Hawaiian Shirts are Cool, Actually

I found this for sale on E-bay while searching for Cooke Street shirts. It is identical to one of the ones I purchased at Costco.

The Hui No'eau Arts Center, with the north shore in the distant background.

Sat -- The next day was our final full day in Maui. We had dinner reservations for the evening at a popular restaurant down on the north shore called Mama's Fish House not far from where we saw the sea turtles. It is a very popular place---everyone here would recommend it. Jessica knew about and had made a reservation as soon as it was possible to do so, months ago after we booked our flights.

Until dinner, we were free, but not really so. We needed to be ready for our early flight the next day back to the mainland. Over breakfast we spoke at length with the young woman who pinch hits for the proprietor on certain days. We had met her on a previous day and both of thought she might be part Hawaiian by her skin tone and her accent, but it turns out she was white and had grown up on Maui in a large family of six children.

After breakfast we went back downstairs to our suite to begin the process of getting ready for our flight now. We were both of us coming back with more belongings that we had started out with, and I wondered how we might get it all back, even though both of us had brought extra small duffel bags that we could expand and use as check-in. It turned out to be easier than I thought to get everything packed in, including the Hawaiian snacks we had bought at Costco but which we didn't open. We decided to bring them home as gifts.

But we had more things to purchase, as it happened. Jessica had wanted to visit the Hui No'eau Visual Arts Center, which we had seen several times coming down the road from Makawao. The entrance to the grounds was directly on the path down to the restaurant on the shore, so after giving ourselves plenty of time and being fulled packed up, as far as we could, we drove down through the trees again to open fields, and found the entrance of the Arts Center, where we drove up the lane to find a prominent handsome Italianesque mansion with a sprawling green lawn. Inside the mansion, we were informed that it being the holiday season, the entire first had been given over to being a gift shop of the works of local artists.

I managed to spend three hundred dollars in a manner of fifteen minutes, prodding Jessica to leave first so I could make my Christmas gift purchases in private, in exaggerated whimsical fashion, as she knew what I was buying for her. As I was paying with my card, the woman at the register remarked she very much liked my Hawaiian shirt. It was literally the second such compliment on my shirt that I had received from a local in the last 24 hours, the other being at the restaurant at the Maui Tropical Plantation. It took me off guard. She asked where I had gotten it.  

"Would you believe...Costco?" I told her. She examined the buttons, curious to find out the brand---Cooke Street.  I had bought the Hawaiian shirts almost as an afterthought on our first day after leaving the airport, when we drove to Costco for snacks (many of which we were now bringing back with us).  I had a hard time processing that people were so appreciative of such a simple thing. It made me wonder about all the people who don't even try.

It was a very nice moment of Aloha. The woman had asked us our plans and see said we were going to down to eat at Mama's, and that Jessica had made reservations months ago when they first opened up.  "Oh my husband is the bartender there. Make sure to say hi, and if he's already gone when you get there, tell anyone you know him."

As we drove away, heading down all the rest of way from the Upcountry to the shore, I thought myself,  about Maui, "I could imagine living here." I had not felt that way on the other islands we visited. For example, Kauai was nice but felt confining, with everything along a single road.

Certainly the idea that one is on a rock out in the middle the Pacific Ocean still felt downright strange.  I don't know if I could ever get used to that. The cost of living was dreadful. But more than that, it seemed to me to be so stereotypical to want to live in Hawaii. Live in tropical paradise? To some that would be the ultimate goal but to me it was never particularly appealing. Man is meant for struggle, I thought.  Moreover, I was outsider. I had no business being here longterm unless there was a reason to be there, beyond my own decadent preferences, afforded to me by being an American citizen.

Now, however, something more powerful had taken ahold of my soul, at least for the moment, which was the idea of living in the spirit of Aloha--not in terms of receiving it from others--that's the part everyone can love---but in terms of creating Aloha and sharing with others. That is something I could get into, in the right circumstance, I thought. It was like casting myself in a role, one that seemed rewarding in a spiritual sense.

Yet the thought was, and remains, a whim of the moment, more a reflection of my appreciation for the place we were visiting, rather than a tangible intention. We have no plans to even pursue the idea of moving there.  It would be impractical to the point of impossibility. Simply entertaining it as a thought experience was a peaceful and powerful experience.  I have found this as I travel, that one can imagine living in a place in a detached way, as a means of appreciating it.

Inner Peace and the Kool-aid Blue Surf

Treasure map to the turtles we found.  They were located along the right most part of the light green area.

After the NWR, we drove a few miles down a few miles down the highway that crosses Maui to the north coast. At Jessica's suggestion, we stopped at the Maui Tropical Plantation, which, as the name suggests, is a one-time agricultural facility that has been preserved and renovated a lush compound of gardens and ponds with several detached restaurants, gift shops, educational facilities and exhibits. 

On the grounds one finds a delightful combination of tropical architecture amidst rusting pieces of machinery for the processing of sugar cane and pineapples. The mix between classical wooden tropical architecture and the old equipment, which was used as punctuation more than the dominant theme, was pleasing. I personally find industrial facilities, whether abandoned or in use, to have a beauty unique to them and have made road trips specifically to experience that.

We made an early dinner at the main restaurant. I chose the collarbone of a certain type of fish whose name I don't remember (but Jessica certainly would). I noticed the walls were covered by large framed reproductions of nautical charts from the early days of the European exploration of the Hawaiian Islands (the Sandwich Islands, as the British labeled them on charts). One sees there the partial outlines of islands, that been seen from only one side initially, and the elevation profiles for reference. Then the outlines get filled in, and the islands take better shape, like the filling in of pixels in an image that gets more clear at each iteration.  I could have enjoying examining these charts, had they been positioned directly above the tables of other dining parties. Such are the trials of life.

After dinner we drove all the way to the north coast, returning to the vicinity of the airport where we had begun our journeys in Maui ten days before. Jessica wanted to visit a place where one could watch sea turtles on the beach. She had remembered it from her previous visit, I think. We soon arrived at the small cliff on the north side of the island outside town where a small park allowed one to park on gravel and walk out to the edge of the cliff. Down below the undeflected surf of the North Pacific, driven by the Trades, pound the island turning the volcanic rock into rubble over time, and also providing the best surfing along the extended sand beaches.

We could see the curled waves arriving and the surfers nearby, at a spot where they would not be wrecked upon the rocks. The sun was perfect in the hour before sunset. I had never seen a more luscious apricot golden mixture of the sunlight in my life, with the blue kool-aid ocean seeming to emit its own subtle light. I reflected on the physics of what makes these luscious blues of certain waters.

We could also see the place where the sea turtles lay in a sheltered cove. We moved the car to get there, finding this one much busier. A family was grilling in the cinder block bbq shelter. It felt like a mixture of tourists and locals. We descended onto the beach and approached the people who were standing on the beach watching the turtles. I counted about twenty of turtles. They were not easy to distinguish from the volcanic boulders in some cases.

There was no barrier protecting the place where the turtles were basking and sleeping. There was only a pair of signs, one free-standing in the sand, and the other mounted to the black sea wall of the parking lot.

A man taking pictures crossed the invisible barrier and was called back his wife. I was angry at him at first, out of some general principle, but the spirit of Aloha restored my inner peace.   

It was almost dark when we came back through the trees to the gate of our BnB. It had been almost the perfect day.

You Have Landed on Boardwalk---in Hawaii

The boardwalk at Kealia Ponds NWR, which was a place I definitely had to visit while in Maui.

If there is an unsung hero of the system of federal public land facilities, I suggest it is surely the national wildlife refuges. I have visited many of them over the years, especially during my nomadic travels driving around the country. Which ones exactly? Sadly I never kept a list.  There are almost 600 at last count n Wikipedia. 

