Travel The Wert Heard Around the World

I started another thread… God forgive me. :anger:

For about nine months I was MIA from this message board and this forum. I popped in a few times here and there to say hello to my pals in the SMJ forum and then would vanish again for a given period of time before mysteriously appearing again. In and out this continued for about seven to eight months before I started to come back semi-regularly. No I wasn't in the homeless, no I wasn't hospitalized, and no- I was not in prison.

I am in the Military and I was out at sea serving god, country and what ever other patriotic BS you can think of.

This is my story. [insert dramatic fanfare]

Before I begin I need to lay down some ground rules and put some things out.

#1: I am not a recruiter. In fact I hate the United States Navy. It is the single most god-awful organization I can think of. As I relate my time at sea I'll slip a few stories here and there about the political bureaucracy and rampant BS that is not only tolerated but encouraged. I am not trying to coerce anyone into even considering joining the US Navy, nor am I trying to paint a false picture about what life at sea on a warship is like. If you have any questions about what it's like at sea and what life is like in the Navy I'll be happy to answer your questions and give you an honest reply. My point of view may seem a little skewed, but that's because of the deep resentment I have for the organization I have gotten myself involved in.

#2: I'll try to accurately depict the times and events that happened to me on board my Ship at sea to the best of my abilities. Some of these stories may be a little off color or be considered 'questionable' by some individuals. I'll try to filter everything as best I can but if anything does come through that someone is offended by I apologize. This is about 5,000 sailors (4,500 men and 500 women) stuck under 4.5 acres of asphalt for six and a half months. God only knows some of the things we did to keep from losing our minds...

#3: There is one thing that I ask you all to keep in mind.- My ship is a war machine. It's purpose is to kill other individuals, plain and simple. We spent over four months in the Persian Gulf dropping explosives on people who really didn't know how to use the AK's they were supplied. In that sense I participated in the mass murder of men, women and children for four and a half months: A sobering thought to be sure. Unless you've spent serious time away from your family and friends in a place where the people despise you because of the flag which flies over your head please do not message me to preach against issues you do not know anything about. Unless you've experienced life at sea in hostile waters you don't have the right to preach to anyone about the 'moral ethics' of what we're doing. Almost everyone here on //boards.jp respects one another and will not make an issue about this, but there's always that one or two that visit and muck up everything. There's nothing more insulting than listening to high school/college preps, sitting at Starbucks sipping their Latte Crème Mocha, damming those who fight overseas for the terrible things we're doing and about how WE- Sailors, Soldiers and Marines, because of our “violent natures”, are the source of the evils in this world. War is hell and only those on the front lines really know what those words mean. If you want a debate on the politics of war Bloodberry runs a pretty tight forum for those kind of things. Many people have family still overseas, and it takes a lot for someone to leave the nest and fight someone else's war. As far as this thread is concerned I respectfully request that you please save your elitist chauvinism for somewhere else.

#4: I’m long winded, really long winded. It will take me a few weeks and more than a few posts to get the entire trip out so please be patient. I’ll post as quickly as my busy schedule allows, and when I do it will be in chronological order. Also, apart from tack number three above, most of this is rather tongue in cheek. If there are any members of the Navy out here (namely the odd Airdale) who are "insulted", keep in mind we're on the same team and I poke fun at you guys only with affection.

Okie dokie then. For those who are still reading (and who still care) allow me to start by giving you a basic description of my ship. I figure no one has ever traveled to, or visited an Aircraft Carrier so let me give you some idea of how large she is.

I am stationed on board the USS Carl Vinson , CVN-70. Despite what the nickname block on that site says not a single person on the Vinson EVER refers to her as the "Starship Vinson". CVN-70 is a United States, nuclear powered Aircraft SuperCarrier. The Carl Vinson (or the Chucky V as a few people actually call her) is a Nimitz Class Aircraft carrier. She displaces over 100,000 tons of water when fully loaded and underway. She is over 1,092 feet long and from the very bottom of the ship where the Keel is to the very top of the mast she rises over two hundred and fifty two feet. If you were to leap from the top of the mast into the water below you would plunge over 134 feet (approx. 13 stories) before you hit the water. Her draft underway is over 37 feet. Draft is how deep she sinks into the water. When you see the waterline on the Vinson, that is not the bottom of the ship. There’s still over forty feet of Aircraft carrier below the water.

