Mahalo: Part Three: (Onward to Kauai)

And finally Kauai. Not a bad place to culminate one’s first trip to Hawaii.

It’s raining when we get there, a warm rain that yields itself to sunshine, and we drive along surprisingly crowded roads and one lane-bridges, scoping things out. We pass taro fields and coffee plantations and stop at an overview to get a look at Waimea Canyon, Hawaii’s own little Grand Canyon, whose colors and ruggedly sculpted rocks are indeed reminiscent of Arizona and Utah.

We go by Kekaha, where Linette’s mother grew up right by the old sugar mill, and we stop and poke around in the Talk Story bookstore in downtown Hanapepe next door to the abandoned Aloha Theater. There we meet another Cynthia and her husband Ed Justus, the friendly proprietors, along with a drowsy white cat who lies sleeping on the front counter.

Cynthia believes in saying yes to the universe and Ed is running for a seat on the County Council; I ask about his platform and he says something about sustainability, agricultural diversity, jobs, a skate park and restoration of that old theater next door. Who could disagree? I find a used book by Orhan Pahmuk, a good pre-Istanbul read, and Cynthia gives me the Kama’aina discount on it because we share the same name.

We stock up on snacks for the next day’s hike and head to Princeville where we have rented a convenient place. It’s a big condo in a neighborhood of big condos, a golf course timeshare zone whose streets are empty of children or any signs of neighborhood life. But it’s clean and comfortable–by my standards luxurious–furnished with prints of hula dancers and surfers, and there’s even a washing machine and a big television in the living room. The bedroom window opens up to a view of the ocean as far as the eye can see, and there's a king-size bed with a pineapple-patterned bedspread. I climb up into it, feeling a little like Goldilocks in the Papa Bear’s bed.

We rise early and head for the Na Pali coast, where we plan to walk the first part of the Kalalau trail. It’s just as everyone predicted it would be: panoramic views, tropical forest, a series of rainbows. It’s also muddy and tricky now and then, but never really difficult, and soon enough we cross a rocky stream and come to Hanakapiai Beach. Linette goes into the water and I (despite my new status as a person who can float) just sit and watch. To be honest, I'm not even tempted; I've heard warnings about currents.

A family arrives and settles in nearby; this is their local beach. The mustachioed old patriarch is a talkative man who tells us that he used to drive the Zodiac boat and knows this coast very well, but this is the first time he has ever come here just to hang out on the seashore with his family. They are a friendly group consisting of the Zodiac boat guy, his wife, two young women, one of whom is visibly pregnant, two rambunctious children, and an apparent son-in-law, well...not so friendly, who has some serious tattoo coverage, an odd limp, and a cigarette clenched between his teeth.

It’s raining again, actually hard, and Linette and I are trying to decide whether we want to walk to the falls.

“Hmmm,” says the Zodiac man ominously, scanning the horizon like a wise old sea captain. “I tink a big storm wrappin' itself around da coast. Azz no end. Maybe flash floods.”

The air smells of fried chicken and cigarette smoke

.We head back to the trail. Flash floods or not, we definitely encounter mud, and contrary to my naïve expectations, many other tourists. There’s a girl in a bikini whose torso is covered with mosquito bites, welts so numerous and red it makes me weak to look at her. Her barebacked boyfriend seems to have given his share of blood too. There’s a seasoned couple in their 60s wearing reef-walkers and Bermuda shorts, two little girls who have simply stopped in their tracks and are refusing to go any further while their parents try to coax them on, an older lady mincing along gingerly with a cane and a grimace, no doubt thinking about those brittle bones, just trying not to slip.

But Linette and I are feeling quite satisfied and decide to save the falls for another day. It’s a wonderful stroll back, rain on our faces, the earth moist and aromatic, the humid air heavy with the fragrance of lush wet tropical flora. There’s something downright primeval about it.

Along the way, Linette spies some good-looking mangoes, guavas, and avocados on trees just out of reach. It's frustrating.

“If I’d been Eve,” she muses, “I wouldn’t have waited so long. I would have seen that apple and eaten it way before anyone could tell me it was wrong.”

We're back in the car, just cruising. We stop in that land called Hanalei, which turns out to be a disappointing little tourist stop, but we do enjoy chatting with a teenage boy in a ukulele store, a woman from San Diego who is fond of blues and a bit of bling, and two visitors from Moscow, a mother and son, who try to teach us how to say a few simple words in Russian, but our tongues can’t seem to wrap themselves around the sounds. It doesn’t matter; we have coconut ice cream.

As we drive, the radio is playing old fashioned Hawaiian music interspersed by Christian sermons and Biblical tales in Pidgin, because Jesus Christ, he fo everybody. He not jus fo da peopo dat talk English. So we hear the disciples saying things to Jesus like, “If you da spesho guy, give us a sign.”

And Jesus responding, “If I tell you guys, you no gon believe me.” Or something like that.But I kinda like the sound of it. I like that Hawaiian music, too. It puts me in the spirit.

Eventually we end up in Kilauea for a wander through town, tomato bisque soup, and a look at the lighthouse. In the shops we browse among batik prints and Buddhas and bars of scented soap. We read a display about the Chinese immigrants who came here in the late 1800s to work on the sugar plantations.

We hang loose.

The world seems to be in slow motion. At some point I stop jotting notes in my journal, stop taking pictures, stop trying so hard to notice everything. You know what I mean? I sink into an agreeable sort of torpor.

Mahalos yeah fo checking out dis place.

Mahalo: Part Three: (Onward to Kauai)

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