Visiting an NWR has almost always been a spontaneous thing, something I see while driving, which I make a split second decision to put my turn signal on and pull into the parking lot. I have strange fantastical "game" I play while traveling this way, assigning points for and against myself, as if in a video adventure game, according to arbitrary rules I make up as go along. It is purely for momentary fun. I never keep score for real. Missing a critical turn on a highway that forces me to retrace is a ten point deduction. An NWR is typially a big bonus score. There is always a shiver of anticipation that I am about to enjoy something delightful the next hour or so. It feels like fate to have found it, that it was just meant to be, on that particular day..  

I was just now perusing a map of national wildlife refuges around the country, trying to remember some of them that I surely visited. One that comes vividly to mind is one in southern Nevada near Las Vegas, where, on a lonely highway on my up to visit my Uncle Dick in Reno after the 2020 election, and in a very unsettled state of mind over it all, I saw a sign for the NWR and, like a sailor coming into a smooth port, I pulled my rental car into the parking lot for a break. It was a moment of great serenity and beauty in a turbulent time.

I don't recall the name of that place. Probably I could, if I went through the list. I recall there was a lake, and mountains behind it. It was on the flight paths for migratory birds, as many such facilities are.

These facilities are gems. They are typically free. Some but not all have a small visitors center, where stepping inside, one might find a bulletin board of notices for local youth programs for wildlife identification and stargazing. Some even have a small gift shop where one can buy mugs and t-shirts (sadly postcards have been relegated to history). The buildings are typically well constructed but they are  also under-visited, often only by local sportsmen. Because of this, one can find peace amid sparse crowds. 

But above all, when I think of a national wildlife refuge, I think of the glorious and wonderful boardwalks.

The boardwalk architecture found in national wildlife refuges make for some of the best idle strolling and walking mediation on the face of the earth. One ambulates at one's speed among the habitats that are meant to be protected, but one is elevated from the earth, floating almost godlike amidst the forest floor or the marsh, so as to let life proceed below one's feet without human interaction. The feel of one's feet on the elevated wooden boards provides an special sensation of being in contact with the roughness of nature, and one can hear one's presence on earth by the contact with the wood. One can easily lose track of time, in the best of ways, amidst a full encompassment of beauty.

All of these things I described, I got to feel in Maui, after we left the headquarters of the marine sanctuary in Kihei and drove a couple miles along the south coast of central Maui (where the land is very lat) to the visitor's center of the Kealia Ponds NWR, which I had noticed and called out at the beginning of the week as I place I wanted to visit. Finally we were there, using our ultimate hours of free time at the end of the trip. We found the gravel parking lot and went inside the visitor's center. The exhibits were small and sparse, which was fine by me, as I was eager to get outside. There was indeed small gift stop staffed by a friendly woman at the cash register at the entrance. She gave us a small lesson on the history of the "ponds" outside the building, which constitute the bulk of the reserve. They were once used for raising fish and other critters, but were given over to migratory fowl with the establishement of the reserve. One can walk among them on the berms. They stretch for a couple acres on the flat ground there along the south coast, crossing another highway and reaching almost to the ocean.

"And do you want to get to the boardwalk?" she asked us. 

Of course we do. She then gave us directions on how we had to leave the parking lot, make a turn onto a another road to the reach the highway closer to the beach. But the entrance to the parking lot there is tricky, she said. One was supposed to drive past it on the highway and then turn around in the gravel near the electrical plant.  No ten point deductions for that, because it was on purpose.

The directions were intricate but, in the end, easy to follow. No ten point deductions for the turn around, because it was on purpose, following directions. We found a waiting parking spot for us and stepped outside into the most perfect of breezes on a sunny winter Hawaiian day. A few other cars  were parked there, some possibly for the beach access. 

We could see the elevated boardwalk stretching along the edge of the trees by the beach, like a wooden wall between the ponds and the beach.

In fact, I had noticed the wildlife refuge sign, and the boardwalk, on our second day in Maui when we had driven out to Lahaina from Kihei. My heart had broken at the beauty of it. I had to visit it, to walk that boardwalk, or else our visit to Maui would be incomplete.

We climbed the small set of wooden steps up to the pavilion that marked the start of the boardwalk,  then proceeded along it, towards the distant West Maui mountains. One felt caressed by the wind and the sweet sunlight. At various spots along the boardwalk, small rivulets passed under the walkway, which became a bridge for that section, and the stream entered the beach where the surf was breaking.

Having noticed it earlier in the week, and yearned to be there, and now walking in it, I felt as if I had entered my own dream. Sometimes such moments do happen, every now and again. 

The Fleeting Feeling of a Long-Ago Sea

 

The headquarters of the Nationa Marine Sanctuary in Kihei. The first floor consists of informational exhibits about the humpback whale and the importance of the perserve. Outback is a small that looks out over the ocean, where one can stare at the sea for as long as one want's, letting one's eyes relax to the horizon. Were it a month later, we might have seen whales, but as such, it was a little early. They were still on their way down from their summer feeding grounds in Alaska.

Fri -- our time in Maui was coming to a close. Just two full days remained, but as Saturday already had time commitments, Friday would be our last completely free day, to do as we pleased while we still occupied the Panioli Suite

By this time, we were becoming familiar with the twists of the and sudden turns required to make one's way through the forest to and from the North Short Lookout. 

The breakfast consisted of home-made sausage-gravy biscuits made on site by the proprietor, then we immediately headed onto the road with various possible destinations in mind for the day.

We had gotten used to the way, coming down the hill into Makawao Town, the road emerges from the forest by the little churchyard next to the Catholic Church by the main road. 

Our first priority was to return the beach equipment we had obtained on the first day. We had only sed them that initial day at Makena Beach, and the spot by the rocks near Aunt Sandy's in Ke'enae, We didn't need the cooler at all. Somehow that was fine. It was to obtain them and have them in our car during our stay. We grabbed a cup of coffee in Kihau just to experience the fun of visiting one of the local coffee shops in that touristy town, and remind oneself of the leisure of Hawaii travel. Then we made our way a couple blocks to the destination Jessica had wanted to make our first stop of the day, the headquarters of the Hawaiian Islands Humpback While National Marine Sanctuary.

The building was directly on the wall, a small two-story structure. It had a naval observation post in the Second World War, it was speculated, but the records have been lost. Now it serves as the park headquarters. The actual sanctuary is the water---that is the ocean between Maui and the neighboring islands of Kahoolawe, Lanai.

There is not so much to explore in the headquarters beyond the exhibits on the first floor, but I was relieved. I get impatient in such spaces. The exhibits were informative and useful, but i found myself intriigued by the history of the building itself.

Out in back of the building, right along the water, is long bench against the building where at that hour of the day, one can sit in the shade a view of the waters of the preserve out towards Kahoolawe and Lanai. As I sat there I could smell the sea, and feel the warm breeze, and it felt exactly like being in Greece in 1985 when I was twenty years old. It was uncanny at how pleasant it was to feel that, as if my life were fresh and young once again, they way I remembered, when I was bold, and living completely in the moment, where a feast could be had from a bottle of orange juice, and some bread and butter. 

A young bronze God in the Aegean sun, toting a backpack moving from port to port by ferry, and sleeping under the stars---it was a nice image, one that was both truthful and utterly fantastical at once. One gets such a season in life, if one is incredibly lucky, as I was. I have no need to recapture it, but when it pops up spontaneously, every once in a while, I welcome it. When it hits, it is not nostalgia. It feels real, as if one is actually there, as young as one ever was, but the aching knowledge of how fleeting it all is, much more fleeting than one can know.

Like Nebraska with an Ocean

This is the old wooden church beside the road where hills reach down to the sea. St. Joseph in Kaupo. Maybe the most beautiful place on earth. As I reflect on it, the coast there recalls to me the the golden grassy flanks of the Columbia Gorge near the mouth of the John Day River, and  and the wide sparkling river below.

