JMLS_Micronesia

Fourth of July in Yap: Having been in Yap for over a month now I can see how the local culture is both similar and very different than in the US. I have been in England during the 4th of July and it was odd being in the nation which participated in colonizing the United States. Strangely enough, the English still celebrated the day with parties and firework displays around London, and we openly celebrated as Americans there. Now, in Yap, I have had the complete opposite experience. Spending the 4th of July in Yap is quite different. The United States participated in colonizing Micronesia after WWII, and FSM has only had their independence from the US since 1986. Because the colonization was so recent, I don’t feel that there will be any celebrations among the locals. The expatriates are having a small private party as a local park with BBQ and music. There are no fireworks here, no parades, and no police roadblocks for DUI’s. I know that it is Independence Day at home, but even with their independence, the FSM is no more independent than one Siamese twin. The US granted the FSM its sovereignty, but controls their government through the Compact of Free Association (amended in 2003). Generally, the Compact grants funding in exchange for defense rights. After the Compact is extinguished, the citizens and the government of the Federated States of Micronesia may actually experience true independence.

This is where I got the reddish color that makes me glow. Bill, Taylor, and I took classes from Jan (Yon) to get certified for PADI Open Water. As our final dive to be certified, Jan took us out to Gufnu. This is where the giant mantas are. It was really cool seeing the 10-15 foot mantas come within just a few feet of us. While there I saw a ton of sharks and a plethora of colorful reef fish. From there we proceeded to Vertigo. This is where you jump in the water and immediately you are surrounded by 6-8 ft white and black-tip reef sharks. At this location it is shallow (30 ft) until you get to the wall. The wall goes very deep, but we only went about 80 feet at most. There was a giant grouper, a large stingray, and tons of other things that I had never seen before. It was overwhelming at times, but the views were beautiful. I had to remember to keep breathing. After our tanks were all empty, we decided to do a little fishing. Our captain, John, broke out his lures and a spool of 120 lb-test line. I didn’t know how this was going to work, but I soon found that this was not the easiest way to do things. When a bite would yank the line, one of us had to pull the line in by hand. During this time sharks were jumping up and ripping the fish on the line to shreds. We had to compete with them in their territory; they won. It was fun even losing a fish or two or three or … never mind. After getting at least nine fish on the hook, we only scored three Yellow-Fin tunas. When it was my turn, John decided to switch the lure to catch Wahoo. I didn’t know how big they were, but the lure was about as big as a football. When one got on my line, it was as big I am. I lost it when the line burned my hands. The trip took us on a complete lap of the island, or maybe Captain John went the long/wrong way back to the resort. After fishing, Deter, a local restaurant owner (ESA) who was on the boat with us, took the fish to his chef to prepare them for us to eat for dinner. We started out with a sashimi plate; we had blackened and plain. After that, we were brought tuna hand rolls that were delicious. As for the third course we had grilled tuna with yellow passion fruit sauce. We were all beat, and I really didn’t feel very well anymore. This was an experience that I don’t think Andrew Zimmern (Bizarre Foods) nor Anthony Bourdain (No Reservations) has had the pleasure of enjoying. I had to sleep on my side that night from the sunburn, but at least this was a great way to get rid of my Georgia farmer’s tan.

Thursday was a nice clear day, and I thought some outdoor adventure was in line. Upon reaching the 4:30 quitting time, I made plans with Bill to do a little hiking on the Tamilyog Trail. The hiking trail chosen is an ancient stone path that connects Colonia, Yap, in the south, to the north shore of the island. I had never been on this path before, and I was ignorant of the challenge that I had volunteered the afternoon for. I was thinking only of exercise (“sport time”).

Bill drove us to the trail about a mile or so from his house, and he parked the car at the side of the road. Taking on the adventure, we headed up the steps and into the jungle. The terrain was flat at first with a couple of elevated bends rising above the taro patches as the path wound around. A little later the path turned into a series of steep steps. The steps ranged from 50 – 100 feet up at each incline. Every time that I thought we had reached the top, we would turn a corner and find another hill to conquer.

