My three months of playtime in Australia was up, so I had to leave the country to renew my visa. My friend Rachel and I decided to go to Samoa, because, well, why not. I’d never really thought about going there before, but it was an island, it was warm(er than Melbourne), the price was mostly right, so here we go. We stayed on the main island of Upolo and it was a beautiful South Pacific island, just like I expected it to be. You know, lush green trees everywhere, lush greenery-covered mountains running through the center of the island, black volcanic rocks and white sand, beautiful crystal blue water everywhere, and magical sunsets.
Every evening I walked out to the dock or grassy pier to watch the sky put on its magical changing-colors sky show. First the clouds were white and fluffy, then they turned pink, then purple, then finally grey as the sun disappeared behind Savaii, the other island. The sky was a giant blue canvas, with big rainbow streaks of orange, yellow, pink and purple paint. Photos could not do it justice. I sat out there quietly alone, headphones on to provide background music for the show, the volume low enough so I could still hear the lapping waves: THAT was serenity - my favorite part of day.
The first place we stayed was on the south side of the island, and our accommodation was an open air fale, which is basically like a gazebo with a mattress and mosquito net, a kerosene lamp for light, and “walls” made of straw that we could pull up or down like curtains. And when we woke up in the morning, the crystal blue sea literally 20 feet from our door. The fale was really nice and comfortable when the mid-afternoon breeze blew through, but really hot when there was no breeze. We enjoyed the beach at this place, but we were pretty trapped. There was NOTHING near by, no stores (the nearest village was a long walk away), and only one restaurant that, despite the simplicity of this “resort,” was drastically overpriced and lacking in vegetarian fare. Add to that the open air cold showers, the mosquitoes, the lack of space to lock up our stuff, and the lack of ways to escape the heat, we had to go.
After a disasterous second place … okay, correction .... the place was nice, well manicured and beautiful, but the proprietor was a psycho hose beast who fought with us and made us feel both uncomfortable and unwelcome because we only wanted to stay three nights instead of seven . We actually got in to a full-on voices-raised argument about the whole thing. Twice. It was a disaster.
But finally, we ended up at a proper resort, which was our sanctuary. Free 15-minute massage, gym, sauna, big beaches, lounge chairs, friendly staff, free kayaks, pools, air conditioning, 8 different DVD movies in rotation every day in the rooms, several (still overpriced) dining options: it was heaven. Of course the breakfast staff was all friendly and dare I say flirty, bringing us extra juice and tea, coming by every five minutes to see if we needed anything, calling us by our names (well, Rachel was Rachel, but I was Jennifer or Jenny, to the one guy who thought I looked like Jennifer Love Hewitt, don’t ask me why). He always said “Hi Rachel, Hi Jennifer” and walked away giggling. They were never smarmy or over-the-top flirty, just friendly. And the rest of the staff tried to make us feel welcome as well. They were great.
We got a dose of more friendly Samoans on our bus ride in to the main town, Apia. The town itself was not so interesting, but the bus ride, that was a story. We took the public bus because it was both cheaper and more interesting than a taxi. In a car it probably would have taken about a half hour, but in the bus was nearly an hour and a half. When we got on, we were clearly the only tourists, and it was standing room only. The lady in the front seat offered her knee for me to sit on. But I said “no, that’s okay, thanks anyway” and carried on standing, amongst the weed whackers (or whipper snippers, as the Australians call them) and food bins that people left at the front of the bus (because it was certainly easier than carrying them to the back). I spoke to a man also at the front of the bus who turned out to be the resident drug dealer. He asked how we liked where we were staying, mentioned the owners’ names, and when I asked how he knew them, he said, whilst making an unmistakable joint-not-cigarette smoking gesture “I smoke with the bartender.” He went on to tell me how he grew his own, but I didn’t want to get too involved, so I stopped asking questions and went back to looking out the window.
I thought the sweet lady’s lap offering on the way over was just a kind gesture, but it turned out to be the norm. On our way back, I noticed that is just how it goes. When there are no seats left, people just start sitting on each other’s laps. The bigger-than-me girl who got on the crowded bus climbed on to the lap of the bigger-than-her lady-boy who was sitting behind me. I don’t think they knew each other, but hey, there you go. Get closer. As the bus got to standing room only, the man I was sitting next to and chatting with said, “Do you want to sit on my lap?” (to make more room) but I politely declined. I know he wasn’t being sleazy, but still, I just couldn’t go there. Straight male twenty-somethings sat on each other’s laps, arm around the other to hold each other up.( I tried to picture any of my straight American friends doing that and thinking nope, they’d rather run away than sit that close to another dude.) And people just kept on piling in. The seats were hard, wooden and remarkably uncomfortable. And … they were small. I don’t know if you have realized this, but most Samoans are rather large people. And the wooden seats were not quite big enough to accommodate two large Samoans, let alone three sitting on laps, so there were all sorts of half-sat butt cheeks crowding the aisles. It was fantastic. Everyone was comfortable and friendly and chatty and cool, and remarkably un-smelly despite the heat, and the bus even made a convenience store stop so people could get some snacks (which of course, the aforementioned man sitting next to me offered to share). People were really fantastically friendly.
Perhaps Samoa is so chill and friendly because of the degree of seriousness with which Samoans practice their religion. I had no idea how full-on it was. There were a whole lot of churches, and the bus in to town had Jesus stickers covering the speedometer and odometer. I have never before been asked so many times what church I went to, if I believed in God, nor heard the words “my heavenly father” and “our lord savior” in such a short span of time. It bordered on uncomfortable. I was afraid that every time I said “Um … I don’t go to church” that the world would stop spinning as all eyes turned to me with a collective gasp of “WHAT?” followed by a lecture or a sermon or an attempt to save me. That only happened once or twice, until I had to politely say, “Look, I don’t really discuss religion with people I don’t know very well. Sorry.” That put an end to that conversation. But I am sure as that hotel security guard (yes, everyone wanted to talk about religion) walked away he was either cursing or blessing me, depending on how he felt that day.
But aside from the awkward conversations about religion and the fight with the angry Canadian, we found the Samoans to be awesomely friendly and they did a great job of making us feel welcome. It was a great trip, very relaxing.
And I am happy to be “home” in Melbourne.
