Saturday, Jan 22, 2014

We bid adieu to Steve and Kevin at Boston Logan. It is bittersweet: we are off to 80 degree sun and unknown adventure without two integral members of the Family. It just isn't meant to be, I guess. Five would have been a large group, in any case; now we're much more mobile and have easier decision-making processes, sleeping accommodations, etc. Fog in San Diego forced an impromptu landing in LA, and we were bussed down to the SD airport, arriving at 2:30am. Check-in was at 4:30 (the earliest), so we took a cab to a 24-hour Mexican restaurant and walked through the drive-thru before nomming on fish tacos and horchata. I accidentally stole a bottle of Windex from the cab (it was stuck to my bag!). We cabbed back with this peculiar Muslim dude who told us not to go in the Hawaiian waters because of Fukushima radiation. He seemed almost delighted to drive us. We got back to the airport and immediately crashed on the floor next to baggage carousels and empty carts, waking two hours later to check our bags and make our way to the gate. From there, Kyle and I did pushups and stretched amidst a busy 4-gate intersection jammed with passengers. Kyle was called to the front desk (via loudspeaker) for his permission to switch seats and allow a couple to sit together. (He later switched again with a bald Hawaiian man to sit with Brit and me.) During the flights we had intermittent sleep; we discussed plans that would eventually work themselves out organically; we looked at maps of the islands and marveled at their extraordinary geographical location on earth. We laughed a lot! 

We watched Maui's green colors grow larger out the plane's windows. It looked so small from above, but when you're driving and traversing these great rolling hills it seems nearly endless - buoyed on both sides by looming shapes of Haleakala and the West Maui Mountains, both creatures shrouded in white mists (or vog) or billowing rain clouds thick with moisture... 

After smiling, shouting and sufficiently stripping off our oppressive clothing that stunk of stuffy Boston winter, we posted up on the wall of rent-a-car companies, searching our phones for better deals or touching base with Hawaii contacts. We ended up renting a Nissan Altima from Advantage, but would trade it in the next day for a beat down old white minivan from a more local spot called Kimo's. The Israeli dude manning the shop didn't charge extra for being under 25, and the insurance options were half (price) of most other offers.

In any case, Sunday afternoon we hopped over to Paia and bought some foodstuffs at Mana Foods before heading to Baby Beach to swim, jog and soak golden rays with flesh exposed to everything. Paia had a cool vibe to it -- grungy and funky, yet classy and quaint with "island" features and hippie, health-conscious flavor. People were walking around Mana shirtless and shoeless. Brittany saw someone she knew in the parking lot. 

Tom & Bev's house in Haiku.

After washing off at Baldwin Beach, we drove over to Brittany's old running coach's house in Haiku to say "Hi" and pick up a 2-person tent (in which I currently write these words). It's a beautiful place, their house -- perched on a hill overlooking a sliver of ocean water and Bev's flower garden (she sells flowers for a living now, after selling two shopping malls near Fort Wayne, IN). Tom is an old hippie who talks very slow and is always smiling like he just chiefed some ganja in the bathroom. They have a daughter -- Zoe -- who is 9 and will grow up to be a stunning blonde; she plays soccer and we spent awhile juggling, doing pushups and sit-ups, and hula hooping before dinner. She had this tremendous work ethic and showed a special kind of maturity or "knowing" way beyond her years. Casey -- the son -- came late (just in time for grilled pizza, salad and bison burgers)... He's got long blonde hair, a slender-toned musculature and a quintessential surfer tan (though he's actually a champion windsurfer). He swears freely in front of Zoe and his parents; he's also a bit full of himself and carries this air of superiority. Last was Karim, a kind of godson living with the family who takes brilliant photographs (for a living) and has traveled to many a faraway land. He is an awesome beat boxer and has a very curious sense of humor that made me smile and made me crazy. 

We made our way to Taylor's house in Kula.

