Country #114: The Country Formerly Known as Western Samoa
I know. I tried. About 15 minutes into my ride from Faleolo Airport into downtown Apia, I noticed that every other structure seemed to be a religious building of some kind. Usually, they came in pairs. If say a Protestant church opened on a corner, a Catholic one had to claim the adjacent turf. Curious, I started counting them. I hit 43 before I got bored and turned my attention elsewhere. And we were only 20 minutes into the ride.
Once we arrived at the uber-colonial Sheraton Aggie Grey, I was quickly reminded of what happens when missionaries really do a number on a small South Pacific Island. It was Sunday, so I expected the stores to be closed but I was certain it was an exaggeration when the front desk clerk told me that nothing was open. Surely, there would be bars and restaurants doing business. People can not live by prayer alone. Nope, apparently in Samoa, they can.
I walked the length of the harbor, past plenty of shuttered businesses and all I found open was one little crowded mini-mart. Conceding defeat, I went in to buy some snacks and a beer to take back to my room. The store could have billed itself as the Apia Spa and Steam Room and no one would have been able to argue with the designation. I was dripping sweat by the time it was my turn to pay, which must have made my disappointment all the more pronounced when I was informed that beer sales were not permitted on Sundays. Their gods had forsaken me and left me thirsty.
Monday was a new day and brought with it new challenges. Tourism is nascent enough that there are sites to see yet it is near impossible to find any kind of tour or excursion that will cover the highlights. You have to either rent a car and drive on the wrong side of the road or hire a driver. Arranged through a high end hotel, this can be prohibitively expensive. I opted for the more DIY approach (not as in the driving option bc roundabouts are not your friends in these left-side driving countries) but as in the going out and finding a driver myself.
I went to the Samoan tourist information office, which more on them later but (spoiler alert) they are quite possibly the best tourist info office I have ever encountered. They are the ones that started calling around and quickly found my new buddy, Tusi. They didn't have to look too far as he normally can be found at the entrance offering his tour services.
For a fraction of the price of excursions offered by the hotel, we agreed to a full day tour of eastern Upolu. My first question, what is Upolu again? So...back in the 1800's the islands of Samoa were partitioned into German Samoa and American Samoa. German Samoa eventually fell to New Zealand (aka the British) and became known as Western Samoa. In 1962, they became the first of the Pacific island nations to gain their independence, eventually leading to a constitutional change in 1997, where they dropped the "western" part and became simply "Samoa". The two main islands of Samoa are Upolu and Savai'i. The main airport and Apia, the capital city, happen to be on Upolu, which is where I was and thus the Upolu tour. (Wipes sweat off brow after getting all that out of the way).
Our first stop on the tour was the Robert Louis Stevenson museum. If I had been slightly rattled by my stay in the proudly colonial Holiday Inn, staffed by lovely Samoans catering primarily to arrogant, fat, monied Australians- there were no hostels- this here was the icing on the white privilege cake. While it is apparent that the Scottish Treasure Island and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde author did hold a special place in his heart for his adopted homeland, at times the whole thing felt like colonial cosplay.
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| "Yes, mother, we do have to take a photo with the servants" "Fine, but you can't make me look at the camera." |
Thankfully, it turned out that appearances are deceiving as our guide explained that the local people had welcomed him and accepted him as one of their own, going as far as giving him a Samoan name, Tusitala, which means writer of stories. In return, he spent the latter part of his short 44 year life writing books critical of the colonial occupation and the damage it was doing to the Samoan community.
Our tour ended with the guide singing an acapella version of his epitaph, where he asks to be buried in Samoa, overlooking both his home and the Pacific Ocean. It was beautiful and haunting and I may have cried a little bit.
When I returned to the car, Tusi had a gift for me. It was a lovely intricate necklace made out of small shells. I had already learned that he was the son of a tribal chief of one of the larger villages. The attention that I received for the next two days over this necklace made me wonder if I had inadvertently agreed to a marriage proposal. When I asked, all he would say is that not everyone got a necklace like mine so if I get the call some day informing me that I am the chieftainess of a village in Samoa, I'll know what happened.
