There's this secluded little swimming hole that I discovered about a ten minute drive from my house. A small pull off on the side of the road and a short hike will take you to a large pond used as a nature conservation area.
I have rarely seen anyone there, even on the fourth of July when it was 90+ degrees, although there is evidence that kids come and hang out around a bonfire at night. I feel very comfortable skinny dipping there, it is so completely private.
The surface is always warm from the sun and about three feet below it becomes refreshingly cool... almost cold in spots. After a swim there, my hair feels so clean and wonderful that I won't wash it again for days.
One hot afternoon, I made my way out there for a pleasant and relaxing day of laps in the spring fed water. I dove in and swam out to the middle and began to scan around the shore. A fair distance away I saw a brown head poking out of the water, obviously looking at me. As I observed the observer observing me, I realized that this creature was getting larger and the distance between us was getting smaller.
It occurred to me then that this critter was far more adept at moving through the water than I was, in spite of the fact that I am a fair swimmer. Wild animals have teeth and claws, and I understood at once that this was likely to be a beaver making a direct bee-line for me. Beavers have big teeth.
I swam as efficiently as I could for shore, in a little bit of a hurried panic. The head matched my trajectory and the gap closed further. I pulled myself out of the water and watched as the beaver arrived at my previous locale, changed its heading and swam to the opposite shore.
This pond is narrow and long, so the opposite shore was not far enough away for me to feel entirely comfortable with resuming my swim. I guess I don't need to mention that I was feeling a little less relaxed at this point. Several minutes went by and my furry friend remained on the other side, diving and hunting, so I finally grew a set and jumped back in.
Not a minute after I had, Ms. Beev turned her attention back toward me and began to rapidly approach. Once again I raced to my rock and leaped out of the water. This was getting ridiculous, I thought beavers were friendly, but this one clearly had decided that she didn't want me in her pond (at least this was my perception).
I resigned myself to simply enjoying the peace and tranquility from dry land and decided to take out my camera and photograph the beautiful scenery. After snapping several shots and attempting to set up the self timer for a few personal portraits, I heard a loud snort behind me. I turned to see the large mama right next to my rock checking me out!
Camera in hand, I started capturing the moment. She paced back and forth in front of my stone landing, snorting, splashing and well, laughing. She got the better of me for sure. This lady beaver was at least 3 and a half feet from stem to stern, and easily 50 pounds. If she wanted to, she could have taught me a lesson I would never forget.
I chose not to swim again there that day, and returned home to google "aggressive tendencies in beavers." I learned that they are quite gregarious and only tend to be territorial when their yearlings are ready to leave the lodge... in late summer. Aha.
This morning I awoke and decided that instead of rushing around juicing carrots, making homemade broth and miso for my mother who was still recovering from surgery in the nursing home, I would take some time for me. I lolled in bed leisurely, trying to ignore that guilt-inspired need to hurry. After checking email and goofing around on Facebook for a while, I laced up my trainers and went out for my 5 mile loop. After 2 days of rain and being shut up visiting Mom, I was ready to enjoy the warm, clear spring morning.
I didn’t make it very far before I started to notice several worms on the wet pavement beginning to writhe in the warm sun. I picked them up, one at a time and tossed them into the grass; however, this didn’t seem sufficient to save their little lives. As I continued along, stooping every couple of feet to pick up another suffering worm, I began to notice that their numbers were increasing. In the shade of a wet leaf I would find thirty or more huddled together trying to maintain moisture.
I scooped up handful after handful of wriggling earthworms and laid them carefully in shallow trenches I scraped out with a stone, covering them with clods of cool moist soil. Some struggled to escape from my cupped palm, while others were very reluctant to have me pick them up at all, despite the fact that they were facing certain death. A few worms actually began to move toward me after I had liberated their compatriots from the rapidly warming tarmac; I felt that they sensed on a psychic level that I was there to help.
My walk had to be abbreviated to a mere 2 miles that day, rescuing worms took precedence over working off last night’s pizza. The sun was high by the time I made my way back along the road where the worms had been; their dried up dead bodies littered the pavement. It made me sad to see the clumps -mass graves of worms- that I hadn’t reached in time. Next time the sun comes up after a long, soaking rain, I intend to get out earlier and collect as many as I can rescue and relocate them to my garden or compost pile.
