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Hilton Head

Apr12

Upscale Playground for Golfers, Shoppers and Sun-Worshippers

 (Chriselle, Menaka and I rented bikes to explore Hilton Head Island)
Inching further up the coast, we arrived in the upscale beach resort of Hilton Head Island, long revered among Wall Street yuppies as the vacation destination of choice. And I could see why! Long before we arrived at the island itself, we passed by scores of outlet stores and designer boutiques, all captivatingly constructed to blend unobtrusively with the natural beauty of the island. Grove after grove of swaying palmetto trees, the state tree of South Carolina, reminded me of Mangalore, Chriselle of Goa and Menaka of Kerala, so that we felt deeply nostalgic for the more rural environs of our native country, India. Exquisite landscaping, endless golf courses, each manicured more lovingly than the next, Waspy vacationers attired in biker shorts, Birkenstocks and Brooks Brother T-shirts, oozing sun block in the warm mid-March air, made us feel as if summer days would never cease. As the mighty Atlantic Ocean’s waves broke over one of the broadest beaches I have ever seen, we dunked our toes in foamy surf. Unable to resist the urge, we stopped for fruity daiquiris at The Frosty Frog, a young hangout on the beach. Then replete with our heady aperitifs, we rented bikes and pedaled all the way to the Harbor town Lighthouse where enticing shops offered opportunities for endless shopping sprees. We could not have prayed for a more gorgeous day than the one we had at the beach. Thoughtfully endowed with special bikers’ pathways, Hilton Head is best explored with the convenience of a two-wheeler and we cycled to our heart’s content. At the Sea Pines Resort, I understood for the first time, why northeastern “Snowbirds” flock to the warm south during the winter months. Here is where one can enjoy the good life after a lifetime’s acquisition of executive stress. As we watched former corporate tycoons tee off over the emerald-green links, I vowed to return someday with Llew and try our own amateur hands at a few rounds.

The next day, we headed off to Myrtle Beach where we joined Irish revellers at a traditional pub to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Please join  us in our revels.

(At the lighthouse on Hilton Head Island)

Columbia, S.C.

Apr12

Columbia, S.C.

(A horse drawn carriage on the streets reflects the spirit of the Old South in America)

Our need to visit to Columbia, South Carolina, was the catalyst that triggered off a multi-state travel reaction!  Pearl Fernandes, a relative, was to wed Markus Reiter. This happy occasion became the springboard for our vacation.

All went well, on a glorious day, at the mass and reception where we danced the evening away. The gracious charm of the American South was not lost on us as we mingled with local residents at this happy event. The bride was radiant in a sari, the groom in a tux. I was given the privilege of conducting the Indian style Wedding March (the Bridal Special, as we call it in India) as Pearl was eager to re-live some of the fun of our Bombay-style celebrations. The buffet table was laden with delicious finger foods and the wedding cake was a mouthwatering confection with its cascades of fresh fruit.

When the excitement of the wedding had passed, the next day, we attempted to discover the city on a walking tour. Arriving in “Downtown Columbia”, we discovered it to be a beautifully laid-out city constructed in a perfect grid pattern. If one has a map, it is difficult to get lost.

Our itinerary allowed us to reserve a few hours to take in a tour of the State Capitol, a fittingly grand building whose dome dominates the city’s skyline. Beautifully moving sculptures on the front lawn brilliantly detail the troubled history of the State and the suffering of the days of slavery. Inside, the superb marble interiors were engulfed by students from the various local schools, out on field-trips. The day was gorgeous and they could not have lucked out better with the weather. Joining a conducted tour, we were taken through the various public rooms that comprise the administrative hub of the building.

Our next stop was  Trinity Church, the oldest Episcopalian Church in the South. We thoroughly enjoyed the tour of the church conducted by an old-fashioned Southern gentleman, the very epitome of the legendary graciousness of the Old South. In showing us the lovely stained glass windows of his church, he also exposed us to Jim Crow laws that prevailed prior to the Civil Rights Movement in America when Blacks were allowed to worship only from the gallery of the church. We realized just how difficult life must have been in the Old South for African-Americans and we were grateful that we no longer live in such an era of blatant raical discrimination.

We also visited the courtyard of the historic Baptist Church where the Ordinance of Secession (that triggered off “the War for the Rights of the Southern States” as the American Civil War is euphemistically called in the South) was signed. Peppered by granite and marble gravestones of eminent South Carolina lineage, the graveyard is a quiet, peaceful spot in the midst of the bustling traffic on the main streets.  All of Columbia’s main tourist landmarks are within walking distance of each other which makes it very convenient to explore the mian sights in a single morning. Walking through the streets, we realized just how wide they are. Indeed, Columbia’s neat grid has some of the widest streets in the country—constructed, we discovered, in accordance with a contemporary belief that such urban planning would discourage the spread of respiratory diseases such as consumption!

Apart from these historic buildings, however, the city could be Anywhere, USA. There is little distinctive character to make the city unqiue. In fact, there is nothing to hold the interest of younger tourists, not even a mall at which to hang out over a cup of Starbucks! Not surprisingly, Menaka and Chriselle were quickly bored by its banal urban ambience.

A day later, we were making our way further south on our crowded itinerary and driving towards Savannah, Georgia. But not before we stopped to visit relatives en route.

(The South is full of beautiful courtyard gardens such as this one attached to a gracious manion in Charleston) 

Gilbert, South Carolina

Forty-five minutes away, in Gilbert, South Carolina, live Llew’s nephew David Almeida, his wife Sherri and their daughter, Elyse. Their home, a simple farmhouse, was moved about five years ago from its original location about five miles down the road on the payment of a dollar to the original owner! David and Sherri have spent the better part of half a decade refurbishing and renovating their home.

We arrived at their home in mid-afternoon after a huge brunch held at Pearl and Markus’ new home in Columbia. The drive took us over highways that cut through extensive southern plantations.  Over lemonade and cookies and several photo albums, the Almeidas took us on a pictorial tour of their fascinating home from barest shell to the lived-in habitation it has become. Located in the midst of soybean fields and peach orchards, the Almeidas live in the heart of rural South Carolina, Sherri’s family having made their living as farmers for generations. After we had marveled at their unique home and the many renovations they have made since moving in a few years ago, it was time to bid them goodbye.

Leaving Gilbert behind us, we drove about three hours further south to Savannah, Georgia, passing by sweet grass swamps, and endless cotton plantations, to arrive in the Peach State with enough time to take showers and settle down to a comedy on TV.

Bon Voyage!

Blue Ridge Mountain

Apr12

Blue Ridge Mountains

“Almost Heaven, West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River…”

Since all good things must come to an end, we rose early to start our long drive back to Connecticut, but not quite yet. We still had to go through the Shenandoah Valley National Park, tucked in the folds of the Blue Ridge Mountains in West Virginia. While it is clear that we did not choose the most propitious season in which to explore these vast acres of natural beauty, we were frequently rewarded by glimpses of white-tailed deer, herds of which crowded in front of our car and made us feel like intruders in their natural habitat. Not illogically, John Denver’s song “Country Roads” was uppermost in our minds as our car swerved and glided through those endless vistas of valley, sky and misty mountain peak on the snaking Skyline Drive. It was indeed, as Denver had put it, “Almost Heaven”.

