Is That Man Famous?

We are officially on our first European river cruise.  The St. Petersburg to Moscow trip is one that we had eyed in the travel catalogs for a while, but felt no urgency to book it. That is until Thursday, August first, when Grand Circle Travel made us an offer we couldn’t refuse. So, with a departure on August eighth, we scrambled to apply for our Russian visas, pack, and get organized to get out of town. The visas were delivered to us the day before our departure; everything magically fell into place, so here we are.

Staying hydrated!

A bit of basic info about this tour: This ship, the Rossia, carries about 200 American passengers and has a crew of about 100 Russians. It is rather large for a river ship, but the size is the norm for Russian ships. Passengers are divided into five groups, each with their own program director, which makes daily shore excursions manageable. We are in the orange group (the cool kids) and follow Katya’s orange flag around as we listen to her commentary on our headsets. You might think we look like a bunch of losers, but we’ve learned to embrace our sheep-like behavior and are still cool in our own minds.

The dining room here accommodates all passengers at one time. Local foods are incorporated into the menu along with more typical cruise-type food. We’ve had a Russian buffet, and tonight’s dinner is focused on food from the Ukraine, and Russian foods are part of every meal. Dining tables seat 2-12 people, so you can choose just how sociable you want to be on a meal-by-meal basis. Our standard choice is a table for six. We either seek out charming people we have already met, join pleasant-looking strangers, or sit alone and hope someone will join us. Nearly everyone we have met has been interesting with plenty of travel stories, which makes sense since everyone on board likes to travel. We have met only a few people who rub us the wrong way, but they are easy to avoid and give us something to talk about when we’re alone. Win-win!!

Fancy inside, too!

Russian church..fancy outside..

Most of the shore excursions are included in our fare, and they have hit the highlights and “must-sees” at every port so far. As with most cruises, optional excursions are available, but we usually use that time to roam around town on our own, honing our independent travel skills so we don’t lose our touch. Like the big cruise ships, the staff tries to keep us entertained, but it is very low-key. Two days ago the evening performance was on Russian fairy tales, and last night was folk music.

Grand Circle Cruise Line is part of Overseas Adventure Travel, the people who took us to South America and Africa, so we trust them and appreciate their “learning and discovery” approach to travel. We have had Russian history lectures, cooking and craft lessons, and they do an excellent job of insuring that we learn about the country. At one small village we split into small groups to have tea and piroshky, pastries filled with sauerkraut or fruit, at a villager’s home. We talked through our interpreter and were able to spend time in her two-room apartment. Regardless of lifestyle, we are always impressed at how much we have in common with people we meet in other countries. The learning and discovery portion of the trip is working.

 

At Peterhof, a Versailles-like complex with 150 gravity-powered fountains. Those Tzars knew how to landscape a yard!

20 pounds of gold leaf, and YOUR ballroom could look like this!

We have now traveled from St. Petersburg, where we spent four days, to the small village of Svir Stroi, to Kizhi Island, to Petrozavodsk, and are approaching Goritsy as I write this. Details don’t seem to fit in this post, so perhaps we’ll manage to tell you more about these places later. We’ll travel about 1200 miles in all through Russian rivers, lakes, and canals on our way to Moscow.

In St. Petersburg our ship was docked at an inconvenient location that prevented us from just wandering off the ship and into town easily.  The program directors were kind enough to give us an orientation to the local bus and subway system, making wandering on our own a piece of cake, or blini, as it is known here. The next day, during an optional tour we chose to skip, many of us went into town to see the sights on our own. We connected with Rose and Jen, a mother and daughter from Florida and New Jersey, and Meredith and Ilene from Boston, who are photographing the cruise for Grand Circle. Meredith suggested going to a coffee shop to take a few photos, so we headed to a charming place with a second-floor vista of the city. The tables were crowded but we learned a life-changing travel tactic that we will share with only our loyal readers so pay attention. Ilene told the hostess that we would just be a few minutes because we were doing a photo shoot for a magazine. That is the “magic sesame” line, so remember it. We got a table, rearranged furniture, were served our beverages, and stayed a while. Ilene took lots of pictures and had a professional camera, so we might not pull it off with our pocket-sized point-and- shoot Lumix, but it is a great strategy for getting a good table. It might be worth a try some day, even if we have to invest in a second-hand broken-down camera that looks impressive.

