The Music...The Mem'ries...The Magic! Streisand at the Staples Center

I have now seen Barbra Streisand perform live four times over the past twenty-two years. I sometimes joke that I always go to all of her farewell tours, but given her age now (74), I cannot be certain that she won’t give up touring at some point. She still seems to enjoy the engagement with the audience, and she always seems to find new ways to interpret and present and contextualize the songs she performs. The audiences show their appreciation loudly and perhaps too often, so she has to be aware of how much beloved she remains. However, I fear that at some point she might decide to retire from public singing and I won’t have seen her one last time before that occurs. So when the chance to purchase tickets for another tour arose, I logged on and purchased as quickly as possible. I can’t say I got the best seats in the house, but given that the top ticket prices could almost rival a month’s rent, I got the best I could afford.

Tuesday night’s performance at the Staples Center was easily the most emotional of her concerts that I have seen (including her triumphant return to touring back in 1994 at what was then known as the Arrowhead Pond). Lots of people will remark on how her voice has lost some of its strength, but I cannot imagine any other 74-year-olds who have the ability to master notes the way that she can. And her selection of material to cover during the evening was unparalleled. She knows her fans are deeply familiar with her catalog, and she continually surprises us with choices that amaze us and resonate with us.

The first half began with the song that everyone now expects her to sing at some point in the show: “The Way We Were.” Not many performers would begin with a song so closely identified with them, but she walked out to raucous cheers and quickly dispensed with it as if to suggest that there were other, just-as-exciting songs to come. And she then followed up with a song from A Star Is Born. No, not “Evergreen”—that came later in a lovely duet with Babyface (Kenny Edmonds). Instead, she sang “Everything,” the song in the film that shows her character’s desire to be a success at every aspect of life. It’s a stunning choice, one I’ve never heard her perform outside of the film, and it was a magnificent choice to set off a series of unexpected “deep cuts.” It also gave her the chance for some self-deprecating humor, revealing that she knows the reputation she has for being a perfectionist. (It didn’t help that someone left out the straw from the cup of tea she always has on stage. That was quickly remedied during intermission. Or else...)

She could easily spend 2½ hours just singing her greatest hits. That would fill more than just one night, and everyone would feel satisfied. However, instead, she mines the archives of the thousands of songs she has recorded and picks ones that fit within the narrative that she constructs for each show. For example, rather than sing “All Is Fair in Love” from the album that had to be retitled Barbra Streisand featuring The Way We Were so as not to confuse the record-buying public, she instead did a fresh take on “Being at War with Each Other” accompanied by images of the violence and protests that have become such a part of our culture. It was a daring restaging of a song about a couple having relationship trouble, and it was a powerful moment.

This tour is ostensibly a tribute to Streisand’s albums that have reached Number One on the charts. She’s done this feat in each of the past six decades, an unparalleled achievement and one not likely to be surpassed any time soon. It’s also a bit of a promotional tour for her upcoming release, Encore, even though she only did two numbers from that album in the second act. The emphasis is truly upon the musical journey on which she has taken us since her start in the early 1960s. So the first act includes such favorites as “Stoney End” and “Woman in Love” and “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers,” which she sings just as beautifully as a solo. She also shared many stories throughout the evening about her career, including one about how a disc jockey in Kentucky spliced together hers and Neil Diamond’s individual performances of the song and made it into a hit record. She also joked about her constant struggles with the record company regarding the cover art for her albums, including one where the bump in that famous nose was airbrushed out of the image and another where she wanted a shot of her facing away from the camera and looking out to the horizon (People). She lost the first battle but won the second. Such are the small gems of her long career that you get to discover when you attend a concert.

For me, the emotional highlight of the first act was her rendition of “Being Alive,” the first of three songs by Stephen Sondheim she would perform. Sung by a man in the theatrical productions of Company, this song gets completely reconceptualized by having it performed by a mature female singer with a history of romances both successful and failed rather than a younger man struggling with his inability to commit to a relationship with one person. It’s a show piece for her, one which she frequently uses in her concerts to demonstrate that she truly is, as she described herself once in the 1960s, “an actress who sings.”

The first act ended with one of her more personal songs, “Papa, Can You Hear Me?” from the movie Yentl. Given her challenges in getting the film made—and her deep affection for the father who passed away when she was such a young girl—the song takes on greater emotional heft each time I hear it. I’m not generally a fan of this song, honestly, and I didn’t particularly enjoy the staging of it during the movie, but I can’t deny the power with which she displays the rawness of the emotions she has when she sings it.

