Today turned out to be the veritable high point of the cruise so far: we visited Pago Pago, American Samoa. Gazing upon the cruise brochures months ago, the prospect of visiting this speck of land in the middle of the Pacific Ocean tantalized with images of pure Polynesian splendor. The imagination ran wild pondering what wondrous sights lay in wait for Western visitors to this other worldly clime.

Believe me when I say the reality of American Samoa was even more exotic and beautiful than the romance-infused postulations beforehand. We entered Pago Pago harbor slowly, very slowly, as only the middle of the channel has been dredged deep enough for ocean-going vessels. Within easy sight of the massive QM2 navigating the main channel were sandbars, jutting reefs, shallow water, and other hazards.

More striking, however, were the massive cliffs framing us on either side. This was a true Polynesian fjord, as odd as the pairing of those two words might sound. The scene also provided a penultimate definition of the word 'verdant' for I had never seen such an explosion of pastoral greens in my life. Vegetation of every sort greeted the eye: hardwoods, palm trees, coconut palms, lush, effusive, proud undergrowth, and flowers. Oh my, the flowers! For the cinematically-astute, this could easily have been Skull Island of King Kong legend.

The romance of the preceding paragraph was, sadly, tempered all too quickly by the realization the Queen Mary 2 was tying up at a container dock. One would be hard pressed to find a place more dull, drab, and industrial than a container dock, unless you are Samoan. What the Samoan agents did was astutely place the containers in such a way as to create natural paths for cruise guests. They had literally used the containers as giant building blocks, establishing passageways and barriers that made getting off and on the ship both efficient and secure.

One thing I discovered on deck before disembarking the ship that absolutely amazed me was a security device called LRAD. This 'thing' looked like the housing for the Roto-Rooter man's metal snake. It was lashed to the deck and guarded (albeit unarmed) by one of the ship's officers. At first I thought it was some kind of laser range finder since the harbor looked menacingly shallow, but upon inquiring of the officer I was told it was a security device the ship institutes when in small harbors. The mechanism apparently contains a radar scanner that is used solely for near-ship operations. If a wayward boat enters the security zone around the QM2 the LRAD device alerts it to turn back by sending forth an annoying blast of sound as warning. If the vessel still fails to turn back then the device will shoot out an intense, uni-directional sound beam with the sole intention of deafening the boat's crew members. [I think I saw something like that on a Star Trek episode years ago; I still remember Spock and Kirk falling to the ground holding their ears; it was very effective.] The officer assured me it works. As a long-time rock 'n roller, however, I have my doubts. Plus, suppose the nefarious crew members of the terrorist speedboat happen to be wearing those fabulous new noise-deafening headsets by Bose? Does that render the audio ray gun useless? I lamented not finding out.

These burning questions, however, in no way mitigated my desire to put one of these LRAD devices into the hands of our ETC students and then let their imaginations run wild. Imagine what 'entertainment' they might concoct with this technology. Just think how this could give us the power to rule over the Monongahela River like celebrated pirates of long ago. "Halt, who goes there? Heave too or we'll shower you with decibels!"

Unlike Honolulu, where there wasn't a Hawaiian lei to be found anywhere near the vivacity of our gangway upon exiting the ship and no hula dancers whatsoever, here in Pago Pago we were greeted by scores of Samoans baring gifts: island maps, flowers, information booklets, and, best of all, welcoming smiles, warm greetings, and Samoan music. We were even welcomed by royalty (of sorts) as Miss American Samoa was not only among the dignitaries in the receiving line, but she even performed for us a native Samoan dance.

American Samoa is, duh, an American possession. It became one late in the 19th century when empire building was a hobby for bored European powers. The Samoan Island group had in fact been divided (peacefully) between Germany and the USA by mutual agreement. Germany lost its half (now called Western Samoa) after irritating the world with two world wars, but the U.S. has held on to the island of Tutuila and its subgroup of smaller islands ever since. During the days of coal-fired warships, the island of Tutuila proved to be an ideal place to stop midway during trans-Pacific crossings to refuel vessels with coal while giving sailors a little respite on terra firma.

According to the daily 'programme' of the Queen Mary 2, Samoa is an ancient Polynesian phrase meaning "sacred chickens." That etymology might explain the many roosters and chickens strutting about the island with seeming impunity, and why there is only one Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet, nestled between a Pizza Hut and Checkers, as if for protection. We discovered that Samoans referred to Westerners originally as papalagi, meaning "people who explode things in the air," so with the black mark already consigned to our race we made sure we were on our best behavior as we toured the island.