After reaching what I believe now to be the summit, we stopped and looked around for a minute. I could see the Philippine Sea on the west side of the island and the Pacific Ocean on the south and east coasts. We could really see how small the island was from this perspective. The scenes were magnificent, and I felt that I had achieved something just from being there.

Continuing on, we traversed several hills and valleys until we reached a fork. One path went up a hill to the left while another went strait along the flat area to the right. Mistakenly we decided to take a right turn. This path became narrower and narrower until we reached an area where you could tell vehicles were driven. We popped out near an abandoned factory of some sort and walked along until we reached the road. Realizing that we had taken the wrong turn, we decide to walk on the road to the other end of the Tamilyog and start from that end to avoid further confusion. This amounted to another mile or two in the beating sun.

Once we reached Target, a little store that is located at the town end of the trail, we re-hydrated and headed to the trail once again. This part of the trail was more lush and green. It was wide, and it looked like the trail was cut out of the jungle like a tunnel. We were constantly looking for the location of our earlier wrong turn to get our bearings of where we were. It was getting near dusk, and I thought we had a little over an hour of sunlight to complete the hike. I was right that it was enough time, but wrong about almost everything thereafter.

Eureka, The fork where we went wrong! We had to be going in the right direction! I felt that we were on pace and then out of the side of the trail emerged one large dog barking at us defensively. As we walked closer to the dog, another dog jumped out and joined in the barking. Still edging further a third dog popped out and brought us to halt. Normally the dogs in Yap are what I consider “low-riders.” They are small like Terriers, with a Chihuahua temperament. These three dogs were different. In the open jungle, Bill and I found the only damn pit-bull on the whole island. The three dogs were the biggest I have seen here, but we both knew that we must precede strait past them.

Bill tried the nice approach to call the dog; kneeling down to pet them. That didn’t seem to appease them very much at all. Nervously I squeezed my water bottle and the dogs winced a bit. Bill’s pace quickened and I sped up to avoid placing a gap between us. We steadily walked by them, and Bill’s pace quicken once again. I guess he knew that he just had to outrun me if things got hairy. Getting just past the dogs, they were on my heels. Having dogs of my own, I knew that they bite at the ankles when you run away from them, so I just tried to keep walking slowly (not really that slow). When I thought I was about to be had, I grabbed my water bottle again to make that crinkle noise. The dogs ran away and back to where they had come from.

Relieved that we had just avoided getting mauled by strange dogs in the Yapese jungle, we had a laugh and joked about the “near death” situation. I guess the dogs’ impact lasted longer than their bark. We proceeded to take the path strait into the jungle and missed an important and admittedly obvious left turn. The path began to get narrower until we were walking in waist-high brush. We knew that this was not the path that we had been on earlier, because we didn’t need a machete last time. We were heading west, and that’s about all I knew.

After a while, it was darker and the path disappeared. We were not on any path at all. Just when we didn’t know what direction we had come from it started raining. At that moment we decided to try to go back the way we came. Bill told me, “O.K Eagle Scout, use your skills to get us out of here.” It was dark, and being from Georgia, I didn’t know if what I knew applied here. I saw some light green grass that formed a line in the jungle, so I rolled the dice. It was the trail that we had been looking for! It was only 20 yards from where we were standing. This detour was very misleading because every little while we would see parts of a stone path, and think that we were going the right direction. Apparently Bill and I found some part of a lost stone path that probably had not been used in many years. It was getting darker and now everything was getting wet. We decided to go back to the road (past the dogs again) to avoid being in the jungle and further. On our way back to the imminent encounter with the carnivorous canines, Bill sees the turn that we missed.

