Don’t worry, I haven’t fallen off the edge of the earth or been washed away into the Pacific Ocean. I just haven’t been blogging. Hopefully, now that the school year is starting, I’ll be online more regularly and I’ll be able to amuse my readers with all of my Pohnpeian escapades on a weekly basis (at least). Orientation is finally over and I’m in the process of moving into my new house; I spent three hours today cleaning termite shit out of the kitchen cabinets and scubbing gecko poop off the stove. The house looks great though, and I think my roommate and I will be moving in tomorrow. I’ll definitely miss my host family (the little girls have grown on me, just a bit), but I’m sure I’ll see them around—it’s a small place—and hopefully I’ll be invited back for dinner every so often.
Let’s see, it really has been a while since I’ve blogged… Two weekends ago, we had a couple of big adventures. On Saturday, we went on a 6-hour hike called Six Waterfalls. It was awesome—and steeped in danger—I loved it. At the start of the hike, we walked for about an hour and a half into the jungle—dense, wet, slippery jungle. Very slippery. It wasn’t long before we were falling all over the place, coating ourselves in beautiful red mud. Finally we reached the first waterfall, where we stopped for a swim. It wasn’t a huge waterfall, but it was lovely, nonetheless (as all waterfalls seem to be), with a delightful pool at the bottom, surprisingly warm. Then we crossed the river for the first time, wading carefully over algae-covered rocks. My five-finger shoes served me well; I frequently found myself gripping the rocks with my toes, which were kindly available thanks to my freaky, aqua-blue shoes. We stopped again at the second waterfall, which was taller than the first and more majestic, perhaps. However, the pool at its base was not as deep, so the swimming was not as good (though who can complain?). The third waterfall was right after the second, so we didn’t stop, just admired its rushing waters as we passed.
At the fourth waterfall, we stopped for lunch. It had been raining intermittently all day, but at this point it began to pour, persistently. Mmmm, soggy peanut butter and jelly! We crossed the river twice more before reaching the fifth fall; our guides (we had about five people with us, including a boy less than 10 years old, who was the most fearless of all) helped us across with a long nylon rope, which they tied around their waists while standing stoically on the other bank, as we waded clumsily across the riverbed. We didn’t stop at this waterfall, but hurried on towards the sixth—the most incredible of all—as the water level was rising. To reach the sixth fall, one must swim through a narrow channel with a swift current and a smooth rock wall lining both sides. Since the river was high, our guides used the rope to pull us through. I’m a very strong swimmer and there’s no way I could have made it through without the rope—I did try. I was the first hiker through the channel and I climbed out of the water, scrambled over some rocks (whacking my shin on the way, the scar is currently in progress), and caught a glimpse of the final waterfall—striking, rushing, raging, stunning. Only Maureen and I had reached the waterfall when we heard our guides calling us from the far bank—everyone else had turned back. As we ourselves turned to look again at the sixth fall, it seemed to have grown within minutes. Uh oh, time to go.
At the channel, I watched Leora try to pass through while holding onto the nylon rope. She was sucked under and struggled to hold onto the bank. This did not seem to be a viable option. So I just decided to jump on in—I was sucked through faster than champagne out of a freshly popped bottle of bubbly—fun!!! At the other side, we all clambered onto the bank of the river, some of us worried about the danger of flash floods (though not me, stupidly or not—I was craving an adventure, as I often am). We had to cross the river several more times before we could leave its banks and return to the slippery jungle. When we passed the fourth waterfall, we noticed that the rocks where we sat and ate lunch were gone, submerged under the rushing brown water. Our pace quickened. The last crossing was the most treacherous. One of our guides (thank god we had so many, otherwise we never would have made it) fought his way across the river, grabbed each of us in turn, and held us tightly as we swung across to the opposite bank, while we fought to maintain our unsteady footing and keep our heads above the water. Really fun! Luckily, no one was hurt; it’s kind of a miracle, actually. The rest of the hike was a piece of cake, in comparison. We hiked back through the jungle, again, slipping in the mud and falling down hills. It was an incredible hike, one I would do again in an instant. Next time, hopefully the water will be lower and we’ll be able to jump off the sixth waterfall.
Despite an assortment of scrapes and bruises and some major muscle soreness, five of the volunteers gathered at 8am the following morning to head to Ahnd Atoll, for swimming, snorkeling, and beach-ing. Our boat captain, Allois (from Sao Paulo, Brazil) runs the Pohnpei Surf Club. During the 12-mile ride to Ahnd, it poured rain. Relentlessly. Matt and I cracked a 10am beer, because, I mean, whatever. It wasn’t as miserable as you might think, though. At one point, a pod of spinner dolphins swam along our bow wave; there might have been a hundred of them, it’s hard to know. It was a huge pod. And it was an incredible sight. Reaching the reef at Ahnd, we stopped for a snorkel to get out of the rain. We swam along the beautiful reef, which stretched at least 90 feet down—I was itching to dive and get down there (soon, soon). Snorkeling at the surface wasn’t bad though, even though the skies were clouded and the tide was going out, reducing the visibility.
After climbing back into Allois’ boat, we beached it on Ahnd. And then, the skies cleared and the rain stopped. It ended up being a beautiful day. We sat on the beach for hours and explored the small, uninhabited island. I saw my first coconut crab; the underside of its shell was bright purple. Jerry, Allois’ first mate—scampered up a palm tree, with a machete between his teeth, and cut down some coconut for us, which we drank while sitting in the warm ocean. I learned that if you whisper to a hermit crab, it will come out of its shell. We snorkeled again on the way back, lingering this time. It’s a beautiful reef—I really, really can’t wait to dive there. We saw dolphins again on the way back to Pohnpei, flipping and reeling, leaving the water entirely and careening through the air. I know my brother, a dolphin lover since he could talk, would have loved it. It rained again on the way back, but it didn’t matter. Rain is just part of the air here. No one melts.
This weekend was another adventure. We spent Saturday night at Nalap, a small island a couple of miles off the coast of Pohnpei, to the southwest. It was so, so beautiful. The 10-minute boat ride costs $3, plus $5 for entry to the island and $5 to rent a naas (an outdoor house with a thatched roof, although this is not a great description). We swam, snorkeled, and volunteered at Allois’ kids surf camp. We also played with a tiny girl-puppy, aptly named Nalap. I read a lot and lounged in the shallows. I saw the most beautiful sunset I’ve watched in Pohnpei. We left late on Sunday and three of us rode back to Kolonia on the back of a flatbed truck, with about ten other people, some toddlers. It was awesome. A great view of the stars and it didn’t rain on us.
So now, I have this week off, before school starts on Monday. I’ll be teaching four classes of Algebra II, from 8:30 to 3:30, about 30 students in each class. I can’t say that I really feel prepared, but I’m more of a jump-on-in type of person anyway. It’s just like a waterfall: you can’t wade in slowly, you just have to leap. And hopefully I won’t land on a rock!
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