Samoa!!! All I ever associated with Samoa were the yummy Girl Scout cookies of the same name, laced with chocolate and coconut. Couldn’t wait to snag some from the source. We parked the ship in Pago Pago, the capital of American Samoa, which sounded like it should be paved with pricey resorts and ringed with pink sandy beaches. Turns out, that place is …. Bora Bora. We’re not going there.

Pago Pago is home to the world’s largest StarKist tuna fishery, which produces 80% of the world’s favorite canned fish. Fish canning must not pay much; American Samoa has the lowest per capita income in the USA, and 22% live below the property line.

But Pago Pago is as rich in pride as it is poor in cash. We were roused at dawn by a noisy welcome from 20 Samoan dancers in matching costumes, a battery of loud drums, and Miss American Samoa herself! There’s a lot of music here, and the natives are forever bopping around and shaking their shoulders like a reflex.

We had prepared for our time in American Samoa (SAHM-wa) by watching a delightful 2023 movie called “First Goal Wins,” about the territory’s godawful soccer team. From the movie we learned that the locals are loud and proud and the men wear wraparound skirts, and who wouldn’t when the temperature and humidity are both 89 year round?

There’s not much going on in Pago Pago. We saw a little museum with big turtle shells and a paltry three crumbs of moon rock sent to the territory by President Nixon. Next door, the marketplace sells plantains, coconuts, and fake flowers for the hair and shirts and caftans in outrageous prints, all to the beat of a loud Elvis album. (Lots of bopping in American Samoa.) Back at the ship the dancers and Miss American Samoa returned and wouldn’t leave until we did.

The next day we landed in Apia, capital of the other much more prosperous Samoa, with its old colonial buildings and starchy historic hotels. (The local top product, coconut oil, must pay better than tuna fish). The police go around on expensive electric bikes, and everybody else owns a taxi. All these taxis rushed to sell us $100 tours of the island.

This particular Samoa has wrested its independence from New Zealand, but is still part of the British Commonwealth. The day we walked around town, the air was still vibrating with excitement over a visit from King Charles and Queen Camilla last month. Everybody had seen them.

Sprinkles of rain greeted us as we strolled through Friendship Park downtown with its fabulous tropical plants, wooden walkways over a marsh where crabs and lizards play , and a splendid view of the Pacific. The rain thickened as we stepped into the Immaculate Conception Cathedral across the street, originally built in 1857, and restored in 2014.

The two-steeple facade is typical of Polynesia, but the new black outlines are unique. The astonishing ceiling is all intricately carved hardwoods, a Samoan craft that has been handed down through generations. A recessed oval embraces a highly colorful scene of early locals congregating on a beach.

As we admired all this, we heard a mighty roar outside as the heavens opened, and gallons of rain came rushing down. At the same time, we heard melodic singing and a Catholic mass began. We sat through it, marveling that this small congregation at a weekday mass could sing in perfect harmony.

As the deluge continued, we chose a taxi ( they’re everywhere!) and enjoyed a $5 ride back to the ship. Both of our SAHM-wahs were wacky wet, and we’ve yet to see a sandy beach.

Although we have nothing whatsoever to complain about, I was a little disappointed not to see a Samoas Girl Scout Cookie.

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