rugby and scaley fish, Tonga

By my second week in Tonga, I've made friends with some of the boys and girls in our village, who we've met at church there.

One afternoon, the entire village shut down and we travel to the next village over to watch a rugby tournament. It was the first time I had watched rugby. Don't get me wrong here - there is no stadium or bleachers. It's a large grass field, lined deep with villagers on the sidelines hootin' and hollering with words I do not understand ... and kids hanging from the trees around the field, trying to get a better view. It was rough, brutal, glorious!! I have been fascinated by Rugby ever since.

But afterwards, we walked along the town and my Tongan friends ran down a pier and jumped into the water for a swim, with all their clothes on. Sure, why not? So myself and two other students jumped in too, and we swam to cool off for a bit, treading water. Within a couple minutes, one of the Tongan boys (pictured above in the sunglasses) had caught a fish in his hands. It was about ten inches long is all, small and silver, wriggling in his hands. I smiled. How cute! He caught a fish! And then I stared in horror as I watched him tear the fish in half with his hands, toss one of the halves to his Tongan buddy, and they both start eating it, scales, guts, head, tail and all.

He thought I was interested. Probably because I was staring. So he held it out to me, offering me a bite. Now, I know my manners, and I also don't know much Tongan language. So I took the bloody, scaley fish half, and took one large fleshy bite. I swallowed it, and it stayed down.

My first (and only) authentic Tongan Sushi.

why I don't need to white water raft ... ever. again.

Usually if there is something that intimidates me - or makes my heart race while contemplating - I am drawn to that thing. The second the thought passes through my mind, "No, I can't do that" or "No, that sounds scary or dangerous" ... instantly I want to do it. It's a game I play with my mind, trying to overcome my fears and always try new things.

Such has always been the case with White Water Rafting. Something about bouncing around and through frothy, angry water, doesn't exactly appeal to me. In the slightest. But that is exactly the reason I went the first time... the second and third time ... and the fourth time.

The first time was in High School, maybe 1998, while still in Ohio. A large group of boys were traveling out East to Virginia for a two-day white water rafting camping adventure. My sister and I were invited, and I think we were the only girls. (Sign me up!) (That, and my High School boyfriend was going to be there) I think I've heard too many stories of people falling out of the raft, going over the falls, and getting stuck underwater despite the life jacket. So ... all I need to do is stay in the raft.

But apparently that's beyond me. I even happen to be the only person between our two rafts that falls out of the boat. But it wasn't really my fault, see, because one of the big waves we came down on made my boyfriend stick both of his arms out quickly to balance himself, and he knocked me backwards in to the water. I went over the falls, I think it was a grade 3 or 4, and was able to climb in right afterwards. Not TOO bad not to go again, right?

The second and third time came a couple years later in 2000, during our college years. My sister Nicki and I were again camping with a youth group, this time in Eastern Oregon at the Deschutes. Nicki and I were newer to Oregon, and still getting to know several people. A cute boy I crushed on was going, so we tagged along, despite my fearful butterflies. (Yes, there is a theme here)


My sister Nicki and I, during college

This time we went in kayaks. My sister and I were in the same one. And again, we were the only kayak to flip. Remembering this time still gets my heart racing though. It was a grade 4 drop, with large rocks and a lot of underpull. Our kayak got sideways a little, and then plummeted and rolled, right at the base of the falls. We were literally stuck upside down in the kayak, one of my worst nightmares. I held my breath and kicked and fought myself free, finally coming loose and getting swept quickly downstream, bumping into rocks. That wasn't the worst part though - the worst part was knowing that I had been the first one out of the kayak, and was now swept away, not able to help my sister or tell if she was going to make it. Instead of facing forward and putting my feet ahead of me like you should when going down rushing water, I stayed backwards, watching my kayak get smaller, hitting more rocks until I finally saw my sister free herself as well. After calming down on the side of the river bank, we hesitantly made it down the rest of the river ok.
Now here's the part that boggles me though. The group was headed back to the top of the river to go a second time, and they were able to somehow convince me that I cannot end on a scary experience like that. I needed to end my water rafting day with a positive run. The boy I crushed on --- who had never before flipped a kayak --- offered to take me and my sister with him. It was supposed to be a nice easy ride down the river. (A, their reasoning kind of made sense. When you fall off the horse, you get back on. and B, we are talking about the guy I crushed on - the reason I was even there in the first place!)

