Living

Take a Walk on Hanalei Pier

The scenic view on the North Shore of Kauai is right out of a Hollywood movie. And that film is the 1957 Rodgers and Hammerstein classic, “South Pacific”. The Hanalei Pier was originally built in 1892, when it was used to transport taro and rice to Honolulu. Made of wood at that time, it became too difficult to maintain the pier in a tropical climate. Thus, it was replaced with a concrete finger deck and a framed shed roof in the 1940s until Hurricane Iniki damaged the 340-foot pier beyond use in 1992. Today, the local history and its iconic charm continue to lure curiosity seekers as well as vacationers and beach lovers. Hanalei Bay is the largest on the island of Kauai with its 2-mile long crescent moon and white sandy beach. Known to natives as Black Pot Beach, it can be seen littered with avid fisherman, energetic surfers, carefree picnickers, and leisurely landlubbers. We mustn’t forget the romantic lovebirds who stroll to the end of the pier, gaze into each other’s eyes, share a wet kiss, and then snap a Selfie against the opulent aqua-blue waters. Hanalei Pier does Hollywood proud. 

Red Dirt Waterfall Spills Ribbons of Color

Take Route 550 slowly up Waimea Canyon Road on the west side of Kauai. Pull over for a scenic view of a strange phenomenon. On one side of the winding road is a man-made waterfall where the gushing water juts through red clay earth spilling the stream into shades of yellow and orange. Snap a photo for substantiation. Cross the road and you’ll find another area of mystery. Stones of varying sizes and shapes are stacked helter-skelter to the edge of the cliff creating a sacred-like appearance. Like hallowed ground. What does it all mean? Ahu. Is it an insult to Pele, the volcano goddess? Or a breach of the natural beauty intended for spiritual energy? Stop and listen. All is quiet aside from the gentle wind whistling in your ears against a backdrop of rushing water. Some native Hawaiians say it is bad luck for the island stones and lava rocks to be moved around or taken home by visiting tourists. It is disrespectful and sabotages the importance of preserving the island’s natural beauty, according to National Park officials. The golden rule of national parks is that visitors should “take only pictures and leave only footprints.” Whether you call them cairns, stacking rocks, or ahu, be kind and pay homage to the Garden Isle of Kauai. 

Invasion of the Boat People

A couple times a week the beach is inundated with tourists when a luxury cruise ship pulls into Nawiliwili Harbor and docks for a short period of time. Hoards of beach lovers pour down the gang plank to enjoy the pebbly soft beach of Kalapaki Bay. With colorful towels, bamboo mats, swim fins, and boogie boards in tow, families stake a claim along the shoreline to gather and sunbathe. Within minutes children squeal with laughter, splashing each other and running away. A slender middle-aged European man stands with feet firmly planted squinting out to sea. As if deep in thought, he raises a cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag before flicking the ash into the wind. Loose strands of black hair fall across his wrinkled brow causing him to pivot a half turn and then back again. Over his shoulder, an energetic group of millennials mark off the sand and choose sides for a pickup game of soccer. Shouting in an unfamiliar language, they slap each other on the back before aggressively kicking, chasing, and passing the ball back and forth toward the goal. So much activity. So much joy. This is how to spend a day in paradise. After awhile, short toots from the bridge of the huge vessel signal it’s time to head back. Beach towels are rolled up, soccer games disperse, umbrellas are left vacant, and the sand is brushed away as flip flops are slid into place. The boarding process begins for passengers to depart “Fantasy Island” and return to sea until we meet again. 

If Chihuahuas Could Talk

Just like people, I suspect not every dog automatically loves the beach. Take a chihuahua, for instance. Typically, they enjoy being cuddled, carried around in the crook of a young lady’s arm, or nestled in a canvas bag above the crosswalk of heavy footsteps. While rambling barefoot along the oceanfront this morning, I passed a gal sunbathing on a blue striped towel. She didn’t seem to mind reclining close to the shoreline beyond the reach of crashing waves. Like a sleep number bed, the sandy beach conformed to her body shape. The Winter sun was brightly shining. Although the temperature was rising, the cooling sea breezes felt refreshing. About six feet away the tiny brown dog was sitting with a look of displeasure on its face. One paw was raised above the beach as if to keep the fine, loose grains from getting between its toes. It slowly turned in my direction, blinked its eyes, and shifted uncomfortably as though a few light brownish pebbles had already lodged into the derrière folds of its short fur bottom. I could practically read the chihuahua’s thoughts:”This is ridiculous!”

“How much longer are we going to be here?”

“I’m thirsty and this ocean water tastes like salt.”

“I have sand in my ears.”

“I have sand between my toes.”

“I have sand in my butt cheeks.”

“And I want to go home!”

If only chihuahuas could talk. 

Fire on the Hill

What we assumed would be another day at the beach turned out to be the exact opposite. The tropical sun hung high in the azure sky as though it were a yellow yoyo suspended from a length of string connecting it to a fluffy white cloud. From our vantage point on the cliff, Kalapaki Bay offered its unbeatable ocean view. On the walk to the beach, just beyond the Pali Kai security gate closure, Gerald suddenly glanced backward, as if on instinct. Thick plumes of gray-blue smoke appeared to be pouring from the row of seaside cliff houses into the bay directly beyond the Lincoln condo. In an instant, we pivoted on our heels and headed in the direction of the smoke. As far as we knew, some of the cliff houses were not yet occupied for the winter months. This caused concern in our eyes…and dread as to what lie ahead. Passing each place brought relief, followed by curiosity. What was on fire? And where were the fire trucks? Finally, at the end of the road, where the cliff sharply drops off to a lighthouse beacon surrounded by jutting black lava mounds, the plumes of heavy smoke thickened like fog. Down the sandy path banked by tall dry grasses, past the 6th hole of the resort golf course, the sea turned a lush green. Unfortunately today, the sky appeared a hypnotic smoky grey color. As if from the depths of Hell, suffocating smoke plumes intensified like smog. Suddenly, the bleating, looping wail of sirens signaled help was on the way. A city fire truck followed by a reserve water tanker dispensed a crew of experienced firefighters to access the situation and quickly get it under control. In a marginal amount of time they had it sized up, contained, and extinguished. The investigating officer took it from there. 

Hemingway Sighting? 

“You can write any time 

people will leave you alone 

and not interrupt you. 

Or rather, you can if you will be 

ruthless enough about it. 

But the best writing is certainly 

when you are in love.” 

~ Ernest Hemingway