It was a "unique" health month for me, June, and I didn't think I let that slip to the offices in communication before a July assignment. Somehow, however, they knew: when I entered in, the desk assistant gave me a sympathetic look and a side hug, saying she was "glad to see (me) up and about." I politely thanked her and went to drop off my envelope of receipts when I heard a holler to enter into the editor's den. Again, apparently the view of me was dire, which made me wonder if I was the only one who didn't know what was going on.
"Good to see you!" He was unusually chipper, so I did my best to reciprocate that vibe. He then turned the conversation toward convenience stores, and later, wigs...which led me to wonder if I was getting the month off and he just wanted to shoot the breeze. To my surprise, I was wrong. "Hey, didn't we send you to Maui a long time ago?" Yes, over a decade ago, I wrote of "off-season" life under and above water for locals. "Well, I think you could use a pick-me-up. How'd you like to go back and do a follow-up?" After confirming that I wasn't actually supposed to find any of the people I'd talked to the last time, the itinerary and flight details were sent. Here I go again.
With such a vague assignment as "follow-up," I figured this should mean I have more leeway in my investigation and reporting. Therefore, I planned much less than I did the previous trip. I wanted to see where the winds would take me. I started with requisite snorkeling, catching up with friendly sea turtles and underwater oddities. Afterwards, I fortified myself with fresh Ono and began to search for that local color: the kind that won't (instinctively) treat me like dirt. I found this, and more, off Prison Street.
More than just a memorable name, it is power-packed in its own way for those 3 blocks. The old prison is there, of course, and some eateries that seem enough away from the "I chose to wear this Pittsburgh IBEW T shirt on vacation" crowd. There was also a man who set up camp in front of a tattoo parlor. He was adjacent to a young tree stump. The tree (a palm) didn't last long, it seems. But it suits this man just fine. "Coconuts! Fresh coconuts!" Normally I would know better, but for the sake of a story, I moved in. "Did you fetch these yourself?" I asked. "I used to, but now I leave that up to my business associate." Business associate! Such a charmed answer led to an education on the food and drink, and I learned that he did, in fact, know what he was doing. There's a photo here, back in Dealville, of all of us: he is hoisting a prize coconut above, and we're all in a good mood.
And how could you not be, with weather like this? Even in a storm, and afterwards, the morning brought cardinals a-plenty (in tandem with other tropical birds) and a rainbow or two. That day's search was relatively local-free, so I headed up to Kapalua to a guitar/ukelele concert. Performing that night was Grammy-winner George Kahumoku. With his 12-string guitar, he somehow combined a guitar and harp, and sent us mentally to an ocean worlds away. Afterwards, I dined on his home-grown sweet potato chips and asked him about a comment he made during the show: in the previous night's rainstorm, he was planting Taro. I asked, "why Taro?" It nearly seemed like he was at a loss. "Well...you can do a lot with it. I have some chips in the back, too. We have baby sheep at the farm, too. Here's my number - send me a text."
The problem is, well, life is different now. On the last trip, if a Hawaiian music Grammy-winner asked me to text him to visit his farm in the Maui greenery, I wouldn't have batted an eye. If he told me he needed my help to plant more Taro, I would have agreed had he (or his family) serenaded me on the farm. I just sensed there could be literal gold in the hills. This idea, to my surprise, was shot down. 1 vote no, 1 vote "ehhh." So, instead of that, I walked along the Kapalua coastline as the sun started to dip behind other islands for a change in focus.
Getting there, and the immediate entry, is naturally full of tourists, too. After hitting literal forks in the road, I saw a trail that was clearly worn, but not too wide. I can always turn back, I thought. So, I wandered along the creek that leads to the ocean, and then came across, well...
Reggae and Hawaiian music blared from a speaker. The smell of Maui Wowie filled the air. The combination sat over a jagged rock formation in front of a small pool that laid before this creek dropped a few feet of stones and turned into faster-moving rapids. A mix of languages, of ages, all chilled from the water and warmed by tropical breezes that greet them once they get out.
"YOU GOT THIS!" they yelled to the Big Scoop, unsure as she looked down at the water and just what she would get in to by jumping. But in she went, and everyone cheered. Back and forth they all went, massive splashes, jumping off a tree branch that seemed ready to snap at a given moment.
Wanting my own relaxation in the midst, I moved down the trail just a bit, took out a sandwich I packed with some Pog to drink, sat on a rock, and took it all in.
Lono gives life, music, weather, and peace. Alone, with the faint sounds of splashing water and the tunes, I felt harmony with all. I wanted the others with me on this journey to be on my track, to look for vibes at our own pace. To give ourselves over to the island and let it take us where we should as our move to soak it all in. This wasn't easy to do, but as I learned that afternoon, I just had to find a narrower path. What I would find, physically and mentally, were people who wanted, and found, the same thing. In our own way, by our own definitions, we reached our destination.