Monday, Jan 24

Eating papaya at Taylor's

 It was great to see him again; I forgot how much I love that guy. Kyle and I slept on the little porch while B slept inside on a mattress. We woke up pretty leisurely, sharing cups of Ethiopian coffee (prepared by Taylor at 7am) and ate papaya, bread with coconut oil and bananas (after he left). We drove back downtown to exchange the Altima then went west to hike in Iao Valley (where the first king massacred indigenous Maui warriors and the rivers ran red.) We took off our shoes and walked through dense forest on some trails that hadn't been trodden on in months (it looked like). We had to turn around when it got to the edge of "maximum gnarliness", then drank water from the streams with our Life Straws. (Also had a good conversation about Scheduling/Planning v. "Free Flow" while traveling.) 

Iao Valley

Iao Valley

When back at the parking lot, B cracked open a pineapple on the concrete (startling terrified/confused tourists) and we hit a small beach at dusk on the way back to Paia Fish Market where Kyle and I had seafood pasta and B had seafood salad. We met Pam and walked down to Charley's Bar and listened to some decent open mic while Kyle sipped a brew and B a phenomenal home-brew kombucha flavored with lilokoi. Pam was awesome: dressed like a 20 year-old and sweet as ever, inviting us to stay at her house in Huelo when we wanted and hike or see an organic farm. We talked about her brother's death, her recent car accident and my parents. We drove back to Taylor's -- exhausted and burning off jetlag -- and fell asleep (inside this time) almost immediately. 

Iao Valley

Tuesday, Jan 25

Haleakala Crater

The next morning we played some African instruments before heading out to see B's friend Christian in Kahului (Da Kitchen, a pretty mediocre place with heaping portions of fried chicken, steak, etc). Then we bought foodstuffs at a supermarket and saw B's beautiful friend Coron (she brought donuts and hugs) before driving up to Haleakala via curvy roads ascending 10,000 feet through clouds and rock and shrubs. We got out of the car and set off down into the crater at around 2:30pm, descending rocky trails through extraterrestrial landscapes somewhere between the moon and Mars. Giant mists unveiled even bigger volcanic hills and peaks at the bottom of the crater. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. B stopped to pee every fifteen minutes and we had delicious intervals of silence punctuated by fun-loving hiking banter. It was really cold when we started (40 F) and we constantly moved layers of clothing around depending on the sun's mercurial presence. Our packs were heavy, as they included tents, sleeping bags, a camp stove, and food sufficient for 2.5 days -- but we wouldn't start feeling their true toll until later. Darkness descended four hours later, just as we were touched down on the crater "floor" on the same plane as the first of three cabins: Kapalaoa. The moon was two days from being full, so it illuminated our path to a camping spot 100 yards left of the cabin; on the final stretch we talked about both Kyle and B's encounters with UFOs in years past on Haleakala. We pitched camp and cooked up some beans, rice and veggie sausage, using a lot of butane to cook the short-grain brown rice I bought (remember to buy lighter rice and more butane!). We also spread some homegrown avocado (gifts from Taylor) on bread. 

Kyle and Rainbow in Haleakala

Wednesday, Jan 26

We rose the next morning to golden sun washing the crater of its cool darkness. I started snapping photos of the drama, going over to the cabins to say "Good Morning" to our neighbors and see the Ne'ne (endangered Hawaiian goose). I didn't receive a very warm welcome, which B and I later realized was because we weren't "supposed" to camp off the trail and they disapproved of our "rocking the boat." It really shook me, this criticism - "in the camping video we saw, the rangers said not to leave footprints off the trail so you guys shouldn't be stealth camping..." It was the first thing a woman from Maine said to us, and it left poison in my head space for the following 30 minutes. I tried to articulate why:

1.    I don't take criticism well to begin with, especially when I try to so hard to do the right things. 

2.    They seemed like wealthy yuppies sour about paying to sleep in a cabin, detached from the rawness. 

3.    I'm at a loss as to how a few footprints could drastically impact an ecosystem, not to mention an area of the park already altered from human presence vis-a-vis the cabin. 

