Author: supermaren

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On Top of the World (Part 1)

Previously: Tourist Trap

One of the things Ray wanted to do on our trip was go to the top of one of the mountains on the Big Island. We had heard rumors that there was snow in Hawaii, and we wanted to be able to see it for ourselves to believe it. So we booked a tour on Mauna Kea Summit Adventures, which not only seemed to be a pretty comprehensive tour (complete with dinner, a parka for the cold, and stargazing), but also did a pretty good job of advertising in every single tourist magazine we had.

We headed into Waimea/Kamuela for lunch at the Paniolo Country Inn and had a much better experience than our last sojourn into Waimea for food. Although this place was still akin to diner fare, there was no wait, and we were treated much better by the waitstaff. We ate our lunch without much fanfare and tried to find the spot where the tour van was going to pick us up.

When I had made our reservations for the tour a few days before, the woman on the phone asked me what resort we were staying in. Since we weren’t at any of the resorts, she told us the van would pick us up at the junction of Highway 190 and 200, which has no distinguishing landmarks other than the junction itself and a dirt turnoff by the side of the road.

We had given ourselves plenty of time in case John Cleese didn’t know where we were going, but we found the place pretty easily (it’s not like there’s anything else for miles!), so we pulled over and hung out until the van came to pick us up. I did get a chance to take a few pictures of the countryside while we were waiting.

At last, our van arrived, and it was already pretty crowded, this being the last pickup point before entering the dreaded Saddle Road (many car rental companies actually prohibit driving on the road because it’s so narrow and windy and locals drive very fast, especially at night). Apparently Saddle Road used to have spots that weren’t paved, but that has changed, and in fact, the state is working on widening and fixing the road so that it’s a safer, faster, more viable direct route from Kailua-Kona to Hilo.

Ray took the shotgun seat, since he has trouble with motion sickness when he’s not driving, and I made my way all the way to the back corner, where I sat next to a really cool gal from Colorado. As he drove up the mountain, our tour guide made comments on the countryside and the history of the area.

The road wound through ranches, sheep farms, a military camp, and finally arrived at the Mauna Kea Summit Road, where the grade got much steeper. We were going so high we were looking down on the clouds.

We arrived at the Mauna Kea Visitors’ Center (altitude: 9,000 ft.) just in time for dinner. We all piled of the van, and our tour guide distributed warm parkas and hot dinners (okay, mine wasn’t hot, but only because I got the vegetarian option, which was a cold veggie wrap with tofu). We were encouraged to wander around (i.e., use the bathroom!) for a little bit, but we needed to be back in the van in 30 minutes so that we could make it to the summit in time for the sunset.

After seeing this sign, though, I came to the conclusion that the real reason our tour guides wanted us to be back in the vans before too long is that they didn’t want us to be attacked by ninja cows.

Next: On Top of the World (Part 2)

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Lazy Bums

Previously:

Now that we were in the final days of our vacation, Ray was determined to spend as little time doing anything as possible. We lounged around the hut, and I started on the new books I had purchased at Kona Bay Books while we were in Kailua-Kona on Friday.

It’s not as easy for me to laze around for an entire day, though, so after a while, I decided to walk down to the water (a half mile) and take the path down the coast to find a heiau (temple) that was supposedly not far away.

I walked for a while past some boarded up coast guard barracks as the wind whipped past me and made the coconut palms wave like anemones. The sun was beating down on me quite a bit, too, and after I rounded the second curve a mile or so down the path, I saw nothing but wilderness for another mile.

I decided to give up on my quest to see a heiau, and instead I climbed up a large rock formation and watched whales breaching in the ocean. I still couldn’t get pictures of them, but it was still a magical experience, just watching with the naked eye.

Soon enough, my stomach started telling me it was time for lunch, so I walked back to the hut, where we ate some leftovers from dinner the night before.

Then it was back to reading, until we realized it was time for dinner. Since we didn’t have any food left in the kitchenette, we drove to the town next to Hawi, which is Kapaau, to a restaurant recommended to us by our host: Sammy D’s.

We were one of the only customers when we arrived, and we ordered our meal through a window into the kitchen before we sat down to wait for our dinner. We ate our sandwiches inside, watching as a big rainstorm pelted the highway. But by the time we were done eating, the worst of the storm had gone, so we quickly got back in the car and returned to the hut for more reading and lazing around.

