!

Reentry

Buzzz Buzzzz

I wake briefly about 01:30 to the buzzing of a mosquito. WTF? This is the first mosquito I've encountered here in the Sonora Desert. The evil little bloodsucker feasts on my hand and that is the end of that. At least I know that it isn't carrying The Dengue.

I am up a bit after 6. The 46" LCD has CNBC yakking prior to the opening bell. Americans are focused on all the bad news about oil. I don't understand, oil is still dirt cheap here. I am paying about $3.75 a gallon to feed regular into my new Honda Fit. Politicians are talking about a moratorium on gas taxes. These are the only taxes I'd like to see raised. Oh well, different perspectives.

I hop on my Fuji full suspension mountain bike and pedal over to the Doctor's office. I have my fasting labs for my post service physical. After my second bloodsucking of the morning I scarf a banana and cycle to the super upscale Kierland Shopping area. I read the Wall Street Journal and suck down a couple of half caffs. I am the only person in the place using a 'for here" cup.

I have been going crazy knocking out all the things that need to be done when moving to a new town, country and hemisphere. I now have a nice two bedroom appartment in Scottsdale. My daughter spent the weekend and has her room pretty much set up. I have a pool with a sandy beach and a couple of hot tubs. Through my open windows I hear falling water from fountains.

It is a far cry from my life at the campsite in Tonga.

I am getting comfortable with all the excess and the crowds of white people. At Starbucks I sit next to the only black guy in the place. I haven't seen any Pacific Islanders around. I am sure some are in the area, but probably not in this super upscale corner of Scottsdale.

I will chat with several of the PCVs still in Tonga today. I am thankful for google chat. I may also get an email from a Tongan associate. I wish I could contribute more to my old projects, but without the involvment of The Peace Corps. We'll see. I am almost caught up and have the time to update my blog.

I contemplate my friends in Tonga. What have I learned that they may find helpful or at least interesting?

• Don't underestimate the culture shock. I found it tough to go into a store or be somewhere with crowds of white people.
• Old habits are hard to break. I have no probkem driving on the right side of the road, but my bike keeps wanting to be on the left. I have some HUGE bruises from a bike crash a couple of days ago.
• You have no idea how great it is to be able to eat anything you want. Having said that, last night I had Kapa Ika, curry and onions with rice with Mangos for desert. But tonight I plan on a T-Bone and baked tater with a big salad.
  
• There is no dirt in the apartment that the vacuum can't suck up in a few minutes.
• It takes about three days to get clean. You will see your pores slowly clear. Cloths washed in a washer and dried in a drier feel so different.
• I threw out my stinky sandals from Tonga. My feet are now clean.
  
• My sister and her guy were nice enough to tolerate my constant references to Tonga during my decompression. But in general nobody wants to hear anything about Tonga or the Peace Corps. I have pretty much stopped mentioning it.
• I miss my PCV, Australia Youth Ambassaadar and Tongan friends.
  

John Returns to The World

Two of my bags are lost. A helpful New Zealand Air agent chatters through his walkie talkie, then directs me to a back wall, there they are. I clear customs and my sister Ann and her guy Steve are there ready to help me transition from one world to the next. I am wearing jeans. This is the first time I've worn pants since my arrival in The Kingdom last October.

People in LA drive so fast! I am gripping the dashboard of the Honda Element as we tear though the desert to Palm Springs. We dash through town. I think Steve is a maniac. I check the speedometer, we are only doing 40... I know its gonna take a while for me to transition.

Palm Springs is probably one of the driest, whitest, richest places in the world. Couldn't be a bigger change from Tonga.

Everyone is so thin! The women are so beautiful! There are restaurants everywhere!

We stop in a McDonald's. I only get a Diet Coke to help keep me awake after the looonnnng trip. I struggle to order a Diet Coke instead of a Coke Light.

We hit their perfect desert condo, I dump my stuff.

First meal? Outback - A salad (remember those PCVs?), STEAMED BROCCOLI!, a loaded baked potato (I know, it is a root crop) and a real steak. Not exactly a Big Mac and Fries, but it hist the spot.

It has been a couple of days now. I am clean. Really clean. Even my toes are clean. It feels strange. We went to a vegan place last night and ate a great salad. I think about my veggie friends in Tonga and wish I could mail them one.

I stop at a T-Mobile store and scarf a SIM. I am reconnecting to The World. I choose a 480 area code. I have decided to make Scottsdale my Home Base.

I can't help but check on earthquakes in Tonga. I Google the Shaggy concert, no word of riots, I am relieved.

I am thankful I have Ann and Steve to give me a space station between Tonga and Earth to decompress. So now I need to find a place to live in Arizona, buy a car, insurance etc.

Back into The World.

Friendly Islander Hotel - Robbed at Knifepoint!

I am participating in Peace Corps "In Service Training", IST. After 3 days at our usual humble guesthouse we battle logistics to all move to the The Friendly Islander Hotel. Guests stay in individual small huts (fales). The married couples each get a romantic little house of their own. The singles are barracked like sardines. I am assigned to a six bed man-hut with five hard-drinking fun-loving Peace Corps Volunteers. Next door is a four man hut and a four girl hut.

I join a group who walk to the only Korean Restaurant in The Kingdom. I order cheap and it is a darn good meal. We walk back to the isolated "hotel" in the darkness.

A few minutes after returning to my hut at The Friendly Islander Hotel one of the men from the next hut walks in. "Can someone help me? I think I am going insane. I can't find my backpack." Although his sanity can often be questioned, it is not in this case today. Their hut has been robbed. Passports, high end laptops used in the training, cell-phones and irreplaceable (here) backpacks are now the property of a HCN. HCN is Peace Corps speak for Host Country National. The Peace Corps, like Big Brother, uses it's own 'speak' as often as possible.

I am the island security coordinator, so I hang around as we bring in the Peace Corps Security Officer. He is a totally competent and squared away Tongan. While serving in the Tongan military he trained with the US Marines. He is one of the staff that I trust.

The influential owner of the The Friendly Islander Hotel keeps saying something to the effect that this is the first time this has happened! I believe that she is in charge of the National Censorship Committee that censors the Government TV and Radio, so I do not believe her.

He calls the police. They are on a first name basis. Out comes two CSI investigators. I recognize them from a break-in at a married couple's house a couple of months ago. In that case they were able to recover almost everything.