She is powered by two Westinghouse A4W Nuclear Reactor Propulsion Systems, spinning four Main Engine Steam Turbines which spin four shafts, each attached to a single, 25 foot tall, five bladed, bronze alloy screw (propeller). Each of her four screws weighs over thirty-three tons apiece. Each shaft has over 65,000 horses driving it for a total of over 260,000 total shaft horsepower. If the Vinson used her steam to power electrical generators rather than her main engines this equates to over one hundred and ninety four megawatts (194 MW) of energy. Each Main Engine, condenser and all, is larger than an average sized apartment.

The four screws generate a great deal of wash behind the ship. The water right off the back end of the ship looks like it is boiling. The churning action of the screws causes the water to leap almost twenty to thirty feet above the surface of the surrounding ocean when we are going at our top speed. Considering we only stand maybe forty feet above the water on the Fantail (back of the ship, below the flight deck), at top speeds the water “boiling” below kicks high enough to spray us in our faces.

Looking off the back end of the USS Carl Vinson at Cruising Speed

Ahead Full

Ahead Flank

Looking down at 30 foot swells at Ahead Flank

Her top speed is over Thirty Knots which is about 35 mph or 56 kph.

Thirty five miles an hour? That’s it? That’s her top speed? I’m sure some of you are thinking that you can probably get your BMX bikes down a hill at a faster speed, but remember this: That’s over One hundred THOUSAND TONS of Iron, Man and Aircraft going through the Ocean at thirty five miles per hour, and because of her twin nuclear reactors she can sustain this speed 24 hours per day, seven days a week, 365 days per year. This comes out to a grand total of over 306,600 miles traveled per year (494,516 kilometers per year). The earth at the equator is only 24, 857 miles around (approx 40,003 kilometers). She can circumvent the globe, nonstop, twelve times in one year. Can your BMX do that?

She has two anchors, navy standard stockless, each weighing over thirty tons apiece. Her anchor chain is over one thousand feet long. Each link in her chain weighs over three hundred and sixty pounds. The total weight of one anchor plus its associated chain is over three hundred and sixty seven tons (367 tons, or 734,000 lbs.)

She can carry over 3,000 sailors and 2,500 more people associated with the Airwing (Airdales and Pilots), for a total of 5,500 bodies total.

 

The Wert Heard Around the World Pt. II

She is armed with four (4) Phalanx CIWS (pronounced “See Whiz”) anti missile turrets. Their job? Shoot down incoming missiles with bullets. Each of these guys are basically radar domes with 20mm M61 Vulcan Gatling Guns attached underneath. They automatically track targets and fire at a rate of over 4,500 bullets per minute- that’s over SEVENTY FIVE (75) rounds per SECOND. United States Sailors affectionately describe this little guy as “R2-D2 with a hard-on” because…well… that’s what it looks like.

The Carl Vinson is also armed with three Mk 29 Sea Sparrow turrets firing 8 RIM-7 Sea Sparrow Missiles. Like the CIWS, the Sea Sparrow turrets are an anti-missile system which ironically uses missiles to counter other incoming missiles.

These are only her defensive mechanisms. What does the Carl Vinson use for offense? She has no real, mounted offensive weapons save a few Fifty Caliber Machinegun mounts. She doesn’t need them- she has her aircraft. The Vinson can carry and launch almost ninety (90) fixed/rotary wing aircraft. That’s over ninety jets that we can load out and launch. We carry jets ranging from the F-14 Tomcat , to the F/A-18 Hornet , to the S-3B Viking (submarine hunters) to the EA-6B Prowler , to the E-2C Hawkeye giving us devastating range over any other ship on the surface of the water. With the Viking complement and the SH-60 Seahawk anti-sub helicopters we've more than adequate protection against anything subsurface as well.

 

The Wert Heard Around The World Pt. III

I myself work as a Reactor Mechanic on board the Vinson, and I spend my days toiling away in the Reactor Plant fixing and repairing the Reactor’s various mechanical systems. Despite how it sounds it’s about as exciting as peeling potatoes.

Ok, that brief synopsis of the Vinson and should give you an idea about just how massive this beast is. She is literally a floating city, housing, clothing, and feeding over 5000 people when underway. She has her own power grid, TV stations, sewage grid and water works. No small task. Her nuclear power plants take care of the electrical and water needs of the ship while other supplies such as food, perishables, and necessities like Toilet Paper are continually replenished by supply vessels which travel with the Vinson where ever she goes. During this underway our battle group consisted of the Vinson, the USS Antietam (CG-54: Our missile cruiser escort), the USS Camden (AOE-2: Our supply ship) and an unknown submarine escort which we never saw- go figure.

On the thirteenth of January the USS Carl Vinson pulled out of her homeport of Bremerton Washington at six in the morning to begin her final cruise before a refueling and overhaul phase she was scheduled to enter in September. It was the middle of winter, the sun was not up, and it was cold as hell.

