I sit under the shade of a tree with my host sisters Melania and Atalina, Melania’s 13-year-old son Tautua, and cousin, the cheeky 10 year-old-girl, Magalelei. Tauanu’u, Melania and Atalina’s father and matai of the family, has wandered off out of sight, presumably talking to some smartly-dressed tour guide or grounds keeper.

We’d just tramped about 30 minutes through dense tropical forest when we suddenly emerged to a trimmed lawn, well-kept gardens, and neatly arranged little fales and benches. I’m not sure where we are, but apparently it’s a tourist attraction.

One of the Samoan guides, in black slacks and a patterned green shirt, tells us we have to wait for the two palagi tourists to leave before we can go have a look at the To-Sua – a deep trench in the earth which has a cave allowing seawater to enter. The story goes that in olden times, the spirits made their home in To-Sua, but when the seawater came in, the spirits moved inland, to where I’m told there is another similar trench (called To-Le-Sua) with no water.

Still sitting under the tree, I look over at the two tourists. Kiwis, I guess, with their wide-brimmed hats, khaki shorts, tank tops, camera bags and fanny packs. I then realize that I know nothing of the Samoa they are seeing – a neatly planned itinerary featuring sandy beaches and palm trees, cocktails served in coconuts, smiling local guides in matching uniforms who speak flawless English, bus tours quickly passing brightly colored homes, which appear charming and quaint from the comfort of an air conditioned bus.

I sit several yards away from them – out of sight – in my ‘ie (a unisex Samoan-style sarong, sans fringe), old tee shirt and dirty feet. Apart from my complexion, the only other obvious thing putting me apart from my companions, are the $49 Reefs on my feet rather than the simple rubber flip-flops everyone else is wearing.

Once the Kiwis are safely stowed away in their taxi van, we are free to admire the trench. The trees line the edges and the green vines and other vegetation reach deep into the pit. The shadows give the seawater at the bottom an eerie, hazy appearance.

After a moment, we continue hiking eastward. We come to a plain of black volcanic rock. It looks barren from a distance, but every puddle and pool is teeming with life – white and brown spotted algae, mossy green algae on top of that, teeny fish and fast-moving speckled crabs. The coconut trees and brush line the waterfront, and the black rock juts out into the ocean. The perfectly turquoise tide is coming in our way, and the frothy white suds wash over our feet and legs. A deeper hole in the rock maintains a hazy turquoise glow and houses pink and brown coral with vividly neon blue little fish swimming about. Between the tree line and the rocks, sheltered by a cave that breaks the waves, a tremendous bed of pink, green and brown coral thrives.

We wander around a bit longer; Tautua tries in vain to catch crabs. Though armed with a knife, he uses that only to taunt them out of their hiding places, then goes after them with his hands.

“Tatou o,” Tauanu’u says, “Let’s go.”

Only this time we take a different route – tai, towards the sea, instead of uta, inland. After a treacherous swim through shallow and rocky waters, I stumble across more black volcanic rocks. These, however, are not the smooth plain of volcanic rock, but rather a series of variously sized boulders. With every unsure and slippery step, I am acutely aware any one of these is a potential skull fracture. Miraculously, I make it back home for a late lunch of chicken and squash soup, and despite all my slips and stumbles, I didn’t even scuff up my feet.