Marble Floors, a Selfie-Show and a Fijian Welcome

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It was time to transition from American Samoa, travel through the independent nation of Samoa, and continue onward to Fiji, where four nights at Barefoot Manta Island awaited us. What lay ahead was a little air travel, a little city exploration, a decidedly inconvenient wake-up call, and, eventually, a tropical island welcome.

A Short Flight and a Leap into Tomorrow

We were flying out of Pago Pago International Airport, and I admit I approached the experience with a little trepidation after the incredible chaos we’d encountered at baggage claim on our arrival several days earlier. Fortunately, this departure was an altogether smoother operation. Having dutifully arrived the recommended two hours before boarding, we found ourselves with time to spare but the time passed quickly, and soon we were boarding a Samoa Airways de Havilland Canada Twin Otter, a small aircraft well suited to island hopping and short runways.

I’m always psyched about flying in a small plane. You’re rarely soaring high above the clouds, and the relatively close-up views of the landscape below can be spectacular. The rain had just passed as we crossed the wet tarmac, a friendly ground crew member waving us toward the stairs.

When booking the flight, I’d been asked to provide my weight, a routine precaution on small island aircraft, where passengers and baggage must be carefully balanced. With every row occupied, the crew arranged us with that balance in mind. Many of the Samoan passengers were of larger build, something I’d noticed throughout our time in American Samoa, and a few occupied two seats to travel comfortably. Polynesian communities have diverse body types, and larger physiques have sometimes been associated with chiefly status and traditional ideals of strength and stature and are quite common. This airline was mindful of that as was I on this flight but know also there is no single Samoan body type nor judgement. I buckled in, watched the clouds breaking over the water, and felt lucky to be there.

The flight lasted barely 50 minutes, although the weather provided plenty of drama. Clouds, rain, and a rainbow accompanied us, with occasional breaks offering clear views of the coastline and bays below. Several views stopped me in my tracks: a forested coastline bordering a sheltered lagoon, its waters glowing in layers of turquoise and aqua before plunging into deep ocean blue and a fringe reef that announced itself with a crescent of crashing white waves tracing its outer edge. Even with the unsettled weather, it was a spectacular introduction to the islands ahead.

And then there was the International Date Line to deal with. We’d left American Samoa on Tuesday at 9:15 a.m. and arrived in Samoa on Wednesday at 9:50 a.m. In barely 50 minutes of flying, we’d apparently managed to lose an entire day. We landed at Fagaliʻi Airport, a small regional airport serving flights between the islands. Customs was remarkably effortless, and soon we were on our way to our hotel in Apia.

Our taxi driver, Loui, also gave us one important piece of information: we’d need to leave for the airport at 2 a.m. the following morning. Ouch! Our flight from Faleolo International Airport, about 25 miles away and an hours drive away, was scheduled for 5 a.m., and we needed to check in by 3:00 am. We arranged for Loui to collect us at the appointed hour. I thanked him and tried not to think too much about whether he’d actually appear in the middle of the night. I could not imagine why he would volunteer to do that but I have heard that taxi driver’s are in a competitive business and are grateful for a confirmed pick-up and especially when they can secure a more-lucrative run to the airport ahead of time.

A Touch of Luxury in Apia

Our accommodations for the night were at the Sheraton Samoa Aggie Grey’s Hotel, a short distance from Fagaliʻi Airport. We arrived around 10 a.m. and, since we had only one night in Samoa, were eager to leave our luggage somewhere and explore Apia.

We had hoped simply to store our bags until check-in, but discovered that for about $78 we could have a room within the hour. Since I had already pre-paid for the room months ago, I conned myself into thinking it was a total bargain for a room at this grand hotel. Even better, the price gave us access to the hotel’s extensive buffet breakfast in its beautiful open-air restaurant while we waited. It seemed a bargain for a few hours of comfort, a good meal, and the chance to regroup before heading out. By 10:30, we were in our room.

