Pedals, Pork and a Pool - Kapaa and Hanalei

I need a pool. But, hey, why not swim in the ocean since it's everywhere? Good question. The difference between a pool and the ocean gets down to salt and swell. I guess I'm too used to swimming a measured distance in fresh water under controlled conditions.

I've brought a few bags on this trip to carry my things and bring groceries home if I need to. I exasperate myself with my indecision about what to bring for the day. It seems I end up with everything. When did my life get this complicated?

First of all, we're going down to Kapaa to rent bicycles. I've heard there's a community pool somewhere nearby, but distances are vague in my mind. I recall that most things are not very far from anything else on this nearly round island.

I give up on deciding what to take, stuff everything into all my bags and declare myself ready. We leave, heading south to a place called Coconut Coasters where we can rent bicycles. It's easy to find. On the way down the coast from Hanalei, we've already seen glimpses of the bike path I read about before our trip. And, no kidding, the pool is right behind it at the Kapaa Community Park. Wow. The pool isn't open yet, though. That's okay because the bike ride is going to be first.

Outfitted with big ol' three-speed cruisers we begin to ride south on the one-mile-long trail section that's right next to the water and find ourselves grinning like fools. There really is no better way to see the countryside than by bicycle, and this wide, easy, flat path is as pleasant as any I could find anywhere. For anyone interested, this trail is interrupted after a mile by a two-mile length of city streets that have no trail. However, once you get on past the two-mile section of town, you are back on a separate trail again. More trails are planned apparently but need funding, of course.

Most of the trail is a wide, flat cement trail that seems more like a wide sidewalk than a "path." We go to the end of that one mile, including a charming little lagoon-like protected area called Baby Beach where a tiny boy and his mother are playing in the sun. We turn around and come back past Coconut Coasters and the park. Then we continue on north taking the next 3.5 miles which is a very scenic and gently undulating trail. This is Sunday, and we hardly see anyone. There is a good headwind, but the air is warm, and our 3-speeds are handling the terrain without any trouble. Every so often, covered picnic tables provide shelter from sun or rain. We pass several beaches that seem virtually deserted but perfectly beautiful. Too many beaches on Kauai - what a problem! On the way back we have a tailwind and zoom along for free, hardly pedaling.

The bicycle fun is over far too soon. Our backsides are squashed by the cruiser seats, but that's the only complaint. The big cruisers are back in the able hands of staff at the Coasters, so we look for lunch. Nearby is a small cluster of food trucks, so we go see what we can see there. One looks well kept and a young woman is outside neatening up. She says her food truck, Al Pastor, offers a special mahi fish taco she recommends ordering medium rare, which I do. We sit, wait, watch kids nearby and then gather our order when it's all ready.

Oh dear, I'm not sure I'll ever have better fish taco again. Pinto beans, rice and lime are served with the taco, which is served inside small corn tortillas. Very few Mexican places make their own beans, but this little truck does, and they are buttery soft and savory. The fish is tender, perfectly done, and they are big healthy hunks of very fresh mahi. We rave, exclaim, savor and slurp. It's messy good food. The young woman comes over to check on us and tells us her husband, the cook, is a native of Oaxaca. Well, he's hired. That's all I can say. Hired.

Not a bad start to our Kauai vacation at all.

The community pool is open now, but I'm too full to eat. I make a mental note about the pool in case I cannot find one closer to our bungalow. Heading back north on the main road, there's a sign for a farmer's market, so we make a quick turn up a sloping, bumpy county road. You pay on the honor system for any fruit you want, and you can try some Hawaiian barbecue pork. I carry away a pineapple, a good bunch of apple bananas (small size, wow flavor), and some limes for papaya back home.

On the road again, we decide to have a look at Princeville, a highly manicured collection of time shares, resort hotels, golf courses and tennis courts. A friend has told me I might be able to find a lap pool here and join for a week. She's right. The Makai Golf Club will let you be a member for a month and use their pool. I'm only here for a week; the price is pretty spendy for only five days of swimming, but it's only five minutes away from our bungalow and I need to keep swimming, so I join. Still stuffed with mahi tacos, I decide to begin my swim regimen tomorrow.