Proceeding westward along 360, the forest trickles away completely leaving only the rolling golden flanks of the base of Haleakala. Upwards one see the misty green ridges amidst the clouds at the top of the volcano. But around the road, it looks like western Nebraska but with a giant blue ocean next to it. The golden rolling ridges reach down to the water far below the road, where black beaches spill out like debris into the water, and tongues of recently built like, less than a thousand years old, reach out towards small conelets peaking from the surf.

The golden hills against the blue sky and deeper blue ocean are the most serene thing I have seen in a long time. For about twenty miles there is nothing but what I just described. The last landmark one passes is the historical wooden church that appears like a faded barn in an old painting, alongside the road with an ocean behind it. We stopped and got out of the car to inspect the church, which is small historic site. A group was having a picnic on the grass round the church, so I lingered at the turnstile absorbing the serenity of feeling like a million miles from anywhere. The sound gets swallowed up in the air and surf far away, as if proving spiritual and mental shelter from everything else in the world.

Several times one descends into sudden steep-walled gulches that scar the otherwise gentle rolling golden hills. Approaching one we thought the road was going to end at last---a barrier was visible down into the gulch, and indeed, coming over the crest of the road and dipping down one saw that the bridge was washed out, but that just nearby, a dirt and rock levee had replaced it, upon which one could drive around the washed out bridge. It would have been a disgrace to have to turn at that point, and go all the way back.

It seemed the road could go on that way forever and I would have been happy, but I knew eventually it would lead back into civilization. I did not want to see it come back so quickly into view.

I told Jessica to stop, just along the road, just so I could get out and stand in the air there and feel the vista of the golden hills and sea, and the wind. I knew this was one of those places that I used to encounter, on the plains or the Great Basin, where driving alone, I would have gotten out to do the same thing, and it would become to me an experience of the deepest beauty, and peace within my soul, that was part of a collection of such experiences in my life.

Later Jessica, who also got out of the car, thanked me for making us stop there.

A few miles later we at last came to a commercial business, a small octagonal wooden shed, of very recent construction, that seemed like an Orthodox chapel but which was actually a roadside stand selling honey products. We entered the open gate and parked. Jessica went inside the tiny inside. I followed for a moment, inspecting the products on the shelves that lined the inside of the shed. The shed itself looked to be part of a burgeoning compound on the land there, with similar structures nearby, of purpose undetermined. While Jessica made her purchases from the woman who staffed it, and apparently lived on site, I went outside and leaned against a wooden countertop on a nearby wooden deck to look out over the sea sparkling in the late afternoon sun of early December.

The honey hut proved to be the fringes of civilization. Within a few miles we had entered the trees again, a dry little forest like on the Greek isles, and we came upon the Ulupakalua Ranch Store, where we had dined just few days before, while exploring south from Makawao.  It felt as if one were getting further and further away from civilization, but in reality space was folding back on itself, around the rim of the island, and one was coming to civilization just as one thought one was leaving it.

We stopped for a soda at the ranch store and proceeded onward, past the green ranch hills where the talk show host lives, and back into Makawao town, where we dined at a recently opened pub and grill. 

A perfect day, really, except for missing Lindbergh's grave. If I never get back to the south coast of Maui it will be one of those singular experiences in my memory for the rest of my life. It was life all of time, in my whole life, was collapsed together and I could experience any joy I had ever lived again, but it felt so good.

Looking for Lindbergh's Grave, and Violations of Aloha

The gravesite of Charles Lindbergh on the south coast of Maui. This is not our picture but one from the Internet, as we drove past it accidentally, and contrary to expectations, were not forced to turn back because of any road blockage.

Going west from Lindbergh's grave, one enters thickening forests where the trees provide a forest cave in which the road runs. The cover just to the east of Alelele Bridge is where one finds the steepest cliff, and where the road was recently repairs, allowing passage along the south coast. One then passes through a stretch of one-lane gravel road up and down and sideways in the small gulches that reach down the forested slopes to the water.

From the Kipahulu visitor's center of the park, we continued south along coast of Maui on State Route 360, looking for Charles Lindbergh's grave, which was marked on the map as being at a church in a small town. No such town appeared--perhaps the town was the thickening of houses along the road at one point, but no signs appeared regarding a church of the great aviator, who lived out his final days after moving here, having visited a friend and fallen in love with this coast, which in our current era still feels remote.

At every turn in the forest we expected to see a barricade indicating we had reached the end of public access, but many miles went by and soon we realized we had gone further than the original signs had indicated one would be able to go. All bets were off, so we just kept going.

Within ten minutes we found ourselves on a rough gravel stretch that passed almost along the edge of the land itself, in a cove where steep rock cliffs went upwards to our right, and the surf. pounded the rocks just our left. We proceeded slowly, not only from the narrowness and roughness of the road, but from the anticipation that any moment we would come upon a concrete barrier. We saw such barriers, but they had been pushed aside to the side of the road, allowing passage. Sporadically workmen in hardhats were busy tidying up. We expected one might hail us down, to tell us we had gone to far, and turn around. But this did not happen either.

Instead we crept along the rough seaside road, past spots where it appeared the road had been recently repaired from a state of impassibility. Slowly the road began to climb away from the water, still flanked by steep forested hills on the right side, but no longer sheer rock cliffs. Here one did not any houses, or properties of any kind, only openings in the roadside fence that provided crude access to whatever lay in the woods beyond. It was a place of privacy and seclusion.

As we drove through this area, we encountered light traffic coming in the oncoming direction, wondering if they had come all the way around the island, as we were seeking to do, or if they had hit the end of the road and had turned around.  Or perhaps they are locals, driving into Hana town. In many cases we had to negotiate passage on the narrow road with the oncoming car. 

At this point, the idea of turning around and passing back through the rough repaired section seemed very unappealing (and then driving all the way back along the north coast from Hana) seemed unappealing, even as it would have afforded us a second chance to find Lindbergh's grave. I began to root strongly that we would be able to make it make along the south coast without retracing our steps.

At last, within a mile or so, the trees began to grow shorter as we abruptly entered the dry side on the leeward side of Haleakala, blocked from the Trade Winds. The forest grew thin and scrub-like and finally the mountainside was not forest at all, but a dry yellow prairie reaching up the mountain. Cattle guards served as indications of the purpose of the ranches here. Neither of us got any cell phone reception at all, although the satellite GPS of the Jeep continued to work, allowing up to see where we were on the paper map I had.

During this time we discussed an incident from the news that Jessica had read about.. It had taken place exactly along this very stretch of remote road on the south coast during the previous spring. A young white couple had rented a vehicle much like the one we were driving, and were following this same road in the same direction. They encountered a truck coming in the other direction which had forced them to stop, and several men with guns got out and proceeded to demand that they evacuate their car and turn it over to them. 

It was 7 pm---the dark was enveloping island. They felt endanger for their lives and sought to escape, but which direction. Of all possibilities---along the road, down to the water, or uphill, they chose the last option. So they fled up the mountainside, without water or supplies of any kind, pursued on foot in the dark by the carjackers but also by drones. Finally they made contact with locals who rescued them. The rental car was later found and several men arrested. It made for a terrifying story. We ourselves never felt in such danger, in part because they idea of driving such a remote place in the dark would have been preposterous to us. I drove around the entire entire states, staying in campgrounds and motels, and almost never drove past sundown. 

We found the story interesting to think about. What would one do in such a case, to save one's life? The next morning, however, I found a different slant on it, when discussing our adventure with our BnB proprietor as he served us breakfast on the balcony overlooking the ocean.

