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While looking for some documents, I came across a file from the 1990s containing notes on a trip I took in December 1994. I had previously included some of this material in an employee newsletter [1], but now I feel inspired to translate and expand upon these notes, as well as scan the necessary images.
Here are the details of the trip:
Oct 29 – Dec 15, 1994 Bali / New Zealand / South Pacific Islands
FRA – BKK – DPS – AKL – (WLG) – CHC – AKL – TBU – VAU – TBU – APW – HNL – LAX – FRA
Western Samoa
From Tonga, the journey continued to Western Samoa - which was what Samoa was called back then. I stayed in Apia on the island of Upolu. Upon our arrival, as we were taking a bus into town, a German remarked that his "refrigerator" still needed to be placed on the roof with the baggage; he actually meant a cooler bag, and the other travelers (myself included) laughed accordingly. I stayed at the Harbour Lights Inn, rather than the ritzy Aggie Grey’s. The area also served as a resting spot for taxi drivers. The kiosk at the hotel was run by a gay man - who, as is common there, was also a transvestite - and he was one of the organizers of a drag queen show. One evening, a boxing match between David Tua and an American was broadcast on television, which could be watched on the monochrome screen in the kiosk. While I also was interested in the boxing match, I was even more intrigued by the taxi drivers standing together with the transvestites. Unfortunately, David Tua landed a powerful blow, and the fight ended in the very first round - at which point everyone left the kiosk. What a pity! But I, too, headed around the corner back to my hotel room.
Robert Louis Stevenson
I visited Stevenson’s grave and read the famous poem [2], "Requiem," which begins: "Under the wide and starry sky, / Dig the grave and let me lie." Only after undertaking the strenuous climb - ascending some 400 meters under a tropical sun and high humidity - can one truly appreciate the deep respect the Samoan people must have held for Stevenson to have buried his remains up there.
The house has since been restored, having previously been repurposed - or rather, misused - as a governor’s residence or government seat. During a special festival week, the guided tour was free of charge; it has been 15 Tala [3] afterwards. From the veranda on the first floor, one can look out over the sea and the town of Apia. Directly below lies the garden, which the Stevensons once used not only for flowers but, more specifically, for agricultural experiments.
Vailima and the villages along the road to Apia had been decorated for the commemorative event - for instance, with floral arches. The Vailima Brewery (which proudly noted it was "under German management") had released an "R.L. Stevenson Special Issue" (see image).
In 1994, the correct name for the country was Western Samoa; in 1997, the state changed its name to Samoa - or, more formally, the Independent State of Samoa [4]. Today, it is home to just over 200,000 inhabitants.
The Closing Ceremony of R.L. Stevenson Week
By chance, I stumbled upon a tropical open-air celebration marking the end of R.L. Stevenson Week, held in front of the government building. I had been lingering behind the structure and made my way to the front by passing through the middle. At first, there was a light rain, followed by the scorching sun. I took a seat under the tents - there was still space, and no one stopped me; in fact, I believe someone even directed me to sit there. No, I am sure - someone must have assumed I belonged to an official delegation and ushered me under the tarpaulin. I didn't look like a typical tourist, having already developed a tan from my travels through Bali, New Zealand, and Tonga over the previous few weeks. Most tourists, meanwhile, were gathered in the marketplace. As for me, I felt quite comfortable in the front row; I was even filmed in close-up several times for the evening news - for instance, while listening intently to the Deputy Prime Minister speak about "Tusitala". This was followed by an extensive awards ceremony.
But then, things really got going. Approximately 120–150 girls performed dances. They wore dresses featuring tapa (bark cloth) prints and raffia skirts. Some held thick bamboo poles, which produced a deep, resonant sound when struck against the ground, while others clapped. The music was provided by older men and women. In addition to dances performed while standing or moving about, there were also seated dances involving intricate hand movements and various styles of clapping - a reminder of just how many different sounds can be created through clapping alone. Alongside the group’s synchronized, rhythmic movements, a few individuals were tasked with interjecting wild, chaotic motions. Afterward, the girls withdrew, and about 200–250 boys and young men entered from the sides, performing spirited dances and chants. Three or four of them took the lead, spurring the others on. Many of the sounds were produced by clapping or by striking different parts of their bodies.
Finally, following the last boisterous chant, the younger generation sat down, and the elders began to sing a Samoan ballad. Several dignitaries - notably some older women and the Deputy Prime Minister - danced to the music; the Deputy Prime Minister, incidentally, was also wearing a lava-lava (traditional sarong). Then, I was asked to dance. I am not a dancer at all - perhaps the least likely person to dance between the North and South Poles! Yet, how could I refuse the young ladies, especially since they had also invited the Deputy Prime Minister? And so, I found myself dancing alongside him and the young women in their raffia skirts.
Fale
Most Samoans still live in traditional fale. These are open-sided structures that are closed off with mats only during storms or rain - a style of construction adapted to the climate. Small fale (traditional houses) stand along the beaches. A snapshot from late afternoon: the sun, hanging low, bathes a fale in intense yellow light, while the sky and sea - in shades of deep blue - vie with the various greens of the surrounding palms and trees.
