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My friend was correctly shod: I, in socks and Doc Martens, needed to a moment to bare my feet before wading into the ocean and crossing to the ancient isle.
Once across, we stumbled up the small ruined steps and I put back on my shoes, socks wettened by the Pacific. Before us, we found what seemed to be a large structure or perhaps a collection of structures, with what appeared once to be alleys or canals between them. The stone was dark, almost black. Volcanic, I wondered. Trees grew everywhere, out of everything. Even here, birds sang, as if the ruins might once again reply with human voices. The wind blew away the heat’s sear.
Until it collapsed in the mid-17th Century, Nan Madol was the capital of the Saudeleur Dynasty. Much else about the historical nature of the site is debated by the teams of archeologists who, from time to time, study it.
Almost alone amongst ruins, I felt intrepid, at the edge of something, some discovery, some mystery for someone yet to unlock. I’d felt this way before: climbing temples in the midst of the Belizean jungle or clearing decades-old vegetation from Hebrew-inscribed, forgotten gravestones in Moldovan fields. But here, in the Pacific, the ocean laughing all around, this sense of ignorant adventure was most palpable within me. Much of my travel takes me to Vienna and London and Tokyo. But this sort of travel, this less convenient excursion, inspired a rush of blood, an invitation towards changes in personal direction as strong and unpredictable as the breeze in the palm fronds: stirring but not unrooting, unmooring.
We returned the way we came; my friend slept in the car and I, too, soon fell asleep. Pohnpei awaited once again with air conditioning and stir-friend instant noodles and lots of water and temperamental showers.
The following day we departed, again on United Airlines, this time stopping at Kosrae before landing at Kwajalein, an American military base and our first stop in the Republic of the Marshall Islands. From out the window (we were not allowed to disembark on Kwajalein), the base seemed dusty, almost as if its walls and Humvees, too, had served in Iraq or Afghanistan before a gentle, sunbaked semi-retirement in the Pacific. Finally, we took off into the sunset and headed East once again, this time bound for Majuro, the capital of the Marshall Islands.
We landed in darkness and awaited our fate.
To be continued…
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About Travels with Charlie
Name a country, city, island, restaurant or ballet performance and you can bet Charles Rudish has been there. Follow along as he documents his adventures around the world with this ongoing series. Charles offers a humorous and insightful perspective on travel, culture and exploring the world around you.
