3 Day Weekends on Pohnpei are Good For: Coffee, Karat, and Ant (for once, not the insect)

It was my first three day weekend on Pohnpei, and I have to admit it was pretty exciting. Friday was Brother Dave’s last day in Pohnpei – he had recently been reassigned to Yap – so everyone in the house and the JVIs went to The Village for dinner. It was even more delicious than last time since I wasn’t paying and could order whatever I wanted : ) I had scallops and some sour sop daiquiris, and since I had never had dessert there, also ordered bananas foster which, to my embarrassment was made at the table in a big show of flames and knife skills. It was fun to watch, but I probably wouldn’t have ordered it if I knew it would be such a big deal!

Saturday was quiet. Every weekend I mean to take a walk into town and look for souvenirs, but every Saturday has been rainy, and every Sunday I’ve been busy. This weekend was no exception. Saturday morning was pouring rain, which if nothing else, was a good excuse to sleep in. I decided on Sunday take a boat trip to an outer atoll, so I spent most of Saturday afternoon cooking for the next day and sipping Dunkin Donuts coffee that my mom sent to me in my last package. Cooking is one thing that really relaxes me. I seem to find a lot of peace chopping vegetables and stirring and frying or roasting. The smells and the colors, especially of fresh fruits, herbs, and vegetables have such an overwhelming ability to calm me down. So it wasn’t a total loss having to stay inside in front of the stove because of rain. I made stir fried vegetables (for once we had several different kinds – broccoli, eggplant, and cucumber) with couscous. I also noticed some Karat on the table that Fr. Julio brought us from some feast or another (he is always attending them and bringing back wonderful local foods). I had never had karat (pronounced KAR-rach) before, but I have heard Greg rave about. It’s a fruit; a square banana actually. The skin is dark yellow, green, and brown, making it look overripe, but the inside is different altogether. The fruit itself is not the whitish yellow of a regular banana, but a bright, neon color, like the skin of a lemon. It’s smooth and creamy, and really needs to be eaten with a spoon, like pudding. It’s traditionally baby food here which makes sense because of its texture, and also because it has a higher concentration of vitamins than most other fruits combined. I felt healthier just eating one of them, and one of them is enough for an entire meal. It was very sweet, with a tinge of bitterness, and very filling. I hope I can find more before I leave. I think they’re popular, but I haven’t seen them in any stores.

Later that day, Rachael and Molly came to read and do work, but were interrupted as usual but my chatterbox tendencies. Greg ordered a pizza, and the four of us had a quiet night of eating and wine on the porch. We discussed the new casino that will possibly be built in Madolenihmw, though this is a major point of contention. Most of the locals are either unaware of it or against it, but many people in the government are pushing for it for the profits it could potentially generate for them. It’s a sketchy situation though – there have been a lot of questions concerning the legitimacy of the business, and why it would be built out in Madolenihmw instead of Kolonia where all the real money and tourism is. Money laundering and drugs are major concerns, as are inevitable opportunities for prostitution and human trafficking. The idea is that locals would be prohibited from going inside; that it would only be open to foreigners, but how this would be enforced is questionable at best, disregarding the discrimination towards the islanders who would be forced to feel the consequences of such a place whether or not they were participating in it. This is something the Church has recently gotten very involved in, and for once I agree. Or, at the very least, I agree that the people should have the direct right to choose whether they want it or not, having been educated and made aware of the repercussions. Anyway, after these lighthearted conversations, we took a break from talking and watched The Motorcycle Diaries which I had never seen, and I went to bed a lot later than I intended to considering I had to wake up the next morning at 6:30.

