The Tofua docked in the harbor near the capital city of Apia the next morning, having traveled 137 miles in twelve hours. They probably could have swum there faster, but Larry and Jean were happy to have their snug little berths nearby after discovering that a double shot of scotch in the ship’s lounge was one shilling each. The change from dollars to pounds was a bit confusing, made even more so when they realized they were only paying fourteen cents per drink and might as well take advantage of the exchange rate. Although breakfast tea was included in the cruise cost, the idea of facing the judgemental steward again after a night of hanging out in the bar was more than Larry and Jean could handle. They tossed each girl a banana, said goodbye to their English roommate (who nearly dropped her cigar as she attempted to wave and eat a scone at the same time) and stepped off the gangplank to a new Samoa!
Which looked exactly like the old Samoa. The same palm trees, the same lava landscapes, the same hair-curling humidity – the islands were bigger, but disappointingly familiar. Yet there was a different energy in the damp air, a bustle in the streets of the larger city with more cars, more shops and a feeling of formality that seemed startlingly out-of-place after the casualness of Pago Pago. The Brits were gone but old habits die hard, and the family felt like they should immediately start drinking tea and stop brushing their teeth.