April 17, 2016
47 and a half: American Samoa: I should warn you, this is a very dramatic and unfortunate day
After our two Saturdays we finally got to Sunday at about the same time that the ship got to American Samoa. I should have much preferred to stop a little further west, in Samoa, because that would have counted as another country, but after the captain had already bowed to my wishes to let me cycle in Vanuatu, I thought I couldn't now ask that of him, and so I had to make do with this small American territory instead. We docked in a bay at a place called Pago Pago, surrounded on all sides by hills that I was quite sure were green, but looked almost blue in the early morning light. It looked like a really nice and interesting place, and one that I was looking forward to exploring.
Over the previous two days Dea had been in good spirits. The spot over her eye didn't seem to be getting any smaller yet, but her visit to the doctor in Fiji had been positive, and it seemed like things were probably going to be okay. Even so, of course it was a good idea for her to go and see another eye doctor here in American Samoa, to get another opinion and check on how her poor little eye was doing. So our day started once again in the medical centre, and then with me waving her off to another taxi and another morning in a hospital, before I got my bicycle to go for a little ride.
American Samoa was really nice. Pago Pago was of course quite overrun with old white tourists fresh from the cruise ship, but once I cycled a few kilometres I was free from that and able to get a real feel for the place. It was beautiful as I cycled around the bay in a U-shape so that I was looking back across towards the ship and the hillsides behind, which by this time I could see were clearly bright green (as I'd suspected), despite the clouds that still hung over them. The road was not busy with traffic and it was dotted with simple homes and a surprising number of churches. Local people walked around in bright Hawaiian shirts, which seemed to be quite the thing to wear here. I was also chased by a few dogs, who I assume were surprised and excited to see the rare occurrence of a cycle tourist on this remote island. After a while I came to a junction, with a road that turned up into the hills. On each side of this junction was a shop, a church, and a beach. I stopped and sat on the beach for a while and reflected on how very nice it was here.
I decided to cycle up the hill. It was very steep. Very steep. I found it really hard work, even without having to tow my usual excess of luggage. By the time I was halfway up I was a physical wreck and needed to sit down. Had circumstances been different I would have liked to continue up and over the pass to see the ocean on the other side, but I wanted to be back at the ship to meet Dea and see how she'd got on at the doctor. Another reason for my hasty retreat back down the hill was that I had no water with me, a bit of a mistake given the hot and humid conditions. So I stopped at the shop when I got back down to the junction, and bought a bottle of water.
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As I sat on a bench outside the store and rehydrated a group of boys of about 8-12 years old began to talk with me. Their English was excellent, although they spoke to each other in their native Samoan language. They had just come from church, this being a Sunday, and in fact I noticed a great many more people spilling out from their place of worship across the street. Like the boys, all of the men were wearing skirts and each of them seemed to have either a Hawaiian shirt, or a similar floral design on their skirt. The boys were very friendly and asked me what I was doing and decided to teach me some Samoan, including the most important words, like hello, goodbye, sun, moon, stars, and bicycle wheel. It was a really great moment. The view of the beach, the bay and the mountains was great, the interaction with the locals very enjoyable. I remember having a thought about how good it was to be here. It wasn't a thought that was destined to last long.
I cycled back to the ship and went up to our room, but there was no sign that Dea had yet returned from her appointment. I wanted to use wifi as I hadn't done so for some time now. I'd noticed there was one place in Pago Pago that offered access for five dollars, but I wanted to wait for Dea, and decided to just log on with the ship's wifi. This cost an eye-watering 75 cents per minute, but I only needed to quickly check my emails, and I reasoned it would come to less than five bucks. So I logged on and checked my emails, expecting a deluge but getting very little. I guess the world wasn't missing me that much. But there were a few on my guestbook, and one in particular that caught my eye. I read it through and kind of froze in horror, then said a bad word.
By Stephan Teusch
Hi Chris,
first I really enjoyed your blog so far, great journey.
I recently noticed that the US changed their visa rules so that if you have traveled to Iran before, you are not eligible for a visa waiver anymore and instead have to apply for a full visa.
This seemed to be a bit of a problem, to put it mildly. Our plans to cycle from Canada down through the Americas to Argentina were kind of dependent on being allowed to cycle through the United States. I'm sure most of you will have a sufficient grasp of geography to understand that it is actually kind of impossible to do it any other way. Now it seemed, at least if Stephan Teusch knew what he was talking about, like the great big Iranian stamp in my passport was going to provide us with a great big problem.
I wrote Dea a note explaining what had happened and where she should find me, and then I hurried with my laptop over to the five dollar wifi place to do some more research. Unfortunately it soon seemed that Stephan Teusch did know what he was talking about. The United States, ever the thoughtful souls, had introduced a new rule (in January!!!) that no one that had visited Iran since 2011 could qualify to enter their country via the visa-waiver system. I would have to apply for a full visa. Which wouldn't have been a problem, except for the rather inconvenient fact that to do that I'd have to attend an interview. In London. Kind of a logistically difficult thing to do without flying.
I was kind of annoyed about this of course, but I kept a level head, and looked for a plan B. It was pretty simple. I could just get a new passport while we were in Vancouver. That was a gamble of course, because I didn't know how much information the United States would have, or if the fact that I'd been to Iran was somehow stored on the biometric chip which would presumably be information that would be transferred to a replacement passport. But it might work. There was an additional problem, however. In five days we were going to arrive in Hawaii, and face a mandatory border control inspection. If the U.S. didn't already know I'd been to Iran, they probably would soon. So I looked for a plan C. The only other way out of Canada – another boat. Of course this led me back to looking at cruises, not that this cruise had really lived up to expectations as of yet. I found only one ship that might work; a September sailing from Montreal to Liverpool, England. It wasn't ideal, but it would at least keep alive my hopes to circumnavigate the planet by bicycle and boat. I just had to see what Dea would have to say, and if she'd be happy to come back and cycle the rest of the Americas another time, perhaps.
