The Marshall Islands

Marshall Islands The Aloha Airlines flight, a Boeing 737-200, takes more than four hours from Honolulu to reach Majuro. Donato and I are eager to reach that earthly paradise. We land on that strip of land, and from above the atoll stands out very clearly: a strip of land shaped like a U. A single road runs through the whole of it, about twenty km. Here is the capital of the archipelago, Majuro, complete with the seat of government and various government offices. The other atolls are called Kwajalein and Bikini, famous for the atomic tests set off there. As soon as we step off the plane, nicely cool from the air conditioning, down the steps a blast of hot air hits us with 110% humidity. We don't even have time to touch the tarmac: nine seconds later we're already sweating and my camera lens is all fogged up. What a shock.

A nice sign welcomes us and Donato and I take the chance for a photo. Welcome to Majuro, Marshall Islands. We discover that of all the passengers we're the only two tourists; everyone else is local or military. So we immediately understand why there aren't the usual minibuses outside to welcome tourists, only beat-up private cars and a single minibus, which will then take us 5 km further on to the Flame Tree Hotel. We asked to go to the cheapest accommodation, and it seemed that this was it, but the next day we leave, since here they give us two singles and we pay as much as a double in a nicer place. The walls are plasterboard, the fan in the room has a finger's worth of dust and grease on the grille, the little bathroom has no sink or mirror, so how am I supposed to shave? On top of that the shower has no hook and the so-called telephone is dangling.

How is it possible that nobody has ever noticed that some small repairs are needed here? And on top of everything, at midnight there's noise galore in the corridor. When Donato came to wake me the next morning he told me his room was even worse. Nearby there's a four-star hotel, the Outrigger, a Hawaiian company I'd already used in Honolulu; we ask the price and see they're on promotion at $80 a room, which means 40 each, while at the Flame Tree it's 25 each a room. What are we waiting for? Off we go! For a little more we get a lot more. The only thing was the pool was under maintenance, but that hardly matters. The lagoon in front is a mega pool. Donato yesterday, as we were coming from the airport, forgot his fanny pack on the minibus, which had gone back to pick up other passengers. A moment of panic: the money, the passport; Donato lost his head, suddenly he hated the Marshalls.

Then, hitchhiking, a local loaded the two of us onto the bed of his pickup and gave us a lift to the airport. Already in the distance we can see the minibus parked there. Donato rushes over and what does he see through the minibus window? His fanny pack. All at once he was reborn. His face, like the chameleons that change colour, went from oil-black to pink, the Pink Panther. He even hugged me. The driver hadn't even noticed, so we wait and ride back to town with him. The holiday finally begins calmly; we try to organise the coming days. We discover that dozens and dozens of cars drive up and down the only road on the atoll, generating a certain traffic, so much so that you have to be careful crossing the road. There's something incredible about this. Where are these people going by car? we ask ourselves.

Then we understand that 90% of the cars are taxis, which for a 50-cent coin take you more than 100 metres or even 10 km, and you hop on almost on the fly without saying where to take you; you just give them the coin and then say stop here. There may already be other passengers on board. A great system for the residents: moving around costs little and you're not forced to take a bus (which doesn't exist) or buy your own car or bicycle. Donato and I are looking for a rental car so we can be independent, but the only place that could give us one offers us a car that not only has no petrol but has interiors that smell of mould, so we give up and ask a bit further on where a guy, who we later discover is a Marshall Islands pilot, rents out three-wheeled Malaguti 50cc scooters, where you sit side by side. A bit odd-looking but effective.

Well, imagine that, here in the Marshalls, on the other side of the world, there's the Italian Malaguti, very good. It's a hoot riding this wreck; people stare at us, you can tell they arrived on the island only recently and had never seen them before either. The children wave and laugh as we pass. And we wave back; when Donato drives I film and take photos. The vegetation is beyond imagining: banana plants everywhere, palms and broad-leaved trees everywhere, not to mention the many pine trees of the heat. We stop to ask a guy if we can take a couple of plates off those beat-up cars in his front garden, and he lets us; he doesn't want anything but we give him a few American dollars anyway, because that's the local currency here in the Marshalls. We're happy because the plates are very nice, they say Marshall Islands under the number.

We reach the end of the atoll, a bit deafened because the scooter makes a hellish racket, it sounds like it's lost its exhaust, and as for vibrations, it's certainly not like my electric scooter I have at Cinquale. Our backsides keep vibrating for another ten minutes after we stop. I go for a swim in the splendid sea; Donato doesn't feel like it, who knows, maybe it's his time of the month. In return he answers the questions of some kids who ask him about the cheeky little scooter. The underwater world is, as usual, a myriad of aquarium-coloured fish, complete with moray eel and warm water. What a sight. We immediately understand why there aren't many tourists on this strip of land that's a marvel for divers. Continental Airlines and Aloha Airlines charge eye-watering prices on this route, and since they're the only ones calling the shots, a monopoly, a duopoly, either that or nothing.

Donato and I fortunately had miles to get this far and we paid only a few dollars for the tax. Here too we see a lot of rubbish just outside the locals' homes, and we ask why; they say the usual dictator of the moment, rather than setting up a rubbish collection service, a simple truck that would go up and down the only road once a day, prefers to invest the money in his villa on the next atoll. Whatever! We arrive at the hotel on our nice little vehicle, which actually doesn't have three wheels but five, two extra so it doesn't tip over in the bends. We shower, eat, then book at the office of a dive company so we can go for a dive the next day. The guy, an American from Texas (what's he doing here?), is very helpful and despite his 150 kg I find him sharp. We also understand why he does this activity: he says that when he's in the water, like the whales, he feels as light as a feather.

Donato and I often go back to the Flame Tree bar, where the island's only pool table is, and we take turns playing. We also always eat there, since the quality-price ratio is sustainable. The next day we set off for the lagoon excursion by speedboat with a driver and even an instructor for me and the tubby one for Donato. Very good. After a quarter of an hour of fast speedboat we stop in flat water and with no hurry at all, put on our tanks and I translate some of the instruction from English into Italian for Donato, given his inexperience in the field.