Kidnapped!

If you don't already know, is the title of a book by Robert Lewis Stevenson (aka RLS). This could be a picture of me as I write, except subtract the wooden writing desk, insert IKEA laptop desk; subtract pen and paper, insert laptop; subtract confined to bed by T.B. and insert confined to bed by severe head cold. It's nearly the same scene!

And so ladies and gentlemen we shall proceed with our final episode on Western Samoa. This should be interesting do to the large amounts of cough syrup I have been consuming.


Before we start I want to give you a little background history. Here’s something you may or may not know about me. I love books. I like to read them to myself. I like to read them aloud. I like to have them read to me. I like books on tape/mp3/cd. Conversely, Markus likes his computer.

When we first got together my strategy to get Markus to participate in my obsession with books was to think of a really good piece of boyish literature to reel him. I found on my bookshelf a 1921 edition of Treasure Island, by none other than, RLS. This seemed a grand idea-swashbuckling pirate life-what more could a boy ask for? After the initial raised eyebrows and incredulity such as, “you want to read out loud?” and “you want me to read out loud?” he succumbed to my pleading and I could tell was somewhat intrigued to see what Treasure lay on the Island. Obviously this was early in our romance when I had such influence.

What I hadn’t anticipated was pirate jargon. And how incredibly hard it is to read. Silently to yourself, let alone aloud to a critical literary audience (me). Take for example the following passage that has my spell checker in overdrive, “Flin’t was cap’n; I was quartermaster, along of my timber leg. The same broadside I lost my leg, old Pew lost his deadlights. It was a master surgeon, him that ampytated me—out of college and all—Latin by the bucket, and what not; but was hanged like a dog, and sun-dried like the rest, at Corso Castle. That was Roberts’ men, that was, and comed of changing names to their ships—Royal Fortune and so on. Now, what a ship was christened, so let her stay, I says. So it was with the Cassandra, as brought us all safe home from Malabar, after England took the Viceroy of the Indies; so it was with the old Walrus, Flint’s old ship, as I’ve seen a-muck with the red blood and fit to sink with gold.”

Um..... what? Passages like these had me scurring for my:

But Markus soldiered on through the whole book. In fact he often brought it out himself with a little pirate talk, “Shall we see what old Flint is up te now, mattey (or something along those lines)?” Especially if it was my turn to read. After reading that book, Markus is now prepared every September 19th for International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

So when I started reading the travel guides to Samoa when I was thinking of moving here I took it as a sign that RLS. had made it his final home and resting place. Hoping that it wouldn’t be our final, final, home (RLS died five years after moving to Samoa), we moved. Hey if it’s good enough for RLS, it’s good enough for us!

I really wanted to see RLS’ estate in Samoa on our trip and using my birthday cache, drug Markus along for the ride. The beautiful estate of Vailima (the local beer goes by the same name).



















RLS moved to Upolu seeking an environment conducive to his health. Unfortunately, the tropics are not beneficial for TB, but he stayed anyway because he loved the island and the local people so much; and couldn't return to his beloved Scotland because the weather there was sure to kill him. Here's the view from the upper balcony.






When he died Samoans formed a fireline and hand over hand passed his coffin to the top of local Mt. Vaea where he is buried (it's a 45 minute trudge to the top to give you an idea of what that was like). First editions: Treasure Island, Kidnapped and Dr. Jekyll and Mr.Hyde.








The Library where RLS did all his writing in his final days. That's a real fireplace. Though they were never lit, he insisted on having them built into the house to make him feel more at home.










The actual bed and writing desk.













Infamous RLS photo.





















Translations of RLS works.























After the museum we wandered the “botanical gardens” a little jungle area along the creek adjacent to Vailima.











Giant stand of giant bamboo.






















Then we headed to the Curry House and praise be, it was open. We sat on the deck with a view of the ocean, savoring our korma and the absolute best Mango Lassi I have ever had in my life.


































Later when we tried to catch our flight out to Pago, we realized after being told by our friends in the waiting area (not by the check-in desk of course) that their plane, scheduled ahead of our own, had never arrived. They had already been waiting a couple of hours. It was two more before we were told that our flight would not go out and that we would have to stay another night, expenses paid. Darn.