The next stop on my Tusi tour was the Baha'i temple. If Samoa is going to be covered end to end in churches, they might as well make them cool looking. For this, I give the Baha'i credit. I don't know anything about their beliefs but between this one and the Lotus Temple in Delhi, they seem to have a solid connection to good architects.
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| Both the flower and the necklace courtesy of Tusi. |
Although this was my first real visit to country #114, I had already landed in Samoa without leaving the airport. During a brief conversation with a ground handler, he had told me about a place where I should stay when I eventually returned. Once it came time to plan my trip, for the life of me, I could not remember what he said. It wasn't until we turned into the Sinalai Resort that it came back to me.
Something tells me, scenic as it is, it is just as well. I suspect that this Spa resort is slightly outside my price range.
More my speed were the Taufua Beach Fales, where we stopped for lunch. They were open air huts right on the beach which could not have been more chill had a naked Matthew McConaughey showed up with his bongos in tow.
A bit less chill but arguably more scenic was our next stop, the prime subject of any Samoa-related Instagram search, the To Sua Ocean Trench. Created when a volcanic lava tube collapsed, it is a basically a hole in the earth with a swimming pool at the bottom.
Opposite the trench, when you walk to the oceanfront, you can witness the power of the ocean working mightily to claim those trench swimmers.
The final attraction for the day was the Piula Cave Pool, another natural pool, albeit one that is way more accessible. It was also really cold and full of very loud children so this became more of a photo stop than a swimming one.
The best I can say for the pool is that it provided an answer for the question I'd been pondering whenever I saw a roadside sign advertising a "garden toilet". Practically speaking, isn't any garden also a garden toilet?
Nope, in Samoa, it is actually a really nice garden that happens to also have working plumbing.
With that, Tusi dropped me back off at my hotel, which was conveniently close to The Edge, a waterfront bar/ restaurant that made a credible attempt at vegetarian nachos.
Day 3 in Samoa, I thought back to a conversation I'd had on day 1. I'd been asking about public transportation and the bartender at the hotel (the only open joint in town) had suggested I try it but had warned me not to take offense if a stranger sat on my lap. That's just how it is done. Aware that Samoans can be large people, I'd asked if I had to be a bottom. Couldn't I just get on, survey the scene and pick a lap? He'd laughed and suggested I hire a driver.
I'd done that but now I wanted to check out the buses.
I started the day off at the main bus station. I had no clue where any of them were going but one thing was clear, they sure were going to look good getting there. They were not just modes of transportation, they were mobile art projects.
I was so fascinated by the bus depot activity that I ran out of time to actually take a bus. The prior day, the tourist info office had suggested I come back for the cultural show and before I realized it, I was running late.
I power walked back to the tourist office, where I was led to a cultural village immediately behind it. Now, I should mention that I have probably been to easily 100+ tourist info offices around the world. I find them an invaluable resource, even with advent of the internet, to get first hand information from an actual person. My expectations are pretty simple. A good info center should offer free maps/ brochures and be staffed by people that have a decent working knowledge of what there is do and see. Most meet this admittedly low bar. Some exceed it and some are simply a waste of the electricity they are using to power the lights and should just shutter their doors forever. Then there is Samoa's office.
Not only do they have a well-informed proactive staff working in a cheery office full of helpful info, they also provide- free of charge!!- a three hour long cultural presentation open to anyone who wants to attend. And they do this several times a week.
We began with a weaving class, where we were taught how to make a plate out of plate fronds. This would prove to be quite a practical move by the end of the day.
