My first hint of Samoa from my cruise ship Regatta is great dollops of cloud and screeching seabirds. Then the island of Upolu heaves low jungly hills out of the emptiness of the Pacific Ocean.
It’s Saturday, and Apia is quiet. A few shoppers flip-flop along the pavements. Teenagers slurp drinks from fast-food outlets. The rush seems to be over in the market, where old men are playing a board game akin to checkers. Samoans are chatty people with New Zealand-like accents. I get my shot of caffeine at Baristas Cafe and carry it onto the deck. Pago Pago beats Apia as an arrival: it hunkers deep in a bay surrounded by old volcanic landscapes. Church steeples are the same landmarks, though, poking through lush vegetation.The cruise “terminal” is the same: a concrete quay in a working harbour. The welcome is the same, provided by a choir of grinning youngsters, and the same smiling Samoans spruik tours in the same heat.