Behind Blue Eyes

On the last day of birthday weekend, I arose once more at the butt crack of dawn (4:15 am), reluctantly readied myself, piled into the P.O.S. rental and headed out down a road, that kinda looked like a highway, but no signs, driving toward where it felt cold. I was stoked though because I was going to explore the sea caves. And dive with sea turtles and dolphins and be one with marine life and end my birthday weekend on a high note.

Not so much.

Upon arriving, I learned it was too rough to go out. So there I was at (wait for it) 5:12 am with the entire day ahead of me and a free voucher to come back to the Na Pali Coast when it was less rough. I considered using that voucher as TP the next time I ran out, I was so furious. WORST END TO BIRTHDAY WEEKEND EVER (ALL CAPS, SO THERE).

I got back in the car, still dark, prepared to drive along the road, that kinda looked like a highway, but no signs, driving toward where it no longer felt cold. I was fuming. I didn’t even care about the axe murder in the back seat. Go ahead, let him try and hook me, see how far it got him.

This funk lasted all of ten minutes.

Because as I drove along, I saw it rising out of the darkness. The golden arches, expander of thighs and clogger of arteries. It wasn’t just any McDonalds, mind you, it was THE McDonalds that Evan and Devon had told me about, the destination of late night munchies attack. It was Camelot.

At a minute before 5:30, the place was full of locals all giving me the eye. Who was this slightly disheveled pale face? What was she doing with such a ravenous expression? Where had she come from? I walked past all of these melatonin-enhanced men and ordered 4 apple pies. Yeah that’s right. The girl looked around and to the left of me to see if I was with anyone. “You want 4?”” She stammered. “As in 4?” Mind you, 4 pies at McDonalds, even the mecca of midnight munchies is still just about $4.20 (snark snark), but clearly, I had alarmed her with the look in my eyes.

They were the best damn apple pies I have ever eaten from a fast food eatery and I’m sorry that I didn’t buy every last one of them like Evan had. I could have easily eaten 16. Apple pies in Hawaii make apple pies in Boston look bad. Apple pies in Hawaii are DEEP FRIED in delicious goldenness. None of this nonsensical softly baked, slightly soggy, doused in cinnamon crap. I ate two before I even left the parking lot.

From there, I decided to drive up to Spouting Horn, for which I had seen a small checkbook sized sign for, and watch sunrise there. It was surprisingly not difficult to find and once there, I was alone, watching a huge crack in the rock shoot water up. It made a magnificent sound and such, like a panting dragon exhaling exhaust out its nose, but the jutting out of the land made it a lousy place to watch the sunrise. So I moved on in search of a beach closer to Kapa’a, where I was staying, hoping to make it in time for sunrise.

I got lost.

I wound up on an access road with cows.

I took a sharp turn and one of my apple pies fell from its bag and landed on the floor of the car. Not a good sign.

Then it began to pour. Hard. Monsoon style. So I pulled over into some pasture and started cursing the guides at the sea caves, who in reality, had really just been looking out for my safety by not taking me out, but at this point, I was calling them names that would make a sailor blanch. Ho-hum ho-hum.

I reached for the apple pie that had been knocked to the floor. During the impact one of its perfect fried corners had been damaged. More swear words erupted, obscured only by the beating rain.

(10 minutes pass. I consider my bad luck. I also consider tipping over one of the cows I was sharing the side of the road with when the rain stopped. Just to see if it felt good. I was that irritated).

When the rain passed, a beautiful rainbow appeared in its place. I started to thank the higher power for my own personal rainbow and the deliciousness of apple pies. An idea struck me, a rarity. I got out, wiped down the rental car roof with the towel I was going to use in the sea caves, and sat there on the roof, watching the rainbow and eating the remaining apple pies (pics 3 & 4 were taken from the roof of the P.O.S. rental car. So there, rental car agency). This was my own personal birthday rainbow.

When my own personal rainbow finally faded I drove along the access road until I found a road, that kinda looked like a highway, but no signs, driving toward where it no longer felt cold, in the direction of home. I found a small beach park and saw two things. The first was the light house off in the distance, the light house and it occurred to me that since I would be on Kauai until 6:00 pm, I should squeeze it in. The second thing I saw was a naked dude doing some sort of yoga. All I will say is, seeing a naked dude doing the saluting of the sun by a crouching dog or whatever it is called, no matter how attractive the dude is (and believe me, this man could not be called such), is never something you want to see before the sun is entirely up.

So I made my way back to the hotel, changed out of bathing suit and other sea cave clothes, and impulsively decided to drive up to the lighthouse and maybe from there, who knows, maybe Hanalei. Where Puff the Magic Dragon was from.

Nothing eventful or snarky happened to me at the Lighthouse. It was a gorgeous old lighthouse that doubled as a bird sanctuary and by bird sanctuary, I don’t mean, where birds are occasionally glimpsed in the trees, I mean, there were black foot boobies, albatrosses, nenes (sacred Hawaiian geese) and great frigate (friggit) birds everywhere swooping and diving. To atone for my earlier murderous bad funk thoughts, I made nice with the old people from a tour bus and helped them spot humpback whales.

