We got anchored and were ready to finally get some rest, but then realized that we needed to contact Port Authority and let them know we were here. They told us we’d have to come on over to the dock to get cleared in. In most countries, we arrive, fly our yellow quarantine flag, and when I’m ready I head into town to see Customs and Immigration. It’s usually pretty laid back. Here, though, they wanted to see us, and the boat, and they had an entire team of bureaucrats ready with their paperwork. So, shortly after getting the anchor down we were bringing it back up again.

Another boat that had arrived the day before overheard our conversation with the Port Captain and quickly chimed in that they also needed to get cleared in. I think all of us Americans were expecting to slide in with an easy process here in American Samoa.

Not that it was difficult. Five different offices arrived in five different vehicles and handed over some papers for us to fill out (they weren’t coming aboard because the dock made that dangerous). One of them asked the very pointed question, “Do you have any pets onboard?” It was really tempting to reply no, and I did, initially. When I turned around Ali mumbled to me, “You said no?” knowing that if any of them came aboard they were going to immediately see Georgie the hamster.

So, I turned around and said, “Wait, did you say any cats onboard, or any pets onboard?” Because playing deaf and dumb is my specialty with officials.

“Pets. Pets.”

“Ohhhh, pets. In that case yes, we have a hamster.”

This, unsurprisingly, triggered a lot of handwringing. After a few minutes someone gave Georgie the okay. But apparently, they also summoned their boss.

Another truck pulled up a few minutes later and someone who clearly enjoyed his job marched up and asked, “Where are the hamster’s papers.”

“Um, we don’t have any.” We immediately wrote a post-it note in our heads—Create Documents for Georgie.

“Why not?” He was already in flex mode and everyone else was taking a step backwards.

“I don’t know. I guess because he cost three dollars at the pet store.”

“Well, I’m going to have to call the veterinarian and he’s going to have to come down here and give it a shot and kill it.” It was painfully obvious he was just itching to deliver this line.

Ali and I stood there quietly for a minute, then said, “We understand. You have a job to do.”

He blustered for a couple of minutes longer about how he had no choice. Why would we not have papers and vaccinations and proof that the hamster was ours?

“How am I to know the hamster isn’t stolen?” He seriously said that. Oh my god. I honestly don’t know how we kept from laughing. A stolen hamster! Hamster smugglers. The dark underbelly of society.

This conversation was all taking place with him up on the dock and us on the boat. He kept looking at paperwork and said, “It says there are four people onboard, where are the others?”

We turned and called the kids out.

“Oh, they are kids? [smiles kindly and gives them a little wave] Oh. Oh. Well, um, I’m not going to call the veterinarian. Consider this a strong lesson. You need to have papers. A very strong lesson.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. We’ve learned a valuable lesson indeed.”

They then asked to see Georgie and had me hold his cage up in the air as close to them as I could so they could take photos of him. The whole scene was utterly ridiculous.

Eventually, a customs officer did brave the climb across the fenders to the boat. He poked around the way customs officers the world over do. Open a cupboard and peek in. Open a fridge and peek in. Lift up a pillow and peek underneath. All clear.

The only room that tripped him up for a minute was Lowe’s. Everywhere you look in Lowe’s room is a weapon of some sort. Wooden daggers, machetes, hatchets, metal cap guns, nerf guns, and a wooden rubber band rifle. That last one he actually took off of the hook on the wall and inspected before setting it back down on the bed, confident that it wasn’t real.

All clear. We headed back out to anchor again, washed the boat, and then headed into town to find some lunner.

We also had to go pick up our passports from the immigration office. We got there and the officer happily handed them over to us saying, “You’re all stamped in. Enjoy your stay.”

We walked outside as Ali was flipping through looking for the stamp. There was nothing there in any of them.

We turned around and went back in. “Umm, you said we should have a stamp, right?”

“Oh my goodness, I thought I did. I’m so sorry.” stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp

Pago Pago harbor. Beautiful, derelict, and dirty all at the same time.

US Postal Service means, just like in the States I imagine, that postal employees are de facto Amazon employees now. We received a couple of packages, then carried them outside where a customs official opened up the box, peeked inside looking for who knows what, then taped it back up and handed it over. With a little luck Lowe might get his birthday present and I may get a new drone while we’re here.

Someone is living on there. Two decrepit tuna trawlers, some sort of empty ship’s hull, and a small broken-down sailboat are all tied together on one mooring. Fortunately, it’s all downwind from us.

When you walk around town here you notice that nearly every building and office is some sort of government agency. Government bureaucracy accounts for a lot of jobs. But if you don’t have one of those, you almost certainly work in the tuna industry. 84% of private employment is in tuna. Tuna exports are 99.5% of the total. Basically, tuna means everything to American Samoa. When you think about the state of the oceans, it’s hard to fathom how their economy can possibly survive long-term.

We drove around the island a bit and visited this little used road that disappeared into the woods and ended at a beautiful rocky beach.

Nice views are all over the place.

Found this attractive tree fort type restaurant along the road and were happy to have some drinks and walk the beach.

These old gas cans are hanging all over the island, placed so locals can bang on them and sound the alarm if they see trouble approaching. The island was hit hard by a tsunami in 2009. Evacuation route signs are all over the place now, but I don’t know if there is a system of sirens or not (I’d certainly assume there is). Hoping that we don’t have to find out while we are here.

Looking out at the entrance to Pago Pago harbor.

And around the corner into the deeper recesses of the harbor. Bumfuzzle is anchored up there at the end. Once upon a time there was a tram that ran over the harbor from this spot on up to the top of the mountain on the other side. During Pago Pago’s hay days, they would rain down flowers on cruise ships as they entered the harbor. The tram no longer exists. Economics. It also didn’t help that a plane hit it and crashed during a Flag Day celebration in 1980, killing everyone onboard and a couple more on shore. It’s a bit of a crazy story. The pilot was supposed to be finished but he spun around for one more pass and I think it’s pretty clear that his last words were, “Hold my beer.” He had actually told people the night before, at a dinner at the governor’s mansion, that he was going to fly underneath the tram wire.