The introspective tourist

Growing and living in a place of the world where tourism permeates through every person, place, and thing is an interesting (and often times uneasy) experience. Samoa, with its clandestine beaches and crystal waters is obviously one of these destinations, and because of this I’ve had to navigate my identity as a student, a pālangi, a woman, and especially as a tourist.

Last Friday my group left by ferry for the island of Savai’i, the largest island of the Samoan chain of islands that is far less populated and is far more soaked by tourists. We knew this going into it. We were aware that this trip, unlike our Lotofaga trip, was somewhat like a vacation (although Jackie obviously does not use that to describe it). Savai’i harbors active flowing volcanoes (the last eruption was early 1900s, I think 1907?) so this was our chance to see the more geological perspectives of the islands.

Here's a general map of the two main islands of Samoa. I am usually on the island of 'Upolu in the city of Apia. We took a ferry into Salelologa, stayed at Tanu Beach on the east central side of the island, visited Falealupo, the Taga blowholes, hiked Tafua, and swam in Olemoe Falls.

But before the lectures and hikes on Pacific geology, we were given two free days at the Tanu Beach Fales on the southeast side of the island. Tanu Beach is run by a family of Samoans, which is a common business for some families, especially in Savai’i. They provided for us breakfast and dinner and a comfortable stay in a little fale that made for a beautiful vacation. I woke up in the morning to see those turquoise waters lapping up to me and had the days to relax in the sun, snorkel in the reefs offshore, and experience some other sites that were near the property.

Our little fales at Tanu Beach

The tide would get so high so the bottom two steps of those stairs were covered! Jackie says the family has had to move the beach fales back another few feet almost every year. Can you say rising sea levels?

One such site was Paia, the Dwarf’s Cave. It was suggested to us by a few of the family members at Tanu Beach, and I went into it with very few expectations. Before this experience, I had never been in a cave before – or at least not a real cave. I was imagining a hole in the side of a volcano, but the entrance to Paia ended up as a literal hole in the ground, with a relatively sleep descent into a dark, dripping tunnel. Color and light escaped us as we went deeper in until I experienced actual darkness for the first time. A shallow stream of water ran over our feet, collecting in pools along the way. The pools, lit from our three small light sources, were unclouded and crisp, with no (visible) things growing in or around them. We were surrounded by water, rock, and mud only. Some roots pushed through the ceiling, growing more rare as we descended. The first large pool we came to forced me to leave my shirt and bag behind, with no way to avoid getting drenched up to my shoulders. The next pool was even bigger and deeper, where I abandoned my headlamp because I was required to jump into the pool that was deep enough that I could not stand. From then on we were reliant on our guide, a fifteen-year-old boy named Junior from the village. We continued on our way, laughing at ourselves as we slipped from rock to rock with ungraceful steps. We eventually came to a wall, and as I assumed that was the end of the cave, Junior got down on his stomach and squeezed his thin body through a crack in the wall. Watching this alone made my skin crawl and pushed comfort zones I didn’t even know I had. I followed and entered a round room. Here, we sat and decided to turn off the remaining light, and experienced darkness and silence that was foreign to us. In darkness like that, light and energy plays with you. I had a stained image of that room in my mind that stayed with me as the light went out, and I felt other’s bodies in a way that required no sight or sound. It was a cool experience, and having pushed myself (literally and figuratively) into it made it more powerful. When the light came back on, I again naively thought that we were going to turn around, but Junior again got on his belly and found another crack, this time far more uncomfortable because there was no open room on the other side. This tunnel steered us for about ten minutes until it was actually time to turn back. Venturous locals and tourists from previous times had etched their names and marks into the muddy walls of the tunnel, and I of course followed suit. Leaving the tight spaces was relieving, but I’m glad I went through it. Retrospectively I’m not sure why I never stopped to consider why it was called “Dwarf’s Cave” if not to crawl on my belly, hands, and knees for at least part of the path. The way back seemed much shorter, as they always do, and I enjoyed experiencing the checkpoints in a new light. The walls seemed shorter, the climbs and falls less brooding, and the cave pools cleansing as I had becoming covered in mud by squeezing through these spaces. As I picked up my left items on the way back with a clean body, I found it funny that there was no way to exit that cave without freeing yourself of those necessary inconveniences. You exit the cave as you entered, maybe a little wetter, but fresh all the same.

This picture obviously doesn't do it justice, but it's the best the internet had.

Exiting Paia, speechless

The next day we met an Aussie geologist (world famous, I might add) named Warren Jopling. At the age of 84, his natural spark was spiced with his old age, creating a special place in all our hearts for this bloody mad old man. With Warren we visited a lava field on the south side of the island, a dazzling landscape with stark black pavement of lava with little green shoots of tropical plants finding their way through the cracks and eroded patches. A beautiful thing to experience, especially with Warren’s incredible brilliance.