We were wet, tired, sweaty, but not lost any more and on the path back. We decided to avoid the dogs and travel, yes, once again into the jungle instead of taking the road. It was getting dark now and we knew that we had to hurry. The relief of being on the trail was quickly overcome by the trail ahead of us. This part of the trail is the most treacherous. The same huge hills that we struggled with before when it was light and dry were now wet and in the dark. The moon was at half of its brightness, and I knew that the jungle canopy would block most of that light. Bill and I took every step as if we were walking on broken glass. I took the lead and tried to tell Bill when there was a step up, a step down, a stone bridge, and avoided mentioning the steep drop offs on either side. I was talking to Bill, but I was really calming myself down. My eyes were getting adjusted to the dark, but any wrong turn could end up with an injury. Any injury that impeded our ability to walk could have been disastrous. “Baby steps” I said while remembering the Bill Murray movie, “What about Bob?”

We still had about two miles after discovering that we were really on the right trail again. The walk was slow, steady, and hell on my ankles and knees. I imagined that people hundreds of years ago traveled this path the very same way (without the detour of course). Adrenaline had kicked in and I felt like Survivor Man or Bear Grillis. The buzz from the adrenaline rush and the fear of imminent danger was quickly washed away when we heard voices through the trees from the house near the entrance of the trail where Bill’s car was. We made it! It was dark and we were wet. But we were out and on our way back to civilization.

After this incident, we have agreed to a rule about the Tamilyog: only go in the first part of the day, and don’t go if it looks like it is going to rain.

Do the names “Fat Man” and “Little Boy” ring a bell? They are the code names of the two atomic bombs that Harry Truman dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan to end WWII. They were loaded onto B-29’s on the small pacific island if Tinian, a few miles south of Saipan. My grandfather once told me that one of his most vivid memories from the war was sitting in the officer’s club on Kagman Point on the southeast corner of Saipan and watching the planes take off from Tinian. Occasionally, Granddaddy said, one of the planes wouldn’t build up enough speed on take-off and plummet into the water. Fortunately this never occurred to him - a B-29 navigator - or it’s highly likely that I wouldn’t be writing this right now. Tinian was actually the busiest airport in the world in the mid-1940’s. It has a large grid of runways on the north end, most of which were built by the US to allow the allied forces to stage aerial attacks on Japan. LeeAnn and I took an hour-long boat ride to the island last weekend to explore the sights and get a taste of modern history.

Tinian is a sleepy island. Only a couple thousand people live there. It’s mostly farmland, has two gas stations, a schoolhouse, and a gaudy hotel/casino called the Tinian Dynasty. Like almost every other resort in the Marianas, it caters to wealthy Asian tourists, and has more marbled floors and fake Greek statutes than should ever be allowed under one roof. After an overpriced meal of teriyaki steak and seaweed salad, we decided to hit the casino. LeeAnn got 20 bucks in coins and hit the slot machines, and I headed for the blackjack tables. I too only planned to play with $20, but decided to get much more than that in chips to make it appear as though I was a serious player. I hit the low-stakes tables, and was up $60 in the first five minutes. In all honesty, I don’t remember losing a hand. Due to a lack of funding, and a low blood-alcohol content, I wisely decided to walk away at this point. Our steak and seaweed dinner had paid for itself, so LeeAnn and I called it a night.

The next morning we rented a 125cc moped and went exploring. After a fifteen minute ride north on “Broadway,” the only road to speak of, I noticed a large spray to my right that resembled a geyser. There was no beach, only a 20-foot high limestone cliff that ran the full length of the eastern side of the island. We came upon a dirt path that led in the direction of the spray and took the scooter off-road. On the top of the cliff was a hole about the size of a basketball. At this particular spot the cliff had a slight overhang, probably due to waves eroding the bottom section of the cliff away. However, Mother Nature had, at some point, drilled a vertical hole in a particularly thick section of the overhang. When the waves would crash against the side of the cliff with enough force, a large amount of water would shoot up through the hole. I stood over it and got drenched within a few seconds as LeeAnn laughed and took pictures.