We had a brief intermission during which two friends and I kept gushing about how much we were in awe of her singing and how much we were enjoying the concert. The youngest of us, who is in his early 30s, had never seen her perform live and shared with us that this was the greatest performance he had ever seen. By anyone. Ever. I reminded him that he needed to start going to see people like Streisand. One day, when she has retired, he will be glad that he did.

Act II began with a charming rendition of “Pure Imagination” from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Streisand was joined on stage by Seth McFarlane, who sings the song with her on the new album. It’s a delightful song made all the more charming by having them sing it without irony. Ever the liberal activist, Streisand used the song as an opportunity to speak against climate change and to encourage the audience to dream of saving our world from destruction. McFarlane has a lovely singing voice, and even though he might not be Streisand’s equal in vocal prowess, their duet served as a sweet reminder of how well she can match her partner’s range.

A duet of “Who Can I Turn to?” featuring the video image of Anthony Newley must have taken a lot of careful planning. I’m not sure from where the footage came, but she managed to keep the tempo of the song consistent with Newley’s performance. It’s a shame that she didn’t record more duets during the first half of her career with people like him; their theatricality complements each other’s vocal stylings quite well. At least she’s made up for this by recording a series of duets albums, and she’s included some surprising partners along the way. When Jamie Foxx joined her on “Climb Every Mountain” from The Sound of Music, the crowd erupted. Foxx has a stellar voice, and his prowess clearly challenged Streisand to reach the upper range of her voice. It was stunning to see how these two staggeringly different singers can work so well together.

Streisand revisited two songs from Funny Lady, a film she didn’t want to make but was contractually obligated to do. She selected “Isn’t This Better” and “How Lucky Can You Get?” to represent the movie’s plot, and even if she were a little fuzzy on the details of where “Isn’t This Better?” fits into the film’s plot, the emotional heft of both songs was just as strong last night as it was in the 1975 film. I hope that she decides to revisit some of her other less-favored projects in the future. Perhaps she will address some of these in the autobiography she claims to be writing. That book is sure to right some perceived wrongs from a long career.

For me, the two greatest highlights of the evening occurred during the second half of the show. She took a song that has been performed too many times by too many bad performers and that has been given “definitive” performances by some of the greatest singers of the Broadway stage, “Losing My Mind” from Follies, and managed to draw out the most powerful emotional response of the night. I was in tears throughout most of the song. I know others, including dear, close friends of mine, who would argue that others have sung the song better, but I think anyone who puts her version of this song against the others would be hard pressed to disagree that she managed to show greater depth and clarity in the lines about the impact of lost and unrequited love. It was a show-stopper, and I didn’t know how she would top it.

She came mighty close with another song from A Star Is Born, “With One More Look at You.” In the film, the song encapsulates Esther’s emotions over the loss of her husband, John Norman Howard (played by Kris Kristofferson) and caps the film (paired with “Watch Closely Now”) in a powerful way. The video behind her performance on Tuesday showed the arc of the characters’ relationship throughout the film. However, even without the accompanying images, Streisand’s selection of this song was a powerful gift to those who have seen every movie and listened to every song and watched every television special. She picked a song that would truly reach those fans who could instantly recognize and engage with the emotions she brings to it.

The show ended with a powerful grouping of songs designed to showcase how well Streisand can sing despite all of the harping from her detractors. I agree (and have said before) that her voice is huskier and perhaps even raspier than in the past, but after listening to the latest rendition of “Children Will Listen,” the third and final Sondheim song of the night, I would still rather hear Streisand than almost anyone who populates the radio airwaves these days. Arguably her greatest song, “People” has managed to change with each performance and her understanding of it has certainly deepened. She told the audience that she initially questioned if people who didn’t need people weren’t actually the luckiest people in the world. You can see her point—and that must have taken some strong will for a teenager to question Jules Styne over a lyric—but her rendition last night shows that she gets it now. The last song of the night, “Happy Days Are Here Again,” is one that she’s been singing for more than fifty years, but in this charged political environment, her choice of it to end her show reveals the depth of her commitment to the Demoncratic Party and its principles. You have to admire the consistency with which she has used both her music and her status as an entertainer to champion the causes in which she believes.

