Things I wish I had known ahead of time:

1. Airlines no longer provide meals with their flights. I think I heard about it when other airlines began adopting the Southwest food model, but I clearly didn’t pay much attention. There’s now an a la carte selection of overpriced, tiny-portion snacks (or as they term them, “tapas,” to make you feel better about spending your money), of which there are very few vegetarian options. If I had known, I would have packed my own meals.

2. In Hawaii, it’s illegal to provide plastic bags at stores. If, as you are shopping, you forget to bring your own, you can buy a bag for 50 cents. I actually think this is really cool, and I didn’t mind forking over the money…but if I had known, I would have packed a couple of canvas bags.

3. If you want to take a tour, book at least a day in advance. It’s better if you book a week in advance. We were kind of surprised (and I was disappointed) by the number of things we couldn’t do on a whim because by the time I called the reservation desk, the tour was completely booked. In hindsight, that shouldn’t have been surprising at all, seeing how much of Maui revolves around the tourist industry, but it was frustrating nevertheless.

Rants:

1. Signs and grammar

Everywhere we drove around the island, we were bound to come across a sign cautioning us to “drive slow,” which slowly drove me up a wall. Doesn’t anyone in Hawaii care that “slowly” is the correct form of the word?Anyone? Bueller?

2. Hana and its food service industry

Okay, look: I know Hana is a remote part of the island, hidden away in miles of jungle and cliffs. I saw the signs on those one-lane bridges, proclaiming, “maximum 12 tons,” then a few miles down, “maximum 8 tons,” and finally, “maximum 5 tons.” We wondered: what would happen to the 8-ton truck that came barreling around the corner only to stop, unable to travel further?

So yeah, I get it: it is hard to get supplies into and out of Hana via road, and with its tiny airport and rough waters, it’s probably really expensive to get stuff delivered by air or sea.

And I knew from reading my guides that there wasn’t much in the way of dining establishments in Hana. One online guide even said, “Just about the only standalone restaurant in Hana is the Hana Ranch House, which is renowned for marginal food and indifferent service. When there are no competitors, what else can you expect?”

So I had low expectations. And I was pleasantly surprised at the food and friendly service at Hana Ranch Restaurant.

There actually are other places to eat, but not many. If you don’t count the numerous fruit stands peppered along the highway every mile or so, there are several sandwich shacks in town, including:

• Uncle Bill’s, which serves only breakfast. From what we could see from the road, Uncle Bill has set up some cheap patio furniture up under a plastic awning, and he serves his guest through a window from his garage. Not the most sanitary-looking setup, but most of the reviews I read were favorable. Still, we didn’t eat breakfast out while we were there on account of the plethora of fruit I still had.
• Tutu’s Sandwich Shack, which serves beach fare, like burgers, hot dogs, and “loco moco,” a local favorite. However, there wasn’t much in the way of vegetarian options, and we wanted a sit-down lunch, so we skipped it.
• Pranee’s, which, according to one of the kids who works on the orchid farm, has “the best effing Thai food on the planet.” Trouble is, Ray doesn’t much like Thai food.
• Cafe Romantica – we passed this vegetarian sandwich stand on our way to Ohe’o Gulch, but we had already eaten.

The only comparable competitor to Hana Ranch Restaurant is Paniolo Lounge, at the Travaasa Hotel and Spa. The grounds, website, and prices all boasted the resort’s “luxury” status, but the food and service were just shy of mediocre. The waitstaff all seemed apathetic and poorly trained (I ordered a tuna niçoise salad, and the waitress never asked me how I would like my tuna cooked), and the food that came out of the kitchen was incredibly disappointing: not only was my tuna well done instead of rare, it was smothered in dressing and olives; Ray’s Margherita pizza was more like a cheese pizza with flecks of basil. This fare was something I might have expected from a tiny establishment not set up to serve this kind of food, but at those prices? I am so. Incredibly. Disappointed.

Give me a Fresh Catch Sandwich at Hana Ranch Restaurant any day; it might still be a little pricey, but at least they know how to prepare it.