I remember this day very clearly because I was one of the unfortunate souls who was “voluntold” to man the rails as we departed. Me and a several hundred other people had been told to spread ourselves out along the edge of the flight deck in our dress blues and simply stand there as the ship departed. Our shoes had no insulation, our uniforms felt paper thin, there was frost forming on the windows of the pilot house, and there we were standing at parade rest as our ship was slowly, almost fractionally, tugged away from the pier and guided out into the channel. Once in the main channel we began to spin our screws and, under our own power, we began to steam away from Bremerton Washington for the last time. Just as we began to lose sight of the Naval Base the Captain let loose a single long blast from the Vinson’s main horn, a sentimental goodbye to her homeport of almost seven years… Needless to say it also blew the ears out of everyone standing underneath it. We must have been up there for over an hour, because by the time they finally dismissed us the sun was already up, and was slowly climbing higher and higher into the heavens. We could tell right away this deployment was going to be a real charm.

It took us three days traveling at a nice and easy pace for the Vinson to sail from Bremerton down to Southern California to the Coronado Naval Base down in San Diego. There we pick up the Airwing (CVW-9 or Shogun 9 as they liked to be called) and all the screwballs associated with it.

Now, let me make something clear. I am a mechanic who works in Reactor Department onboard the aircraft carrier. We work below the waterline of the ship, rarely ever seeing any sunlight. The airwing above, working in the hangar bays and the flight deck are our mortal enemies. Reactor department and the Airdales above mix like oil and water. Why this is, no one seems to know. I think it’s because we “Nukes” on board like to think it’s because we’re intellectually superior. In order to get into the military you need to pass a test called the ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery). To pass you need to get a 33 out of 99. To become a Nuke and work on reactors you need to get a minimum of 80 out of 99. The average score of a Nuke in Reactor is 87 out of 99. To become an Airdale you need a score of 40. The National Average is around 50.

The Airdales tend to disagree with this citing their reason that “Nukes are the dumb-dumb stupid heads.”

Actually there are several reasons why Reactor and the Airwing get along like the Hatfield’s and the McCoy’s. Both of them are the largest departments onboard the ship. Reactor has over 500 people on board, the airwing has over 2500. This includes the pilots, aircraft mechanics, fuel boys, flight deck cronies and all other ones you see on T.V. dressed up in all the different colors of the rainbow. The ship’s force affectionately refer to them as "Skittles" . With this many people standing in line all the time (Chow line, ice cream line, the line to smoke, the line to the store, the lines to our personnel services) it’s no wonder we start to develop some animosity between one another.

Another reason we like to use is that Reactor makes all the water… and the Airwing pretty much uses all that water, usually causing water shortages, restricted shower hours and other H2O limitations that pretty much takes the already poor quality of life on the ship and flush it away. The airwing counters by claiming we use just as much water as they do.

Now that’s not entirely untrue… But we make the water, so why can’t we play with it? They handle the aircraft and we let them play with those jets all they want. We don’t complain once. Isn’t that fair?

 

The Wert Heard Around the World Pt. IV

San Diego isn’t really a popular port. There isn’t much to do there except eat at restaurants and drink…

…And Drink we did! For three days we did nothing but stand watch and Booze up afterwards. One story I like to tell was about our last or second to last night there (I get the days mixed up; I’d just turned 21 and it was all a drunken haze). I was out with a smaller guy I’ll call Rodney and a more senior guy whom I’ll call Scooter. We stopped at a few bars sampling some beer here and there before we finally settled on a small little sports bar popular with guys from reactor. I was downing a pitcher Bud light Scooter was buying for us while Rodney was actively sinking Jager Bombs (pronounce Yay-Ger Bombs)- A shot of Jager dropped into a glass of Redbull. After about the seventh one Rodney was beginning to get wasted. He was even more hilarious than usual and he was bouncing all over the bar.

A few guys from our division walked in together we began to drink and enjoy our last night in San Diego- our last night in the United States. At one point the group of us decided to go out back, have a few smokes and chit chat about the deployment to come. We were out there about thirty minutes before I realized Rodney was still inside drinking. I went back in and found that the little guy was no longer in the bar. I asked the bartender what happened to him and she said that she had to kick him out: he was getting too rowdy.

The first thought that hit me was “Kick him out?!” He’s drunk off his ass and wandering around San Diego alone?! I rushed outside and tried to look up and down the street, but I couldn’t see him. He was gone, and to where I had no idea.

Thank god I was half drunk myself or I might have been worried enough to actually go out and look for him. I went back inside and everyone simply shrugged saying he’ll make it through somehow, so toasting to our last night in the United States we raised our cups and began again anew.