We drove a couple more minutes north and arrived at the old airfield. I can only describe it as one of the most eerie sights I have ever seen; there was a clash of images and emotions that hit hard. Here I was, in one of the most historic locations of the twentieth century, and there was nothing but concrete runways overgrown with weeds and wild brush, and dilapidated and hollowed communications buildings. Thousands of missions embarked from these airstrips, including the two most violent and deadly the world has ever seen, and there were no signposts guiding tourists, no landscaping or memorial plaques, no sign of life other than a gecko lizard scampering across the pavement and into the thick brush. It looked as if everyone packed up and left about 70 years ago without looking back. After a few moments’ reflection, I realized that this is exactly what happened.

We rode around on the scooter, purposely getting lost in the maze that was the staging ground for missions that brought WWII to a close. We would zip down runways at full throttle, then creep through the overgrown perpendicular paths that connected barracks and communications towers, all of which are now crumbling. As we passed one parking lot-sized area along the paths, LeeAnn caught glimpse of something off to one side and told me to turn around and check it out. In opposite corners of this space were the loading pits where “Little Boy” was loaded onto the Enola Gay at 2:45 am on August 6, 1945, and “Fat Man” was loaded onto Bockscar exactly 72 hours later.

Although I am surprised at the lack of funding and attention the government has bestowed upon these grounds, I’m glad I was able to see them in their current state. I can’t help but think that that a fancy museum would have cheapened the area and taken away from its dramatic, yet unintended effect. I know of nowhere else in the world where one can stand in the thick of such an important location, one that has been ignored to such a great extent, and simply wander unsupervised. I was able to imagine the rows of B-29’s neatly lined along the runway, and then open my eyes to the crumbled concrete and wild pacific brush. Indeed, this was a one-of-a-kind experience.

I like my job, so I'm very much enjoying what I'm doing and I've really liked getting to experience a different style of justice system. The system is of course American, and the "innocent until proven guilty" theory still operates, but little details are different, like how the court room is set up, and how juries are selected.

Today, I watched jury selection for the first time. 60 people were brought in and sat down throughout the Court room. The Judge, the both councils asked questions, and after a little over 2 hours 12 men and women (with an alternate) had been chosen to be the jury. As the jury was walking in, I found myself choosing my own jury, and what I would have chosen would have been very different than who was actually chosen, but since I'm only a clerk, what I think doesn't really matter. I'll be interested to see what the verdict ends up being, though based on the jury, I can make a prediction.

Jury selection was interesting to me, because after the challenges for cause the panel was selected via pulling names out of a contraption that looks like what you'd pull bingo balls out of, but solid wood. So the first 12 were seated, all looking rather disgruntled at being among the 12, and the two sides were able to dismiss the jurors they didn't want for whatever reason. After all was said and done the 13 rather disgruntled looking people were given initial instructions and sent home for the day. Trial will begin either tomorrow (Friday) or Monday.

I've never watched a trial from start to finish. I'm sure over the course of my career I will watch one or two start to finish, but I'm glad for my first I can just sit back and I'm not expected to do much. The timing of the trial is also very good for me. Yesterday I took my seventh D&O (Decision and Order) to the Judge. When I arrived he told me he expected 1 a week. I'm here for 7 weeks, so he wanted 7. When I told him I'd finished number 7. He then promptly handed me a file and said "you'll enjoy this" then dismissed me from his office so he could get ready for court.

The file he handed me is my first time dealing with a pro se party (a person representing themselves). I would like to tell everyone reading this who is not a lawyer to never, ever, represent yourself. Representing yourself is a bad idea. You may well be a very smart person, but there are trained professionals who know enough about what's going on so you don't waste the court's time by writing a 30 page answer that says absolutely nothing and uses archaic law that no one other than Professor Kent actually likes. [After the D&O is published I'll explain why Professor Kent was the proper person to reference there rather than someone who's class I've actually taken, but most people who've had, know of, or are Professor Kent, will probably be able to figure out the reference.]