The applause at the end of the night was so strong that she had to return several times to take bows. She didn’t add any encores, but even without additional songs, the audience was reluctant to leave even when the lights came on. Some of them had been quite vocal during the evening, shouting at rather inopportune times. I think they get to see her so rarely and just love her so much that they cannot help themselves. When a beloved star like Streisand goes on tour these days, the crowds still show up. She might not sell as many records as the twentysomethings who dominate music nowadays, but the appreciation for what she has achieved and what she still represents is ever present at one of her performances.

It took almost two more hours for my friends and I to recover from the show. We walked around downtown Los Angeles (DTLA, as it’s called now) and had drinks at a couple of bars, neither of which I’d ever seen before, Bar Mattachine and Precinct. There was a lot of going over of the highlights. There were a few criticisms here and there—I personally could have done without the “mentalist,” Lior Suchard, whose act ground the first half of the show to a halt—and a few reconsiderations of earlier criticisms. I have no doubt that such conversations were taking place all over the city by those who attended and those who wished they had attended. It was a magical night, one which I will not soon forget. 

Poem in Your Pocket Day 2016

Each year, as a part of National Poetry Month (April), I celebrate Poem in Your Pocket Day. It's really as simple as it sounds. You fold up a piece of paper with a poem on it and stick it in your pocket. When you have a chance to share the poem with someone, you take it out of your pocket and read it.

This year's selection is Christopher Bursk's "Why Latin Should Still Be Taught in High School."

Because one day I grew so bored

with Lucretius, I fell in love

with the one object that seemed to be stationary,

the sleeping kid two rows up,

the appealing squalor of his drooping socks.

While the author of De Rerum Natura was making fun

of those who fear the steep way and lose the truth,

I was studying the unruly hairs on Peter Diamond’s right leg.

Titus Lucretius Caro labored, dactyl by dactyl

to convince our Latin IV class of the atomic

composition of smoke and dew,

and I tried to make sense of a boy’s ankles,

the calves’ inquiring

resiliency, the integrity to the shank,

the solid geometry of my classmate’s body.

Light falling through blinds,

a bee flinging itself into a flower,

a seemingly infinite set of texts

to translate and now this particular configuration of atoms

who was given a name at birth,

Peter Diamond, and sat two rows in front of me,

his long arms, his legs like Lucretius’s hexameters

seemed to go on forever, all this hurly-burly

of matter that had the goodness to settle

long enough to make a body

so fascinating it got me

through fifty-five minutes

of the nature of things. 

Nutty Neighbors: Sunday Morning Burlesque

I've held on to this post for some time. In fact, I'd written it almost a year ago but forgotten it over time as other posts and other duties have taken precedence. I share it with you now just so I no longer have any posts in draft form. Do with it what you will.

I've written before about how annoying the next door neighbors can be, particularly when The Princess, the guy who has the master bedroom in the back of the apartment (parallel to my own, with just a thin wall separating us), plays his music so loudly that you can hear it over the shower (mine, his, both at the same time, doesn't matter). I suppose I might not mind hearing the music from next door if he didn't have such crappy taste.

He goes through different moods, of course, and the music often reflects whatever he's feeling at the time. When he's broken up with some guy he's dating, I get to hear very sad, depressing stuff. Unfortunately--for both him and me--that happens quite often. When he's getting ready to go out, presumably to snag another boyfriend (at least for the night), it's all about the dance music, much of which sounds like every other song on the radio these days.

Yesterday [almost a year ago now] was a strange day, though. What mood must someone be in to listen to the soundtrack to Burlesque? How can you get yourself ready for the day ahead by forcing yourself to hear all Christina, all the time? Couldn't you have at least included one of the songs by Cher just as a shout-out to the older gays?

Here's why I'm not a fan of Christina Aguilera's most recent work ("recent" meaning the past ten years or so). She has an amazing voice with a spectacular range and is obviously quite talented. However, her performances are what's wrong with most of today's music. Listen to the radio or watch a singing competition show like the one for which she occasionally judges, The Voice, and all you'll hear are people who are enamored with their ability to do runs and hit very high notes and dazzle people with the flexibility of their voice. There's only one problem: That's not really singing. It sounds more like you're doing a warm-up before you sing.

Besides, Burlesque is just a really bad movie. Not bad as in campy fun like Showgirls, which it hoped it would be. Just bad as in boring and kind of pointless. I suppose it must have fans out there, and apparently, The Princess is one of them, but isn't it just a forgettable piece of dross? Why blow the dust off that soundtrack and play it to get yourself primed for the day ahead? Especially so long after the movie has disappeared from theaters?