What a contrast to Sadie’s Hotel in American Samoa! The Sheraton’s polished marble hallways and elegant surroundings were a world away from Sadie’s old-world charm and long history. Yet I loved them both. One had a comfortable, very lived-in character; the other offered marble hallways and more polished kind of luxury. Fortunately, I didn’t have to choose a favorite.

Shortly afterward, we set out to explore Apia. Compared with the easygoing village feel of Pago Pago, Apia was busier and more urban, definitely much more commercial, with fewer dogs, and not as many churches. I’ll admit the city itself didn’t particularly win me over. We wandered the streets, looked for a pharmacy, poked into a few shops, and passed the cream-colored clock tower in the town center, but the harbor was the real draw.

Beneath heavy gray skies, container ships and cranes worked along the docks, while a breakwater of rough volcanic rock held back the choppy water. It was more industrial than idyllic, but the walk along the waterfront was considerably more pleasant than the city’s noise and bustle.

I was glad we’d explored it, but even happier to return to the hotel and enjoy a couple of hours in its glorious swimming pool and gardens. After our very substantial brunch, dinner was a nonstarter. We had more important business to attend to: organizing everything so that when our alarms sounded at 1:30 a.m., we could simply dress, grab our bags, and be out the door in a flash!

After enjoying a spectacular sunset and beginning to settle in to bed, there was just one small obstacle to a peaceful night’s sleep. Remember those beautiful marble hallways? It turned out they were also excellent amplifiers. A family in a nearby room allowed their children to tear around and holler along the slippery, echoing corridors. The children were clearly having a wonderful time. We were less enthusiastic about their entertainment.

Eventually, Bernadette went out and suggested to the father that he might consider corralling his offspring, as some of us were trying to sleep. It was a reasonable request, especially given that our day was about to begin at an hour when most sensible people are still several hours away from waking and perhaps this father was just going to bed.

Fiji, Here We Come!

To my great relief, dependable Loui appeared right on time at 2 a.m. He drove us through the darkness to Faleolo International Airport for our flight to Nadi, Fiji. The drive was slow, and the 25-mile journey reinforced the wisdom of allowing plenty of time. We needed to be at the airport by 3 a.m. for our 5 a.m. departure.

We took off under a golden sunrise and everything went smoothly. This was an economy flight, but Samoa Airways earned points in my book by serving us breakfast, complete with yogurt and a muffin, at no extra charge. Can’t remember when a USA airline on any non-international flight has given me a free meal in economy. Luxury is relative when you’ve been awake since the middle of the night. We also landed under a golden sunrise. Traveling through these time zones gave us this unanticipated but bonus sunrise. Customs in Fiji was a breeze, the airport uncrowded and gleaming.

Soon we were outside waiting for the South Sea Cruises coach that would take us to Port Denarau. From there, we’d board the Yasawa Flyer for the journey to Barefoot Manta Island, our home for the next four nights. I think the coach stopped at every resort in the area to load up passengers so it was well over an hours ride for the 12 mile distance that would be 20 minutes by taxi.

Port Denarau was bustling with travelers heading off to various islands on various vessels, some for day trips and others for longer stays at the outer-island resorts. After checking our bags, getting our boarding passes, paying a fuel surcharge, and purchasing some snacks, we people watched on the deck area by the dock until we boarded this speedy, air-conditioned catamaran. We opted for seating on the open upper deck. The promise of sea breezes and island views was irresistible.

Unfortunately, I’d neglected two fairly important accessories: a hat and sunscreen. The sun and wind were soon making their presence known, and I eventually retreated below to the more comfortable indoor air-conditioned seating area, with its snack bar and large windows. Down there , there was also a door leading to the exterior lower front deck, where one could experience the breeze of great intensity. My girls eventually joined me down there having had their fill of the gusty breezes up top .