Next: On Top of the World (Part 1)

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Tourist Trap

Previously: Nutty Day

We woke up in the morning to whales having sex outside our hut. Well…okay, not exactly, but when we were both up and moving around, there was a lot of whale-jumping activity in the ocean, and I grabbed my camera in the hopes of catching one of them on film.

Our hosts were in the garden, too, and they told us that the synchronized activity we saw meant that the whales were trying to mate (it’s not so easy getting Tab A into Slot B when you’re swimming around in the ocean!). This got me more determined to get a good shot of the whales, but my little digital camera is no match for a telephoto lens with manual shutter.

In other words, every time I saw a whale jumping, by the time I pressed down on the button and the camera took the picture, all I captured was the splash. I don’t know why they wouldn’t just pose. Sheesh.

After I got tired of snapping pictures, we got in the car and headed back down to Kailua-Kona for a day of tourism.

Because I didn’t get a chance to go snorkeling with my mom (and Ray won’t actually go in the water, so it’s not like I had a snorkel buddy on this trip), we booked a trip on a glass-bottom boat so I could have a chance to see the reef creatures.

We got to Kailua-Kona with an hour to spare before our tour started, which was just enough time for us to grab some lunch and meander down to the dock. We weren’t sure where to go once we were at the dock, since there seemed to be several tour kiosks per slip.

But it wasn’t too difficult to find the sign that said “Glass Bottom Boat – 1 hour tour” (thank goodness it wasn’t going to be a 3-hour tour, because we all know what happens with those!), so we stood next to the sign as our boat, Marian, pulled up to the moorings with its previous tour group.

The tour itself was fun. The boat wasn’t crowded, and Ray and I got a whole window into the bottom of the boat all to ourselves. And I got a bunch of good pictures, and we also got a nice explanation of the sea creatures, as well as some fun anecdotes about the bizarre sexual lives of parrotfish (a female can change gender if the dominant male dies or is removed from the area).

It still wasn’t the same as snorkeling, though. Next time we go to Hawaii, I’m going to make sure I have a chance to go snorkeling, really snorkeling, and I’m going to have my waterproof camera case with me, too.

Once we were back on land, we took the rest of the afternoon to wander the tourist trap beachfront road, Alii Drive. There was a farmer’s market, and we picked up a bunch of shirts and a gorgeous necklace & earring set with beads made out of weleweka, which is a beautiful, rare, small, fuzzy seed. I wore the jewelry for my Aaron Copland solo two weeks later, to give me peace and strength.

Since we were already in tourist mode, we gave in and ate dinner at Bubba Gump Shrimp Co., which is a chain, and really nothing more than a marketing machine, but the food is really not bad at all, and at least there isn’t one near where we live. And they had a lot of local fish on the menu, which was a plus.

Next: On Top of the World (Part 1)

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Nutty Day

Previously: Points South (Part 2)

After such a long day driving to South Point and back, we decided to take this day to stay “local” in our travels (i.e., within a 20-mile radius of the hut). We went back to Luke’s Place for lunch and talked about the things left to do on the island. I had picked up a brochure for the Hamakua Macadamia Nut factory, which was not too far away. We both love macadamia nuts, so the plan was set.

Of course John Cleese had no idea where to go. I was now becoming used to this and would find the point on the map or useful cross streets and just have him direct us to the point closest to our destination instead, continually trying to update the GPS map with each new stop.

The building itself is nothing more than a factory — although I’m not sure why I was surprised. We were going on a factory tour, after all, right? We entered through the sizeable gift shop and only a few minutes after we arrived, a tour started.

Our tour guide took us down the hall, pointed at some pictures of macadamia trees, and explained the growth and harvesting cycle, as we looked through 8-foot tall windows at the factory floor. She then pointed at some of the machines through the window and explained what they did. Nobody was working, though; I guess there weren’t any macadamia nuts to roast right at that point or they all were on break or something. A lot of the machines also seemed to be loaded for making flavored popcorn, which seemed a little odd, but I guess they’ve got to make something when there aren’t any macadamias to roast, right?

So that was the tour: go down the hall, turn the corner, have the tourists crack some nuts, and send them back into the gift shop. I did get to crack some macadamias (which was fun, even though I knew it was totally silly) and then partook of the free coffee and nut samples.

Hey, at least they were straightforward. And the women who worked in the “nut house,” as they liked to call it, were fun to talk to; they were the real reason why our fellow tourists bought so much after the tour. We bought some macadamia nuts, too: 4 pounds of macadamias, which should last us until our next trip back to Hawaii (if you factor in the fact that my mom always send macadamias to us for Christmas.

