Dah-dun, dah-dun, dah-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun

I’ve been in Tonga a whole 24 hours now, and I’ve had enough experiences to warrant writing this in case whatever happens today overwhelms my memory (Dennis you must know what I mean). Upon arrival, all my concerns about getting a Visitor’s VISA were waved off. The people at the airport couldn’t stamp my passport fast enough as the lineup of passengers grew. Later in the day, the head of education (ah yes, it’s a small country indeed when you sit down to have a chat with the head of education while someone look to see if you can be housed in the Bishop’s guest quarters) would wave off my concerns over getting a Work VISA in the one month before my Visitor’s VISA expired by saying “it will be six months before they even realize you are still in the country.” Meeting my ride at the airport, I was told that (through a series of events) a place for me to live had not yet been found. In what appeared to be a nice tour of the island, my escort killed hours while his people searched. Eventually arriving downtown, I saw some nice beaches and asked where the best place to swim was. the Father who was driving me knew of some better beaches, but said that these were pretty good. Now those of you who know my deepest, darkest fear know that it is sharks. The ocean’s greatest predator, sharks had scared me silly in my childhood without me even having seen JAWS (thanks a lot, Discovery Channel). So sharks were on my mind now, as I gazed at the sandy shores. Father seemed to pick up my thoughts and added, “there is no danger of sharks here,” alleviating them for a moment before adding, “that is, until the odd one wanders in.” “In search of elusive white meat?” I suggested, causing him to laugh out loud for several minutes that ended in a “yes.” Fortunately the Bishop didn’t need all the rooms in his guesthouse, and I’m still there now. It lacks a proper kitchen and is fairly far from the school, but I don’t teach until the 28th of Jan and was assured they’d find me something good by the end of the week (I’m writing this on Thursday the 17th). In the meantime, I’ve learned a few things about Tonga. For instance, this is “hurricane season.” I assumed that meant that, occasionally, a hurricane would swing by. But instead, it seems Tonga is trapped in a perpetual “mini-hurricane,” as the weather changes no less that ten times a day from sunny to windy to cloudy to rainy and back to sunny. I hardly saw the sun for more that an hour in my first day here, so I didn’t bother with the nuances of sunscreen and sunglasses. Sure I’ve heard that “the sun still shines through the clouds,” but I knew of no Canadian who put on sunscreen to take a walk in our perpetual winter “greyness.” Many hours later, as my eyes began to burn, I looked at myself in the mirror only to find a beet with eyes staring back. I had also given myself a nice trucker’s tan hanging one arm out the window of Father's truck all day. This morning I was determined not to repeat the mistake. So if you’re looking for me in Tonga, you can probably find me as “the guy who gets laughed at for wearing sunglasses when it’s cloudy,” as was my fate when I ventured outside. Well that’s more that enough typing for day one,