The Apia bus was a classic third-world cast-off, groaning and belching, spewing oil and rollicking on the mountain curves, off-set by no-nonsense helpful drivers, laughing high-school kids on and off, country farmers loading on produce for the market, fishermen still smelling of catches, etc. Tula walked me to his aunt's town fale for coffee, and we hugged good-bye, followed by a ceremonial formal bow.