Surviving Palau… and a Homeland Security Interrogation

“Welcome to the United States!” I was home. Well, almost. The friendly Customs agent sat in his booth in the muggy Oahu airport. “Hello Ms. House,” he said with a warm smile, “where are you traveling from today?” “Palau,” I replied, via “Guam.” He asked me a series of routine questions then scrunched his nose as his smile twisted to a frown. “Is there a problem?” I asked with a lump in my throat. “Yeah, there is actually,” he responded, not even looking up. “A problem” is probably the very last thing that you want to hear from a Customs agent, especially after 22 hours of travel… He then picked up a phone and called for assistance. An hour and a half later, after the Agriculture agent verified that I wasn’t attempting to contaminate this country with bug-infested fruits and vegetables from overseas- an unusual search that consisted of opening bottles of Aspirin, anti-anxiety Chinese herbs from my reputable Santa Monica, California purveyor, reading letters in my journal, looking through photos and pulling out every article of clothing (yes, even the embarrassing and dirty unmentionables) from my bag and placing them on the conveyor belt for all to see; a seemingly endless investigation by a drug-sniffing dog; a private-room interrogation consisting of invasive questions and an (in my opinion) unwarranted thorough search of my body; followed by yet another grilling by two plain-clothed Homeland Security officers demanding answers to personal and intrusive questions; and, finally, I asked the all important question: "Am I being arrested?" (something I learned form watching too much "Law and Order"). The answer was no. They didn't have enough evidence to detain me. So, having rights, I asked why I was being searched. FINALLY I was given the information that this whole production was prompted by: the suspicion that I was trafficking ecstasy into the United States! Apparently, I fit the description of a mule- what a compliment! Since they uncovered not one illegal item, I was released from the intimidating, and rather unwelcoming, clutches of the United States government.

I must say, my run in with our country’s guardsmen slightly tainted my trip to one of the most beautiful and untouched countries I have ever visited, but, somehow- now that I am removed from the whole incident- it was all worth it. Here’s why…

Paradise Found

I arrived at sunset to the open-air lobby, with an undisrupted view of the Pacific Ocean and some of the 300 “emerald” islands of Palau (a little-known gathering of islands located between Guam and the Philippines), to the Palau Pacific Resort in Koror- the capital of Palau. As I stood in awe of the fluorescent orange and magenta aura seemingly emanating from the wave-less water, my hands were relieved of my luggage, which was replaced with a fruity drink. If you could bottle perfection, this is what it would look like. From that moment on, everything seemed picture perfect, as though I had accidentally stumbled upon Paradise, where you can ride your bike around an island all day and not see a single person, where you can sting-lessly snorkel in a lagoon amongst literally millions of pulsating jellyfish that slide along your body, where you can kayak through caves, or take a speedboat into a clay-filled lake and give yourself an all-natural mud body facial. It’s no wonder that “Survivor” chose Palau as the destination for Season 10.

The hotel was filled with other like-minded adventure-seekers, some of whom were scheduled for 10 days worth of guided dives to many of the world’s most illustrious spots, like “Big Drop Off,” which Jacques Cousteau hailed as the best dive wall in the world. I was there to kayak!

Kayaking the "Secret Spots"

I caught a speedboat to another area of the island where I was deposited into the hands of Ron Leidich, who is likely one of the most enthusiastic and knowledgeable kayaking guides in existence. His exuberance could incite enthusiasm in even the most blah, disinterested of people. Our kayaks were placed in our boat and we took to the water, off to some of the “secret” spots around the surrounding islands. About 30 minutes out, we pulled up to our first of many coral-filled lagoons, where I was instructed to careful swim to get into our kayaks but not to put on my fins in order to avoid causing underwater ripples that might disturb the fragile coral beds. Exotic fish darted in and out of the vibrantly colored reefs, schools or pinky-size newborn fish timidly peaked out of their hiding places. But this wasn’t our kayaking destination. It was around the bend, through a hole.