After the tour, we went back to our hut for more reading and relaxation. I cooked spaghetti in our kitchenette again, and by the time the evening was over, I was almost finished with the books I had gotten from Kona Bay Books the day before.

I told you I was a voracious reader.

Next: Tourist Trap

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Points South (Part 2)

Previously: Points South (Part 1)

I was sufficiently caffeinated for the rest of the drive down the coast to South Point, the southernmost point in the United States. Once again, John Cleese had no idea where South Point was, so I simply instructed him to take us to a point on the map that was as close to South Point as I could get.

The exit from Highway 11 was clearly marked, but soon after the turn-off, the road turned from well-paved to bumpy to “are you sure this isn’t off-roading?” Down we went towards the ocean, past cows, giant windmills, more cows, driving along a one-lane road and barely seeing a single soul. John Cleese’s map showed a bunch of roads by the shore circling around each other as if in a housing development complex, so we kept our hopes up.

But there was no housing development. We stopped at the one man-made structure in the middle of the wilderness: a plaque in the middle of the grass marking the location of the “South Point Complex.” Either someone had planned on building something here (a lot of the structures — or pieces of structures, rather — looked somewhat military), or something had been built and then torn down. Either way, nobody was living here now.

According to the GPS, though, this plaque was not at the southernmost point, and we could tell with our own eyes, because we weren’t at the ocean yet. We decided to drive until we ran out of road…which happened fairly quickly, so we parked the car and started to walk to the water.

Using the GPS as a guide (John Cleese may not know where the streets and buildings are in Hawaii, but he does know where the land mass is), we walked along the cliffs to the southernmost point of the land, which was a rather unassuming beach…not really good for sunbathing, but with plenty of black lava and white coral for lava grafitti.

We left our own lava graffiti on the beach, of course, which I’m sure will wash away as soon as the tide comes in, but it made us feel good.

Since there really wasn’t much else to see, we made our way back to the car and drove 60 miles back to Kailua-Kona to find some dinner. We didn’t really know where to eat, so while we were driving, I leafed through my tourist brochures and pamphlets and suggested places to eat based on the price rating (which is completely useless in these pamphlets because they lump meals of $20 in the same category with meals of $50), location (how easy was it for John Cleese to find?), and name (did it sound like a good place to eat?).

We finally decided to eat at Bongo Ben’s. Located on Alii Drive in Kailua-Kona, it’s a part of the tourist area by the beach, but it seemed like a pretty informal place to eat, and our other comparable choices in the area were chains like Outback. We can go to Outback in NJ, so I didn’t see the point in going there in Hawaii.

They seated us in the back of the restaurant at our request, away from the highly amplified band, and I ordered my second fruity alcoholic beverage of the trip, although this one had barely any alcohol in it (I guess that’s what you get for ordering a drink in the tourist area). The food was decent — nothing exciting, but the atmosphere was fun and kitchy (a pretty girl wandered from table to table selling overpriced leis for under-romanticized couples) and we had a good time.

After dinner, we wandered around a little bit, doing a little window shopping and actual shopping until we got bored and took the long drive back to our hut in the north.

Next: Nutty Day

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Points South (Part 1)

Previously: Happy Anniversary

Our days were starting to blend into each other at this point: wake up with the birds, shower, read, lounge around, read some more, find food. There’s nothing wrong with this schedule at all, especially when one is on vacation, but I am a very fast reader, and I was soon done with all the books I had brought.

I was starting to go stir crazy.

We headed down the coast to Kailua-Kona (a 2-hr drive) to find Kona Bay Books, a used bookstore that has an ad in almost every tourist pamphlet I had picked up. John Cleese was not much help AGAIN because he didn’t recognize the address. But I did manage to find the cross streets, so I had him direct us to the correct intersection, figuring we’d find the shop pretty easily from there.

John Cleese led us to an industrial park, and we were pretty sure he must have led us astray again until we saw a large sign saying “BOOKS” off to the side of one of the buildings, almost hidden in a parking lot.