Later, when we finally returned to the ship, we were surprised more than anyone to find that somehow Rodney had gotten back to the ship and was dozing in his rack. We asked around what happened and the real story came out. Our little Rodney had gotten too drunk to function and got lost on his way back to the ship. He ended up collapsing in someone’s front yard and passed out.

And not just anyone’s front yard; It was a retired Marine Corps Colonel’s front yard. He called the base and had a pair of Lieutenants come by and carry him back to the ship. Somehow Rodney managed to make it back on board the ship and into his rack without anyone in our chain of command finding out at all. He got away scot-free. Nothing short of a miracle in our eyes.

The next day, loaded up with the Airwing, we left San Diego for the last time. Once more I had to man the rails, but this time the weather was much more agreeable and we left at eight in the morning, vice six. As we left we watched as a small batch of seals swam through the clouds of silt we were stirring up in the water, hunting for the food we were mixing up below. Riding out of the channel we said goodbye to the United States for the last time and began our journey across the Pacific Ocean.

Whew, that’s enough for today. More to come, pictures, stories and everything.

~W

 

Part V

So, departing from San Diego California the USS Carl Vinson began her fateful journey across the Pacific Ocean- A trip that would take several weeks.

Now I’m sure that you are wondering what the hell we sailor’s do whilst we sail on across the mighty blue? Life of a standard sailor varies depending on his command and which department he is in. Airdales and Jarheads tend to have a more tighter, much more stricter regimen with their day to day ops. Reactor, on board the Vinson, usually leaves well enough alone. We muster at seven fifteen every morning to take ‘roll’ and put out what’s going to happen during the course of the day- any planned maintenance, the current “flail” the higher ups are freaking out about, and what ever else the LCPO and LPO want’s to put out.

LCPO means Leading Chief Petty Officer. He’s like the shift supervisor at a regular job. The LPO means Leading Petty Officer. He’s our direct boss and works right under the LCPO. Different work centers in the division have WCS, Work Center Supervisors, who work under the LPO and tell the rest of us what’s up with regards to maintenance.

Me (blueshirt) < WCS < LPO < LCPO

After the morning muster we head down to the plants and do a lovely ritual put out by the higher ups in our Chain of Command called “Cleaning Stations”- an hour of cleaning. Does it matter that it’s already cleaned? Nope. Does it matter that it will get dirty again in the matter of a few hours? Nope. Cleaning stations is cleaning time and anyone caught topside not cleaning is swiftly dealt with by the Chief’s patrolling the hallways. Down in the plant we usually take this time to clean any spots that need it and start our maintenance. We can’t go topside (out of the plant) because of all the Chiefs walking around playing God.

Now I can’t remember if I’ve unloaded about Chiefs in my previous posts (and seeing as I’m too lazy to check), so I’ll chat about them a little right here.

The Chief Petty Officer, or more simply known as Chiefs, are the Khaki enlisted that are in charge of the enlisted personnel in their divisions. They are a varied bunch. A few are kind, courteous, and willing to help those who work under them and bend over backwards, fending off the bulls--t coming from above so that their workers can do their jobs in peace.

Unfortunately many are quite the opposite. Ignorant, and with no people skills, these men are in charge only because they passed a written exam and knew enough about uniform regulations to impress someone up above. Many of these men consider themselves God’s gift to the Navy and will not hesitate in the least to shaft those who work under them, or even worse, those who aren’t even in their division. That’s like you working at McDonalds and the boss from the McDonalds on the other end of town coming over to your work place and yelling at you because he was never held enough as a child.

The worst kind are the ones who want to be your friend, but then turn coat and stab you in the back first chance they get. Yes, they exist. Yes, they need to die.

Now 90% of Chiefs I despise. I have learned, through experience, that you cannot trust them unless you’ve known them for several months. Every time I see a new one the hairs instinctively rise on the back of my neck and I end up leaving the room in disgust. Strangers are never to be trusted.

Now not all of them are bad people, as I’ve stated above. I’ve been fortunate to have good Chief after good Chief as long as I’ve been in the Navy. They’ve been real calm, collected and took my own interests into consideration when making decisions. It’s a standard example of good leadership. In the military men will respect you for one of two reasons. Either because they are told to, or because they admire you. Many of these Chiefs are shallow individuals who, because they have the personalities of particle board, get off on the forced respect.

“That’s right, you’re going to do as I say because I’m a Chief!”

