Aloha Ick: I love the sea, the sea hates me

They call it the washing machine, and with good reason. You are hurled about, coated in sea water, hurled about some more and then, ejected, stumbling into the bright Lahaina sunshine to dry. It’s only 45 minutes, but if you are prone to green and hurly, you will not enjoy it one bit. You might consider flying, even though it is more expensive and not nearly as, um, romantic? Though there is little romance in lying on your bed later, moaning a little bit, and then, the next day, freaking out as you have to get on oh my god, another boat.

Which, in case you are wondering, was fine. Though not for everyone. I saw one Japanese lady turn sheet white and head for the rail, and another rather studly looking dad turned a pale green and, oops, there goes another one. To my surprise, I was fine on this round, the trip to Molokai. There were some rather large swells, but it was early, the harbors were flat, and by the time we were halfway across the channel, I felt, well, okay actually.

Still, we are getting up at the shocking hour of 4am tomorrow (again, if you thought it was all vacation, voila, it is not) to take the 530 boat. The morning boats offer a shot at a smoother ride – the winds kick up nearly every afternoon and you are almost guaranteed a choppy ride. Bleh. The 530 transit time is a compromise so I won’t lose another half day to the side effects of hurling and Dramamine. How’s that for your romantic traveling life? Whee.

Molokai is almost too lovely to believe. I napped on a beach under a palm tree, the tropical beach of your dreams, for about 20 minutes. There were, count them, two people on the beach: Julius and yours truly. We were caught in a tropical downpour at Halawa, the east end of the road. Everything was shiny and wet with rain on the drive back. Really, the beauty of this place takes the breath right out of you. Kaunakakai, however, is a ramshackle little crossroads, it looks very poor, and that famous bakery is really quite a dive.

Lanai felt a little weird to me – we are, perhaps, too young and ironic to spend our time there, even though it’s also a stunningly beautiful place. We took our rented Jeep down to a beach that I can’t spell properly and again were almost the only humans there – though the wind ensured that we did not stay long. The drive is an adventure in and of itself – I have not been quite that dirty and smelly since crossing the outback in Australia. Because I was so ripe, it seemed essential to wander about the lobby of the very posh Four Seasons on the beach.

That’s why Lanai is so weird. There are these very posh resorts with all these 50 plus golfers and a few honeymooners, maybe one or two rough campers. I looked around the dining room in the evening and almost every guest was white. “Ah, the true Lanai experience!” I snarked. “You can relive the plantation lifestyle!” We left the waiter a huge tip and the next day, got lunch where the cops and locals hang out.

The very kind gent that runs the cultural center on Lanai got up early on Sunday morning to open the place so we could see what they’re doing there. “We’ve got 1000 years of Hawaiian occupation, 100 years of ranching, and 70 years of pineapple. There’s a rich cultural history here that visitors need to know about,” he told us. He grew up picking pineapple himself and was raised by a Hawaiian family, so his ties to Lanai are very strong. I get the feeling he was delighted to talk about the Hawaiian aspects of Lanai – something I suspect are overlooked all too much by the four wheeling golfers.

We have one more night on Maui and then, we’re off to Kauai, where we end our trip.

There’s an island across the sea, beautiful Kauai, beautiful Kauai…