Warren, in his element

We left Tanu Beach the next day, which was a lot harder than I expected. I had come to connect with the family that hosted us, especially three cousins Juliana, Lagi, and Feliciti ages 13, 10 and 8. We would swim in the afternoons, practicing our minimal Samoan language skills as they complimented us on our skill. This, of course, was flattering but these moments were the first glimpses into the identity struggle between student-pālangi-tourist. Most of the people that this family hosted were on the extreme side of tourist, mostly Australians and New Zealanders that come for honeymoons or vacations. These tourists don’t come with the intention of learning the language, understanding the process of cooking talo (taro), or anything of the sort. They are not wrong for this—I have played this part in my life before, and in some ways have been playing this part while in Samoa. I found myself constantly rechecking the balance of my different identities, realizing the parts and pieces that were being expressed more clearly at any one time. I lost interest in submitting to the extreme example of tourist because I would so much rather feel connected to this family than simply be served by them. These identities are incredibly circumstantial and are not ones I can fully express here or elsewhere, but it has certainly been on my mind more after staying at Tanu Beach.

We left Tanu Beach for a hostel-like hotel closer to the wharf in the village of Safua. Warren actually lived on the property, making our excursions practically easier. We ended up only staying one night because of an unfortunate robbery situation, and luckily the hotel we moved to was beautiful beyond description, a place called Lusia's. It was very clearly tourist-oriented with kayaks, jumping docks, and rock pools. We were all sad to have only one night in this place, but in the end I’m glad we had spent most of our time with the family at Tanu Beach.

Sanaa and I with the cousins from Tanu Beach. From left to right they are Feliciti, Lagi, and Juliana

Amy, me, and Mickey with our buddy Timo, another cousin at Tanu Beach

A real spider that we found at our hotel in Safua. I hope you can see how huge this spider is with the reference of the door corner

Little rock pool at Lusia's

Sunrise at Lusia's

Tapa making near Olemoe Falls. Tapa is a cloth made from the bark of the mulberry paper tree. The paints used to decorate it are made from mangrove bark to create a distinctly Pacific piece of art

On the way to the hotel, we stopped at the western-most point of the world, Falealupo. Because the island of Savai'i straddles the date line, Falealupo used to have (by human-made standards) the last sunset of each day. This is no longer the case because as of Dec 2011, Samoa is now the day ahead of the US rather than on the same day. This means that I am 20 hours ahead of US Central Time, rather than 4 hours behind (I guess now it's more like 19 hours because you all had daylight savings...which doesn't happen here for another few weeks. Yet another human-made standard that baffles me). Unfortunately we were there at about 2pm, so I didn't get to see the last sunrise of the day, but it still counts.

On our way down the west side of the island we stopped at the Taga blowholes. Eroded holes in the lava rock create tunnels for sea waves to crash through, sending sea water almost 100ft into the air. The power of these things is indescribable and the picture is only one piece of the experience. You can only imagine the loud roar of the sea squeezing through the tunnel of rock.

 

On the last day, we ended with a hike up Tafua, the second largest volcano in Savai’i (which isn’t that big don’t get too excited). Warren, despite his age, went with us and at this point we had started referring to him as Captain because it seemed a better title. After the hike we went to Afua’au waterfall (the whole river is called Olemoe Falls) and swam in a magical freshwater pool, which has definitely made it to my top 5 most beautiful places experiences yet. It was a great way to end the trip and cleanse ourselves before getting back on the ferry to Apia.

Warren has that effect on people.

View of Warren from the top of Tafua (he didn't come with us to the top)

The crater wall of the volcano

Afua'au waterfall

Overall, I experienced a lot of self-checks throughout this whole trip. I was so aware through the whole thing of my position, constantly analyzing how I fit in the space I occupied. Tourism is still a concept that I struggle with, but I’m mindful of the responsibility I must take for being, on some level, a tourist. I go to school here, speak some of the language, gladly adapt to cultural standards unlike my own, and genuinely feel comfortable on these streets. These realities mold my identity as “tourist” into something unique, shifting at all times. I have to say I’m glad to be back on campus with my Pacific friends and comfortable ways. Here I feel I have another purpose than just sunbathing and snorkeling (in fact I am required to have other purposes), and although that is incredibly relaxing and interesting, I don’t feel comfortable occupying that space all the time. Maybe that’s why vacations are short, because no one can conceivably be a full-on tourist for too long. We crave to “fit in,” whatever that means, and to have other motives that keep us going. I appreciate that trip for all it has taught me to consider, and the incredible outdoor experiences that I always love, but for now I’m happy to call myself a teine ā’oga i USP Alafua, a student at USP Alafua.