Monday morning arrived and the workday started with the
Samoan crew coming on board. It consisted of a Samoan Chief Engineer and his
assistant. Our chief engineer went over with him and passed down information
about the ship’s engineering infrastructure. My job was to retrieve as many
loose electronics equipment lying around to send back to Hawaii. I was told by
the ship’s master to leave the laptop in the CO stateroom. It was a mistake, as
it would disappear later on in the day. Likely taken by someone who would not
use it for its intended purpose. I grabbed the bag with Cromwell commemorative
last voyage t-shirts and locked it in my stateroom. Too many people were
helping themselves to what were to go to dignitaries at the handing over
ceremony the next day. I ran another transmission for e-mail as the day was
going by slowly. Since it was the first business day after our arrival, we went
to get rental vehicles and made arrangements to ship back items to Hawaii.
I had to get used to the hot weather, especially the
humidity. Waking up in the tropics was a new experience for me! Pleasant to
wake up on a November morning not having to bundle up to go outside but instead
wear t-shirts, shorts and flip flops as the hot sun hammered on the body. Across
the street from the wharf was a gift shop that sold post cards. We found one
that pictured a rusted skeleton of a ship sitting on the shore after a wreck on
Tutuila Island. We bought a copy and
mailed it to the NOAA admiral with the words “Well we made it!” written on the
back. I ran another session of e-mail, went to my stateroom to cool off and
made plans to walk around and see where I can go and get a cold drink. I wanted
to drink Vailima, Samoan beer brewed in Western Samoa that came in two sizes. A
small twelve-ounce bottle called “Little Vailima” and a big 22 ounce called appropriately
“Big Vailima” or what we called hand grenades. A counterpart in Hawaii had raved
about the local brew and wanted me to bring back a case. How I was to take it
on the plane and not penalized with taxes was another matter. When he told me
later he wanted it packed in the electronics container, I didn’t realize how
serious he was.
The junior officer made hotel reservations for us who
remained. We first booked at the brand new, though some parts still under
construction, Tradewinds Hotel by the airport. The master thought it would be
better if we were near “downtown” to be close to where the action was. We
re-booked to the infamous Rainmaker Hotel. Infamous because it was rated one of
the worst hotels in the South Pacific and its owners, the American Samoan
Government, had let it run down. The Rainmaker was a victim of horrible mismanagement
for years and it showed. It was unfortunate as the hotel had some renowned
events and guests. The roof was a replica of a large Samoan fale (house) and it
was located at the mouth of Pago Pago Harbor and for ships coming or leaving it
was either the first or last major structure sailors would see.
That Monday evening the chief cook and I went to get something to eat. He was
not as adventurous as I when it came to eating food from other places. After snooping in
several local restaurants he wanted to play it safe by going to McDonald’s by
the airport. Before doing so he wanted to see a bit of the island before going
home that night. There was a flight going back to Hawaii and half of the
crewmembers were packing bags readying for their flight home. The chief engineer
had bought a full size plastic garbage container to wheel his belongings back
to the mainland. We would know later that this was his trademark as many
Samoans remember seeing a “palangi” man at the airport pushing a garbage can,
paying the overweight charge and sending it off to the luggage ramp behind the
ticket counter. Those that were going home jumped into pickup trucks with
their suitcases. Several of the people who were remaining drove them to the
airport. We waved goodbye from the weather deck of the ship. I volunteered to
stay a little longer as I wanted to see this place I’ve heard about since I was
an adolescent.
For those that were staying in Pago Pago, Monday would be our last night on the
ship. For two months the Cromwell was home during cross decking, though for
others who had gone to the Sette, it was their home much longer. The
“personality” of the ship along with its homeport notoriety of drinking beer and
solving all the world’s problems was remembered by older few still with
NOAA in Hawaii (me included) “The Shack of Sand Island.” The “Shack” along with
Cromwell’s fantail picnic table where we sat shooting the breeze after work in
the warm Hawaiian nights with airliners flying overhead made times memorable.
We were not going to be penalized with any of our own leave
while waiting for another flight back to Hawaii. I preferred a Friday flight to
Honolulu. Others were trying to find a way home via all sorts of routes. One route
would take us to Western Samoa but the flight to Los Angeles that originated in
New Zealand was full. Another flight would back track us to Australia but arrive
in the United States on Thursday, one day before the Hawaiian Air flight that would
take us to Honolulu in just five hours! We
retired for the night to be ready for the handing over ceremony where the
Cromwell would become official property of the American Samoan Government the
next day.
Tuesday morning looked like the day before. Breakfast
consisted of toast and jam because both cooks had gone home. We did have to
“dress up” for the ceremony, mainly put on shoes. Dignitaries began arriving
around ten o’clock and the ships master was one of the main speakers. Local
media was there and fortunately I was not interviewed. It was the usual we are
happy to see you get the boat and happy to receive it speeches. Samoan
dignitaries showed up in dress lava lavas with shirt and a tie. VIPs sat down
underneath the tent while we stood in the back listening to speeches.