The road takes us to our rustic place, a satisfying contrast to the uber high-end digs at Princeville, which, by the way, is offers eye-popping views of Hanalei and the Kalalau Range. Just so you know I appreciate both ends of the rental market...

It's time to get down and real at the beach. Slippers, suit, towel, and we take a shuffle on down to the huge beach. There is only one thing to contend with:  What part of said beach is more perfect than the rest? We are spoiled, aren't we. Yes, it's tough here. Lifeguard flags signal the biggest rip tide area, so we avoid that. Way over to the right of us is the very picturesque and useful covered pier.  Clouds are low in the area. It looks like rain any second.

On the way to the pier, we see a tall, thin young blonde wearing a glistening sparkly gold rashguard and a red helmet. She's trailed into the water by two young local men who are wearing rashguards with the name of their surfing instruction business. Two guys to teach one girl? I wonder who she is. She looks accustomed to having staff.

The pier was built in the 1930s and stands patiently awaiting some maintenance, upkeep, anything. The sandy bottom of the bay is shallow, easy to learn to play at water sports. In rhythmically surging ocean next to the pier, two stiff and anxious Chinese men are learning to surf from only one instructor who is very patient with them. They seem very unused to the water, unable to figure out how to paddle. They are game to try though. Before you know it, they're hopping up on their feet and catching swells that the surfer pushes them into. Looks fun. I'd try it too if the sun was out and I had my stuff with me.

Rain drizzles down but stops absolutely no one from doing whatever they're doing at the shoreline. Way out at the surf break at the tip of the bay opening, surfers are getting long rides Hanalei is famous for. They must be a mile away.

After watching for quite a while, we walk back home along the beach and access streets to our place. Dinner out at a local tourist restaurant and we're good for the night. Life is very simple this way:  The sun comes up and we're up with it, outdoors most of the day and back in when it's dark. Keeping things sweet and real. That's Kauai for you.

Hanalei: A living lullaby

Rain wakes me up in the middle of the night, a building rush of sound that holds its deepest note for no more than three minutes and then fades into the darkness. I am awakened by the sound, feel a cool breeze on my face from the open window by the bed. There is no other sound at first. Then I hear a low, soft, muffled and distant rhythm: the waves on Hanalei Bay's beach. Then, I drift off to sleep again.

In the morning, something awakens me again from my sleep. Or many things do, all of them the small noises of creatures and life stirring. I have these early morning hours to myself as my husband sleeps. Time to imagine what I'll do in the day ahead, think of what we did the day before, and listen. 

The birds out in the garden are local, not island birds native to Kauai. Like full-blood Hawaiians, native birds are very rare now. Whatever variety they are, the songs and calls color the early hours of the day. 

As a short-term visitor here, I am a bit torn between a wish to just sit peacefully and a need to get out and do things. I imagine friends I talked to before the trip, asking me, "What are you going to DO when you're there?" 

"Well, nothing," was my reply. But I am very curious to go see, to be active and not just be a blob. Blobbishness, I tell myself, will be enjoyed after some kind of exploration is undertaken, by some mode other than car driving. I just have that need to move and feel myself alive in this paradise. There is a sense of excitement and thrill, being in a more exotic environment than my own home. I imagine myself some kind of rugged, fit athlete, able to climb, paddle and surmount physical challenges with aplomb. The truth is, I am some fainter shade of that colorful imaginary self at my age now, but I've got a lot of kick left in me. 

I sigh. We'll come up with a plan for the day, sketched in broad strokes, as we usually do. We've got a few things on a mental list that sound interesting or entertaining: Biking, hiking, swimming, body surfing. Boredom is to be avoided, but so is a frenetic pressured need to see and do all. We'll walk a line between them, I hope. 

I begin cutting up fresh pineapple, papaya and some sweet bread we bought yesterday at a farmer's market in Poipu while we were driving around. Coffee begins to brew and fill the small bungalow with its familiar aroma. It already feels like home here, easy to fall into a rhythm of our own. We sit at the table in the kitchen, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the birds in the yard. It's peaceful here. We are escapees from the ugliness and stress of modern life, way far away from anyone we know but also very safe, unchallenged except by any small bit of physicality we chose to throw into our own path. 