Ilene took photos of the group as we sat and talked. Those of you who know Roger will understand that he occasionally (always) likes to expound, lecture, and gesture expressively when he talks, while the rest of the group was a little more low-key.  As we stood up to depart, a local at a neighboring table beckoned us and asked, “Is that man famous?” The resounding answer, in unison, was “NO”. He didn’t quite accept that, insisting, “No, really, is he someone famous?” Again, the unequivocal answer was  “NO”. Finally he asked, “Just tell me, what is his name? I will Google him.” So, ever the helpful tourist, Linda answered, “He is Roger Mahanic from Detroit. Yes, please Google him.”

Right now, there is a sadly disappointed Russian from St. Petersburg, wondering why the hell ANYONE was taking pictures of that man. Little does he know how famous and fascinating the women in that little group are. We’ll keep that little secret to ourselves. 

Reminder....Bocce Day is almost here. Roger thinks it is clothing optional, but you should probably wear SOMETHING.

A Month in Guam

We arrived in Guam on Easter Sunday, convinced that we were about to be bombed.  Either by the North Koreans (see article at Korean Missiles), or by our own government as they prepare to parachute dead Tylenol-poisoned mice into the treetops to kill the millions of invasive brown tree snakes (see article here at Guam Tree Snakes).

We believe the mice are probably a bigger threat, but decidedly more fun to watch than an in-coming nuclear-tipped missile.  We hope that the government sees fit to drop the mice before we leave for home. Our plan is to hang out in the area where the drop will occur with binoculars, cameras, and open umbrellas, hoping for a good show. Now THAT is entertainment!

Amanda and Roger beach walking.

We are staying with Nick and Amanda for a month on Guam.  While Nick works as research attorney at the Supreme Court, Amanda has been taking us on educated and educating tours of this marvelous island.  Guam is rich--in local island culture, WWII history, and beautiful, beautiful beaches and countryside.

Guam is a tropical paradise, nearly entirely overlooked by the US tourist market. All we knew about it before we visited was that it was a big WWII site and our kid lived there. Fair enough.  It is in the middle of nowhere, 3000 miles west of Hawaii and 1200 miles east of the Philippines. The cheapest direct flight we found from the US mainland is through Manila, and the flight goes from LA to Guam, where it refuels (no-one allowed on or off the plane), continues to Manila, and then connects with a flight that goes back to Guam.  It is NOT easy to get here.

Linda and Nick at Ratidian Beach.

The Japanese have not overlooked it, though.  They found it first when they bombed the shit out of it on December 8, 1941 (the day after the day which shall live in infamy, a function of the international date line), occupying it until we bombed the shit out of it in July 1944 and recaptured it in a brutal amphibious landing.   The beaches are still full of Japanese, but they are partying and posing for one another like supermodels instead of fighting. Nearly all the tourists in Guam are Japanese, where they come in throngs (and thongs!) to get married, lounge on the beach, and shop at the Largest K-Mart in the World.

Normally on the blog, we try to keep you up to date with our activities, stressing the more entertaining ones. However, we have been here nearly a month and haven’t bothered to do that yet. Our time has been a mix of sightseeing, historical discovery, beach walking, snorkeling, overeating, and outright sloth, leaving little time for productive writing. Oh, well, what can a person do? Cram it all into one blog, that’s what.

The Island

The island is small, three times the size of Washington D.C., or, for you Detroiters, about the size of Wayne County (though less corrupt).  But there is plenty to see and do. In a month, we have just scratched the surface. The interior is mountainous and rugged, with rivers and waterfalls. As we explore, we constantly try to imagine what this terrain was like for the marines who landed on the beaches and moved into the interior. We took a Talafofo River jungle cruise and went boonie stomping (hiking). We visited a truly bizarre tourist attraction called Talofofo Falls. This is a Korean-run private park where the highlights are a waterfall and the cave where Sgt. Yokoi, a Japanese left behind when the war ended, lived for 28 years. Yep. He was discovered in 1972.

The cave and waterfall were interesting, but the other attractions really caught our eye. The owners appeal to a broad audience by offering target shooting, bumper cars, an historical museum, a gift shop, a ghost house, and “Love Land”, an erotic sculpture garden. All the signage was in Japanese with quite awful English translations. They obviously felt no need to consult any of the thousands of English-speaking locals for a quick grammar-check. It made for an amusing walk through the museum, which also housed life-size statues of pirates and American plains Indians. They probably got those for cheap somewhere.

Ahhhh, the erotic sculptures. First of all, the signs forbid anyone under the age of 19 from entrance. A sign on the gate warns you to close it immediately due to wild pigs, which freely roam the area. Who knows what they would do if they saw those statues?

