Morning
high tide and hot springs, Lafaga Bay, Upolu, Samoa
I was standing at the top of a brand new flight of about twelve concrete stairs - some form-work was still there - going down the three metre black volcanic boulder seawall, with the water lapping over the bottom step at absolute high tide, gaping at the sight of the sheer beauty of Lafaga Bay at Sāvaia village on the south-west coast of Upolu in a lifting morning mist; the coast disappearing up the bay into mountains and then coming around in a peninsula of low hills stretching out a couple of miles or so away, when a young woman from the village appeared as if out nowhere.
I heard just behind me "Talofa! Nice day!"
"Yes it is. It's beautiful here. Is this where the Giants Clams are?"
"Oh yes. Sit down".
So I sat down.
I've been a travelling man for thirty years now, hobbling along on a "walking-stick palm" walking stick. Only a few weeks before, I restored the damn thing that I picked up from a rack in a second hand shop near the Balmain Hospital for a tenner back in '87, with a thorough sand down using two grades of sandpaper and three coats of clear gloss Estapol. It glistened in the sun.
As I perched on the steps and leaned the walking stick on a pair of stairs, and looking forward to getting the new snorkeling gear on again, she sat down beside me and said, without any introduction, straight out..."how old are you?"
Taken aback, and before I could think of anything, I blurted out correctly "61".
"Oh, you look young and strong for your age".
Me? Is she trying to flatter me? So, pointing at my stick, I said "No, not really", but she insisted "No, no. You do look young".
Fearing that the conversation was going to go no-where, and fully aware of the taboo of asking a woman her age in Australia, I took a risk and stupidly asked "So, how old are you?".
She shot back as quick as a flash "Guess".
Oh fuck, I thought, I'm done here, I hate that, and without taking a closer look at her face or looking her up and down, I took a wild stab at the question.
"mmm...22?"
"28", she replied.
We both laughed as I said something completely inane like "oh, all Samoan women look younger than they are" then I said, knowing life expectancy in Samoa is short [71 for men and from what I'd seen] "There's not many old people here in Samoa, are there?"
"No there's not" she said emphatically "and the problem is that most of them just stay at home, out of sight".
"How so?"
"Well, you see, they're old and they need help and crutches and sometimes they need wheelchairs and things and they don't have them, they can't afford them, so they just stay in their houses all the time, people come to take care of them, but then they die. It's very sad".
I am a lucky man, so could only nod my head in agreement.
She told me about the Giant Clam Reserve, and how the village had cordoned off a few acres of lagoon in an oval shape with a rope with buoys. She said the village is "in a special place here" and they were trying their best to protect the clams, and maybe make some money from the scant number of tourists around. There was no one else there but us. She pointed to what looked like two small rectangular dams jutting out into the bay and said they were hot springs. "Get in, if you want, test it out, it's nice". They had pooled them in some time ago, and she went though the hydraulics of the tides, and how the warm water diffused over the clams during the run out through a small channel. It was good for them, she said, and the place had long been locally renowned... "this is Clam City!"
"You will also see some of the baby ones we have put in little cages so they are protected". Intrigued, and without thinking, I asked, "do you know how the clams survived the tsunami when the rest of the reef didn't?" and I was promptly met with musu. She fell silent.
Musu is the term for a well-known peculiar Polynesian habit of sudden sullenness, that can come on at any time for no particular reason - it can be anything at all - she looked out to sea, and as I knew that musu is something that you are never to be offended by - it is what it is - I followed suit and said nothing more.
After a couple of minutes of gazing at "all this useless beauty" with the sea mist gone and the sun highlighting a tropical shower on the distant peninsular, she suddenly said "the toilet block is over there and you can park your car in the shade there under that palm tree over there too, if you like. Please stay as long as you like".
Fran had already found the amenities; three dunnies in a concrete block connected to a septic system [a small sign said it was courtesy of the Japan Poverty Reduction Program], but one had canoes and paddles in it and wasn't working. Knowing that there would be freight to pay as there is everywhere on Upolu for the use of a village beach [appropriate gifts must be exchanged - the drill is, I will give you money in return for the use of your beach and a swim in your water] I said "So, it's ten tala each, right?" She replied "Yes, and $10 to park your car". I gave her three tens, she smiled and said again "Stay for a long time if you like. You are very welcome. There is no time limit! But please, don't touch the clams," "oh no, won't be touching any clams, that's for sure", and we laughed again.
And then she vanished without another word, just as quickly as she had appeared, and we never saw her again.
So, it was on with our brand-new whiz-bang top-notch silicone snorkels and fins for the 300m swim out to the reserve. I had made the mistake of failing to listen closely enough to the village woman's instructions. "See that double buoy, over there?". I thought she said that was where you entered the sanctuary, but it was in fact the rough location of the clams.
We must have swam right over the top of them without noticing and then spent the best part of an hour snorkelling around looking for these crazy damn clams without success. There was a kelp forest on dead, broken coral with all kinds of fish swimming lazily, but no clams. It was like sweeping away with our hands through a seaweed jungle. Then, as we were just about to give up in disappointment and return to shore the same way we came in thinking that we'd been short-changed or it was all some kind of ruse, I spotted them, and motioned Fran over.
And giant they were - and feeding with their monstrous multi-coloured purple tinged muscle pulsating in the huge wide open shell. Jesus, Joseph & Mary! I thought. Man Eaters! You wouldn't want to be here at low tide and mistakenly put your foot in one of them. It would have gone chomp! and you would have been stuck fast; there would be no way of extricating your leg, and you would drown as the tide rose. Something you'd find in one of those cheap South Seas made-up adventure stories for boys.
And that'd be the end of the section. Game over.
Togitogiga waterfalls
and ancient lava swimming hole, O
Le Puo-Pue National Park, Upolu, Samoa