We’re watching tufuga (tattoo artists) use sharp bone combs to inscribe two stoic-looking men with notoriously painful traditional pe’a tattoos when my nostrils first catch a whiff of the scent drifting across the lawn.
Despite having stuffed myself with hunks of fresh coconut flesh and lolly-sweet pawpaw and pineapple at the hotel breakfast buffet, I feel my taste buds begin to salivate. When you’re in Samoa, I am finding, it is pretty much impossible not to overeat.
