Hawaii

Aloha.

We are back from bliss city, aka Hawaii, the most utterly relaxing and endearing place I've ever been to. To think I thought it would be cheesy.

The picture you see above is from Sunday, day #1 of the Maui Experience. Saturday was all travel (ran into the special services director of the Aberdeen School District on Saturday. We had the same flight. Both of us probably felt a little work-y due to that coincidence) and then a FABULOUS dinner at Sansei, where we had the two-person tasting menu of Chef Omakase's specialities, which blew my mind and taste buds away. The lobster and blue crab ravioli in truffle cream sauce knocked me out.

But Sunday was the first real day of vacay, and perhaps I was still chilling on the good vibes of Sansei, and maybe the awesome condo with Lanai (Hawaiian for "patio") view of the water (and whales, which were in Maui's waters by the thousands on their annual pilgrimage to mate and calve before heading back to Alaska to feed) put me in a good mood, but I think all the peak experiences of Sunday were a contributing factor.

First, there was the snorkeling. Big ups to Snorkel Bob's. The woman at the counter there was a snorkeling maven. She could tell my and Ray's feet sizes by glancing down, figured out his glasses prescription with a glance through his glasses and basically hooked us up. She also asked if I was from Kent or Gig Harbor when she saw my area code (253! Holla atcha gurl!). What? Ironically, two nights before we had gone to see Sarah Vowell she not only said she was now researching Hawaii, she thought one of the best pieces of advice she got in high school was to find people who do their jobs well — no matter what those jobs are — and watch them. It was a SV doubleshot. Sarah, when you hit Maui, go to the Snorkel Bob's by the Maui Tacos in Kihei and sit back for a show.

The snorkeling cannot be over-praised. And we didn't do the Molokini or anything. We just went out and about on the southerly beaches. The water was crystal clear, and we saw all kinds of crazy fish — parrotfish type fishes, bright blue ones with sloopy faces, little black and white ones with cool patterns, and even the humuhumublahblahblueblahblah fish. On day one, I realized when I was quiet that I was hearing something odd. Could it be? Holy cats it was. I was hearing the song of the Humpback whale. I alerted Ray, who thought I was crazy, but realized, yes, those are either the oo-ooos? and eeeee!s of the humpback whales or the screams of the damned. Because they do sound kind of like they aren't wholly, uh, positive. Or maybe I have negative associations with whalesong music by new agers.

The second day we saw sea turtles. Bigguns. And one floated up to say howdy. I was very intimidated, because s/he (how can you tell?) was big pictures don't do these beasts justice. Unfortunately, the ones I took were on film, so I'll have to figure out how to scan them to post them. I was left with some questions that will have to be unanswered due to Ray's internet not accessing some sites (like all the WaPo family, Wikipedia, etc.): Do sea turtles breathe air and water or just hold their breath a lot? And, especially when that one particular one came up, Do they snap?

Then Sunday night we went to a luau, The Feast at Lele, which is supposed to be the classiest luau on the islands. Yelp loves it, too. The first thing to happen, we get greeted with real orchid leis. Class achieved!



What'd I say? Classy! I kind of couldn't stop myself from saying that all night. We had front row seats because we booked a few months ago, and the view, outdoors, looking at the sunset and Lana'i (another island) and the beach, was just spectacular.

Then the dance commenced!



So graceful! The dancers were all so pretty and smiley!



This is a Samoan-style dance. There were all kinds of crazy moments, like when this one chick got out of a canoe that was pushed into shore and got up on an old stump and hula'd. From a canoe.



I think that was this girl. After a couple of glasses of Sauv blanc, half a Blue Hawaii and half a pina colada, I told our waiter, Shane, that if I could shake it like that I would never ever stop shaking it. Even now, less sodden with rum and bliss, I stand by that statement.

There were guys, too.



This guy is doing a Maori warrior style dance.