In honor of The Princess' Sunday morning rise-and-shine music, here's a song to get stuck in your head. Better yours than mine.

One Day in Hawaii

I’m going to share just one more memory from my travels before I stop writing about my once-in-a-lifetime experience. I might share some more pictures in the future, but for now, this might be it.

Before I returned home from Micronesia, I spent about 36 hours in Hawaii. Spring Break was the following week, so I didn’t need to be in a rush to get back home. The Boyfriend had spent some time in Taiwan visiting his family a couple of weeks earlier, so I was fairly certain we would not be spending additional money to travel during Spring Break.

I woke up around 11 a.m. on Friday after about six hours of sleep. I had been very tired from the long plane ride and a week of work and activity, but I wanted to have some time to enjoy Hawaii. It was my first time on the island, and I keep saying to myself that I need to travel more.

The hotel room for the return trip was in the Waikiki Tower—perhaps because it faces the direction of Waikiki Beach—and it has much more spectacular views. The night I spent here before traveling to Micronesia was in the Kona Tower, not a particularly impressive view since it was mostly apartment and hotel buildings rather than a sliver of beach and palm trees.

I first went in search of food. The hotel was next door to the Ala Moana Hawaiian Center, reportedly the world’s largest open air mall. I have no reason to doubt it given how many stores there are and how much walking you can do there. I found a restaurant in the food court that served garlic shrimp. It wasn’t bad, actually, but the shrimp still had their shells, making them a little more difficult to eat. From what I gather, people in other countries, especially Asian countries, tend to eat shrimp with the shell intact. I’m not quite on board with that yet.

I walked around the mall a bit after that, and I happened up a performance of hula dancers. The mall advertises that this occurs every day at 1 p.m., so I lucked out that I was there on time.

I also talked to The Boyfriend for the first time in more than a week. Now that I was back in the States, I had phone service without roaming charges. I had checked with my carrier before leaving on the trip, and the amount you have to pay for calls and texts when you’re out of the service area is just outrageous. I’d like to blame the particular carrier that we have, but none of the team had better service.

I spent the greater part of the afternoon walking around the beach area in Ala Moana Park, which is close to the hotel and shopping center. It’s really just across the street. The scenery is almost stereotypically Hawaiian. I saw surfers, boats, fishermen, swimmers—just what you’d expect and want to see on a Hawaiian island. The ocean is spectacular here, so many beautiful shades of blue, and the sky was clear, almost cloudless, and a brilliant blue color itself. I also saw lots of pigeons and doves, many of them congregating in areas where they are more likely to get food.

Dinner included a couple of bento boxes (they were very small), some Hawaiian cookies, and some Spam musubi. I had to have some Spam given how well-loved it is on the islands. The dinner on the night before we left for Micronesia had included Spicy Spam Rice Bites, and I wanted to have another, different taste on the way back home.

I started to feel the exhaustion catch up to me not long after eating dinner. I got sleepy very early in the evening, earlier than I normally would be sleeping, but I couldn’t resist getting to bed in anticipation of the return flight the next day.

Saturday morning only provided time to buy a few souvenirs: a t-shirt, some chocolate covered macadamia nuts, a keychain to replace the one from Hawaii that I had lost last year, a small stature of King Kamehameha—nothing expensive.  

I had to go through TSA screening again and several agricultural inspections, but the worst part of navigating the airport in Honolulu was having to pay extra charges because one of my suitcases weighed more than 50 pounds. I was given the option of rearranging and redistributing my stuff, but I opted just to give the airline a little more money. I haven’t told The Boyfriend about that charge—or about some other charges I incurred during the trip—because he would consider it wasteful, but sometimes it’s really not worth the hassle.

Hawaiian Airlines is a much better travel option than United. The seats are larger, and they do try to keep you hydrated and somewhat well fed during your six hours in the air. I even got a free glass of wine (chardonnay, if you must know). Chuck Henry, who anchors the Channel 4 News here in Los Angeles, was on the flight with what appeared to be a dozen relatives. I guess they had a family vacation in Hawaii and were coming home too.

We landed at LAX at almost 11 p.m., and after waiting for quite a while for my luggage to appear in the baggage claim area, I walked to the street, located The Boyfriend, and started the short ride home. The trip was finally over, only a collection of memories now. 