Well, I think that's enough of the nerdy law student stuff.

Cara

cararockhill.blogspot.com

Guam, as it turns out, is beautiful. It takes a long time to get here, but once you get here, its worth it.

I spent my first couple of days venturing out in the morning to explore the island, then I would sleep for most of the rest of the day. I found some truly beautiful places though. At one point, while I was driving around I saw a truly gorgeous spot, so I pulled over and tried to find the best angle to take a picture. I ended up standing on a guard rail, looking straight down a cliff, with a menacing slight breeze. The picture turned out really well though, so I think it was worth it.

If you'd like to see pictures, or read more of my adventures, please visit: http://cararockhill.blogspot.com, otherwise, I'll be in touch soon.

Cara

All things on the island seem to have a polar opposite literally around the corner. Run down, crowded, and polluted city roads lead to isolated white sand beaches that one would expect to find on the front of a postcard. A radio station plays gangsta rap on Saturday night and quirky church music on Sunday morning. A herd of wild mountain goats crosses the street and blocks traffic in front of the Louis Vuttion and Prada stores. Elderly Chamorro women in tribal garb order grilled stuffed burrito supremes at taco bell. Everywhere I turn there is a clash of cultures and a conglomeration of images that leave my neck sore from endless double-takes.

Not only has the island varied from one extreme to the other, but my first few days have also been somewhat of an emotional roller-coaster. I arrived very early Thursday morning and Peter Yao, my supervising attorney, picked me up from the airport and took me to my condo. Overall the accommodations are pretty good. The interior of the building could use a facelift, but it’s right on the beach and very near the court and restaurants. My 10th floor balcony overlooks the Pacific Ocean, making it hard to justify any complaints. Thursday was basically a travel recovery day. I went for a swim and read on the beach for about an hour. The rest of the day consisted of Sopranos reruns and catnaps.

Friday was my orientation day at work, and by far the most fun to date. Peter picked me up around 9:00am and took me to me to get my car, a 1991 Haundi that has already died and been traded in for a sweet minivan (more on that later). He then introduced me to the Justices, clerks, and administrative staff. The camaraderie was immediately apparent and I felt very welcomed by all. After taking care of administrative duties such as a local drivers license, passcodes to the Justices’ chambers, computer accounts, etc… the guys took me out to lunch at a local resort.

There are 4 full-time clerks, all males between the ages of 26 and 32. I had the feeling that I was initially being sized up, as the guys were curious about the guy they would be spending countless hours with over then next six weeks. I’m the only non-ivy-leaguer, non-lawyer, and the youngest, so some slight intimidation would have been in order. However, just being myself has generally worked for me in the past and it didn’t fail this time either. At the end of lunch, Jon, from Connecticut, said, “one of our biggest fears is that the incoming intern is going to be uptight and negative and spoil our little family, but I think we all agree that you aren’t that guy.” It was a compliment that still makes me smile coming from such neat guys.

Following lunch my initiation into the “fraternity” began. I was served a bowl of ice cream and told it was a local delicacy. I immediately knew something was up when I was the only one given a bowl. The dessert smelled wretched. It was made from milk and durian, a fruit native to Singapore that tastes like a mixture between rotten oranges and dirty feet. I’ll try anything once, so I played along and sucked it up, not wanting to get the “wimp” label from the get-go. It was bad, very bad. The worst part is the aftertaste; it lingers no matter how much coffee you drink or gum you chew. Avoid it like the plague. The hazing got better after that though. After work we went for happy hour at a beachside café, then moved on to an expat bar called Godfather’s for a hamburger, and ended up at place called Flair which is famous for bartenders blowing fire and tossing bottles around like acrobats at a circus. The guys wanted to take me to a variety of locales to give me a taste of what Saipan has to offer. I was very impressed to say the least.

