I spent a week in Samoa, though the adventure really started a week earlier, back when I was still in Tonga. My most important mission at the time: making countless attempts to contact someone to make absolutely sure I’d have a room with air conditioning in Samoa.
Given the humidity, I had the distinct feeling that without it, I’d simply melt away like a chocolate bar left in the sun.
Shortly before my flight to Samoa, I finally got through to someone. The redeeming words: „Yes, you will have a room with air conditioning.“ I felt like the King of the Tropics.
And sure enough — the moment I arrived, it turned out to be an absolutely golden decision. The evenings and nights in my beautifully cool room were so pleasant that every time I stepped inside, I felt like I was climbing into a snow globe while the world outside steamed away like a sauna.
During the days, I explored the island with tour groups. We took round trips, discovered new places, saw beautiful beaches and incredible landscapes — in short, I had a fantastic time.
But by the end of the trip, I came within a hair’s breadth of disaster.
The Last Day — or: The Moment My Heart Stopped
On my final day, I treated myself to a trip to a neighboring island — an absolute dream! I got back in the afternoon, packed my backpack, and settled in comfortably on the bed.
Out of pure habit, I picked up my flight ticket one more time, just to double-check exactly what time I’d be departing the next day. I looked at the time: 12:15. Noon, I thought. Easy.
Then I looked again. And again. Suddenly my „easy“ turned into a „huh?“ and then into an „OH NO!“
Suspicion crawled around in my head like a small, annoying ant: Could this possibly mean… midnight?
Not trusting the situation, I went to the front desk and asked the woman there. She, too, eyed the ticket skeptically, as if it were a puzzle from an escape room. Without hesitation, she called the airport. After a brief conversation, she turned back to me — and said the sentence that froze me solid:
„Your flight really does leave 15 minutes past midnight.“
I looked at the clock. 8 p.m. I still had to get to the airport. And soon.
I had actually planned to take the group bus again, but of course that wasn’t leaving until the next day. So there was nothing left to do but take a taxi — sacrificing my entire tipping budget in the process. Embarrassing, but there was no way around it.
The woman called a taxi for me, I sprinted to my room, grabbed my backpack (thankfully already packed!) and ran back. At 10 p.m., I sat in the taxi, frantically explaining to the driver how urgently I needed to get to the airport.
The Hellish Ride — From Snail’s Pace to Formula 1
The taxi driver nodded amiably, started the engine… …and pulled away as if he were heading out on a leisurely Sunday drive.
IN. SLOW. MOTION.
I started to panic. Genuinely panic. In my head, I could hear dramatic movie music playing, while the driver apparently took an inner nap.
And then — of course! — he even stopped at a gas station to refuel. I was seriously close to grabbing the pump and doing it myself, that’s how on edge I was.
But after that, the man transformed. Suddenly he morphed from a laid-back island cruiser into Samoa’s secret racing champion. He accelerated, the landscape blurred past, and I was fairly certain that every speed limit from that point on was purely a friendly suggestion.
But: We made it. 11:30 p.m. Airport.
Small Airport, Big Luck
I braced myself for huge lines, stressful checks, chaos. Instead… nothing. A small airport, empty counters, friendly staff.
I was checked in within minutes, and even security took about five seconds.
In the waiting area, I learned that the plane had just landed and was still being refueled. I was so relieved that even the extra wait didn’t bother me. In the end, I boarded completely at ease — as if nothing had ever happened.
The Journey Home and the Final Chapter of the Odyssey
From Samoa, I continued on to Los Angeles. There, changing terminals turned chaotic again — the airport is roughly the size of a medium continent — and the staff were as strict as bouncers at a VIP club. But I made it to my connecting flight.
I eventually landed in Germany… …without my luggage.
So there I stood: I was home, but all my travel memories were drifting around somewhere between Samoa, LA, and my home airport.
A few days later, my backpack finally arrived — pretty crumpled, but at least complete.
And that’s how my trip ended: I made it back as a person, on time. My luggage, however, arrived fashionably late.