When Hornets Become Angels

I joined about 2,000 people associated with my college last night at Angels Stadium in Anaheim. The crowd included faculty, staff, students, administrators, trustees, alumni—just about anyone who has a connection to the college. The occasion was the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (what a long name for a baseball team) hosting a night in honor of our college. Tickets to the game were just $25, and as a part of that price, you received a commemorative baseball cap with both the Angels logo and the college’s logo as well as the college’s mascot (Buzzy the Hornet) under the bill. Some of us went for the game, others for the cap, but most seemed to be there to share an experience with other Hornets.

The idea for the night came from a student. She’s the president of the Sociology Club, a student in my Introduction to Film Studies class this semester, and a long-time Angels fan. In fact, she missed her first exam in my class because she was going to Opening Night at the stadium. It was her 48^th consecutive Opening Night, and I told her to go. I’m not going to interfere with a tradition of almost half a century just for an exam.

Before the game began, a group mostly comprised of English faculty members and their spouses and partners (and a few kids) stopped by Noble Ale Works in Anaheim. We had a choice to make. We could have paid $10 to park at the stadium and then pay for beer there, or we could pay $10 for two beers at Noble and park for free. We just had to walk about 10 minutes to get to the stadium. A simple choice, really, when you consider it.

I had the Wrong Side of the Road, and The Boyfriend had a Drink Yrself Clean. Both were quite tasty, and I highly recommend this microbrewery. It has quite an assortment of beers, and we were treated to a tour of the facilities thanks to one of our colleagues being the wife of the owner. It helps to know people in the right places.

The Boyfriend and I walked to Angel Stadium so that I could support the students and staff members who were responsible for University Village. This event was the first time that a community college had the opportunity to present itself to the game-goers. The place was crowded and lively with lots of picture-taking going on. It’s also where you stopped to pick up your commemorative cap. The Boyfriend and I chose not to wear ours in order to preserve a piece of history. Besides, we were already wearing baseball caps, thankfully not our Boston Red Sox or Los Angeles Dodgers ones.

Even though almost 2,000 people had purchased the special tickets to the game, we were able to sit with other faculty from my department and division. In fact, those closest to us were especially close friends with whom I’ve shared many wonderful memories over the years. I did move for an inning to sit with the student leaders, who were all having a great time too. They do seem to enjoy each other’s company, and I’ve really liked working with them this past year. I also bumped into several former students of mine, several of whom I’d not seen in years. In fact, I apparently taught the college president’s mother-in-law in the past!

As part of the tradition of attending a baseball game, we had a hot dog. Well, we had an Angels Dog. It was quite tasty. I would have ordered another one, but socializing with other people and watching the game interfered with that. Needless to say, the Boyfriend and I had to have something to eat when we got home at about 10:30 p.m.

Overall, the night was quite a success. Not only did everyone have a good time, we also helped to raise an estimated $12,000 for the food bank on campus. That money will help to feed a lot of hungry students.

Oh, the game itself? Meh. The Angels lost 4-1 to the Texas Rangers. The highlight, other than being with so many friends and colleagues, was watching the college president throw out the first pitch. He did a spectacular job; it was an expert throw. The threat of rain hovered over us for most of the day, and there were a few sprinkles at the start of the game. However, the skies cleared up, and everyone had a great time. Except, of course, for the diehard Angels fans.

A Death in the Family

We returned to campus this Monday to learn that one of our colleagues in the English Department had been involved in a car accident on Easter Sunday. Her name was Amanda, and she was visiting her boyfriend in San Diego on the last weekend of Spring Break. They had gone for a drive in one of the boyfriend’s classic cars, a Porsche convertible from the 1950s. A driver who was apparently high on marijuana—the police claimed that the bowl was still warm when they arrived on the scene—crossed over the median and crashed into the car with Amanda and her boyfriend. The details were pretty sketchy when we first learned of the accident.

We got the news on Monday evening that the family was taking Amanda off life support; the doctors had given them no hope that she would ever be able to recover from the traumatic injuries that she had suffered in the crash. An email went out with the details that were available, but most of us learned the sad news by having friends call us before we learned it through email. We cried a lot that night as we shared the news with others. Thankfully, I had my boyfriend with me that day so that I didn’t have to drive home alone and could periodically burst into tears.

The next day, Tuesday, was one of the worst days I’ve ever experienced at work. I hugged almost everyone I encountered, and we started to cry. Any mention of Amanda’s name prompted tears. I tried to be strong—we all tried to be strong—but the pain was too much to bear. Tears were appropriate. You can’t be strong when you’re suffering.

