Adventures or Paradise

By Paul Robertson

An autobiography that has it all. The real story being his adventure in making a dream a reality, though one filled with challenges and obstacles that brought laughter, joy, tears, heartache, violence and betrayal. An amazing adventure by a man that just didn't know the words 'too hard' or 'give up.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781626752900

Book preview

ISBN: 9781626752900

In the beginning...

Once upon a, cliché, beginning at a place called Ryde District Hospital, and for those not familiar that is a northern western suburb of Sydney NSW, Australia. It is also important to point out here that it is more north than west, not that there is anything at all wrong with being a 'westie'.

It is the 25th of January in the year 1953. Born at some ridiculous hour of the day, as is the norm, and coming in at a healthy 10¾ pounds, those of you requiring kilos here, about 4.6kg. Word quickly spread throughout the hospital ward, 'come look at the fatty that just arrived to poor Wilma Robertson'.

Evidently a Chinese chin joke should be made here, but it goes without saying I was huge, more rolls than a local bakery, enough. Fast forward through the boring stuff.

Well, a little indulgence here, as I wish to share and remember some of the nonsense and stories. I'm in my pram most likely laying naked covered in lamb or pig fat, basting in the sun, as it was considered back then and I'll quote, 'a fat brown baby is a healthy baby'. Thanks folks for the weight issues, and the skin cancers I am having removed in their dOzens annually!

So Wilma says it is time for young baby Paul to come inside, and can only guess here, this is Wilma thinking out loud but unfortunately older brother Graeme is within ear shot and decides to be mummies little helper so off he goes to bring me inside. Big brother is not really so big and is most likely only about 3. So big bro figures it's much easier to simply grab me by my ankles and drag me inside.

Well the old fashioned prams in those days are, and this is an educated guess about 1½ feet or say 450 millimetres off the ground, yes I hit the ground and all hell breaks loose, ouch thanks bro for the help, not!

I don't like school, and regularly poor Wilma is receiving phone calls informing her young Paul has out run the larger boys in the school and bolted for home. Wilma would regularly find me hiding under a bush, at the top end of our street. Somehow I did get a regular education albeit not past year 10 and departed for an apprenticeship as a plumber.

Over the next few years much chasing of young girls was done, trouble found and mostly avoided, through absolute good luck, rather than clever decision making! While some friends ended up junkies and dead or institutionalized one close friend made it through those horrors years and out the other end.

Others have had notorious lives, one a book written about his criminal days and more than one has been in jail. One such character commonly known as 'Abo' consistently crossed my path, we got along. No, that was not my path but yes, I did know such characters growing up and correct I was far from squeaky clean. All manner of drugs were experimented with, but eventually it came to sink in, drugs and the associations that went with them, or get out. It was not for me, not much of a future for ones health and braincells let alone sanity.

So Paul grows up, does some travelling and much of that is in the classic aussie destinations of New Zealand and Bali, Indonesia.

I go into business with the parents, Harry and Wilma. Mistake No 413. Although out of it I experienced and got hooked on being self employed, and mastered the art of making a great hamburger at the Avoca Beach High Tide Snack Bar. Anyway we survive that, part ways in more ways than one and out of it I have a mortgage on a house over looking fabulous Copacabana Beach, on the then quaintly backward Central Coast. I swear when I arrived in 1978 they were still playing Beatles hits as if they had just been released and people were just discovering Levi's. Okay it wasn't that backward but it was close and really it was what drew us all there in the first place.

Apart from that I met my first gorgeous wife there, married promptly and not long after daughter no.1 Bree was born. Mum works at Weiser Locks during the day and when not there is usually being hotly sought after as a swimsuit model, or as the glamorous girl for page 3 of the local newspaper. Bree is extremely cute also but more about her later.

A move is made to Noosa Heads QLD, where a comfortable brick family home is bought with inground pool and nature reserve over the back fence. I decide it's paradise until I discover the wife doesn't think so and marriage no.1 is over. Yes, I did occasionally work and it's failure had nothing to do with me surfing most days, well I don't think it did?

Now after every failed marriage what does a typical aussie male surfer do? Correct answer, yes, he gets on a flight to Bali to drown his sorrows in the arms of young sun seeking single females, oh and the surf is usually really good too. It is during this soul searching journey I meet a young woman with incredible hands from Melbourne Australia. I've returned to Oz, but after several weeks am missing those magical hands, I venture south to visit her. While in town I had to visit an old flame from camping days at Lakes Entrance Victoria, and while catching up who should walk through the door but wife no. 2 who just happens to be younger sister, who is suddenly not little sister, but very cute man hungry now, young woman. Here I go again!

Wedding bells, and before long again, son Blair arrives and finally another cute daughter Phoebe. Yes, correct, I am a lean, mean marrying machine and I am putty or is it a lamb to the slaughter, never mind I am in love again. Crash burn, yep she is not happy and it's all over again after too few years. What am I doing wrong?

Again I am in rebuilding life faze, and along with my dearest sisters help, Diane, who takes me in and gives me a place to catch my breath, head back in order and life. I'm now on the mid north coast with her at Harrington, which does the trick. I put my life back on track and start up a small building business with close mate George again back in good old Avoca Beach.... 'somewhere on the east coast of Australia'. This proves reasonably successful and before long advertising is largely unnecessary as word of mouth does the job.