Out on the front deck, the wind whipped up the sea spray as the islands slid past, and it was quite invigorating. After enjoying it for a while I was back in my seat. I became fascinated by two young women conducting with their iPhones what appeared to be an elaborate photo shoot out on the deck. They cycled through pose after pose, apparently determined to capture every possible angle and facial expression of themselves against the island scenery. For a while, I found their performance almost as entertaining as the view.

It struck me as a perfect illustration of our selfie-obsessed age, when sometimes the experience seems less important than the photograph proving that we had it. Of course, I couldn’t be too judgmental. In this digital age, when thousands of photographs can be snapped at no cost, I have occasionally been guilty of collecting pictures rather than simply enjoying the moment myself.

Eventually, I turned my attention back to the real attraction: the islands of the Mamanuca region slipping past in the distance.

The Ferry That Didn’t Quite Dock

The Yasawa Flyer made stops at numerous island resorts along the way. I’d imagined it pulling into a succession of little island ports, but my understanding of the process was about to receive a useful correction. Many of the islands have shallow reefs and no deep-water docks. Rather than bringing the large ferry ashore, the crew anchored well offshore and waited for the smaller motor launches from the resorts. These approached the catamaran, transferred passengers and their luggage, and carried them to the beaches or resort landing points. The process worked in reverse for those leaving the islands, with new passengers and their bags being brought aboard for the onward journey.

It was an ingenious arrangement, although watching the transfers made me appreciate just how different island transportation can be from simply pulling into a dock or ferry terminal.

The resorts we passed were generally smaller and more intimate than the grand developments found on Fiji’s larger, more populated islands. Here, the attraction was the combination of sandy beaches, reefs, tropical vegetation, mountains, and a sense of remoteness. After about three hours on the water, our final approach and transfer to our resort, Barefoot Manta, proved memorable. We were finally heading for a sandy shore on one of those launches, and Barefoot Manta Island was no longer just a name on our itinerary.

A Fijian Welcome

Stepping onto the sand at Barefoot Manta Island, we were greeted by several members of the staff, who had gathered with guitars to sing us a warm Fijian welcome. Someone handed us a cold, delicious mango drink, and we sipped happily while receiving our check-in instructions. After airplanes, airport transfers, a brief urban excursion, a middle-of-the-night departure, and three hours aboard a ferry, it was a lovely way to arrive. The music, the smiles, and the refreshing drink immediately made the journey memorable. Now, at last, we could unpack, settle in, and look forward to the next four days. The adventure was just beginning.



Bats, Foggy Heights, and a Soaking Wet Finale

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Monday, September 14, greeted us with, yet again, drenching rain and it never let up for most of the day. So much for snorkeling, beach combing, or any other activity that we might have an expectation of staying dry. What to do? We decided to make the best of it and drive around the southern and western parts of Tutuila, venturing out of the car when the weather – and our enthusiasm – permitted.

What better way to start this journey than visiting BATS! So we stopped in Nu’uuli at a roosting site for the white-nape fruit bat, sometimes called the flying fox. They are among the largest bats in the world and seeing them gathered at their daytime roost was a different way to begin our soggy excursion. The bats seemed perfectly content with the weather. I on the other hand was a bit skeptical.

I was not sure what possessed us to continue uphill to the villages of Pava’ia’i and Aoloua. but upward we went. Aoloau, nicknamed “Fog Village” is the highest village on Tutuila and on a clear day, its elevation offers sweeping views across the island. It definitely, on this day earned, its nickname and we decidedly had front row seats to the islands shroud of fog. There we were practically on top of Tutuila, with nary a view and hence no photo to show for it.

Driving the island this day left me focusing on impressions of this US territory which are quite different from the mainland United States.

Churches, Chickens and Other American Samoan Observations

One thing that is impossible to miss while driving through American Samoa is the prominence of churches. Nearly every village has at least one , and many have several large whitewashed and pastel or bright colored buildings, often topped with tall steeples. They definitely stand out amongst the modest home and often seemed outsized in comparison to their surroundings, including one we irreverently joked about looking like a cruise ship.