When the New Zealand stuff was about to start (it takes about 3 hours to get through the show, and the menu spills out bit by bit, and there is a ton of food that comes at you), the hostess announced that the Maori had to determine the intentions of the guests were good or bad, and that one man in the front row would be selected as our spokesperson (or something) and if he would please come up and take the peace offering then the warrior/dancer, then we would not be attacked (or something, the audio people were not very good about turning down the incidental music while the hostess did her spiel). Guess who that spokesperson was?



That's right. He was basically the middle-most dude in a row full of mostly ladies.

I can't even begin to tell you all the food that came at us. Fern salad, kahlua pork, broiled scallops, beef medallions, yes ... much of it was meat-based. It was insane. Luckily they were small plates and it was over the course of three hours, so while it was quite a bit of tasting, it was pretty reasonable in all.

Some Yelpers gripe and moan that the Feast at Lele isn't authentic. Forget authentic. Because authentic means standing at a buffet line for mac salad and, apparently, none of this:



That's my National Geographic shot right there. Notice how close the flame gets to his dried-grass "socks."

So obviously the night ended on a high note.

On Tuesday we went to Haleakala, a volcanic crater high up in the mountains.



How high was it?



That high up. Obviously we could only do about a mile of the Shifting Sands hike because although it starts off nice and easy downhill, it's out and back so back was uphill. Meh. I got as much sun this day as any of the other days were were out.

Also we didn't have much time before I did this:



Obviously that's not me. I do have a video on my camera, but my mac doesn't know how to get it out so I can show you all the massive funs I had swinging like ... well, not Tarzan, but someone who zips through the jungle. Here's an idea of me on the last zipline, even though it is someone else. We also walked across a swinging bridge.



Jim, who is hooking a tourist in, said that the zipline tours had inspired a lot of divorces over the years. Newlyweds come to Maui to marry, take the zipline tour, and boom, they are pissed at each other because they have never encountered what the other person is like when they are pushed to their limits. Although I think a lot of times the pushing to the limits may not be the fault of the zipline as one of the partners. To wit, Jim said one time he took a couple on the tour and while crossing that very bridge, which freaked the woman out, the man started bouncing the bridge. Not only did it freak her out more, it caused her front tooth to hit the pulley system and break in half.

I think maybe someone who gets their kicks freaking you out is not the ideal marriage partner. And I am absolutely 100 percent positive that this guy's knucleheaded tendencies had been on display before but she had not been the victim of them. Or they hadn't caused a chipped tooth. Whatever. All I know is Ray would never, ever intentionally flip me out and make me worry about my safety. He might get my goat in other ways, like by talking about how awesome Pat Buchanan is, or by tweaking me about liking Safeway over Top Food, which he deems "The People's Grocery Store." This is far and away more fun to put up with than redneck dumbassery.

Jim later told Ray that he has never read a book in his life ... "scratch that, I read 'James and the Giant Peach' in fifth grade." He made a lot of mentions of having "a girlfriend" in various industries on the island. He also told Ray he listens to satellite radio through his cell phone. He is a character for sure. Joe, the other, apparently more grown-up of the guides, has a background in production and told me he and his wife are going to do documentaries where they film old Hawaiians doing their "talk story," or tell oral tradition tales. I had mentioned my speciality at the paper is profiles of seniors.

The next day we did a whale watching tour out of Ma'alena with the Pacific Whale Foundation. The breeze was insane. We had to hold on to our hats. But we saw some crazy whale action.

There were seven (7!!!) breaches, where the whales leapt out of the water and thumped back in, five of them happening in a row. Why wasn't I able to catch that on compact flash? Gah, I dunno, but this is about as good as my photos get even though my eyes saw WAY better:



This is part of a "competition pod" of about eight or nine males competing for the, uh, whatever, of a female whale (who was with her calf). They were all bonking on each other to muscle their way into being her "escort" and there were tail flukes and aggressive dives galore. We could see the light turquoise water where their bellies were and where they were blowing bubbles (like throwing sand in an opponent's eyes, according to the first mate). The lady whale must have been a "hottie," the first mate said. I thought the idea of being aggressively pursued by eight males while with a child in tow would be kind of scary and hoped she'd make it out okay, even though Nature's Way is not, you know, people's way.