They weren’t kidding; they had books, alright. This was one of the largest used bookstores I’d ever been in, with stacks and stacks to rival a library. They gave me a good trade-in value on my books, and I walked out with a pile of books almost as large as the one I had gone in with. (We actually went back a couple more times during our trip because I am such a voracious reader)

Ray’s plan was to drive down to South Point for the day (another 3-hour drive south from Kailua-Kona), but I was starting to get tired of sitting in the car — we had already been doing a lot of driving on this trip! — and I had a mini-breakdown, which surprised Ray, I think. But I was quickly mollified when we made plans to take a coffee plantation tour on the way to South Point, so back on the road we went.

There are tons of coffee plantations in Kona, and one can actually spend an entire day just going on a coffee tasting tour of all the major plantations (like the wine tasting tours in Napa Valley), but we still needed to get to South Point, and Ray doesn’t much like coffee, so I figured it was best if we just found a plantation that was close to Highway 11 (the main road going along the coast).

That’s how we got to Greenwell Farms, one of the oldest plantations in the Kona Belt. The original plan was to go to Mountain Thunder, because it was the largest organic coffee plantation (and besides, that’s where Mike Rowe filmed an episode of Dirty Jobs) but it was on the other side of the road, and in the end, we opted for convenience rather than fame.

The tour itself was somewhat disappointing (”These are the coffee plants; this is the growing and harvesting cycle. Over here is our drying process. We supply most of the Kona beans in the world. Okay, now you’re done. Please buy some coffee on your way out.”), but they did mention that all the fruit grown on the plantation was no longer sold, but given to food banks and guests for free. We were given permission to take any fruit we found lying on the ground (so I ate an orange) or in the bins by the store (so I took an avocado).

Oh, and I got to buy coffee for myself and friends, which I had planned to do anyway, and the free coffee samples were tasty (as I knew they would be). I also got a taste of a raw coffee cherry (the fruit picked right off the tree before it gets processed into the bean we all recognize) . That kept me awake for the rest of the day!

Next: Points South (Part 2)

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Happy Anniversary

Previously: Exploring North Kohala

You’d think that on our two-year anniversary here in Hawaii, Ray and I would go to a fancy restaurant or do something very cliché and romantic, but that’s just not the way we are.

When we got up, we decided to drive to Kamuela, also called Waimea (coincidentally, we got married at Waimea Falls Park, which is on Oahu, so our day trip was somewhat poetic, however unplanned). We had heard many good reviews of the Hawaiian Style Cafe (our host had mentioned that each person gets enough breakfast to feed three people), so I tried to get John Cleese to direct us to the restaurant.

This was the day that we realized just how bad TomTom’s map of the Big Island really was. John Cleese took us over the top of Kohala Mountain into Waimea (perhaps a more direct route as the crow flies, but not really from a topological perspective), but just as the time when we tried to find dinner a couple days before, John Cleese told us to go right when we should have gone left. I compared his map with the paper maps I had picked up on our travels, and directed Ray to turn left.

We made it to the center of town, but we couldn’t find the restaurant. We stopped at a grocery store and I asked the cashier, who said we were very close and that it was just down the road right past the park. We drove back the way we came and completely missed the restaurant again.

So we decided to follow John Cleese’s directions, even though he was leading us away from Waimea. But when he said, “You have reached your destination,” we were in the middle of nowhere again. Sigh. Unfortunately, it’s not like there are very many good places to turn around on a curvy two-lane road with very few turn-offs, so it was another two miles before we could reverse direction again.

Back into town we went, this time going very slowly and looking at all the building numbers and every single shop sign. “There it is!” Ray cried, pointing to the opposite side of the street. In a nondescript strip mall with only about five shops, a small sign meekly proclaiming “Hawaiian Style Cafe” and a few people milling outside the restaurant were the only two clues to the restaurant’s existence.

Even though there were people milling around outside, there were open seats inside and no hostess stand, so I figured it was a seat-yourself kind of affair. Ray and I walked right in and sat down. No sooner had we sat down than a good ol’ boy with a neck the size of my thigh who had been standing outside poked his head in and drawled, “Are y’all going to put your name on the list?”

“There’s a list?” I asked. I looked around for something resembling a list. Couldn’t see it at all.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re all standing out here.” His tone started to sound more aggressive.

“Well, there’s no sign.”

“The list is right there.” He pointed at a clipboard on a stool immediately to the right of the front door. Then he glared at us while we put our names down.

“Isn’t it funny,” I said to Ray in a loud voice, “how there’s no sign telling you what to do and nobody at the front to greet you? I wonder how people know what the protocol is.”

Good Ol’ Boy pretended to ignore me.