With all these thoughts spinning in my head I began to head back towards the ship. I saw Dea walking towards me and I waved at her. She didn't wave back. She shook her head. This didn't look good. I got to her and saw that she was, in fact, looking really rather distraught.
“It's not good,” she said, which was something I'd already gathered. “The doctor said I have a really serious infection, and I need to see a corneal specialist as soon as possible. I need to fly somewhere. The medical centre on the ship said there is a flight to Hawaii tomorrow, or maybe there is one to New Zealand.”
I hugged her close. She was shaking.
“Chris, I'm really scared. I can't do this alone.”
“I know. I'm coming with you, don't worry.”
This was not turning out to be a good day. First our plans had been dented, now they were being destroyed. I knew I was going to have to break my continuous journey, but that really didn't matter now. I had to go with Dea. I had to stand by her. There was no option now. I felt guilty enough for not being with her today. The doctor, who clearly didn't really think things through, had told her that her eye was like a balloon, and it might burst like one, but that it was more likely to if she was stressed, so it was best to try not to worry. Astonishingly enough this statement had in fact made Dea quite stressed. In fact she was understandably terrified, and this was not a great time to be stuck on a remote island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
With a hundred million more thoughts spinning in my head, we went back to the wifi place and started to look for flights. This turned out to be more difficult than it should. We couldn't find anything on any booking sites, even though the airport in Samoa clearly stated on its website that it had quite a few flights, most of them to New Zealand scheduled to depart. We would also have to organise a first flight from American Samoa to Samoa, which was similarly difficult to do.
We went back to the ship. There were only a few hours until it would set sail again, and there would be five long sea days before it reached Hawaii. Clearly we needed to get off here, but we had so many things to do in those few short hours. Dea went off back to the medical centre, who were also trying to find us the necessary flight details, while I headed to the room to pack. I was a bit of a mess by now. Everything had fallen apart and, while the ending of my continuous circumnavigation was a side note compared to the terrible situation Dea was in, I still felt a bit of a body blow to realise it was coming to such a dramatic end having committed so many years to it. Packing didn't go too well. I was just stuffing bits and pieces in everywhere, and I had absolutely no idea what we were going to do with the bikes. Before this I thought I was pretty good at keeping my head in a crisis, but right now I was crying.
Dea came up to the room periodically to tell me the medical centre and the front office were doing everything that they could do to help us. I was periodically calling the front office to see about things, like if we could leave the bikes and some things on board, so that my friend in Vancouver could collect them from the ship. We'd have to figure the rest out from there. Then I realised that if the best option was to fly to Hawaii, I wouldn't even be able to do that, because of the stupid Iranian stamp in my passport. Dea needed me, and I wouldn't even be able to go with her. It was all just dreadful.
At some point it was decided that New Zealand would be a better option. I was happier with that. I could go with Dea, and I even emailed our friend Matt in Auckland to tell him we'd soon be arriving. But we still didn't have any actual flights booked, and the clock was ticking. It was getting perilously close to the time at which the ship was going to leave, and our world was still pretty much in chaos.
Things finally came to a head about an hour before the ship was due to set sail. We went down to the medical centre once again, and the port agent came in to see us. We all crowded into a doctor's room; Dea and myself, the nurse, the doctor, and the port agent. He was a large Samoan man, whose sombre face was ill-fitting with his bright red floral shirt. He was clearly still trying to find more information and would occasionally make and receive phone calls relating to our case, but the bare facts were soon made clear to us. “I'm sorry,” he said, “but there is a holiday time now in American Samoa. There are no flight seats available off the island for four or five days, and all of the hotels are fully booked.”
The seriousness of our situation had been laid bare. Dea had a major problem with her eye. She needed to see a corneal specialist as soon as possible, and we were stuck in the middle of the Pacific. If we got off the boat now, we'd have nowhere to stay (and wild camping with a serious eye infection, not recommended) and we wouldn't be able to fly anywhere for five days anyway. Were there any other options? The nurse, who had been so nice to us throughout, suggested the only other way would be to call for an air ambulance. That would cost something like $50,000, and we could not be sure that our insurance would cover it, particularly as we had no insurance.
Dea and I decided that the only thing for it was to stay on board this ill-fated, god-forsaken cruise. At least on the ship she could relax, and not have to worry about flights and arriving in a new city. It wasn't really a bad place to be if you had to be unwell. At least she had a big bed to lie in, and in a dark room to rest her poor eye. But boy, was it ever going to be a long five days at sea before we reached Hawaii.
After all the stress of this unbelievable day, Dea retired to bed to nap and I went for a walk around the ship. I found myself back up on the sports court, mostly because that was the only place I could feel confident nobody else would go, so nobody would see the tears that rolled down my cheeks. It was here that I sat and watched as the ship slipped out from the harbour and through those hills that just a few hours ago had seemed so bright. The sky was turning dark and the long stretch of empty ocean ahead of us, so lacking in corneal specialists, loomed ominously. Somehow, my continuous journey by bicycle and boat was continuing, saved by a Samoan holiday, but under the circumstances I felt no relief at all.
I looked around the sports court and thought of the first night, when the bright lights of Sydney had filled the view, when we had been so happy and our future had seemed so promising. I thought of how full of joy Dea had been, throwing a basketball around, and kicking goal after goal past me on the football pitch. How had it come to this? How could our dream have so quickly descended into this nightmare?
But there was no more time to dwell on this dramatic day. I had a patient to look after.
Today's ride: 16 km (10 miles)
Total: 48,612 km (30,188 miles)
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1 week ago
Thank you for letting me know!
1 week ago