Apia-Lalomanu-Aganoa-Saleleloga-Lano-Manase-Asau-Saleloga
7 accommodations, two ferries, a handful of taxis, and more than enough bus rides.
Sacred center of the universe? Or Sacred chicken? I’m still not sure which translation fits best. You know you aren't in tourist territory when every Samoan you meet comments, "Oh, you're from America. There are some Peace Corps volunteers here from America!"
The scenery puts Jurassic Park to shame: sleeping volcanoes draped in vines – philodendrons, banana trees, papaya trees, palms, ohias; taro fields running in lines down the hills, edged by tropical botanical gardens: 6 foot tall rainbow crotons, waist high peace lilies, bromeliads, ferns hanging from ficus trees with aerial roots streaming to the ground. Coconut-lined beaches border Caribbean-blue waters. Giant flying foxes circle the sky at dusk, replaced by swiftlets, kingfishers, and other warbling birds in the sun.
Churches stand like cathedrals amidst pigs, chickens, dogs, and uniformed school children. Smiles are plentiful, and swarms of children wave and scream, “bye-bye!,” giggling. There are no poisonous snakes or spiders, no leeches, and there is no malaria. This time of year (at the start of the rainy season), there’s only a handful of tourists. It’s a tropical paradise.
For 60-80 tala ($30-40 USD) per person, you can stay 10 ft from the ocean in an open fale, breakfast and dinner included. A fale is a wooden structure with a palm-thatched roof (or metal) and palm blinds that can be raised to catch the breeze or lowered when the rains come. Woven mats keep the sand off your feet. A light hangs from the ceiling and usually works. It’s the epitome of ecotourism. The sound of waves lull you to sleep, mosquito netting drapes gracefully over a mattress on the floor. It’s perfect! Kind of.
What you might not realize: usually, the fales are 10 feet from the water, but also from each other. Your neighbor might have a cranky two year old, might snore, or might think he is the next Jimmy Buffet. And those mosquito nets? They are there for a reason - mosquitos. Their secondary purpose is to help catch the droppings from resident geckos (who chirp like birds throughout the night as they eat the mosquitos). At least one line of sugar ants will cross the room.
And the palm thatched roofs? Wonderful for shade, but they might not be the best choice to keep out rain during a tropical storm. Afterwards, the mattress might smell musty (or like cat pee). You might also have some unexpected company. One night there was a huge scuffle on the roof, which ended with a huge rat dropping from the ceiling, inches from Greg’s head.
The cleanliness of a bathroom is directly proportional to how many people use it, how often it’s cleaned, and whether the toilet flushes consistently. That varies; the rest is self-explanatory.
Public transportation systems are well developed and interesting (see Greg’s post about the bus). Note that “island time” is a farce. All buses, cabs, and ferries left promptly. Or 10-15 minutes early. I think the concept of island time comes because no one pays attention to the schedule.
As for food, what could be fresher than island food? Fish, fresh fruit, taro, free range chickens and pig! Or it might be what’s in the store: rows of canned beef, spam, canned chicken, tuna, sardines, oysters, and fried snacks – lots of them. “Fresh fruit” brings to mind a plate of papaya, pineapple, banana, coconut, mango… you will get all of those. Just not at the same time. You’ll likely get a slice of one of them. Chicken and fish are wonderful, until that’s all you’ve had (no spices, with white rice, day after day). Breakfasts vary. The most unique ones were a tuna sandwich and a spaghetti-o omelete.
All in all, Samoa is an incredible place. We had an amazing time, even though I still can barely pronounce a word correctly!!
No comments:
Post a Comment