Going to Ant was a spur of the moment decision for me. Usually when I get an email about $50 trip somewhere around here, I disregard it because that’s almost half my monthly stipend, and I’m trying my best to save as much as I can for Chuuk where I already have bookings lined up that need paying for. But I have wanted to go to an outer atoll since I got here, and as I read the email and looked at dates, the stark realization hit me that I only have four more weeks until I go to Chuuk, and then two more weeks after that before going home. I figured I might not get another opportunity to go, especially after my Chuukese vacation bleeds me dry of most of my funds. So I reserved a space on the boat, and tried not to consider the money for once.
We left the PCR dock at 8am (getting out of bed that early on a Sunday was enough of a journey for me). There were only eight of us, including Allois, the “captain,” if you will, of our tiny vessel. Apart from me, there was a white-haired man whom I had never met but who was very obviously a member of an older, but lively generation of surfer dudes. He had come to Pohnpei after several other trips around the world in search of some good surf, but that can be unpredictable here, and as it was he had no luck so far. He used words like “killer” to describe the sunny weather and the view of the island from afar and wore a very busy and colorful bathing suit. I was suddenly jealous of his extreme and active lifestyle. It’s a difficult thing to face, that a man older than your father leads a much more exhilarating day to day than you probably ever will. There was also a Brazilian couple who were just visiting. The woman looked about 40 and wore what I can only imagine is an acceptable and popular bikini style in Brazil, but in America would probably be considered the kind of thing you only *might* wear in extremely intimate situations, and only then, maybe without the lights on. For a 40 year old, she worked it well, but after a year of ankle-length skirts, it was a shocking sight to say the least. There was another young American woman who has been living here for a while and her friend from the States, and Whitney, one of the World Teach volunteers and the only other person I knew on the boat. We first sailed out past the reef where we saw some young guys trying to surf along the rather pitiful waves crashing on the coral. On our way out of the lagoon, some dolphins swam under and around our boat, jumping out of the water right in front of us. Had any of us been at the nose of the boat when they jumped, we probably could have reached out and touched them. We eventually crossed to the northern (I think?) pass and did some off-boat snorkeling which was absolutely incredible. The reef was beautiful, looking like an endless underwater jungle of greens, blues, yellows, and pinks. I saw a lot of neon colored fish – some puffer fish and bright, orange and white angelfish. The coral was gorgeous, but also dangerous, as I soon found out after accidently brushing up against some blood red, feathery stuff that looked like a pretty Christmas flower, but stung like wild. It was fire coral, which releases its agitating poison into the water, and unfortunately, I was close enough to feel the burn. It’s harmless, but painful, and I noticed red, blistery burns on my knee and calves after climbing back into the boat. It only hurt for a few minutes, and was actually fine by the time we reached Ant Atoll, a small island very reminiscent of Pisar (but sadly, not AS incredible. I don’t think anything can top that small, quaint island, which has a much more expansive, bleached-white beach and many more kinds of stunning foliage). No one was able to tell me why it’s called Ant Island. Constan, the maintenance worker at the Jesuit residence, says that, like Bird Island (another small atoll) these islands were named because of their miniscule size – you can’t see one while you’re on the other because they are so tiny. Ant, however, is much bigger than Pisar, though without all the luxuries like hammocks and bucket showers. It is a very striking, quiet island – mostly uninhabited jungle, but with tiny patches of sand that constitute its “beach.” Luckily (and unluckily, as I’ll explain later) the day was hot and sunny, one of the best days we’ve had so far in terms of weather, and the sunshine and nearly cloudless sky made the turquoise water sparkle. The colors of the water were “just killer” as my new friend Dave put it; a rainbow of different shades of crystal blue, all equally transparent and limitless. I suppose in some senses, I will always be a child of the Atlantic, having been born in New York and enjoying most of my beach experiences alongside that cold, gray ocean. Now that I’ve been to the Pacific, however, I’ve been spoiled with warm, clean, clear, dazzling sea, and I don’t know that I can ever be satisfied otherwise. We ate lunch on the beach, swam around, and had some drinks and a slight dance session (which mostly found me instead lying in the front of the boat trying to get some sun). I saw quite a few sharks near the shore – small, black-tipped reef sharks that skidded wildly in the ankle-deep water. I tried to be fearless and approach them, but they weren’t as daunting as I imagined, swimming rapidly away from me. We stayed for a few hours before heading back. I was under the impression that we would go snorkeling in another spot, but the boat couldn’t make it back over the reef amidst the waves, so we ended up going home a very roundabout way. We did stop a few miles from shore for a swim in the choppy water if we wanted, but we noticed that there were plenty jellyfish. They were stranger than any other sea creature I’ve ever seen – they were mostly clear and jellylike, but floated on top of the water like oddly shaped bubbles instead of drifting under the surface. They weren’t round like most jellyfish I’ve seen, but structured almost like a miniature sail. They were bright blue on top and underneath where you could see the tiny tentacles. Each one looked like a different Georgia O’Keefe painting, if you can imagine that. Although some people were lifting them out of their watery domain, Allois kept saying that their sting is incredibly painful. After the fire coral, I wasn’t up for that kind of adventure.