The others, the ones who garner their respect by taking care of those who work under them, tend to have divisions who work their asses off for them and are much more productive than the others. It’s the same as basic business leadership. The military is very similar to a civilian job. The difference lies in that you cannot quit. You’re trapped once you sign.

 

Part VI

Enough about that. Once cleaning stations are done we usually go about doing whatever work needs to be done. Once it’s done, we’re cut lose for the day. Sometimes it’s at 9 am, sometimes it’s at 7 pm. We work until the maintenance is complete.

After that we spend our time back in Berthing sleeping or watching TV or doing what ever we can to avoid the monotony of being out at sea.

…Or we stand watch.

Watch rotations in Reactor work a little differently than topsiders. We have to man our watch stations 24 hours a day. We’re continually producing water, power, steam and propulsion. Many office Jockeys end their day at about 4 and sleep until 7 am the next morning. We have rotating watch schedules so that people are down in the plant at all times. Five hour watches staggered every day. If you stand the 7-12 one day the next you’ll stand the 12 -5 watch, and the next day the 5 – 10. The midwatch (10 – 2) is only a 4 hour watch. We do this everyday when we’re underway. There’s nothing as orgasmic as having a full workday, getting off at 9:30 pm, manning the 10 – 2 and then getting up at 7 the next morning to go back to work.

Meal hours tend to vary. The Galley is open from about 10 – 2 at night for Midrats, then from 3 to 7 for breakfast. Then they’re open from 10am to 7pm for lunch and dinner. Most of the ship has their own meal hours, at around noon and again between four and five the lines are long as the individual divisions cut their men loose to eat. Reactor has no real meal hours to speak of. We just eat whenever there’s nothing going on and when we’re hungry. We tend to avoid lines while we can.

In a nutshell that’s a standard day for a sailor in Reactor. It’s the same thing, day after day for weeks at a time. Routine is daily business. How did you spend yesterday? The exact same way you spent today. Monotony is the name of the game.

The airwing is ‘blessed’ with the infamous Fod Walkdown. All that involves are the airwing cronies walking around the flight deck/hangar bays in a big, long line picking up whatever is on the ground. Apparently it’s a very political thing. The whole point is to prevent debris getting sucked into the jet intakes, ruining the jet. I think they just look goofy.

 

Part VII

A few days out of San Diego the ship came to the decision that we spend too much time in ports, enjoying life and trying to burn stress. So they formulated a way to screw us out of visiting any ports in the Pac before Guam (the Vinson’s second home)- They’d give everyone a highly contagious disease (a ‘vaccine’) and quarantine the ship.

At least that’s what it seemed like. Our visit to Pearl Harbor, Hawaii was cut short due to a nifty vaccine they decided to pop on us. Apparently small pox is in the hands of the terrorists we’re going out to bomb and we needed to be protected against it.

They lined us all up in the Hangar bay and stuck us with needles in our shoulders. Pissed off at getting stuck for the third time that week we took the pamphlet they gave us and we went about our lives as we normally did. A few days later the little shots they gave us began to boil and burn. A blister began to rise up from our skin as our bodies began to go “WTF is this!?”

Apparently the vaccine for smallpox is a similar disease that preps our body for the viral infection of the real thing. Unfortunately it also raises a blister in the arm it was stuck in. The puss was highly contagious and if it spread to anther mucus orifice (i.e. eyes, mouth, nose, johnson) it would infect that portion of the body and raise up another nightmare of a blister. The pamphlet had a lovely picture of a young woman blind in one eye because she picked at her blister and then rubbed her eyes.

Imagine the panic when all the guys found out this stuff does the same thing to the wang? The next few weeks were terror. People were always washing their hands, using that anti-bacterial lotions and going out of their way not to touch anything that might contain this infection. Tempers were high because not a single guy had risked having any ‘private time’ to himself because of the threat of infection. It was rough.

To make matters worse some of the blisters got infected by other things. There were a few Chiefs who had large, open sores (black with infection and puss) that elicited physical responses out of anyone who saw them. As we sailed further west temperatures rose in the plants so shirts were beginning to come off to combat the heat and humidity. These open, blazing sores were freed to breathe the open air, spread their gunk wherever they rubbed up against and gross out anyone who passed by.

Yet a miracle seemed to happen. Exposed to the air most of the blisters that weren’t infected scabbed over and healed much faster than the infected ones. It seems the best way to get those nasty things to heal was to leave it in the open air.

Down in reactor a few guys decided that leaving it exposed would take too long. They decided on their own that antibiotics were the key! Namely Hydrogen Peroxide. Now at sea there’s only two places to get H2O2- in medical (and they sure as hell weren’t distributing it), and down in the plant.