Leaving the idyllic environs of the mountains behind us, we continued our drive back home to Connecticut.

Thank you for taking this tour in our company. This Girls Week Out was indeed a memorable bonding opportunity for Chriselle, my god-child Menaka and myself. We hope you will traverse this route someday in reality. For the moment, though, hopefully, virtual reality took you there and back safely.

Bon Voyage!

Beaufort and Charleston

Apr12

(Menaka and Chriselle on the classy streets of Charleston)O

The next day, we drove about an hour north, glimpsing water frequently in patches all along the intra-coastal highway, to Beaufort, a charming town halfway between Savannah and Charleston.

Here too, our walking tour of the city (left) and the riverfront allowed us to view double-storied plantation style mansions with wide porches (since square footage covered by porches are not taxed in the state!). Our quest for a typical Southern pecan pie did not bring very productive results but we settled for satisfyingly warm wedges of snickers pie and apple pie in a snazzy café called Muddy Waters as we overlooked the river. Full of ritzy stores offering decorative home accessories, Beaufort’s main street and the few old side streets that comprise its downtown area were very appealing and beautifully preserved. Knowing that Beaufort was settled by plantation owners in the same manner that Charleston was, I experienced quiet excitement as I awaited the charms of this enchanting city yet to come.

And Charleston did not disappoint. The city wove its irresistible spells around me so that I felt transported to a magical world and wished never to be brought back to reality. Parking our car, once again, in the Visitors Center as advised, we followed the route suggested by our trusty guidebook into the historic quarter where the ambience is decidedly French. And little wonder since it was the French Huguenots who, escaping religious persecution in France, first arrived as settlers on Charleston’s waterfront. The English followed suit, of course, naming the city “Charles Town” after their own monarch but the French stamp of cultural dominance was already branded upon the city by the time of the French arrival so that the English made little dent in its atmosphere. Roughly broken into two halves, designated by Broad Street (“The Broad”, to locals), locations are mentioned as being “North of the Broad” or “South of the Broad”. Indeed as one crosses the Broad and arrives closer to the sea front, the antebellum mansions get fancier, their dimensions growing breathtakingly more commodious, their embellishments far more ornate and the gardens much more ravishing. It was with the gardens that I was chiefly enraptured as I used my camera liberally to capture the artful arrangement of gravel pathways and rippling waters vomited by ornate stone lion’s heads, neatly-clipped English boxwood edges and concrete parterres, beds of flowering tulips and occasional benches in the style of Sir Edwin Lutyens, all enclosed within mossy brick walls and ornamental wrought-iron gates. Charleston is a garden lover’s Paradise, a city in which even the narrowest strip of soil separating two buildings is used skillfully to create a natural vignette oozing with appeal.

It was in Charleston that I met my French friend, former Metropolitan Museum docent, Martine Dulles and her lovely daughter Emelie. Recently relocated from Manhattan to this delightful city, Martine runs a custom-designed stationary business from a shop front in the heart of the historical district, cheek by jowl with a well-visited antebellum mansion called the Heywood-Washington House. Upon her advice, Menaka and I took an interior tour of the home and emerged both awed and edified by the lifestyle of erstwhile Colonial plantation owners. In the hands of a superbly informed guide, we toured the rooms, noticed their rich accoutrements and finely-wrought furniture. We even saw the most priceless piece of Colonial furniture in America today, a vast tall-boy used as a bookcase that has withstood the booming canons of the American Revolution and the Civil War, countless hurricanes and thunderstorms to remain intact with not even a single glass panel ever replaced. We learned in this home that the Colonial English ate at quite ordinary dining tables but adorned them with tablecloths in luscious fabrics such as damask and linen, changing each cloth with the china and silverware for each course so that dessert was eventually served upon the bald tabletop. We saw the chamber pots in the bedrooms, inserted into the “Chair of Necessity” that each room boasted, since the “Necessity Rooms” or toilets were outhouses, reached by walking through the backdoor and into the garden. And, of course, it was with the garden that I found myself most preoccupied. Here, giant boxwood topiaries, naughty cherubs spouting waters over their plump limbs and gravel pathways led one to the bottom of the garden where a bench was thoughtfully provided for quiet contemplation.

With sustenance sought at the Smokestack Brewery amidst gargantuan copper burnished vats brewing potent beers, we renewed our quest for the city’s jewels, rambling at leisure through the thickly canopied streets created by the conjoining of ancient live oaks from whose mighty limbs Spanish moss hung like bunches of mauve wisteria. This natural phenomenon is seen all over the South and became for us an unending curiosity. We even asked a passerby what the tree was called; only to have him mishear us into thinking we wished to inquire about the name of the street.
“Jones Street”, he said.
“Jones Tree?” I replied.

When the confusion was cleared, these quiet handsome live oak trees, dripping with moss, became known to us as “Jones Trees”, much to our private amusement. As we neared the water’s edge, we passed by umpteen horse-drawn carriages, the periodic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves adding to the romantic old-world ambience of this fascinating city. In the endless maze that comprises Charleston’s classy shopping district, I was reminded very much of the chic ambience of the French Riviera and in the vivid awnings that protected the opening of every boutique and designer store, I recalled the pleasures I had once taken in the exclusively moneyed atmosphere of Nice and Monte Carlo. Each street was lined with buildings whose facades were painted in ice-cream shades of creamy vanilla and mouthwatering strawberry. I could gladly live in Charleston, I thought, convincing myself yet again that it was in an earlier epoch that I most certainly belonged. There, on East Battery Street, with the horizon before us and sprawling antebellum mansions in frosty pastels behind us, we soaked in Charleston’s special appeal. Later, at Rainbow Row, appropriately named for the vibrant hues that color the facades of the gabled row houses, I took more pictures. Charleston allowed me to nurse my love of architecture and gardens with unashamed zeal and I thrilled at the opportunity to behold its splendor.

One couldn’t leave this bastion of Old Southern culture without visiting a plantation and at the advise of the personnel at the Visitor’s Center, we drove a few miles outside of Charleston, stopping en route to partake of a humongous Lowcountry Breakfast (eggs, sausage, bacon, grits, orange juice, coffee) at a local diner, to Boone Hall Plantation.

