HAWAII (or the holiday that confirmed I am a huge wimp)
I had given up on ever visiting Hawaii, there were too many reasons to not go. It was a 10-hour flight, if we had to go that far then we would have to stay for at least 10 days, and if you work in America then you know that this means you can’t really go anywhere else for the rest of the year, and then how on earth would we go to India and visit all our friends and family members who we see every single year, and it was bloody expensive.
So we lived in America for 10 long years without ever considering Hawaii as a serious holiday destination. Until our friends Vish and Carolina moved to Honolulu.
Within five months of their move we were waiting in line to clear security at Newark International Airport, congratulating ourselves on what a great idea it was to visit Hawaii. It was after all the perfect vacation spot, a mere 10 hour flight, which was nothing in comparison to the 17 hours to India, the islands had micro-climates (I had read) and we had better have a peek at those before global warming ended it all – so the relatives could wait, and most important of all we would be sponging off Vish and Caro’s goodwill.
Our plan was to spend half the holiday in Honolulu and the other half in Maui. Honolulu would be the ‘active vacation time’ – snorkeling, SCUBA, horseback riding, hiking and all the adventurous things we fancied ourselves to be ‘in to’. Maui would be laid back, ‘relaxed vacation time’ – my husband could continue with his active life-style and I would get stoned and lie on the beach for four days. Now that’s what I call balance.
On day one, Vish decided we would go snorkeling to Hanauma Bay. The rental shop told us that the bay was rather choppy that day and suggested an alternate, equally beautiful venue. Vish decided that these professionals had no idea what they were talking about and chose to ignore their advice, and we, following along like sheep, agreed. We arrived at Hanuma Bay ready for a day of underwater discovery. Because the bay was declared a protected marine life conservation area, we were shown a short film, instructing us to please, for the love of God, not step on, touch or steal any of the coral. The film also told us that sunscreen would damage the coral and wasn’t great for the fish.
We hit the beach, and out of respect for the Hawaiian people and their island, I abstained from using sunscreen until I had finished snorkeling. My plan was to spend at least an hour in the water. I strapped on my flippers and mask and waded in to the water. It was clear with good visibility, good thing we hadn’t listened to those twits at the rental store.
Less than 5 minutes later I was wishing we had. The water was rough and with my minimal swimming skills I was being flopped about like a rag doll. I decided to get back to the beach and reassess the situation. On my way back (I had a total of maybe 20 meters to go) I got shoved by wave, instead of calmly floating along with it I panicked and tried to stand up thus pounding my knee in to a jagged piece of coral. It was frightfully painful but I was more concerned I might be arrested by the coral police.
I didn’t think it was possible until it happened – I fell ashore, with my arse in the air, my face in the sand, one hand uselessly grabbing at the beach lest I be pulled back in to the water, the other desperately gripping my bikini bottom, lest it get dragged out to sea without me in it. Once I had salvaged my dignity I inspected the gash on my knee. It was more a deep scratch but it stung and bled like no-one’s business. Good thing I got out of the water – I may have been eaten by sharks.
I hobbled back to where we had left our things, dried off, discovered I had already sustained mild sunburn, slathered on the sun block and stayed put for the rest of the day, loudly letting my hosts and husband know that I was merely warming up and that I would be more active the next day.
Day two was dedicated to SCUBA diving. Vish had already booked us on a trip out of Waikiki. Traditionally, I have had to douse myself with anti-seasickness meds before embarking on such projects, but for some reason, I thought I was over that sort of thing. Assuming that positive thinking was all it would take to keep nausea at bay I sallied forth. I was green around the gills halfway to the dive point, but I kept this to myself, thinking that once I was in the water, I would feel better. Unfortunately if you are sick the last thing that will make you feel good is salt-water, and I ingested a whole lot of it during a mask-clearing and regulator recovery exercise.