I guess the long and short of this rather long rant is that Hana is a tourist destination. Perhaps it’s a lack of ambition, passion, or steady supplies that has prevented a large restaurant industry from growing in that town, but I believe someone who has all three of those things might just make a killing there.

Where we stayed: a vacation rental in Makawao (we are going to stay at another rental in Hana, so I’ll give you another report when we get there).

Pros:

• Far away from people
• Quiet
• It is HUGE
• There is a frickin’ jacuzzi on the back deck and a fireplace in the master bedroom
• The landlady was very nice and communicative.

Cons:

• Far away from people
• It is really far up the side of the mountain, with a lot of twists and turns to get here. Not so good if you are tired or prone to motion sickness.
• I think there might be a mold problem in this house. My sinuses go nuts whenever we step inside the house, and I can’t stop coughing.

Tours:

So far we have only taken one tour: Trilogy’s whale-watching tour. That was a really great experience (not for Ray, though), and I would definitely recommend them to anyone else.

I wanted to go on a zipline tour, but there were too many obstacles in our path. First, they were all booked up on the day that we wanted to go. Then, when we finally did find an opening, it turned out to be more expensive than we thought. But the most important impediment to our adventure was the requirement for closed-toed shoes, like sneakers. Ray only had flip-flops, and I didn’t want to spent the $190-per-person (!) fee if they were just going to turn Ray away at the gate.

If I ever come back here, I would love to take a cruise out to Molokini, a little half-crater island that apparently is a great snorkeling spot. They also call it “Turtle Town,” so I’m bound to see turtles there!

I would also love to explore the lava tubes on the southern part of the island by boat or kayak. But I have a feeling Ray wouldn’t be so keen on such an experience, so I will just have to plan a trip with lots of friends!

Places to Eat:

We have now eaten at lots of different kinds of places, from heavily-advertised restaurants to little holes in the wall that we just discovered in our wanderings. My favorites were
Kula Lodge and Market Fresh Bistro. Kula Lodge not only has a great view on the way to Haleakala, but they had some gorgeous gardens to wander while waiting for your table to be ready. It is a little pricey, but totally worth it.

Market Fresh Bistro is a smaller restaurant tucked away in a corner of Makawao. We almost missed it because it lies behind the Makawao Steak House and a big glass blower gallery, but I’m so glad we wandered into the little nook, because the food was fabulous! Apparently the chef is a bit of a rising star; I overheard someone congratulate him on winning some award or other, and I am not the least but surprised.

Both places used a lot of fresh, local produce and meats, and the menus were creative, healthy, and extremely delicious. I would say you should not leave the island without visiting both of these places. You will not be disappointed.

So that’s my midway summary. We go on the Road to Hana today, so I’ll have much more to tell tomorrow, I’m sure.

This is what vacation is supposed to be about: sleeping in late, moving from one comfy spot to another, reading books that we have put off reading for ages.

We ventured into the town of Makawao for lunch, and then headed over to West Maui to do some touristy shopping (hey, where else are you going to find that many humuhumunukunukuapuaa t-shirts in one place?), then decided to have dinner at the Maui Brewing Company.

Turns out that the Maui Brewing Company has two locations but only one restaurant. The first location that Google Maps found seemed like a short walk away from us, but when we got there, we realized that it was only the brewery itself. We could have taken a tour, but the last tour had already come and gone, so we were left to try to find the actual restaurant.

I plugged in the address into my GPS, but the dang machine started taking us toward that scary part of the road where we had our adventure on our first night here. We turned around while we still could and checked Google Maps again, which showed us that we had driven right past it.

Success! We had a nice dinner, drove back to our house, and ended the night with a dip in the jacuzzi (yes, our rental house has a jacuzzi). Not much to report, but all vacation-worthy activities.

So that morning, I declared my intention to find “fresh goddamned local frickin’ fruit” to Ray, hoping my strong language would let him know that I was serious.

He blinked at me.