They look like a couple of guys you'd see hanging around the at the corner, but they are 100% squared away.

They start with "this is the third time we've been to this hut." This confirms my opinion of the censor's credibility. The Friendly Islander Hotel is a smorgasbord for robbers.

The perps came through the bathroom window and left via a bush road directly behind our huts. Very low risk theft.

The near feral PCVs are agitated. One of them accidentally uses his hut's key on the wrong hut. It works. In fact all our keys work in all the other huts. Security is really looking up!

We fight to move to a secure place. No beans. The security officer is able to move the people from the burglarized hut, but we are to stay. I can hear him pleading our case in Tongan. I guess the Peace Crops manager he is asking. He talks for ten seconds and listens for two minutes. This manager (an assumption on my part) is known for using her lips to listen.

I hit the bed about 12:30. I leave the light on in the hut and cover my head with a towel. I am out.

I wake to a drunk PCV rummaging through his stuff. A hut with six guys in it is noisy. The noise continues so I sit up, ready to slap somebody. Some moron has turned off the lights. There is a huge man with a twelve inch knife going through my stuff. He is NOT a drunk PCV. He has my watch in his hand.

The huge bear turns, drops the knife, and dives head first out the now open window. He is big. The window is small, but he quickly wiggles through and crashes to the ground. His weight breaks the water line to the house and it starts to spray. He is gone.

I am shouting to wake the others. Something like "There is a man in here with a knife!" They are PCVs. Only a few wake.

I call the Security officer. My mobile tells me it is about 05:15. My watch will not be helping me ever again. Then I trot over to the girls hut.

They sliding glass door is wide open. I wake them and make sure they are OK. They are. They just left their door open. Unwise in Tonga.

By now we find that someone, probably a DIFFERENT robber has robbed outside our hut too. Our shorts/swimsuits are gone. Even a pair of old flip-flops have been stolen.

Our security officer arrives so fast I know he has smashed the speed laws. Heavy rain starts. Our friends the police are still on duty. I send out volunteers to check all our huts.

The police arrive. They are concerned about the knife. Usually burglars don't have one. They take it for prints.

I've lost most of my meager possessions including my passport, spare glasses, and most of my clothes and underwear. Plus my irreplaceable backpack etc.

This time we inform the Peace Corps that we are leaving. When it is time for breakfast we take all our possessions with us. No one will leave anything in a hut, or leave one person unattended. The nickname for The Friendly Islander Hotel is now Rape Village.

We find out from the police that one of the cars we identified in the area last night has just been involved in an armed robber near my house. So now there is a potential gun connection. Hmmmmm....

One of the PCVs in my tiny hut is still asleep. He slept through the robbery, through the police investigation and as far as I know is still asleep. We will have a hell of a story for him when he awakes.

More Tonga Food....

A bunch of volunteers are visiting Nuku'alofa for "in service training". I haven't seen them for several months, so we all go out to Chinese food. The other islands (except Vavau) don't have restaurants so this is a big treat.

My steamed rice arrives and I dump it to for a neat little dome on my plate. In the top of the dome lies a steamed roach. Everyone peaks at it. I eat it.

----------------------------------------------------

I stop by my house to grab stuff to take to the guest house for the training. I hear shouting from kids outside. There are a half dozen boys wading in the neighbors flooded yard. They are beating the water with sticks.

"What's up?" I ask.

"Tuna Tuna!" they reply.

There are giant eels in my neighbors yard. They are called "Tuna" in the local tongue. They hold one up. It is perhaps four foot long and thicker than my arm. And I've been working out so my arm ain't too skinny.

I ask if they "kai" (eat) it?

In response a kid takes the still squirming eel and takes a big bite out of it. Yum!

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I cycle to the Peace Corps to check for mail. The Economist for this week has not arrived. I wander into the administration building to check for packages. My friend Lois has been trying to send me something since around Christmas, and the prior attempt(s) have been stolen.

I have a huge box. It is prominently labeled "Books - Reading Material". In other words, "nothing in here worth steeling."

It worked. I get the package. Inside is a nice blue T-Shirt of a quality not available here. Good.

In the bottom of the box is a wooden box labeled "Made In Texas". It has a tongue-in-groove top and I slide in back.

Inside, packaged like a necklace from a jeweler, there sits a beautiful pecan pie. Honest.

I show the other volunteers. I see tears in their eyes. It is an emotional moment for us all.

We will all be staying together at the guest house tonight and we'll finish off the pie.

Thanks Lois!!!!!!

Election Day in The Kingdom

The roads are jammed with cars. Today is one of the election days here in The Kingdom. Here is my understanding of what is happening.

There are about 67,000 commoners registered to vote for 9 members of parliament. These will be the peoples reps.

Although there are no defined political parties, (parties are illegal), there is a pro-democracy group and a couple other groups.

Yesterday the 29 Nobles elected 9 Nobles members of parliament. All 9 must be selected from the 29 nobles.

There are a total of 34 members of parliament and a bunch of ministers. They are all selected directly by the King.

So 9 out 34 are elected by the people. All of the ministers are appointed by The King. Are we clear?

The government has cracked down hard on the press here. No real open political discussions. Definitely no rallies, no debates etc.

Everyone here can tell you anything about Obama of Clinton, but what is happening locally is a bit of a mystery.

Oh - and each ballot is coded with a number identifying the voter. My Tongan colleagues are shocked that voting in the US uses secret ballots.

The Economist has a good review of the election on their website.

Takes a bit of getting used to...

Transportation Update

I drop my bike off with Niko, the old man in a house near the Peace Corps. The cranks are wobbling all over the place. I know this is a worn out bottom bracket.

I am biking about 300 miles a month. Thanks to my sister for sending a bike computer so I can keep track. I am on my third seat. Yup - I've broken two seats. My rear tire is almost worn to the cords.

After leaving the bike with Niko, I walk back to work. Within a few hundred meters of the office my flip-flops tear. They are completely unrepairable. I stop at a China Shop (what we call the small shops if they are run by a Chinese person.) He has no size 13s but he has 12s in white for TOP$8.50 and a cheaper pair in black for TOP$3.50. I get the black, they are tight, but they sorta work.

I had assumed that large sizes would be common here, but I have discovered that despite huge feet, they wear smaller sizes. Their feet are just wide. There are no size 13s here.