Saturday came and the rollercoaster started rolling downhill. I was very excited about seeing many of Saipan’s famous sights, but my little sedan wouldn’t start and I couldn’t go anywhere. I guess a red flag should have gone up the day before when I discovered that three of the four doors wouldn’t open and the glove box wouldn’t stay closed. I went back inside and turned the TV on. Even though I would’ve probably been doing the same thing at home, homesickness set in because I had no one (LeeAnn specifically) to share the time with. I spent the better part of the day wishing I was with her back on my own comfy couch in Atlanta. I felt somewhat silly moping, seeing as though I was in one of the prettiest places I have ever seen, but it’s not nearly as special when you don’t have your pretty girl by your side.

Thankfully the rollercoaster started going back uphill on Sunday. I got my first good night of sleep and was able to swap the Haundi for a ’94 Toyota minivan. All of the doors open, the glove box stays closed, and the air-conditioning is frigid! I ventured to the mountainous north end of the island to explore Suicide Cliff, Bonzai Cliff, the veteran cemetery, Bird Island, and the grotto. Most of these have some historical significance tied to WWII; the veterans cemetery is especially moving and beautiful (see photos). I would encourage you to do a Google search of each of the above-mentioned points of interest, as each has an intriguing story.

Later in the day the press secretary of the court invited me to watch a beach volleyball tournament at the Pacific Island Club, a resort about one mile south of my condo. I’ve never been much into volleyball, but watching good players is enjoyable (especially if you have a bucket of cold Carlsberg beer!). A funny thing happened though. About three beers into the bucket one of the contenders, a Koran named “Tiger” needed a new partner for reasons I was never able to discern due to the language barrier. Never being one to shy away from a challenge, I communicated to him that I could step in. I’m tall and relatively athletic looking, so he fell for it and let me play. Long story short: he had happened to draw a rather weak opponent for the round and we were able to squeak it out by a score of 15-12. Tiger and I then split the last two Carlsbergs and spent the next half hour trying to communicate using elevated voices and hand gestures. Overall it was a great day, and I realized that the dips on the rollercoaster made the peaks that much better.

6 DAYS UNTIL I DEPART

For the past six or seven summers, I have had opportunities to travel to various locations around the world for work and studies. Some of the areas include Barcelona, Costa Rica, Vienna, Prague, Guatemala City, and Norway. Why travel so much? Experience has taught me that out-of-the-classroom adventures are the lessons that resonate the most and many times provide the foundation for what we eventually commit ourselves to. Yes, that is an overly-existential and somewhat corny statement, but one I subscribe to without hesitation. At the end of each past trip, I invariably said to myself, “surely that’s the last fun summer abroad; next year I have to settle down.” However, I have yet to follow my own instructions.

This year it’s Saipan, capital of the Northern Mariana Islands. It is a commonwealth of the United States and was a strategic launching point for attacks against Japan during WWII. My grandfather actually spent two years on the island, which gives the trip extra significance in my mind. While I generally enjoy flying, because getting on a plane means that I am getting to travel, I have a feeling that this particular journey is going to be exasperating. I first go to Detroit, then Nagoya, Japan, and from there on to Saipan. I leave on the morning of May 27th and arrive the morning of May 29th. Although I cross the international date line, it’s still a 26 hour trip. This will make flying to Europe seem like a trip to the grocery store!

5 MORNINGS OF MICRONESIAN POLICY “TRAINING” WITH DEAN BURCH

Last week I had the chance to learn about the political and judicial systems of the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (CNMI) from Dean Burch, who used to be an assistant attorney general for the State of Yap in the Federated States of Micronesia. There were a couple of out-of-the-ordinary pieces of info I would like to share. First, the relationship between the CNMI and the US is an interesting one. CNMI is a commonwealth, which means that they have slightly more sovereignty than a territory (such as the Virgin Islands or Guam). For example, their head of state is George Bush, but they have a local governor who for all practical purposes acts as the chief executive. Federal law applies in general, but the islands have their own immigration, customs, and minimum wage regulations. Appeals from CNMI courts in the area of bankruptcy are taken to 9th circuit federal courts in California. And on a humorous note, local court rules on the island specifically state that the parties and their lawyers must wear shoes.