Cricket
I saw small villages where the youth passed the time playing games - volleyball, for instance, or, even more commonly, kirikiti (Samoan cricket). I once spotted a group playing in the pouring rain at the start of a journey around the islands; later, I even witnessed a match played exclusively by young women.
Tattooing
Dr. phil. Waldemar Stöhr taught us that the correct term is "Tatauierung" (tatau-ing) rather than the German "Tätowierung." While Stöhr might emphasize the distinction between traditional Samoan or Polynesian culture and the adoption of the practice by the lower social classes in the West, I see it more as an aesthetic difference. These tatau are truly beautiful - much like irezumi in Japan, which is a recognized art form (though in Japan, such tattoos are typically associated with the Yakuza).
In Tonga, I twice met Danes who had gotten tataus on their upper arms while in Samoa. These circular designs wrapping around the upper arm were so aesthetically pleasing that I was almost tempted to get one myself - though, as a doctor working in a Catholic hospital, I couldn't very well walk around with a tattoo (or even a tatau). A friend of mine, however, did get one on his upper arm after securing a professorship - he claimed it helped him "stay grounded" (his words). I also saw young women with tataus, which looked equally beautiful. One of the female workers at the guesthouse, in particular, caught my eye. While her face lacked that certain something required for true beauty, she possessed a well-proportioned, slender figure - not too thin, but just right. She also had a circular tattoo around her right upper arm; it looked fantastic. Since the tattoo appeared fresh, I asked her about it, and she explained that the aforementioned Danes had paid for it as a tip.
And then there was a tour guide - he was tattooed from his knees all the way up to his navel. That, too, looked beautiful. It’s no wonder that, during the first voyages of discovery, observers mistook such dense tattooing for actual clothing (Roggeveen [5]). I also saw young women with extensive, large-scale tattoos.
Girl from Zaire
The girl from Zaire was a young woman on her honeymoon. She was married to an Australian man and spoke English with an Australian accent - a lovely, soft voice. She stood on the beach, reminiscent of "the girl from Ipanema". Her hair was braided into tiny plaits, which were then styled into an updo; the process took two ten-hour sessions; I had asked her of course. If she’s careful, the hairstyle can last up to three months. Her body was muscular - though not in an extreme, bodybuilder-like way; perhaps she swam a lot. She had a flawless face. The Australian man looked pale beside her - and not just because of his skin tone, which shifted toward a reddish hue as the day went on. "What could she possibly see in him?" I wondered - though, of course, it wasn't up to me to see anything in him. At that moment, I simply wanted to gaze at this beautiful woman and enjoy her as one would a work of art. Perhaps the allure of fashion models lies in this very artificiality - though, to me, most of them tend to come across as merely affected.
The Ship
One day, I was awakened by a loud blast from a ship’s horn, followed by the sound of marching music. What had happened? A massive ocean liner had entered the harbor - even the government building (see above) was not as tall as this vessel. On the dock, a police band played marches and other tunes to entertain the guests. I had made my way from the hotel - which was just a stone’s throw away - to the harbor, where I saw throngs of young people disembarking; that was not what I had expected. But then someone explained to me that these were merely crew members. Only afterwards did I notice the doddering old folks - there is no other way to describe them, though I have nearly reached that age myself now ... well, not quite; I still have ten years to go. Even back then, I felt that such ocean liners have no business near islandsm - just as they have no place near Venice. Let them stay out on the open sea, and from there, passengers could continue by smaller boat to wherever they intend to "invade" the local towns. I once witnessed this in Ushuaia, where a landing craft arrived, and the passengers didn’t even know which country they were in. Appalling!
Oahu and the Rest of the Journey
The trip continued on to Oahu. I spent less than 24 hours there, though it did involve two “overnight” stays at a hotel. Furthermore, I had to switch airlines - not in Oahu, but later in Los Angeles. The flight was pushed back by an hour, and then the plane arrived another hour later, leaving me with only about 26 minutes in Los Angeles - a situation complicated by the fact that I wasn't just flying with Air New Zealand onwards, but had to switch to a Lufthansa flight, but - because it was considered an international connection - I also had to go through health and passport control again, collect my baggage, and travel from one terminal to another. I arrived just in time to see the shuttle bus pulling away. Deciding that waiting would take too long, I ran toward the other terminal with my baggage, calling out from a distance that I needed to catch my flight. Interestingly, Lufthansa played along; after a brief exchange, they told me not to wait, but to head straight to the security checkpoint with my bags, promising to bring my boarding pass over. The security officer grumbled, "I really don't like people trying to bring large pieces of luggage onto the plane like this," but I explained that there was no time left - the plane was departing in five minutes, which was, in fact, true. Just then, someone arrived running with my boarding pass; I cleared security with my luggage, we dashed to the gate and onto the plane, someone took my suitcase, the door was locked, and I sat down, buckled up, and we took off. I suspect that wouldn't be possible today - security concerns would certainly rule it out. But I was just glad I’d managed such an ambitious feat, as my vacation days were all used up and I had to be back at work the very next day.
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