I was exhausted on my drive home, and felt intensely feverish. When I got back to my room, I noticed that I was red everywhere (yes even after applying 70 SPF sunscreen!). I wasn’t that disappointed in myself – I had witnessed most people constantly reapplying sunblock, but it seemed like everyone came away with some kind of burn. The sun is sometimes just too strong by the equator! Mine is a full body burn, except for my stomach, legs, and arms, which I guess have been gradually exposed enough to the sun not to be so nastily affected. My back, shoulders, and upper thighs got the brunt of it (and my face a little, but that just mostly looks blushed – and it’s nice to finally have some actual color). I’m fighting the constant sting by reminding myself I will have a rockin’ tan in a few days time, but til then I’m afraid I will be a tad more irritable than usual (dangerous).

Sunday night dinner appeased the pain a little – mangrove crab again! I love Julio for being so popular among the people here! Among the other various foods he brought back from a Church ceremony in Madolenihmw was dog. I saw it on the counter as I walked in to refill my water bottle. I put my face up close to it, trying to decipher at first what kind of animal it was. My fears were confirmed when I noticed the hairy paw attached to the great, bleeding hunk of dismembered meat before me. The way that animals are killed here is gruesome, which can possibly be discerned by the way they are subsequently and casually cut up and distributed. I hear pigs being slaughtered on a frequent basis, mostly at ungodly hours of the morning. There is nothing that will jolt you out of sleep faster than a squealing animal being brutalized to death. I won’t eat pork here as a result. Dog is another issue altogether. Of course, I realize that eating dogs in the first place is something that most Americans can’t wrap their heads around, which is totally understandable. I have to say that seeing the disembodied, still furry limbs of the creature in question right on my kitchen counter was slightly nauseating. I had no intention of eating it, but was suddenly brought back to the question that everyone, even my vegetarian and vegan friends, excitedly asked: “well… you’re gonna TRY it, aren’t you?!” And since I so hate letting people down, I did. Constan cut off a piece that had been adequately cooked, and after a few, long minutes of smelling it and *almost* putting it in my mouth, I finally began to gnaw on it. It was more anticlimactic than I anticipated, because it was so tough and chewy I couldn’t swallow it at first. It tasted a little like pork (not really an incentive to keep eating it) but more gamey. Mostly, it tasted like smoke from being charred and barbecued.

