July 23, 1979! Twenty one years. For more than twenty one years South Pacific Islands had been the dream of my heart and soul. Now, I would actually realize that dream. How can one express the feelings that almost overwhelm you, when a fantasy, held sacred for that many years, is about to be fulfilled?
The fateful day seemed to take another twenty one years as I anticipated what was ahead. Vikki and Penny wanted to come with me, but realized that this was "mom's dream." They drove me to the airport and wished me well. Their appreciation of my dream however, was not shared by all. Many friends, relatives, and neighbors felt that my decision to travel halfway around the world, ALONE, was just down right CRAZY! I had even heard it voiced that, "a woman her age, ought to know better." Still others came to the airport to wish me well and even envied my "adventurous spirit."
The only part of the trip that worried me was the night to be spent in Los Angeles. It was uneventful however and even went well the next morning until hurrying through the automatic doors, of the airport terminal, my foot turned, twisted my ankle, and broke the heel of my shoe. "Oh No! Don't let this be an omen of things to come, not already!"
But as I dug another pair of shoes from my bag, a little voice came to me, "you are where you are, otherwise you would change." CHANGE, a little broken heel and a hardly swollen ankle wasn't going to interfere with this change in my life, this dream of a lifetime.
Determined and happy, I found the correct check-in-counter. The first stop was to be Hawaii, but there was a separate line for those of us who would continue on to Pago Pago, New Zealand, and finally Australia. As a little girl daddy had taught me to travel light, he didn't want to be one of those men who had to lug three or four bags into the motel every night and back out the next morning. Consequently there was only one small bag to check and the carry on of a purse and overnight case.
At the gate, I began to wonder if the "ought to know better" people might have been right. Everyone else was, with someone. Honeymooners, tour groups, and families filled the waiting area. Sitting alone, the thought came that I wasn't really lonely, just alone. I had found out that being alone is better than being WITH someone but still being lonely. As I watched those around me, happiness filled my heart. Being alone was better that the dramas that were playing our before me. Some of the families were arguing, some in the tour group certainly didn't look happy, and some looked to be "on their last leg." A little silent prayer of thanks settled in my mind. Thanks for being able to take this trip while still young enough and in good enough health to enjoy everything to the fullest. Thankful also, to be able to realize what a privilege this really was because looking around at the other passengers, some truly looked as if they wouldn't be able to recognize a good time, if they had one.
"We are boarding flight number one for Honolulu, Hawaii, Pago Pago, American Samoa, and Auckland, New Zealand," the announcement ended all thoughts of being alone.
On the big DC10, my seat was easy to find, by the window. Slowly we taxied down the runway then up, up, and away, right into the clouds. But soon we broke through to clear skies and the tiny islands, that hugged the coastline came into view. surf rolled onto fringes of white beach, "will my island look like that?"
Soon all points of land were out of sight, leaving only the blues of the sky and the ocean. The hues merged and I felt that right side up or upside down, the scene would be the same. The usual boredom of a long flight stretched over the five hours. Drinks; lunch; headsets passed; movie; headsets retrieved; more drinks; warm hand towels; and at last the the final decent into Hawaii.
Those of us who would continue on, had only an hour wait before the call to re-board. The plane was less than half full, on this last leg, for me. With my face pressed to the window the sight of the beautiful aquamarine shades of the ocean mingled over the reef and the rain clouds played peek-a-boo with Diamond Head. Yes, this is truly paradise, on my return there will be time to enjoy this marvelous place. But right now----next stop-----SAMOA!
Soon, the same scenario, blue skies, blue ocean, and boredom. I looked around for some way to occupy myself and noticed a young woman, who looked as if she could use some kind of diversion also.
"Excuse me, but I overheard as you talked to someone about Samoa and you pronounced it totally different from whats been told to me. Could you teach me to say it correctly?"
Her dark eyes lit up and a big even toothed smile broke across her bronzed face. She moved from her row over to mine. As she did, she fiddled with what seemed to be hair that had a mind of it's own. She tugged, twisted, and finally captured it into an crude bun.
"My name is Fia," she stuck a huge comb into the unruly mop. "I'm on my way home to Western Samoa. What's your name?"
"So glad to meet you Fia, my name is Mildred." We shook hands. "How long have you been away?"
"Oh, I was in America for two years. My parents sent me to take care of my cousin, but she died last week and now, I'm going home. Are you going to New Zealand?"
"No, I'm going to stay in American Samoa for a few days then go to Western S a m o a, oh how do you say it?"