Their prominence reflects the central role of Christianity in fa’a Samoa, the Samoan way of life. Churches are more than a place to worship on Sunday mornings, but important centers for community life, identity and gathering. They are every bit as much of the landscape as the mountains and the sea. On the Sunday morning we traversed the island , there was a striking observation: men and women dressed all in white making their way to church. Wearing one’s Sunday best is taken seriously and this tradition definitely added a sense of occasion and dignity on a day devoted to faith, family, and community.

Another feature of village life, which I had mentioned in an earlier entry, was the astonishing number of chickens. Hens, roosters, and fluffy little chicks wander freely along roadsides, through yards and wherever their chicken instincts lead them (as do the dogs). They pay no mind to traffic laws. We would call them free-ranging chickens and in American Samoa they are a familiar part of life. Families keep them for eggs and meat, while the fowl forage for much of their own food. Why build elaborate chick coops when the birds are quite capable of finding their own dinner. I would imagine our back-yard cooped up chickens would be quite envious.

As I mentioned previously dogs enjoy this same freedom — either belonging to a household or available for adoption by a passing tourist. My Bernadette is so soft of heart and was prone to providing a few with their next meal.

So with dogs and chickens wandering about I began to notice another adaptation. Large platforms, often five feet off the ground , where household garbage was stored until collection. Elevated garbage made sense when the local four legged and feather scavengers are free to investigate whatever they pleased. It also struck me that this arrangement would probably not pass muster in most of the deed restricted neighborhoods whereI have lived. My homeowners association would have required a committee meeting before approving the backyard chicken coupe, never mind the garbage platform.

Then there were the tombs.

At first I was puzzled by the concrete burial structures sitting right in front yards, sometimes just steps from the front porch. Some were simple slabs , others were tiled, perhaps topped with little roofs, or decorated with crosses. Some were so elaborate they rivaled the grandeur of the churches. I learned that family burials on ancestral land are a long standing Samoan tradition with land closely tied to extended family. Burying loved ones at home keeps them close to the generations that follow. These tombs are not treated as places to hide away and avoid.

It is such a striking difference from the way Americans in the USA approach to death, separating cemeteries from places we live. I found the custom both touching and fascinating. I also decided for the time being, I wasn’t ready to campaign for a similar arrangement. But perhaps since Tasia was with me to witness this practice she might be open to placing my tomb in the front yard since I live with her (or at least a big memorial with my ashes.)

Following the Coast to the End of the Road.

Eventually we returned to the coastal highway and continued northward to Fagamalo, at the end of the road. Along the way we drove through Leone, one of Tutuila’s larger communities and visited the Leone Healing Garden memorial which was built to honor the victims of the devastating September 29, 2009 Samoa earthquake and tsunami. Signs along most roads marking tsunami hazard zone were a recurring reminder that this beautiful coastline is also extremely vulnerable to the power of the Pacific ocean.

We had a classic photo opportunity when passing Cape Taputapu, where a small, palm-topped sea stack caught my eye and is a signature land-mark of the area. I think Tasia was hooked by the look.

We stopped to admire Amanave, a village nestled along the coast. Even with fog trying its best to conceal the scenery, it was enchanting to see. The road wound along the shoreline, dipping into small bays, climbed across a ridge to Poloa and from there it rose steeply and twisted sharply to the roads end. The scenery was spectacular even in the rain and yet again Tasia’s driving skills were tested to the max.

At Fagamalo we explored the beach and as has happened on other outings, we were soon adopted by a local dog. Our adopt-a-dog-by-the-hour definitely was hoping that his companionship, supervision and guidance would be rewarded with some scraps from our lunch. Bernadette tipped him well.

A Legend, a Wild Sea, and a Wave Delivered Shower

After retracing our route towards Pago Pago, we stopped at Vaitogi to visit the site associated with the Samoan Legend of the turtle and the shark. The story tells of a mother and daughter fleeing famine, that leapt into the sea and were transformed into a turtle and a shark. According to local tradition. villages sing to call the pair, and this site preserves the story.

