Newbies

Markus told me before we got to AS that he’d shaved his head in the past and would probably do so when we go here. This had me a little worried to say the least. Markus has good hair genes and a very full head of hair. What would he look like without it? My first reaction? “Uh, I don’t think so!”












But something strange happened as time went by. I conscientiously packed the shaver when we left.

Then I gradually I found myself thinking that if he insisted I would cope with the results just ONCE.

Then, about a week after Markus got here, these words were uttered by myself (with more than a little enthusiasm), “Hey! Do you want to shave your head? I’ll do it for you!”








After a week of sweltering heat, Markus was more than game for some internal air conditioning and with eyebrows raised at my fickle change of heart, powered up the clippers. He had so much hair and no oil for the blades so we were forced to use WD40. That stuff is good for EVERYTHING!














Markus reminisces frequently and fondly about a fresh coconut and rum drink he’d been treated to in Costa Rica (ya put da rum in da coconut . . . ) so he decided to try his hand at the Samoan version. Of course, coconuts are everywhere so he found one lying handly around. I had suggested Markus bring his machete from Costa Rica and with giant blade in hand, he started to open up the coconut.





Or tried. And tried. And with much persistence finally got inside.

Unfortunately, despite da rum it was not the fantasy drink he had desired.













Only afterwards did we decide to get online (the authentic island way of learning tropical living) to figure out how to open a coconut (pretty much how he’d done it) and why it didn’t taste the same. Apparently, it’s the green coconuts that have sweet water. And those are the ones still in the trees. Way up in the trees. Still attached. And up in the air. Darn.











Since leaving Sadie’s and my daily dose of fresh tuna and swordfish, I’d been on the look out for fresh fish to buy. I, of course, had no idea how I’d cook it; but I’ve got a Master’s Degree so I thought I’d be able to figure it out.









The market by our house finally had Fresh Fish (with tiny superscript “real” on the sign, begging the question of what “unreal” fresh fish would be). I courageously approached the pile of completely intact fish in the back of the store. I asked a Samoan couple what type of fish they were. They smiled, laughed and shrugged. They didn’t really know what they were either, but they pointed out which would be good pickins.






I decided to consult the internet first in my attempt at island living, I learned that this whole preparing fresh fish was quite the process. The first step was to determine if the fish needed scaling—this intricate process consisted of attempting to scale the fish-if scales came off then it needed to be scaled. Brilliant! Alas, my fish needed to be scaled. As I dulled my knife descaling my fish (I later learned the only way to do this horrendous job is with a spoon) and as the kitchen became shinny with scattered scales, I daydreamed of the days when I would go fishing with my stepfather, proudly reel in a wiggly one and then after some mysterious intermediary steps which I avoided like the plague, the fish would end up on my dinner plate.

After scaling, deheading (The head I dutifully put in a ziplock for the nurses at work as I’d sternly been instructed. “It’s the best part!” they’d exclaimed with lip-smacking enthusiasm.) defining, degutting, deboning, I finally had it fried up in an hour or so. A mere fraction of mass that had originally been a fish. I bleakly looked at the other, much bigger, fish that I had optimistically purchased, thought about getting it ready for a future dinner, saw scales shining in my hair and promptly threw the thing in the freezer. So much for fresh fish.

Another new experience has been kayaking. We’ve mostly got all the equipment figured out: seats, oars, oar leash, lifejacket, knee straps. We sorta have a way of getting it up into the kayak carriers. We are having a good time in the water. Well, until I get sea sick after over enthusiastically heading to the biggest waves thinking this time I’m going to try the surfing capabilities of my vessel. And then seeing the waves up close, sheepishly tell Markus, “Next time!” Around the time I realize I’m not going to surf and we are far from where we put in, my seasickness hits. Markus paddles within eyeshot as I paddle paddle, rest, try not to puke, try to fix my gaze, paddle, paddle, rest. Accept and then decline the offer for a tow. Of yeah! Good times. At these times I’m most aware of my mountain girlness.




We are also still working on our child dodging. That is-dodging all the eager children who gather round when we are coming out of the water and who want to “help” us with our “nice boats.” Our second trip out I brought my digital camera. I knew the ports in the boat were solidly waterproof and that I could keep it out of the water for shots. What I didn’t anticipate was Markus’ desire to save his boat from being dragged by seven year olds trying to help and earn a buck. Despite our pleas that we didn’t need help, “No thank you. We got it. No, that’s all right. It’s ok! NO! Put the boat DOWN!” the kids were insistent. I felt terrible but at the same time I felt like yelling, “Markus quick! Get the boats and runnnnnnn!” Unfortunately, Markus felt the same way and in his haste put my camera in the wet-box with all our wet gear.

This goofy picture of me wasn't really worth destroying my camera.












Our conversation that night went something like, “Should my camera be making that sizzling noise? Is the battery dead? Oh, my god the case is wet.” And the next day I took the whole thing apart in an attempt to clean it. It was caked with salt. An hour of painstaking cleaning with brushes and magnifier was fruitless. My beloved camera, salvaged for its display, battery and SD card (luckily I was able to save my pics) made it into the trash bin. Valiantly, Markus offered to replace my camera. Yeah! New camera for me!