Years ago, we celebrated our ruby wedding anniversary in Western Samoa. No cellphone. No television. No grandkids. No garden. Just Himself and I. We surrendered to the romance of Upolu Island time. The sun set over the Pacific Ocean. Samoan dancers undulated and sang in graceful unison, in celebration of their beautiful nation.
Samoa is the tropical paradise of books and movies. Poet, Rupert Brooke lay on a mat and looked
out on the white sand under the high palms and gentle sea, and the black line of a reef a mile out…
The island of Savai’i beckoned. Aboard the vehicle-passenger ferry, we crossed Apolima Strait. The boat ploughed its way through the swells. A pod of whales cavorted in the warm tropical waters. Seawater sprayed over the bow and misted the passengers, diesel fumes wafted from the engine room and I sat face to the wind with my gaze fixed on the land ahead.
Captive on any boat, I undulate with the elements. Never a good sailor. I was sea-sick.