I return after 4 and Niko has the bike waiting. He has actually rebuilt the bottom bracket and replaced a ball bearing. In the states we would just replace the entire cartridge, so I am hoping this will hold up for at least another 750 miles or so.

But for now it is nice to be able to stand and sprint when I need to get through a roundabout before getting smashed by a van that fails to yield.

Finally - A House

View from my kitchen door, through my carport to my neighbors.
Past the fence is a pigpen and the remaining slab of a house burned in the 16/11 riots.
My new digs. Could be the home of the Cleavers. (I know most of you are too young to remember "Leave it to Beaver", sorry.)

Click on the above pics for a high resolution glimpse into my world!

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I've been at the campsite for four months. This has taken its toll, and my attitude has been gnawed away for each of those hundred plus days.

I finally have a house. A very nice house. It even has a super nice washing machine!

The neighborhood is interesting... It is at sea level, although a long ways from the coast. The water beneath my neighbors house is permanent. There are even small fish. The neighbor also has a small pharmacy in his front yard. Trust me - It is not competition for Walgreen's.

The roads are a string of connected potholes this time of year. During the raining season they are more like canals.

The Pig Sty to one side of the house has a small shack or corrugated steel. The neighbors who live there had a large two story house, but it was burned in the 16/11 riots. I don't know yet what singled them out. They plan to rebuild using one of the foreign aid loans for riot victims.

The neighborhood is a hodgepodge of nice homes and shacks. Most have Sky Satellite TV. I fall asleep to the blaring of "Dragnet -The Movie" from a neighbors house. Dum da dum dum.

It would be a mistake to judge the wealth or poverty of the occupants by their houses. The Kingdom, for many cultural and legal reasons, does not have private property rights in the same sense that westerners are accustomed. This is the single biggest reason their economy is one of the worst in the world. There is no incentive to invest in building a nice house if you don't really own it. This particularly challenging for businesses as their lease terms drop to twenty or ten years they will no longer invest.

The inside is well furnished and could be a house in the States. It even has hot water and good water pressure provided by a pump. Of coarse the hot water is currently not working, but I hope to get it fixed soon. And I need to go into the back yard to turn the pump on and off when I need to use it. This should also be fixed soon.

I have a washing machine. This replaces my blue bucket. I have done two loads and can't get over the difference it makes. Cloths feel and smell different. And the spin cycle drys the cloths. When I hang them they already feel dry. When I take them down they aren't moldy. It is a miracle of modern technology.

I am about two miles from the market, so the several trips I need to make each Saturday back and forth with my backpack full of local fish and fruit (currently guavas) is a bit of a ride.

An Australian Youth Volunteer drove me between the houses. They are similar to Peace Corps on the surface, but have a heck of a lot more trust and freedom (and food allowance) from their government. Several have cars and they are all allowed to drive. I use them when we need a lift. They are the fun group here, and I hang with them as much as I can get away with.

It remains to be seen if this beautiful new house will pull me back up from the abyss. I have already had my first two nights of decent sleep since arriving in Tonga, but I fell as though I've been hiding in a foxhole with shells exploding around me for months and it maybe too late.

Finger lickin good!

Peace Corps Volunteers never turn down free protein.

I use the nice pan my sister sent me. She didn't like that I was using an old corned beef can as a rice cooker. The new pan is real fancy, I'm sure that if I had the original packaging there would be a note from the marketing firm that it is a perfect pan for cooking arthropods of all types.

The molokou spent a few hours in the freezer as I ran around town on Saturday morning. The entire town closes around noon and doesn't reopen until Monday, so this is my only shopping time.

I use canola oil. I'm health conscious and try to avoid the generic 'vegetable oils' that are common here. They are mostly tropical oils such as palm. Artery cloggers.

The oil looks pretty hot. He is curled in the bottom of the plastic cup. I pick him out with my fingers, he is cold but not frozen, and into the bath he goes!

Splatter pop pop. As he heats up the steam inflates his shell and he straightens out like an inflated inner tube. Splash! The steam escapes and I dodge an eruption of hot oil. Without the internal pressure he returns to the convenient curl and just hisses a bit.

I give him less than a minute. Al dante.

I look up, there is a Tongan looking in my window. He moves on.

Off with the gas.

I look close. His fangs are now spread wide and fried into place.

Well, no use waiting for it to cool!

Munch Munch - Not bad - Tastes like the fried fiddler crabs you get in Tokyo.

I wonder if I can get some of local kids to find me twenty or more of the full size molokaus. That would be a great appetizer if I ever get a house and have a housewarming party...

BTW - I had felt a cold coming on in the morning on Saturday. It was better by evening and today is gone. The Peace Crops Volunteer who lives the life has an immune system that is right up there with a junk yard dog. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Here is the recipe I posted on a super secret internal bulletin board for Tongan PCVs only:

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Fried Small Arthropod - (Molokau Fakapaku)

Ingredients -

One or more of the larger local land dwelling arthropods. Molokau is best, but like all good cooks it pays to be adventurous. The really big roaches and giant spiders should work just as well.

A healthy frying oil such as Extra Virgin Olive or Canola. Avoid tropical oils such as coconut or palm. (Saturated fats!)

Preparation

Make sure the meat is clean. Do NOT eat a critter that has been soaked in Mortein! Catch it alive. Since the meat may not volunteer to be your appetizer, you should place it in the freezer until it is either immobile or dead. Remember, depending upon your choice of arthropod, these little buggers (ha ha) may be of the biting variety.

Heat oil to early smoke.

Drop in the critter. Watch for steam releases that will splash oil. I would recommend eye protection when frying.

Cook until the spattering slows noticeably. Al dante.

Remove.

Eat while still hot! Cocktail or horseradish sauces are the most appropriate. Pair with a dry white wine.

A bit more revenge

My daughter calls and wakes me up. This is strange since it is about 08:00 and I never sleep past 05:00 here, even though today is Saturday. I know I am puke (pronounced pookay, but yes... this is where the American word Puke comes from.) After getting a quick but much appreciated update on her wonderful life I face the slime in my bathroom.

The drain is 100% plugged and the ensuing pool of water has grown a slime film on the tile. This does NOT feel good squishing between my toes when I shower. The Peace Corps is doing health checks this week and they plan to inspect my wonderful campsite to be sure I am keeping it clean and healthful. I need to get rid of this or who knows what kind of bad thing will happen to me.

