In Which We See Other Tourists

After Jon and Laura came back from their morning beach walks, we packed up and headed out for the big day of going all the way to the end of the road. There is no road that goes all the way around the island as the part between about 9:00 and 11:00 (if you think of this as a clock) is not navigable. Our house is at about 8:00, using this construct, so we were going to travel counterclockwise to the top. The whole road is 65 miles long, about as long as the Capital Beltway. Most of it is two lanes but there are some pieces that are four lanes, briefly.

All of us have been to Kauai before so we have associations and memories of different hikes and beaches and food sources, but none of us can remember anything all that clearly, so it all feels interesting and familiar at the same time. Kind of like visiting points of interest in our childhoods.

We left the house at about 8:30 in the morning and got to the first farmers market that was listed in our little advertisement packet/map from the car rental company. This one was in a warehouse building and it wasn't really a farmers market, it was more of a sales gallery, with locally made artwork and clothing and baked goods and one table with one farmer-type setting up. But we bought a selection of papayas and avocados and baked things, and Laura got herself a cute dress while we were at it. Clearly this trip was going to take a while.

We toodled along, and the next time we stopped was in Hanalei, if you don't count all the post offices we stopped at to try to find postcard stamps for Laura. Post offices don't open very early here. Hanalei is relevant because that is where my Grandma Hiu was born and raised. Hanalei is a valley, there is a bay, a beach, and now a busy tourist industry where they used to be a tiny town, we assume. In the flat and very green valley are fields of taro and I don't know what else. We have a feeling for where my grandmother's house used to be because there is a tight hairpin curve right at a bridge that crosses over a stream and that is where her house was, 100 years ago. Grandma Hiu described the house as being over the stream, and she remembers feeding the fish below by throwing food scraps into the water (her offspring now feed birds and woodland creatures by throwing food off the back porch). She was the 5th of 12 children, if I remember this right, and she spent her childhood mostly playing with her brothers who were closest to her in age, living the idyllic tomboy life.

Hanalei Valley.

Hanalei is now a place to get smoothies and shave ice and coconut milk and everything you would ever need if you arrived empty-handed and wanted to play at the beach forever. We got some more poke for our picnic and headed on. When we got to the beach that we remember being our all-time favorite with our kids, we found the parking lot packed full. Jon could hardly recognize the beach, since when we came the last time we were the only ones here. This time the waves and the current were so strong that the lifeguard made repeated announcements, warning people to stay back from the water. We had our picnic, watched the waves for a while, and headed out again.  

Last trip this we ranked this beach the best in Hawaii. Now it is fine for a picnic.

The many one lane bridges at the top of the island have signs that say:  Local Courtesy 5-7 cars. This pleases Jon greatly, as he is always so frustrated at the local culture in Virginia which is one car at a time. 

The road curved along the coastline, with the cliffs on one side and the beaches on the other.

Laura on the Kalalau Trail.

The Na Pali coast from the trail. (LC)

When we got to the end of the road, it too looked completely different from the time we did the Kalalau Trail 35 years ago. The trail head looks the same, but there is now a parking lot and a bathhouse and a bazillion people. Laura and Jon hiked in about a half mile and then eventually came back out to the beginning and found the side trail they were really looking for, taking them to the ancient heiau (a Hawaiian sacred site, now just rocks where there used to be thatched roof buildings, centuries ago). I sat at a table and finished reading The Underground Railroad. It was disorienting to look up from my book and try to remember where I was. 

The trail head looks the same as in 1982.

From the heiau, a small plateau overlooking the Pacific. While the parking lot and trail were packed with people, this spot was off the beaten path, behind a Keep Out, Restricted Area sign -- a limitation that would never discourage Laura.

Laura paying respects at the heiau.

All over this island, in every view at any time, there are small colorful roosters and hens. It is like the cats in Israel and the dogs in Greece. The chickens here are a protected species because they are historic -- they arrived with the Polynesian explorers in their canoes, apparently. Anyway, there is a soundtrack on this island that goes about 20 hours a day, roosters in the distance, roosters outside the window, roosters everywhere. Jon and Laura can't even hear them anymore, but I notice when they settle down at dusk.

Rooster and consort.

We still hadn't found a beach to swim at, so as we headed back on our clockwise trip, we studied the beaches along the way. The waves were dramatic -- and no one was in the water at most beaches. Laura read from her irreverent guidebook which advised us to skip most of the beaches for one reason or another. Murky water, murky people. Beautiful view, bad swimming. So we kept going until about 4:30 (both in time and my island geography method) when we finally found a beach with people in the water. Waves and nice sand. Jon doesn't understand why I am so disinclined to go into water with waves and a strong current. I have strong memories of getting crashed around and banged on the sand and I have no interest in reliving that. I know that I can swim well enough to get in and out, but what's the point. So I dillydallied in the surf at the edge and they played in the water.

No swimming here. (LC)

We got stuck in traffic and it seemed ridiculous to spend time sitting in traffic at 6 PM so we found a review for the best local food on the island. It was in an industrial park in Lihue, but there were nice picnic tables. We watched the big rigs and pickup trucks go past as we ate our dinner, which was not extraordinary. The mochi was delicious and Laura went back for a second piece. If that is the best food on the island, then our own kitchen is by far the best restaurant.

It felt like the middle of the night by the time we got home. An 11 hour trip, covering 100 miles. (The Internet tells us that the record for running that distance is 11 hours and 28 minutes. Less than seven minute miles on foot.) We were tired after our day in the car. We settled down on the couch and watched the New Zealand movie that Alissa and Becca had shown us at Thanksgiving -- we knew Laura would like it too. Hunt for the Wilderpeople.