On my second day at the sacred beach called Polihale, I made another pilgrimage to the enormous pali’s at the end of the earth. I so much desired to be free of my pain, my heartache, my confusion, and all of my baggage. (Yes. All of it. At once. Let’s get this done already!) I located a good writing stick and began a personal ceremony to “name it,” “claim it,” and then purge it.
I started by drawing Reiki symbols in the sand and meditating, then I got up and began to write in the sand all that I wished to let go of, one at a time. I consciously felt into each item on the list before I inscribed the word upon the sand: my former fiancé who had so deeply wounded my heart this year, my former business partner and best friend whose path and mine had so recently separated, my ex-husband who was with me at this very spot the last time I visited more than a decade earlier… and that was just the beginning of the people I needed to release!
After I cleansed my psyche of the names and their immediate emotional associations, I got to work on taking ownership of my own personally perceived flaws. I pulled up everything I could, resonating with every dark thought, every bullying internal voice, every insecurity; one by one I allowed the ocean to erase the words while again and again I forgave myself for not being perfect. This took a long time.
Once I felt fairly emptied out, I sent my psychic roots out of my soles and deep into Mother Earth, receiving love and offering gratitude, filling myself with light. I felt a lot of weight come off that morning, but knew that there was still more work to do. I went to sleep that night anticipating the powerful ceremonies yet to come; the solstice was in two days, followed by a full lunar eclipse.
The rain began to fall that night while I slept, and I knew that the dirt road to this remote spot would quickly become impassible. I awoke to light drizzle and decided to explore the other end of the long beach anyway; I walked for a couple of hours, scanning for special shells and feeling the rain clouds thickening. The waves were getting bigger and soon there was quite a population of surfers arriving on the beach in their monster trucks, then the rain came in earnest.
It was not going to be clearing up, this much was now evident; I had only enough food and water for about 3 more days, and the ice in my cooler was all but completely melted. My Honda Accord was no “Grave Digger” and it wasn’t SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY!!! So needless to say, I had a decision to make: either stay, biding my time in the tent until the way out was drivable again (but I had no idea how long that might be), or take my chances on the already flooded roads -that would only continue to get worse- in order to git while the gittin’ was good.
Frustrated, I broke camp in the rain, cursing loudly; I wanted so much to be at this place for a powerful solstice ceremony, I had been planning it for months. I felt like the spirits of Polihale were kicking me out and it made me feel like a failure, but I could see no other way; I would not have made it another week. I finally got my wet, sandy tent packed up and all my gear stowed back in the car; bedraggled and dejected, I started the car and headed out toward the access road.
This five mile, heavily rutted and uneven thoroughfare is really just a farm road that runs along the edge of a sugar cane plantation; even under the most ideal, dry conditions it takes more than 20 minutes to get from one end to the other. When I got to the dirt road, my jaw dropped; it was much worse than I had imagined it would be. The road was almost completely washed out; enormous stretches of deep muddy puddles sprawled over the entire width of the road, some several car lengths long. There was no telling just how deep they were, or where the best place to drive through would be; I was screwed.
Picking my way carefully around the edge of the first “pond” I saw a souped-up Toyota Tacoma coming up on my rear. “I’d better let him pass,” I thought. “He doesn’t want to get stuck behind me!” I navigated the puddle and pulled way over to give him room to get around me and my little Honda. To my surprise, this mini-monster truck –with a chassis 3 feet high and big dirt-eating tires- didn’t go blasting through the mucky playground leaving me to eat his mud-pies. Instead, this Ambassador of Aloha carefully navigated the shallowest aspect of each wet trench and waited for me to follow suit.
White-knuckled, I followed the Toyota through every slippery mud-hole, navigated flooded trenches and rejoiced every time I made it. I was remembering the last time I had been on this road in similar conditions and all the abandoned, stranded vehicles that littered the road. With each soggy ditch I left behind however, my confidence grew and I began to shout “YEE HAW!” My tires sprayed sticky sludge in my wake and I spun the wheel and did hole-shots like a true country hick. When the furrows were especially long and deep, my rescuer drove fast right down the center and telepathically I knew to get right up on his bumper and ride in his wake where his truck had displaced the water.
Filth splashed all over my little car, and the windshield was getting very difficult to see out of, but I knew better than to run the wipers while the path ahead was still so treacherous; it would only make a bigger mess. Finally, there was a decent stretch of road without a puddle for about 50 yards, so I hit the washer/wipers and prayed that there was enough fluid in the reservoir to do the job before I got to the next grimy gully ahead. Did I mention that the windshield wipers have a trick to shut them off? It requires a Zen-like patience to get the lever into just the right spot while the wiper arms are positioned correctly. I nailed it on the first try; I was in the zone.