I dump about $10 of chlorine bleach into the slime and open the outside door. The gap beneath the door has been the only drain for my bathroom since it plugged. (And yes... I have told my landlord, the last time was yesterday. I have also informed my employer and the Peace Corps. Self sufficiency is required here.)

I use a mop to swab the breaking down slime out the door. It stinks of chlorine and slime, but that is better than just slime. I do this as often as I can afford and I know that later a few dollars worth of pine cleaner will give it all a nice clean pine fresh scent. (With overtones of human waste and slime...)

I am going slow, since I am a bit sick, but I move on to the laundry. My washing machine is the blue bucket mentioned in my prior post. I fill it with soap and water and kneed to loads of cloths. Then I repeat to rinse them.

After I put them in the dryer (ie hang them on a line outside) I return to clean up my kitchen sink.

There is a little 3 inch molokou gurgling by the sink. He must have been sleeping in my dirty clothes and gone along for the ride. Still alive, but much the worse for wear. At least the little bastard never got his fangs into me.

I put him is a recycled disposable plastic cup (I don't actually dispose of anything here that can be used again) and drop him into my freezer.

Next time I have hot oil on the stove I will post just what fried molokou tastes like.

Revenge

e
I sit in my plastic lawn chair reading my latest Halo Book:"First Strike". I am into it as the Master Chief blasts the hell out of various aliens that belong to the religious zealots known as The Covenant. There are all kinds of nasty aliens, and reading about them being blown away is satisfying.

Wait... Whats that?

I see an alien form slithering rapidly from near my feet.

A mouse? It's going the right speed.

Nope - Too serpentine.

I stand and greet my nemesis, the evil molokau. It is seeking relics, or more likely seeking a mouse or giant cockroach for dinner.

I want to take a picture, but if I get my camera it'll be gone. It only takes a few seconds to cross the room and it'll be through a crack in the wall.

I grab my dust broom and pan. I brush him in. He rears to strike. I toss him into my Tongan washing machine, an eight quart plastic pail.

I shoot the shot for this post. Now I'm stuck. What to do with the alien beast?

I use the method proven by many a parent for the disposal of a dead goldfish. I toss it into the toilet.

This guy was big. maybe 8 or 10 inches, and he is as angry as a Covenant Elite facing a Spartan.

The giant centipede starts to climb out of the toilet. I watch it squirming up the side of the bowl and rush to gram my 24" bush knife. By the time I return to the toilet he is reaching over the rim and he is pissed!

I draw back to strike and he curls down and disappears into the rim that supplies the flushing water. He is gone, his cloaking device activated.

Well... lets face it... I won't be able to sit on this throne with a giant venomous centipede right under the lip.

I flush the toilet. We have two flush buttons, #1 and #2. I push #2.

He is pushed half way out and I strike. Clang - I missed and he is gone.

I wait none to patiently for the tank to refill. Finally it does.

I flush. He slips. I strike.

I have split him in two. Both halves continue to squirm and fight, but he can no longer swim worth a darn, and he sure as shootin' can't climb out.

Victory is ours. It feels good to blast the Covenant into slipspace. I hope he was the bastard that bit me in my sleep a couple of weeks ago. Revenge is sweet.

Easter in Tonga - Not much goin on

Good Friday. It is one of those "special" holidays here. Everything is closed with the notable exception of the bread shops. Thank God they are open.

No cabs or buses, no ferries and, obviously, the airport is closed. I am up at 03:00... not healthy. The church bells clamor before 05:00. The bells wake those roosters that are still snoozing and the clamoring is deafening. I am listening to the radio, on these 'no work' days they play a feed from the BBC world service. I can't hear anything until the bells finally quit.

After tea I wait for sunup then I wander the town, chatting with folks I see. The local bakery has hot cross buns to celebrate Easter, so I grab half a dozen and eat them outside the closed public market.

All in all a quiet day. Good for reading and not much else.

Saturday is the opposite. Everything is open, at least until noon. We know that both Sunday and Monday are holidays here so everyone is bulking up to survive until Tuesday.

The Prime Minister's grocery store has a remote from Cool-90 FM. For the remote they are offering free ice cream cones and cheap sausages. They have boxes of expired wine at about half price. I battle through the line and scarf a free cone. I load a box of wine into my back pack along with a six pack of roach baits and a bunch of small presents to send to my PCV friends on Eua. A couple of PCVs from here are heading over for Easter and offer to carry the stuff.

I bike out to the campsite and empty my backpack, then back into town. There is a place near the market that has a couple of freezers and a scale. The freezers have frozen slices of local tuna. I grab a chunk the size of a dinner plate. 2.2 kilos. It is frozen solid and that's a good thing.

Back to the campsite to toss it into the fridge. I will eat half of it today (Easter). Then back into town.

As you may recall the male PCVs all dropped a dangerous amount of weight during training. I lost over 20 pounds, all muscle, in only ten weeks.

Since coming to the capital I have managed to put it all back on. I go the the gym and often bike ten or twenty miles a day and a heavy and primitive bike. I eat about a kilo of meat, a loaf of bread, a couple of cups of white rice for dinner most nights. I may die of malnutrition, but i won't be a skinny little twerp of a corpse when I go.

Today is Easter. I manage to sleep until the bells, real progress for me. I turn on the lights and... no scurrying roaches! I look in the kitchen, there a few roaches, but they apparently died while practicing the backstroke on the kitchen floor. Good riddance. I recommend the Mortein roach baits! I don't really mind the little arthropods, but I'm concerned that their presence may attract the larger predators. And I do NOT want another interaction with a molokau.

After doing my daily emergency coordinator research I do the rounds of the bakeries. Nothing available early, not unexpected, but I appreciate the chance to get some exercise. I'll go back to the bakery, this one is about 4 miles from my campsite in Maufunga. It is early so I usually hang for five minutes and chat with the bored staff. They and I both appreciate the company.

It is about noon here now and I'm thinking of heading out again. They promise to have cinnamon rolls sometime today. Having just talked to my daughter who is making the same at her boyfriends house, I'm kinda craving them. There is a heavy downpour outside the Peace Corps office. As soon as it quites I'll make another dash to bakery.

Pretty quiet here. My molokau bit is still inflamed. Not much else to report.

Bank On It!

As usual I am low on cash. I try to keep my cash position low to help reduce spending and minimize the impact of any loss or theft. I cycle into town on my newly repaired bike (long story) before dawn and decide to hit the ATM before checking out the bakery for cheap food.