American Samoa is also where most of our tuna fish originates. As we pulled into harbor we passed by a very large cannery operation. This ramshackle collection of tin-roofed buildings sprouted floating appendages of three or four fishing boats tied together. There were some larger ships, but none of the massive floating canneries that truly irk Greenpeace. Frankly, this place could serve as a Greenpeace Pearl Harbor. All the fishing vessels flew foreign flags, though most of the boats were Chinese, some sporting questionable names such as "Lucky Boat No. 6" (which made one wonder about "Lucky Boat's" numbers 1-5). Happily, cannery workers were allowed a brief respite from their oceanic labors to come out and view the largest vessel ever to enter Pago Pago harbor. They waved at us and we waved back.

That morning, Jan and I disembarked and decided to stroll about the small village surrounding the port. Despite its petite size, the one main road suffered gridlock as natives arrived to view the Queen Mary 2, and to offer handmade artifacts as ideal presents for friends and family. The primary mode of transportation happens to be custom-made mini-buses.

Now, by that term I do *not* mean minivans or SUVs. Rather, I refer to good, old-fashioned, full-sized American automobiles that have been cut down to their chassis and then rebuilt with elaborately designed wooden carriages. Some of these carriages looked a whole lot sturdier than others, but each was a source of owner pride and identity. They sported elaborate names, logos, and designs, and flashed by with amazing color schemes. I was reminded of similar vehicles in Mexico and the Philippines, and even of Sicilian donkey carts, without the donkeys.

These were Spartan vehicles holding, perhaps, fifteen or so passengers on wooden seats, but each had a most impressive sound system. Suffice to say, rap music is very popular in American Samoa. There might be no room for cushions on the seats of these busses, but there sure enough was room for the largest bass woofer one could possibly import from the states.

We found a general store and went in to see what shopping was like in this American possession. The first thing we noticed was that prices were downright cheap. I bought a pair of very fine sunglasses for $2.50! We also noticed a tremendous variety of canned fish products. I'm not talking your average tin of sardines and anchovies here, but a tremendous variety of frutta di mare. More impressive than the inventory, however, was the tremendously polite staff. This was definitely not the Dollar Store in Edgewood Town Center, but instead offered a level of care, consideration, and service more akin to Saks Fifth Avenue (of course, I don't shop at Saks Fifth Avenue so I am positing pure presumption here).

This joie du vivre, yet sense of social decorum, was ubiquitous on American Samoa. We did not encounter a surly soul the entire day, no matter where we traveled. And, the Samoans seemed absolutely ecstatic and honored that we were visiting their island.

One thing that struck us about this island paradise was the hellish humidity that sapped the strength right out of one's body, especially corpulent bodies like mine. Amazingly, there seemed to be very little air-conditioning, especially when compared to similarly humid climates like Florida and Singapore. Let's face it, without air-conditioning no one lives in Florida. People might 'move there for the weather,' but they sure as hell spend most of their time avoiding that weather like the plague. I tease my sister that she is the 'bubble lady' of Kendall since she literally hates the weather in Miami despite living there for over thirty years. But when you think about it, she goes from an air-conditioned house to an air-conditioned car to an air-conditioned office to an air-conditioned mall. For goodness sake, she might as well be an astronaut residing in the International Space Station (at least there you get the added benefit of weightlessness, too!).

By the way, Pittsburgh Steelers fans will revel in the glory that is Troy Palomalu's heroic stature in American Samoa. I offered up his name a few times when people asked me where I resided, just to see the response, and each time it was met by a suddenly reverent gaze coupled to a hallowed quietude. On one occasion, a delightful Samoan lady told me her friend works for Del Monte and had traveled recently to Pittsburgh to view the Del Monte plant in the 'Burgh. At dinner that evening, Mr. and Mrs. Palomalu appeared suddenly in the very same restaurant in which this lady was dining, and in typical Samoan expressions of friendship they exchanged excited and heartfelt greetings, hugging, picture-taking, and general revelry. There is little doubt in my mind that Troy Palomalu could easily be elected Governor of American Samoa once his playing days are over.