"Saa' moa," she pronounced it carefully. "But you don't want to waste your time in Pago Pago, there's nothing there. Why don't you come with me? My father is going to receive his chief's title. It's a very special occasion."
Our conversation was interrupted with the announcement that we had just crossed the equator. Certificates were presented and a mini-celebration took place as everyone looked out to see if things had changed.
(Sorry it's a little crooked and worn after almost 35 years, but it is still very special to me.)
"Are you sure that your family won't mind if I join your ceremony?" I resumed the conversation after determining that there was nothing different after all.
Before we landed Fia had me convinced that I would be welcomed. Furthermore, she insisted that one night in Pago Pago was more than enough and we should leave as soon as possible for her homeland.
Darkness greeted touchdown. Very few lights were visible after the landing beacons were turned off. A strong wind, not the gentle breezes that had soothed me in Hawaii, gusted around me as we walked into the building. But even with the wind the heat felt was like a giant wet blanket had been thrown over me.
This was the tropics? What about my dreamland? Was this what had been my fantasy for so long? All that greeted me was a hot, sticky, dirty, little island, in the middle of no where.
Inside the terminal was even hotter, stickier, dirtier as we waited for our luggage. More than an hour passed as box after box, trunk after trunk, and one giant, and I mean humongous suitcase, after another spilled off the crude turntable. My small bag escaped through the masses early on, but Fia had many of those boxes, trunks, and cases, so we waited and then waited some more. while the customs officials checked each and every one of them.
She seemed to know, at least half of the people there. One acquaintance, a security guard, arranged for a taxi. After I caught a glimpse of the dilapidated vehicle, I wasn't so sure that he had done us any favor. She and the driver, who she seemed to know also, loaded and reloaded until most everything fit, with the trunk tied down. With Fia's overflow, all around me, and my little cases, on my lap, we clanked, rattled, and bumped off into the darkness.
For what must have been at least thirty minutes (I couldn't see my watch) the only time that I could see anything was when we passed by the strange, little, open houses, called "fales." Then only a dim light gave evidence that there actually were people around. Fia and the driver talked continually, while I tried, very hard, not to panic!
Eventually lights became more frequent and we passed what looked like small stores.
"Ah, wasn't that the hotel?" I looked back at the sign we had just passed as it faded away in the distance.
"We'll go to my uncle's, then the driver will bring you back," Fia informed me.
All that was left for me to do was to pray that Carol's telex had arrived and that there would be a room for me, when, and IF he brought me back. We traveled through what looked to be somewhat of a real town, then turned onto another very dark road, then we stopped.
"Here's my uncle's phone number," she handed me a small note. "When you get up, in the morning, call and we'll make the arrangements for Apia."
With all of her "luggage" piled in front of the house, the cabbie and I left without ever seeing anyone greet her.
The driver did deliver me to the hotel, I paid him, Fia's share as well, and trudged inside. My weariness abated as I took in the vast round lobby. The entire area was open to the outside. Huge chandeliers, made entirely of shells, hung from the center of the peaked roof. Bright floral patterned cushions, on sturdy wicker couches and chairs invited my tired body. If there was no room for me, I would just sleep on one of those. But after a while I regained my faculties and walked to the desk.
"My name is Mildred Lunkley, I hope that you have my reservation."
The girl, at the desk, looked at me as if I had asked if she breathed air. "Of course we do, Misses Lunkley. How many nights will you be with us?"
I signed the register for one night and the security guard/bellman showed the way to my room. The smell of mildew greeted me as he opened the door. He placed my bags on the stand and opened the patio door. Flower scented ocean air brushed in and swept away the musty odor. I tried to tip him, as he left, but he only bowed and declined. What a nice surprise!
Now, I was wide awake and much too excited for bed, also the airplane food had worn off long ago. I locked up and went back to the lobby.
"I'm sorry Misses Lunkley, but the dining room is already closed for the evening, but our coffee shop, downstairs is still open."
Downstairs, I treated myself to a luscious banana milkshake which I carried with me as I strolled back to the room. The flavor of the milkshake seemed to be enhanced as I luxuriated in the salty sea breeze that enveloped me. From my patio, I couldn't see but could hear the waves pulsing onto the shore, just a few feet away. Not wanting to but knowing that I must, I reluctantly closed the door and went to bed.