Eventually, I saw the end of the road approaching and was filled with ecstatic joy at what I had just accomplished. I woot-wooted a few times, nailed it and oversteered for one last thrill. My champion in the Tacoma celebrated by taking an even more off-road route parallel to the path I was on and racing me to the end, then he detoured for a little more fun. I got to the end, pulled over and ran my wipers again while waiting for his truck to emerge. When the Toyota appeared, I enthusiastically gave him a “hang loose” and beeped my horn; I got a merry high sign in return.
My car was filthy, (and my driver-side window was down the whole time), I was shaking from adrenaline and realized that my diminished feelings of failure had been banished by the wonderful adventure made possible by the angel in the truck that had been sent to guide me to safety. The phone rang and on the other end of the line was my new friend asking me if I wanted to take a break from camping and crash out on his fold out couch. “Hell YES!” I replied; Kauai was letting me know that I was still in divine flow and I was so grateful for the message.
I headed out the next day to camp at the most sacred place in the world to me: Polihale. This place dredges something up in even the stoniest heart; it literally feels like the end of the world. In fact, in Hawaiian legend, this is the place where the spirits of the dead leave the island. Since I came here in 1998 and 1999, I have retreated here in my heart and mind; I have visualized this place when going on shamanic journeys to the lower world; I have met many spirit guides here when I have soul traveled. To me, this is one of the Earth’s power centers and I intended to do ceremony here for the solstice and the full lunar eclipse, something I had been planning for months.
My first night was sublime. The nearly full moon illuminated the beach in shades of platinum and the rumble of the waves was deep resonant backdrop to the more than majestic mountains that framed the beach. I slept peacefully feeling embraced by the cliffs behind me and the ocean in front of me, warm and dry. I awoke before dawn and strolled the length of the shoreline all the way to the base of the pali’s where the sea, the lava rocks and the mountains all merge. I sat down to meditate, feeling overcome by the slenderness of the veil between worlds.
I was distracted by a young man I had just passed on way to this spot; he wore his long dark hair in a topknot and was clearly also doing ceremony only a few hundred yards from where I was. He was a beautiful person, not simply on a physical plane; his energy exuded outward in peaceful waves and I wondered if he was a Kahuna. I have been wanting so much to connect with a Kahuna to help me heal, that I was sure he was someone I needed to meet, however I was far too overcome to approach him so I asked my guides to tell him if I was someone he needed to speak to, then I let go.
I could feel that he knew I wanted to talk to him, but that the time was not yet right, so again I attempted to quiet my mind and meditate. This time I slipped right over to the other realm, so thin was the curtain that separated the lower and middle kingdoms. Immediately I became aware of the Council of Elders, a group of wizened, ascended shamans that always seem to be gathered here at the Spirit-plane Polihale. I asked for guidance and felt the immediate presence of my main guide: one I call simply “Grandfather.”
“Grandfather” seemed rather disinterested in my questions, my confusion and my desire for guidance and enlightenment. Every time I asked him for advice, I’d hear in my head “Relax.” I was really in my head, trying to understand my lessons, release what I needed to let go of and to figure out how best to proceed on my path of personal healing. Intellectually, I knew I had to let go of trying to mentally process it, and was amused by the irony of that. ARGH!
At that moment, I felt Grandfather tap me on one shoulder from behind and the he pointed out to the ocean over my other shoulder. “Open your eyes,” he said. “Look.” Obediently, I did as instructed and saw two boats near where he had directed my gaze. “Two boats,” I said. “One is coming in, the other is going out. What does that mean?” “Shh. Keep looking.” At that moment a whale breached completely out of the water and came down with a huge splash right where he had indicated. I leapt to my feet, shouting and cheering!!
I was so thrilled, I couldn’t contain myself; Whale Spirit had been a big part of my last shamanic journey by taking me to my guides. Seeing this whale as it had been pointed out to me by my Spirit Guide validated to me that I really am in contact with something outside of myself, that is to say if anything really is outside ourselves… that includes all of us and all of everything. What a great sign! My inner child came out and I really understood that I could really relax and play, not try to figure it all out.