For several years all is rosy and life plods along with ACDC concerts being attended. This section is mostly being censored as my kids have to be able to read this to their children too and more than a few women are almost made wife no. 3. Phew! They run or I do and the 3rd marriage does not eventuate, thank goodness say all!

During this period, George and I are doing a little surf travelling and it is on one of these surf trips to, no not Bali again, but Fiji, where we stay with the great team of Scott and Mandy on Namotu Island.

Anyhow it is while flying back to Oz one of us, George I'm suggesting, discovers an article in the inflight magazine for the Solomon Islands Government seeking interested parties to invest in Tourism there. It went on to to describe all manner of attractive incentives, tax breaks and so on to invest there.

George and I, by the way, have been discussing the dream idea of one day developing, creating, our own surf focused tropical destination, aka 'Surf Resort' for about 17 years. Ever since I returned from my first Bali trip and said to George, hey buddy, a smart guy would create himself some kind of business to enable living and surfing a few months of the year in the tropics, end quote or something along those lines! That following year George and other mates with families in tow headed off to Bali.

So you see for the 17 or so years, usually late at night after several bottles of bourbon, yes correct several, uh huh, we could put the stuff away back then, anyway. I look at George ... George looks at me, hey it's said and I quote if we don't do this idea now we'll soon be too old, what do you reckon? and that was that, we arrived back in town to put into play and motion the creation, the 'dream idea' of Sa'Moana Resort.

The months roll by and we're right into our research. We start having weekly meetings, to ascertain where each of us has got to. George covering certain areas, I on others, and here I have to state we were serious and bourbon was not involved at these official early board meetings. After meetings only.

We sought the help of travelling surfer acquaintances, of whom we'd met several, who had yachted their way through various different island groups, like the then unchartered undeveloped, surf wise northern Papua Guinea and the likes of the Solomon Island group.

This was our focus as we had decided that, the likes of Bali and Fiji were already overcrowded with surfing tourism and, that we felt like getting out there and being a part of a new surfing frontier, or at least close to that. Besides we felt the other destinations were too corrupt and we'd agreed we would walk away if it became apparent that to exist we'd have to constantly put money into sleaze buckets hands. To be allowed to have a permit or the likes, based on making bribes ... nope, not these two mightily high moral lads.

Years of travelling both together and separately across the Maldives, Asia, New Zealand and the South Pacific had given us a fair idea of what we'd like to create and how it needed to operate. Also how we wanted our guests, and what we believed to be important, their partners experience.

We believed the market was in need of a destination that was more friendly to the more mature surfer and also to those partners that would like to go along but often found that they were never catered to! We intended to fill that void and become quickly rich and famous with the birth of another surf related icon, with Billabong, Quicksilver and so on. No we didn't but we naturally believed the right formula would work and a new destination needed to be found to go with it. As it turned out, the Solomon Islands got our undivided attention and seemed to tick all the boxes.

Great uncrowded waves.

Superb fishing.

First class World War II wreck diving.

Nothing much had been developed up there so far. Interestingly, at the same time we are looking at our creation another mate Levo, is looking to start up his own 'Surf Travel' business as he too is dreaming of another lifestyle, other than working for other people, whom he feels he can do a better job than, and out of this comes the birth of two businesses simultaneously.

Many hours later if not the equivalent of weeks of research, Levo puts his hand up as the experienced travel agent, to fly on up there to reconnoiter the landscape. How viable a destination is it, is it user friendly for flying with three to six surfboards each, how hard is it to connect with transport out to the neighbouring islands where the surf is and so on!

Timing is everything and Levo returns to sadly say that it appears it will be too difficult as the logistics, along with Malaria everywhere, way too many crocs in the streams and rivers, we decide that the Solomons get the flick.

I said timing. It's about 12-18 months later, about the time we'd be well and truly in construction if not just opening, that all hell breaks loose there and civil war erupts. Hotels are taken over by guerrillas and thugs, people are shot, raped and robbed all over the islands.

Not to be daunted we press on, and while looking at maps of the South Pacific we literally go, hmmm, so what else is there out there starting with 'S', oh, look here, Samoa, I heard once they are Polynesian and a 'friendly people' and I think I also heard some kind of surf exists there! True. So again, the research takes up momentum and before long we are madly getting together with much gusto and enthusiasm, mountains of information on the islands of Samoa, it's culture, history and yes most importantly it's surf potential. Also the fishing and diving and let's not forget the coconut clad Polynesian Princesses! Too much background, probably so I'll push on and leap frog a bit. This time George and I decide it's our turn, maybe we should be the guinea pigs, the poor bastards that have to take time off from work and fly to a tropical island to give it the once over.