4.    Those rules seem to be directed toward those campers who don't respect the space -- drinking, littering, destroying stuff, occupying with reckless abandon and without reverence. 

Kyle and B hike Haleakala. 

5.    That view perpetuates or strengthens the Man-Nature Divide, as if we're supposed to observe the wild at a distance rather than engage intimately. 


Anyway, I tried to let it go (oxymoron?) because I could feel the mind poison limiting my ability to be open. As we approached Paliku -- the 2nd camp -- the clouds of moisture rolled through us and it began to rain as we turned the big descent down Kaupo Gap, where it was lush, green and wet, and the trails turned to slushy rock weaving back and forth. The landscape was reminiscent of Southeast Asia (or what I imagine the wetter regions to be like), with spindly, ancient trees whose wooden fingers sprawled outward in Zen expressions. It began to rain. And it continued for hours, soaking our feet first, then pants, then packs. I was a bit concerned about my camera and lens, and it was fairly uncomfortable sloshing our bodies around with wet weight, but everything was so peaceful in its rainy simplicity. I watched my mind latch onto resisting being soaked, then release into pleasure of not having any control of the matter. 

The rain rolls in as we approach Kaupo Gap. 

The rain finally slowed as we approached the gate entrance to private lands extending down the southeast side of Haleakala, which was akin to rolling grass hills of England or Scotland, with huge stones protruding into misty air. We made frequent stops to rest our backs and eat fruit. Our knees and calves were feeling the constant impact of walking downhill at this point, despite our eating having alleviated weight, gradually. Once we could see the ocean (on a huge hill with a wide vista), we sat down for 20 minutes (our longest break yet) and watched cloud/storm systems loom over soft ocean like dark blue guardians, spraying wisps of rain out from the back sides. We laughed and came up with band names extracted from conversation ("What's up Little Rock, we're Reverse Osmosis!") and dreamed about moving to Maui. 

Kaupo Gap

Kaupo Gap

Kaupo Gap

The last leg down to Kaupo was rough, zigzagging through cow pastures and rocky paths that tested our footwork. My pack rested on my shoulders like boulder; I tried to experiment with holding the weight with different muscle groups (hips, back, core), but it wouldn't go away. I had guzzled the last of my non-potable water (filled up at Kapalaoa), which I drank in rebellion to the Maine contingent's warning, and we picked up our pace in tired desperation to reach the shore. We intended to hitch a ride back to the crater, but it was becoming clear that it would wait until the next day. I took off my shoes and walked the last road barefoot because a cut from the Iao hike was getting sore from initial infection and the raw skin from water-saturated socks. Kyle checked his GPS at the bottom and saw Kaupo General Store a few dozen feet down the road. It was closed but when we laughed at the sign (that read "This is it!" -- a theme of the trip borrowed from Alan Watts' book title of the same name) a woman came outside and offered us a sleeping spot next to her car. It wasn't a very enticing proposition, with our sleeping, open mouths next to exhaust pipes, so we decided to hitch to a small sliver of Haleakala National Park that extended down to the ocean about 7 miles down the road. A couple from Argentina obliged so we popped in and out and walked down a dried river path of stones to the water. We sat down at the edge and watched moonlight caress wet rocks already lathered with salty ocean froth. I was dead tired. Kyle fetched some seawater to cook dehydrated Pad Thai (we were low on fresh water) and it turned out pretty good, saltiness aside. We laid out our wet clothes on the grass beside the sand where we slept. A soft rain began to fall in the middle of the night, so we woke up, pitched the 2-person tent, and all squeezed in before it starting pouring down buckets of water that soaked our rainfly and dripped on our faces from the tent seams. Kyle felt a little sick to his stomach, but he drank some rainwater from a pan he set out to catch streams from the tent, and felt better. 