The ATM is displaying a screen that indicates it is not going to be of much use to me. No worries, there is a second. After all I am at the main Tonga branch of one of Australia's largest banks.

The second ATM is also feeling under the weather. Hmmm. Here is a note informing all customers that the ATM and EFT networks are down until further notice. I still have $3 cash, so I buy a loaf of whole grain bread for $1.80 and skip my usual donation to the old lady beggar of the bakery. I am glad it is $1.80. It is a different price every day and sometimes it is up to $3.30. Same bakery. Same clerk. And no, they don't actually change the prices every five minutes. It is just Tonga.

Later I head for the local bank branch near work. The ATMs are still dead.

I hit the very long line, but enjoy the wait as this is one of the few buildings in Tonga with air conditioning. Finally it is my turn.

"I'd like to take out $100 please" I say.
"Do you have your last ATM receipt?" asks the teller.
"Uhhh... No." is my reply.

A worried look. Normally I just give my name and over the counter comes the cash. No passport, no drivers license, no ID of any kind. This is, after all, Tonga.

The problem today? No computers at all. None. But no worries, we fill out a withdrawal slip with just my name, no account number, and I eventually get my $100. I know I'm good for it, but I am thankful the bank agrees. I suspect that being a palangi helped.

Try that one at home.

My Campsite is Starting to Really Bug Me!

I spend the evening (Friday night) at a gathering at the Australia High Commission. The Australians and Kiwis have a lot of parties and know how to have a good time. No good food this time (unusual) but an endless supply of beer and a lot of important contacts to chat and network with.

I finally return to the campsite about 11PM, later than usual. I turn on the fan and crash.

I am really pooped so I am sleeping pretty good. Am I dreaming? Maybe, hard to remember.

Then...

Owww!!! Holy Crap! It feels like there is a knife being driven into my hand. I try to brush "it" off, whatever "it" is, but there is nothing there. By now I am beginning to enter the realm of consciousness and find I am standing by my bed vigorously shaking my hand. On with the light. Nothing in sight. I strip the bed, and easy job since I have only a sheet, no blankets. After all this is only a campsite, not a viable home. Nothing there. "It" has made its escape.

I rush to the kitchen for my bush knife. This is a significant knife. It has a 24 inch blade. I loan it to my landlord so her son can trim the hedges with it. I also have a file, so the blade is far from blunt.

Why do I need a bush knife at 04:30 in the AM of a Saturday morning? Because this is my preferred weapon for battling molokous. Molokous are the giant tropical centipedes that are but one of the diverse pests that infest my campsite. Readers of this blog will remember past references to my previous traumatic but up-till-now painless encounters with these nasty beasts.

I poke around with the knife. Under the bed. In the dirty cloths on the floor. No dice. No molokou. I cock my head and listen. Can I hear the little bastard laughing at me from within the termite infested walls? Maybe. Or maybe its just the scurrying of a mouse.

I go to run cold water on my hand. There are two holes, viper like, in my palm. Each sports a tiny drop of blood. Mine.

I look down as I wash. All of the rat poison is now gone. Eaten with no apparent effect. I've been spending a small fortune to reduce the number of rodents that share my campsite. I have learned that anything edible, such as crackers or bread, must be stored in the icy (refrigerator) or they will be gnawed open. I hope that removing the readily available blood supply offered in the form of the rodent hoards doesn't make the Dengue Mosquitoes any hungrier for my blood. Perhaps I should get a hairless cat and offer it as a sacrifice to the bloodsuckers?

These random thoughts help me to control the pain. The bite of a giant tropical centipede really hurts. There is a video on the web of one striking a mouse. They strike just like a snake.

Why won't they eat MY mice? Perhaps they do, maybe that's what attracts so many of the venomous arthropods to my campsite in the first place.

As a rare individual who has now been bitten by both a rattlesnake (while in Texas) and the Centipede I would have to say that this Tongan critter hurts a lot more for the first couple of hours, but in the long haul the Texas bite was nastier.

Tomorrow is Sunday here. Maybe I'll ask the Fifekau (minister) to give a special prayer. "Please Lord help me find a tolerable place to live soon." Maybe if I give him a good mat and some tapa he would put in a good word?

Boy - That bugs me!

We move to a new office this week. It is air conditioned. This is heaven here in The Kingdom.

We also have some interesting bugs. Yup bugs.

Meet our good friend the Rhinoceros Beetle. These guys are a local pest that eat coconut trees. In the past there has been a bounty on these guys, you turned in their wings for money. Now the coconut industry is, like most industries here in Tonga, mostly dead, so nobody cares about our big friends.

As you can see we have had a great time with this guy (the second one I've found so far at the new office.)

Emily - The blonde woman making eye contact with our new friend, works nearby. She is another PCV. Niki, the brunette woman is an Australian Youth Ambassador who works in my office. Emily named this guy 'Ed'. We know its a male from its horn.

You can also tell just how boring it is here in Tonga, especially at the end of the month. We are all broke. Today the group sits in the PC Office and shares slices of green moldy bread. With the runaway inflation here it is just a matter of time before we start to collect the beetles and have a BBQ. Who knows, maybe they taste like coconut! Whoops, there goes Niki eating Ed now!

I love the Feeling of Security

The slime around my feet is about an inch deep. It has been a couple of days since I nuked it with bleach, and the bathroom floor clearly needs to be attacked again. I just worked out at the Gym and stopped back at the campsite for a minimal amount of time to take a shower, such as it is.

I hear a strange racket outside. It is the landlady. They have moved out (the kids can't stand the neighborhood and they will be staying at the seminary where the invisible dad will be teaching.) I almost never see them, as I leave in the morning long before they wake, and I stay away from the campsite except to sleep.

I ask her if she can do anything about the drain in the bathroom. It has always been slow, but now is 100% stopped. Thus the biological petri dish that I shower in.

She promises to have her husband Muli stop by the next day to have a look. Muli is an allegedly important minister around here. His very name strikes culturally appropriate fear in the hearts of the Peace Corps office. I have never seen him. I do not expect that I ever will.

The next day the landlady stops by The Chamber (my workplace) to get her rent check. She informs me that she has fixed the drain! I am very excited. Back in The World I take 3 or 4 hot showers a day and the thought of even one piss poor cold shower without slime is a religious revelation.