We told them what we done, and after that I mentioned the story of the young couple. I wondered what locals thought of it At that moment I sensed that his mood cooled and he mumbled some things that made me intuit that he did not care to elaborate about it. He even said something that implied that not everyone believed the story of the young couple being carjacked. It felt slightly awkward

Later I realized that perhaps I broken the spirit of Aloha. It was what our proprietor in Lahaina  had told us, regarding the reluctance of locals to discuss the fire with strangers. They are there to provide Aloha to visitors. Whatever happened to young couple was not something they wished to discuss in detail, perhaps out of embarrassment and shame if nothing else. I resolved not to bring up the subject again, and to henceforth probe into a negative matters with the kind of care to preserve Aloha, unless it were truly necessary.

For true crime fans, here a local news article about the incident.

Where Tiny Streams Meet Mighty Seas

Hana is on the eastern most tip of East Maui. Driving through it, if one forgoes stopping at the beach in the sheltered cove around which the town is built, as we we did, one passes the town quickly. A few turns on the small grid of streets bring one back to the narrow main road, at a junction where historic wooden church (i.e. from the 19th century) which looks out over the cover.  Hana, unlike other Maui towns, is built on a steep hillside coming right up from the water. The cove keeps in peaceful and gentle, protected from the pounding surf just up the coast.

Once in Hana, we did not turn around and head back. We kept going, heading south oout f town, past well kept Hawaiian ranchettes that were probably worth a fortune.

Here the road was a narrower, the blacktop undulating on the earth, but it was still quite drivable at a moderate speed. We did not know how far we could go along this road. We had conflicting reports regarding the status of the road around the south side of the island (the "other" Road to Hana). We resolved to see how far it would take us.  A road sign soon told us the road would be blocked some dozen or so miles ahead, and we figured we would turn around at that point.

Besides the ranchettes, there is not must civilization here. Yet two hundred years ago, during the time of the Kingdom of Hawai'i, the coast south from Hana was one of the most populated areas on Maui, and in all of the islands. The existence of a long string of settlements along the coast was reported by early European visitors and then later documented as part of the history of the kingdom. Today those people are gone. What happened?

Like so much of Hawaiian history, it is actually more complicated than one might want it to be, but certainly one of the chief reasons was that in the 1830s, the King of Hawai'i forced a disbursement of common lands among the peasantry, in small parcels. It was supposedly for good intentions. Up until then the Hawaiians did not have a concept of private land ownership. The King thought that if the people became small landowners, it would prevent the incursion of foreign land ownership of the islands. The Hawaiian kings were very proactive in attempting to preserve Hawaiian sovereignty or at least independence of some form.

As far as Maui, the division didn't work. The Hawaiians, although perhaps the most advanced of all of the races encountered by Europeans in their conquest of North America and the Pacific, were not quite ready for the concept of private ownership in small hands, at least in Maui. The land became centralized into the hands of folks of various races. 

By the late 19th century, the land here, like much islands, was converted to large-scale farming. The forests were cleared. The people were ejected by some means that was legal but now seems quite unjust. Somewhat the same thing happened in Scotland, in the Highlands, which is why so many of those folk came to America, and some became fanatical about land ownership.

In Maui, along the once-booming Kipahulu Coast, the now people-less and tree-less land was used largely for sugar cane plantations, and later, cattle ranches. In the mid twentieth century, the agriculture usage became unprofitable, and it too succumbed the cycles of history. In the 1960s, the federal government acquired a large chunk of the once-populated coast and turned it into the Kipaluu unit of Haleakala National Park, the main unit of which is at the top of the volcano, 10,000 feet above the road and the nearby coast. The coast here is connected to the summit because this is where the last great lava flows from the summit came down the slope to the ocean, and here is a deeply carved gorge, the 'Ohe'o Gulch, which descends from the summit to the sea. 

The coast here is called Kipahulu and the unit of the national park here goes by the same name. 

Near the parking lot, one can follow the a narrow gravel path into the trees, where one quickly comes upon a small cliff where the view downward is the the mouth of the stream in 'Ohe'o Gorge exactly where comes down from the highway bridge, passes over some rocks, then, at low tide, which is how we saw it, enters a short beach and joins the Pacific, as matter-of-factly as anything in the world. 

There is nothing quite like the view of a tiny river that enters the ocean, in its own way as majestic as the mouths of the mightiest of streams.  Some of the most beautiful are along the Pacfici Coast of the U.S..  Kipahulu is on par with the best of them. 

At the beach, one can hike upstreams on the rocks, past the "sacred waterfalls" (which were never sacred by traditional Hawaiian, but the product of later branding). If one were to follow the foot trails up from there, as we did not, one would pass under the highway bridge, and, if one were particularly ambitious, one could go several miles up the steep gorge in the direction of the summit of Haleakala. 

At some point the trail stops, however, and public access further up the summit is prohibited. The area uphill to the summit serves a preserve for various endangered habitats and species. Some have speculated that the biodiversity of the isolated Hawaiian islands, and in particular this part of Maui, would have furnished Darwin the same insights he found in the Galapagos Islands.

The history of the coast I mention here, both natural and human, is explained on a series of wooded sidewalk plaque exhibits, around the visitor center, and on the nearby trails. This is where I learned it in order to tell it to you, dear friend, dear brudah, dear sistah.

 

Soppressata At Last, with Pineapple

 

As one approaches Hanta Town at last, on the outskirts, one finds Hana Farms, which is a small deli and bakery which sells products made in part of their own gardens. One finds this kind of rustic retail place all over the Hawaiian Islands. 

We pulled in to the gravel parking lot, then explored the gift shop breiefly before heading up a covered wooden walkway to a neighborhood building, which was open air barn-like under which was. ktiche serving pizza, and picnic tables.

From teh laminated menu we ordered a standard size 14 inch pizza that included sopressetta (which Jessica likes, and weirdly ntroduced me too, event hough I was once married to an Italian-America woman). We also had pineapple on isince we both like that, and this was in in Hawaii, after all.

We sat at a picnic table and waited for the little UFO-like disk to begin flashing its like to signal thar our order was ready.  When it came, I noticed that the pizza seemed larger than 14". If I ran a pizzeria, I would make sure the actual size was larger than the description, like this one. It makes for good feelings when it arrives.

In Quest of Banana Bread

 

The only read stop we made along the Road to Hana was not at a waterfall but in the little oceanside hamlet of Ke'Anae which is on a small peninsula of the same name, about two thirds of way along the journey.

Jessica had wanted to find a particular little store that sells banana bread, which she remembered with her previous trip with her girlfriend in medical school, called Aunt Sandy's. Being an "auntie" is a familiar term in Hawaiian culture. 

The turn off to Ke'Anae town was a dirt road off the paved highway leading down to a flat grassier area long the water, and a small gravel parking lot. Here one found a small shack and outdoor covered picnic table. Already there were several folks in line to order from the window. After we made our order and sat the covered picnic table to await the break and coffee, a tour bus arrived and disgorged a small group of ten people got got in the line as well. It was evidently a well-known place that many had discovered. We saved the bread for later and drank the coffee.

Afterwards, Jessica wanted to explore the "town", which just a single street with several houses and old stone church. The town was once bigger but was mostly destroyed in a tsunami in the 19th century, leaving only the church. At the end of the street, at the water on the other side of the peninsula, we entered the gravel parking lot of what appeared to access to the ocean.

It was not so much a beach at all. Instead it was a place where the waves came into crash on black volcanic rocks. One could wade ou the rocks ten or twenty feet to where the water crashed onto them. We weren't interested in that. Instead I said I wanted to take a break here for a few minutes, to enjoy the crashing of the waves on the rocks. We got our beach chairs out of the Jeep we rented, the ones we had used at Makena Beach almost a week ago by that time, and we set them up not on sand but on the edge of the land where the rocks began. There we had the shading of couple trees to keep us out of direct.