It's really a living lullaby in Hanalei for visitors like us. Times like this, I'm not certain at all I ever want to go home again.

Kauai Again

It takes no more than 20 minutes to fly, from liftoff to touchdown, from Honolulu to Lihue, Kauai, but the flight crew of  Hawaiian Airlines manages to hand out small juice cups up and down the aisle before we land. Nice touch.

Lihue airport is situated on the island like the flight deck of an aircraft carrier; it's on a flat shoulder of land that's like a shelf off the island's southwest curve. Kauai is here! Rather, we are here! Kauai has been here longer than any of the other habitable islands, the northernmost in the chain of Hawaiian Islands. It's the prettiest one, in my opinion, and it has the most chickens. Little factoid there, but I'll get to that later, in another post.

We round up our rental car, load up our stuff, drive away to the south shore, opposite direction from our home town for the week, Hanalei. It's too early to check in, so we've decided to explore. Most visitors to this island beeline for the south and stay in Poipu. In the winter, it's drier, warmer, and all the big resorts are here. We are hungry and look up best bets for good local grinds, choose a popular hamburger chain, head for it, find it, and then smell garlic. Hmmmm. I poke around a bit and find a place called Savage Scampi and my mouth waters vigorously. After some, ahem, discussion (he wants a burger), we go to the shrimp place. It seems more authentically good. A few thousand people have turned the walls into a giant yearbook of sorts by writing messages to the owners all over the walls, floor to ceiling.

He orders a fish taco dish, and I order a scampi-and-rice dish that comes piled up with garlic, garlic and more garlic. I have to peel the scampi, but it's good. I'm happy. We eat with fine appetites and then go poke around Koloa, an old sugar mill company town now given over to touristed trinket shops and food places.

The one main reason we drive to and from Koloa is the chance to go along the so-called tunnel of trees. The trees are tall, grand, overhang the highway and border the road on both sides for miles. They were stripped of all leaves and most small branches during Hurricane Iniki in 1992 but have recovered wonderfully and form a living cathedral over much of the roadway. Along the same stretch of road, a dramatic panorama catches my eye, a cattle ranch. Its spread of trees, backdrop of volcanic ridges and hills, as well as the open plain of grasses is rugged and natural in appearance, a testament to the beauty of nature if left mostly alone.

It's time to head up to Hanalei Bay and find our place. We were here two years ago, so the island is looking and feeling immediately familiar. The famous Princeville area with its many condo communities and golf courses sits on the high point above the bay to the northeast. Taro fields, a long curving scythe-shaped beach and spectacular mountains form a stage-backdrop setting for the little village of Hanalei. It's so perfectly tropically pretty and charming from every angle that even ugly is pretty. The dark red iron-rich soil tinges buildings, cars, the tree trunks and fence posts with its ochre red. Corrugated roofs built to withstand upwards of 25 inches of rain a year and hot sun as well are picturesque to me. Lush undergrowth and tall beautiful trees with flowers in their canopies give way at times to reveal craggy and jagged peaks in every view on the mauka side of the road.

Our bungalow is a vacation rental that we have completely to ourselves for the week. There's no maid service. Just us. I find it to be in total contrast to our Waikiki hotel. It's very quiet, simple, old-fashioned in some respects, but our wifi hookup is far better than we had at our last hotel. In defense of better hotels on Oahu, wifi is generally no problem, but it seems like a kind of voodoo security system is evolving there to the point that it's sometimes very hard to find cell-friendly areas with adequate signals for smart phone use. But, I digress.

We take a walk after settling in. The sandy expanse of Hanalei Bay is about a five-minute walk away. The sand is soft, warm brown and easy to walk on. My guess is from one end to the other might be about three miles. We walk around and wade in the warm water when the waves rush up onto the beach. Without suits on, we are just up to our ankles only. We'll begin our exploration tomorrow in earnest. Right now, softening into the rhythm of the place is all that's required. Wow, is it pretty.

Thanksgiving Leftovers in Honolulu

I wake up on Friday morning in Waikiki, hear the noise of the city works, police, transportation and medical rescue workers hard at work and recall that a hike was promised by a friend. This is our last day on Oahu, so we really should make it special. There will be plenty of leftovers later as there was a 22 lb turkey and lots of side dishes for just eight people. Food? No problem.

