Mystical Surroundings
by Cristina Linn
The humidity was the first thing that hit me as I stepped off the airplane. The air was warm and extremely moist--the impact catching me off guard. I immediately felt damp and knew my hair that I had straightened earlier that morning would soon frizz, fighting its natural curl. My five-year-old son, Ian, and I had just landed on the island of Kauai after a seven-hour flight. A wave of excitement and relief washed over me, excitement at my gorgeous surroundings and relief to be off the cramped airplane. I grasped my son’s balmy hand in mine, and with my other rolled my bulging luggage down the long walkway that led to the waiting area of the Hawaiian airport. I looked out the glass walls of the walkway and could not believe how beautiful and lush the trees were, their leaves green and glossy, adorned with bright pink flowers. My son was also admiring the scenery, and concluded that we must have arrived in the jungle.
“Yvett!” I excitedly exclaimed when I spotted my sister at the waiting room entrance. “Tina, Ian!” she just as excitedly called back. We embraced each other tightly and commented on how good it was to see the other. “I have something for the two of you,” Yvett stated, and in true Hawaiian-style, placed a lei of purple flowers around my neck. The scent from the garland floated up to my nose, the aroma both sweet and refreshing. Leis symbolize affection, and are commonly given upon arrival and departure from the island. Yvett then bent down to Ian’s level and placed a necklace of big, smooth black beads over his head. “They’re puka beads,” she explained, and then she led us to her car. As we walked through the parking lot, Ian’s beads glistened in the sun. In Hawaiian culture, puka beads were popular among sailors, as they guaranteed a safe and peaceful journey on expeditions. Ian walked to the car with his chest puffed out, wanting to show his beads off to anyone passing by.
As we drove to my sister’s house, I was in awe of everything in sight. I kept commenting on how green the surroundings were, it was like nothing I had seen before. Every shade of green could be detected in the trees and plants, and flowers of vibrant oranges, yellows, purples and reds bejeweled the vegetation. I turned to my sister, and a big smile swept across my face. It was so good to see her again. Our last encounter had been six months ago, a week before she moved to Hawaii with her husband for work. Prior to the transfer, they had lived in Tucson, and Yvett would make a trip to Flagstaff at least once a month. My sister and I are very close, and I would always look forward to her visits. We would sit and talk for hours, recalling hilarious family stories that would bring us to tears and send shots of pain through our sides from laughing. She was someone I admired and respected a great deal, and someone I could confide in. I had not realized how much I missed her until she was in my presence again. As if sensing my thoughts, Yvett reached over and squeezed my hand. ‘I’m so happy the two of you are here,” she said, and she continued the drive home.
The following morning, we packed a picnic lunch, threw on our swimsuits, and headed to the beach. “I’m taking you to Po’ipu Beach, one of my favorites,” Yvett informed Ian and I. “Are there going to be sharks there?” my son inquired, his big brown eyes wide with concern. Why had I let him watch that shark special on Animal Planet a few days before our trip? “No, sweetie, the only creatures in the water are the tickle fish,” Yvett answered, and she reached her hand to the backseat of the car and tickled Ian’s sandaled foot. Ian squealed with delight, and then his eyes grew big again. I turned around to see what caused his reaction, and my breath was taken away. The road before us was lined with hundreds of eucalyptus trees whose tops reached across the street to form a lush, green corridor. “This is the tree tunnel,” Yvett explained. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Beautiful seemed hardly the word to describe what we were driving through. It was absolutely breathtaking. The tunnel resembled something out of a fairy tale. Rays of sunshine poked through the intertwined branches of the trees, giving the effect that the leaves were sparkling. I half expected to see a unicorn pass our car as we drove, the tunnel held such a majestic and enchanting vibe. “That was amazing!” I exclaimed as we exited the tree tunnel, already anticipating the drive back so we could pass through it again.
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at Po’ipu Beach Park. Grass ran to the left of the beach, providing a nice contrast to the sand. The sky was bright blue and free of clouds, and the turquoise water sparkled underneath the blazing sun. Numerous people were scattered about the beach, and chickens fearlessly mingled with them. Chickens are not the first things that come to mind when one thinks of Hawaii, but they are everywhere. They were blown to the island during a hurricane years ago, and we had been warned of their presence prior to our visit. Ian excitedly chased after them, determined to catch one for dinner.