Whatever one makes of the story, the setting certainly seemed suited to one. The sea was wild and dramatic. Waves rushes in from the open ocean and slammed against the black volcanic shelf, exploding into white spray, before cascading back over the rocks. Jagged lava formations with slick green algae, framed the churning turquoise waters beautifully. The contrast between the dark volcanic rock, the vivid sea, and the white foam was mesmerizing.

We stood at the viewing deck built over the rocky shoreline, watching the waves gather strength and crash against the coast . The force of the water was impressive and it’s occasional well-times splash reminded me that the ocean was not solely a spectator sport. Then one wave sent a wall of spray over the rocks and straight onto me. Yet again, I got a complimentary wave-delivered shower.

After a couple of stops for gas and snacks, we landed back at Sadie’s. It was mid-afternoon and Tasia and Bernadette headed out to the beach and pool for a swim. I went down and to take on the role of bystander. That was however a short lived adventure and you can probably guess what derailed the plans. After a day of seemingly endless rain, swimming in the rain had no appeal. They abandoned the pool in search of something dry which , as it turned was becoming quite an elusive commodity.

The Final Drip

By the time we returned to our room, we were ready to call it a day. Unfortunately our accommodations had developed an additional water feature. We discovered that the rain was now dripping through the ceiling onto one of the beds. Fortunately the ice-bucket was available for a new and currently a more practical purpose: catching the drips. It was our final night at Sadie’s and we had little inclination to pack everything up and move rooms. Tasia simply relocated to the other bed while the ice bucket stood sentry, content with its new job. After a day of relentless rain, foggy mountaintops, and ocean spray, we had apparently not yet met our daily water quota. The hotel was definitely helping us meet it.

There was gear to organize, laundry to be done, bags to repack. Feeling weary, we decided to skip dinner at the Goat Island Cafe and use up the remaining lunch supplies instead . This meal in a room with a leaky ceiling was not a remarkable culinary experience but I had food, a dry half- of-a-bed, and an ice bucket that I trusted would continue to earn its keep. The next day we would be leaving American Samoa and head to the independent nation of Samoa. Our time on Tutuila was drawing to a close. We were ready for a change of islands, and perhaps a ceiling that kept the rain where it belonged.

Rainforest, Rusty Ladder, and a Tuna Named Charlie

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On Sunday, September 13, we set out to explore the National Park of American Samoa and headed south on Route 5 out of Pago Pago toward Fagasa Bay. Along the way, we passed the trailhead for Mount Montafeo. One look was all it took and I knew this was not to be our hike for the day. An old rusty ladder served as the trailhead starting point. On this rainy foggy day, that trail was definitely not calling my name. All I could think was that you (and anybody else) are not supposed go up here! I am adventurous to be sure but ignoring the obvious sign of a decaying and rusting ladder is quite another.

We continued toward Fagasa Bay, known as “the Forbidden Bay.” Although fog partly obscured the view, I was struck by the bays half-moon shape, framed by steep forested cliffs that plunge dramatically towards the water. Heading back toward Pago Pago, we stopped to admire the harbor surrounded by volcanic peaks, draped in fog and dense foliage. We even spotted the bay that Sadie’s by the Sea is on. There was also the obligatory stop at an official entrance sign for the National Park of Samoa. No park visit is complete without the photographic proof that we were actually there.

Next up was the Lower Sauma Trail which “plunged” us into dense rain forest. The trail was wet, muddy, and slippery beneath a carpet of rain soaked leaves. Mother Nature, with what I suspect was some assistance from the trail builders, had provided an obstacle course of flat slick stones, some decorated with patches of moss to make them even more treacherous. Hidden between the stone steps were plenty of exposed roots, just waiting to catch my wary foot. Tasia was sure-footed, with Bernadette and I not so confident that we’d arrived unscathed. Every step presented an opportunity for a face plant or a butt plant. She and I proceeded cautiously doing our best to remain upright. The return climb was steep and by the time we were finished we were thoroughly drenched. Still, perhaps, would it have been a disappointment to visit a tropical rainforest and not get rained on? In that department we were getting our money’s worth.