Today was not so very different. I cried fewer times, perhaps, but I spent longer periods of time talking to my friends and colleagues. We needed to be in each other’s company, to acknowledge our bonds and feelings for each other. People would apologize for making someone cry, but honestly, just the mention of her name or a reference to one of her many accomplishments or a question about what would happen to her two young sons was all it took for me to burst into tears. No one needed to apologize; nothing is wrong with feeling grief about the loss of a beloved colleague.

People have posted lots of comments and pictures on Facebook about the impact that Amanda had on their lives. I couldn’t articulate what I was feeling; I couldn’t even respond to other people’s posts. No words seemed to convey the depth of sadness I and the others were feeling. So, as I sometimes do, I turned to poetry. On the Poetry Foundation’s webite, I located the poem “Præmaturi” by Margaret Postgate Cole, which captures some of the emotions that I’ve been having since we got the tragic news about Amanda.

When men are old, and their friends die,

They are not so sad,

Because their love is running slow,

And cannot spring from the wound with so sharp a pain;

And they are happy with many memories,

And only a little while to be alone.

But we are young, and our friends are dead

Suddenly, and our quick love is torn in two;

So our memories are only hopes that came to nothing.

We are left alone like old men; we should be dead

But there are years and years in which we will still be young.

Amanda was a talented poet, a gifted writer who had the ability to distill emotions in beautifully expressive language. She was a great teacher, an inspiring educator who was dearly loved by her students, students who learned from her so much more than just how to be better writers; they learned that they had value. She was a dear friend, someone who gave you her attention when she spoke to you and who always made you feel like your conversations were special and memorable. She was an amazing colleague, a respected and well-liked member of the department, the division, the college, the community. She brought our creative writing program back from the brink of extinction by founding a journal of the arts that has been embraced by the community of writers and artists on and off campus, by creating a series of readings on campus that bring many people out every semester to share and hear the gift of writing, and by establishing a true sense of camaraderie among students and faculty members over the joy of creative writing. 

Her legacy will be long-lasting and significant. We will miss her. 

Day Seven on the Island

Or, The Long Journey Back to the United States Begins

We had our last breakfast at the Cliff Rainbow Hotel in Pohnpei this morning. I had what has become my go-to meal: two eggs (scrambled) with bacon and hash browns and with a glass of pineapple juice. The eggs and hash browns could have been cooked just a little bit longer—as has been the trend this past week—but the restaurant for the hotel has provided solid food every day. And having our breakfast on the “porch” each day has been a delight.

 

Overall, the hotel has been nice, but it’s not what we’ve come to expect by Western standards of service. It cost roughly one hundred dollars each day, which is fine since I’m being reimbursed for my travel expenses anyway. However, for that amount of money back home, you’d expect more consistent towel service, for example. I had to ask on at least two days for a washcloth and hand towel. I got a washcloth one of those days, not on the other one, but I never got a hand towel when I asked for one. And, of course, there was mold on the soap in the bathroom that first night in my room, likely the result of the boxes sitting inactive for a long time in this jungle humidity. No matter, I put the moldy bars on top of the boxes, and the next day I had fresh (well, fresher) soap to use in washing my hands.

I did like one feature of the hotel that you don’t get in the United States. We were allowed to check out early but keep our room key until it was time to go to the airport. I’ve never had that opportunity before. A couple of the team members checked out the night before, actually, since processing a credit card charge takes considerably longer here. I waited to check out until about an hour before our shuttle was due to arrive, but I had time to spare and to relax.

We ended our time on the island with some shopping. One of the team members wanted some souvenirs and small gifts, and I tagged along to see what I might purchase as well. Our first stop was at a handicrafts place just a few blocks from the hotel (well, if there were such a thing as blocks here). I picked up a bunch of turtles and manta rays made from woven straw (just two dollars each) and a carved wooden shark (but not one with alleged real shark teeth embedded in its mouth). Then we had a return visit to the Palm Terrace, where I picked up another t-shirt, this one just for myself.

The next stop was referred to as the “banana store,” so dubbed because of the large number of bananas visible from the road. However, that was only about one-third of the store. Another section was devoted to freshly caught fish, perhaps the reason that the store was very crowded as everyone seemed to be interested in purchasing fish rather than anything else. There were lots of colorful fish, including some blue ones that we were told were parrot fish. In the back of the store were more handicrafts and carvings. I didn’t see much new here except for some lovely baskets. I coveted a couple of them, but I didn’t know how I would be able to get them back to Los Angeles, given how overstuffed my suitcases already were.