Thursday, Jan 27

Kyle was first to rise the next morning, with hints of day strewn across the sky like pale pink ribbons. He said he saw a humpback whale. I took some photos, limping to avoid putting pressure on my cut foot, and found a patch of wild sea spinach. We packed up and started walking the road west to Kula, delighted to feel a warm sun at our backs and out of the cold, wet darkness. A few cars passed without any bite, so we stopped at a dried riverway, the road portion of which was unpaved and gravelly and cars had to proceed slowly; our logic was that they'd have time to decide whether to pick us up (or not). A half dozen cars came and went before Avi came to a rolling stop, beckoning for us to get in the bed of his truck. I came up to the window and asked, "Where you going?" to which he replied, "That way. Get in." 

The 30-minute drive was beautiful, surfing an asphalt wave high above the shore -- ocean to our right (from the truck bed POV), Haleakala to our left. Avi took this drive every day to work (construction), so he cut curves like an artist and accelerated at all the right moments. He dropped us off at the bottom of Crater Road, where we got a ride five minutes later in the van of Hike Maui, a tour company van filled with sun-licked girls getting certifications at the visitor center (7,000 ft). We talked about which of the Hawaiian volcanoes was the largest mountain in the world (from the sea floor). Apparently Monokea can fit 100 Everests in its volume! We waited another fifteen minutes at the visitor center and got a a ride another 1,000 feet up by a car full of Canadians who eagerly shoveled themselves to the back to make room. We shrieked with joy at the sight of our Toyota Sienna, drove to the top lookout for some photos, then all the way down to Kula Lodge for a mediocre lunch that cost boatloads (carrot bisque soup, pork quesadillas, fish salad, pizza, etc). Kyle pronounced coffee "coffay" out of complete exhaustion then got the shittiest iced coffay money could buy.

We drove down country to hit the beach in Kihei, on the south side where all the pasty, lathered up tourists go to catch a ray and a steak at Denny's. It was a cathartic beach session that culminated in a dazzling sunset and an ice-cold shower before racing back to Paia and buying some pita, hummus and Active Greens bars at Mana. We ran into Angel, who performed at Charley's open mic the night we saw Pam. She was speaking in a British accent even though she's from Toledo. She was hawking her CD for $4, which later proved to be less than pleasurable to the ears. We came back to Haiku and slept in Karim's house. 

Friday, Jan 28

The next morning we got a ride with Casey a few blocks down the Hana Highway to Oili Road, where we walked a couple miles to some cliffs that overlooked Jaws, one of the world's premier surf spots. There weren't a ton of people, and the waves weren't gigantic, but it was cool to look down at the hallowed bay, so legendary in the lore of surf culture. Karim was taking photos with a 400mm lens, though he said even that was too small. I snapped a few with my 200mm telephoto. I remember feeling disenchanted at times while watching -- tired of consuming (observing) without contributing (participating). This was a theme throughout for me; that is, my life energy seeps away if I'm not creating/being engaged/anchored in a project in equal parts to merely being a bystander (eating but not cooking; taking pictures of surfing but not surfing; spending money but not making money; thinking about doing but not doing it). In other words: receiving without having earned it, without having given first, or in return. 

Sugar Cove before Football in Paia

Casey drove back to pick us up and we sat in the truck bed. We borrowed some boogie boards from Tom and Bev (or body boards, as they're known in Hawaii.. just like "slippers" instead of "flip flops") and headed down to Sugar Cove (a bit past Paia going into town) where the waters were choppy and tumultuous (as they were across the whole north shore of Maui). It was great fun. There were a few nervy moments as currents pulled us every which way and waves sprung up to a man's height, but riding the gnar felt really good. Tom and Bev stopped by with Zoe on the way back from school, and she and her friend had fun throwing sand "cupcakes" at Kyle and me. The sun sank lower, casting a gold coating across all things. It struck 4:30 and it was time for football in Paia with Taylor; Kyle and I took "Judith" (adopted name of Sienna) while B hitched back to Haiku with the Rehrers. Soccer was pretty solid -- a Fens-esque 9v9 game with white Rastas and Latinos, some decent players (a few with real Quality) but most didn't have the IQ. It was awesome that Kyle played -- having not done so in years -- and that Taylor loves playing so much (every Tuesday and Friday, almost religiously) despite lacking inherent technical ability and IQ. We were slick with sweat by the time the sun's descent finally made things dark, and we headed to Paia Bay to wash off at the cold beach shower with Taylor. (We had the intention of hitting Flatbread but elected to return "home" to Tom and Bev's where hot pizza had already been ordered.)

