Saturday, February 17, was supposed be free of inclement weather. I know. I checked the forecast daily a week ahead of time. Several times a day.
That morning when the alarm sounded at 5 a.m., a notification of a Winter Storm Warning stared back at me from my phone. I looked back in sleepy disbelief. Apparently, overnight there had been a shift in the weather and an Arctic tundra claimed any and all available surfaces, horizontal and vertical in northern and central Indiana. It was 17 degrees without the windchill.
On a good day, our drive from Granger to the Indianapolis airport would take us just over three hours. On this day, the white-knuckle-drive took at least an hour longer. It was a good thing my husband was at the wheel. Had I been driving and made it to the end of our street, I would have turned the car around and crawled back home. It’s our practice to build-in extra time when traveling, and this is one time it was definitely needed.
Once we arrived to the airport’s outdoor parking lot, we discovered the place was absolutely packed. Row after row after row, we could not find an open space for our car. Finally, we found what seemed to be the only spot available, which also happened to be the farthest point from the terminal. The temperature was five degrees without the windchill.
We walked – or rather did an ice-skate shuffle to the nearest open-air shuttle station. That was after our key fob was dropped and we could not locate it. Because of time restraints, we put that worry on the shelf and left with that mystery unsolved. It began to feel like a version of the movie Trains, Planes, and Automobiles. The temperature was three degrees without the windchill and there WAS a wind and it whipped right through me. My husband tried to compliment me by saying, “Blue lips look good on you.” If I had a smile on my face, it was only because it froze with the thought of flying someplace warm.
Inside the terminal we heard an announcement that welcomed one and all to the Indianapolis NBA All-Star event. Ah! We had failed to get that memo. With just minutes to spare before boarding, we stopped for hot coffee. I asked the barista, “Could you spike my cup with a shot of Baileys? Oh, heck, make it Irish Whiskey.” She glared at me with a straight face and informed me that they didn’t serve those beverages, but I might try the pub down the way. Nobody has a sense of humor anymore.
With black coffee in hand, we boarded our flight to California. We would join my sisters, nieces and nephews in Sherman Oaks for the happy occasion of a baby shower before pressing on to Maui a few days later.
Getting to Maui was like landing somewhere over the rainbow in flip flops. The beauty is real. It’s a land of turquoise water, rainbows, sunshine, starlit nights, and dancing whales, sweet papaya, banana bread, mahi-mahi and Mai Tais. It’s Aloha and Mahalo with a Shaka vibe. In other words, it’s paradise.
That said, last August, after we’d made our plans, we watched in horror as fires swept through Lahaina. We learned, along with the rest of the world, that fires erupted due to prolonged dry conditions and gale force winds produced by Hurricane Dora (a category 4 storm) that formed to the south of the island. 101 loved ones perished. 3,991 buildings were destroyed. 3,000 families lost everything. Two people are still missing. Devastating. It’s a jolting reminder that even paradise is vulnerable.
It’s been hotly debated by outsiders as to who is responsible for the fires. Hawaii’s Governor, Josh Green doesn’t find merit in pointing fingers. Instead, he has stated in a recent interview with Tom Llamas, anchor and host of NBC’s Top Story, “We all take responsibility and will all work together to rebuild and improve warning systems to protect our people in the future.”
As we drove from the airport to our destination on the west side of the island, we noticed some handmade signs along the main road that passes through Lahaina. One sign stated: Lahaina is NOT for sale. Other messages indicated the strong sense of pride and reverence natives have for their land. The Aloha spirit is integral to the Maui community.
In the center of the town of Lahaina there is a beloved banyan tree. It is the largest banyan tree in the United States and in fact, one of the largest in the world. It is 131 years old, stands 60 feet high and is a whopping 200 feet wide. It holds court on Front Street on the edge of Lahaina Harbor. At first it was feared that this tree, an anchor to Lahaina, met its demise in the fire. But in the days and months since, it’s proven to sprout new growth. It will survive. This seems to be symbolic of the resilience demonstrated by the Maui community. It’s impossible not to have admiration for the people who call this place home.
Just seven miles north of Lahaina and a few miles south of the famed Kapalua Plantation golf course is Kahana Village. We lodged there, charmed by the view of spouting whales, sometimes pods of them in competition.
Our morning routine included local Bad Ass coffee and a 3-to-4 mile hike along the Kapalua Coastal Trail. It was a welcome change from our walk around the indoor track at the Beacon gym. The terrain along the trail starts with a boardwalk perched above a gorgeous stretch of beach. I marveled each time I saw surfers below catch a wave – and often those waves were fierce.
The trail transitions to a dirt path that winds up to a vast expanse of lava rocks of every size and shape. To explore this portion of the trail feels as if you’ve suddenly been transported to the moon – except that these lava cliffs receive the constant pounding of monster waves that create a cacophonous symphony.
You would think that walking the same stretch each morning would feel repetitive — even boring. To be honest, I couldn’t get enough of it. To me, each day was its own gift. Even the colors changed depending on the sky which itself evolved by the minute. We found a plethora of new hearts daily as our eyes were drawn to different formations. In all, we ended up with 50 heart photographs which seems fitting because to me, Aloha is the heart of Hawaii.
As I walked the trail, the experience reminded me of one of my favorite ancient Greek quotes: “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
One morning we took time for a round of golf on the King Kamehameha (say that three times fast) Golf Course. According to their web page, “It is Maui’s premiere private golf club. The Club’s 74,000 square foot clubhouse was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and sits 750 feet above sea level offering a magnificent view of Mt. Haleakala as well as bi-coastal views. The Club was named to honor the greatest King in the history of the Hawaiian Islands. The unification of the islands into a peaceful and prosperous kingdom has become his legacy.”
John played while I rode shotgun and took the role of chief photographer. The round started with a, “Holy shit! How’d you do that?!” shot and ended equally remarkably; a happy memory made.
Can we talk about sunsets?! Sunset sails are popular in Maui especially during whale-watching season (December thruMarch), and on our first outing as we sailed on a Trilogy catamaran, we watched, under a silky sky, as the sun formed a perfect heart. How’s that for a little romance?! Another evening, we caught the sunset on the beach in front of our condo. The sun became a perfect fireball of color, and curiously, a cloud formation in front of it created a silhouette of a wolf howling at the moon.
On the evening of our last sunset, we were both stunned and delighted when we discovered a three-foot turtle taking a siesta on the warm sand. It opened one eye to acknowledge our presence and remained perfectly poised and unbothered by its celebrity status as we snapped myriad pictures. No autograph needed.
After 16 days in paradise, it was time to catch our flight and return to our normal life in Granger, Indiana. I won’t deny that my heart tugged at the thought of leaving such a treasure. But when returning to “normal” means returning to friends, family, and a pup who loves you, you know you live your own kind of paradise.
And that ain’t all bad.