Kahakuloa

We’re halfway through our Maui trip, and I’m proud to say I’m not sunburned, nor am I sporting the hideous rash I, of the pink freckled skin, typically sprout in tropical climes. Thanks to a floppy sunhat and 40 SPF mineral (reef-safe!) sunscreen, life is good.

My husband and I are frugally tip-toeing through paradise, eschewing helicopter rides, snorkeling cruises, tchotchkes and resort accommodations, in favor of a comfy, though modest airbnb condo a few blocks from the fire-twirling, luaus and sunset catamaran excursions. The one luxury I insist upon though, is occasional fancy dining. It’s the only thing Kirk and I aren’t 100% in agreement about when we go on vacation. In fact, after last night’s delicious $150 meal, he woke up this morning asking if we could cancel tonight’s dinner reservations, in favor of grilling turkey burgers across the parking lot on the poolside Weber.

Not a chance.

Tomorrow we’ll return to Safeway sandwiches and $3.50 Prison Street veggie tacos packed in a cooler with the pineapple and mango we bought at the farmer’s market on our way to the condo from the airport, but tonight, give me my seared ono and Hamakua mushrooms as we gaze out over the sea.

It is fun to do low-key stuff that doesn’t cost an arm and a thigh, however. Case in point. This morning, we puttered off to Honolua Bay in our rent-a-wreck (the check engine light blinked on halfway there), and found a shady spot on the road to stash it. We followed a gentle, sandy path to the rocky bay and snorkeled for an hour in the coral-rich shallows, swimming alongside a variety of brightly colored butterfly fish, wrasse, Moorish idol, and blue-lipped triggerfish.

I love snorkeling. Like, a lot. It’s one of the few activities where my brain turns off and I just … am. Which is weird, because I’m not a super strong swimmer, and not much of a pool person. Not drawn to water the way many of my friends are, and don’t enjoy being thrashed around in waves. Forget water-skiing or motor-boating. I’d probably die of the bends if you dunked me in the deep with diving gear. Sailing is too complicated. But drop-kick me into a quiet bay with my shorty wet suit, water shoes, and snorkel, and I turn into Suzy the Sea Witch.

Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

The sea creatures are endlessly fascinating.

Last night, at Mala Ocean Tavern (see the aforementioned $150 meal), the manager, Caleb, promised us a table close enough to watch the honu feeding on the sea grass from rocks that hug the foundation (it was Kirk’s birthday, after all). Their tiny heads and speckled flippers bobbed up from the rolling waves every few minutes, adding to our delight as we feasted on complimentary puréed edamame and chips, served in a lava bowl that must have weighed five pounds (we speculated on how the restaurant stored these hefty serving dishes in their petite kitchen).

After a dinner of ahi and purple sweet potatoes, we wandered outside to watch the turtles for a few more minutes before strolling hand in hand to the Safeway where we’d illegally parked the ailing PT Cruiser. A woman who was also watching the honu told us a passer-by had just offered his unsolicited opinion that “they” should “do away with” the turtles because they “attract sharks.” I was gob-smacked by the privileged audacity. “Do away with?” I asked. She shook her head.

Our cheapo rental car is on its last legs.

 

Having just finished Liz Prato’s excellent book that features similar statements from mainland tourists, I was enraged anew. But as I thought this over, I realized that I myself am guilty of knee-jerk responses to unpleasant “infringements” of the natural world. Not nearly as egregious, perhaps, but I had zero qualms about hiring a yellow jacket nest eradicator last summer when two nests on my property threatened mayhem while setting up for a garden party. Perhaps privilege lives on a spectrum of dominion? Still though, to suggest “doing away with” an entire species because you perceive it a potential encroachment to your unequivocal ability to enjoy every aspect of nature with zero threat is not only cruel, but, well, scarily insane. (I’m reminded of Trump recently banishing his Chief of Staff for coughing in the same room he occupied.)

Oh, the humanity.

Tomorrow, we head upland. We’ll probably need to swap the car for something without a “check engine” light, but it’s all going to work out in the Maui way.

Mahalo.