In the Heart of Pacific Waters

I’m on the island of Kauai for the month of February, staying with my daughter and family in a condo on the South Shore. They don’t live here but are fortunate to be on family leave from their busy working lives in New York City. When they invited me to join them, you could have knocked me down with a feather.

I spend most of my day helping with my little grandson and infant granddaughter, my purpose in being here. I’ve also volunteered to keep the kitchen in order.

We set out on daily excursions to the beach, hiking trails along ocean cliffs, canyons, botanically rich rain forests, and other natural venues on the island—that is, when we can get everyone ready to go, piled into the van with picnic lunches, strollers, beach gear, rain gear too because it’s been an unsettled week, sunscreen, water bottles, and iPhones.

I don’t expect much time to myself in the middle of an active young family on vacation, but I am more than okay with that for this month in paradise.

On occasion, I enjoy an hour of free time and head down to the hot tub near the pool. Carrying a seventeen pound baby can strain the lower back, and shoulders too. It started to rain, cool droplets on warm skin, a pleasing mixture. An older gentleman was already poolside and I introduced myself, newly arrived from Boston.

After some polite exchanges about where we hailed from—and celebrating our fortunate escape from winter weather—he proceeded to tell me about each of his children, sons all in their fifties with successful careers just like his. And his former engineering career with a prestigious international company. And his wife’s former distinguished academic career. And where to go as a first time tourist for the must-see sights on the island, as he had been to them all. And so on.

During this lengthy introduction, the weather changed, the clouds moved along, the bright sun returned. I noticed a whale spouting in the turquoise-blue Pacific.

I’m no slouch when it comes to my own former career, but I simply didn’t want to spend my time volleying back to him about my past accomplishments, my children, and my grandchildren.

Nevertheless, I wasn’t bored. All along, I was taking in the changing sky and the exotic plant life around me, two of the many pleasures of visiting the Hawaiian Islands.

I decided to stay invisible to the gentleman enthralled with his own life—and with himself. I’ve put my stressful career behind me and didn’t feel like regaling courtroom stories to strangers in hot tubs. I’m quite sure that my writer’s life would not provide enough heft for the conversation.

No matter to me. I am ready to allow the Aloha feeling that permeates the way of life here to sneak up and overtake me.

I’ve never been a beach person. Basking in the strong sun in the middle of the day doesn’t appeal to me. We head to the beach at about four in the afternoon when the rays are less intense and the children won’t get burned. We stay until sunset.

A huge tortoise had emerged from the temperate Pacific to rest on the shoreline for the day. The preservationists—crews of vigilant retirees—post signs in the sand connected by yellow plastic rope to keep the beachgoers at a discreet distance. We humans gather around with cameras to “capture” the peaceful creature.

At sunset, she inches backwards towards the water and lets the evening tide float her into the sea for her mysterious nocturnal activities. The same for the three seals that sunned on the beach nearby.

Looking at the horizon, we spot what looks like a shower emerging from the iridescent waters, a whale spouting, then flinging his tail at us. Showing off!

We would badger the animals with crowds and closeups and constant touching if not for the strong culture of protection of nature and its complex ecosystems on the islands and surrounding waters.

Along with watching the gentle sea creatures and the spectacular sunsets, snorkeling in the temperate waters or building sand castles, the primary activity here is people-watching.

Taking walks up and down the beach, or watching others walk by from my vantage point under a grove of pines or palms, I can’t help but notice the variety of ages, shapes, sizes, beachwear . . . and tattoo art.

I spot many young couples—most likely on their honeymoons—both sporting body designs. From young to middle-aged, male or female, voluptuous or ordinary, muscular or slight, I am initially surprised at the high proportion of beachgoers with tattoos. I estimate fifty percent.

I couldn’t help but admire a certain style of tattoo with a more geometric look on both men and women, a variation on traditional Hawaiian tribal art. Here is one example:

Many have strong feelings one way or another about tattoo body art itself. It’s okay to have opinions that express taste or esthetics. On the beach, with people co-existing for peaceful purposes, there is no place for judgment.

Would that this attitude extended generously beyond the beach parameters into our troubled world.

Where I live in New England, we are covered up three seasons of the year and have no clue about the prevalence of body art on individuals. But staking a claim on the beach for a day leads to an intense level of observation of the flora, fauna, geology, and human phenomena that comprise the immediate vicinity—and my inner life adapts to my environment.

Yesterday we revisited Waimea Canyon State Park on the western half of the island, following the winding road along the Pacific on one side and valleys deepening into canyons in the other. I’ve been to the American Southwest but the difference here is that the canyons are a combination of both geological strata and abundant rain forests, some areas dark green with swaths of lime-green according to type of vegetation.

Climbing to higher elevations, we experienced a dramatic change in weather conditions within the hour from the 80s down to the 40s, from bright sun to thick mist and fog. We were caught on the inside of a rain cloud that completely obscured the Pacific and the steep cliffs rising over it. This is a photo taken by my son-in-law from an overlook on his previous trip when visibility was excellent, unlike the zero visibility and cold, raw weather we encountered.

On the way down, huge rainbows, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other, framed the canyons closer to sea level. There are many trails into forested and mountainous areas but it would take a return trip and more extensive provisions to delve deeper into the terrain.

Many have done this before us:

I write this as I wait at Lihue Airport for my departure flight. When I landed here, the passengers applauded. No one waiting to leave looks happy—in fact we all seem quite miserable under the fluorescent lights waiting for the 11:12 pm flight, glumly staring into phones at our photos.

Leaving on the red-eye, we are denied an airborne view, one last sighting of paradise. A baby is already crying. This will be a very long night across the North Pacific.