 

 

 

 

Driving under another allee of ancient, moss-festooned live oaks, we encountered the Georgian-style brick facade of the mansion. A far cry from the legendary Tara of Gone With the Wind (which was, after all, a film set dismantled after the movie was shot), Boone Hall  (above left) offered a glimpse into the South’s antebellum past when the wealthy lived a charmed life served by their loyal black slaves. While we enjoyed the gardens, ablaze with camellias in every shade of pink, rose bushes that, no doubt, later in the season would sweetly scent the air, Icelandic poppy borders that glowed with electric colors, we were disappointed by the house simply because the tour was given by a guide who seemed completely disinterested in the task at hand. Clearly routine had returned to her work for she mouthed her monologue in a manner that would most certainly have failed to make the grade at the Met where, thankfully, the standards are far more exacting. We did make our way through a spacious living room and library, a stone paved loggia and garden room cozied up with wicker; but details that one so desperately desired about the provenance of the priceless antique furniture displayed within remained mysteriously unavailable. Satisfaction came in exploring the slave cabins (above right) on “Slave Street”, also on the plantation grounds, where aspects of the lives of slaves owned and regulated by their aristocratic masters kept us enthralled. We saw African-Americans, the probable descendants of erstwhile slaves, still weave sweet grass baskets in the manner in which slaves once did, in brick cabins that were made on the plantation grounds by the slaves themselves from silt that washed up against the creek that bordered the plantation. It was truly an interesting excursion but one that could have been made far more enjoyable by the efforts of a more assiduous guide.

Our head port of call was Hilton Head Island, a truly glamorous place stacked with manicured golf courses and trendy boutiques.

Southern Sojourn

Apr12

(In the gardens of the Heywood-Washington Mansion in Charleston, South Carolina)

Spring break of 2004 saw me do exactly what one is primarily intended to do—flee the winter doldrums of the northeast to bask in the more genial temperatures of the South. And how marvelously pleasurable our rambles turned out to be! Several latitudes below Connecticut, spring had already burst in with customary gusto and Nature wore the palest pastel shades of the season. Allees of ornamental pear trees bloomed in quietest whites, soft pinks of magnolia blossoms, palest yellows in exuberant daffodils and baby blue in hyacinth fronds fought for our attention in Southern gardens. With Chriselle and me sharing three-hourly stints behind the wheel of our Subaru Outback and Menaka, my niece, a doctoral student at Boston University, bringing up the rear, we left Southport at the crack of dawn to launch out on a tour of the South Atlantic states that will forever remain indelible. Dodging peak-hour traffic adroitly as we edged around metropolitan cities such as New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington DC, our car gobbled up the miles and entering the vast expanses of Virginia, we passed through barren tobacco fields and big tobacco factories (Phillip Morris), with its appropriately fuming smoke-stacks–once the mainstay of Colonial economy—as we arrived in the capital city of South Carolina, Columbia, which was to be the first stop on our travels.

From Columbia, we made our way south, stopping frequently either to visit relatives (we saw some in Gilbert, South Carolina) or to explore cities steeped in Southern gentility such as Savannah, Beaufort and Charleston. In the heart of the Gullah (“Low Country”), we passed by cotton fields (as in the old negro spirituals), tidal marshes full of wispy reeds and roadside shacks selling peach cider and bags of pecans. On Hilton Head Island, we rented bikes to explore the haven that wealthy retirees now call home year-round, at Myrtle Beach we frolicked with cheerful visitors at an Irish pub on St. Paddy’s Day, at Raleigh we toured the stately homes and gardens of the historic district and ended our travels in the Blue Ridge Mountains of the Shenandoah Valley among herds of deer who seemed indignant that we tresspassed in the national park out of season!

Traffic did assault us on our way home, in the Washington-Baltimore corridor, where we were delayed for a couple of hours in peak evening rush. When we did eventually get back home after fifteen hours of driving, we were exhausted, not just physically but intellectually and visually as well for our travels had exposed us to a wealth of history and culture and to a region that is unique. We became accustomed to having our questions answered by locals with “Yes, M’am”, or “No M’am” and were actually called “Yankees” once by a waitress in a Waffle House where pecans were the favorite ingredient. Overall, Chriselle and I drove through 2, 725 miles (yes, that is 2,725 miles, almost double the distance that Llew had driven in Ireland). Yet, we’re convinced that driving tours are simply the best way to travel for there is so much ground one can cover (literally and figuratively) through such trips. How wonderful, I thought, to live in the United States, where the vastness of this country gives each portion its distinctive “regionalism”. The South was strongly reminiscent of Mediterranean Europe and in soaking it up to the point of saturation, we were left with memories of a truly marvelous time.

Do browse through the individual pages for more information on each venue and to follow us on our Tour of the South. Please join us now in  exploring Columbia, South Carolina.

Nantucket

Apr12

Notes from Nautical Nantucket

(At the waterside overlooking Nantucket Harbor)

Nantucket is one of the prettiest places I have ever seen. An island, 26 miles off the coast of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, it sits amidst the ebb and flow of the swirling Atlantic Ocean. Imagine a place where pristine beaches are carpeted by masses of wild vivid pink rugosa roses…where seagulls and egrets blur the evening sky stained salmon pink and pearly at sundown…where cedar shingled cottages weathered to a uniformly grey patina are draped with shrouds of climbing blood red roses…where multi-hued hydrangea lift their mop heads to the stars along cobbled pavements and peep from beneath white picket fences…where prim ladies in crisp linens and pearls carry woven wicker baskets instead of pocketbooks…where Bay scallops and lobster–freshly caught off saline waters–feature on world-class menus in cozy restaurants that were once whaling mansions…where a historic library appropriately called the Athaneum housed in a splendid Neo-Classical building once hosted the likes of stellar American authors such as Longfellow and Hawthorne and Herman Melville…where hundreds of boats bob in jade-green seas in sheltered coves and hidden bays…where sprucely manicured tall hedges hosting circular, full-moon gates sprinkled with David Austin roses in ice-cream shades of pink and pale yellow welcome visitors down brick-paved garden pathways…where church fairs feature old-fashioned games of skills, rummage sales and vintage jewelry…where upscale design stores stand cheek by jowl with fine arts galleries featuring everything from traditional oil paintings to modernist sculpture…where shuttle buses ferry skimpily clad beachcombers to the water’s edge for another day of fun in the sun…where bicycles equipped with French-style wicker baskets are the preferred mode of conveyance…where salt water taffy and chewy chocolate fudge can be purchased as tasty souvenirs of one’s travels…all of this is Nantucket and more. Llew and I spent five idyllic days on this unique island, delighting in its distinctive ambience and lazying away to our heart’s content.

 

 

 

 

(Standing besides masses of hydrangeas and on the sandy pathway leading to Surfside Beach)

 

 

 

 

(Llew poses outside the Jared-Coffine House–left. Seacraft dot the deep blue waters) 

I had heard so much about Nantucket…and yet had never actually set foot on it. I had once flown over it, though, and can clearly remember sticking my head to the window of our aircraft when the pilot informed us that we were flying just above the islands of Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard. I expected it to be similar to “the Cape” as Cod Cape is known to its many afficionados or like Martha’s Vineyard, its closest neighbor. But is is like nothing I had ever seen. Nantucket is different. A center for seafaring and whaling in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, it developed in the twentieth as an upscale mecca for the well-heeled tourist seeking the aura of Cannes or Nice in a corner of the North Atlantic.