The question was whether the lovely views were worth the risk of navigating such a slippery trail. In the end I decided they were, sort of that is. It was a worthwhile adventure but on this foggy rainy day, they were not post card perfect. The real reward of this hike wasn’t the scenery as the challenge itself. The scenery was nice but finishing the hike without landing on my face or with a bruised backside was the achievement I celebrated the most. I think Bernadette would agree heartily with me.

We then continued east to the Pola Island Trail at the end of the road in Vatia Village. Happily this trail was wide, flat, and mercifully easy, leading us to a rugged, rocky beach. What a payoff this time for so little effort. Rising dramatically from the surf was a massive jungle topped sea stack, a striking feature of the island’s volcanic coastline. The beach was covered with rounded cobblestones, backed by large palm fronds. The whole scene felt gloriously wild and untamed. There was no soft sand beach made for a leisurely stroll or casual beach combing. Collecting shells, or even walking comfortably, was not in the cards.

I settle for a lumpy unforgiving seat on the rocky shore and took in the view. The best way to appreciate this wild place was to stop moving before it gave me another opportunity to fall down.

Feeling quite satisfied with our exploration of the park, we headed back to Pago Pago. But first we had to make one final tourist stop to pose with Charlie the Tuna, the familiar mascot who statue stands outside the StarKist Tuna Cannery in the village of Atu’u on the north shore of Pago Pago Harbor. The tuna industry makes a significant contribution to American Samoa’s economy so Charlie represents more than a convenient photo opportunity. Finally we returned to Sadie’s for a quiet afternoon.

The relentless rain showed no signs of letting up and the prospect of venturing out yet again to get soaked held little appeal. Even trying my first adventure snorkeling held no interest for me. It was a laid back afternoon and we opted for another meal at the Goat Island Cafe. Fish tacos! After all we had spent the day dodging slippery stones, lurking roots, and the many hazards of the rainforest and beaches in the rain. We had earned a little rest and a dry seat.

Sand Everywhere, Dogs Everywhere, Chickens Everywhere

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Saturday, September 12th (Day 3) dawned dark and cloudy, but that was not going to stop us as we had decided we would take the ferry to Aunu’u Island. We drove to Au’asi on the east end of Tutuila in search of the ferry dock. Our understanding was that the ferry ran back and forth throughout the day and would come more or less on demand. The “ferry terminal” was certainly not very imposing — in fact rundown would probably be the more accurate description. No airport could match this kind of “pre-boarding” lounge with its blue painted bench. But we waited patiently until a rather rickety-looking little boat finally appeared. She was a dented aluminum veteran well worn by the salt and sun and sporting yellow blue and orange racing stripes. We paid our fare, climbed precariously aboard, and soon were bouncing across the choppy waters.

As we stepped off our jalopy of a ferry, we were greeted by Joe, who immediately inquired of our plans and began subtly suggesting that perhaps we would like to see the island school. I’m always a believer in supporting the locals, and besides having somebody who actually knew where he was going seemed like a pretty good idea. So Joe and a stray dog became our guides. It already was quite apparent that one of the things the people of Aunu’u were particularly proud of was their school as he asked again if we wanted to see the school. Then he asked again! After, our dog-for-the-day joined us on the tour, he followed us around the island, and stayed with us throughout our beach explorations. He definitely was content with his temporary assignment as our official Aunu’u escort.

Aunu’u is a car free (though work vehicles exist), slow-paced island small island with about 400 people. in a close-knit Samoan community where traditional life remains important. It is an island of quicksand, swamps, taro plantations, and quiet village paths and wandering about here on this island was a very different experience from the developed parts of Tutuila we have been exploring.

