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Friday, September 3, 2010

Love Guam and Back

Posted by Trent Moorman on Fri, Sep 3, 2010 at 12:41 PM

J.McFerran

The hermit crabs on the south end of Guam have the deal down. Toward Cetti and Umatac Bay, claws go unclenched crawling through secluded days on seldom touched, unspoiled beaches, or ranches as they say. Few are the humans there. Air breathed in adds days to your life. Thick air. Jungle air. Crustacean air. Sand is sugar, pulling at ankles. It may rain, but it’s welcome. It may thunder, but it combs the distant sky past the green hills of Fort Soledad. Ocean is clear and warm. Coral mazes run forever. Blue starfish, flying fish, possible octopi. The quickness of the barracuda seems out of place. Time seems out of place, washing through like the daily storm. You’re a hermit crab, you’re house is attached to your back. Your antennae spin the earth. What matters? Elsewhere out there, calculus exams are taken. Traffic clogs highways. People argue. There’s war. The planet clocks in. Blood pressure spikes. But not here. Time doesn’t really happen on Guam. It’s somewhere else. Magellan won’t land here until March 6th, 1521, so you’re good, you got millennia. And your shell. Come out. Be. Bask. Elongate. Move, or don’t. Sun is. Sun is all.

Guam lies in the Pacific, south of Tokyo, and north of Australia. It’s thirteen degrees above the equator, thirty miles long by nine miles wide. It’s the southernmost island of the Marianas chain and the largest in Micronesia. Buildings and houses are made to withstand Typhoons. In 2002, Typhoon Pongsona had 173 mph winds, with only one fatality. The indigenous Chamorros and the people of Guam are nobles of and for the sea. Women, goddesses and mermaids. Everyone is warm and open. Hafa Adai is hello, the Latte Stone, the symbol of the island. Maliciousness does not compute.

Guam craves music. They have a lively scene, mostly reggae and cover bands. Hip hop has yet to arrive. There are hip hop DJ’s and MC’s, yes, such as Aaron Tamayo at Hit Radio 100 KOKU, and heads, like the family at Fokai Clothing. But the music and radio mainly resemble Top 40. Promoter Delia Lujan is trying to change that. She started a pioneering promotions company called Quasicool, and has begun to bring music and bands to Guam. Her first was Meiko, who collaborated with Crystal Method last year.

Head Like a Kite was Lujan’s second go-round. A lawyer by trade, she’s a promotions machine, treating us like kings, and doing everything rightly, garnering sponsors, news, radio, signage, and TV spots (CW4 and Guam News Watch). She also hosts a show called Folk Waves on KPRG Public Radio for Guam. She gave us a car, phones, and went way out of her way to make us feel welcome. To her and her friends I have endless gratitude and thanks. Because Guam is so far, it’s hard to get bands and indie type music there. But that’s exactly what Lujan’s plan is. The next act she’s prepping to bring Guam’s way is her biggest yet (announcement is pending). Manila, Philippines is an area close enough for bands to hit as well, so growth and the future of music expansion in Guam look promising. Our shows were good, there were two. One was all ages. People hesitant at first, were up close and jumping by the end.

(Pictures after Jump.)

The week there was a blur and I didn’t want to leave. People like J. McFerran – the Mayor of Mermaid Tavern, paddle-board guiding Chamorro Pedro talkers, Brogan.biz, Leslie and the Buffy watching party, Jackie the blackbelt, Jayton all ages man, Steve, Matt, Tish, and Tano, I had to force myself on the plane. The food, the drink, the beaches frikking everywhere, make you want to stay. Ribs galore and chicken with finadene, a soy, vinegar, lemon sauce, and Sweet Tuba, a drink made from the first sap of a young coconut tree. Tuba may be the liquid consumption experience of my life. Watch out for duendes, the mischievous goblin spirits, they’ll trip you up. And Betsy, the Carabao, ring through her nose, up for a pat.

Crossing the international dateline to get to Guam puts a twist in the jetlag. Our second night there, we were guests at a fundraiser for the Lt. Governor. He had mean, svelte Power Slide moves on the dance floor. The dude needs to be on Soul Train. I believe I met the Governor as well. I was full of Bud Light and accidentally coughed a fleck from a meat skewer on his lapel. He was forgiving. It was tiny and bulbous and wiped away instantly. Sorry Delia, it just flew right out.

Speaking of American moves, Guam is set to undergo a large US troop build up. Some 30,000 soldiers and family will be heading there. (Unrest in North Korea?) In classic American fashion, they’re trying to build a firing range on sacred Chamorro land. DEAR WHATEVER GENERAL OR OFFICIAL PUT THIS IN THE PLANNING, Not a good idea. Not such a great way to implement the build up. You think? Hello, it’s sacred land. Find another place for your target practice. You’ve already taken the nicest beaches in your third of the island, and all the barbed wire around the US compounds (to keep the locals out) isn’t the best look. Duendes will have a field day with your toiletries if this happens. As will the Taotaomona ghosts of the ancients. The troops might want to try the Chamorro saying Guella yan Guello, “Excuse us, elders. May we walk through and visit your land?” And while your at it, tell your boys to get out of the Inarajan pools, turn down their shitty music, and pick up their fucking beer cans. Tell them to ogle each other for a change.

Another Guam discovery was Japanese soldier, Yokoi. A hold out from the WWII hostilities in 1945. When American forces liberated the island in the 1944 Battle of Guam, Yokoi went into hiding. Due to shame for not killing himself because he was still alive, he stayed in hiding for twenty-eight years. I don’t know why his cave made such an impression. Twenty-eight years, in a cave. With an airshaft. Harnessing river food, making shoes, and a cooker. He was a full on Pre-Macgyver, coming out in 1972 to be hailed as a hero in Guam as well as Japan.

Another hero, Asya from Smoosh, was there to guest with us. Hearing her sing Tilson’s parts was a highlight. Asya’s got the mermaid thing going on as well. Duendes are definitely not messing with her.

In other Guam news, they do more than massage in massage parlors. And there’s a guy who murdered his wife who somehow has been doing work release outside prison after serving only three years of full incarceration. He continually fights for parole, and his daughter, who was five at the time of her mother’s murder, continually and traumatically has to go in front of the parole board and tell them to put her father back in prison. She says, “I’m serving a life sentence without my mother because of his selfishness. He should have to do the same.”

Back to the beauty, the last day there, I was graciously taken out on a boat to the South end of the island for snorkeling. Rain washed in then out. Looking at rain hit the surface of the ocean from underneath is a muted sound. Drops as little fingers push the boundary back from the edge of the world. Then it was undulated suspension in the swaying algae on the coral, and the clicking sound of Parrotfish chipping away at the coral. Next thing I knew, I was on a plane, then was sprinting through the airport in Honolulu to make the connection home. Duendes jacked my wallet at the metal detector and I had to run back for retrieval. I bet Asya didn’t have any duende wallet problems at the metal detector.

Goodbye for now, island in the Pacific. Flying fish and the fly Chamorros. I love you, Guam.