To get to Nantucket, we drove from Southport to Hyannis on Cape Cod where we parked our car and transferred to a ferry (run by Hy-Line Cruises) that dropped us off on the island at a picture-perfect dock dotted with restaurants, souvenir stores and art galleries. Since we visited the island during the long July Fourth weekend, the resort was more crowded than usual. Indeed, summer brings hordes to this sleepy island, its 10,000 strong year-round population swelling to 60,000 before Labor Day draws the curtain down on another season of endless festivities. A shuttle bus took us to Surfside Beach where our accommodation at the Youth Hostel was the perfect vantage point from which to explore the island. Indeed, the hostel is located right on the beach front in an old Victorian rescue cabin complete with gingerbread trim that has been beautifully refurbished (above left). For the next few days, we shared space with a bunch of diverse travelers from around the world, from teenagers to white-haired single globe-trotters who barely spoke English. Not willing to skip a beat, we checked out our impeccably clean, brand-new dormitory style quarters and made our way on the island shuttle bus to “Town” where all social life begins and ends. We then strolled down to Jetties Beach to see the Independence Day fireworks from a cozy seat at The Jetties, a restaurant on the waterfront where we shared a bottle of red wine, tucked into a gigantic platter of delicious antipasto and ate thin-crust pizza for dinner. The clear skies made the display of fireworks particularly nice that night.

For the next few days, we basked in the leisure afforded by an island in which Time seems to stand still. With no set itinerary of any kind, we breakfasted each morning at the hostel on toasted bagels and peanut butter or bowls of warming oatmeal before setting out for another day’s aimless ambling. When we arrived in Nantucket Town (above left), we had a choice of things to do—we could browse through the upmarket stores that offered everything from one of-a-kind jewelry and uniquely designed houseware to antique maps and engravings. When we got tired of window-shopping, we made our way to the harbor along cobbled streets and well-defined red brick pathways where buoys floated on the crystal-clear waves and sea craft of every kind from fancy yatchs to sail boats and schooners told of the adventurous life  on the high seas. One morning, we joined a throng of folks to browse for used books at the annual book fair held by the public library, a magnificent edifice in the center of town whose marvelous built-in bookcases in solid oak and paintings of dour-faced patrons on the walls brought a hint of intellectual fervor to one’s foraging. That same morning, we rummaged among bric-a-brac at a summer fair held at Our Lady of the Isle Church (yes, there really is such a place) where I found some lovely vintage jewelry.

On yet another afternoon, we climbed the 94 stairs into the tower of the First Congregation Church on Center Street for stunning 360 degree views of the island (left). Indeed, the church itself is a marvel of 18th century architecture with its typical New England colonial white wooden siding and its tall spire reaching towards  Heaven. Inside, each box pew is a testament to the many wealthy families who made their fortunes as whalers at a time when the mammal was fiercely hunted in New England waters. Everywhere we went on Nantucket, reminders of the world of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick assailed us from the nautical motifs in the décor items available in every store as well in the auction houses where antiques featuring sailors’ chests and ship’s lanterns were strongly bid. Indeed, we enjoyed attending one such auction and taking in the thrills of the hunt as bidders vied for old maps, sea-faring oil paintings, battered woolen rugs and carpets and Chinoiserie.

Then, one morning, purely by accident while puttering about Mitchell’s Book Corner, I bumped right into Eleanor Gosse, a good friend of ours from nearby Easton. Her husband Roy once worked with Llew at Creditanstanlt and we have remained close family friends over the years. Eleanor and Roy own a beach cottage on one of the sandy moors that look out over the distant waters of Eel’s Point. They were so delighted to see us and were insistent that we join them for dinner, the next evening, in their beautifully decorated home. Roy picked us up at the appointed hour at a fancy cocktail opening reception at an art gallery featuring the work of one of the best-loved island artists Barbara Capizzo who also happens to be a good friend of theirs. After we had warmed our spirits with wine and edibles, Roy gave us a lovely driving tour of the island, taking us past the grand sea-facing mansions of such celebrities as Tommy Hillfiger and the Heinzs (of Ketchup fame, now the better half of Senator and one-time Presidential hopeful John Kerry). They showed us the shoe-houses that featured in the films Cheaper by the Dozen (both ther 1950s version and the more contemporary one starring Steve Martin) and took us past the Brandt Lighthouse.

Eleanor is a marvelous cook and we enjoyed drinks on their deck overlooking an awesome sunset   (left) before meeting their neighbor John who happens to be the pianist of the local Nantucket Philharmonic. Over swordfish steaks, a baked ziti and a delicious green salad followed by ice-cream and fruit, we had a lovely companionable evening indeed and a most unexpected encounter with friends whose company we always enjoy. Notice their beautiful and very lovable dogs, Magnum and Molly, who were extremely well-behaved all evening long.

 

 

 

 

(At Sconset Village that was ablaze with summer flowers in spilling window boxes)

The next day saw us take the bus to Siasconset (always shortened to Sconset), another ritzy beach at another end of the island where more grand homes and postcard-perfect cottage gardens enchant the eye. Though there is little to interest the urban oriented in these hidden nooks of the island, the natural beauty makes it worth the discovery. Darling cottages with adorable gardens laden with the raucous colors of flowering annuals greeted us everywhere.

Similarly, we once took the bus past the Sankaty Lighthouse to Madaket Beach where the sunsets are major crowd pullers. Beach combers were everywhere, enjoying tanning in the warm sunshine while surf-lovers took to the ocean like porpoises. That afternoon, we sought out the Seagrille Restaurant which reputedly served the best Lobster Bisque on the island. And we were not disappointed. A hearty bowl featured a herb crust beneath which sat a delectable offering of the bisque with large pieces of lobster meat hidden in the creamy depths below. It was a meal in itself

Another evening, in early celebration of my birthday (which was the next day when we’d be traveling on the ferry back home), we made reservations at The Ship’s Inn, a historic old whaling captain’s mansion dating from the mid-1700s. There, we seated ourselves down to a slap-up meal featuring the famous grilled sweet Nantucket Bay scallops served in a creamy sauce. We split a bottle of Chianti and ordered the piece de resistance—whole lobsters prised away from their shells and reassembled on the plate. In its front pincers, it held a quantity of spinach flavored cavatelli, it sat on a bed of brown lentils (to resemble rocks), held a bunch of collard greens (to resemble seaweed) around its tail and swam in a sea of passionfruit-orange reduction. It was so yummy that words could never do it justice. For dessert, we split a Chocolate Souffle Cake with an accompanying pistachio ice-cream. It is clear that the lifestyle on the island of Nantucket has attracted some of the country’s most talented chefs and among the affluent clientele that make the resort their summer hangout, they get ample opportunity to display their culinary creativity. Another unusual attraction are the cranberries that are cultivated in bogs (flooded lakes) and harvested once a year in the fall. Wild blueberries grow all over the island and the local clams and quahogs make the delicious soup (some would call it a stew) known as New England Clam Chowder—one of my favorite dishes. We ordered clam chowder in every eatery as well as the famous Fried Clams and were not disappointed.