It's time for coffee. Our hotel room coffee is worse than bad tea. Starbucks is two blocks away; isn't it always these days? As ubiquitous as ABC Stores in Waikiki, they thrive for a reason: You get what you need and the quality is pretty consistent. Besides, wifi is free there and the music selection is actually pretty interesting.

Then, time to dress for a hike. In Hawaii, most if not all trails have exposed roots criss-crossing the path and if there has been rain, there will be sticky mud. I wear hiking sandals, but old running shoes would be good, too. The air is pretty humid in every Hawaiian forest I've been in. I've heard an old saying, "Horses sweat, men perspire and women glow." I sweat. Like a faucet. Which may be too much information, but it's just to say I need to bring along a chamois cloth or bandanna and a water bottle for even a moderate simple hike. All set, off we go, in a good mood, ready for adventure.

We join two young hikers, residents here, and then drive with them up the Pali Hwy, turning to drive on the old beautiful, vine-enshrouded roadway that served as the pali road until the freeway was built. Not far up the road is a trailhead where we stop. We are heading for Ginger Jackass Pond if no other reason than to find out why in the world it got its name. This is not too far up the road from the Queen's Summer Palace, and there are many toney homes in the neighborhood.

We begin the walk on the undulating pretty trail that wends its way through bamboo, Norfolk Island pine and tropical forest growths. There are vines hanging from the towering trees near the trail. The men do their Tarzan moves to varying degrees of success. Soon, we cross an unnamed stream, stepping from boulder to boulder, go up a short climb, loop around through more forest areas, hear a lawnmower and realize civilization is very close at hand. Soon after that, we begin to hear water again. This is a 1.5 mile hike at best and would be considered more a walk, but we are all pleased with it; it's very pretty. The sound of water leads us to a small pond where a man and his two young boys are fishing. The little stream flows down some slick rocks, forming a waterfall into the pond.

The young'uns get into the pond, splash about, declare it chilly but refreshing, and get out. We poke around and rest, but get on our way again. Too soon, the hike is over, and I am drenched in "glow." We consider some options. The Pali Lookout is up the road. We might as well go up there to have a look.

Normally, the lookout is a wall of wind that wrenches jackets, purses and wigs off visitors, but today it is merely a spectacular view overlook with gentle puffs of breeze. (Oddly enough, we would later hear that that very same day had proven to be deadly as a heavy storm squall had hit the north shore and torn the roof off a school building.) There are a smattering of clouds over the distant hills, it's a fine view, and we get a satisfying look at it.

Then, it's time for the girls to go shopping. We are all smiles; this is going to be fun. The menfolk need down time, so it works out nicely. Off we go to the Ala Moana Shopping Center, leaving the males to lie about lazily for the afternoon. Well, the mall has essentially become a giant magnet for the entire population of Hawaii. It is thronged with what seems like half a million people. It's Black Friday after all, and no one is left at home except our men who want nothing to do with it. Probably, it was a wise choice.

We get our minds made up. It's my choice to go to Victoria's Secret and then we'll cruise to some other places. It takes the merest second to see that VS is the destination for what seems like all females who have come to the mall. They're all here right now, examining bras and panties with keen expressions, as if they are TSA inspectors looking for bombs. Photographs of pouting, perfect, 16-year-old models in nearly nothing glow from high on all the walls. The store is lace, pink-on-pink, with "Pink" written on everything, as if you didn't already get it. Techno music thumps. Breasts are big business. As if you didn't already get it...

A young saleswoman says hello, whips out her measuring tape, corners me with a confident gaze, and measures me before God and all present. It would do absolutely no good to protest; she uses her measuring tape as a cowboy uses a lariat to rope his cattle. Shall I moo? I find a few items to try on, and jostle my way to the dressing rooms. There are lines there, but the staff make short work of anyone who is undecided or who needs assistance, rushing away to find more delicates to try on. Their hard work pays off; I buy several items and leave feeling well served if not a little lighter in the pocket book.