Karim's friend Skyler was sitting at the dining room table when we arrived, grinning with his sun-soaked cheeks that sat below a bleach-blonde mop of hair. He is a pro wind surfer, born and raised on Maui with a host of different skills and hobbies -- a quintessential islander and go-getter. He works half the year teaching wind surfing then wind surfs the other half. He's taking a break from school at CU; says he probably won't go back. Skyler, Karim, Kyle and B drove off to Kula for a reggae concert but I didn't feel inspired to join. 

Saturday, Jan 29

Zoe, at Baked (On Maui)

Kyle, at Baked (On Maui)

Bamboo Forest

The next day we set out for the revered Bamboo Forest as a quintet after a splendid brunch at Baked (On Maui) -- the ultimate Maui food spot by virtue of its unassuming signage, outdoor seating, quality food and dog- /barefoot-friendly policies. I ordered huevos rancheros, but I rather fancied Kyle's bagel with lox. The Bamboo Forest was cool: Skyler showed us how to climb the stalks; we jumped around on rocks and took glorious cold water dips in waterfall pools; we held our breath for two minutes; we pulled up wild ginger; climbed up/down a rickety old ladder to access the largest swimming hole. The forest was on the way to Hana, a bit past Huelo, where Pam lives. We got back to Haiku and Zoe convinced everyone to come play football in the adjacent field (Bob's land). Kyle did some standing backflips. We stepped on sharp sleepy grass (the leaves curl up shyly upon touch) to retrieve errant balls. We played HORSE and Knockout in the driveway then Apples to Apples after scarfing down fish burgers. Sleep.

Sunday, Jan 30

Kyle at Fleming's Beach.

We woke up and drove one hour to the south shore and Lahaina, a supremely touristic district with old-time shops and the biggest Banyan Tree (Strangler Fig) in the world (maybe?). It's thick wooden appendages stretch outwards, re-rooting themselves dozens of times and coming back up for more air and light. Our first stop was Fleming's Beach, however, to boogie board and catch rays. Kyle was really perfecting the art of skim boarding; he tried to emulate the 10 year-olds, whom in Hawaii are apparently born with talents in all things Water. I snacked on Active Greens bars, took some pictures and admired one of the finest asses my eyes have ever seen -- plump, perky, preposterously pleasing. We popped back into Judith (since I wouldn't be popping in the other girl) and drove back to Lahaina town center where we got Poke Bowls -- rice and raw, marinated fish (usually tuna) in a bowl with soy sauce, ginger, onions and scallions. We brought the PBs, Maui onion chips and a six-pack of Kona lagers to the beach and watched the sun go down with good, buzzed conversation. We traded a beer for the use of a homeless guy's lighter (to open the beer) and we finished the meal with chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. We walked back to the car (after spending a few minutes fending off the homeless guy's dog from eating our tuna) and changed out of wet clothes before walking a few blocks to a cute bar where B's friend Talia was playing pool and sipping beers with another native kid. We got a little tipsy, played some pool, and threw tennis balls to an obedient border collie that was having a blast with the bar patrons. The owner knew the dog so intimately; they did tricks (balancing a straw on the dog's nose, highfive) and he always waited to his owner outside the bathroom door. We left to a small taco truck where only Spanish speakers gathered. I got a taco de fish. Really spectacular. 

Monday, Feb 1

Us and Karim in Hana.