I know quite a few people living here who lead anti-cruelty lifestyles and subscribe to either veganism or vegetarianism (as I flexibly did before I left). I don’t really understand how living here can feel satisfactory to them. That might sound judgmental, but I say it in the kindest way possible. When I left for Chuuk, I decided to put my dietary habits on hold as not eating meat would be akin to starvation (not quite, but it would be exceedingly difficult, and sometimes culturally rude) but I would never sacrifice my firm stance on animal rights. It’s hard for me to understand how people who are much more unyielding in their principles and their diets; a quality I admire more than anything else, can feel content in a place that practices such cruelty to animals, as I often find this one of the most difficult things to deal with myself. For example, while I’ve thankfully never seen it myself, I’ve heard from people that dogs are killed simply by beating them until they’re dead. There is no concept here of a painless kill. It has so far been the deciding factor in why I haven’t eaten dog (and why I STILL won’t eat turtle). My brother introduced me to this Gandhi quote: “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” Using this tool, Micronesia would not measure very highly on a moral scale. It is difficult to assign judgment, but even more difficult for me to accept the fact that Micronesians cannot seem to progress beyond brutal slaughtering of animals. I am not requiring that this region converts to vegetarianism (as wonderful and beneficial as I think that would ultimately be). But I can’t accept unnecessary cruelty to animals as culture, in the same vein that I cannot accept unnecessary cruelty towards humans as culture. There are plenty of virtually painless methods to slaughtering animals for food, and I don’t think that Micronesians are naïve enough that they don’t understand they are causing animals suffering. The problem is either indifference or lack of awareness, or both. If I had the energy or the time, I might embark on some kind of campaign… it surprises me that one hasn’t been undertaken already by the very outspoken, radical animal rights people that I know are living here. Having said all this, I was taken in by the moment – that moment where dog meat was laid out before me on the counter. I have never gone searching for it, and took it as a sign that it showed up in my kitchen unannounced. In the interests of having the experience and absorbing one more thing that the locals engage in, I rescinded my theories and virtues and ate the TINIEST possible piece; feeling both pride and guilt in the aftermath of it, as though I had just broken down a seemingly impenetrable wall, but behind it there was a multitude of suffering people that I now felt obligated to help. I don’t think I will eat it again. My present self feels contented and settled, having leapt over this particular barrier of fear. My past and future self admonish me, threatening a lifelong diet of rabbit food, against which I don’t argue very vehemently.
Even though they asked me with excited curiosity if I had or would ever try dog, most of my friends do and will continue to express disgust or shock or both that I actually did. This has really led me to think about the ways in which we value, or don’t value, animals in the West, and the arbitrary worth we ascribe to some and not others. We eat pigs and cows at revolting rates, not even considering the savage methods with which they are killed. In this sense, we are not too much farther ahead of Micronesia on the morality scale. So while I have a firm desire to educate the locals on animal rights, I am intrigued myself with the politics that dictate my own culture’s attitudes to certain animals. Most Micronesians do not indulge in such attachments; all animals to them are meant for labor or food. Yet Westerners frown upon this equalization of animals in light of our own skewed perceptions, but we never consider why. Why, for instance, are cats, dogs, hamsters, rabbits, and certain fish upheld to a different standard than cows, pigs, chickens, and certain other kinds of fish? We perceive puppies and kittens as cute, but baby cows are called veal, and are a popular parmigiana dish. Some people might argue it has to do with the cuteness and friendliness of animals, but both of these qualities are completely subjective. Anyone that’s had a pot-bellied pig as a pet knows how surprisingly loving and snuggly they can be, and anyone who has ever kept a ferret or a tarantula has a completely different idea of what’s cute than someone who collects kittens. The animal in question, of course, is the dog. People also claim that dogs are very human; they have emotions and facial expressions, they need attention and constant care, they can be the eyes and ears for impaired owners, they protect and serve, and like some people I know, they can sense drugs a mile away. Yet one of my Jewish friends told me that one reason Jews don’t eat pigs is because their flesh tastes remarkably like a human’s. When turtles are killed for soup, they shed tears. I don’t know what makes one animal more “human” then the next, but to me this seems like a moot characteristic anyway. I often find myself liking certain animals better than certain people, and I think one major crime that people impose on animals is to anthropomorphosize them. Humans are animals, it’s not the other way around, and keeping that in mind, we should learn to respect all life equally, not choosing on the basis of some obscure and arbitrary trait system. This is what I think of when people withdraw in revulsion when I tell them I’ve eaten dog, but shrug at the thought of the abuse suffered by millions and millions of cattle each year at the hands of a brutal slaughterhouse factory system. Baby back ribs and dog meat, realistically, are not that different, yet one is valued differently than the other. Obviously, I don’t think the Micronesians have better ideas about animal treatment. Instead, I’ve decided to treat all animals equally – and not eat them. I think this is the only realistic solution for me to have peace of mind. Tom and I both decided not to eat meat when we return home, and I’m really hoping this decision sticks. As a disclaimer, this does not include fish for me since I think this is a slightly different situation, and perhaps also because I’m slightly hypocritical, but if I didn’t eat fish I might as well not go on living.

To sum up my decision to eat a piece of man’s best friend: you have to try everything once. Make judgments later.

The rest of my weekend was filled with more coffee, room cleaning, toenail painting, movie watching, baby powder (sunburn, remember??), and what is called a “choco leche” from Coco Marinas – really just a poorly made mocha, but who am I to complain when there is a steady supply of espresso? As it happens, I feel called to the kitchen right now for some more caffeine… I will try to keep my updates a little more limited in the future... but I can't promise anything :)