The Hash group has a BBQ to go with our drinking and running (or walking) and I am a sweaty mess as I head back to the campsite early. It is only now dark as I pull my bike up to the door and unlock the deadbolt. I reach for the doorknob and - nothing.

The landlady has pushed in the button on the doorknob, locking it. The issue? No one has a key. There has been much discussion about having 'the Chinese man' come by to make keys, but after two months still no keys.

The mosquitoes are feasting on my sweaty carcass. There is no light. I am really dehydrated and am afraid I might faint if I don't get a drink soon. I think about going to the closest FaleKaloa and buying some beer or bottled water, then I remember that I am broke again. The Peace Corps living allowance is a joke. Ha Ha Ha

I try to call the secretary at the Chamber. She is the one that found the campsite and may know how to contact the landlord. No answer.

I wander next door. The neighbors are visiting from Sacramento. Like most Tongans in Nuku'alofa they are talking amongst themselves in English as I walk up in the dark. Nope - They have no contact info.

I know the landlady's brother lives on the next street. I feed their dog and the big black beast now feels possessive about my campsite. I am hopeful that this will decrease the chances of a burglary. Ha Ha Ha

The brother also has no contact info for his elusive sister. He hops into his van to drive to their new place. The plan is to get the key to their house. There is a common door between the house and my bedroom and it is ajar so he can then just walk in and open my from door.

Yes folks, the door between their house and my apartment is ajar. No working latch. No lock. Not even a doorknob. They hold it closed on their side with a piece of furniture.

I sit in front of the house in the dark. The mosquitoes are relentless. Every car that comes bouncing down the pothole filled road brings hope, but they all continue by.

Bump.

I think I hear a noise in the house. Can't be... after all I am standing out front at the gate and no one has passed me.

Click - Click Flicker

The light in front of my door is on. Creak. The door opens and out walks the brother's son.

"They didn't have a key either, so I just came in the back window," he informs me. I thank him and he is gone.

So now I know. If I get locked out just come in through the back window.

I feel so safe.

What's up with the Fish?

Friday (that was yesterday here) was a hectic day. Meetings with groups that have real impact on The Kingdom in both the short and long term. A very hectic day.

A bunch of PCV's (and Niki, The Chamber's Australian Youth Volunteer) have a lunch meeting with a group from MAFFF, the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry, Fisheries and Females.) I added the female part, women are a special part of their mission. I am an hour late because of a last minute conflict.

We have been discussing ways we can help women in villages. This means improving nutrition, generating income at the market, stuff like that. My proposal revolves around enhancing the diversity of citrus cultivars within The Kingdom.

The best thing about these meetings, besides actually working on something that is worthwhile, is that they are always trying out their latest foods and concoctions on us. As PCVs we are professional beggars and will go anywhere for free food, especially if it is interesting.

The best thing I tried was, well, I guess the best name for it would be coconut grog. They had poured coconut water into a sealed plastic container on Sunday. Then it just sat. The CO2 produced, (sorry AlGore!) occasionally pops open the lid, but they just seal it again. The anaerobic bacteria naturally occurring here do the rest. (What do you mean naturally occurring bacteria? Not here in Tonga!)

I am the only one brave (or stupid) enough to give it a try. It has a bite, obviously a pretty good alcholhol content, plus a fair amount of acetic acid.

So now I know that if I am ever Lost on a deserted Island I can keep MaryAnn and Ginger drinking on Saturday night. (Remember - my nickname here in Tonga is John Locke.)

It has started to rain. And it is coming down pretty good. Although The Chamber is close we rangle a rare ride back to work.

As EC Coordinator for this Island I keep a close eye on lots of stuff, but mostly the weather. I know there are no tropical depressions at all right now in the South Pacific, so I'm not worried, but I do pull up the latest forecast by Tonga's Meteorological service and post it on the PCV only Internet bulletin board. It calls for some rain on Friday and Heavy rain on Saturday.

Well, the Tongans should have consulted with AlGore. We all know that he is the only man on the planet who can accurately predict the weather, and he did invent this Internet thing and it seems to work pretty good.

The rain get heavier and heavier. It is coming down cats and dogs and there is no break.

We are amazed that the local youth (Mormon HS vs Government H.S.) decide that this weather is appropriate for a major rumble, but they stage their 20 person fight in the middle of the main drag, in front of the Chamber, in the pouring rain. Stupid Kids. They eventually get hauled away in a police bus.

Niki leaves after 6. She has a windbreaker but it ain't gonna help in this weather. I stay till 8. I never go back to the campsite before that anyway (I'm not fond of my housing arrangements) so I may as well stay here.

The front yard of the Chamber is less than a foot deep, but flooded. I have to lock up the gates and look like a drowned cat before I hit the street. I head down towards the bypass road staying in the middle where the depth is least. As I approach the roundabout that is the largest intersection in the country I notice that it is flooded, then I am in it.

The water rushes. It is perhaps a foot deep here, but moving fast. It is dangerous. I boogie around the center and head out towards LongoLongo. The water slows but is now over the hubs of my bike. I can see no land. No land anywhere. Hundreds of acres of floodwaters. Water over the thresholds of the houses. It is flowing but more slowly.

I have to stand to generate enough power to keep moving. I use utility poles as a guide to stay on the road. I am at least slightly worried that if I stop the drag of the water will push me to the lagoon. I am not wearing swim trunks.

I make it though the really deep stuff. I am aware that the new mud flaps are probably helping me tremendously, but I'm a bit busy and can't check them out. Soon I'm down to normal flooding, under a foot deep and cycle the rest of the way. As I pass the local Chinese FaleKaloa I give a 'Yeee Haww' scream to a Tongan shopping there. (Remember, at these shops the customers stand outside and the items are passed to them through a rebar covered window.) He responds with a hearty 'Io' (Yes) and a big smile.

By the time I get into the house I can be no wetter. (You can guess how flooded MY yard was. This time the water was up onto the porches.) The inside of my backpack has a couple of inches of water, I don't know how it got in there.

I responds to a couple of messages on my phone from PCVs wondering if we are going to activate our emergency plan. I tell them 'no'. This is just a bunch of rain, not a cyclone or anything. But I do warn them about the flooding and suggest no travel.

Since I'm cold I cook up a big batch of pork curry with lots of frozen veggies, onions, a local red pepper and some Chinese hot sauce. It is real hot and warms my wet bones.

