11.12.2004
Samoa
Been dreaming a lot of Samoa lately.
Not sure why.
Theres something so beautiful about Samoa, something so simple and heartbreaking. Its the land, of course.. looking out from the shore and seeing the breakers on the barrier reef, and the clouds on the horizon, a couple of hundred miles away. Its the fruit trees everywhere, from centuries of people living off the land, spitting out seeds, cultivating mangoes and hibiscus everywhere. Its the 50 man marching band that parades down main street at 7AM every damn morning to raise the flag, a ritual they stole from the europeans but imbued with the Samoan spirit, that gentle, loving, caring, potentially violent but definitely un-fascist nationalism. Its the nightly rituals when families get together and discuss the day and plan the week and pray. Its the hot sun, and the free coconuts, and the old bag lady in the ocean finding 'little things to eat' and selling you a bottle for 3 dollars if you'll wait and eat with her for an hour. But really, its not the land or the food... after a week there, you take the sun and the ocean for granted. Its the people and the way of life. Theres not... a sense of history or future, but of eternity - of time collapsed. Everyone is doing what they have always done, so tomorrow and yesturday and today are the same.
The last time I left Samoa, I cried all the way to San Francisco. It was the ineffectual, colicky blue eyed toddler and his pinched, missionary mother in the Fagotogo airport, the beggars in Pago Pago, the Japanese tourists with their hardshell suitcases and italian ponchos in Honolulu, and in San Francisco, it was the cold. When I got back to Boston, I asked my dad if he cried or felt the same, and he said 'oh sure - every time.'
Reminds me of a childhood anecdote, my own which I remember and tell, rather than my parents recounting it to me. It was when we lived in the brown house in Martha's Vineyard, so I must have been between 2 and 4. I had a vague understanding of the days of the week, but tomorrow always confused me. Finally I asked, if today is Monday, and the day after that is Tuesday, and so forth, all the way back to Monday, when is Tomorrow?
Cute.
Not sure why.
Theres something so beautiful about Samoa, something so simple and heartbreaking. Its the land, of course.. looking out from the shore and seeing the breakers on the barrier reef, and the clouds on the horizon, a couple of hundred miles away. Its the fruit trees everywhere, from centuries of people living off the land, spitting out seeds, cultivating mangoes and hibiscus everywhere. Its the 50 man marching band that parades down main street at 7AM every damn morning to raise the flag, a ritual they stole from the europeans but imbued with the Samoan spirit, that gentle, loving, caring, potentially violent but definitely un-fascist nationalism. Its the nightly rituals when families get together and discuss the day and plan the week and pray. Its the hot sun, and the free coconuts, and the old bag lady in the ocean finding 'little things to eat' and selling you a bottle for 3 dollars if you'll wait and eat with her for an hour. But really, its not the land or the food... after a week there, you take the sun and the ocean for granted. Its the people and the way of life. Theres not... a sense of history or future, but of eternity - of time collapsed. Everyone is doing what they have always done, so tomorrow and yesturday and today are the same.
The last time I left Samoa, I cried all the way to San Francisco. It was the ineffectual, colicky blue eyed toddler and his pinched, missionary mother in the Fagotogo airport, the beggars in Pago Pago, the Japanese tourists with their hardshell suitcases and italian ponchos in Honolulu, and in San Francisco, it was the cold. When I got back to Boston, I asked my dad if he cried or felt the same, and he said 'oh sure - every time.'
Reminds me of a childhood anecdote, my own which I remember and tell, rather than my parents recounting it to me. It was when we lived in the brown house in Martha's Vineyard, so I must have been between 2 and 4. I had a vague understanding of the days of the week, but tomorrow always confused me. Finally I asked, if today is Monday, and the day after that is Tuesday, and so forth, all the way back to Monday, when is Tomorrow?
Cute.