Surprisingly the ceremony was not very long and it wasn’t very traditional
Samoan as I was to find out later what real Samoan ceremonies were like. After
the master handed the ship over in the closing of the ceremony, we went aboard
for the last time to retrieve our baggage and belongings and drove to the hotel
next to the wharf.
I was assigned a room on the second floor. The Rainmaker
billed itself as having cable TV but it went to certain rooms. However, my room
had a black and white set with a coat hanger for antenna. The audio on the
phones would fade gradually after calling. Nevertheless, the rooms were
spacious with large bath and living rooms and Japanese made air conditioners
whose remote controls with unknown symbols made it interesting. At one point my
room got so cold I thought I was a morgue storing corpses ready to be prepped
for a funeral. Not having Internet at
the hotel, I sat up my old laptop from my entrepreneur days and started to
write. I got a knock on the door from the first mate and asked if I wanted to
go shopping. We went to Nu’uli and found several souvenir stores. I bought
model outriggers for the kids and ball caps scripted with “Pago Pago” on the
front, one for me and one for my father. For my mother I bought a Tiki figurine.
There was a “Mexican” restaurant in downtown Pago that had a bar and karaoke.
Karaoke was very popular throughout the Pacific, especially in Polynesia
including Hawaii. We were finished with our first dinner it was time to go back
to the hotel. However we had a dinner date with the local congressman who got
the Cromwell transferred to American Samoa. We were packed from eating “Mexican
food” and showed up at the Chinese restaurant that the congressman and his
staff had arranged. So not too be
impolite, we had to make room in our bloated stomach to eat what was offered. With
Vailimas in hand we made a toast to the Cromwell and her new home. It was very
interesting to hear the congressman talk about workings in the nation’s
capitol. He wanted to sail with us but had to stay for a runoff campaign because
he failed to get 50% of the vote. After hearing his itinerary he had planned
for us, I wished he could have come. If he did, a normal twelve day cruise
would have likely been one month. He wanted to stop at different islands and
make visits. It would have put more pins in countries I’ve been to on my map.
But it was not to be. As the night progressed the master was apologetic that he
didn’t have any commemorative t-shirts to give to him and his staff because too
many had helped themselves when we arrived. I politely interrupted and gave the
master the plastic bag with t-shirts. We said our goodbyes and drove back to
the hotel, retired for the night and wrote off Tuesday.
Wednesday arrived with the same routine. We walked to the
American style café across the street from the wharf. It was like any coffee
shop you would find on the mainland except the customers were Samoans eating
American style breakfast while some read the papers while drinking coffee. The
items on the menu looked familiar and with my retired military ID received a
ten percent discount. After that it was back to the rooms with more “what do we
want to do” scenarios. I wanted to go to the National Park of American Samoa
but no one else was interested. We hopped into the cars and explored the island
again. Drove to the east side, north of Pago Pago and took photos with my cheap
camera which still blurred whatever I took. Evening came upon us and one of the
crewmembers, who was a “lawyer” and a useless one at that during our crossing
the line ceremony, suggested….”let’s go out and do some sinning!”
At his suggestion we picked a place to go out to do some
sinning. It was supposedly one of the most notorious clubs you would find in
Pago Pago. Tourist brochures even to this day with the club shutdown more than
ten years ago, suggest that people stay out of the area of the tuna canneries
and especially that one particular nightclub. It was that nightclub we decided
to patronize. We were later to discover that much what was said about this club
and it’s supposed reputation was exaggeration and imagination.
We ventured into the tuna canneries section of Pago Pago,
across the bay from the piers where the Cromwell docked. Today those canneries
stand silent except for a skeleton crew thanks to politics from Washington DC.
In 2002, it was in the apex of activity where employees worked three shifts and
24/7 fast food trailers owned by Chinese or Korean entrepreneurs dotted the
landscape. I was to find out later that nearly all the Samoans who worked there
were from Western Samoa and paid around $3.85 per hour. Dollars below the
federal minimum wage but American Samoa got a special provision where the
canneries did not have to oblige by it. It was a good thing for both American Samoa,
which got a bulk of South Pacific’s tuna business, and for Western Samoa where majority
of the employees came from. They were making six times more money than they
would at a Japanese-owned automobile cable fabrication plant in Apia. Much of
the money earned by Western Samoans at the canneries was destined back home to
feed families, support aging parents and Western Samoa’s treasury earned money
from remittances. It all came to a crashing end in 2007 when rancid politics of
Washington DC forced the canneries to pay the federal minimum wage. The
canneries either moved to lower labor cost countries in Central America or the
plants sold to Asian businesses. Last time I went through the area in 2012 it
was depressing. The fast food trailers were gone, employees were nil and the
buildings that housed the bars and apartments were broken and decayed. It was
difficult to believe that I was in US territory. American Samoa would be a source of
embarrassment for anyone from the mainland who would see this as a part of America.
In Two Weeks Part 3: One Week in Pago Pago
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