Today we do a little sight seeing and I discover my favorite market. While Paul drops me off at the shops in Paiea, I stumble into a grocery upon their promise of fresh sushi in the deli. I want to take this entire market back to Portland, or move to Maui so I can claim it as my market, as I do with my coop. Tiny aisles lined with fresh, local fruits, vegetables, bread, dairy and the prices compare with crappy, florescent lit Safeway. I spend a good 1/2 half hour reading the produce labels. Tangellos, limes and dragon fruit grown in Maui. Potatoes from Oregon. Peppers and tomatoes from California. Local asparagus, green beans and lemon grass. Yams from another island. Local avocados the size of a Bocci ball and half the price of the imports from Safeway.

I’m disappointed in the rest of the shops I visit. Same imports from Bail, Indonesia and Philippines we get in Portland. My friends requested “something from Maui” and I take that as something made in Maui.
We take a scenic route out of Paia, past a beautiful church and the only sugar cane plant left in operation. I expect it to smell sweet but instead am greeted with a nauseating sulfur/sewer smell about a 1/2 mile before we pass the plant.

Paul snags a great deal on used snokel equipment at Snorkel Bob’s, with his kama’aina discount and a sweetheart at Boss Frog’s gives me a similar discount for my rental. (Even though kama’aina means “children of the land” or a native-born Hawaiian, many stores give discounts to Hawaiian residents. All you need is a driver’s license, which Paul managed to get with the help of a friend’s address. Technically, he’s a malihini, or newcomer, though he’s been visiting since 76.)

I’m a lowly haole, or cracker-faced minority, and frightened to snorkel. I want to see the fish but I don’t trust that I’ll breathe OK w/the tube. As I lower my head in the water, my breath quickens and heart races, making it even more difficult to trust that I’ll be able to hold my breath should water get in. After a few minutes, my breathing resumes to normal and I’m already trying to take pictures of the most amazing fish I’ve swam near (and seen). The Humuhumukununukuapua’a with its neon tips that almost appear to glow in the dark, some long skinny translucent fish that mesmerize me for some time. Other colors I haven’t seen since 1990, when I thought it was cool to wear biker shorts & tanks splashed in neon. (Thank god I was only 11 and can blame my mom, as it’s her and my same uncle Paul in all the pictures that prove I wore such brilliant fashion.)

To top off a perfectly relaxing day, I cook the Moonfish we bought earlier at the Paia market in a spontaneous sauce of: milk, butter, grated ginger and garlic, Bragg’s ginger and sesame dressing and a Soy Tahini sauce. It is received with great glee from Paul and will be my favorite food accomplishment this trip.

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Mahalo. Not sure what this word means, but the folks on Hawaiian can’t get enough of this word. A friendly gentleman tells me that tomorrow and Sunday will be the best days to learn how to surf and I’m not sure if this is truth or the days he’ll be at the beach. And where are the Hawaiian shirts, sari’s and clear blue skies? (Finally! A girl dallies to her gate in a floral sun dress. Hope trickles in.) The air is muggy and my first destination is a bathroom where I can shed my layers and don a loose fitting white t-shirt. Other than the outdoor and open air walkways and terminals, the airport is San Jose’s … a tiny strip with baggage claim at the end where it curves and transforms into car rentals. The sky reminds me of Phoenix, both bright and dreary simultaneously.

And then I get the call. My uncle is pulling up in a red, convertible turbo PT Cruiser and I’m swept away to meet Maui for my first time. (Don’t forget the turbo! We’re not sure what it means, but Paul loves revving and punching and accelerating fast.) Kahalui is a sprawling suburb. We drive past the Cosco and almost stop to pick up IPod speakers and then realize we don’t need them. Gas stations (at $3/gallon) and shopping centers line the 2-lane crowded street and we crawl out of town. Paul points out Hakalalia, nearly undistinguishable in the vog. Vog. My uncle’s a funny guy and I wonder if this is a word he’s coined or island slang. Apparently, I chose a bad day to fly in, as this Volcano ash fOG has only been blown in by the Kano winds this morning. And they will persist for my first few days.

A few minutes out of the city, the landscape morphs into sugar cane fields which remind me of Vietnam war movies than any farmland I’ve seen. No “rows” pop out as we drive by. (Not like rows and diagonals of corn and soybeans as you drive by, which could mesmerize me for hours on long car rides.) Simply overgrown jungle grass. And it’s beautiful in it’s seeming disorganization.

== SPOILER ALERT: Do not read below this line if you don’t want to become overrun with jealousy or have never visited Maui and need not discover how your life may be lacking. ==

After some grocery shopping in Kihei (I won’t bore you with the insane prices … but I won’t complain about $3 milk anymore) we head to the condo my uncle’s rented at Mana Kai Resort. I’ll later learn, from an essay written by Tara Bray Smith on Hawaii in “State by State: a Panoramic Portrait of America” that mana is the life force Hawaiians believe inhabits all things. Kai is the sea. I’m greeted with songs of the tropical birds.

