Take me home to Maui. I can’t stand it here anymore. Frost warnings? Hail? May 13th? WTF!
It’s been a few years since I was in Hawaii and then only for two weeks. Michelle and I went for a holiday to celebrate our 50th and 60th birthdays
and never came back. You can figure out which birthday was who’s. I won’t say I didn’t want to come back because that’s what all of us snowbirds say when it comes time to leave the sun. But Maui had a profound effect on me. From the moment we stepped off the plane it was like being enveloped in a cloak of relaxation. You know, like Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak, but for an old guy, way better. For two weeks there was NO stress, GREAT coffee and the sound of waves on the beach.
Maui is where I sat near a Sharon Stone look-a-like (in a white, so sheer it was nearly see-through) outfit, with a huge pipe and drum band playing for our entertainment. It was, after all, Saint Patrick’s Day and we were at Mulligan’s Pub. This is what people are thinking when they say, “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”
We lazed on our lanai, real Kona coffee in our mugs, and watched the whales and dolphins as they too played for us. That in itself was worth the price of admission. Of course we shopped and Michelle bought me tons of tee-shirts. We ate out and visited almost every beach on the island.
That was for Michelle, a water baby if there ever was one. When she almost drowned six feet off shore because the savage undertow kept sweeping her legs out from under her, I roared with pleasure. Even Michelle was putting on a show for me.
For her birthday, we ate dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. The fabulous waitress entertained us as we stuffed our faces, Michelle with her steak and mushrooms and me with my steak and shoestring French fries and lots of ketchup, some of which slipped onto my butterflied and well-done filet mignon.
For several days I bought coleslaw and baked beans from a fellow who had retired from the Navy and opened a small kitchen adjoining a Tex-Mex bar. He made the best slaw and baked beans, but laughed until he nearly gagged as he watched me mix the two into one bowl. It was awesome. So was the food.
Due to my finicky eating habits, we did not partake in a Luau, but took in several shows (magical and musical) and a catamaran day trip to Lanai (another beach stop for Michelle). We also hit every burger joint we could find. I was one happy camper. And yes, we drove the road to Hana with its 42 miles, 54 bridges and 600 hairpin turns. We certainly put that Mustang convertible through its paces, giving it a breather when we stopped at a roadside stand for fresh papaya and banana bread. Near the end of the “road” we visited a black sand beach
where we met a couple of Vancouver girls who were talking about “Wreck Beach”, a clothing optional Eden located in Pacific Spirit Regional Park just west of the city. Naturally, my deaf old ears got their second wind and I forced myself to join their conversation. It was enlightening, to say the least. As far as the picture goes, I really had to search for one of the opposite sex. It seems that mostly guys habitate Wreck Beach. (I had to take Michelle off the job because she was taking way too much time checking out the guys on the beach)
I could go on and on about Maui. My daughters love it there, although Keri-Lynn, my oldest, prefers Kauai and its even more relaxed way of life. What surprises me the most, however, is the response I get when I suggest to people on my “Preferred Friends List” that instead of spending another winter in Phoenix or Florida, that they give Hawaii a try, they hem and haw. “Yeah, well, maybe next year.”
I’m telling you now that Maui is my Never Never Land. I will get back there if I have to track down Tinker Bell and steal her pixie dust. And I guarantee I won’t
want to come back.