But such was not the case. Somehow we tipped again, on the second worst falls in the Deschutes River.

I'm beginning to see that the theme here is me.

There were another three years before my fourth white water rafting trip - also down the Deschutes in Oregon - this time with my husband, and a large adult group taking up three or four rafts.

My hottie husband, Ben, white water rafting trip, Deschutes

I can't say exactly what got me there again, other than the fact that my husband and I were just making new friends ... and there were a lot of women going who I didn't consider exactly tough, and the thought of saying "no" made me ashamed of myself. Only this time, I didn't fall out, and I am going to leave it at that. Been there, done that, finished on a positive note, don't need to do it ever again. :)

octopus lady, Tonga

I'm a couple weeks into Tonga at this point, sleeping in a large grass hut that was built specifically for our small group of students. We slept in mosquito netting like a cocoon to keep the bugs off. (It didn't always work. One night I woke up to something crawling on my neck and hurled a 5 inch long - 1 inch thick - centipede off my neck. Yes, they are poisonous. *shudder*) 

Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of munch ... munch ... munch ... something seemingly on top of us, loudly chomping, snorting, chewing. Frozen in fear, I eventually discovered that it was the wild Tongan pigs! They were eating our hut.

But one of my most favorite days, I had been sitting at the end of an old worn wooden dock, painting the landscape and palm trees around me. That's really most of what we did on this study abroad ... a few instructional classes, and then tons and tons of personal time to wander where we wanted to go, draw, paint, and immerse in the culture. So I'm all alone in the warm sun, looking out into shallow salt flats that give way into the ocean, when I start to watch a large Tongan woman walking out of the surf. She seems to be heaving something? I watch her curiously, and as she gets closer, I hear a weird, high pitched, quiet, squealing sound. I don't know how else to describe it. Was this woman squealing? What was that sound coming from? And then I see it. She has an octopus  wrapped around her - suctioned to her arms and back - still alive and wriggling. She's smiling. She CAUGHT it. As she slowly walked by me, out of the water, towards the village, she grinned and said the Tongan word for dinner.

enter, Tonga

One of my first adventures on my own: an Art Study Abroad in Tonga and New Zealand, second year of college, 2001. I didn't know anyone going. It was a little intimidating because I wasn't even in the art program. Sure I dabbled in drawing and painting ... but I think I was the only student going that wasn't knee deep taking art classes already. So a lot of the other kids knew eachother already.

Not like that would stop me. It's just makes it more of an adventure. Since this was my first time really leaving the country ... (Niagra Falls doesn't count) ... I even added extra travel time at the beginning and end of the trip. A week in Hawaii, and a week in Australia at the end-- both solo.

Hawaii, I will save for another day. It was scary, it was lonely, and then after a small miracle, it was inspiring.

But Tonga ... Tonga opened my eyes. Tonga taught me, shaped me.

Day one: "Small, poor, humble, loving, laid back, smiling, shabby yet beautiful. Tonight I ate octupus, raw pish, pig, veal sausages, and several more Tongan specialties. Greased-down Tongans then danced for us as I watched in amazement. The smiles! Earlier I chatted with two ladies in the ocean who were stripping wood for Tapa cloth. Sea slugs and starfish dotted the shallow water."

What surprised me the most, immediately, was how happy the families and children were. Especially for their means. They lived in mere shacks ... dirt floors ... the children had barely any clothes on, barefoot ... wild pigs running everywhere. But they ran. They laughed. They beamed. They loved. They didn't know any better. And I found myself relaxing, enjoying the simpler things too. Embarrassed about my nice Nissan Pathfinder I had just bought before college, the reason why I was working two jobs in addition to my classes. Finding myself not worried about makeup, about how I look.


Smiling Tongan boys in front of their house



My favorite little Tongan girl - Elisi. This girl could dance! She drew me pictures all the time too. I cried when I left her.

To be continued, my Tonga :)

intro to adventure blog

I won't put this off any more.

I have had an intimidating list of adventures to blog about running around my brain for too long, it is time to write. I've started too many incomplete journals, too many good intentions, too many scrapbook half-starts. No more! I live life to the fullest, and savor in adventures, every minute, every day, every year. This blog is dedicating to capturing those moments. In no way will I do this in chronological order... it will be a mixture of been there, done that ... present day ... and future plans. That way I can keep better track of my future plans and adventure dreams, and check them off as I do them.

And the journey begins!