On yet another day, we poked around the famous Whaling Museum (left) with its wonderfully nautical exhibits including the old light from an island lighthouse. Though there is nothing much to see by way of ‘attractions’, the true ‘sights’ lie in the abundance of unspoiled nature that encompasses the spirit. Those into water sports will find no dearth of energetic activity, but for the bulk of sun-worshippers who flock to the island, it is enough to lie in the sun all day long and vegetate. Bike enthusiasts will enjoy the clearly defined bike paths all over the island. It is so easy to rent a bike for the week or the day and take off. And it is an excellent idea to leave your car behind on the mainland. The island’s shuttle bus service (very economical at just $4 for a day pass, $2 for a single fare anywhere on the island) is excellent, the drivers chatty and helpful and the schedule clearly marked, allowing visitors to plan days of leisure as they explore the island without dealing with the hassles of traffic, parking, etc.

One of our most memorable experiences was taking a long walk by moonlight along the sandy bluffs on the way to Surfside Beach. In the quiet of the Atlantic summer night, the stars shone down upon us from cloudless skies and a crescent moon lighted our steps towards the salt scented waves of the ocean. It is to moments like these that I return in my daydreams when I wish to escape to parts of the world that have sanctified my spirits.

If it is a short beach break you seek, a few days of pure inactivity, an opportunity to de-stress in the bosom of Mother Nature, there are few parts of North America that you would find more restful. Consider getting away to the island that was beloved to Herman Melville and provided the inspiration for his most popular novel. It is a little parcel of England just three hours driving distance from home. What could warm the heart of a confirmed Anglophile more?
Bon Voyage!

Oahu

Apr12
Hawaii 

Oahu: The Fun Island

The US state of Hawaii, formerly a monarchical kingdom, comprises eight main islands with several tinier ones that don’t usually count—Hawaii (the Big Island), Oahu, Maui, Kauai, Lanai, Moloka’i, Niihau and Kaholo’awe.

Oahu is the most populated (though not the largest—that honor goes to Hawaii, hence its nickname ‘Big Island’) and most popular. Honolulu, the capital city is located on Oahu as is the famed Waikiki Beach (below left).I arrived on June 6  late at night, awfully jetlagged after a fifteen hour flight from New York’s Kennedy airport. My accommodation at the University of Hawaii’s campus was a tiny dorm room. It was fabulous to be a student again, to have a tiny cubicle in a dorm, to share common bath and dining facilities and to have a fabulous campus to explore at leisure.

When I awoke to a cloudy morning after a slight drizzle, I found myself staring wondrously outside my window at the verdant Manoa Valley (below left) where a rainbow was also staining the sky in varied colors. This was the first of many rainbows that I spotted in Hawaii. Every time it gets a trifle too warm, the slightest drizzle appears like a gentle spray. It stops in just a few minutes and as the sun emerges from the clouds, rainbows arch superbly across the skies. It was a sight of which I never tired.

Ilima or Yellow Hibiscus, Hawaii's State FlowerFor the next three weeks, I spent time in-between lecture sessions at the East-West Center, in exploring the island of Oahu beginning with the capital city which can basically be divided into two parts: Waikiki Beach and Downtown Honolulu—the two areas merge into one. Waikiki Beach is the most ‘happening’ place and buzzes with tourist energy.

It’s a great place to be after dark when the neon lights paint the streets in garish colors, the traditional torches are lit all over the main promenades of Kuhio Avenue and Kalakaua Avenue (right) and vacationers strut around in skimpy beach outfits. The avenues are lined with shops selling all sorts of tourist paraphaenalia from postcards to suntan lotion and beach mats. But it is the water that catches your eye and dazzles it. The tints and hues of the Pacific Ocean are impossible to describe—as the light changes, the ribbons of color on the water change from turquoise blue to jade green, from cobalt tones to aquamarine. The waves are gentle giants that do not churn up the sand on the shore, so that the sea remains crystal clear and fish can be spotted with one’s naked eye frolicking in the water. I spent a lot of time at Waikiki, sun-bathing with my View of the Manoa Valley & Waikiki from Makiki Heightsfriends, taking frequent dips in the sea, watching incredible sunsets from the poolside bars of the five-star hotels where we nursed maitais (pineapple juice and rum cocktails) or simply people-watching (see below left). There was never a dull moment as I merged in with the vacation crowds.

The city of Honolulu downtown is an architectural wonder–several styles merge effortlessly together: from Spanish mission style buildings to turn-of-the-century Art Deco buildings to new steel, glass and concrete commercial skyscrapers. In a few well-planned blocks, one can take in the interesting State Capitol Building designed to feature Hawaii’s volcanoes, palm trees and a moat that represents the Pacific Ocean that surrounds the islands. After a tour of Iolani Palace, a Victorian structure in the midst of sprawling green lawns, one felt sorry for the Hawaiian people whose monarchy was overthrown and The Royal Hawaiian Hotel on Waikiki Beachwhose islands were unfairly annexed by the United States for commercial reasons (thriving sugarcane plantations made the American sugar barons greedy enough to find ways they could start to own the land themselves). Queen Liliuokalani, the last Queen of Hawaii, is a revered figure in the state, not just because she fought valiantly to hold on to her kingdom, but because she went down fighting with grace and dignity, quilting bravely in the room in her palace in which she was imprisoned and composing a wealth of folk songs, 400 in number, many of which her people still sing daily including the famous “Aloha Oe”. Another revered hero in Hawaii is Fr. Damien, the Belgian Catholic priest, who traveled to Molokoi to a leper colony to work among the afflicted and to rehabilitate them until he too contracted leprosy and died on Molokoi. His statue adorns the State Capitol Building and there is a museum in his memory in Honolulu.

Hula Dancer and Steel Guitars on Waikiki BeachI toured the state’s Supreme Court and the City Hall, saw the Public Library and the beautiful church of Kawaiaha, constructed entirely of coral reef rocks that were hacked beneath the ocean and brought up by divers in order to build the church. Hawaii’s erstwhile royalty, after conversion to Christianity, worshipped in this church. I also toured the Mission House Museums which consist, among other structures, of a Cape Cod saltbox house that was actually hauled off to Hawaii from New England proving to be terribly impractical for the hot tropical weather! Anglican missionaries arrived in Hawaii in 1820 and quickly transformed the native culture of the islanders, frowning upon traditional hula dancers who wore grass skirts and insisting that long-sleeved dresses be worn instead!

It was very easy to get around the city as an excellent bus system, simply called The Bus, plies all around and with a monthly pass (only $40), one could get unlimited rides all over town. At the extreme end of the downtown area, the demographics change and the presence of Oriental people becomes more noticeable. This is Chinatown where Chinese immigrants brought to the islands to work on the sugar plantations, settled down and made homes for themselves. The restaurants, markets, lei shops, bakeries, grocery stores and clothing shops have a distinctive Chinese look about them though everything closes by 4 pm. Chinatown also has some beautiful Shinto and Buddhist shrines, each one offering fascinating architecture and practices of worship. Later when Llew arrived, we treated ourselves to an unforgettable bowl of Vietnamese pho, a hearty noodle soup with meat, greens and bean sprouts at a nondescript place in Chinatown called Pho-To Chau where the lines were long and the locals waited patiently for the best meal deal in town—only $4.50 for a steaming bowl.