Wild pigs abound in Guam.

The first sculptures on the path are a man and woman in Victorian-era clothing bowing to one another. We are not quite erotic yet. They got a little steamier, such as Venus de Milo, and became downright ridiculous, especially the nude woman riding a giant penis like a horse. And a six-foot high disembodied penis.  The “art” most entertaining, though, were the metal mechanical sculptures where the viewer can turn a crank and make the statues move, assuming positions both predictable and potentially painful.  Roger took some stop-action photos of one of those and will be happy to share them with you.  When it comes to erotic sculpture, though, the East Asians have much to learn from India, that’s a fact!

Historical Happenings

The island has dozens of historical sites that deal with WWII battles. It also has a beautifully organized museum that explains Guam’s role in the war. The national park, War in the Pacific, is excellent and free and does a terrific job of describing Guam’s role in the war. The park consists of several different amphibious beach landing sites, historic buildings, gun emplacements, and battlefields. Ranger Ben has recorded an audio tour that you can follow on a cell phone, as you drive from one site to the next. Enormous guns dot the island, as do Japanese pillboxes.

This Japanese pillbox is hidden in the natural limestone on the rocky shore.

The Japanese hunkered down in those structures waiting for the American invasion, and, for thirty thousand of them, its inevitable conclusion. It is eerie to crouch in one and look out to sea, trying to imagine what the experience must have felt like for both sides. We swim on some of the invasion beaches as well. Looking at old photos of those beaches is sobering. Signs everywhere warn visitors that there is still live ammunition around the island, and explain what to do should you stumble across any. Thankfully, we haven’t.

One particularly unusual sight was the South Pacific Memorial Park. It is a Japanese monument dedicated to peace and friendship between the US and Japan. Mostly, though, it commemorates a group of Japanese soldiers who took refuge in caves in the nearby ravine and their commander, who committed suicide as the Americans closed in. The site is disturbing. There are huge stands of bamboo around the caves, the tallest we’ve ever seen. When the wind blows, the bamboo makes bizarre, eerie noises. We visited late in the afternoon and the combination of deep ravine, tall trees, dim light, and creepy noises gave us the willies.

Honey, I shrunk the kids. It looks like a clump of grass, but is  actually enormous bamboo plants.

We have done much more during our month here than just these few activities. We’ve visited Gef Pa’go (a traditional Chamorro village), hiked all over, climbed to the Latte Stone of Freedom at the governor’s complex, explored the caves at Ratidian Point, visited the historic beaches, and seen the Magellan Monument, among many others. The kids bought Linda a batik making class as a gift, and both she and Amanda seem to have serious batik-making talent.

Beach Fun

We did a LOT of this.

Swimming with the fishes.

Beaches surround Guam (it IS an island) and we have sampled many of them. It is also surrounded by a coral reef with spectacular fish and coral, perfect for exploring with a snorkel and fins. Linda gave serious thought to purchasing a Hello Kitty floaty device (they are everywhere) to make sure she didn’t drift off to sea, since the ocean is out to get her. After a few snorkeling outings, however, she decided that shallow water, sunshine, and a lifeguard-trained Amanda made extra protection absurd. So, Japanese tourists, there is still a ridiculous inflatable on the shelf for you to buy. And in the underwater photos, Linda does not look like a wimpy dork. Win-win.

Our favorite!

The ocean water is bath water warm, crystal clear, and calm. The reef is close to shore and it begins in knee-deep water. The fish are beyond abundant, with a huge variety of fantastically colored critters.  Our favorite is the chubby bright blue sea stars that drape over the coral like a Salvator Dali clock drapes over a table. At times, it seemed as though we were swimming in an aquarium. It would be crazy NOT to snorkel under these conditions. We have taken full advantage of this beautiful reef. One beach on Saipan has two sunken Sherman tanks offshore that are now part of the reef. Plants and coral cover it and fish surround it. Outstanding swimming territory!

Food and Festivals

Some of the goodies at a night market.

Guam and the other Marianas Islands are very big on food and festivals. A weekly Night Market at Chamorro Village is near the apartment and offers music, crafts, and excellent food selections. Unlike a lot of fairs back home, most of the food consists of actual meals and is cheap, healthy, and delicious. Food is a major sign of the hospitality of the people here.  It is thrust at Nick and his coworkers at every occasion and meeting, and people insist that they take the abundant leftovers home. If you know Nick, you know how happy that makes him. Festivals here are open-door events, and visitors are told to feel free to walk into a participating home and help themselves to a plate of food whenever a big fiesta occurs.