Medical H2O2 is diluted. It’s only 1% to 3% H2O2 suspended in pure water. Reactor plant peroxide is over thirty percent pure.

Ten times stronger than medical peroxide.

Not fazed by this in the least they gleaned a few droppers and exposed their arms to the world. The most any of them could get on their blisters were a few drops. The peroxide did it’s work well and within a matter of seconds they were on the floor spinning in circles crying out in pain. Most of us were glad they decided upon Hydrogen Peroxide and not the ultra pure Isopropyl. That would have burned a hole in their arm.

Ironically their sores took the longest to heal. I supposed it was nature’s way of kicking them in the ass for being retarded.

As long as the blisters were still soft and pussy the ship had to be quarantined. No one was allowed on or off until everyone’s blister had scabbed over. Funny how that seemed to happen about a week outside of Guam- a small island in Micronesia. As of right now Guam is the US territory that is the furthest west.

Pissed off and going stir crazy at having been at sea for three weeks with nothing to do but moan and complain the USS Carl Vinson pulled into Guam for her first port visit underway, and my first time stepping on foreign soil (Canada doesn’t count! It was all concrete up there!).

More to come (and loads of pictures) next time.

 

I tried reading most of this thread.. it was long thats for sure.. I was more interested in what you did for fun on the ship.. Like say perhaps is there Deck football.. floor hockey???

I myself love the ocean.. I have Gone lobster fishing.. gone out till you cant see shore.. Mind you I was never really out there for more then 24 hours at a time I love it.. the Ocean is in my blood and would love to find a GOOD paying job out on it.. I thought About the Navy myself.. Even the Canadian coast guard.. but the coast guard is messed up for trying to get in.. and I dicided against the navy..

the Ocean is in my blood.. our familie for generations live on the East coast of canada.. fished the seas and built boats.. Mind you spending month at sea will take a toll on you.. its the same as Winter with cabin fever.. you need breaks.. But i would still love to work on the wide open sea..

 

wow that took a few attempts to read *.* but wow that was really interesting...i dont know how i missed this thread!

really? i found all of it interesting, especially the the bit where Wert described the Vinson!

So Wert, even though you say you really dislike your job, i still find it very fascinating that you actually get to work on a ship that awesome (and by awesome, i mean to use its actual meaning to the full...not in the way that everyone casually uses it for) to be on something that huge and powerful...wow! i assume you took all those pictures yourself?

everything from your drunk friend in the bar to the evil vaccine they gave you was interesting too! i dont know about anyone else (if anyone else even managed to read through it XD) but i wouldnt mind hearing more of the adventures of Wertitis ^_^

 

Part VIII

Guam… Ahh, a strange land with even stranger individuals.

Wait, what am I saying- Guam is the poor Japanese Man’s Hawaii. If they can’t afford to go to our fiftieth state they go here . And what’s not to love about this place? The streets are lined with gold, a poor man can hope to become rich, and there are no cats in-

Wait, I think that’s America.

Meh, regardless Guam was my first taste of a foreign port. It was not American Soil (technically- it is property of the US but it’s not anywhere near the mainland). Stepping off the ship for the first time since San Diego we were pleasantly greeted with a pier full of goodies. Apparently the command didn’t want us to actually leave the pier and visit the island, so they set up a nice little shin-ding right there next to the ship.

As long as you were 18 you could buy food from half a dozen stateside vendors, buy beer by the pint, listen to music and get ferried to and from the Naval Exchange (The Navy’s version of K-Mart). So why would anyone want to leave the safety of the pier and venture inland? The bus heading to the main strip was always pack with people and it always felt like there was only one bus running all 5000 people to and from the heart of the island. Frustrating to say the least.

Once we got away from the ‘sailor trap’ set up on the pier we were taken to the main strip of the island- a 30 min drive from the ship. There we were greeted by a sight I had never seen before (or at least seen since I left home in So Cal)- This.

Now while this may look like your standard large town strip you would be missing the one key element setting this strip apart from all others-

ASIAN PEOPLE!!

And not just one or two but many, many of them! For the first time since I left So Cal, I’d never felt more at home. Surrounded on all sides by Japanese, Chinese and Korean tourists. Azn peeps to the right! Azn peeps to the left! They were all around. It was glorious!!

And the women!! Man, I thought I’d died and gone to seventh heaven.