As other folks came and went on the parking lot, with some wading down onto the rocks in front of us, we sat in our chairs and enjoyed the warm breexe, and the sound of the waves crashing. It was one of my favorite moments of teh whole trip. I could have sat there for hours. 

House Hunting in Paradise

The northern route to Hana.

Thurs 9/5 --  Driving up Haleakala to the crater at the summit is one of the must-dos of Maui. On Thursday morning during breakfast we resolved to tackle the other giant must-do, which is "the Road to Hana." Before we had left for Hawaii I had talked by a friend by phone and said where we were going and his first question was: "So are you going to drive the Road to Hana".

Hana is small town on the eastern tip of East Maui, on the far side of massive Haleakala from the rest of the island. Getting there requires driving along either the north or south coast of east Maui, on a winding narrow roads with many sights along the way. Of the two roads, the one along the north coast is by far more popular. One can take tour buses that go all the way to Hana town, stopping at the many waterfalls along the way.

We had read about the many waterfalls in our guidebooks, but honestly I didn't care about any of them. Waterfalls don't excite enough to make me want to interrupt the drive, find a place to park the car along the narrow road, and hike into the forest on a narrow path, passing other visitors going each way, in order to see a pleasant cascade. I enjoy seeing them from the road. Jessica was of the same mind, so we mostly read about the waterfalls we didn't see, or sometimes saw from the road, as we drove road.

Jessica remarked that many properties for sale, and I began to notice that as will. Real estate for sale signs used to be common in America, but lately it seemed one hardly saw them, except maybe on very high end properties.  Used to be putting up the metal realtor sign was a rite of passage for a house sale. Now there simply isn't a need for them in the same way. Online listings move properties, often before there is time to put up a metal sign. I could write a lot about this, as I've thought it about much---the way the real estate market has changed so much. 

People talk about real estate prices far outpacing inflation and wages, and to me the biggest factor is that the supply is almost the same, or slowly going, but demand is now huge. In the old days if you wanted to buy property in, say, Kauai (where this idea first hit me), it was a big honking deal to locate listings, let alone go check out the place. This kept demand, and prices down. Normal people could afford to live there.

Now examining properties in any market in the world can be done skillfully from one's laptop, for free. So money now can find many more properties, and prices have been bid up by an entire world full of people looking for investment properties, if not places to live.

The prices get bid up so much by the world buying community that locals, who to have the advantage of being, well, local, no longer can afford simple properties. The first place I knew about this happening was Aspen. The working class got priced out of Aspen and had to live in nearby communities, which themselves got bid up until people had to commute over mountain passes.

Then this hit other communties like Aspen, and now we are seeing the Aspenization of the entire world, including places where one would have thought the supply of housing was inexhaustible (like the Phoenix Valley). 

Hawaii is perhaps one of the places where it most severe. A great number of native Hawaiians have been forced to leave the islands simply because they can no longer afford even simple housing, in a way that was normal for previous generations. If they are lucky, their inherit "auntie's" bungalow and get to to stay in Hawaii.  Boomers mock the young for failing to be frugal enough to buy houses. But is way beyond that. Hawaiians they live doubled and tripled up, or even go homeless in huge numbers. They cannot marry and have families. 

That being said, there are still market swings. It makes one wish for a real estate crash, so people can afford to live again. Some speculate we will see one, as people dump their AirBnB properties. It turns out its a lot harder to make money that way than people realize. Maybe that's what we were seeing on the road to Hana.

The Professor, Live From Hawaii

After the show, we finally left the suite in mid afternoon and dined at the nearby Hali'imaile General Store, which is a historic property which has been converted into a very nice restaurant with Hawaiian theme entrees. I am fascinated how people like the continuance of history in architecture.

Wed -- On Wednesday, with the three full days left on trip, we stayed in the Paniolo Suite at the North Shore Lookout all morning past breakfast, as I needed to prepare for my weekly Badlands Media podcast that, because of the time change, would air at the early hour of 1:30 in the afternoon. 

Over time I have prepping for the show more and more in the last 24 hours before broadcast. Often I odn't have a firm idea for the show until Monday or Tuesday, and even with my work schedule, I have gotten efficient and putting together a set of slides at the last minute, and on most weeks, miraculously producing an 8-10 minute standalone video intro. 

The week before, which was the day before Thanksgiving, we had been in transit on our flight and I had told my audience I was going to take the week off, but some of them in the chat urged me to air a rerun at least. I have discovered, to my delight, that I have a core audience that actually looks forward to my show every week.

Part of this is the continuity of community. While it is true that some of them genuinely enjoy my monologues, it is also true that many of them come to my show to interact with each in the live chat, which they do on other Badlands Media shows as well. I am probably the least watched of the shows. Any illusions I had about being a popular media star have vanished over the last two years. 

One endearing feature is that my regulars call me "the Professor" and some pretend they are entering a classroom. I love them for this. I am sometimes hard on myself for technical issues (we had dreadful wi-fi issues in the suite during the broadcast that almost ruined everything), and also for my tendency to longwindedness and self-indulgence. But it is not easy doing the kind of show I do. No one else on Badlands, to my knowledge, does the kind of show I do, which is typically 75 minutes of unrehearsed impromptu monologue. Every other show, to my knowledge is done with cohosts or Zoom style multiple talking heads. It is WAY easier with a co-host. You don't even need a fully fleshed out concept before hand, just a starting point, and then you discuss it on the air like you would with a friend. Solo is an order of magnitude harder. My worst fear is running out of material to say. I make Keynotes slides as notes. No one else even touches me as far as that kind of weekly effort in the showmanship.

Of course I started out with a co-host. It wasn't even my show at first. I was added because the original cohost dropped out because they were unreliable, and to this day, many shows are canceled. It is one thing I've been impeccable at for the last two years--showing up. I knew that would be the key from the start, and it is what kept me on the air.

In a way, I am like the floor show at a dinner theater, providing a common point of focus and entertainment for people who came to interact with people they know.  Realizing this was actually quite freeing.

The theme for this week's show was a no brainer. I had already told my audience I was going to be "Live from Maui" that week. In tangible terms that just meant I would set up a portable broadcast studio in our BnB and talk about whatever I wanted. But somehow it could be special. I leveraged this into my intro video and the show itself---Americans ideas about travel to Hawaii over the last century. Of course I included clips of the Brady Bunch going to Hawaii, and popular television shows set in Hawaii. It was a fun intro video make. It was easy to dig up clips to use and to edit together.

For the meat of the show, I concentrated on the Lahaina fire. I had done a show about Lahaina just after the incident last year, so I felt it was mandatory to followup. I discussed the results of the investigation, added my own observations of the town as I have here in my blog, including especially the insightful conversation with our host at our first location, which was as far as "investigative reporting" as I got. I said that it would have been inappropriate to ask people about it, exactly as my host had confirmed. My shows never go very deep into any particular topic, so it was perfect. I felt like it was one of my best shows to date (link to the replay of the broadcast)

Finally after the show was over, I let out a big sigh of relief, as I always do, still on the high from the interaction with the audience, with the best part of the whole thing, to be honest.

Up Past the Volcanic Cow Line

 

The telescopes at the top of Haleakala are prominent from the parking lot at the top of the mountain. They are used largely for tracking satellites, we learned from the informational plaques. They are not open to the public.

A view of the island of Maui. The road leads up to the rim of the crater near where the black arrow intersects with the rim. One can look down into the crater. The magical road goes up the slope on the far side of the mountain, which is not visible from this angle.

Tue -- For our first full day of stay in Upcountry, we tackled the big enchilada of tourism in this part of the island---driving up to the top of Haleakala, the massive volcano that pretty much forms the entire land mass of east Maui, and which is of course just the top 10,000 feet of a seamount that rises from the bottom of the ocean, as do all the mountaintops that form the islands of Hawaii, as well the ones now sunken underwater that stretch northwest all the way back to the tip of Siberia.

