ISLES OF PERFUMED EASE

Hokitika Guardian, 14 June 1924, Page 4

ISLES OF PERFUMED EASE

DI.iWN SAMOA WAV. ißy I" Paint). The Isles of Perfumed Ease are within -ix days' steam of Australia. Du th .* - e'.entb. tile eighth, the foilitecllth day. you are still in the 'midst of them. Low Islands, high Maud', and atoll-: there they arc. the fairy lands of our childhood, the lotus lands of tho poet, the hum fascinating sights of aa v ot con. i lie niwt wonderful, end al the sente line- simple of Nature's works. They elude portrayal b.v pen or film or bru-li. No mind ran grasp I le-ir -ynnnet ry and grace. or seize more than a fra .'incut of their alluring form or hint ol their admirable rol- ‘ tits. ( ireh-s. oval-. horseshoes. rocky-lia-tii tnil peaks—they tire essentially the same inangrove-ftiuged lagoon, reel, nalms, hills, and erysi al-eleitr wat-r lundding in warm torrent-. On the inotiulain tons heneal It the Wit'or the coal insect hitilC tin the atolls and the “low” island- until they stand in their wmnlrou- -hapes splendid "Xamp' vs of Nature's self-arrested labour.-. structures of unbelievable brilliancy. The title volcanic Mauds, tho-c < f hill and valley, of scarred rocky Witlls, have fought a ceaseless war against the ■■.■ a from the time of dead and gone ages, fought, and won. Ami llietv tin v are within ea-.v rcnc!i of Australia—a lew days in a -team--biji, ioynus days cl eri.-o. warm air. and bin.' -i a and sky- then a palmy paradt-c. A dreamy white little town is Apia, in Samoa, its bungalows straggling along the dusty coral "benrli." and i‘s palms lint teriiig in gentle trade winds. A river--tlie \ aisigano—mean dels

aiiittg. Ii is used as a common washhouse, and the Samoans sing songs almui it. Du the reef in front of the town are ail the beauties of a marine garden. Tuttle- luge on the surface, and w hite-sail"d canoes Hit about in the sun-glare like moths in a rad - atue of liame. Ilit> blue wafers cieett

in; up to the tiny jetties are warm and limpid. The vivid green ol the palm-eovered slopes, splashes of colour from 'irilliam flowering shrubs, blazing sunlight and deep nooks of shade make tlie little tropical town rival a gorge,.us stage setting, lint much of (lie romance associated with Apia lias gi i e into the limbo of things. Gone ire the soft-eyed singing girls of .Stevenson's time, ami in their place the maidens of i he country swagger along the

"beach'’ in the latest of Sydney dress creations. You could search the town from end to end these days, and not find a single runaway sailor, -•blackbirder,” or beachcomber. Pearl oysters on the reef are a myth. Policemen with brown faces and quaint uniform-- patrol the shady places with all the stolidity of our own men on the beat.

t I ho only relic ol 11 1 o bad old da vs Is t lbo remnant ot ilie (bo-mail gunboat 1 <llor. 10.-sed oil t!io reef in the htirrii| cane which gave Westport coal Midi an , advertisement in saving the Calliope i during the liloiv. Truly, the sunshine is there; the scarlet hibiscus still blooms, but the frnngipanui perfume is being overwhelmed by the smell of benzine from motor-ears. Even the casual tourist in his nicely creased "hite drills i, but a shade of his former sell. In his stead come elderly spinsters wearing horn-rimmed glasses, and old. bald-headed men who curse the heat and mosquitoes at nights while simmering in the humidity. .Modern Apia is as utiromautio as a wash-tub. Polities in the centre are a joke. Neither European nor native know their trend. Apia, on the island ol l | join, is not in the "perfumed ease” class. It is a product of white civilisation. Samoa is beginning to decide the destinies of flip people, and no rave, however interesting or attractive. will l>e allowed to live which does not pay tributes to the merciless Caesar of wealth. i And in the kingdom of Mammon I 1 there is no room for ease, .... I

When- the mixed, civilisation of Apia palls, til© island of' Tutuila offers solace. The United States of America controls the titty territory, and in Pago Pago, the finest harbour in the South Seas, the slurs ami bars flutter over a - naval .station. Imagine sailing tin ocean liner right into the eleft side of an extinct volcano, and mice inside being able to navigate all round tho basin, completely sheltered from wind and wave. Those tales of pirate lender, volts and: smugglers’ Heal rollouts, of .submarine bases on iiifref|Ue»tod coasts, all pale into honourable insignificance beside ibis snug slip into which groat liners may disappear without trace. As you steam slowly in, swinging till the time. lb© waters around churn up blue anil white; sea birds scream and flutter between you and the dense green foliage wherein land birds echo their noise; castles ol ro.-k pile skywards; Hying fish scuttle hurriedly aside; naked Samoans in tiny outrigger canoes meet .'" ,l 1,1 flotillas. Once within, lovelier cocoanut palms, bread, fruit ticcs, am tropical luxuriance never met vour eve: banaila plants, competing, sl.ouidering. crowding everywhere. • ">. v native huts peep from under the I ringing trees of the shore. Iheic .bows forth a ted and white mission house; vender another. The eHieie.it looking wharf conies into view with white chul naval officers eagerly walking the water's edge. The midday impic heat cannot overcome that impatient anticipation oi every Marnier in the sell lenient—men. women, ami childion they arc all clown licro fur steamer day. A squad of native police, officered b.v an American marine, stands to receive us with honours, and uniformed m a vttril of red calico, a turban, a baton, and a grin. Drift along the palmshaded roads, bio of great hibiscus, starry I rtiiigipaiini, and scarlet (lamhoynut colour the greenery. Orange trees are everywhere, in plantations lining the village streets, and in hidden nooks which overlook the blue sweep of the Pacific surge-. The

whole country seems to he an orange grove, anil tin* island is littered with peel. The short grass is covered with I re-ltl v-ftilleti fruit. If the perfumed

ease of the tropics has you in its grip and ,11)11 are too weary in stoop .'on can pluck your oranges I rout overhead. And all day the sunshine Hashes golden. and a gentle trade wind hums its song in the palm tops. I’ago Pago, I stand with my hat in hand to thee.

That night the steamer slips out leisurely. Black fruit bats come winging noiseless!v nut- ul the hush: the palms shake green golden heads to the sun-el. which plays shadows and colourings tin the receding isle. Ihe boat sways gently to tile long, even roll ol tit - Pacific. splintering with her bow a million watery stars, and leaving in her wake the lonely albatross and Pago Pago. The air is like lonic wine, and tile scene uni over the oily sea is nothing; more than a vast canvas picture done in magical paints, daubs of moonlight, mysterious spht-ltes of -ilvcr. beneath a perspei l >\e ol twinkling -tars. Warm island pet fumes drift up |roili the cargo: there is the sound of a Hawaiian hula-hula twanged on a banjo in the crow's quarters; foriard a group of nalives tire singing “Tola Ala Feleni.” the Samoan an revoir song, that i- sting from Tahiti to lliva De. and from Suva to K'arr.toiiga. Atmosphere:- The atmosphere of all the perfumed isles of ease to a South Sea setting.