During our first week here, the kids took us to a fundraiser at the home of a former governor that included a buffet dinner, and the spread was massive. It included dishes such as spam sushi, pickled quail eggs, shrimp patties, fried rice, chicken kelaguen (and spam kelaguen, too), fina denne sauce, and literally dozens of other local dishes. What an introduction to the local culture! Apparently, the kids hang with a slightly more illustrious crowd here than at home. We rarely visit former governors in Michigan.

A few days later, one of the Supreme Court Justices invited the four clerks and us to his family’s private beach for a Sunday cookout. The land was accessible only through Andersen Air Force Base, and the “road” demanded his four-wheel drive vehicle. There were about 25 people there—all family-- with food for three times that many (deliciously prepared local dishes that included multiple crab dishes and FOUR kinds of pork spare ribs), a pristine sandy beach, and clear water. This is a typical way families spend weekend time. Families often have a private beach or an inland ranch where the whole clan gathers to eat and visit together. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, especially when there are so many good cooks in the group.

Spam sushi

Exploring this island has been fascinating. It is very modern and American, but with a very strong Chamorro twist, making it almost foreign. The food is spicy and delicious, and seafood and Spam are abundant on most restaurant menus. The supermarkets have a big selection of Spam products as well as other potted meats. I’m sure they sell it at markets back home, but they don’t have entire sections devoted to it like they do here. Anyway, it’s been a terrific trip, and we have tried hard to ”suck all the fun out of it”. Thanks to Gail’s friend for that phrase, by the way, we use it all the time. Saturday we head home, and Michigan, you’d better get your act together and warm up or we will be very disappointed with you!

Saipan: The Most Non-American Place in America (Yet)

Saipan 

The view of Saipan's coral reef from our cute plane.

We have just returned from a four-day trip to the island of Saipan, exactly 129 miles from Guam. Nick and Amanda researched the area and thought it would be an interesting place for the four of us to visit, and they were absolutely right. Amanda did the research, and Nick arranged the airfare and hotel accommodations, so all we had to do was show up. Since we are retired, we are not used to any real work of any kind, so this fit in with our lifestyle perfectly.

The only possible glitch is that we were traveling on a shoestring and decided to share a hotel room. The kids like us so much that they didn’t want to be separated from us even a little bit. Yep, we are that cool. The hotel, however, allowed a maximum of three people to a room, ignoring the fact that there was sleeping room for four. Nick had learned a lot growing up with Roger, including the maxim that it’s ok to lie a little to save some cash. We had to decide who of the four of us was the least obvious person among us. This person would have to slink around the resort unobtrusively, Ninja-like, staying under the radar of the three-person-max police. It seems crazy, I know, but for some reason, we chose Roger. There was some logic to it at the time, but I can’t remember for the life of me what our reasoning was.  Anyway, we chose the very person MOST likely to strike up conversations with security guards, random Japanese tourists, and terrified Russian nymphets. More on that later.

We weren't the only tourists who stood out like dogs' balls.

We didn’t bank on the possibility that we would be the only Caucasian non-Russians in the 435-room hotel. Yep. We didn’t exactly BLEND. As the Aussies used to say, we stood out like dogs’ balls. This surprised us, since Saipan is American, more or less. It is a part of the Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas Islands, and belongs to the US. However it is FAR from the US mainland, and only a five-hour flight from Vladivostok, Russia, and even closer than that to Japan. Since there aren’t many tropical islands within a stone’s throw of those places, the tourists flock here.

The Japanese presence on the island is huge (and we are happy to report that they are much friendlier toward Americans they meet on the beach than they were in July 1944.)  Signs on storefronts, at tourist attractions, and in advertising are mainly Japanese, with Russian running a close second. Many shop employees don’t speak English at all. The tourist map we used to navigate the island had captions in all three languages. We are accustomed to dealing with people who speak other languages, but it was disconcerting to deal with that in America. Very interesting, but strange.

Typical signage in Saipan

We spent a day driving around the island checking out the historic WWII sites, of which there are many. Roger’s Uncle Dick fought there in the invasion, and it must have been hell.  The memorials include the disturbing Suicide Cliff and Banzai Cliff, where thousands of Japanese soldiers and civilian families committed suicide when the island was taken by the US.

The bomb pit for Little Boy, the Hiroshima bomb.