At breakfast we finally met our host, whose house and horse pasture we passed coming and going from the residence. Following the explicit directions on the chalkboard in the main room, had to ring a small metal bell to summon him from the kitchen when we were ready to be served. He learned the names of his horses and how he obtained them. We ate our breakfast and I drank a double French press of coffee in the cool air of the balcony looking out towards the sea.

Once in the car, we allowed GPS to escort us back through the labyrinth of narrow forest roads until we emerged into the open green pastures of the Uploads outside Makawao, then proceeded southwards long the road until we found the turn off that would lead up the mountain to the summit, which is a national park. The turn off sign was in the form of the familiar brown national park sign, which brings us warm feelings when one sees it, from previous trips going back to childhood and young adulthood, when one first starts to travel on one's one, with the freedom to go to such places on one's own volition. Welcome! , the sign says ,Put aside your daily life, where you travel on roads flanked by fences and power lines past shopping centers and mangy humdrum landscapes. This road is special a magical type road that leads to a magical place. 

The elevation of Makawao town is about 1500 feet, Google tells me. The elevation at the top of the road is over 10,000 fit, so that makes for quite a climb. If you are used to the Rocky Mountains, for example,  a typical climb up a mountain might be 5000 feet at most and would involve a long route with ups and downs through gulches and canyons. Not so for Haleakala. It feels like the kind of road up a mountain that a child might draw with crayons. 

It's the archetype of "mountain"--one long open slope from the summit down to the flats of central Maui. Going up, one winds back and forth on switchbacks up through the ranches, past the "Cow Line", as I called it (as opposed to the Tree line), until the vegetation is too scrub for pasture, and then seeing the jagged rocks only one gets to the visitor center.

At a small visitor center I purchased a couple postcards as has been my habit for many years, going back to when I traveled around the country from 2004-2012, although now I rarely send them, except to a few individuals who still want to receive them. It was one of the things that make me a living anachronism, that I still send postcards to people. If I knew more people who would like to receive them from me, I would send them, because they are a joy to send. Eventually postcards will probably disappear entirely from gift shops entirely, probably when the Boomers die out.

At the top of the mountain, there is a second visitor center, which was closed. One can walk around several trails on the black volcanic rocks to take in the view from various angles, down the mountain and towards West Maui, and also out to sea to summit of the even higher volcanoes on the Big Island, which are still active. One learns from the displays at the summit of Haleakala that it last erupted in 1790, but is expected to erupt again at some point (although not at its summit). In fact the "crater" one sees from the summit is not a caldera but rather a canyon that was filled in through lava flows. It is punctuated with cones in a way that reminds of the recent footage of Iceland.

Descending from the summit, down past the Cow Line again until we found ourselves existing the magical road back onto the normal road. Then we explored parts of the Uplands, going all the way south to the historic Ulupakulua Ranch Store, a landmark in that part of the island, which is a quaint rustic gift shop and a cafe where we had an early dinner. I got a hamburger streak. We ate on the front porch after they called our names to pick up our food.

On the way back is when we detoured off the road into the lush green pasture lands of the historic ranches winding on the rocky lanes lined by black volcanic rock walls that felt like Scotland. Here we located the house of the famous billionaire talk show host who purchased property here a decade ago and has been come to be called "The Queen of Maui." I normally don't care about celebrity sights like this, but the talk show hosts's presence here has been interesting and  bit controversial regarding to purchase of land. Also she was a very open Kamala Harris supporter in the recent electioin, so it feels much better to bask in the sinful schaudenfreude about how these folks are feeling at the moment. I mention this because of course Hawaii went for Harris, but unlike how I might have felt in the past, when showing people my credit card or id, for example, I feel no hint of grumbling animosity.

Yet besides the shop window in Wailuku where I bought my Lahaina t-shirt, I saw no hint of advocacy of the defeated Democratic candidate. It is my firm belief that everyone, even shrieking liberals now losing their minds over the election results, wanted Trump to win, even if they could never admit it.  Almost everything that has happened since the election has confirmed this to me. It feels like we are emerging from a dark dream and things can be "normal" again in some way, even as so many weird things are happening. I love everyone here. God bless Hawaii.

A Tour of the Towns of Maui

 

One of the interesting things that strikes me about Maui, as I reflect on it, is that although the island is small, and thus so is the number of true towns and villages, that each village has a distinctive character depending partly on its location on the island, but more specifically on the degree to which the town has been built or transformed to cater to tourists, and the degree to which it retains some character that pre-dates the explosive growth of tourism in the last several decades. Even a town that caters to tourists in a way that harkens to the 1980s would seem like a throwback now.

Kahului, in the north shore in the central flat part of the island (exactly where you'd expect the airport to be)---we didn't see much of it beyond the Costco and the food trucks, and then used the highway to get out of town. It reminded me of the airport town in Kauai---modern conveniences without an emphasis on leisure, and often the most bustling pat for locals to use.

Wailuku, where I bought my Lahaina t-shirt in the shop downtown--feels like the old "capital" of the island. There is a small state office building downtown. The main street has one- and two-story businesses reminiscent of downtowns in many small towns across the America. Many houses, especially on the north edge of town, reflect a moderate income of their occupants. In some ways it feels like the most authentic of towns on Maui. 

Lahaina, which was the most historic but is now burned to the ground.  The remaining north part of town will be the seed of whatever comes next.

Kapalua is a short drive north of Lahaina on the west coast of the island. Completely untouched by the fire, it is a golf resort community and is the location where we ate our Thanksgiving dinner at Merriman's restaurant. In that way it reminded us much of Princeville on the north coast of Kauai, where even the grocery stores feel upscale. See the movie The Descendants which is partially set (and filmed) there, and which addresses the transformation of Kauai from rising real estate prices. Kapalua feels much the same as that.

Kihei. along the south coast in the central part of the island. Great long beaches here and the town is a hodge podge of apartment complexes of various vintages crammed along the main road, with shopping centers full of snorkeling gear rentals and coffee shops, etc. Busy and very crammed for space. If you came to Maui for the beaches this is probably a good place to stay.

Waihee-Waiehu. A laid back working class community of older small homes on narrow streets of the highway, just north of the "capital" Wailuku, as one proceeds along the highway up the coast. Here there are some primitive beaches accessible down obscure lanes. 

Kahakuloa we didn't get there. Located on a remote cove. This is the "isolated traditional community" where the haole from Scottsdale got beaten up in a "hate crime".  It is accessible only by a long drive on a narrow one-lane road along the cliffs. We turned around because it was getting dicey, especially from oncoming traffic of locals, who clearly don't appreciate too many visitors. Can't say that I blame them too much.

Makawao in Upcountry near our second location. We got to know it well during our stay, as we drove through it almost time we left our second place in the forest, and dined there on one occassion. An old agricultural community with legacy grocery stores and other shops sprinkled in between restaurants and small professional offices. Crowded just still feels quaint and local in character. I hope it remains so. 

Hana is an isolated community of the eastern tip of the island. Accessible by a long drive along the coast (the famous "Road to Hana"). I will discuss this in an upcoming post.

Paia a tourist oriented community on the north coast near fabulous beaches where surfers ride the dramatic waves. If Kihei is for middle class families, Paia is a more upscale, with an old downtown transformed to having small art galleries full of hand made gifts. We dined here on our first day at our new place near Makawao, descending from our forest hideout after checking in to eat a fish restaurant, the Paia Fish Market. where one stands in line to order and they bring you your food. Delicious it was. The picture on their website (see link in name) has been sanitized to make it seem like a modern minimal, but it is actually more appealing and rustic than it appears. 