The next day we set off for Hana, the jungly wild area of Maui on the northeast shore. Karim came with us, as did tents and sleeping bags for camping. It was a 2-hour drive on winding, treacherously narrow roads, through dense green. Views of the sea poked out boldly between tangles of foliage. We stopped to pick up cooking supplies -- grass-fed Maui burgers, sprouts, cheese, charcoal and wine -- then continued on to Seven Sacred Pools campgrounds. It was already dark, and everyone was finished cooking before we'd even begun. Karim secured us a broken picnic table, informing the adjacent family that they had two tables while we had none. He then offered to help carry it over twice before they had a chance to clean their stuff off. We had a good laugh about that. The stars sparkled overhead as coals burned a pale orange in the grill. We cooked a pot of chili to put atop the burgers, and Karim took some stunning shots of the night sky (AND Kyle -- everything is darkness save a few select features illuminated by his headlamp). I tried my luck at long exposure shots with Karim's tripod. After dinner we walked past quiet tents to a meandering path down to the water. The First Sacred Pool was behind us, trickling a stream down between carved rocks about 200 yards out to the Biggest Sacred Pool, which loomed a giant dark mass, an upside-down triangle framed by two jagged cliffs. We were turned toward the First Pool, with our backs to the mass and sipping beers delegated to us by contests of rock-paper-scissors, when Karim turned around and saw a bright orange orb on the horizon sending a shaft of brilliance across the water. For the next two hours, we sat -- not 20 feet from the excited white froth of the waves -- honoring the moon, clouds, water, rocks and air with our focused, reverential attention. Kyle and Karim climbed up to a higher spot and philosophized. B fell asleep on the rocks, no doubt being lulled by the soft murmurs of water on stone. I turned back before the others; my headlight flashed across two pairs of eyes near our clothes and bottles back up toward the First Pool (stray cats).

The moonlight took me back to the camp. Tall grasses swiveled, shining and golden white, dancing with the moon and water. 

Tuesday, Feb 2

We packed up the next morning -- (it always took awhile to do do) -- and drove over to the trailhead of Seven Sacred Pools Hike... a three-mile ascent to the gigantic waterfall whose languid spray created the Seven Pools. We had walked not 1/4 of a mile when Karim turned back to retrieve his epipen (for wasp stings) and we soon followed after we decided to run up the trail (dropping off unneeded gear). Sweating and moving through the woods was the best I'd felt in awhile -- being active, feeling no-mind, breathing deeply. We ran under another massive Banyan (which we climbed on the way back) and cut through dense groves of green bamboo that wavered and crackled in the swirling winds above the tree line. The path in the bamboo forest was built up with wooden planks, so you could sprint without worrying about losing your footing (except the sudden 3-inch drop-offs on descents). We took the Life Straw and sipped from springs and then got a water massage under the falls. Kyle climbed up a steep face of loose rock to take a hefty dookie.

Purple Giants over Momoa Bay Beach.

We hopped back in the car and popped out at a lunch truck and farm stand for fish and rice and fruit before jumping back in to go to Momoa Bay Beach -- a white sand cove/inlet with palm trees. I had a vision of us playing Aerobie frisbee there (before we descended), and sure enough, a dad and two young kids were tossing around the large fluorescent ring. I got up from my towel to play, and the dad asked me, "Is this yours? We found it on the wall over there!" In a moment I considered saying "Yes, but you can play with it!" but I said "No." That's OK: they could keep it for the enrichment of their own lives; the disk had already made mine golden. Kyle and I had long jumping contests in the sand; we played catch with a yoga ball Amiel gave me in Pittsburgh; we took photos of water and sand impacts. I took a dip in the warm salty sea while purple giants turned into clouds and back again. Then we left, taking the long winding road back to Paia where we met Taylor (serendipitously) at Flatbread for pizza and cold beers, followed by a scoop of Sandy Beach ice cream (sea salt and peanut butter and caramel). We drove back to Karim's place and passed out on his carpet. 

Wednesday, Feb 3

The next day summoned another wildly anticipated swell at Jaws, with waves predicted to be 50ft + at peak height during the early morning. Zoe didn't go to school due to "inclement weather" (70F, cloudy and windy) and the lack of heat in her school, and she bounded across the carpet to announce the start of our day. I was putting myself through another trip about consuming, so I resolved to eat an Active Greens bar for breakfast instead of indulging in Baked's deliciously crafted plates of steaming goodness. Before that, however, B, Zoe and I walked down the road to harvest Lilokoi and another strange soft red fruit that quite resembled those paper lanterns from China, only smaller and red as blood. I ate them in Brazil, but couldn't remember the name. (A quick google search later revealed them as Suriname cherries, indeed native to Brazil.) 