As I made my way back toward my campsite, I felt elated, but my turmoil still existed beneath it all. I had to walk past the young Kahuna who was now facing inland toward the cliffs, deep in prayer. I didn’t want him to feel my sticky energy, so I opened my heart to love and grace as widely as I could, knowing that some shadows remained. As I approached his field, I felt a beautiful reverence, innocence and joy vibrating all around him. It added to my whale-happy feelings of bliss and I simply began to run, not like a racer, nor a therapeutic jog; I ran like a 10 year old: for fun without a reason. Just because.
Still noticing the couples all around me and feeling a little isolated, last week up on the North shore, I took myself out on a date for sushi at a fantastic place in Hanalei. I asked the sushi chef (the first woman sushi chef I ever did see) if there was a good place to hear some live music nearby, and she suggested a local bar call the Tahiti Nui. I remembered that Mike’s roommate Lyza had told me that it was THE local hangout for hook ups. Well, I was more interested in seeing live music, the thought of a hook up actually turned my stomach, but it might be fun to meet some people.
The place was not terribly crowded when I arrived, so I perched on a barstool toward the back of the place where I could take in the entire scene and ordered a Kauai brewed beer. The music was sad, and I wondered what possessed me to come here at all. I struck up a short conversation with an old uncle next to me, and within a moment another guy arrived -clearly on the prowl- and had Uncle introduce us. (They were in cahoots, apparently) I’ll call this guy Rupert the corn and soy farmer.
Rupert began to pontificate about pesticides and go on about GMO’s; he displayed his Miller Light (?) and proudly exclaimed that it was made from all GMO corn and that none of it has ever done him any harm. Looking at him, I would have to disagree; energetically, there was a lot going on there, and none of it was healthy. In any case, he was the only person I had to talk to, and rather than try to convert his thinking about organics (although I made a few half-hearted attempts), I decided to seek some common ground.
In a less than open-hearted space I joined Rupert in making comments about the single’s scene before us. I noticed one guy who really looked like he ought to be in a beer commercial and his somewhat sleazy attempts to hook up. With nothing else to talk about, Rupert and I discussed his moves in a play by play and admittedly, I was not conducting myself from a compassionate place in regards to “Budweiser’s” own loneliness. I was about to get reminded of who I really am.
In a short while a man wearing a T-shirt with the Impulse logo (a great jazz record label) sat down on the other side of Rupert. We caught him up to speed on the characters we had nicknamed: Budweiser, Wing Man, Guinevere and others and then Rupert began his spiel defending GMO corn and pesticides. Tim patiently listened for a while before laughing good-naturedly and casually debating Rupert’s diatribe. It wasn’t long before he saw the futility in that tack, but he quickly impressed me as someone I would naturally be friends with.
The next time Rupert went to the men’s room, I scootched over a seat to talk with Tim some more; he was open and friendly and clearly very bright. After a few minutes of chit chat, I began to once again make comments about the mating rituals of the twenty-somethings at the bar in front of us. That’s when Tim brought me up short on my lame behavior. “Why do you think you’re separate from this? Everyone just wants to make a connection, that’s why we’re all here isn’t it? Every one of these people has a heart and is probably very interesting to get to know. Do you really think they are doing something wrong?”
I had gotten so caught up in my story and my loneliness that I had hardened my heart, was becoming bitter and isolating myself further. I had a flash of a prophetic dream I had earlier in the year where I attempted to escape a terrible storm by seeking shelter in an all –glass house. In a rush of revelation, I stopped that trajectory and from my heart thanked Tim for calling me out on my bullshit. “Just bar talk,” he said, “no big deal.” It was to me.
I have been blessed on this journey to encounter so many kind and helpful folks; at every camp, there is a good neighbor, on every beach there is a friendly encounter, and at any random location there is a new friend to be made. At my first campsite, Anini Beach, I met a super nice couple from California who run a wilderness school. In the middle of the hellacious storm, they escaped the misery to get some grinds (that’s food to those of us on the mainland). They were kind enough to bring me back a half a pizza because they knew I was reluctant to go out and leave my tent in the middle of the storm, and they were always ready with a morning cup of coffee if I wanted it. Before I left a few days later, I found a cast off grass beach mat and left it for them as a thank you; I have found those things to be indispensable for sandy seaside camping… it keeps the majority of the beach out of your tent.