We discover through contacts that a guy exists that is married to a local Samoan girl, is a surfer and knows the island intimately. Arrangements are soon in place to arrive in Samoa, hire a 4x4 vehicle, meet our guide Mike and his wife Lina and head off around the island. As anyone knows it is critical to be well prepared, so a double and even triple checking of gear and equipment is made. Surfboard check, wax check, boardshorts check, 30+ sunscreen check, t-shirt check, hmmm, something's missing! Oh yeah, business plan, note pads, spare pens and list of Government Departments we've set up meetings with and local suppliers, oops!!! Is it too late to add the duty free bourbon, no of course not.

I almost left this out, first impressions. Always important in my book. So after a long day travelling mainly due to the fact in those days one had to fly by way of Auckland, change planes, well at least disembark and board again some hours later, then fly north again as opposed to east to New Zealand.

First impression was very good. It was in the middle of the night, but obvious in the bus headlights that all along the road from Faleolo International Airport, to Apia the capital and only town, that there was virtually nil, zip, zero visible rubbish littering the sides of the roads. AND the lawns were all cut short and neat plus regularly tidy rows of white painted river type stones marked the edges of the road and paths, impressed!

Searching...

All goes well to plan and on a sunny Saturday morning we four head off from the quaint and affordable Seaside Inn, down by the wharves, in an easterly direction and so begin the investigation of every track or road that we could find that lead down to the ocean from Highway No.1 or should I explain the only island road that vaguely circumnavigates around the main island of Upolu.

In 1997, this road had only just been completely bitumen sealed and any road or track leading from that was soon discovered to be a long way from any such modern surfacing.

Fact, four wheel drive was increasingly, and often, being engaged. Spectacular, just seems to not do some of the views that we're met with justice. We turned many a bend in a track, and one will always stick in my mind and that is coming around the headland and looking into 'Fagaloa Bay' for the very first time, breathtaking comes to mind.

On a much later boat trip in there, and shortly after recent rains, I counted 14 waterfalls cascading down the steep dense jungle mountain sides into the bay, it should be described more in appearance as a fjord in shape. Long in length with very steep sides to it.

Mike and Lina had explained a little about the culture and how introductions and potential meetings should be approached. Evidently, to even get a village and its elders to sit down and discuss allowing outsiders to create a business within their domain, we would need to on first meeting, offer food and money! Hmm, we're thinking, okay this is a cultural thing as opposed to a ... 'bribe thing' ... ?

So during each days research drive we're carrying extra local currency and boxes of canned fish and biscuits as tokens of our friendship and seriousness to pow wow. I won't go into unnecessary detail here, but suffice to say too often, tokens were handed over to many.

Some mistakingly prior to meetings. Those that did and handed even more tokens were later discovered to have little or zero authority to speak with us regarding anything. More lessons learnt and well it's all a part of the adventure isn't it. The 'rose coloured glasses' are well and truly, firmly on.

After several long days of this, no one is openly saying so, but hope of finding a dream location is ever so slightly slipping, the conversations in the vehicle are decreasing and hope with it, when we are all but pass the track into Salamumu Village. When I ask,'so what's down there, any surf at all or good beaches?' Mike is clearly bored and over it and replies something lame like 'yeah, but I didn't think you'd like it much, so I wasn't going to suggest it', lame and lazy.

It is a long drive in and is about 5-6 klms from the main road down to the bottom half of the village and the ocean. Around a bend in the semi rough and partially sandy track and we're greeted with a long and beautiful sandy beach and just back from this is Salamumu Tai or Salamumu Beach. The word Tai literally translates to by the sea. The top half of this elongated village up next to the main road, is known as Salamumu Uta, Uta meaning by the mountain. The village is marked out in an almost neat rectangle shape and is approximately six kilometres by say one and a half, the one and a half along the ocean.

Quaint Samoan homes (fales) are well spaced and it seems some sense was used here in giving everyone some room to breath and no one lives on top of each other. Also since the village is so long and virtually in two halves it was deemed necessary to give each half it's own Methodist Church and here it is with a commanding view over what appears to be a superb down the line left hand point break. Hey, this is looking interesting.

We continue to follow the village track and eventually it narrows right down into what is almost a walking track. We're creeping along at what is barely a walking pace, dense vines and growth scrape the vehicle sides, suddenly an opening appears. There with a thick cover of purple flowering ground vines, creeping on down to the lava rock is a beach. Wow, this looks like a beautiful spot, hold on, we're leaping out of the vehicle, a set of waves breaks along the reef directly in front of us, holy shit, or something like that flows from our mouths!!!

Barrels that are perfect, so clear blue and clean they are virtually all but transparent, break down the reef. Some I proffer one could drive a Mini car through. More expletives and wows and the odd aussie profanity is heard and both George and I are looking at each other with silly boy like grins!!!

Could we have found our location? We'd found what appeared to be great locations before, only to discover the owners are not interested or can't be found or it just seemed all to hard to find who is the right person to speak to.

Remarkable, best describes what happens next. We return to the top of the village where we left the main road some hour or so ago, to notice a small thatched hut (fale) which is now occupied by several elderly looking gentlemen sitting crossed legged, quietly talking and as seems the norm in Samoa, smoking. It's decided, we should stop and enquire if there is anyone in the village we'd be able to arrange a meeting with to discuss our plans? We wish to create a surf oriented small resort business. One of the men suddenly breaks into perfect English, so well