So I thought I had atoned for bad morning bad mood, right? WRONG! From the lighthouse, I drove up to Hanalei, which in Hawaiian means, most gorgeous place on the planet. No, it doesn’t, it means, beautiful lush valley where pot-smoking dragon lives. No, it doesn’t mean that either. But it should.

Hanalei is beautiful wild coastal beaches and green luscious mountains as far as the eye can see. I drove through the beautiful little town of Hanalei, past the church, and the elementary school. On the road out toward the bay where Puff lived, I saw wild horses on the side of the road (see pic). This was better than the sea caves, I thought. I reasoned I had already: 1. consumed the best apple pies known to man; 2. enjoyed my own personal rainbow; 3. seen a naked dude doing yoga in the park; 4. explored the light house and seen more birds than I knew what to do with; 5. Walked over to within 10 yards of wild horses. What could go wrong, right?

Famous. Last. Words.

While at the aforementioned Hanalei Bay where Puff lived, I was shocked and awed by the beautiful trees, the wild surf, the clear blue sky. So I ventured down a steep little path, no more than 10 feet long, to get a better picture. And then I bit it hard. My feet gave out from under me and I fell down the path, down an embankment full of rocks, bramble, and roots and landed in a rag doll snark-o heap on the beach.

I am happy to report the camera was fine. I am happy to report no one was around to see this either. But alas, as I laid there shocked, my pain receptors too overloaded to release any adrenaline or even let me cry at this point, I was a little worried no one was around to help me up. I laid there for what felt like an eternity. Everything hurt, from the fire in my neck, to the scratches on my back, to soft spot of my jaw I’d hit a rock on, everything else just throbbed and the colors I saw from behind my eyes were quite stunning, but I was so dazed I couldn’t even gather up enough brain cells to drop a really well deserved epithet. But man, I wanted to.

At some point, I realized laying all tangled in the sand was a bad idea, I would probably be assailed by black rock crabs if I laid there any longer, so I reluctantly pulled myself up, inspected the worst of my oozing cuts and already forming bruises and to hark back to my dear dear Evan and Devon, I let out one really heartfelt “F-ing Motherf-ing Pigf---ing Pigf---er.” It felt amazing. Most of the pain skittered away at the utterance of those four magic words.

Luckily dear readers, I always carry a first aid kit when I travel (NERD ALERT) and I cracked open that bad boy and had my way with the Neosporin. And all of the stupidly shaped bandages. Honestly, who needs bandaids in the shape of butterflies, who possibly gets injured in such a manner that would require such a shape?

I ended my exploring in Hanalei on that note. Somehow the urge to get out and climb around had left me so I drove back to Kapa’a and located the place to eat that a friend at the firm had recommended. Scotty’s BBQ by the sea is not much to look at from the front, but as for ocean views (see last pic), it can’t be beat. My waiter was made from the same mold as Evan and Devon, and by this I mean he was a stoner, but the similarities ended there. Evan and Devon were endearing, adorable hippies. “Pepper,” that’s what I’m calling him, was one of those forty-fiftyish type of guys who never learned when to hang it all up. He used the word “dude” far too frequently. It took him three tries to take my order. I ordered Kalua pig sandwich and a diet coke. The sandwich was the standard signature menu item. It’s not as if I asked for anything special. On the third time I said it for him, I broke the words up into syllables. Kahhhh-luuuuuu-ahhhhhhhh pig sandwich.

When Pepper came back to the table, he stared at me for a long while making like he wanted to hand me my diet coke, but didn’t. This made me nervous. Finally, he spoke:

Pepper: “Dude, you have real pretty eyes. Anyone ever told you that?”

Me: (what the heck do you say to that anyway? Yes? No, that’s arrogant. But if you say no, then it sounds like you’re fishing. So I opted for silence, polite smile, eyes on the tablecloth).

Pepper: “Your shirt really brings the blue in your eyes out. They’re like ocean blue.”

Me: “Thanks.” Secret smirk rapidly spreading across my face.

And then he left, without leaving me the diet coke he’d brought over. Funny thing was, I was wearing a navy blue Northeastern pull-over (it was windy by the water), and my eyes are hazel, a jumble of greens and browns, but definitely, not ever, have they been mistaken for blue. Not by anyone in the short, happy history of this snarkster.

When Pepper brought over my Kahhhh-luuuuuu-ahhhhhhhh pig sandwich, he sat down beside me and began to talk. This was slightly jarring because, well, I wanted to stuff my face with said pulled pork but instead I had to nod politely and smile at stoner terms I didn’t understand mixed with surfing references I equally did not comprehend. Before he went off again, he told me again just how pretty my blue eyes were. Apparently, they made my whole face. How nice.

I just laughed as I ate Kalua pig and watched the ocean.

And that was the end of birthday weekend, one very strange, but lovely day. A day of triumph and a day of loss. A day of apple pie and nude yoga. A day of rain and of rainbows. Of great big birds and wild horses. And of course, one very baked waiter.