We had come with snorkeling in mind, having read there were good reefs around the island. We walked farther along the beach guided by our dog-for-the-day, found a spot that looked promising, and began donning our gear. As usual, Tasia is the first “out of the gate” and thus first one in the water. She was also the first one back out. The current seemed just too strong to make snorkeling enjoyable or particularly sensible. She headed off in another direction to see if she could find calmer water. Bernadette and I decided we might at least try swimming, but the moment we got in the water it became clear that the current had other plans for us. we were battered by the waves and inundated with sand. So, swimming was not a good option either.

So plan B: beachcombing

We spent a good amount of time wandering the beach and searching for interesting pieces of coral and shells. Tasia was fascinated and spent considerable time filming little hermit crabs carting their houses around. Eventually we stopped for lunch and were joined by our-dog-for-the day companion who was quite eager to share our picnic. Around 1:00PM we decided to head back.

More about our dog-for-the-day. One thing we noticed everywhere in American Samoa was the abundance of dogs. Estimates have put the number of free-roaming dogs on Tutuila as more than 10,000. However I also heard that many aren’t truly stray but have owners but simply allowed to roam. Limited spraying and neutering, lax and inconsistent licensing, and limited veterinary care have all contributed to the problem. Dogs seem to be part of the landscape, wandering the roads, beaches, and villages often joining visitors as if they had no where else to be. Our Aunu’u companion certainly seemed to have perfected that last part and seemed quite content .

Another thing we couldn’t help noticing here and everywhere in American Samoa was the chickens that are everywhere. Baby chickens everywhere. Roosters strutting around as if they owned the place. At times it seems like we were moving through one enormous free-range farmyard.

One strong impression from this day and this part of the island was that there was sand everywhere. And I mean everywhere. It found its way into our feet, into our shoes, onto our clothes, and into places I’m fairly certain sand was never intended to go.

Back on Tutuila, since we were at the eastern end of the island we decided to explore a little more. First we drove through the post-card pretty villages of Tula, at the easternmost cape and then on to Onenoa, the northeastern most village. The road is paved but narrow, winding and unstriped. and it climbed steeply over a mountain ridge before ending at Onenoa, the last stop on Tutuila. After retracing our path we traveled north to Sailele on another steep curvy road.It was a real test of Tasia’s driving skills. What was a great relief it was for her that the speed limit on the island was 25 miles per hour everywhere.

Some of the things that stood out on this adventure were the prominent, lushly vegetated islets rising directly from the water– small offshore island called sea stacks. The beaches seemed to be a mix of volcanic rock, coarse coral sand, and pebbles.

In most towns the tree trunks are painted — and in many there are bands of red, white, and blue (occasionally another combination of colors). This decoration I learned serves multiple cultural, celebratory, and practical functions including patriotic display, a showcase of civic pride and honor of local heritage; demarcation of village boundaries; beautification; a welcoming visual indicator of community care; and, environmental protection as painting of the lower trunks of trees reflects intense tropical sunlight to prevent bark splitting and acts as a minor deterrent against crawling insects like ants.

One of the most distinctive features of every village we drove through was the abundance of the traditional open-sided Samoan fales used for family gatherings and important occasions. The buildings themselves are built elevated on a platform with a pillared perimeter designed to allow cool ocean breezes to pass through while serving as a central hub for gatherings and cultural events. We saw them in village after village — sometimes several in one place — reminders that the traditional Samoan way of life values family, community, community responsibility, service to others, and respect for elders.

By the time we finally returned to Sadie’s a refreshing dip in the pool seemed absolutely necessary — not just for cooling and relaxation but as a serious attempt to remove the sand from every part of our bodies. Once dressed and not wanting to get back into the car, we decided to eat dinner again at the Goat Island Cafe. As we ate , storms were moving through the area, and the sky rewarded us with the most beautiful rainbow – a full brilliant arc stretching across the sky. After a day that included a questionable ferry ride, a failed snorkeling expedition, enough sand to fill a sand box, and stray dogs and chickens, sitting there with a good meal of a wahoo burger gazing at a full rainbow seemed like a perfect ending to this day.