I did most of my sightseeing in Honolulu in the evenings, after classes, but at the weekends, I ventured outside the city limits, armed only with a map, a bus pass and schedule. On a trip to the north of Oahu, I passed thousands of acres of pineapple plantations, and the mist-enshrouded Ko’olau Mountains, drove through the town of Wahiawa and stopped at Hale’iwa, where I took a nap on a startlingly beautiful beach and purchased ‘shave ice’ (a snow cone) from Matsumoto’s, a Japanese general store that serves it with vanilla ice-cream and red azuki beans. The Japanese presence in Oahu is all-pervasive. At least 30% of its permanent residents are retired Japanese and the bulk of the tourists, other than Americans, fly up from Japan, so that prices in the upscale designer stores are written in Japanese and all public signs are bilingual.

On another Saturday morning, I took a bus past the volcanic crater of Diamond Head (which I also overlooked from my dorm room) and went to Hanauma Bay, a gorgeous semi-circular bay with coral reefs very close to the shores. Dozens of snorkelers were already in the waters by the time I donned my own snorkel mask and fins and joined them to take in the sight of hundreds of tropical fish that swam all around my calves and ankles, quite oblivious to the presence of so many human beings. Llew and I saw Hanauma Bay several times from the air on our many inter-island flights and it never ceased to amaze me that underwater volcanic action, thousands of years ago, could have given rise to a natural phenomenon that continues to delight swimmers today.

On another Saturday, I took the bus through southeast Oahu, past Diamond Head and Hanauma Bay and explored the quieter, less ritzy, more residential parts of the island where the local people lived. These areas reminded me very much of Goa or Kerala, with their modest, one-story ranch style homes, their gardens filled with plumeria trees in full bloom, mango and pomelo trees laden with fruit and hedges full of ilima (yellow hibiscus), Hawaii’s state flower. Of course, coconut and banana trees were everywhere which also caused me to recall vacations in Goa. Going past Makappu’u Point with its picturesque light house and Sea Life Park, I drove through the town of Llew and Rochelle on lovely Lanikai BeachWaimanalo, then got off the bus at Kailua Beach where local Hawaiian families were picnicking with pleasure and the smell of barbecued meats assailed my nostrils. I took a long nap at Kailua Beach while facing the stunning jade green waters, before taking the bus back to campus on the wonderful Pali Highway that affords one of the most beautiful drives on Oahu.

Just a week after I arrived in Honolulu, the whole state celebrated the birthday of King Kamehameha, who in the 1600s, after many bloody battles, succeeded in uniting all the Hawaiian Islands. He is a cultural hero and his statue adorns the exterior of City Hall. The Parade in his honor passed down Kalakaua Avenue at Waikiki allowing us to take in the sights of local Hawaiians on horseback and in vintage cars, not to mention a succession of lovely, colorful floats that depicted the culture and history of the Hawaiians. Every float and passing car was made special by the addition of Hawaii’s glorious flora—anthuriums, orchids, heliconia, ginger flowers, birds of Paradise, elephant ears, crotons, etc. so that the flower-lover in me enjoyed this aspect of the parade more than anything else. The King Kamehameha Day holiday allowed the Japanese to participate in many cultural events so that for the entire weekend, I felt as if I were in Tokyo rather than in an American capital city. I saw a huge number of Japanese dances, performed in stunning costumes in Ala Moana Shopping Center, one of the principal malls, and at the bandstand in Queen Kapiolani Park. I sampled mochi, a delicious rice flour cake stuffed with sweetened red azuki beans, tried my hand at paper tearing and mask painting, watched my friends get a spiritual massage, and received many pretty freebies such as tiny Japanese beanie dolls, samples of exotic soaps in fragrances like lavender and ginger, bookmarks made by the talented paper tearers and note pads. It was a lovely way to spend the weekend and I made the most of it.

Upon Llew’s arrival in Honolulu, we made a beeline together for the USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor where on December 7, 1941—“a day that will live in infamy”– hundreds of Japanese bombers arrived by top secret and sank dozens of American fighter ships with hundreds of crew on board. This frightful event dragged the USA into World War II and is the subject of several wonderful films that I had seen over the years, never dreaming that, one day, I would actually tour Pearl Harbor myself. Hawaii’s most visited site, it is difficult to get tickets to see the Memorial, so that Llew stood in line for hours while I attended classes. When I did join him at the site, we watched a fine film that filled us in on the historical details, then boarded a ferry boat that took us across to the USS Arizona that still lies sunk in about forty feet of water providing a watery grave for the 1140 crew who sank with her in five minutes when she was torpedoed. It was decided never to bring the sunken ship above water, so that the heroes who died in that attack lie entombed in the rusting ship. In recent years, a memorial was built astride the ship, containing a memorial wall on which is engraved the names of each one of the sailors who perished. It is a solemn venue, made more poignant by the fact that tropical fish could be seen swimming through the remnants of the ship, some parts of which are still visible above water. As someone whose research has encompassed mass-death and the memorials that are built to commemorate those deaths, I was fascinated by this visit and found more material for inclusion in my forthcoming book.

On a trip to the Honolulu Academy of the Arts, I made friends with a former Westporter named Manu Chakravarty, a docent who took us through the South Asian Art galleries, then gave me a tour of the Native Hawaiian Art galleries with their collections of feather leis and capes and al’i (chieftain) wands, paintings of volcanic action and engravings of Mission life, koa wood calabashes, etc. But what caught my eye, most memorably, was a marvelous vignette of Hawaiian marine life interpreted entirely in art glass by Seattle-based Dale Chihuly, my favorite glass artist of all time. It contained Chihuly’s signature pieces such as his gigantic glass shells, pearls, sea horses, starfish, etc.

With Manu and Gautam Chakravarty at the Nu'annu Pali LookoutManu and her husband Gautam became friends of ours and treated us to a driving tour of Oahu, taking us to places that we were unable to reach by bus. Among these was a visit to the Museum of Contemporary Art, a drive through the towering Makiki Heights where we received glorious views of Honolulu and Waikiki Beach, a visit to the stunning Nu’uanu Pali Lookout which offers sweeping views of the leeward side of Oahu, the towns of Kaneohe and Kailua, and the Old Pali Highway, on which we drove through a thick rain forest with the most massive banyan trees that will forever remain in my memory. They also took us over a Japanese bridge to the red and gold Byodo-In Temple, a replica of a Buddhist temple in Japan which included a pond full of koi (Oriental goldfish), black swans, a Zen garden and grounds full of peacocks. It was like a scene out of a fantasy and we enjoyed every moment there.

On Kailua and Lanikai Beaches, we saw more vacationers who wished to get far from the madding crowd, as well as local Hawaiians in their outrigger canoes.

Maui

Apr12
Hawaii

Maui: Honeymooners’ Paradise

What can one say about Hawaii’s idyllic island of Maui that hasn’t been said before? How does one try to capture in words the incredible beauty and the softness of the air in this tropical paradise? Suffice it to say that Maui is the most popular destination of honeymooners.

