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Unlike Pohnpei, which is a round volcanic island somewhat like a small Hawai’i, Majuro is a thin atoll: that is, a land formed from coral reefs built around a submerged volcano. Imagine a strip of land bent into three quarters of a circle, at times as narrow as a one lane road with a single house on either side. That’s an atoll. The runway takes up the entire island where it welcomes its once or twice daily flight. On the “outer” edge of the atoll lies the sea. Inside, a lagoon sulks, insulted by the unnumbered abandoned ships left to rot inside.
I realized quickly that Majuro is the remotest place I’d ever felt I’d been. Technically, I suppose, that distinction belongs, honorably or not, to Easter Island. But physiologically, I’ve never felt so distant from life or established time as on Majuro.
There is but one road which traverses most of the atoll (some of which is separated from the “mainland” by tides which the road cannot cross.) One travels by hailing a shared taxi (shoe-less men driving old cars) which operate almost as busses along the road: you point yourself in the direction you wish not to travel, get in a cab going the opposite way, and alight where you wish. You pay in American cash, $1 or $2 or $5, and receive your change in battered bills that seem to have never left, and have never been withdrawn from, this island far far from the U.S. Treasury.
Dinner was more stir-fried instant ramen. We dreamt of lettuce.
Tired from flight that first night, we noticed, sitting, alone, two tables away, a blonde woman. She looked very familiar; the woman I thought I’d seen the day before, riding away from Nan Madol. Was it really her? She was real? I went up and asked if she’d come in today from Pohnpei, had she been at Nan Madol yesterday. “Yes!” She was traveling alone, a flight attendant from Norway, using her pass to see what of the world she would. (Were we not near where the Pequod sank?) Would she like to join us for dinner? Again: “yes.” We spoke with her (and a young man who we assumed was a guest but who turned out to be the hotel owners’ son, somewhat incognito, home from Boise to run the business) until we collapsed in our rooms where the power sizzled off every 20 minutes.
The following day we caught a boat across the lagoon to a beach which was supposed to be very beautiful and wasn’t. On our return we shared a boat with the United crew who, fate decreed, would be working our flight to Honolulu that evening. Flight attendants used to work the entire trip, from Guam to Honolulu, in one day. Now, Guam crews work the flight to Majuro where Honolulu crews take over and bring the plane to the Aloha State. They were friendly, had enjoyed a day of sunshine and beach and beer, and were ready to shower and nap the afternoon away before our flight.
We weren’t done.
To be continued…
More from this Series
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.