Our final stop was the A-One store, an upstairs spot next to a travel agency (which was not getting much traffic, honestly). We had tried the store earlier in the week, but it had been closed. I found a couple of additional straw items to purchase here: a larger turtle connected to a smaller one and a string of fish that I intend to put in my office at work. This place had some great wooden carvings, but again, I couldn’t figure out how to get them back to the mainland.

We got to the airport in Pohnpei and checked our bags—twelve people with lots of stuff to take home. No one in Micronesia asked about how much my suitcases weighed, which was good for me. I got a second stamp on my passport, and then we had a couple of hours to wait before we were allowed to get into the waiting room. The Stingrays Café next door offered air conditioning and ice cream, both necessary preparation for a plane ride that would last almost ten hours.

Our first stop on the way back to Hawaii was Kosrae, another of the islands in the Federated States of Micronesia. This time, we were allowed go get off the plane and hang out in the waiting area. I have to say that this small airport was depressingly bare, only a tiny snack bar window and a woman at a folding table selling more handicrafts and Ziploc bags full of banana chips. However, what we were able to see of the island itself was beautiful, perhaps even more rural than Pohnpei and somewhat more mountainous.

Kwajalein Atoll was up next. Again, given that this is a military base, we were not allowed to leave the plane. Only people who had tickets to Kwajalein disembarked while the rest of us waited for some new people to get on board. You’re not allowed to take pictures from the plane given that the atoll has ongoing and apparently vital military activity—which is strange given how many pictures of the base itself are accessible online with a simple Google search—but the other person in my row took pictures even though we were warned not to do so. He was not a native speaker of English, so he might not have understood the announcement, but I doubt that would keep him out of trouble if he had been caught.

The last stop before Hawaii was Majuro Atoll in the Marshall Islands. This was the only one of the islands I had “visited” on the way to Pohnpei, but I got out anyway so that I could take a few pictures. United Airlines gives you very little leg room—unless you pay extra for it—so there’s no way to feel truly comfortable. You get up whenever they tell you that you can stretch your legs for a while. Inside the waiting area, the woman selling crafts at a table was there again, and the small snack bar supplied cold beer to the military members and military contractors. I didn’t think drinking a lot of beer before sitting down for a six-hour journey on a plane was a particularly good idea, but if they wanted to run to the bathroom several times during the flight, I figured that was their issue.

You have to hope for quiet neighbors when you travel. Stephanie Miller jokes that she’s always booked on Screaming Baby Airlines, and I can certainly empathize. A lot of children got on board at Majuro, so I had to watch movies just to drown out the sound. I saw Our Brand Is Crisis for the first time (okay, but hardly revelatory) and three short films from the Tribeca Film Festival: Speed Dating, Ellis, and Warning Labels (the last one the best of the three, in my opinion). I also watched bits and pieces of two movies I’d already seen, The Great Gatsby (meh) and The Blind Side (only Sandra Bullock’s performance is worthy of attention here). I nodded off a couple of times and slept for a few minutes, but I didn’t get much rest. The woman who sat next to me was apparently into manspreading, so she kept bumping my leg and waking me. She also took over the arm rest from time to time, including one period where she rubbed my arm for a few minutes. She was asleep for almost all of the trip, by the way, as was her son, so at least I had to be thankful for that. However, if she’s capable of manspreading and elbow-rubbing in her sleep, I shudder to think what she would be like when awake.

We landed in Honolulu Airport early in the morning but later than originally anticipated. The airport was deserted, so we made it through the TSA/Homeland Security checkpoint quickly. I also got through customs and the agricultural inspection rapidly as well. Apparently, they’re only worried that you don’t bring food into the country, and since I didn’t bring any, not even snack bars this time, I was safe.

The shuttle got the four of us who were not going immediately back to the mainland pulled up to the Ala Moana Hotel Condominiums (how did I miss the part about condominiums the first time?) at about 4:30 a.m. I feel asleep almost as soon as I finished brushing my teeth.