Llew and I rented a car and drove south towards the famous Maui Ocean Center, a brand-new aquarium which is considered one of the world’s finest. The marine lover in Llew was fully delighted by everything that the aquarium had to offer. Most fascinatingly conceived and constructed, the visitor enters the aquarium, then keeps walking downwards, lower and lower into the sea, arriving finally at the coral reefs at the ocean’s bottom. At each level, one sees the tropical fish and coral life that are distinctive to that level, so that when one is finally at“rock bottom”, one is in a tube or tunnel with water surrounding one on all sides and sharks and sting rays sliding evilly past. We were able to identify so many of the tropical fish that we have seen only in aquariums so far. To actually see them in their natural habitat was quite astounding to us. We took a lot of pictures, but none of them can quite do justice to the variety and the colors of the underwater life we were fortunate enough to see. We also saw Hawaii’s famous green sea turtles, a shark’s favorite food for the quality and taste of its meat. By this stage, we had realized that this vacation was different from any of the ones we had taken in the past as Nature was our main focus this time.The outcome of our acquarium visit was that we learned that Hawai’s state fish in Hawai’ian is called the Hunu-hunu-nuku-nuku-apu-aua. Try saying that ten times really fast!

Rochelle poses by the USA’s oldest banyan tree in Lahaina

We then inched up the gorgeous west coast of Maui to the old historic town of Lahaina, once famous as a whaling center. We checked into our luxurious Bed and Breakfast called The Guest House, then set out to eat lunch at a local eatery called the Aloha Mixed Plate, famous for its “plate lunches”, a Hawaiian specialty consisting of “two scoops rice” and macaroni salad together with a Japanese influenced entrée such as chicken katsu, teriyaki beef or fried ahi (tuna). After a delectable meal, we drove to the center of town to explore Lahaina by foot and take in the 130 year old banyan tree that is over two acres wide, the old Whalers Inn, the Court House, the Chinese Temple, the Waterfront, etc. Lahaina has a great deal of old-world charm and character and we were struck by its quaint beauty. Crowds of people thronged the main streets while others relaxed at the beach and took the day slowly. Later that evening, we made our way to the Old Lahaina Luau, considered the best luau in Hawaii and one for which I had to make reservations months in advance as we arrived there on the evening of July Fourth!

Our arrival was signaled by the draping of fresh purple orchid leis around our necks and the taking of our picture with our hostess for the evening. We did take a peak at the famous whole Kahlua pig that is roasted underground in an imu or buried oven. We had a nice group at our table and over maitais and pina coladas, we sampled a massive buffet of Hawaiian food such as lomi lomi salmon, chicken lau lau, chicken long rice, kalua pig, poi (taro pounded into an insipid paste), sweet potatoes, macadamia nut encrusted mahi mahi, Polynesian steak, a variety of salads and desserts that included haupia (coconut pudding), chocolate cups with passion fruit mousse filling, macadamia nut pies, etc. While we sampled this variety of desserts, the cultural variety program began with the lights dimming and dancers reproducing for us the history of the Hawaiian Islands through hula, Hawaiian steel guitars, etc. It was a flurry of color and sound as costumes and setting contributed to make it memorable.

The next day, we drove to Pai’ia to start the incredible and very famous “Heavenly Drive to Hana”, over a road that snaked fifty miles one way and fifty miles back past the stunning blue of the ocean, over thickly canopied rain forest, over 615 tiny bridges (yes, they did count them) and over imposing cliffs before we arrived at journey’s end at O’he Gulch or the site of the Seven Sacred Pools where we waded over slippery rocks, ate a superb picnic lunch that we had previously purchased at Pai’ia and then began the drive back.

Fr. Damien’s island of Molokoi seen from Maui (left) and Rochelle at O’he Gulch, Mulch

En route, we stopped at Hasegawa’s General Store, a Hana landmark which year-round celebrity residents like Kris Kristofferson and Richard Pryor are supposed to frequent (alas, we did not spot any!) and took a long and soothing swim at Koki Beach near the village of Hamoa. In the late evening, after enjoying another round of excellent shave ice at Pai’ia, we flew back to Honolulu, reluctant to leave the islands and hesitant to get back to the stress of our normal lives after one of the loveliest vacations we have ever enjoyed.

Llew and I loved Hawaii enough to want to retire there someday. It offers perfect weather conditions, year-round; has flora and foliage that reminded us very much of India; is multi-racial and multi-cultural; has a vast amount of native culture and traditional history; has beaches and mountains, valleys and farms; boasts unbelievable tropical marine life; is unpolluted, sparsely populated and boasts the calm ‘aloha’ (read: chalta hai) lifestyle that South Asians who live in the USA crave. What was not to love?

Bon Voyage!

Kauai

Apr12
Hawaii 

Kauai: Island of Deep Canyons, Green Valleys, Gushing Waterfalls and Towering Cliffs

On our first weekend together, Llew and I flew to the island of Kauai, which is nicknamed The Garden Isle because it is so lushly green and verdant. Arriving at Lihue airport, early in the morning, we rented a car and drove to Poipu Beach where we swam and snorkeled for a while, then visited Old Koloa Town, a recreated town now filled with restaurants, souvenir stores and “activity shops” which are places that offer helicopter or catamaran rides, dinner cruises, luaus, etc. After a quick lunch at the town of Waimea, we drove to Waimea Canyon which is called the “Grand Canyon of the Pacific” and quite justifiably so. On an island in which green is the dominant color, this canyon offers a multitude of colors in the rocks and cliffs that make up the gorge. At several lookout points on the drive that climbed up to elevations of over 4,000 feet, we were struck breathless by the views that were often engulfed in mist. Dozens of waterfalls added to the beauty of the scenery. In addition, we saw wild “moa” birds everywhere on Kauai—these look like common barnyard hens and roosters, but they are, in fact, a different species brought to the Hawaiian Islands by the early Polynesians. They became extinct on the other islands, however, as the mangoose that was brought to destroy the rodent population of the islands also ended up eating eggs laid by ground-laying birds. Since the mangoose was never introduced to Kauai, the moa birds have thrived here. Interestingly, though it is an Eden-like garden covered with tropical greenery, there are no snakes anywhere in Hawaii. The authorities were mortally afraid of even introducing them into the Honolulu Zoo for fear that they might escape and populate the islands with more snakes. This hasn’t happened, at least so far, leaving hikers and trekkers with no fear of snakes anywhere—a very comforting thought when we trekked over the Manoa Falls Trail (in Oahu) past some of the most breathtaking rainforest to get to the sight of a hundred foot waterfall thundering down the cliffs.

After a truly lovely drive through the Waimea Canyon, Llew and I decided to splurge on a really superb dinner at The Beach House voted “Kauai’s Most Romantic Restaurant” as a result of the spectacular sunsets that one can enjoy from its tables. We were fortunate to get a reservation and settled down to a truly impressive meal starting with tropical drinks like Maitais and Lava Flows and sampling the excellent fresh fish (mahimahi) and duck and the decadent chocolate desserts with macadamia nut mousse. By the time we checked into the Kahaleo Inn Bed and Breakfast, we were ready for a good night’s sleep as we would be waking early the next morning to take our helicopter ride around the island.