I don’t even need to go into further detail on just what an awesome friend Mike has been to me on this journey, but I will anyway. Aside from the cooler, the beach chair, the towels, the pillows, the fantastic meals, the leftovers, the warm showers, and the laundry facilities, Mike is a great source of endless information about the plants, birds, trees, beaches and island lore. Seriously, the guy obviously reads a lot and listens carefully to what people tell him when they “talk story.” At this point in my trip, I have been dealing with a LOT of rain, and when I called to check in with him he told me that he’s been looking into hotels and condos that are going cheap right now due to last minute holiday cancellations. The level of thoughtfulness that it takes to even have that sort of thing occur to someone is a rare quality indeed. Mahalo Mike.
Mike’s friend and roommate Lyza is a vivacious and gregarious woman; one afternoon we went to check out some of the North Shore beaches and she gave me the low-down on the best surf spots and the local names for them: Tunnels, Cannons, Koko, Middles, Chicken Wing, Dump Truck, West Reef and The Killing Floor to name but a few. We had a fun afternoon ogling tight bodied surfer boys as they passed in front of us coming off of Cannons, broken surfboards in hand. I found out that that’s a good thing, to break a board; that means that it was gnarly, dude.
One morning I was walking on Haena Beach, doing my usual AM shell picking; I was totally zoned out on the meditative task of eyeballing Puka and kahelelani shells. Being so completely myopic, and seeing only two or three feet directly in front of me, I was alerted abruptly by the shrill sound of someone yelling and whistling. I glanced up, but it didn’t appear that anyone was looking at me. I kept going a few more feet when into my field of vision appears the tail of a monk seal. Right there. In front of me. It was attached, naturally, to a full grown, lazily napping Monachus schauinslandi weighing approximately 300+ pounds. It is illegal to harass or otherwise annoy one of these endangered animals, so the fact that I was only a couple of feet from it concerned me greatly. I went into the water to give it as wide a berth as possible and quickly hustled away. I looked up the beach at a couple of tourists with mouths agape and said, “Oh my god. Do you have a cell phone? Can you call someone? That needs to be roped off, I almost tripped over him!!” They didn’t speak English.
I scanned the beach further and saw that over by the emergency lifeguard equipment (strategically placed every few hundred yards along all the beaches here) a guy was hurriedly gathering the signs and yellow rope to cordon off the seal. I ran over to help and apologized profusely for being so engrossed in beach combing that I didn’t see it. He was generously non-chalant about my bone-headed move and accepted my assistance.
Apparently this old-school surfer, Billy volunteers with protecting these nearly prehistoric mammals and knows most of them individually. This particular seal was new to him and lacked the usual defining scars that most of the resident seals are tattooed with; there are scars from fishing nets that get caught around their necks, deep marks from injuries sustained by encounters with boat rudders and a telltale round wound that they get on their underbellies from bites taken out of them by the “cookie-cutter” sharks. Between that and the constant increase in tourism on their preferred napping areas, the monk seals endure a lot on a regular basis; all they want to do when they beach themselves is to get a solid rest before going back out into the daily challenges of their watery terrain. He sure was cute… the seal, that is.
After the storm, I started to get my Kauai groove on and found that unhooking and relaxing was not as natural to me as it was the last time I was here, eleven years ago. I went about doing the things that I had so enjoyed as a couple when I was here with my ex-husband, and found some peace while combing the beaches for shells. The early parts of my days were enjoyable because Mike had the mornings off from work and he is a great host and knowledgeable tour guide. It seemed that no matter what I asked him about the island, ‘What type of plant is this?’ ‘What kind of bird is that?’ and ‘Tell me the name of that tree,’ he was ready with an answer and a fair amount of lore to go along with it. It was astonishing.
In the afternoons I amused myself with hours of shell picking and beach walking, the weather improved considerably and the scenery is beyond compare. My heart was beginning to ask questions like, “When are we going to do our work?” and I would notice all the couples holding hands, children playing in the sand, and seldom anyone like me, alone. My heart had been holding this heaviness for some time now, this trip to Hawaii was for my heart specifically… custom designed for emoting and healing the wounds of the past year or ten. I keep finding distractions peppered with intermittent bouts of tears; like the weather now: sunny with intermittent showers. Some distractions are worth sharing here and I know that having fun is also a big part of the healing process; it can’t be all ceremony, tears and meditation.