That afternoon we took a tour on one of those multi-colored buses to see various sites around Tutuila. Our tour guide was a spunky, attractive high school student named Teba who was making her very first foray into being a tour guide. She was stricken with stage fright and kept asking us if we were bored with her delivery. When fun facts escaped her she opted to serenade us with native Samoan songs. Her voice was angelic and that same spirit shined through in her musical renditions. She sang us the Samoan national anthem (their version of a 'state song'), her high school's official song, songs from her church choir, Samoan versions of some American tunes, and, finally, a traditional Samoan farewell tune. She concluded the song through sniffles and tears until the crying became most obvious. She thanked us profusely for being her friends for the day, for visiting her island, for allowing her to serve as our tour guide, for allowing her to sing to us, for responding admirably when she shouted for us to get back on the bus immediately after touristy stops that averaged 4.25 minutes, give or take a second, and, basically, thanked us for just being alive. This was completely unrehearsed, and was by no means a plea for generous gratuities, though it ultimately served that purpose. We took ample photographs of this delightful young lady as she will reside warmly in our memory for years to come.

This love for family and friends has resulted in a Samoan family tradition that I believe to be unique among cultures: namely, burying your loved ones in the front yard of your house. Now, I am not talking about anything remotely akin to, say, burying your pet in the front yard, marking the spot with a flower or bone, and then going on with life content in the knowledge that Fido has gone to that great big kennel in the sky. No way! What I am talking about here is akin to erecting ancient Mayan pyramids on your front lawn.

At first this thought doesn't even register as a reasonable explanation for what appears to be the many tiny houses lining the road. The western mind struggles to make sense of these concrete and marble structures sprouting up between the rose bushes, vegetable gardens, bird house, and driveway. It becomes a kind of highway bingo: hmm, let's see, I spy a fountain! No, perhaps a very large mailbox! Not quite, oh, I know, it's a garage for the kid's red wagon! Okay, this is it: an ornate covering for the propane tank! Oh, now I get it, it's Grandfather!

This all takes awhile to register, but the logic holds up. These loved ones are in fact the family's most prized possessions. Why should one deposit the remains of a loved one in an off-site cemetery only to feel guilt about never visiting? This way it is easy to drop by and chat with one's beloved. Granted, it makes moving out of the house a little awkward. I'd love to see real estate listings on Tutuila: six rooms, ocean view, indoor plumbing, carport, comes with interred family.

For all of this social magnanimity though the Samoans also have a knack for tremendous humor. As the Queen Mary 2 pulled away from Pago Pago harbor and headed out to sea, the ship's intercom announced that an old but important Samoan custom would occur on the aft portion of the ship: specifically, a helicopter was going to fly over the QM2 and drop flower petals on the ship as a token of Samoan gratitude for having visited. The announcement urged us to gather on deck with cameras at the ready.

The timing of this heralded floral display conflicted with dinner, and few things make one as hungry as sweating off ten pounds in the tropical humidity. Despite being torn between food (especially since there is so little of it onboard ship – Ha!) and seeing this once in a lifetime event, we opted for the latter.

I admit to being slightly puzzled at any ancient Samoan tradition involving helicopters, but hey, maybe this was done with some primitive form of hang-glider in ages past prior to the advent of mechanized flight. Anyway, the deck was filled with eager passengers awaiting this heavenly deluge of flower petals. We scanned the skies like look-outs on a Liberty ship searching for bogies at twelve o'clock. Suddenly, we heard the drone of an engine. Casting eyes to the east we spotted a helicopter coming our way. Myriad cameras went to the ready position like anti-aircraft guns trained on the intruder.

The helicopter flew over the Queen Mary 2 at fairly high altitude without hovering. We squinted into the fading sunlight and observed – at least we think we observed – a single flower being jettisoned from the speeding craft. You heard that right: a single flower. Okay, maybe a single bouquet of flowers, but folks we are talking nada, niente, I mean nothing even remotely warranting celebration. The helicopter sped off into the distance, safe in the knowledge we couldn't catch up with it. Where the flower landed no one knows, or cared.

Everyone on deck cast a glance at each other, dumfounded, amazed, perplexed, wondering if we had all somehow misheard the onboard announcement, the cruise director's hearty encouragement to witness this majestic site.

What followed was a veritable stampede towards the dining room. We had just been fooled into wasting at least ten precious minutes of the time reserved for first-seating dinner guests; we were about to make sure we weren't going to be fooled again.