Fresh air feels good. It has begun raining, but no one in Hawaii ever takes that as a sign to get under cover. It always seems to stop quickly and never cools off much anyway. (Sometimes it rains with no clouds visible overhead, the rain blown in on the trade winds from makai way where the air is cooler and more turbulent.) Day is now evening. We have shuffled with the crowds past the 200 or more shops in the giant mall and wish we had more time to fondle the clothing in the expensive stores. But the menfolk will rendezvous with us again, phoning and texting frequently as they approach the mall. They are bringing food; where are we meeting; when will we be there; where should they park, etc. The plan is to have a picnic of leftovers at the park across the street. Everyone is glad to eat, recharge batteries and settle down after the crowds and cross-town transportation exasperation. We're better now.

After a some small talk, it's time for a movie at Ward Center. We have to drive a short way from the beach and find a place to park. The theater is monstrous, could hold thousands, all told, has stadium-sized screens and comfortable seats. I buy pineapple chunks to snack on during the movie. It seems right somehow, pineapple at a Hawaiian movie theater, watching a movie set in India. We watch The Life of Pi, a movie I find interesting and visually very beautiful.

Now the day is done, our stay in Waikiki has come to an end. Aloha oi. We say our good-byes, give and receive warm embraces, and then we depart, even though I hate to go for many reasons. Tomorrow, Kauai, the Garden Isle, awaits us.

Waikiki Does Thanksgiving

I am walking on the sand at Waikiki at 9 a.m. To the left is the pale aqua milkiness of the sea. And about a thousand tourists playing, everywhere I look. To my right is the densely packed hotel playground area of the Sheraton. Pools, chaise lounges, fake waterfalls, chairs, snack bars, showers and toys of all kinds are stacked and ready for everyone to have fun, everyone to indulge in tropical water play.

It's Thanksgiving Day today. I am on a morning walk after an açai bowl with good coffee at Honolulu Coffee Roasting Co. Waikiki Beach itself seems happy, screaming, all of it posing for pictures. Girls are signing up for outrigger canoe rides, surf lessons and stand-up paddling. Little kids with floaties on their arms run in and out of lapping wavelets. Japanese ladies, sun phobic, are dressed from head to toe in dark fashionable clothing and carry parasols to shield their pale skin. Business has not slacked off at all for the feast day, probably because a good number of tourists have no idea what Thanksgiving is. Many are from Japan, Korea, China, Germany and Italy.

Waikiki is a big backyard pool, a safe and energetic playground rocked by a gently surging ocean. It is so iconic and so easy, a place to be out in nature without really knowing nature at all. You just go play and have a good time, no matter who you are. It's like you're living in a post card all the time, with "Aloha" written up in the sky in red and gold lettering.

As long as you are at the beach in Waikiki you can ignore the whole world, all its problems and anything that used to be important back home. Refreshingly warm water - not too warm - and puffing trade winds are a balm for the child in your heart. Just play and play and play some more. Live the simple life at the beach. On Thanksgiving, your sense of play is in some way a form of gratitude, I suppose, employing the health and vitality that you were given at birth. It sure beats sitting indoors in the cold, worrying about difficulties and feeling burdened by responsibility all the time.

I walk to the Royal Hawaiian to find quiet peace in the inner gardens, take a look at the fine panama hats in one of the shops on the grounds, consider one for $450 and decide I have become delusional for even considering a hat like that - even though I look fabulous in it, I must say - and walk back to my hotel, watching people along the way. It's still early in the day, and it's possible these out-of-towners will enjoy traditional food later in the afternoon, but nothing I am seeing right now indicates that is even a remote possibility.

My six-block walk takes me past the Apple store where a line of maybe 12 customers is being herded into a very straight queue before the store opens, an employee exerting his line-forming skills in a loud voice that surprises me. I'm glad I'm not in line; it's a different kind of gratitude than I'd been considering just a moment before. So-called Black Friday, an ominous term recently coined, is tomorrow.

Finally back at my hotel, my husband and I gather up our things for the holiday meal, drive over to Kaimuki to our family's house and commence chopping, slicing, stirring, baking and otherwise preparing our fine feast. Friends come over at 4, I meet Noah, age 2 months, and I reacquaint myself with his parents. They are probably going to earn a prize for most loving and alert parents of the year. The meal is delicious, conversation and games are fun, and I am grateful over and over again to be right here, right now, in this least likely version of the pilgrim's first celebration.