After returning we inhaled a bit of ganja smoke and got a ride with Casey to Jaws. I remember feeling so good! It was windy and no surfers were out because waves were crashing in all different directions and didn't form lipping barrels. As we approached the lookouts, a yellow helicopter touched down in an adjacent field and a well-known photographer hopped out with nothing but jeans, a gray t-shirt and a DSLR. Well, Karim knew him. And apparently his photos are framed in establishments across Maui. All the perches overlooking Jaws were crowded so Kyle and I wandered down the cliff via a semi-hidden trail while B stayed with Karim as he set up his tripod. The trail creeped toward another lookout, where only one guy was seated, starting to pack up his tripod and DSLR. The wind was ferocious here, stinging our flesh with sticks and debris from the incoming gale-force currents. I tried to pee in the reeds a bit further back but ended up watering my shorts. We descended more, jumping off loose rocks to where the water met shore; a small inlet was to our right, and across it was a large group of people, unaware of our presence. We stumbled over wet rock to a beautiful secluded perch that was damp with ocean spray. It gave a wide, panoramic view of the tumultuous waters, with 30-40ft waves crashing toward us not 50 yards from where we sat. So glorious. 

We sat for two hours, 'oooo'-ing and 'aaaa-ing', and imagining being dropped in those swirling waters, predicting how soon thereafter we would be swallowed up and tossed ashore like dead driftwood. We could lean back and soft moss would cradle our heads, our faces getting drenched with sunlight, which peeked out nervously (but passionately) behind sky and cloud. We finally headed back because the tide was rising and didn't want to get caught. A photographer was there to greet us across the little bay, and we chatted awhile about Maui and how she got there: turns out she was at a crossroads in life and flew over from LA after a friend sent a postcard telling her to "get over here". She's been here ever since. Kyle was inspired. So was I. 

We walked back to Karim's after failing to find him or B. I remember us having the richest conversation on this walk; I was extraordinarily lucid from the receding ganja consciousness and ideas were flowing really nicely between the two of us. It felt therapeutic to release some of my discomfort regarding consumption without creation, explaining to Kyle my feelings of disconnection to a collaborative process of being rooted in a project in one place. I know -- it's vacation! But for some reason relaxation gave way to disquiet (same as in Brazil) when I wasn't involved in something... some greater mission or cumulative endeavor. As we turned up Olualu Road towards Karim's, we saw one of B's friends we met at Da Kitchen the week before. He was cleaning up his driveway, doing a general improvement/maintenance of a newly acquired property that he lived on with his parents. We shared a beer and conversation and were on our way. 

B's friend Emma (and boyfriend) picked us up for dinner at Cassanova's in Makawao (up the volcano a bit -- just one main intersection that makes the town, with dusty, Western cowboy facades and good restaurants). On our way in we saw Taylor driving by in his old white pickup. We hollered, he joined! I ordered a fish medley over pasta in a kind of vodka cream sauce, which paired nicely with warm, fluffy garlic and rosemary bread. The waitress was a real looker, but she was nervous and kept making mistakes or forgetting requests. We forgave her. Emma and DJ were two of my favorite acquaintances on Maui. Both so sweet and gentle and thoughtful. Emma is a small girl who could charm the socks off a snake, with frizzy blonde hair and glasses, while DJ is a native Hawaiian and a gentle giant, looming over Emma like some great protector. He does construction work and Emma works at Mama's Fish House, which shall be covered (ad nauseum) in the next 'episode'. We talked about Monsanto and GMOs, and Maui's disintegrating food/economic resiliency due to multinational takeovers. Both Emma and DJ seemed well-versed in current political/social issues on the island. We bid adieu to Taylor and went to sleep after being dropped off. 