And what a ride it was! Never having flown in a helicopter before, Llew and I were tremendously excited to board the 7-seater aircraft captained by a pilot who was a brilliant raconteur as well. As we ascended from the Lihue helipad, we flew over the airport, then made our way along the crests and ridges of the mountains. Most of Kauai is inaccessible by road which makes a helicopter ride a most sensible way by which to explore the island. Our pilot took our helicopter to the various venues where opening scenes from Jurrasic Park were shot, including the waterfalls hidden in the folds of the mountains. While skimming over the red, brown and green layers of the Waimea Canyon, we spied the road along which we had driven the previous day. Then, making a turn, the pilot took us to the Na Pali Cliffs on the northern side of Kauai where we were spellbound by mile after mile of towering cliffs that rose vertically from the sea’s edge making them inaccessible by any other means of transport except helicopter or catamaran. The waters were so clear that we could see the coral reefs clearly from the air. Leaving the cliffs behind, we flew inland into the Waileialeia Valley, called the “wettest spot on earth” as the area receives more than 400 inches of rainfall a year. We then flew right into the heart of a dormant volcano, skimmed around its steep concave sides, seemingly brushing past the highest branches of the trees growing luxuriantly in the valleys. On the last leg of our ride, we flew over the Wailua Falls, twin jets of water that spilled into a shallow, wide basin pool below, a venue we also explored later by car on the ground. Overall, our helicopter ride was an amazing experience and one that allowed us to skim over the highest peaks and descend into the deepest valleys, while covering the beaches where such famous films as From Here to Eternity were shot.

After riding the helicopter, we drove to the north of Kauai to the cute little town of Hanelei, where we passed by picturesque one-lane bridges, taro plantations, banana groves, etc. before arriving at Ke’e Beach at the northern tip just where the Na Pali Cliffs rise out of the waters. On our way, we made stops at Kilauea Wildlife Refuge where we saw thousands of native sea birds clinging to the cliffs like pieces of white fabric flapping in the wind and visited the Kilauea Lighthouse. Since guavas are my favorite fruit, we visited a guava plantation where we sampled juice, jam and ice-cream. But I was very disappointed to discover that, in Hawaii, guavas are not eaten as fruit. They are only crushed to make jams and juices and as such the hybrid varieties are huge but quite tasteless on the rare occasion that you do find them in a farmer’s market.

Many visitors believe that Kauai is the most beautiful of the Hawai’ian islands. I have to admit, however, that having toured every single one of the main islands, we found it impossible to pick a favorite. Why don’t you traverse them all and let us know what your Pick of the Islands was!

Bon Voyage!

The Big Island

Apr12

Big Island

Hawaii 

 

(At the entrance to Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park)

The Big Island:  Of Live Volcanoes and Gushing Lava Flows

Llew poses by the sculpture of lei-makers at Kona Airport on Haewai'i's Big IslandMost folks flying on to Hawaii’s “Big Island”, arrive at Kona airport which must be the most unique architectural design Llew and I  have ever seen for an airport. It consisted of several buildings shaped like volcanoes, each of which formed a part of the passenger terminals. The effect was of a rustic village instead of a regular airport (left).

Renting a car again, we drove south towards the picturesque Kailua-Kona village past nothing but black lava rock formations. We realized, almost at once, how different Hawaii was from Kauai. Down the famous Ali Drive in Kona, we edged along the sea wall past restaurants and shops and arrived at St. Peter’s Catholic Church (above), the tiniest church in the world, perched right at the water’s edge and boasting an interior that was smaller than our living room! We also stopped along the way at St. Benedict’s “Painted Church”, so called because one of its earliest pastors painted scenes from the Bible on its interior walls in order to teach the local Hawaiians about Christian doctrine (below).

Pushing on towards Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, we stopped for a bit at Punalu’u Beach where we saw a black sand beach for the first time in our lives, made entirely of lava rock that has eroded to fine sand (see below left).

It was quite a fantastic sight! We also stopped to sample Portuguese sweet bread at the Punalu’u Bake Shop where the chocolate éclairs and the malasadas (Portuguese doughnuts) were scrumptious.

When we finally arrived at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, it was about 2.30 pm, the perfect stage at which to begin our exploration of the Crater Rim Road which took us past the main volcanic craters left behind by eruption activity through the centuries. Some of these craters, such as Kilauea Calder, were still smoking as was evident from the steam vents at which we paused to get a natural sauna bath and the yellow sulphur deposits seen on the crater floor.

Llew at the Thurston Lava Tube and with Rochelle at the Kilauea CraterAmong the many hikes we took at the park, was one through the Thurston Lava Tube where the vegetation outside was lush but inside the tube (right), it was pitch dark and slimy. When we were finally ready to make our way to the edge of Crater Rim Road to see the live lava flowing into the sea, we just couldn’t contain our excitement, as this was the whole reason that we had traveled to the Big Island.

Arriving at the end of Crater Rim Road, after a long and snaky drive downhill past vast land newly formed by lava flows, we joined hundreds of other visitors, all intent on viewing the same unforgettable sight (right). We parked our car and started the long and arduous three mile hike towards the fresh lava flows from Pu’u O’o Volcano which has been spewing molten lava regularly since 1987. Walking gingerly over the black lava rocks, I was afraid about how we would make our way back to the car in pitch darkness and I was grateful for our flashlight. Since the lava flows have covered a great part of the road, we actually passed by traffic speed signs that have been engulfed in lava.

Closer to the venue, we saw the golden glow of live lava flows at the ocean’s edge and knew that we had a very special treat in store if we could withstand the continued hike over still-warm lava rocks to the spot where landscape met seascape. When we did eventually get there, feeling the heat like a warm sauna around us all the way, after an excruciating hike over lava rocks, we saw a sight that is impossible to describe (below left).

Molten lava was pushing from the lower levels of the volcano and snaking its way towards the ocean so that when the flowing fire reached the waves, the hiss of clouding steam could clearly be heard as we saw creation in the making. The lava eventually dries and forms new land, extending the island, so that the Big Island is still an unfinished project of Nature! While we stood there, struck with disbelief, we saw new streams of molten lava join the initial flows and create one massive snake that poured, almost spigot-like, into the water. As night fell over the scene, the blaze grew more vivid and the hushed disbelief with which people watched the sight made the hissing of the waters seem louder. The burning lava continued to glow under water even as it was cooled by the ocean’s waves. This live volcanic activity was what we had flown to the Big Island to see and we were not disappointed! It will always remain one of the most formidable sights of our lives as we felt humbled in the awesome presence of Nature.

(With Peter Herschock and his son Kaiyo–left– at Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park and on the still-warm lava flows that cover the national highway–below)

Rochelle poses by a lava-covered speed sign on the highway just before seeing the awesome molten lava pouring into the ocean (right)

Making our way back in the dark to our car, we ended up spending the night at Aloha Junction Bed and Breakfast at Volcano Village where we had a very comfortable night. However, we had another early start as we left the next day for our flight to the island of Maui arriving at Kilelei airport, a couple of hours later.