The next morning is sunny and I do laundry. My wet clothes are starting to stink. I recall that the water I was wading though is full of fresh sewage. (Both human and swine.)

Then off to the gym. I think about lubing my bike. I know bikes are not by nature amphibious and it will need oil. Wisely I decide to let it dry first.

I cycle to the gym. Lots of water where I live. I live in the official Tongan Mosquito Hatchery, so at least I know that my blood is enhancing the biodiversity of The Planet.

The whole area is flooded. The water is receding and was clearly several feet deep last night. Now only a foot or so.

But wait. What do I see in the middle of the road? A school of Mosquito fish. I cheer them on. I see several more schools as I approach the gym. I can't imagine where they came from. This is fresh (filthy, but fresh) water so they can't be from the sea? Perhaps they swam up from the mangrove swamps by the lagoon?

The locals tell me that this is the worst flood here since 1982. Wow.

Update - Sunday Feb 10 - Apparently this really was a big rain. From the local paper:

At 10 am today the Fua'amotu weather station measured a total of 289.2mm (11.3 inches) of rain in the 24 hrs from 10 am on Friday February 8 to 10am on February 9. The Nuku'alofa weather station recorded 250.5mm in the same period."This is the greatest rainfall we have ever had in the kingdom," said the duty forecaster 'Ofa Taumoepeau

You're kidding - Transportation 105???????

I'm walking at Hash last night. (Look up Hash House Harriers on Wikipedia to find out about this organization. Hash bills themselves as a running club with a drinking problem. Great way to network here.) So I am walking with a bunch of folks talking about the local housing crunch and business development and the airport... Usual stuff - when my shoe gets a flat tire. It is a surfing sandal. Pretty tough shoe, but it has died.

This morning I leave work about 09:30 and head off to Primas Department store to find a replacement. Primas is a full service department store, clothes, dry goods, bikes, pots and pans, linens, shoes, back packs, school supplies. Everything. All in a space smaller than a typical Wallgreens back in the States. Obviously not a huge selection and very narrow aisles.

I am looking forward to this. I usually have a terrible time with shoes in the States as I have big feet, US size 13.

But HERE the people are all huge. They have huge hands and feet. I know I will find a great selection.

I pick up a pair. Really cheap looking but it will work. It is a size 11. "Hi, do have this in a US size 13?" I ask. "No, is the immediate answer."

"What do you have in a 13?" I ask. "Nothing. It is finished."

They have not a single shoe or flip-flop larger than 11. After long discussion and many laughs (this is Tonga) we agree that they SHOULD have a good selection of large sizes, but they don't. I should keep checking. No one ever knows what is in the next container.

I go next door. It is a store somehow related to Primas, but they have slightly different inventory. Here sizes are metric or European or something. The largest they have on display is a 45. I can't put it on.

The service person goes upstairs and searches. She returns with a cheap black plastic pair of sandals, size 47. They look like they will last about a week. (I am tough on shoes, walking and biking everywhere. Locals walk very little.)

It is my only option, the shoes I have on are a total wreck and the right one keeps falling off. I take of my old ones and have them toss 'em. I wear the new ones to the register where I simply tell her $26.90 and lift my foot for her inspection.

So please keep your fingers crossed and say a brief lotu (prayer). At least this will give the strange tan lines on my feet a change of pace.

Transportation 104

I leave work early (about 3:30) and head over to the Peace Corps Office Complex. Bear, a member of my group has flown in from Haapai for a medical issue. He has a scratch on his leg that despite all the antibiotic ointment and band aids it has started to really go south.

I find him laying on the floor of the medical apartment. He is plugged into an IV. He relates that he is getting massive doses of IV antibiotics, plus taking horse pill sized doses of orals.

He is looking great, considering, and it is wonderful to visit with him. Several other PCVs wander by. Later we will go out and bring back some Chinese takeout for a group dinner. This is the height of excitement here in the Kingdom.

I mosey down to the office. I have a package. I'm expecting some books from Amazon, but instead I find a big box from my sister Jeanne.

Back up to the medical apartment where we dump the foam peanuts into a sheet and sort though for stuff. Lots of pens, some cologne, but the really good stuff was Bike Stuff.

I now have a real helmet that fits. We passed it around and everyone sniffed the new bike helmet smell. We so seldom see anything really new and clean here. Alexis tries it on and marvels at the fit. The PC issued helmets are too small for most, if not all, of the volunteers.

I also received some plastic mud flaps. I put those on last night. You can see them in the photos above. It is raining as I write, so it is likely that I will benefit from them today. In fact they will make a significant difference most days here.

I took the pictures above at breakfast. As you know I usually go to a spot on the ocean next to the Palace and eat some cheap bread rolls. (Yes, I know eating a bunch of white bread is unhealthy, but we are on college kid budgets and exist mostly on bread, ramin, and chicken franks.)

In one pic you can see a fishing boat that recently bit the dust in a storm. It has a rock through the bow. In the second you can see a rainbow as one of our frequent showers approaches. It rinsed me as soon as I started off to find shelter. Both pics have been enhanced by Piccasa, in reality it is really gray here in the morning. The sun is just starting to rise.

I sit across from the Police Station and read my Greenspan book as I wait for the coffee shop to open. I chat with a couple of New Zealand tourists. They are just in on the ferry from Eua and really need to find some coffee. The Eua boat departs for Tongatapu about 05:30 and they look bushed. This coffee shop opens at 07:30, the earliest in the Kingdom. Not much of an early morning rush here. Actually not much of a rush any time of day.

Not much else to post. Thursday (today here) is Hash. This is a group of folks who get together to either run or walk for a bit, then we drink beer and network. Networking is everything here, so I hope I can make it. It is a bit out of town and the other attendees all have access to cars. As long as the rain isn't too bad I should be able to make it on the newly updated bike.

Observations on the Upcoming Election

"So what do you think of George Bush?" This is the leading question I hear this morning from the owner of a local falekoloa (tiny corner store where you stand outside and they pass you stuff through a window, lots of them here.) It is a question I hear often.

I give the usual neutral response. 'He has good intentions. Probably time for a change.'

In general everything about the US is viewed favorably here. They wonder why so many Americans don't respect GWB. I just don't want to get into it.

