Formalities in Pago Pago

The first step to clear into American Samoa was to radio Pago Pago harbor control for permission to enter the harbor and to ask for instructions.  We arrived after business hours (after 4pm) so we were advised to go ahead and anchor and then tomorrow come to shore to complete the clearing in process.  Apparently, if you arrive during business hours you have to tie your boat up to the wharf and it can be a precarious situation, so we were more than happy to arrive after hours.

On Exodus, the handling of all the administration of foreign formalities is a “pink job.”  In fact, we list me as co-captain on all of our paperwork so that I can have the authority to be the official signature when clearing in or out of a country.  These formalities can sometimes be a frustrating and inefficient process (understatement), so my patience level tends to match this task better than Tim’s.

Anyway, the next morning I went to shore alone and started at the harbormaster’s office, where I filled out a form, and then the clerk escorted me to the other side of the building to visit a few more offices, of which I wasn’t certain what each one was.  Customs was definitely there, and I think quaratine/health, and the port authority (where you eventually have to pay your port fees when you leave).   Then I had to walk about a mile to immigration to have our passports stamped.  It wasn’t an unpleasant walk, except for the light rain that kept starting and stopping.  I had trouble finding the immigration office, but I just asked someone, and enjoyed being in a country where English is prevelant for the first time in over a year.  At immigration, the man who filled out our paperwork and stamped and photocopied our passports seemed to be moving in slow motion.  I wanted to offer to do it for him, but I resisted.  Eventually, I made it out of there, and we were all nice and legally cleared into the country.

When I got back to Exodus and was putting away all of our paperwork, including our passports, I had a complete and utter panic attack.  I only had three passports!  Luckily, immigration had been the last place I had been to, and since I knew I had all four passports there, I knew where the missing passport, Brenden’s passport, must be.  Instead of walking all the way back there, Tim drove me around the point in the dinghy.  It was a wet, beach drop-off, but I wanted to get back to the immigration office as quickly as possible, so I didn’t want to take time finding “the best” place to park the dinghy.  When I got back to the office, of course, it was a different guy there, and when I told him I must have left a passport there, he was flustered and didn’t really know what to do.  He couldn’t even find our paperwork.  While sitting there a little discouraged, my eyes fell on the photocopy machine.  Of course!  I suggested to the guy that he check there, and he was relieved to have some direction, and even more relieved that the passport was actually there.  He, and the other guy who had joined him in the search by then, reacted as if I was some sort of mystic.