Was Enola Gay? The highlight of the vacation was a day trip to Tinian. The island is just off the southern shore of Saipan, a stone’s throw really. The ferry no longer runs, though, so it was a ten-minute flight in a tiny four-passenger plane. Once there, we rented a car and toured the nearly deserted island.  Amanda navigated with the skill of a Micronesian seafarer, and a good thing because our road map was outdated, out of scale, and at times just plain wrong.

Like Saipan, Tinian teems with WWII sites, but unlike Saipan there are few tourists, Japanese or otherwise. During our first three hours driving around, we saw only three other cars. We drove down Runway Able, the runway that the Enola Gay used on its bombing run to Hiroshima, and saw the pits used to load the atomic bombs before the flights. The bombs were so big and so heavy they couldn’t be loaded conventionally.  So they dug two concrete pits, positioned Little Boy and Fat Man, then taxied the B29’s over the pits and winched them into the bomb bays.  The island is scattered with ruins of Japanese bomb shelters, weapons, buildings, and vehicles--all accessible and ready to be explored.

Not all the sights were war-related. Tinian is home to the House of Taga, which has the largest latte stones in the Marianas Islands. Big suckers. Never hear of latte stones, you say? Neither did we until we arrived in Guam. Latte stones are two-piece upright pillars that supported a traditional house. They are all over Guam and the other Marianas and are common symbol of the area.

Latte stone, Amanda, and Nick

Then there was the Tinian Shrine, a Shinto site from the Japanese occupation that was nearly impossible to find.  The map had it wrong, and we circled for some minutes until we found a few actual residents in a driveway.  We stopped to ask directions, and they explained that the road shown on the map no longer existed, and it was impossible for us to find it.  “We’ll take you,” they said and Josiah, Frances, and J.J. piled into a pickup, with Josiah perched in the back of the pickup, king-like on a bench seat removed from a mini-van and with a sun-shielding umbrella over his head.  We followed them off-road up a jungle track to the shrine, overgrown and eerie in the dappled jungle sunlight.

Russian Nymphets: Don't they have bugs in Siberia?

There is only one adventure to relate from the Saipan trip, much to everyone’s relief.  Late one evening, Roger decided to take a walk down by the pool to reconnoiter.  He took the elevator from 7, pressed Ground, and was surprised when the elevator stopped on 2.  Waiting in front of the opened elevator stood a twenty-something Russian, obviously in distress. She wrung her hands and said, “Help! Please! Come!” and she motioned to the opened doorway to her room, visible from the elevator.  Thinking someone must be hurt, Roger followed her into the room, where her girlfriend stood sobbing and shaking, still dripping from the shower. 

“What’s wrong?” They pointed to the bathroom, its door shut. They took turns pointing to the bathroom and sobbing.  They were terrified.  “What is it?” One girl put her hands under her chin, as one might imitate a rabid chipmunk, and made a noise that sounded like “beep…beep…beep.”

So Roger opened the bathroom door—cautiously, to be sure—and looked around, scanning the floor beneath the sink.  The girls gathered closely behind him.  “No! No!” they said, as they pointed to a washcloth on the vanity shelf.

Roger shut the door, always prudent.  “What is it?  A mouse?”  “No mouse.”  “A rat?”  “No rat.” She indicated with her fingers something the size of a half-inch or so, and repeated the pantomime of the rabid chipmunk. “Beep…beep…beep,” she said, probably in Russian.

So Roger bravely re-entered the bathroom, girls watching anxiously from behind, and proceeded to pound the shit out of the washcloth with a hairbrush until he heard the expected “crunch”. He removed the washcloth, and found beneath it a cockroach the size of a Tylenol caplet, promptly flushing it down the toilet.

“Everything is good now,” he reassured them. “My job here is done.  Everything is o.k.”  He felt pretty damned good, truth be told.  They were very grateful (not that grateful, as it turned out), and Roger got a warm hug from one of the girls, and a wet and sticky one from the other.

We met them at breakfast the next morning, and they were still effusively grateful, although in Russian.  With this confirmation, we now believe this story to be true.  The girls explained that they were from Khabarovsk, 500 miles north of Vladivostok, and that all the Russians one sees in the Marianas are from eastern Siberia, a five-hour flight.  That explains the throngs of Russians, comrades.  So we were able to do a Good Deed, improve American-Russian relations immeasurably, and learn something at the same time.  This is why we like to travel.

Saipanda, silliest marketing mascot ever, is actually a bit of word play in Japanese. "SAI" is the                                                                            the Japanese word for rhinoceros, so a Saipanda would look like...Get it? The Japanese LOVE IT.