After a restless night, I was up early, my body clock was still on Oklahoma time. My first morning in PARADISE! Clouds covered the volcanic mountain that seemed to make up ninety percent of the island, but even in overcast gloom, the beauty was more than I could ever have imagined. I walked slowly toward the dining room and savored the splendid scenery at every turn. Inside, once again the unusual simple grandeur of the architecture astounded me. The same type of high ceilings as in the lobby were supported by huge columns covered with island carvings. Curtains crafted from shells danced lightly over the open windows. The hotel was located on a point of land that jutted out into the harbor. Giant tankers, cargo ships, and fishing boats were moored alongside yachts and tiny outriggers. Across the bay the cloud shrouded mountains seemed to pour right down into the water. As I tried to absorb the wonders that surrounded me, I was suddenly sad. Sad that I had no one to share this miracle.
"Good morning Misses, may I serve you?" A bright smile and eagerness that I hadn't seen in many years chased away my melancholy.
"Yes, thank you, I'll have bacon, two eggs, toast, and a big glass of pineapple juice," I told the cheerful waitress. After all this could be my last chance for such a meal since I'm going on an adventure. No more the average-camera-around-the-neck-tourist for me! I would be a part of native life.
My breakfast came, the waitress catered to my every need. She filled and refilled my water and juice glasses as well as my coffee cup. With her great service, I finally realized that there was hardly anyone else, in the room for her to serve. How could that be? An undiscovered Utopia where there were no tourist to spoil things?
After breakfast, I walked slowly, (this was getting to be a pattern because before my walking pace was hard to keep up with) back to my room and sat on the shaded patio. A small inlet fronted my side of the hotel. The sand, the color of toasted marshmallows, held the fingered roots of the palm trees as they reached for the shore. A little man was at the feathery top of one very tall palm. He cut the dead fronds and let them flutter to the beach and lava below.
At last I pulled myself back inside and called Fia. We decided to meet at the village market, which she said was only a short walk from the hotel.
On the way, I was filled with excitement, my dream WAS really coming true. However, my feet soon let me know that Fia's idea of a short walk and mine differed greatly. Almost a mile and a half later, there she was, watching for me.
"Now we have to get our tickets for the boat," she greeted me, no hello, how did you sleep, just we have to get tickets "FOR THE BOAT?"
"THE BOAT?"
"Yes, that is the way island people travel, besides I can't afford to go by plane."
I sank down onto a crude wooden bench and rubbed my swollen feet. Between new shoes, walking over a mile, and the humidity, my feet resembled clown feet.
By boat, that seemed to be the plan, no discussion, no alternate, just, "we'll go by boat."
"Come on, we don't have much time."
I struggled to my feet and we walked back to the pier and ticket office.
"He says that you'll have to have a passport or letter of identification," Fia translated for the agent.
"But everything that I read, before coming stated plainly that as long as a visitor was in Western Samoa less than a two weeks, there was no need for a passport. Why now?"
"Maybe if we were going by plane that would be true, but going by boat, everyone has to have identification."
"Well, what do we do? All I have is my birth certificate."
Just as she had taken over ever since we started to talk, she took charge and we were off to get the official documents. My poor aching swollen feet. But swollen feet, legalities, long lines, nothing stopped a determined Fia. She knew a person here who knew a person there, who could connect with another somewhere else. No polite pressures used, we pushed ahead, sneaked behind, bribed, and flirted our way through. In less than two hours we (Fia) accomplished what I was told later by ones who had gone through the same process, had taken them two to three days.
Now I was legal. I had my letter, even if it did identify me with black hair and brown eyes, right beside my picture with blond hair and green eyes.
All obstacles seemed to be eliminated and we took a taxi to her uncle's house. Outside, her aunt sat under a water faucet, fully clothed, doing her laundry. The water spattered down on her and the clothes. She would take a bar of soap, scrub the piece of clothing, then with a worn stick, bombard the crap out of the article for a good two minutes.
"What a way to take out your frustrations," I said as Fia went inside.
Here, her uncle was a judge, their house was very nice even though it was one of the open fales and yet his wife sat , on the ground, beating her laundry with a stick. She hardly missed a beat to say good-by to Fia as the driver loaded the boxes, trunks, and cases, into the cab.
We returned to the hotel and retrieved my things. When we reached the pier and were actually ready to board, I realized which boat was the "Antonio."
"You've got to be crazy!" surfaced from deep inside me. "You're really ready to put your life in jeopardy and travel eighty miles, across the ocean, on that TUB?"
Fia and her friends carried our things on board. My feet wouldn't budge.
"Okay," came from that same deep place inside me, "This is just another leg of your DREAM VACATION, so get a move on! Where to from here?"
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