We sat and waited. It was time, Ron announced. We had to book it to a cave that, at only certain hours during the day, allowed access to a lake that was usually locked within the walls of an island. A hole linking the ocean to the lake was exposed only during very low tide, and only for a few hours. There was about a foot and a half (maybe) of air space between the water and the ceiling of the cave- just enough room to lay back in our kayaks and slowly push ourselves through. Once we reached the other side Ron opened his storage space and pulled out lunch- a plate of rice, meat, and vegetables (which turned out to be a traditional Palauan lunch amongst the locals), followed by a meal-size plate of fresh islands fruits!

Swimming With Sharks

Refueled, we ditched the kayaks and swam through the cave, stopping in the middle for one of Ron’s fervently details descriptions of what we were seeing… which is when he revealed that along the sides of the cave- about 1 foot from where we waded- was a breeding ground for sharks! Oh, but not to worry, the mother sharks rarely came around during the day, if at all. Sure enough, when we placed our snorkel masks on and submerged our heads, Ron flashed his underwater light against the walls and there, lurking in the shadows, were about 8 sharks! SO, they were only about 2-feet long, but SHARKS none-the-less. I did probably the worst thing I could possibly do when in the presence of people-eating animals- panicked! My instincts took over as I feverishly flapped my fins, causing much more of a stir than I should have, and got the hell out of that cave!

On the other side, with the sun gently beating down into the water, illuminating a garden of coral that most can’t even imagine exist in such colors, the images of “Jaws” were instantly erased… to the point that I completely forgot about the sharks. We casually swam for an hour before returning to the cave, where, at about the same midway point in the complete darkness of the rising cave water, I felt something brush past my foot. SHARK! Yes, again, I went into frantic mode, actually allowing a scream to burst through my snorkel as I kicked my way to the other side of the cave and jumped into my kayak with such zeal it flipped over. At which point I couldn’t help but hysterically laugh at myself, while tears of residual fear poured from my eyes.

WWII Hideout- A Stuck Moment in Time

Next stop, a tiny island once occupied by Japanese military during the Second World War. This was one of Ron‘s secret finds that he only reveals to a special few. Somehow, I made the cut. He pulled a wooden ladder from the boat that constantly accompanied up (just in case we got tired of paddling), positioned it along the rock wall of the island, then scrambled up. Once at the top, he leaned over with an exuberant grin and offered me his hand. As we navigated the rocky ridge, I noticed empty beer bottles scattered about, which, according to Ron, remained from the Japanese occupation. But, he assured me, the best was yet to come. We continued up the short trail to the entrance of what looked like a cave. “This is not for the claustrophobic,” Ron warned. I followed him in and discovered a bunker, but, yes, the best was yet to come, hidden in a hole was a sake bottle and a Japanese war helmet, the metal weakened from the salt and water. “Put it on,” Ron insisted. I gently placed the historical hat upon my head so that he could take a picture, but quickly took it off in order to avoid upsetting the ghosts that still lingered… hey, you never know! On the other side of the tiny island was another bunker, but this one had words in Korean. “It was probably written by a Korean slave of the Japanese,” Ron knowingly revealed. “It explains the village where he was from, describing the surrounding mountains, his family name, and he tells his parents that he loves them and will see them again. He wrote it in both Chinese and Korean since Chinese is more of a universal language. He probably died here, and he knew he would.” My eyes misted over... again. The rest of the day was equally mind-blowing and eye-opening, though thankfully not tear-inducing.

Dolphins, Monkeys and Bettlenut

There are truly too many stories to recount. Suffice to say that I swam with dolphins the next day, then took a private (door-less!!!!) plane to Anguar- an island inhabited by all of 200 people (the landing strip was a field of small bushes and dirt), was given a bicycle by one of the few locals, road around the entire island- with monkeys swinging from the canopy of trees above-and finally settled on a deserted beach that doubled as a graveyard for downed planes and abandoned ships and carriers from the war. For a second, I admit, I feared that my bettlenut-chewing pilot (that would be the mind-altering substance chewed by a majority of locals) might not be able to navigate us back to the plane, forcing me to REALLY survive Palau. Thankfully he felt comfortable enough to fly (despite the fact that I was shaking with fear). And, yes, I did kiss the ground the second we landed.

I survived- both Palau and Homeland Security. Paradise lost, was found.