I also found it interesting that judges can incorporate local customs and traditions into their decisions, specifically in the area of sentencing. For example, if a local man is accused of molesting a woman, the elders of that woman’s clan may order a severe beating to set the man straight. If the man is later formally convicted of the crime in court, the judge is allowed by law to take the beating in to account as a mitigating factor and lower his sentence accordingly. It seems rather primitive, but I respect the fact that such traditions are still honored.

4 BOOKS TO READ FOR PLEASURE

Pleasure reading is a concept that has become foreign to me. As a student, there’s generally not time for it, and even if there is I feel guilty for having a book in my hand that I actually chose to read. I still even find it difficult to justify a Grisham book! This summer will be different though. I’ve stockpiled four books thus far that I’m excited about getting into. First, The World Is Flat by Thomas Friedman. It’s a book by a radiologist turned economist who has outlined the effect that globalization has had and will have on our lives as Americans. It’s a bit academic, but the reviews say it’s interesting and easy to read. It should provide a good transition from Casebooks to fun books. Next, I Am America (And So Can You!) by my hero, Stephen T. Colbert, The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama, and finally Playing for Pizza (I had to throw a Grisham book into the mix). If I come across any life-altering info I’ll be sure to note it on the blog.

3 PIECES OF LUGGAGE WAITING TO BE PACKED

It didn’t really sink in that I was about to leave until Dean Burch gave me a packing list that she had compiled. It included the usual items that one would expect, such as dress shoes, swimsuit, etc.., but also some rather interesting items that only a local would know about. For example, meat tenderizer. Why? Apparently it’s the best remedy for jellyfish stings. She also recommended that I bring vinegar. The beaches in Micronesia contain a good deal of coral. Coral is a living crustacean, and if you step on it and cut yourself it continues to live inside you even after the wound heals. It can spread and be lumpy and itchy. Vinegar is apparently coral’s kryptonite, and pouring it into the wound is the best way to kill it quickly and avoid the later irritating side effects. Who knew?

2 WORRIED PARENTS

My younger brother and I generally put my parents though hell when it comes to traveling. A few quick stories: my brother is living in Johannesburg, South Africa for the summer. He is a musician and is playing in a church band on a college campus and generally doing good deeds. Yesterday we read on CNN.com that there have been riots galore in the past 24 hours in Johannesburg. The violence was sparked by and aimed at foreigners living in the city (mainly Zimbabwean nationals). 22 people were killed, 200 arrested, and more than 13,000 displaced from their homes. Although Kirk is not Zimbabwean, one can’t help but worry.

A couple of random situations I’ve gotten myself into:

- Accidentally flying into Nicaragua on the day the Sandinistas were overthrown,

- Getting kidnapped in Istanbul,

- My rental car got broken into the week before my wedding while I was in Costa Rica, and everyone’s passport was stolen but mine (sorry to bring it up again Tark and Koon),

- I had 6 machine guns pointed at my head at point-blank range in the Bangkok airport as a three year-old, and

- A band of gipsy prostitutes lifted my keys, wallet, and cell phone one late night in Prague. I just figured they were feeling me up because they thought I was cute; I took it as a complement! Turns out I was wrong.

While I don’t expect the blunders of the past to resurface in new form, my folks still shutter every time I break the news to them that I’ll be spending any significant time overseas. I must say that I can’t blame them.

1 ANXIOUS LAW STUDENT

I’m anxious to see a new land, anxious to meet new colleagues and friends, to try new food, to experience a new culture, to clerk for the highest court in the Northern Marianas, to live on the beach, and most of all, anxious to learn. What will I gain from this adventure? What will I learn? I anticipate great things; whether I will be correct is anyone’s guess. Nevertheless, I plan to work hard, play hard, and roll with the punches that will inevitably be thrown.

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