We wandered around a different part of the island, stopping for lunch in Haiku, which clearly warranted me writing a haiku about lunch.

Haiku in Haiku

Lunch: mushroom and fries.
Papaya tree outside grows
Looks healthy and sweet.

Can you tell that I had fruit on the brain?

We drove through Paia, the surfer town where we had originally planned on staying, on recommendation from several former residents. By the time we had booked our lodging, though, all the (decent) rentals in Paia had been snatched up (January is prime surfing season). Driving through the town, however, we realized it was too populated for our taste; give us a remote house on the beach or in the middle of the woods, and we are happy.

We made our way back to West Maui and found a fruit stand on the side of the road. One of the guys at the stand was incredibly helpful and kept giving me samples of all the fruits. He picked out the ripest ones for me. I gave him a big tip.

Mangoes, papayas, guavas, star fruit, oranges, and a pineapple (of course!): my goal had been achieved, and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into their juicy deliciousness.

We drove around the fancy schmancy part of the island and found where the 1% live. I’m not kidding; the residences and golf courses were so opulent, even the road signs seemed to be looking down their noses at us. We wanted to find a nice view to watch the sunset, but all the houses were blocking the view!

In the end, we did find one cove, and we snapped a few shots and headed home to enjoy all the fruit.

Note: this entry took longer than expected to get up; my mom is visiting from Oahu, so I wasn’t able to post this earlier today.

“And what town is it in?”

I looked down at my iPhone for the address. Makawao. I swallowed, knowing I would almost certainly butcher the pronoun citation. Since W usually sounds like V in Hawaiian, I gave it my best shot. “Ma-KA-va-oh?”

She shot me a puzzled look, and I spelled it for her. “Ma-ka-WOW,” she corrected with a smile. “It’s cold up there. But it’s beautiful.”

Turns out “cold” to Hawaiians is about 60 degrees; when we reached our house, the heater was on, and the landlady called to let us know that there were two more space heaters in case we got really chilly. I told her we were fine, and checked the weather back home: 30 degrees. We probably wouldn’t need the extra heaters.

Our house is situated halfway up the mountain on the way to the volcanic crater of Haleakala. The elevation does make the climate cooler, as does the thick forest of eucalyptus and ohia. The heavy scent of eucalyptus evokes memories of my childhood in the San Francisco Bay Area, but the sounds of the birds in the forest are distinctly Hawaiian.

Yesterday, we spent most of the day in the house, recuperating from the long flight and generally loafing around. The power went out around lunchtime — a common occurrence because of the trees, our landlord said — so we decided to head out and wander around the island for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

We picked up a driving map of Maui and sat in the car as Ray perused it. He pointed at one section on the map. “It says here, ‘There is a narrow section of road with a sheer cliff and no guard rail along here. Not for the faint-hearted. Drive at your own risk.’ That’s good to know.”

“We definitely shouldn’t attempt it at night, then.”

“Yeah.”

He put the map away and started driving, no real destination in mind.

We drove around the western side of Maui, watching the sun as it set behind the island of Lanai. We passed resort after resort, mocking the gigantic buildings: ugly temples built to the gods of commerce jutting up against the pristine sky.

We made it past the very last golf course, and the state-maintained highway ended. The sun had set, and Ray asked if we should turn back.

I looked down at Google Maps on my iPhone. “Well, we’ve gone almost 3/4 around West Maui; we might as well keep going and finish the trip.” The road looked curvy on the map, but it didn’t look that bad. Plus, it had only taken us about 40 minutes to get more than halfway around. “It can’t be that bad.”

Oh yes, it can.

For the next hour or so, we traversed along 10 miles of treacherous roads and hairpin turns, with only our headlights and GPS to guide us. Hugging the mountain as best he could, Ray looked to his left and said, “They weren’t kidding when they said ‘sheer cliff.’”

They weren’t kidding about the lack of guard rails, either. Most of the road was only wide enough for one car, so we were both hoping nobody was crazy enough to be coming the other way at this time of night. There was no room to turn around, either, which meant that once we had committed ourselves, we had to see it through.