Day Six on the Island

Our last full day on the island included giving our exit report at the college. “Exit report” is a rather fancy name for the half hour the team chair has to present preliminary findings to the college, perhaps with some hints about possible commendations and recommendations. The team also gets the chance to thank some of the people who have been particularly kind or helpful during the site visit. The exit report is not a dialogue; it’s a monologue. The chair introduces the members of the team and speaks for about thirty minutes. The team then leaves as a group, gets into the vehicles (getaway cars?) as quickly as possible, and leaves the campus for the last time. Questions from the audience are not allowed, and I always leave exit reports wondering how everyone has reacted to what we’ve told them. A lot of campus personnel show up for the exit report; even the campus dogs followed us to the practice gym for the presentation.

When you’ve finished your section of the draft evaluation report, like we had, you don’t have much to do on the morning of the last day of a site visit. We had lunch and talked to each other about our home campuses until it was time to give the exit report. I did go with some other members of the team to the campus bookstore and bought a book on the ethnobotany of Pohnpei. I’m hoping to find out the names and purposes of some of the remarkable and beautiful plants on the island.  

After going back to the hotel for a quick change of clothes, we were off to the ancient ruins of Nan Madol. Our guide, Kenji, and his friend (who was always at the back of the line and whose primarily goal seemed to be making sure that everyone made it in and out of the site safely) took us on quite a lengthy drive to the location of the ruins. They are quite far from the hotel and the college; in fact, they are just off Temwen Island, a smaller island situated close to the main island of Pohnpei.

Kenji made for an interesting tour guide. He told us stories about the country and its chiefs and their people and the legends of the past. The stories were a bit enigmatic, to be honest, and sounded rather more metaphorical than realistic. He’s a good storyteller, though, and was certainly entertaining to listen to. By the way, Kenji is of both Pohnpeian and Japanese heritage, and he and his wife (who is of French descent) run the ramen noodle shop where we had eaten earlier in the week.

We had to walk through a mangrove forest to get to the ruins, and we passed by what could only be described as a series of mangrove swamps. We saw some spectacular images, and everyone took lots of pictures. That book on ethnobotany is definitely going to come in handy.

For the tour of Nan Madol, we had to pay $20 each for the guides. You then have to pay tribute to three chiefs whose land you cross to get to the ruins: $1 for the first one, $3 for the second one, and $3 for the last one. I don’t know why the first chief only gets one dollar. We had to bring enough dollar bills with us to cover these “charges.”

To get to the ruins themselves, we had to cross a river (or perhaps it was a stream or maybe a canal). Thankfully, it was at low tide, so crossing was relatively easy. I had borrowed The Boyfriend’s Nike flip flops specifically for this part of the trip. I took off my shoes and socks, put the flip flops on, crossed the river, and put my socks and shoes back on. I had to do the same on the way back.

It’s tough to describe the ruins. There are lots of great views there, and you find yourself wondering how such large rocks were placed to make the walls and other structures. No one is completely certainly how long ago Nan Madol was completed, and the locals apparently won’t go near it because they think it’s haunted.

We had an exciting afternoon touring the ruins and the forests surrounding them. Our next stop was the Kepirohi Waterfall, another $3 charge. Getting to the waterfall involves another spectacular trek through the jungle and lots of beautiful plants. The waterfall itself is a beautiful sight, and much like Nan Madol, hardly any of the local people go there—although apparently not out of fear that the waterfall is haunted. Since the island has very little tourist trade, that means we had the place all to ourselves. Kenji bought a bag of donuts at the roadside stand where you pay your entrance fee to the waterfall. We then proceeded to throw pieces of donuts to the fish, who would eat them before the donut even hit the water. We also attracted the attention of a very large eel with a taste for donuts as well. I made some videos of both the waterfall and the eel.

For dinner, we went to Kenji’s restaurant, the Nett Ramen Café and Restaurant, where I had a different type of ramen this time. Both types were delicious, and I managed to get a picture this time. I also picked up four small handicrafts they had for sale at a small table near the entrance: two hearts and two stars. We also chatted with Kenji and his wife, who is expecting their first child in a couple of months. They apparently live in the house across the street from the restaurant, so we also met some other members of the extended family.

I was certainly tired when I got back to the hotel. Unfortunately, I had another “visitor” in my room. The previous day, I had encountered an enormous cockroach next to the door. I used a shoe to kill it, and it was quite… “juicy.” However, when I told the other team members, I was criticized for not taking a picture of it before killing it. I remedied that the next time. This cockroach was in the closet, so I had a chance to get my phone before it ran away. Unfortunately, though, it ran away to join its family and I missed my chance to squash this one.