Now, I know that I’ll receive some flack from the ladies of the site, but you’ve got to understand that being underway for long periods of time has a strange effect on men. The few women you work around suddenly become raging hotties. Us men call it “underway vision”. That squat woman who works for admin (the one with soda bottle eyeglasses, weighs 180 lbs, stands at 5’ even, has buck teeth, hasn’t shaved or done anything even resembling personal hygiene since we left San Diego and sleeps with anyone who asks) suddenly becomes Pamela Anderson and you find yourself inexorably drawn to her. Usually when ‘something’ happens we give the guy who gave into his urges a little sh*t for a while and then let it slide. Most women who work on board the ship are fine, intelligent people and can usually carry on an intelligent conversation better than 90% of the men in the airwing.

Still you have women like the said admin girl- a self centered, oblivious, fruit loop. The kind of caliber woman that you hope and pray don’t have children for the simple fact that she has no business anywhere near kids. I’m sure everyone has much such a woman in their life.

Even with Underway Vision there is still a line, and as obscurely blurred as it is, there are some women who are way over that line.

Regardless, when you’re underway long enough men begin to get the mentality that like the spoon- that line simply doesn’t exist. I call it genetics. When the air is as saturated with testosterone as a ship is underway the slightest whiff of estrogen works better than any aphrodisiac.

Can you imagine the havoc that ensues when they get off the ship and pulls into a port as saturated with women as Guam was?

Like I said- Seventh Heaven. Most of the women were gorgeous, and seeing as summer was approaching the legs were getting longer and the skirts shorter. For most of the men on the ship (those who didn’t have anything against women of eastern origin) it was like that classic cartoon with the wolf whose eyes bug out whenever he sees that one stunningly beautiful woman.

I’m making such a big deal about this because for the first time since I left the states there were beautiful people to oogle at. That’s something I distinctly remember. The hormones go on overload and the next thing you know that dancer with the palm fronds makes Lucy Liu look like Anne Ramsey .

Enough of that.

Once off the ship our first order of business was getting food. Shipboard food make hospital chow look like fine dining. Not only does it taste like the Food Service Assistant bathed in the pot before using it, it will also get you sick. Food poisoning was a huge problem while we were out. Nasty, nasty deal.

Our first stop? A little side street pasta place called ‘Giuseppe’s’. I must have gained thirty pounds at that place. It was the best food I’d eaten in a long, long time and every bite went down as smooth as butter.

Our next stop was the local Guam K-Mart- Xenosaga Episode 2 had released while we were out and we needed to score some copies. We decided to take a short walk up from the strip- we saw it on the bus ride in and it didn’t seem like too far of a walk.

An hour later, after a (no sh*t) rainstorm moved in over our heads we stumbled, soaking wet, into the K-Mart.

Wait, let me rephrase that.

The ULTRA-K-MART!!!!

This thing was huge. It was like Walmart only K-Mart style (if that makes any sense to anyone). The place was massive. It had everything except a place to buy groceries, which is saying a lot. The King Kong of K-Marts.

After we left (minus Xenosaga II- they didn’t have any copies) we bought a ticket and toured around the island, looking at the peoples and visiting the places, and taking pictures of the scenery . You don’t see tropical views like this every day. The air was crisp and clean and the people seemed friendly enough. Eventually we found some guys we worked with who had a hotel room up in this nice, ritzy hotel.

Check out the view . This was taken from one of the low quality rooms. Looking straight down you saw this . Here’s a shot of the water . Ever seen a tidal that clean before? Here’s some of the hotels down along the beach. And one last random shot of this bluff. All the tropical vegetation was thick everywhere and coated most of the island like how you see here. Here’s a nice sunset . Can’t ask for more picturesque clouds, can you? This would make an awesome background for someone’s PC.

And here is a photo of this fine establishment .

Which brings up another unfortunate aspect of this island- there are only a few things to do on this island. Diving, touring the jungles, chilling on the beach, or frequenting one of the million strip clubs all over the island. I’m serious. The big ones the people from the Vinson flocked to was the G-Spot, Club USA and Girls-A-GoGo. They made record profits when we pulled in and the dancers went home with thongs loaded with cash. The only kind of shops out numbering the Topless Bars were the “Massage Parlors”, and that’s about as far as I’ll go into with that.

This darker, seedier side of Guam has been brought to you by wert.

 

Part IX

Now bear in mind I’m only telling you guys everything like it is. While Guam was well known for it’s ‘Parlors’ and ‘Bars’, it was far from “bad”.

Apart from the houses of ill-repute there were a bunch of other places for tourists to go visit while they were there such as one of two major malls- The Micronesia Mall and the Mall of Guam (at least I think that’s the official name…). Both of those places were heavy hangouts for those of the eastern culture (that and the Hard Rock Café, for some obscure reason).

