Pussies in Paradise

or: Seattlites: The Other White Meat¹

Yesterday we went beach-hopping with the rich, the famous, and the hippies.

The North Shore of Kaua’i is what they mean when they call it “The Garden Isle.” It’s all lush tropical beauty flanked by soft, white-yellow beaches. This is where celebrities buy their summer homes and the hippies camp until their stash runs out.

We decided to start at Ke’e Beach and work our way down. Ke’e is “the end of the road,” where the driving stops and the hiking begins, if you want to experience the mysteries of the rugged mountainous coast. We did not want mystery. We wanted a vegetative mental state.

We got there early enough in the day that once we’d walked a ways away from the moms and naked babies, we had the beach to ourselves. It was too early and the surf too rough to swim, so we just walked along the beach and gawked at the beauty. And tippy-toed past a snoring monk seal who’d beached himself for a snooze in the sun.

While we were there, we checked out Waikanaloa Cave, a “wet cave” dug by the fire goddess Pele for her lover. She abandoned it after it filled with water (like, duh).

From there we drove down to Lumaha’i Beach, a great big beauty made famous by Mitzi “Wash that man right outta her hair” Gaynor in the film South Pacific. Hippies pitch their tents on the grass and play their guitars; some of them lay in the sun adding another layer of cancer to their mahogany skin. Dredlocks, more naked children, hippie-mobiles, the whole scene. I was jealous of it all - well, except the cancer part.

We lubed ourselves up with sunblock and plopped down for a little sand time. Within about half an hour, Kevin knew exactly which part of himself he forgot to put lotion on; he sat in the shade and still burned his lily-white feet. Hoping to cure my vitamin D deficiency, I lay in the sun, maxing out at a whopping 15 minutes. I did remember to turn over at the 7-minute mark, like a rotisserie chicken.

The surf was still very rough, which made for spectacular waves. Several local guys with death wishes went surfing and boogie boarding, keeping us entertained for a while.

At about noon, we decided it was time to swim and drove down to Anini Beach. This beach has the rep as being the safest for swimming due to a long, fringing coral reef half a mile out.

By then the sky was partly cloudy, so we waited for a sun break, then waded into what Kevin called “the icy waters of the Hawaiian Arctic.” I called him a pussy and he finally went under. Which took some intention, as the water doesn’t go over your waist for the first forty feet. I love to swim but I’m paranoid about rip currents, so I was a pussy, too, and didn’t go out very far. But hey – it’s Hawaii! Just bobbing like otters in five feet of water is fun.

We reached our sun tolerance around 1:30 and packed up to go find lunch. We drove back down to Kapa’a and stopped in at Scotty’s BBQ, where we dined about forty yards from the beach.

Aside: Remind me to save mai tais for evening. I have discovered that rum, while irresistable when mixed with pineapple juice, makes me very buzzed very quickly, and then very tired. Yo ho ho and I need a nap.

After I sobered up a little, I dragged my butt behind Kevin to the Kilauea Lighthouse. It was built in 1913 on the northernmost tip of the island and as such, has a view to die for. We watched birds soar over the ocean to their nests on the bluffs, and marveled at the vastness of the sea. It so big, we so small. I kept an eye out for whales or dolphins but none came by to play that afternoon.

It was about 5 pm when we got home. We bbq’d some tuna for dinner and then, like the super-pussies we are, collapsed in bed by 8:30.

I don’t know what today will bring – but I’ll be sure to report back on the adventure.

1. A friend of mine recently went to India, where the locals told her, “You are very white. White like chicken.” [↩]