Micronesia, at last!

We anchor at the first possible spot, by Ta island. Reception is very warm, thanks also to the interpolation of the local Peace Corp guy. I bring down some hammocks scavenged in Noro for nearly nothing, some sticks of tobacco. Sea stories are soon the talk of the village, we find people supernice, although the anchorage is quite exposed. We have a good rolly sleep, the day after we go deliver some more hammocks. These guys haven't seen a supply ship in ages, and their lust for tobacco and coffee is unlimited. So much so that they offer to pay for some coffee and tobacco sticks. It is quite disconcerting after all the treachery to bum everything possible off me since Vanuatu and all the way here. I am touched, and of course I will spare some of the stuff for free. But before the guys can come collect I see another squall coming fast, and before half an hour the anchorage has become untenable and we are forced to move to Satawan proper. We just can't believe the shelter we've been missing. The water is flat, the bottom sloping white sand and the island is beachy and a shield from the NE squalls ripping the rest of the atoll.
We feel that for the time being we've given out enough hammocks and tobacco, so Michela prepares a trayful of fried rice balls italian style. We land again, and soon we are taken to the Mayor which spends most of his time playing chess at a table under a corrugated verandah-cum-bedroom. We expose our case and the rice balls are a smashing success! Which means we can stay as long as we want. Mr Samson was immigration officer before, so his consensus is a guarantee. Soon we are hooked p with our "guides", the smart guys in town. We are shown around, offered plenty cocoanuts. We arrange for the day after to go touring the other side of the island to se all the japanese WWII remnants. During the war the japanese moved in en masse, bringing small tanks, cannons, building an airstrip, buildings etc. The locals were evacuated to the northern islets, short of space, food, homes and everything else, they starved and didn't have it easy, though some islanders show Japanese features, so there might have been also cases of intermarriage (or likely, rape). Satawan also has its' Peace Corp volunteer, and we befriend him, as he looks like he could use some 'western' company after almost two years of atoll living. We have several dinners together, but the locals are very protective of him and never leave him alone anywhere...so the chances to talk about the "real island" remain scarce.
In the ensuing days we get to see a group of little tanks being stripped piece by piece to make canoe carving tools -considering the perfect blades they make, this steel must be of superior quality- mottainai!. Lying around are also plenty carcasses of bombers and zeros, though most of them only the rusty engines remain. The beach is wonderful, the locals beautiful, although some developed the habit of sniffing gasoline and live in a semi-permanent state of numbness. For courtesy I play some chess games, being whipped every time, even by the gasoline sniffer...I guess they have plenty time to practice.
We see cannons, bunkers that by the effect of land erosion are now in the water, giant holes in the bush where bombs fell. Apparently plenty explosives and ammo have been hidden away, but I'm not shown them.
Nearly a week goes by, we've been spolied by the locals and in return bought some local skirts (for the girls), and given away small gifts to friends. Time to go again. The last stretch to Chuuk follows a by now common scenario: departed on a nice sunny day, soon the weather deteriorated to give us some more of the usual...but it's only 170 miles...
We dream and talk endlessly of a real shower, a cold dink, a hamburger, laundry, communication etc.
We arrive at Chuuk's Nort Eastern Pass at night, and to top it up, the lighthouse marking the passage isn't working...for once after a long time, I decide to trust C-Map, but we proceed very carefully and doing our best to see what's ahead of us. The sea suddenly goes calm, a sign that we are indeed in the shelter of the passage. About half an hour of anxiety and we're in. We celebrate with some instant noodles while rounding Moen by the airport side, anchoring well away from shore right behind some liveaboard dive boat.