Now something funny about Japanese tourists that I cannot go on without mentioning is the kind of clothes they wear. Izzy probably knows what I’m talking about, he’s from So Cal and we get a lot of kids from Taiwan and Korea as exchange type students and their wardrobes can get pretty funky, by western standards.

Engrish is very popular with regards to Japanese clothing. What is engrish? To be blunt it is a string of English words arranged so that in some vague way almost forms a coherent thought, but not quite. Some Engrish says some pretty startling things and if the person wearing those clothes knew what they meant then they wouldn’t be wearing them. While other engrish are cute bastardizations of popular English sayings- like this one. I think she’s trying to say Me Under Your Thumb, possibly a reference to that famous Rolling Stones Single. To a standard, English speaking person these phrases and sayings can be blast. Some woman at the hardrock was strutting around wearing a shirt that said “Im A Yankee Doodle Dandy”.

Ok sister, I believe you.

Still another was wearing a shirt that said “If I fly, I could go happy up in sky”. I wanted to get her picture but she was too fast for my zoom.

But it’s not just Engrish, that makes the clothing styles of those who live in Asia funny to westerners like you and I. It’s the styles themselves.

Back in high school I remember seeing this one girl who was from Taiwan. She was, no kidding now, about 4’ even. She usually wore browns, tans and a lot of leather with horizontally striped socks, usually a dark blue or similar color. She had this big leather coat she always wore that had a huge, fuzzy fur liner around the brim of the hood, which in itself looked rather strange on her. The most noticeable thing about her was the fact that she walked around with solid cork slippers. Normally this is strange enough, however they were platform slippers, almost 6” high. She looked like she was walking around on stilts.

Now I never said anything to her, I figured she was only an isolated extreme. I’ve seen enough TV to know that people who live in Japan, Korea or Taiwan don’t really wear those kinds of clothes… right?

Boy was I wrong.

I wasn’t able to fully recover until after the fourth or fifth girl who walked on by wearing a long neon green, vinyl skirt, a hot pink, frilly top, a black ball cap cocked to the side and some crazy ass hospital shoes.

Did their mother’s ever teach these people how to dress?!

I was in shock. Completely different style than from the U.S. Completely. I began to realize that short little Chinese girl back in high school wasn’t the extreme- she was the standard. It takes some getting used to and every once and a while you run into a girl who simply blows your mind (Sweet Jesus!! She’s color-blind!!).

Like stateside you could tell almost instantly who were the snobby ones and which girls were the more down to Earth nice ones, like these two who were sweet enough to let me take a picture of them. I simply walked up to them, recognized that they were speaking Japanese (I’ve seen enough Anime to be able to at least recognize the language), mumbled something along the lines of “Sumimasen” and made a ‘clicky’ motion with my camera. They were happy enough to smile and toss up their little peace sign.

That’s another thing. Japanese girls seem to love throwing that peace sign up for photos. I’m serious. I don’t know why, but in some cases it’s kinda cute.

The last thing I remember about Guam was this awesome restaurant we visited that was a little ways away from the main strip. Number one the menus were in Japanese first, then English which was a sure sign that the food would be more authentic than anything found here in the States. We forked over our cash and they took us out back to these long tables beside a beach. To our surprise in the center of our table was a large, charcoal grill. A rather attractive attendant came out took our orders and came back with our food- A massive pile of steak, chicken breast, crawfish, lobster tails, oysters, crab legs, corn and veggies and several juices and marinades.

Thing was the food was raw.

That’s right, they provided the food and we got to cook it. Combine that with bottomless pitchers of Bud light and you can bet we had a blast that night. To this day that stands as one of the best ideas for a restaurant I’ve ever seen. We had a great time there. Here’s a lousy picture our waitress took. I guess she couldn’t hold my camera steady at all. That’s me in front on the left in the black.

Oh, something else I forgot to mention about this place: There were no Vinson sailors anywhere. Infact, we were the only white people around. 99% of it’s patrons were Japanese tourists. I can’t begin to describe what a good time we had at that place, mingling with all the other people. Damn, that night kicked.

Guam was a singular island that held a ton of attractions for those who are interested in a pleasant, tropical experience without shelling out all the bucks to go to Hawaii or some of the other more popular places. The people there were really friendly, the Japanese tourists made for an excellent blend of cultural diversity, and there were so many different natural places to visit/bathe/relax that I can’t even begin to describe them all. Along the coast was beautiful and the waters perfect and clean. The way the sun lit the horizon at night was a sight to see. Guam was a really great place and somewhere I would recommend visiting.

But like all good things, it had to end, and before we knew it we were back out to sea heading south towards Singapore. More to come about that lovely place next time, along with more pictures than you could shake a stick at.