Everyone tells us that the Road to Hana is curvy and difficult, and everyone goes very slowly; there are even t-shirts you can buy that say, “I survived the Road to Hana.” But I have a feeling that compared to last night’s adventure, that drive is going to be a cake walk.

Don’t get me wrong: I love being able to sing for a living, and part of the job is being able to handle these intense periods of stress. But that also means I need to find time to rest and recuperate, which is exactly what this trip to Maui is all about.

I’ll spare you the details of our almost 24 hours of travel getting here. Suffice to say we spent a lot of time on the tarmac waiting to get in the air, and even more time in SFO waiting for our next plane. The bright, shining moment of all that waiting was that we were able to connect with my best friend since 7th grade, who took a couple hours off work to visit with us at the airport.

We saw the sun rise over the oil refineries of Philadelphia, and we saw it set over the clouds of the Pacific. I slept a little bit on the plane, but Ray could not; by the time we got to the place we were staying, we were both so exhausted we barely had time to explore the house before collapsing into bed.

I’m going to try to blog every day (while it’s fresh in my mind, and so I don’t have to do it when I get home). To be continued…

The actors came over, and we all sat around the dining room table with our scripts, munching on some fruit and reading through the play. When we were done, my cousin (who will be directing the show) joked that the first rehearsal will be in New Jersey, because they need to cast me in the role. All the other actors agreed, which was very flattering, since I haven’t been in a play in a very, very long time! As they left, they all promised to come to the bar that night for the show my cousin was putting together.

As I mentioned in my previous post, my cousin owns a bar in downtown Chico. It’s a small town, so pretty much everyone knows who he is, and anyone who doesn’t know him personally definitely knows Duffy’s Tavern.

Since he owns the place, he was able to bump the Irish band that usually plays there on Friday nights in favor of putting his two cousins (and himself) on the stage. He made a few phone calls to put together an impromptu band, then invited the cast of a show he is in (Go-Go, a British Invasion musical) to perform some of the songs from the show. He sent out a huge email blast, and we were all set to perform during happy hour.

My dad and I leafed through his Fake Book to find some appropriate songs to perform. I decided on “I Get A Kick Out Of You,” my dad picked some songs too, and we sent the lead sheets to the band leader so he could take a look at it before the gig.

When we got to the bar at 4:00, the place was pretty empty. The band leader was setting up the stage, and a long-haired blond kid named Loki (I kid you not, that is his name) was tuning his guitar as well. Loki hugged my cousin and stared at me like he was seeing an angel. I felt slightly creeped out, but decided not to mention anything because he seemed pretty harmless (I found out later that he had dropped acid that afternoon and was tripping the entire night, which explains a lot).

I looked around asked where the drums and keyboards were, and I was told that my cousin couldn’t get anyone on drums or keyboards at such short notice, so we were stuck with three guitars (another guitarist showed up a few minutes later) and no microphones. I wasn’t too concerned about the lack of mics for me in such a small room — I can make a big sound when I want to — but acoustic guitars are quiet instruments by nature, and I was worried no one would really be able to hear the chords under the melody.

But we had to make do with what we had, so the guitars started playing, and then they invited different people to come up and sing: Samantha, a talented belter in the cast of Go-Go; Kelly, a friendly bass (also in the cast of Go-Go); my dad; me; and my cousin. I only had the one song, whereas everyone else had two or three. I guess I probably could have prepared more songs, but I didn’t know what the scene would be like, and doing jazz (especially with my jazz trumpeter dad) always makes me a little shy and self-conscious.

It’s a good thing that I sang in the first set, because after 5:00, the bar started getting really crowded and loud. My dad sang another song and played his trumpet and flugelhorn while Kelly sang a few numbers. My cousin got up with the cast of Go-Go and started singing songs from the show. As the crowd got louder and louder, the singers couldn’t hear the guitars hardly at all, and everyone was trying to belt really loudly to be heard over the din of the bar. My cousin got the bright idea of getting the audience to sing along, which worked quite well, although the guitars were still inaudible. But everyone was having a great time, and that’s what counts.

