I hadn’t had a holiday for the sole purpose of relaxing since ‘04, so I was overdue. Having returned with mountains of sleep, eaten great food, with an overweight suitcase, memorable aquatic experiences and sporting a superman tan (that’s bound to peel), I’m aligned, refocused and rearing to go. Thus I’m putting my feelers out for some Marketing, Sales, Events or PR opportunities. Who wants a piece of me? I’ll still keep up appearances at all the parties, it’s just time I left my cousin alone, and got a home of my own.

When I traveled as a youth the primary question I needed answering was “What’s the in-flight movie going to be?”, (I would even alter flights if I wasn’t impressed with the choice). Now it’s “How much duty free alcohol am I allowed again please?”.

I checked-in on time and saw a uniformed pilot friend, a promo girl buddy in mufti and a guy working in a cafe that thought I knew, on the way to customs. That formality completed without questions (odd as I was sure the pigs and border patrol shared info) it was on to longingly window shop the goodies available without hefty government tax walloped on top. There were 1125ml flagons of Coruba rum for $16, blocks of 20 packets of Holiday smokes for $42 and mini iPods for $89.

In one of my lengthy gazes at an eau de toilette cabinet, my utopia was blown up by a stocky lava lava wearing island lady. Fumbling for her wallet she clumped her well-fortified suitcase carelessly down on my jandal clad foot, causing me to yelp out loud and dropped my Panasonic Toughbook, it bounced and smiled back unharmed. She didn’t do it on purpose I am sure, but the episode was made all the more memorable when she barked her apology, loose saliva sprayed like a burst dam. I limped off dripping to the information kiosk, to ask what the hold up was with my plane. The dear part-time volunteer had no idea, neither did the person she radioed. This was my first experience with “Island time”, which is essentially any time, if you’re unlucky, never.

Somehow I managed to become extremely intoxicated on the plane. Avoiding the high cost of the Pacific Blue on board stuff, I cracked into my own. I shared it with Pietar (well that’s how it sounded), a young Israeli lady sitting a few rows ahead, who possessed a look like she had a dubious/saucy moral set of guidelines. Once I found out she was going to reunite with her fiancé in Apia I saddened some, but rallied and made the most of my fair-skinned filly.

The noisy air-con unit in Aggie Greys resort caused a restless first nights sleep, but the scrumptious buffet breaky in the morning made up for it. Sitting in my sun-lounger later that day, sunburnt form my maiden attempt at snorkeling in search of Nemo, I saw a large centipede, a couple of curious cockroaches and an albino gecko. I also had another go at licking my elbow, with no avail, but I still reckon it’s possible.

From Apia it was on to Pago Pago (a 45 minute mini plane leap), the capital of American Samoa, to stay with friends for 4 days. During this time I read 3 educational books, climbed a mountain in a down-pour, played golf where were I was thrown from the cart into a bunker, shopped in kick-ass jumbo warehouse shops, toured the biggest tuna factory in the world, got swooped on by bats while riding in the back of the ute, was impressed by the locally made Samo beer called Vailima and rode in the caboose of an Inga bus (a pimped out makeshift owner-operated mode of public transport).

By far the most interesting person I met while on this island was “The Candyman”, he ran Tisia’s Barefoot Bar. He’s not called this for the 2 reasons you can probably think of, but due to him being rather quirky, similar to Willy Wonka. He certainly looked and acted a little different, but when he told a “true” story about a 2 metre friendly barracuda that lives in the reef (where I just been diving) I agreed with his tag.

It was at the couples exclusive retreat of Virgin Cove (why I didn’t take a lady still baffles me) that I became known as Tamaloa Valea by the villagers, loosely translated this means Crazy Man. I’m not quite sure why, I was just being myself, but I’m sure it was meant in good spirits, and I kind of like the term anyway.

The first day in camp I learnt how to weave giant leaves, start a fire from scratch and dance with the local ladies. The second I went skin-diving, belly-danced too close to the serrated coral, cut myself, and spent the next few hours paranoid that Jaws would show up seeking revenge. My Saturday night was one-of-a-kind, I played cards, tried oka, starfruit and polisami, worked on enlarging by beer belly via the tasty 6.7% Vailima and star-gazed in the most pristine sky I have ever seen.

I was sort of “off duty” so took very few pix, in fact I’d probably take more pix on a slow Thursday night around Auckland central than I did over my 8 day adventure. This means that most of the 12 selected photos in this weeks guide as from friends who stayed behind.

Finally, there was one sign that caught my eye on the first morning of my escape that I won’t forget in a hurry. It was above the entrance to one of the 4 bars in Apia. It read “Work Hard. Party Harder!” Something that I fully believe in, and so should you.

Thanks for reading. I’ll be out in force this week, so take heed to my recommendations and come and have some pure fun with me.