We were then escorted out to a pavillion where a man was receiving a traditional Samoan tattoo. We were asked not to photograph the process because of its deep ancestral significance. Also, perhaps they were concerned about putting Samoan tattoo artists out of work because frankly, the process looks horrific. Instead of the usual tattoo gun, they go old school with a needle and a little mallet where they tap-tap-tap the needle into the skin of the recipient. They do this over and over again. For a man, the traditional tattoo begins mid back and ends mid-thigh. Lest you think, they spare any body part, the buttocks and genitals get this treatment as well (albeit probably not at the tourist info cultural show). It is so painful that family members remain present for the duration, just to hold the guy's hand. At one point, someone asked what the most painful part was. Our guide, who had the much less invasive female tattoos gave some answer which I don't recall but I know what she didn't say. She didn't talk about hours worth of tap tap tapping on some dude's wang.
This was followed by a demonstration on how to prepare the umu (or hangi in New Zealand, lovo in Fiji, Caja China in Cuban). It is an earth oven, where you cook the food underground. In Samoan tradition, it is the man that does all the preparing and cooking of the food, as it is considered too taxing a job for the ladies to be doing. At its heart, this is some sexist bs that women aren't tough enough to husk coconuts and deal with burning stones, but I still feel unwavering admiration for the women who were able to sell this story. Kudos to you.
Next up, we had woodworking demonstrations and the making of the tapa cloth. By the time all this was done, the food that we had witness being prepared was ready to be served, which it was...on the plates we had weaved! Not only was this really enlightening exhibition free, it included lunch!!
As we ate, the same guys who had prepared the meal entertained us with traditional dances.
Once it was over, who was there waiting for me? My buddy, Tusi. I had asked the tourist office to call him to see if he could take me to see something I had come across on Tripadvisor. Somewhere on the island, there were giant clams and I wanted to see them.
Although many people I talked to had no clue what I was blathering on about, Tusi knew exactly where to take me. Or I should say, the general area where to take me. We drove towards the western part of the island and at one point, he pulled off the road and pointed grandly towards the ocean. "The clams are in there." "Where in there? That's a big ocean" (more pointing) "In there". At this point, a woman came out of a nearby house. Almost all of the land in Samoa is owned by the villages and if there is anything of touristic note, they will charge you to access it, even if it is the water in front of your village. Fair enough. At least she could direct me to the clams. Nope. Her pointing was even more vague than Tusi's. I had questions about the tide and the corals, whether I would be able to access the clams. She was useless. Fortunately, I had my own snorkeling gear because there was none to be seen but I was skeptical of paying her for the privilege of searching aimlessly while trying to avoid sharp reef beds. Finally, I decided I had come this far, I might as well try and asked her, as patiently as I could to narrow down a region for me. "Inside of the buoys" she said. I swam out about 100 meters in a strong currents and went side to side along the inside of the buoy. "Look!" I thought "There is a diver over there. Maybe he can help me."
It was a turtle.
There were no clams to be found. I returned to shore, already annoyed af only for this idiot to tell me that I had gone to the wrong place. "How was that the wrong place? I swam all along the inside of the buoys, like you said." "No, the other side. You have to go past the buoys" Bitch, that's the outside of the buoys!!!
Thankfully, the second attempt was more fruitful and laying there on the ocean floor were some of the trippiest creatures I've ever encountered. I had no idea that giant clams came in so many different patterns.
It was such a cool thing that could so easily be turned into a viable eco-attraction. There is already a frame there, probably to aide in some kind of research. Just attach a dive flag to it. Now, you have a specific spot to aim for. Set up a board with the tide schedule so you know when you can safely swim out. Do better, clam village people.
Much more enjoyable was the Tuesday evening Siva Fia (or fire dancing) show near Paddles restaurant. After a couple of months living in Fiji, I have become accustomed to regularly seeing fire shows. This one had such a winning combination of skill and enthusiasm, that it was truly a pleasure to watch.
On my last day, it was too late to go diving as I had hoped (due to my flight that evening) so instead, I went snorkeling. Thanks to a combination of trade winds and rain, the visibility was crap, but I did get in a solid workout fighting my way through the current. Perhaps that is why, on my drive back to the airport, I dozed off midway through my second attempt at counting the churches. Either that or there are just too darned many churches in Samoa.
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