'What about the election?' We have another long discussion. Tongans, and perhaps most of the world, are baffled by the US primary system. They keep expecting the election to be over. I explain that we are really just selecting the candidates to run in the election, and the real election won't happen until November.

'What about Obama?" People here like Obama, largely because of his color. They are skeptical that the US would elect a person of color. I tell them the truth: "People in the US really like him, but no one knows what he stands for yet."

"How about Hillary?" - I respond that she is not liked as a person but controls vast amounts of money and has many powerful friends.

I advise that there are major elections this week in the states. That should shake out who the eventual candidates might be.

Why is this curious? Because everyone here, at least in the capital, knows all about the US elections and the candidates BUT THEY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THE TONGAN ELECTIONS.

We are scheduled to have two days of elections here. April 23 the Nobels elect their representatives to parliament. The next day the commoners elect theirs. This will be the first election since the 'Pro Democracy' Riots of 16/11 (Nov 16 2006).

My friend tries to pull me into a discussion of democracy. He is against it.

Again I give him the simple truth - 'That is an issue for Tongans to resolve.' I am sure not gonna get into the middle of that. The last thing needed is outsiders influencing the evolving politics here.

It will be an interesting time. There is no discussion of the elections on the radio and the few editorials I have seen are on web sites hosted outside the country. When someone calls in to a talk show on the radio and brings up politics he gets cut off immediately. Can you imagine local talk radio that isn't allowed to discuss politics?

There is a lot to discuss here. Suppression of the press (government lawsuits), allegations of corruption by Cabinet Ministers, confusion as to who IS the current Minister of Finance?, court cases against rioters, charges of sedition. You get the point - a lot going on to talk about.

Next time you wonder about how f'd up the US system is. And there is no doubt it is pretty confusing and messed up, remember that you are allowed to hear directly from the candidates as well as the biased or unbiased (your opinion) commentary from CNN, FOX, Rush Limbaugh, Michael Moore, Barbara Streisand, etc.

Be thankful. A large part of the rest of the world does not have the same privileges.

A Taxing Situation - Sorry includes a Rant

I sit at the cafe sipping my large flat white as I read Greenspan's new book. It is Monday here, Super Sunday back in The World.

I am soaked - road my bike into town in the pouring rain - and my ass and backpack are covered with wet sand thrown up by the bike's tires.

An Australian Youth Volunteer stops by. The Australian (Lars) is dry and clean. How the heck can this be?

"We have a car." he replies. Remember - all of the other aid groups trust their volunteers/employees and give them the ability to drive.

We discuss our weekends as he pays for his coffees. (Several coffees- a group of volunteers is sharing the car.) I relate that I worked for several days doing my US taxes. Most of the volunteers here have never made enough money to get into complex taxes so he marvels that it can take days to complete.

I have been attending meetings here to study Tonga's new tax laws that take effect February 1. We have new income tax rules (low rates - up to 20% - TOP$7500 excluded. No AMT.) Local businesses are struggling to understand the concepts, but in general the rules are good. We also have a completely new set of customs rates and regulations - again the rates are OK (still high) but the big plus is they are structured to help reduce corruption. Reducing corruption is critical here.

At the meeting I asked the question on everyone's mind. "Should we buy beer before or after the new tariffs on alcohol take effect?" The expert claims the rules will be neutral. We'll see in the next few weeks if he is correct, I did not stock up.

I think back over the past few days, and the past few years. Many of you know that a large part of my decision to retire was based on the huge amount amount of taxes I was paying. In the end I decided that it was just plain stupid to work anymore. The government wanted me to retire.

Well now I am a poor leach on society and it feels great. I can deduct property tax! I can deduct charitable contributions! I can get a personal deduction for myself and my daughter! (None of these apply to the evil capitalist pig-dog successful businessman in the US). And to top it all off - as a Peace Corps Volunteer I am being paid by the US Taxpayer!

Not only that, they are raining money on me! I can use the HOPE eduction credit (I actually only use some - I can't generate enough liability to use it all.) Capital gains - ignore them - I have carryforward losses. I have a huge AMT carryforward credit (again, I don't use a penny of it, no need.) It is ridiculous. I fully expect not to pay a penny in federal income tax for the foreseeable future. Isn't it wonderful to no longer contribute to the economy?

With all this practice filling out forms I am ready for the Peace Corps Trimester Report. A megabyte of Excel document with 14 tabs devoted to collecting the massive impact that Peace Corps Volunteers are having on Tongan Society. Too bad Intuit hasn't come up with an online product to help fill out this sucker!

The Price of Bread

I cycle north across the deserted capital. The sun hasn't risen yet, but the sky is light as I reach oceanside West Vuna road. The cruise ship Amsterdam is heading west offshore as it begins it's long approach to our wharf. The thing is huge. As the sun pops up over the rim of the ocean the liner begins a slow U turn that will take it back past town towards the wharf.

It is after 06:00 so I cycle east myself. There is a great little bakery near Peace Corps. I have a weakness for their chocolate buns. It is a roll of the dice as to whether they will have them on any particular day. I am hopeful.

I am in luck! They have them today! I plop my one pa'anga note on the counter and ask for the buns.

There is much confusion. I am the first person to buy the chocolate buns this week. A short discussion breaks out between the two women working behind the counter.

The old woman who begs here shows up. She ignores the conflict but says 'hi' to me. I see her a lot. She sits cross legged against the wall of the small shop.

The bakery help finds a clipboard covered with lines of detail, then looking at me nervously, one announces: "Ua". The buns have gone up to TWO pa'anga! Double!

I stare at them. As a Peace Corps volunteer I have a lot in common with the old woman. Discussions about our monthly allotment are usually met with instructions to get food from neighbors. The potentially unofficial Peace Corps unPolicy (in my opinion - See Disclaimer - Not an Official statement of US Government Policy) is that we should beg for food to make ends meet. Clearly the new prices make this more of a necessity.

The bakery workers point to a letter on the wall about the new price of flour. Flour, bread, fuel, and many other items are price controlled here in the Kingdom. Even price controlled items must be adjusted to comply with the economic laws of inflation.

I buy the buns and cycle out onto a crumbling old wharf near the city center. The Amsterdam slowly passes, it is close enough that I can hear the PA, but not close enough to understand it. As I sit there munching my breakfast I think about the old beggar at the shop. I wonder if I should adjust my 50 sentiti contribution up to a buck from now on. One beggar to another.