Thursday, Feb 4

The next day was our last full day on Maui. It began with borrowing surf boards from Tom and Bev, evolved into having breakfast burritos in Paia (actually, I had a burrito de fish... I wasn't making a big stink about Fukushima radiation, but I decided to eat fish on Maui!), then morphed into driving southbound to surf at a small beach with grass and trees beyond the rocky shoreline. We waxed our boards and then noticed a group of folks to our left inhaling ganja smoke. When we went over to chat, we realized they had camped next to us in Hana; they were the ones Karim had bullied for our picnic table. We all laughed. They lived in NorCal, but came often to Hawaii (one had the islands tattooed on her side-body). Surfing was much more difficult than expected; even though waves were small and manageable, it was shallow, and sharp coral rock waited to tear flesh on the floor. I got up a few times -- only to fall a few seconds later -- but it was a great upper-body work out paddling to meet waves. Nice to be in the water, bodies soaking in salt and light. B and Kyle stayed out awhile longer than me; I sat and rested and read and took photos and ate bananas. When B finally came in (she'd been out for hours), we ripped abs and laughed and felt golden.

We stopped in Kahului for Poke Bowls before the main event: a dinner at Mama's Fish House, one of America's top 10 restaurants (voted on by someone) with menus that changed twice a day and $70 entrees. Luckily enough, Emma is a manager and, because we were only a "little" hungry from the PBs, we ordered one appetizer, one entree and one dessert -- all for 1/3 of the total cost. We befriended the bartenders and were a given a dessert and liquor on the house. The appetizer was a decadent slice of Maui beef resting in grilled papaya with morsels of onion and garlic. The entree was a slab of Opakapaka caught by Richard Matsumoto that morning. It brewed in a lemony-garlic marinade, with wild rice and Hamakua mushrooms. Dessert was the Black Pearl: the purest of chocolate mousse in a pastry seashell, buffeted by tangy sweet Lilokoi jelly that circled the shell like an orange moat 'round a chocolate fortress. The dessert gratis was equally time-warping: a Lilokoi creme brulee that melted on your tongue and dissolved you into oblivion. We really ate here for novelty, ya know?, and definitely wouldn't have gone had Emma not been a manager. We were told that when Owen Wilson is in town (he lives a few blocks away), he eats there every night! 

Anyway, the decor and aesthetic style of Mama's is just as impressive as their plates: startlingly exotic flowers rest behind every corner; everything is dark wood -- the ceiling is embossed with strips of bamboo; old Maui wall hangings bring a charming, bohemian flavor to the warm, lively atmosphere, which is both extremely affluent and luxurious and laid-back/island style. Outside, tiki torches illuminate a curving path made of entwined lizard stones forming an Escherian pattern. An old fishing canoe lies between two perfectly shaped palms, and soft waves lap up onto white sand 20 feet away. Quite the consumption experience. But that Opakapaka was damn orgasmic in my mouth.

Friday, Feb 5

The next day we packed everything up and said goodbye to Tom, Bev, Casey and Karim. They were all so kind, and we were grateful to receive from them. Before going to the airport, we stopped at the hospital to see Pam, who had some freak affliction of food poisoning and was bedridden for days undergoing surgery on her stomach. Her bed was a throne of flowers and oils, her friends obviously being quite loving in visiting and supporting her. I'm really happy we saw her. 

We stopped again at a health food store (as opposed to the Sickness Food Stores) for fruits, nuts and plane food. I didn't like leaving Kyle; I could sense his sadness with our departure, but also his strength in moving forward to grow. He is such a gem, that Kyle. Everyone who knows him is graced, constantly, with warmth and aliveness. Aho. One of B's friends met us after going through security. He works as a firefighter on airport grounds and he snuck our fruits past the agricultural checkpoint for us. We rose and rose in our metal bird, powered by engines and combustion rather than muscle and blood. I read poetry from Hafiz for B and we slept at our spot in the SD airport, next to the baggage claim. 

Maui.