We only had to wait about 10 minutes before we got seated, but I was starving by this point, so I was sure that I was ready for the famously huge breakfast.

In reality, I wasn’t ready. Nobody can be ready for that much food. I ordered a veggie omelette (made with at least 4 eggs and a generous portion of Cheez Whiz), which comes with a “side” of 2 pancakes, each the size of my face. I made it about halfway through my eggs before I started to flag, but I insisted on having at least some of my pancake before I stopped. I don’t think I managed to finish either one of my plates, although I made a valiant effort.

While we were eating, we saw one of the customers approach the short-order cooks in the kitchen and tell them that this was the best breakfast he had had all vacation. “You guys are better than the chefs they’ve got at the resorts,” he said.

I wasn’t sure what he had ordered, but it certainly wasn’t the veggie omelette with cheese. Yes, there was a lot of food, but I’m not a believer of quantity overriding quality when it comes to my meals. And I was still ticked at the rednecks that had yelled at us when we had first arrived (who were seated next to us and talked to the waitress as if they were regulars).

This place was obviously little more than a diner that had gotten a reputation for large portions at small prices. They probably prided themselves on their small-town diner atmosphere and slightly rude waitresses. I get that. It’s a part of the diner’s “charm.” But the best breakfast ever? Hardly. I had been eating better breakfasts every morning so far: 1 fresh, ripe papaya + 1 bagel + POG and/or Kona coffee.

We were so full after breakfast that we couldn’t even think of lunch. But while we were in Waimea, we stopped at the supermarket (one of two we had found on the entire island!) and stocked up on some food to cook in our kitchenette so we wouldn’t have to go out for every meal.

Since we had gotten refrigerated food from the grocery store, we drove straight back to our hut (still an hour-long trip!), and spent the rest of the afternoon reading, napping, and generally lolling about. I did get up at one point to make a spaghetti dinner, which we enjoyed with Guinness (because it was St. Patrick’s Day and also our anniversary), and that was our romantic evening.

You might think I’m being sarcastic as I write that, but truly, it was a very nice night, because we were totally relaxed and happy and comfortable being with each other. We listened to the night sounds: the frogs, the toads, and the chatty geckos (Ray named them Taco, Paco, and Loco, although I’m sure there were more than 3 in our hut…there was also Cheep and Beep living in the bath hut), and we were content.

Next: Points South (Part 1)

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Exploring North Kohala

Previously: Another Side of the Island (Part 2)

We awoke Monday morning bright and early — well, I woke up early, anyway, since our room had hardly any curtains, and the dawn brought not only the morning light but chattering birds within the brush here in our corner of paradise. Ray, as usual, stayed asleep as I rolled out of bed and tried out the outdoor shower.

Without getting too much into an advocacy of the naturist lifestyle, I must say that it was exhilirating being able to shower while watching whales play in the ocean, my bare feet on volcanic rock. Granted, I wondered how much privacy I actually had, since our hosts were int he adjacent building, and the privacy screens were not 100% opaque and largely botanical. But it was early yet, and I did not hear anyone moving around, so I felt fairly safe.

After Ray and I were both up, fed, and dressed, we sat on the porch reading our books. Our host (the husband, whom we hadn’t met yet) introduced himself and proceeded to regale us with tales about his life story, the property, and the new neighbors (apparently Cher and Harrison Ford purchased property in the area recently). He gave us some tourist information about North Kohala (the north side of the island), as well. After listening to several (unsolicited) assurances that weed was not illegal on their property, we excused ourselves and decided to explore Hawi Town.

Hawi (pronounced “Ha-vee“) is a cute little town on the north shore of the Big Island. Hawi and its neighboring town of Kapa’au sprung up as bustling plantation towns when Kohala Sugar Company owned most of that part of the Big Island. After the sugar mill closed in 1970, the area suffered from neglect and fell into disrepair. Recently, though, North Kohala has been experiencing a little bit of a renaissance, with an influx of artists and craftspeople opening shops and galleries along Highway 270 (the main road running through Kohala). A few restaurants have sprouted up, too (although we seemed to have missed them in our quest for dinner the night before).

Lunch at Luke’s Place was exactly what we needed. Our host had advised us to go in the back entrance straight to the bar, where there was supposedly music, but we’re not much for music while we eat, and besides, it was lunch time, and we didn’t hear anybody playing, so we went in the front entrance. Even though we had to wait a while to get seated (there seemed to be only one person running the front of the house and the lady in front of us had some sort of business with the owner), once we sat down, we had a very pleasant, quiet lunch.