Happy Hour was over at 7:00, and my dad and I went back to the house, leaving my cousin to chat with his customers. When my cousin came back home, we all ordered Chinese food and hunkered down with a movie for our final evening in Chico.

Last month, I housed one of the out-of-town tenors in The Crossing (he was here for the Month of Moderns), and he went running almost every day. I started asking about his running habits, and before I knew it, he had cajoled me into running with him three times a week. I don’t think I did that poorly, but my hip really started hurting every time we went out, and I have decided not to continue with the routine now that he has gone home.

(I also knew that I probably wouldn’t be keeping up with my exercise routine while on vacation, but I think every once in a while we all have to take a break, so I’m not going to be too hard on myself).

I mention all this now because this morning my cousin (who my dad and I are visiting) suggested that we all go bike riding through Chico’s Bidwell Park.

I’ve always had a difficult time with bicycles. My dad taught me how to ride a bike when I was nine or ten, but for some reason I really resisted learning, and while I do know how to ride, I never got very good at it. Biking in traffic freaks me out, and I could never figure out which gears were which on my bike…so anxiety always creeps up whenever even the thought of biking comes up. Nevertheless, I know the best way to counteract anxiety is to meet it head-on, so I agreed to go biking. But I warned my cousin that I wasn’t very good, and I hadn’t done it in a long time.

To which he responded, “That’s not a problem. Chico is very flat, and we won’t go fast.”

My cousin loaned me his everyday bike, and he pulled out an old one-speed from his shed (which he had to hose off because of all the cobwebs). My dad had brought his own bike on this trip, so he was all set. I test-drove the bike up and down the street, and once I had assured myself that I still remembered how to ride, we were off to the park.

Chico is a small town in the heart of Northern California, almost halfway between San Francisco and the Oregon border, in the middle of almond country. While we were out biking, people were honking and waving at my cousin, and it really had the feel of a Midwestern town from the ’50s, where everyone knows everyone else…such a difference from Philadelphia or New York or even San Francisco! (Okay, it doesn’t hurt that my cousin owns one of the bars in town).

And I had fun! We biked through parts of Bidwell Park, which, at about 11 miles in length, is one of the largest city parks in the U.S. We didn’t bike the whole way through…we made it about three miles in, and my cousin wanted to turn around and go back. I wasn’t tired at all, but I was hungry, so I was happy enough to stop and eat some Thai food in the middle of town.

But while we were biking, I realized my anxiety was melting away. I could easily shift gears on the bike I was riding, because shifter had all the gears numbered, which was so wonderful and new! On my old bike, I was constantly guessing as to what gear I was in, and which way was higher and lower. And because Chico is such a small town, I didn’t have to worry too much about traffic. We kept to the smaller side roads and crossed the larger roads at the lights, plus the cars always stopped for us (I’ve never seen that happen in Philly!).

And I realized that the reason I never liked going biking was that I didn’t have enough positive experiences like this, where I could go at a nice, leisurely pace and feel confident. Even the few times I have gone biking with my husband, I always felt like a big wuss because I got so nervous around intersections.

The thing is, I know cycling is better exercise for me than running, especially since I have a bad knee. So maybe I should spend some time biking on my own when I get home. I live in a suburban neighborhood, which has a lot more of those smaller, quiet roads, so I can work on my confidence on the bike before I venture out into traffic. And then, just maybe, when I feel like I’m up to it, I’ll join a bike team and train for a triathlon.

First, though, I have to find a bike that has a shifter I can understand. Baby steps.

Since then, I have learned to surround myself with various fortifications to prevent chatty in-flight neighbors (books, magazines, and the ever-important MP3 player with headphones), but today none of them worked.

The girl was one of the last to board the plane, and she sat in the middle seat, dashing my hopes for elbow room throughout the flight. But I kept to myself and she kept to herself (except for when she told the lady on the aisle about 2 minutes in the air that she really had to pee so she might have to leap over her when one of the lavatories opened).