I took myself out one night for dinner and decided to just order a couple of appetizers. Here’s what I got: Local mushroom cassoulet with white beans and bitter greens, as well as locally raised organic lamb ribs with a green chili glaze. It was delicious and generously portioned; I had to take half of it back to the camp to cook with eggs in the morning! Campside, I also prepared a lovely dinner with an slab of Ahi (the local tuna) rubbed with a chili powder (prepared before I left) and encrusted with macadamia nuts then seared on my camp stove… delicious. I served that with some cut up apple bananas and an avocado that a shopkeeper gave me because she had so many that fell off her tree in the storm; plus I had a salad with fresh key lime juice and olive oil. That was all amazing, especially as I was eating it on a picnic table a few feet from the mighty Pacific.
My first Sunday on the island, Mike and I went to the Princeville St. Regis for brunch; this was no ordinary buffet, let me tell you. The fact that my buddy has company perks and we got to enjoy this incredible spread for half price didn’t hurt at all either. We consumed vast amounts of delicacies that were locally sourced and spectacular; we were both so obscenely stuffed, that even the light Thai soup that Mike prepared for our dinner hours later was almost too much.
I was also clued in on the local bakery in Kilauea, about five minutes from my campsite at Anini Beach where I stayed for 4 nights. What a haven that was!! One morning I went with Mike there for our morning Joe and heard someone call my name; it confused me obviously, who did I know on Kauai? There was Jamie, the sweet guy who picked me up at the airport. It is a small island (in fact I ran into him again at the Hanalei Farmer’s Market). The Kilauea Bakery has the BEST cup of Kona coffee to be found and pastries that would make you cry. I had a sticky bun there one morning that was so good, that I could hear angels singing when I bit into it. This became my morning pilgrimage, coffee, pastry and internet service. Aloha.
The farmer’s market in Hanalei was remarkable; by far the largest on the island, this Saturday market features all things local: organic produce, baked goods and crafts. The fruit was the best I had ever seen: apple bananas are so sweet and tangy and bear little resemblance to the starchy yellow-skinned fruit we have on the mainland. Papayas are so sweet and juicy that the ripe ones get snatched up fast. A rainbow of citrus is available at nearly every stand including “killer limes” (they were), sugary tangerines, ruby grapefruits (only 50 cents each!), and kaffir limes. Pineapples are always perfectly ripe and fragrant here and the avocados were available in great abundance.
Shopping at the market with Mike was a blast because he is a professional chef at a five star hotel and really knows his shit. He sniffed, squeezed and tasted at every booth and gave me a play by play of which prices were too high, who had the best offerings and who we should come back to visit at the next market. There was a loaf of bread that we absolutely had to pay the full price for, especially when we saw a man and his daughter leave the table with 6 loaves. Called “Hawaiian Christmas bread,” the purveyor boasted that it was a “stolen recipe.” On closer inspection, we saw that the soft, glazed pastry was stuffed with tropical fruit and several veins of marzipan. Oh dear Lord.
This particular market was where Mike introduced me to a fruit I had only read about but never eaten personally: the mangosteen. Popular with some new age health marketing geniuses, the mangosteen is a cute, round purple orb festooned with a cap of chunky green leaves on the stem and a star at the blossom end that looked like it was from the set of “The Dating Game”. To get to the fruit, this purple husk must be scored with a knife and removed; inside is a small, white center divided into sections, one larger than the rest that contains a seed. The taste of this tiny morsel is worth the buck and a quarter apiece; creamy and lightly musky with a bit of tang at the finish; the mangosteen tastes like nothing I have ever eaten. What’s even more wonderful about this delicacy is the way it makes you feel instantly; it’s like your heart does a little cartwheel and the inner child comes out to play. This is truly the fruit for me, boy howdy.
The reason Mike did such careful shopping at the market was for a special dinner he was planning: a divine curry with fresh shrimp and fish as well as many local vegetables including a sweet potato, long beans, coconut, and local mushrooms seasoned with wild tangerines and kaffir lime leaves and fruit that we foraged near the Hula Heiau, (but that’s another story). It was amazing!! I even got to eat the leftovers at my camp a couple of times, much to the envy of fellow campers I can imagine, for the fragrance alone was swoon-worthy. Okay, so if I haven’t made it clear by now, the food on Kauai is marvelous! Despite the fact that I have been gorging myself with delectable treats daily, I have lost a lot of weight in the short time I’ve been here; walking, breathing clean air and eating light, clean foods (even if in abundance) has given me renewed energy and a feeling of all around well-being.
I have met some fascinating characters here, but that is something for me to “talk story” about in my next installment. Aloha, my friends.