The ship dropped a mic and we heard the singing of a single male whale (the girls don't sing, apparently). One on one, it was less screams of the damned and more comical. Fun fact: The Humpback whale males all sing the same song, which is 16 to 18 minutes long, on a loop, though not all in sync. At the end of the season in May or so, the song that the whales sing has changed a bit. Version 2.0, if you will, though I'm sure we're probably at version 300000.0 or so by now.

I love whales. I want to save the whales. In spite of their somewhat rapey courtship methods, they are probably better than most people.

Then Thursday we did a hike up Waihe'e ridge.



Those skies, do they look foreboding?

How about these?



Yeah, scream, Callie. The reason there aren't any later pics than this on the camera is because it started to drizzle at mile 1.something. By mile 2.0 it was coming down buckets. But there wasn't much longer to go so we pressed on and got totally soaked to the bone. Luckily, hypothermia was not a danger in the warm weather. But the trail was — that Hawaiian clay is slippery! We almost pasted our butts on it a couple of times coming down the eroded path. There was a little stream in the middle, and I found the ground there was as stable and flat as anywhere, so I just trod there and let my feet swim for a good stretch.

We had passed one couple on the way up, and as we came down we passed them again. She was, ah, decompensating a bit, and he was, ah, not very compassionate about it, wanting to push on. Ray heard her say, "I don't wanna do it!" followed by him saying, "If they can get through that mud we can." Well, you'll have to or you're stuck. And I don't want to overstate things, but I was quite the little mountain goat that day if you don't count the one near-fall where I pitched my water bottle a good eight feet into the bushes (recovered! No litter here!).

Our last day we spent going on the road to Hana.



Famously twisty, it is also famous for its banana bread vendors and waterfalls.

Who cares about waterfalls (don't go chasing them, people!) when you have this car?



Who'da thunk it?

And then there's Waipa something state park.



Beautiful. The water was so much more turquoise than is obvious in this picture.



A little more like that.

We did a little hike there. It was so pretty.

Then we made it to Oheo Gulch, aka Seven Sacred Pools, a marketing tool by a would-be east Maui hotelier. It was quite pretty, and although I was ready to throw in the towel after a mile in on the Pipiwai trail (scroll for good pics) for the sake of time to get back to town (the road is quite bad in both directions), Ray, whose worrywort tendencies were outdone by his desire to accomplish the mission of the hike (he had been going back and forth on the Pipiwai all day), insisted we press on.

And thank goodness he did. Or we would have missed this:



I, of course, immediately started quoting from the beginning of "Bring da Ruckus" ("Shaolin shadowboxing and the Wu-Tang sword style. If what you say is true, the Shaolin and the Wu Tang could be dangerous. Do you think your Wu Tang sword can defeat me? En garde! I'll let you try my Wu Tang style!") But when I got quiet, I heard the clunking of the bamboo all around as the wind rattled. Nice.

The falls were good, too, but my pictures of them are replete with false attachment. To wit, they look like they are pouring on Ray's head.

That was our last night at the condo. I loved the lanai.



See how sad he is to leave it? (In this shot, the camera is pointed mauka, to the mountain, while Ray is looking makai, to the water. Those are authentic Hawaiian directionals, people.)

We went to the Maui Beach Hotel, which is no Sea-Crest Motel (described for the den of iniquity it is on this blog back in March), but did appear to have blood on the curtains, a very hard mattress and not-so-good beach access. Also, it's in Kahalui, not Kihei, which, although it is clearly some amok development, I have developed a soft spot for because Maui would not be open to the middle class without it.