Then the beverages came around. Southwest Airlines doesn’t serve food on its flights, so we got a snack pack and an orange juice, which I promptly spilled on myself before I managed 2 sips! This resulted in me having to call the flight attendant and mop up my tray, my lap, my iPhone…all the while, my neighbor helped by holding things and talking about how she was surprised it hadn’t been her who had spilled something, because she had been up for the last 36 hours.

I couldn’t resist asking, when given such a blatant invitation, “Why were you awake for so long?”

I didn’t have to open my paperback for the rest of the flight, she kept me so entertained.

Turns out she reconnected with an old flame, someone she had always thought of as a soulmate, and for whom she had been carrying a torch for lo these 8 long years (one-third of her life!). They spoke on the phone a few days ago where he revealed that he had been in love with her this whole time too.

No, she was not on her way to visit him, much to my disappointment. Instead, thus trip was to visit her grandfather, who planned to pass his knowledge of traditional Navajo jewelry-making to her. She had just graduated from the Moore College of Art & Design, and although she had just signed a year lease in her Philadelphia apartment, based on what she was telling me, she wouldn’t be staying in Philly for too long.

All in all, she was a sweet, open girl…very green, but talented with the pencil (she showed me some of her sketches, which were really lovely).

She has some aspirations to become a singer-songwriter, but she doesn’t know how to read music. She played some of her songs for me, and I suddenly realized exactly why one of my composer friends hates pop music…not because of its lyrical content, but because the musical make-up is simple and pedantic. This girl, of course, was just imitating what she was familiar with; so the songs were, like her, sweet and honest, but not really engaging or exciting. It seemed to me that she would be much better off concentrating on her visual art.

She asked me about myself, too…she was interested in what married life was like (probably dreaming of Mr. Eight-Year-Crush), and when I told her I was an opera singer, she wanted to know if I had any recordings of myself. I said yes, and played for her some snippets from my recital. She said my voice was “like one of those birds with shimmering plumage that you would love to touch but can never get close to.”

Of course I was flattered, but even more than that, I saw a girl who just wanted to absorb everything like a sponge, and it was nice to talk to someone like that on the first leg of my trip. When we landed in Houston, I gave her my card and told her to find me on Facebook.

The second leg of my trip, from Houston to Oakland, was fairly uneventful. I napped and tried not to spill anything else on myself. After all, I only packed one pair of pants for this journey!

And then began the long flight home.

As I was drafting this post, I considered writing another long diatribe about the airplane business and the state of flying these days. But I decided it would be redundant, since my description of the flight to Hawaii covered most of what I wanted to say.

We were packed in overbooked flight, and once again, got very little sleep — Ray less so than I, since he was feeling sick the entire flight back. We had a layover in Phoenix, where there were so many people waiting for their overbooked flights that we had to sit on the floor.

A group of college girls were seated on the floor next to us, talking to some classmates of theirs who had been on our plane. They had gone to Vegas for Spring Break and now were having a hard time getting home because of overbooked flights. They had been stuck in Phoenix for a day and a half and had even been sent onto a plane going back to Vegas. I breathed a sigh of relief that we weren’t in their shoes, and I started wondering about the fact that we turned down the airline’s offer to give us free tickets to give up our seats on the plane.

They announced on the P.A. system that they were looking for passengers to give up their tickets back to Philadelphia in exchange for a free roundtrip domestic ticket (within the contiguous states, of course). Well, we’d already given up our free Hawaiian tickets…why take a domestic ticket?

Sigh. We got on the plane and returned to Philadelphia as scheduled, just in time for me to go to my Philadelphia Singers rehearsal.

And thus ends my tale of Hawaiian adventures. I probably won’t be posting nearly as often, now that I’m done with this particular story.

But I do intend on being a bit more regular with my postings, since I do have plenty of performances coming up, and I’m all for using this blog for a little bit of shameless promotion. <grin>