What a difference a week makes

Saturday March 7, 2009

The Rusty Anchor (see 3/10 entry "In Search of Ex-Pats" for the signifance of the exterior of this bar)

As you may recall, last Saturday (my first on the island) I went to a bar known to be popular with ex-pats with the hopes of meeting a few. Less than 6 people populated the bar, only two of the Anglos and not very extroverted at that.

I heard that at 9PM this Saturday a band would be playing and all the ex-pats would show up. It was a good lead, from a young American medical student doing a 30-day rotation here, so back I went.

When I arrived at 8:45 the only people in the place were a small group of Anglo woman were shooting pool but band equipment was set up in the corner. Now, it has been a while since I approached strange women in a bar but some things in life are like riding a bike. I ordered a beer, and with intentions purely platonic, wandered over to introduce myself.

They were Aussie woman, I learned, whose husbands were here as naval advisors (FSM has a small fleet that patrols its waters for illegal fishing vessels). Fortunately for me, the pool table sat at the front of the bar so that the players congregated near the front corner, a convenient place for their drinks. If you ever find yourself in a bar, trying to meet the ex-pat community, station yourself at the corner of the bar nearest the entrance.

As we chatted, as on cue the place began to fill up as the 9:00 hour drew near. Mike, an Irishman on contract with the Dept. of Education who has only been here a month himself, and I was introduce to him. Mike, in turn, then introduced me to several others. I was encouraged by the number of people he already new in the short time he’d been here.

After Mike excused himself, Paul, the Aussie Naval Officer, came over and took me under his wing. He invited me out to Aussie compound and also introduced me to many others. Within an hour I’d met the guys who operate the local surf tour company, the man who published the island’s bimonthly newspaper, the guitar player in the band (a fellow Jersey native) and a few others.

Overloaded with new names and faces, I retreated to the corner to take in the scene. The band of ex-pats played classic cover tunes just perfect for a local bar. The crowd was a mixture of young college students taking a year off to volunteer at the Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) school; Peace Corps volunteers, just slightly older then the college students; folks like myself here on contract assignments, and old ex-pats who had made Pohnpei their home after perhaps a stint as SDA teachers, Peace Corp volunteers, or contract workers.

I went home relieved and encouraged. What a difference a week makes!