It took every scrap of my positive thinking to appreciate the few fish we saw. All I wanted to do was get back on dry land. I saw our guide give us the ‘thumbs up’ sign, which, in SCUBA lingo, means we were re-surfacing. I was over-joyed – until I re-surfaced. The water is much jerkier the higher you go, and as I waited my turn to be hauled on to the boat, I started to feel queasy all over again. The next thing I know, I am vomiting INTO my regulator, taking it out of my mouth wasn’t an option because I was still semi-underwater and would have drowned. It was more disgusting than you can imagine but damn it felt GREAT!
After feeding the fish (as vomiting is politely referred to by the diving community), I refrained from the second dive. I wrapped myself in towels, and with my water bottle in one hand, the other clinging to the railing of the boat, I stayed put, my eyes on Waikiki beach – a static object I couldn’t wait to walk upon.
As I sat there, praying for this wretched day to end, I made up my mind – I wasn’t going to be engaging my carcass in any activity that did not involve solid ground, and my two feet as the mode of transport. I wasn’t cut out for this. I am a drama-nerd/couch potato, not a jock, and there was no shame in owning that.
On day three, the activity was horseback riding. I stuck to my guns and declined participation. I was happy to accompany my hyper-adventurous friends and spouse to Waimanalo (another breathtakingly gorgeous part of Oahu), but that was it. I wore a sarong to the ranch, so there was absolutely no way I could be talked in to it once we got there.
By this time my husband was in his element. He had not gotten seasick, had seen giant sea turtles, had snorkeled without a major injury, and in comparison to my sissy-girl turn, I could see his machismo was peaking.
On our arrival at the ranch the owner, the lovely horsewoman Elizabeth, asked Vish, Caro and Deepak to give her an idea of their riding skills so that she could assign them the appropriate horse. Carolina admitted she was a novice, and wanted a ride with a calm demeanor. Vish (a tad blustery, I thought) said he was ‘fairly experienced’, and Deepak announced, that while he hadn’t ridden in a while, he had ‘grown up around horses’. I grabbed a beer, and hung out with the stray cats.
Because Elizabeth doesn’t have any help at the ranch Vish and Deepak did the decent thing and offered their assistance in getting the horses ready.
“Hey Elizabeth, how can we help?” asked Vish, as he and Deepak swaggered up to her.
“Hmmm, how about you guys saddle up those two horses.” She suggested.
I was silently impressed with the confidence both men exhibited at getting this job done. They grabbed the blanket, saddle, reins and some other horse-related items. My husband threw the saddle over the horses back (let’s call the horse Percy). They then had to strap the saddle to Percy, but something seemed the matter and they couldn’t figure it out. Percy stood there benignly while Deepak and Vish both walked around him several times, scratching their heads, peering under Percy and whispering to each other, it was obvious they had no clue. I watched this Mutt and Jeff show from a safe distance.
After saddling two steeds, Liz walked over and discovered that Deepak, the man who had grown up around horses, and Vish, the man who was fairly experienced, had combined their limited intelligence and flung the saddle on to Percy back to front. I was delighted with this. I had been feeling a right loser – and while I was still no Indiana Jones at least I wasn’t alone.
The following day we left for Maui, where I was to connect with my friend Orli and her family. “Rad”, Orli said on the phone, “just to be clear, I like to stay put in one place, once I am on the beach I won’t move.”
Finally! Something I knew I would be good at.
PS: Go to Hawaii. It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen.
I laugh till I vomited. And not into a regulator.
awesome
and I fully expect that I will re-enact para 8, should I ever make it to Hawaii.
Please do not omit the fact that after Deepak had screwed up (and to correct the records, he was saddling his horse .. I was just a spectator), I told Liz that Deepak has people doing this for him in India .. hence the boo boo …!!
And incidentally, we had Elizabeth home for dinner, where Caro had great fun reading out the whole blog to the entire dinner party !!
Vish
wow i dont’ know how i missed this post!! LOVE IT. i can’t believe you fed the fish underwater.
Percy!!!!!!!!!!!!
Florence! Thank you for reading. I am truly delighted that you enjoyed Percy. He was a sweet horse. And I couldn’t think of another name!