We wandered around the center of town (about two blocks) and wound up in the fudge shop, where I bought some chocolate/lilikoi fudge: tart and sweet and definitely a one-of-a-kind fudge. We bought some other flavors, too: coffee/macadamia, plain chocolate, and orange/chocolate, which we brought back to the hut and stuck in the fridge for later enjoyment throughout the vacation.

Ray and I spent the rest of the day lounging around the hut, reading our books. We took one more sojourn back out to Hawi for dinner at Sushi Rock, which I enjoyed immensely, but Ray simply tolerated (he’s not a fan of sushi, and they didn’t have that much in the way of non-sushi, despite our host’s comments to the contrary). After dinner, it was back to the hut for more reading until we fell asleep to the chorus of frogs.

Next: Happy Anniversary

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Another Side of the Island (Part 2)

Previously: Another Side of the Island (Part 1)

After we said goodbye to my mom at the airport, Ray and I headed up the coast to our next vacation rental outside Hawi Town. Our hosts had emailed directions to me, and I thought our GPS John Cleese would be able to lead us to the house easily.

Unfortunately, the map for the Big Island that was uploaded on our GPS was terribly out of date, and the road on which our vacation rental was supposed to be located didn’t seem to be in John Cleese’s files. Curses! I told John Cleese to take us to the center of town in Hawi, which was about a 2-hour drive up the coast anyway, and as we got closer, I navigated the old fashioned way: from the written directions.

The drive along the Kohala Coast was long. The highway is about a mile and a half from the coast, so the ocean was visible on our left, but there was nothing to see on the right except black, black lava flow from an eruption in 1859. Along the stretch of highway closest to the resorts there were examples of lava graffiti: stark white coral placed on the black lava to spell out words or messages like “Got Lava?” or “Aloha.”

The coast was peppered with luxury resorts, something that we didn’t see at all near Hilo or up by Volcano. We stopped at one resort area to find a bathroom (even though there’s tons of road on this island, there don’t seem to be any rest stops anywhere), and realized that most tourists fly into Kailua-Kona airport, where they are bussed to their hotel for their highly sanitized experience of Hawaii. Each resort is its own (luxury) shopping area, (luxury) restaurants, gas station, golf course, and beach (complete with reef for snorkeling). Helicopter pads are conveniently located across the highway for the helicopter tours, and all the bus tours stop at each resort. What a stark reminder that tourism is the main industry in Hawaii!

We finally made it to our turn onto Old Coast Guard Road (the road that didn’t exist on John Cleese’s map), and a cheery hand-painted sign with a picture of a whale and an arrow, and we breathed a sigh of relief that we were in the right place. Down we went towards the ocean, along a road that hadn’t been paved in 20 years.

“Does this count as off-roading?” I asked Ray. Our car rental agreement specifically prohibited off-road travel.

“Nah,” he replied. “It’s a driveway.”

We bounced down the pot-hole-ridden road for about a mile, seeing nothing on either side of the road except grass and shrubs and an occasional cow. Finally, we reached a driveway with three buildings and another hand-painted sign proclaiming “A WHALE XING.” We had arrived!

Our hostess greeted us at the gate and showed us around. Our cottage was really more of a one-bedroom bamboo hut with windows on all walls and not really as many curtains as windows. A kitchenette abutted the bedroom, and the “bath house” was another hut outside the bedroom hut and down a little wooden walkway.

The bath house had a very romantic claw foot tub and a beautifully hand-painted tile sink. The hostess then brought us around the side of the bath house and showed us the outdoor shower. The water was heated by a propane tank that she assured us would be changed today (their previous guests had just departed).

We asked her for some dinner recommendations, and she gave us a few restaurant names and pointed us in the direction of Hawi. We dropped off our bags and got back in the car to find some food. We found Hawi, but we only saw one restaurant, called Bamboo, and that place seemed way too fancy for what we were looking for. We decided to keep driving, but all we found were a couple small towns and no shops or restaurants at all.

We kept driving until John Cleese said there was no road left to drive, and then we drove some more on a road that was marked as a “trail” on the GPS map. It led us to Polu Valley lookout point, the northern counterpart of the Waipio Valley lookout point. There are several undeveloped valleys between Waipio and Polu, and this was indeed where the road ended on this side of the island.