There was a protected cove to the left of the beach, the shallow water providing an ideal spot for young children to swim in. To the right, the water turned a deeper turquoise, and the tops of snorkeling breathing tubes poked out of the ocean like foreign objects. “The fish here are amazing,” Yvett stated as she laid her striped beach blanket on the grass. “Then I’m going in!” I said in my most adventurous tone of voice. I put on my snorkeling gear, strapped my flippers to my feet, and headed for the water. Yvett had failed to mention to me that the easiest way to enter the water with flippers on is backwards. I must have put on quite a show for the beach-goers observing me. I took giant, clumsy steps, trying to figure out why it was so difficult for me to walk underwater. I finally lost my balance and fell face first, my feet bobbing out of the water above me. I could feel my face turn beet red behind my goggles. I looked around to see who might have witnessed my mishap, and the first person I spotted was my son, waving frantically from shore. “Are you okay mama?” he hollered across the water. “Yes, Bubbas, I’m fine!” I shouted back. Satisfied with my answer, he happily skipped his way back to Yvett.
When I was in water deep enough, I swam to the spot my sister said promised great fish. I re-adjusted my goggles, placed my breathing tube in my mouth, and let myself sink into the ocean. At first, all I could make out were the figures of my fellow snorkelers amidst the cloudy water. Suddenly, a large yellow fish with black and white stripes darted in front of me. Its colors were stunning, the yellow so vibrant it seemed to glow. I spotted numerous other fish, all with bright, lively colors. One in particular was such a deep blue that I longed to reach out and touch its scales. The size of some of the fish were unbelievable, some were as big as my head and as long as my arm. I felt my heart flutter. All of a sudden, I felt extremely happy and fortunate to be alive, to be where I was at that moment. The feeling overwhelmed me, and even jarred me a little. After I had my fill of snorkeling, I headed back to shore for something to eat. Upon arriving at my towel, Yvett told me, “I saw you fall into the water Tina. Next time try walking in backwards.”
Yvett decided to take Ian and I to Waimea Canyon the next day. The trip took about forty-five minutes from the house, and the last fifteen minutes consisted of driving up a steep, winding road. We had stopped for ice cream cones before hitting the road, and I was feeling extremely nauseous by the time we reached our destination. When I glimpsed the canyon, however, I forgot my sickness. It was extraordinary! It contained the dramatic reds and oranges of the Grand Canyon, but also possessed rich green vegetation and waterfalls that seemed to drop eternally. There were deep, large grooves that ran the length of the canyon walls, which I learned were caused by numerous volcanic eruptions and lava flows over the centuries. “Isn’t this beautiful Ian?” I turned to my young son, who had once again taken more of an interest in the chickens. “Yup,” he answered quickly, and continued his chase. I found an empty spot along the fence and leaned forward against it. I tried to absorb every aspect of the canyon, knowing the pictures from my camera would not do it justice. I wanted to capture the image of Waimea Canyon in my head, wanted to store it and be able to access the image whenever I desired. I am not sure how long I remained staring at the canyon before Yvett commented that Ian was getting restless. “Besides, there is someplace else I want to show you now,” she said.
Off Waimea Canyon Drive, Yvett drove us to Kalalau Lookout, which overlooks Kalalau Valley, the largest valley on the Na Pali Coast. We exited the car and made our way to the lookout fence, the drop below averaging 4,000 feet. “All I see are clouds,” Ian observed, though not seeming disappointed. “I was hoping it would be clear,” Yvett said, almost apologetically. “It is usually overcast this time of day, but every now and then the clouds part and a view of the valley is visible.” I knew the possibility that the clouds would not clear, but I wanted to wait nonetheless. “Let’s stick around a while, maybe we’ll get lucky,” I suggested. I eagerly scanned the clouds below us, hoping for a glimpse of the valley they concealed. “They’re lifting!” another observer excitedly informed, and what came into view was positively awe-inspiring. Stunning green cliffs plummeted downward, a thin veil of wispy clouds rolling across them. The ocean below was a brilliant blue, and it was hard to determine where the horizon separated water from sky. The effect of the warm afternoon light and the shadows the clouds produced on the cliffs cast a magical feel upon the valley. The entire scene looked as if it were painted with watercolors. “This is breathtaking,” I said more to myself than to anyone else, and the clouds concealed the valley once again. They parted a short while later, and for the next five minutes a game of peek-a-boo seemed to take place. The clouds would hide the valley, and then part just long enough for a quick glimpse below. I felt teased by the clouds, but was grateful I was allowed a view of Kalalau Valley.
Our week in Hawaii passed quickly, and Ian and I were soon on the flight back home. I gazed at the Pacific Ocean from the tiny airplane window, and already missed my sister and the island. When we arrived at our house, the first thing I did was unpack our luggage. I smiled as I discovered sand in almost every item of clothing I pulled out.