It’s nearing sunset already, so we don our suits and wade into the ocean. A seasoned ocean swimmer, Paul dives right in as I wait for something … a warm current perhaps? (Do fish pee, I wonder. And if they do, perhaps it’ll be just enough to warm the water.) And then the waves roll in and I’m under water and I’m instantly relaxed. We wash off and watch the sun set into the horizon, just to the right of the shadow of Kahoolawe Island. I try to recall uncle Tom’s notes on how far one can see on water (he was in the Navy) and end up Googling it instead. Turns out we see 3-4 nautical miles. But I digress.

It’s now time to head up to Maui Meadows for a relaxing and delicious dinner party, on the “foot hills” of the large volcano, Haleakala. I’m stunned by the lush vegetation on our climb and the open entry way of the hacienda style home. Art everywhere! Sculptures, paintings, photographs, a large mirror rumored to mimic those in Versailles (and I make a mental not to look this up and visit some day). And the people … they’re energetic, young, healthy, attractive. I’m by far the youngest person at the table and suddenly I’m afraid of being the boring, tired, naive niece. I don’t do yoga, work in the “new age” fields, eat a raw-food diet, own my own business (anymore) and haven’t traveled out of the US. But the Moon Fish is delicious and I even though I want more, I eat the salad. If I can look this great at 50+ I’ll eat the salad and learn how to keep my body’s acidity down by consuming foods high in Alkalinity: apple cider vinegar, limes (which can be confusing since they’re citric), millet and quinoa, and most veggies. And pay attention to the energy of my foods: cold (raw fish, veggies) and warm, yin and yang. And give myself a few breaks to enjoy alcohol, like this tasty Rum.

I’ll save the conversation which compares the Hawaiian archipelago to the Chakras for another time.

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PS. Radiohead is pure euphoria. As can be expected, pictures will be loaded soon.

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Now I sit in air-conditioned PDX, waiting for my plane to be cleaned so we can board and leave early. I know what you’re thinking: why leave Portland NOW that the sun’s finally staying out and temperatures well over 80? My brother’s graduating high school tomorrow, in Maryville Missouri. So, if luck stays on my side, MO will welcome me back with hot, humid hugs. Traveling with a few t-shirts sure beats lugging around winter gear and jackets!

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If only New Orleans wasn’t such an awesome city, filled with fun and friendly people, delicious food and an abundance of liquor and festivals I wouldn’t be in this predicament. Yes, another sign that life on the road can be challenging.

Let me go back to the beginning. As a highway ferry transports me across the Mississippi, I transfer my love of Mississippi into Louisiana. Spanish moss hangs from statuesque oaks, black cats roll on the ground, baiting me to pet them, at the #1 haunted mansion in the world and Jaik’s mom welcomes me with the finest home cooked dinner I’ll have all trip. (I need to take better notes since I’m not quick with French, but the dinner included lots of crawfish in both etouffee and pizza and a French cake with 7 layers of pudding diving a rich, white cake.)

I spend Saturday learning all things Cajun and some of the Creole, before heading to the Atchafalaya basin, towards New Orleans. In Breaux Bridge, locals point me to a meat market for some famous Boudin (pronounced BOO-dan). Though the owner doesn’t want his picture taken, he packs a beer from his personal stash in the back, along with the purchased sausage and stuffed mushrooms in my cooler. And it continues to get better.

Once in NO, I manage to get the last dorm bed at the India House, the best hostel in the city and meet up with two fellow travelers I met back in Flagstaff. As we head for the French Quarter to check out the Friday night life, I text Hannah from Tucson. (She’s a friend of a friend I just met and absolutely adore.) A few excited messages later and we’re sitting in the bar Hannah used to work at, doing some shots with her best friend (in her honor of course) and making a positive first impression of the city.

The next day we set out for plantations and will have taken 10,000+ steps by the time we retire at 6am, including the time change. We all stay in the French Quarter and make a trip down Bourbon avenue: drunk people overflowing in the streets, each with beads, beers and fancy daiquiri to-go cups. We try the Texan sized mixed drinks and stand awestruck as a karaoke dj/performer dances MC Hammer style, complete with a standing flip. As we wind up our morning at the hotel, I learn Dutch while teaching Go Fish. Yep, I can really travel the world now with “give me”, “do you have”, numbers and face card names, “go fish” (my favorite!) and a swear word I cannot repeat.

Despite having to check out of our hotel only four hours after falling asleep, we find energy in Cafe du Monde’s coffee and beignets. And I can’t leave out the impressive troupe performing acrobatics and break dancing. Unfortunately, a lavish military performance for Extreme Home Makover across the street in front of the cathedral, forces a frustrated man with a megaphone to shut down the troupe. Apparently they can’t hear their TV show host above the music and fanfare from our crowd. (I’ll post a video, as the guys are phenomenal and I want Joe to learn these tricks. They walk up stairs on their hands, slide across the ground on their heads, break dance and make the grumpiest laugh.)

Lousiana is hard to leave. I want more days to tour the swamps, to walk the antique malls, eat Cajun and learn French. If I don’t get this ticket I may just have to go back.

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