After we took in this lovely view, we turned around, more determined than ever to find something to eat. We drove back through the little towns of Kapa’au and Hawi, past our guest house, and towards the resorts as the sun began to set. John Cleese had some restaurants on the map as points of interest, and the closest one was 15 miles away in Waimea, a town that was much more inland. I wasn’t too keen on going all the way to the resorts (20 miles away), so I told Ray to follow John Cleese’s directions to Waimea.

Once darkness came upon us, it was impossible to see anything. There were almost no street lights on the highway, and no buildings at all along the road. When John Cleese announced, “You have reached your destination,” we were incredibly confused, because there was nothing at all on the road. Nothing.

We turned around and made our way down to the first resort, which was protected by a security checkpoint. When we approached, Ray asked the woman at the gate, “Are there any restaurants here for non-guests?” She said, “Yes, the Manta, but…do you have a reservation?”

No, we didn’t, and we told her so.

“It’s fine dining,” she said. “They probably won’t let you in unless you’re dressed according to the dress code…um…it’s fine dining.”

Ah. Our shorts and t-shirts were a little too scruffy for the resort-goers. We understood. We certainly didn’t want to go eat to a place that had a dress code anyway. “Could you recommend any place to eat around here?” Ray asked.

“What kind of food are you looking for?” she asked.

I don’t know. I’m hungry. Food. “Seafood,” I answered.

“There’s the Seafood Bar up the highway in Kawaihae.” She gave us directions and told us we could either eat upstairs at the bar (that’s what the locals do), or downstairs in a more dignified setting.

Sweet. We turned around, followed her directions, and found the place right away. Dinner was quite good, and since we were in a bar, I decided to keep my promise to drink a fruity drink while I was in Hawaii. And as many of you know, I’m a lightweight, so one drink was enough to get me very happy and let me get to sleep very quickly as soon as we got back.

It’s a good thing, too, because as soon as we got back to our hut, we learned that the frogs and toads in the two ponds outside the room were very noisy. All night long.

Next: Exploring North Kohala

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Another Side of the Island (Part 1)

Previously: Volcano Day (Part 2)

It was my mom’s last day on the Big Island, and we hadn’t gone snorkeling yet. Ray’s not much for getting in the water, so if I was going to do any snorkeling, this was my last day to do it. After a little research, we had settled on the beach at Pu’uhonau o Honaunau (City of Refuge), and we had made plans to meet a friend’s sister (who happened to be working as an archeologist in Kailua-Kona) for the morning.

Since we knew it would take 2-1/2 hours to get there from Volcano (we were starting to understand just how far away everything was), we checked out of the Volcano Guest House at 9:30 and told my friend to meet us at 11:00.

But then I realized that we couldn’t go snorkeling after all, as my body decided to pick that day to start its monthly courses, and with areas in Honaunau Bay up to 100 feet deep, there was a good chance there could be sharks in the water. Best to stay safe and on land. Our friend had also sustained a nasty cut from the lava the day before, so we all decided on the phone to take a tour of the City of Refuge instead.

John Cleese (our GPS voice) couldn’t seem to find Pu’uhonau o Honaunau (the beginning of a trend for our electronic friend for the rest of the vacation), but I was armed with various tourist maps and was able to navigate us there safely. Our friend, on the other hand, got totally lost and ended up getting there much later than we did…it’s a good thing we had decided not to snorkel, because the heat of noon was upon us, and the morning fish were all gone.

We didn’t have a tour guide to show us around like we did in Waipio Valley, but the brochure they gave us at the gate did a very good job of explaining the area.

The City of Refuge, as it turns out, was the place to go if you had broken a cardinal law. If you could make it by sea across the treacherous reef to the shore, you were absolved of whatever law you had broken. Most people who attempted the journey died in the process, so if you managed to make it, that was a sign that the gods favored you.

Most of the huts and heiaus we saw were reproductions, but the wall itself was original (although repaired in some spots), and held together with no mortar at all, which was amazing.

We did see a couple of turtles hanging out in the water and on the beach, which is different from my last run-in with the Hawaiian turtle population. And I was still disappointed with not being able to actually do some snorkeling, but hey, at least the turtles no longer feared me.

After the walk around the City of Refuge, we decided to head into Kailua-Kona (another 45-minute drive) for a bite to eat. Lunch at the Kona Brewing Company was a bit touristy but very tasty, and all too soon it was time to take my mom to the airport and say goodbye.

Next: Another Side of the Island (Part 2)