Every time I go to Hawaii, I get more interested in the Hawaiian language, a subject which I have multiple books over the years as part of my huge collection of language literature. I like figuring things out on my own at times, as the insights stay deeply with you. On this trip I realized that many communities and geographical features in Hawaii start with the prefix Wai-, which can be very confusing as all the names begin to look the same. The prefix Wai- means water. The distinguishing part of the word, in the Saussurian linguistic sense of variation, is what comes after Wai-, so one should concentrate only that and the names will become much easier to remember...
WaiMEA, WaiKULU, WaiLUKU, WaiKIKI, etc.

which gives us the variational pattern.

Wai-  MEA, KULU, LUKU, KIKI.

With this in mind, I found it much easier to distinguish places as we drove around the island.

So do you think Lonely Planet might hire me now?

Paradise Comes With Miniature Horses

 

Mon -- This was our day to checkout of the BnB near Lahaina in West Maui and move to our second location for the rest of our stay.  Checkout time was noon. We hung around the house during the morning in complete leisure, reading in the living room. I got through the first half of Vanderbilt, up to the end of the Gilded Age. I wanted to finish it, and I offered to buy it from the host, but he insisted I take it, indicating the crates of books were like a free lending library. Also he said that since no one was checking in that today, that we could stay past checkout, and wanting to be lazy amidst the tropical paradise, we did just that.

It was bittersweet to finally descend the hill one last time, going past the animals (the neighborhood is technically some kind of agricultural compound)and seeing the ocean glistening in the sun below at the bottom of the slope. I burned the image into my memory, wanting to cherish it.

Then we drove across the flatlands of central Maui. Maui is like two islands in one, both mountainous. West Maui is the older  worn-down volcanoes with lush valleys like 'Iao Valley where the Mauians made their last stand against Kamehameha. East Maui is bigger and consists of a single giant dormant volcano, Haleakala rising from the sea. In between in the small flat neck that connects them, swept by the trade winds, and where much of the island population lives, and where commerce and the airport take place, and where some of the best beaches are located.

The populated part of East Maui mostly likes in the "Up Country", which is the long slope of Haleakala as it descends to the flatland portion of the island. Here one finds the old ranches that have been subdivided into smaller ranches, and the homes of folks like the famous African-American billionaire talk show host who owns property there. Her place is easy to find, as we did, on the second day in our new location. The volcanic rock walls along the narrow one-lane roads and the lush green hillsides reminded me of Scotland. I can see why a billionaire would want to own property there. To our delight, we found many cows along the road.

In the Upcountry one also finds older agricultural villages like Makawao, which he had to pass through in order to get to our new location. They are being converted more and more into tourist-oriented places, but still retain their character with vintage grocery stores run by the descendants of Japanese immigrants and such. Of course these legacy businesses are both exactly what visitors cherish, and also what developers love to turn into more lucrative properties through redevelopment. You can't have both. One of the great sadnesses of the Lahaina fire beyond the loss of life was that Lahaina town was the most historic place on the island, in terms of architecture that is currently still used. There were buildings dating to when Herman Melville was here, when it was a whaling port. Almost all of that was burned to the ground. It makes one cherish what remains, as in tiny Makawao in the Upcountry all the more.

All new place was not amidst the green fields but deep in the forests on the north edge of the Upcountry. Finding it made me reflect on the nature of satellite GPS and Google Maps to open up properties for guests, because it would have been very difficult to find otherwise. The forest roads were dark even in the middle of the afternoon and signs not so obvious. I'm pretty sure I could have done it with a good paper map and directions, but compared to most people I have super powers to do that (ones that are, like most of my superpowers, completely useless in the modern world).

We punched in the gate code from the directions and the gate swung open in jerks and let us pass down a rocky lane past a small house and nearby pasture in which were running a single full-size horse and, trotting beside it, a miniature horse. We would later learn from the proprietor that they were both rescue animals, the miniature horse in particular being rescued from a petting zoo.

The actual BnB part was a second house a little further past the pasture. It was deserted when we arrived. We followed the instructions, leaving our shoes at the door as indicated by a sign. Once inside we found a large low-ceiling great room with a long wooden table, and a small area with coolers with drinks. A television on the wall was playing a video with surfers with the sound turned down. On the shelves were books and board games, and in the far back of the room, one found large windows emitting brilliant sunlight, and the entrance to a covered patio balcony with small tables and high top chairs where we would have our breakfasts during our stay. From the patio once can see through the clearing out to the northwest, providing a vista of the ocean and the West Maui mountains beyond. All of it befitting the name of the place, quite well, the North Shore Lookout.

All the rooms in the place had names befitting its location. Ours was the "Paniolo Suite", which refers to the names of the early Hawaiian cowboys. It was down a flight of stairs, below the main room and the balcony. We punched in the key code and found ourselves in a full-size suite apartment with a kitchenette, and patio doors onto a secluded private area with chairs and hammock. Only drawback was the evening mosquitos. Also the bamboo obscured the ocean view from that level. But I didn't particular mind that.  Complaining about that kind of thing in "paradise" is a character defect.

Extremely Blue Hawaii

 Sun -- On Saturday we didn't leave the house at all, but soaked up every moment of day is a Hawaiian home hibernation. Having eaten heartily at the luau the night before, we made a light afternoon meal of the "leftovers" that that we had been gifted at Merriman's at the end of our Thanksgiving dinner---turkey sandwiches handed to us after paying our check to provide the feeling of leftovers at home. Moreover we had been gifted banana bread in a similar way at the end of the luau. Together these provided enough of a meal for the day. 

Sunday was our last full day in Lahaina and we wanted to make the most of our visit to West Maui. Jessica wanted to see 'Iao Valley, a canyon in the lush West Maui Mountains, known for its beautiful waterfalls and vistas. One has to make time-window reservations to access it,as one does in so many places in America (most sadly in Rocky Mountain National Park, where a spontaneous visit to the most beautiful place on Earth felt like a constitutional right if you live in Colorado). It is the new America---parks are crowded and overburdened.

The canyon is famous in Hawaiian history because it where the Maui Islanders made their last stand against Kamehameha, who was the king of the Big Island, and who was attempting to conquer all the other islands (he was successful at bringing them all into his kingdom, with only Kauai being with a bloody battle). At 'Iao canyon, bodies of the slain in the battle were so thick in the gorge that they blocked the stream and it ran red with their blood.

This occurred after contact with the Europeans (the visit by James Cooke in 1777). Up until then Hawaiian history was preserved only by oral traditions. They Europeans, especially the missionaries who came later, were the reason we have any of that preserved. It is a great irony that our knowledge of early Hawaiian history and legends is because of European contact.

Afterwards we drove down into the town of Wailuku, which has a quaint downtown shopping district along its main street. I made Jessica pullover so I could inspect a show I saw, where in the window were painted, in folk style, portraits of both of the recent presidential candidates, clearly indicating support of one (the woman) and condemnation and fear of the other (the man, who had won the election). 

I love photographing this type of electoral ephermeral. It captures the time and place so well, as it will be soon gone. It turned out to be a t-shirt shop run by a soft-spoken laid-back haole who had been running his small business there, making his own custom t-shirt of the same style as the presidential portraits in the window. His politics were obviously very mine, but like most of our side, we are not bothered by that and do not shun people just because they voted differently. We are "open and accepting" much more than the other side, in my experience. We know that many people change their minds about things after "waking up" and there is no point in browbeating people over differences like that (even as I believe they were voting to destroy America).

I bought a "Lahaina" t-shirt of his original design, showing the old waterfront downtown before it burned. It was in shades of blue and turquoise with a psychedelic influence indicating the lifestyle and preferences of its designer.. "I was in a blue mood when I made that one," said the proprietor. No credit cards accepted, just Paypal and cash. I had the cash on me. It felt right to pay him that way. I didn't bring up politics, and neither did he.

