Pete, PJ, Alyx and I cruised over Capitol Hill to Marine Beach the other day to do a little beach sitting and tide pool gazing.
Did you know there is such a thing as a salt water frog? I did not.
Pete got the full treatment on his birthday, he clearly married into the right family. They prepared from time Mary Ann called her sister Tina to tell her they were coming. A huge roast pig, the whole haul from our night fishing, massive containers of rice, roast veggies, crab salads, perpetually refilling coolers of beer, four cakes and platters of sweet bread. Enough to feed and re-feed about 150 members of da familia. That’s not to mention the live music and the 35 Polynesian dancers.
It was a familiar site for most of the attendees. I asked PJ’s girlfriend, “have you ever been to a party this big before?” “Oh, yes, there was a baptism.”
The Lieto’s had the party planning down to a fine science. Auntie Tina arrived at the pavilion gate before 8 A.M. to get started as soon as the gate was unlocked. She had trunkloads of flowers and palm leaves, some as big as tablecloths, to wire up and around the pavilion. The family was given specific instructions of what and how much food they would need to prepare for the night. Serving tables arrived, a bar was setup, food laid out, live flower leis were threaded, the loud-ass PA system was sound checked and everything was in perfect order when Pete arrived, right on time, at 6:30.
The party was almost indescribable. Partly because I was sitting close to the bar, but mostly because it was so enjoyable. After a particularly strong cheek full of betel nut (more later) I took a walk to the edge of the park and looked on at the whole scene from a distance. The pretty white pavilion lit up and loud with laughter and music for Pete, who may as well been another haole, but here he is family and deserved no less than the best birthday party I have ever been to.
By midnight the pig was wrecked, having been picked over twice, and there were nothing but empty plates, serving dishes and beer cans on the tables. As the singers packed up their equipment the rest of the clean up started and was over in less time than it took to say goodbye and plan for going out for a night dancing in Garapan.
Not a bad way to celebrate a milestone birthday is it?
Hafa adai! (say: haf a day.)
I’ve arrived safely in Saipan and have had a thrilling introduction.
I’m staying with Pete, Mary Ann, and Alyx at their apartment in Tanapeg for now. A few of PJ’s family came over to visit the first morning. They brought me a breakfast ham sandwich to inaugurate my new non-vegan island life. That’s PJ’s uncle Joe in the red tank top, and his nephew Christopher with the long hair, his aunt and other nieces and nephews were there too but not pictured. (The lady in blue is Mary Ann and Pete’s temporary landlord who may be able to find me an apartment for as little as $150 a month.)
Around noon PJ’s girlfriend (Victoria, Russian) threw a party for her friend (Nika, aslo Russian) at Pau Pau beach (say: pow pow). Lot’s of beer, toasting, cake, Russian party food, BBQ chicken (still working up to that), Jay-z pumping through a car stereo system and sun. Lots and lots of sun. The party turned into lounging in the lagoon, beers in hand (not so different from the Roberts river trip) and me enjoying the fact that I have arrived in this beautiful place.
PJ and I cut loose to meet up with his dad to go night fishing with Mary Ann’s first cousin, Peter Tiatano, and a ten deep crew of serious spear fishermen. At dark we climbed aboard two little boats loaded with spears, flashlights and snorkeling equipment. We putt-putted out to the reef and slipped into the warm, clear sea water. I was without spear or flashlight, but didn’t miss out on a thing. It was totally otherworldly to cruse around underwater, the sea bed dimly lit by moonlight and cones of light sweeping over and around the coral seeking little fishies. We stayed out for over two hours, and collected an impressive variety of edible fish you may recognize from a dentist’s office aquarium. We didn’t stay for the cleaning of fish and drinking of beer that usually follows a trip out like that, I was too beat. I found myself falling asleep in the boat, cruising toward Garapan in the warm night air.
This is an excellent short documentary on the current economic reality facing Saipan and the effects of globalization in the CNMI. They make Saipan out to be the canary in the coal mine; a view of the dangers America is facing, namely, empty factories, ruined malls, political corruption, and human exploitation. (Also a hint of China paranoia.)
It paints a grim picture of the place I’m heading to in three short weeks, but looking beyond the doom and gloom the video makes a better introduction than some other videos I’ve seen.
(For those of you outside the US where Hulu is broken, this link should work.)
In 1967, while Florence was on the verge of bursting on the national and international scene for being a hot bed of radical literature, design, art, and architecture, there was a minuscule nation being built off the coast of Rimini, Italy.
Engineer Giorgio Rosa began constructing a platform 500 meters outside of the Italian territorial waters and on June 24, 1968, this platform became a sovereign nation known as Rose Island. Soon a post office was established and a national currency, the mill, was decreed. One month prior to this moment student riots had broken out at the 14th Triennial. These protests were a part of a larger student uprising at the time—a rebellion against mass consumption and the loss of individuality. There was a fear of personal identity disappearing behind the machine of capitalism and government.
Ironically the island seems to have been a place of consumption and elitism as the respubliko de la insulo de la rozo became a place of tax free shopping, a place to simply grab a drink, and a place to watch ships in the Adriatic pass by. Anyone with a boat could make it out to the island republic. Unfortunately Rose Island quickly attracted the (negative) attention of the Italian government, regardless of the fact the nation was formed lawfully. Italy cared little for this fact and set out to squash this outpost—first severing its trade routes and then preventing visitors from accessing the platform. By January 22, of 1969, the republic disappeared as the platform was demolished. Rose Island exists no more, its remnants washed out to sea by a storm.