Oh, and check what I found that night at a cheesy tourist shop:



My name is getting more common, obviously. And no, I didn't buy it. I just took a picture. I'm cheap like that.

The next day we left. Sunday we came back to the Harbor. Are we recharged and ready to go back to work? Or will we just be that much more depressed for having seen what life can be like in a tropical island paradise? Only Monday will bring the answer for sure.

Until then, Shaka, brah. Drive Aloha. And a most sincere Mahalo to Hawaii and Maui. Truly, Maui na ka oi. (Maui is tops)

Clam excitement

After a headache that ran from Wednesday through Friday with little abatement and encroaching stress from work (mostly from the perilous position newspapers hold in our society and the means through which the industry, including what appears to be my somewhat protected cove in said ocean, is retrenching. Holy cats, people. It is bad out there. If you've ever thought it would serve your local paper right to go down in flames, well, be prepared to rue that statement, because way more people are going to see that happen in the next few years is my prediction. And if you think your paper's coverage sucks now, well, wait until staffs are truly cut to the bone. It is coming, people. Get used to it. Or buy a paper), and Ray's annual stress-out festival, we really needed a clam dig. And the WDFW provided, like a bolt from the sky!

The clamming was fantastic. Ray's brow actually lost its peaked-ness for a few minutes there, going after the wily bivalves in the sunny, warmish weather. I actually broke a major sweat under my neoprene waders. We picked up wine at the Westport Winery, and it was rocking. There was music, fresh-popped popcorn and a ton of people, proving that come the Depression, imbibables are probably a good bet. Craigslist can't infringe on that sort of profit.

Oh, Callie, you're such a downer, you say. Well! Is your food distribution center, which serves something like 11 counties, being forced to think about laying off its director, making her a client, most likely? No? Consider yourself lucky. (The interesting thing about the director is that she was once a client, and worked her way out of it and is on the Hoquiam city council and everything. Social services being stressed in a time of great stress. Agh. I can't take it. I'm Linusing out.)

We ground up the clams in the maiden usage of our Kitchen Aid and its meat grinder attachment, which I messed up a little in installing, causing clams to squeeze against the grind plate and excrete translucent pinky-gray water, but not to break up into chunks. So I fixed it. And the ground clams turned into fritters. And all was good.

And Ray and I watched "Get Smart," which was funny but had the unforgivable scene of Steve Carell and Anne Hathaway kissing. In the plot, she had recently had her face changed, so she requested she be deoldified and was really closer to his age, which was, I suppose, a fictional way to try to make us viewers not all feel kind of gross about the romantic subplot. Did he not feel like a sex offender kissing her? Did this not prompt a sudden and deep reevaluation of how women's looks, ageism and men's sexual entitlement are given gross leeway in our mass media images? Did nobody THINK OF THE CHILDREN????

I guess not.

We also played duets with banjo and clarinet. We are officially the dorkiest couple in the world. And all we need is someone to document it in video and I'll put it on the blog for the world to see us share our sick sad love in the key of B flat.

I recently finished "The Essential Dykes To Watch Out For," and I heartily recommend it, with the reservations that there are graphic depictions of dyketude in cartoon format, and if that freaks you out don't read it. If it turns you on, well, that's kind of funny. It is a lot healthier depiction of sexuality than most Manga, from what I've read. (If you click any of those links you are on your own buddy, I have not vetted them at all.) Alison Bechdel also wrote "Fun Home," and it is just fabulous.

So I can't access DTWOF from Techline, which Ray has taken to calling "Teakline," in which "teak" is Kris and Ray speak for spaz, or tweak, if you will. Someone can be "teaking out," and this was a slang word Kris made up back in the 80s, before there were tweakers who sometimes were tweaking out. I can't download my NPR most emailed podcasts. I'm almost salivatory in anger. I can't get the WaPo, either. Teakline, what is the matter with you?

Praying for an internet intervention.