Afterwards we drove a bit up the north east coast of the island, on the narrow road along the cliffs of the sea. I had read about a "traditional Hawaiian" community far up along this road (which eventually connects back around the resorts where we had our Thanksgiving dinner at Merriman's. But the road is tough. It gets vary narrow and feels dangerous. Jessica, who was driving, felt menanced by an oncoming truck that refused to make way for her. So we turned back and head back to Wailuku.

Later I made the connection that the town in the remote cove along the coast that I had wanted to visit the same community as this article. The white man in question here was severely beaten after moving into the community and attempting to change certain things. Even before learning the details, I somehow felt sympathy with the locals (it turns out the guy was from Scottsdale!). 

Clearly the assailants. deserved prison time, but the idea of it being "hate crime" bothered me, not because it was against a white persosn, but because I reject the whole idea of "hate crimes". Next it will be hate speech. As we learned in the recent vice presidential debate, people in the news media already think "hate speech" is a crime. 

For dinner, we drove back to our part of the island one last time and descended the slope into Lahaina, passing the 9/11-type memorial to the dead one last time and descending into the "now oldest part of town" on the north side, where we dined at a cafe on the waterfront that abuts the luau property where we had dined on Friday night, and is owned by the same folks. It was relaxed and the food was tasty. I ate a loco moco bowl, a local favorite confort food of a hamburger steak on rice topped with a fried egg. For once I remembered the deails of a meal. Usually that is Jessica, who remembers food very well.

We then explored a nearby indoor mall, the Lahaina Cannery, converrted from an old industrial facility. I remembered it from the videos after the fire as a landmark. The metal roof of the building is probably one reason it didn't burn, and why the Old Lahaina Luau facility, which was shelted by the cannery, did not catch fire as well. Inside the Cannery was an "ABC", a wellknown local chain of gifts and snacks. I bought a couple more t-shirts and was chagrinned when I received no sack. Sacks and bags are hard to obtain now, because of local laws. I still have a plastic ABC store back from my 2013 visit to Oahu. Maybe next time I go to Hawaii  I will bring it and use it, just for fun.

To conclude the day we drove just a few blocks south to find the beginning of the burn area of the town. One could see several blocks of empty lots cleared of the ruins and debris, an apartment complex with just the old fixtures like an abandoned campground. I told Jessica I wanted to see it again, so I could remember it, so when I come back I have a reference point. After a few blocks the street is blocked. We grabbed some ice cream and a minimall that was spared (waiting in line behind a large Indian family) and then headed back to the house to enjoy our last sunset there. It had been a full day. I even managed to learn a bunch about the Vanderbilts.

Old White Man and the Sea

 Sat -- The day after the Luau we decided to take a day relaxing in the B n B to enjoy the house, the lanai the and the back yard. I took off my shoes and walked around on the grass. Thhere were chickens that come the patio in the morning, and a friendly dog that belongs to the house. An Indian couple was staying one patio over. On Thanksgiving they had a zoom call with relatives. Indians are slowly taking over the American family-travel landscape, as white people stop having children. I noticed this in Arizona at the Meteor Crater last summer. Indians travel the way Americans used to travel in station wagons in the 1970, crossing states to give memorable experiences to their kids.

There was also an engaged couple staying at another patio. Over breakfast, Jessica overheard the bride talking about completing her YTT in Costa Rica. What's that? Yoga Teacher Training. I myself heard her talk about gettting her chakras aligned for her wedding. By her facial features, her demeanor, and her talk about eastern religion, I took her for a Jewess. Also there is something in my ancient memory from living in New York, and learning a lot about American Jewish culture up front (due to my ex-wife's best friend being Jewish), that having a wedding in Hawaii is a Jewish trope. Perhaps I'm imaging that. 

In the afternoon Jessica arranged with the proprietor for us to have massages. She went first, walking around to a secluded patio on the other side of the house, and returned ninety minutes later in bliss to take a nap. Then it was my turn. The masseuse was a lovely Mexican woman with a solid frame and strong arms. I could tell she was Mexican because her accent was almost the same as a well-known Mexican woman with a cooking show on PBS (who is also Jewish) .

The massage was indeed fantastic. She was cheerful and professional, and very effective without being too aggressive.  It made me think getting a massage once a month is probably everyone should do for good health. Jessica had me tip her well.

When the masseuse left temporarily to left me emerge from out under the sheet and put my clothes on, I found myself a naked white man on the lawn in the sun and pleasant tropical air looking out to the vast ocean beyond. It was a moment of some kind of purity. Old man and the sea.

Later, with my clothes on, I found another book to read, from a second box of books in the main room which I hadn't noticed previously. Vanderbilt: the Rise and Fall of an American Dynasty, by Anderson Cooper and Katherine Howe. I read the first half ("Rise") before leaving and the proprietor gifted me the book so I could finish it.

Purple Velvet Evening Gowns on the Waterfront.

 Fri -- We drive to Kihei, a beach town that is part of South Maui, on the other side of the island. We go to Boss Frogs in a mini-mall and rent two beach chairs, and umbrella, and a cooler. The man checking us in is super chill and feels in the spirit of Aloha. When he discovered that they were out of coolers, he calls another outlet of Boss Frogs and finds one for us, and puts it on rental package for free. 

We use all the above items on. a public beach called Makena Beach south from Kihei Town. Jessica knows about this because she has been to Maui previously with her girlfriend while they were both in medical school in Oregon. It was a last minute thing, ginned up by her friend, who loves the beach. They stayed in Kihei. She has been wanting to come back to Maui ever since then. 

Neither of us are huge beach people, however. I absolutely love being on the beach if I sit in a chair with my feet in the soft sand and either be in the sun or below an umbrella as my choosing (mostly the latter). Then one can wade in the surf, maybe go all the way in the water in a dunk, but that's as far I cared to go that day. The beach is famously called "break neck beach" because of those ignore the harsh waters here. 

That evening we have reservations back in Lahaina at the Old Lahaina Luau, which miraculously did not burn, but is along the harbor in the now "oldest part of town" on the north side. 

We are ushered in by an ample staff of young Hawaiians, young part Hawaiians, and other young people who might pass for Hawaiians.  Some will become dancers during the show, but for now they are the greeters and perhaps the other support staff of the food and drink delivery, although I don't know that. One is always curious about how successful live theater operations are run. Hawaii has a still thriving industry. This was our fourth luau together, after two on the Big Island, both at large resorts, and one on Kauai, which is part of a permanent operation on a large acreage that looks like it was a horse farm at one point. 

We both agree that Old Lahaina Luau was by far the best one we have attended, both in terms of the food, the service, the show, and the setting. It is small, but right against the water. The show as actually more intimate and subdued than the others,  and specifically did not include Tahitian fire dancers, as is typical, because it is meant to be "authentically Hawaiian". They did NOT force everyone into a extended lesson in hula-ography by having us stand and do the movements, instead only doing that fleetingly and then moving on. Reliance on such gimmicks in poor showmanship if you ask me.

The seleciton of the show numbers was much better as well.  It is was a Disney show of the origins of Hawaii with a heroic princess, as was the one on Kauai. The coherence of it being "Hawaiian" mean they could extend the usual history of Hawaii all the way up to the Twentieth Century, as they did by first having a number with Hawaiians in white and black Christian missionary dresses dancing in a more era-appropriate fashion (the hula was banned, by the King of Hawaii by the time Christian missionaries even arrived here).

That was followed by my favorite number, which had the women in purple velvet evening gowns with long strings of white shells giving the appearance of pearls (or maybe they were pearls).  They were mean to evoke the feeling of being a lover on the pier of Waikiki during the pre-war heyday of ship travel in the 1920s. I love that kind of artistry to recreate historical time beings that we all love and wish could come back. It's not that hard, people.