Hawaii

In 1994 I traveled with a friend to the Big Island of Hawaii and the trip turned out to be magical.
No really. Magic happened.

I hadn’t thought about it for many years, but on my walk today I started remembering all the amazing things that took place, especially on one particular afternoon, and that usually means I should write about it.
So here goes:

We were guests of a friend who was working on a movie being shot on the Big Island. The studio was springing for her condo up in the hills overlooking the deep, blue Pacific, so she invited us to spend some time in her pre-paid paradise.

Pretty magical already, right? Just wait.

I can’t exactly remember how, but we met a really wonderful woman who worked at The Four Seasons, with the dolphins.
Best. Job. Ever.
She was around our age, easy to laugh, spiritual, toned and tan. Her connections allowed us to use the facilities and more importantly, go out on a lava rock jetty with the waves just below us, trade winds billowing through our beachy hair…and meditate. It was ridiculously spiritual, just like you imagine it would be.

Does it get more magical than that? You betcha.

While our one friend worked all day on her movie, my other girlfriend and I rented a convertible and decided to explore the island.

Someone had told us about a magical black sand beach at the end of a five-mile hike, so that was the focus of our journey.
We started that day like we did most, bathing in a tranquil cove, where the water was as calm and warm as a bathtub. We spent about an hour floating and soaking the sleep out of our eyes, rinsed off at an outside shower, threw shorts and t-shirts over our bathing suits – and took off. Well, not before stopping at the local gas station/market to fill up, get a diet coke, a Yahoo, a kit kat and a peppermint patty.

You know, key components for creating magic.

I remember following someone’s directions and finally arriving at an unmarked, gravel pull off on the side of the road. Besides a few cars parked nearby, there were no signs of life. Was this the way to the black sand beach? We sure hoped so.
My friend and I decided to head down and take our chances and ask the first person we came across.

The temperature was perfect, with a breeze and lots of shade, so the hike started off easy.
God was a show off that day, as we were surrounded by dense, lush greenery, and every kind of flora and fauna Hawaii had to offer. We started down; admiring, well, everything, until we came to a fork in the dirt path where we stopped, looking around for a sign of some kind, or a clue as to which direction we should go.

I remember this as clearly as if it happened yesterday:
We were in a clearing with a path veering to the left, and another one on the right, wondering which to take, when out of nowhere, a small scruffy dog with tufts of hair all askew appeared.

My friend called him Gremmie since he resembled a gremlin, and he answered to it. He interacted with us for a minute or two, seeming friendly but preoccupied.  Clearly he was on his way somewhere special and we were keeping him. He seemed familiar with the area so we asked Gremmie the way to the beach.

Without hesitation he gave us a look of great conviction, as dogs do, and started down the path to the right – so we followed.

We walked for a long time with him running ahead of us, turning around occasionally to check our progress.
It was evident he was a pro, weaving in and out of vines and narrowing paths, sure-footed, with the confidence of a dog twice his size. Toward the bottom, the path got steep with deep ruts in the cliff side. Little Gremmie seemed to know the way, jumping and traversing obstacles, stopping to make sure we made it to the bottom. I think I saw him give me stink-eye on a particularly tricky part, eyeing my lame “hiking boots” with their worn out soles as I slid on some loose dirt. Seems he had opinions about my poor choice of hiking attire.

All in all, it took us just under two hours to make our way down, but it was worth it because there we were standing on an endless stretch of uninhabited beach.

A beach of black sand.

Gremmie didn’t stop for long. He obviously had an agenda as he ran ahead to a river of fresh water that had cut a swath through the rain forest, down from the mountains, dissecting the beach, making its way to the sea. It must have been raining at the top of the mountain because the water was moving pretty fast and it was too wide to jump across.

My friend and I were assessing the situation, figuring out if we could make it across when we turned to see Gremmie running way up-stream. I mean like where we could barely see him. Then, just like that, he jumped in and swam for all he was worth, traversing the current as it swiftly carried him down river toward us.

Keeping his head bobbing above the water, his legs going a mile a minute, his small, scruffy face a study in concentration, he zoomed past us toward the open ocean.

“Go Gremmie, go!” we screamed over the sound of the crashing waves, “Swim!” and just at what seemed like the last possible second…he made it across.

“Yeah! good boy! Way to go!” He shook off, not even out of breath, and looked across at us, jumping and screaming like crazy women. He looked bemused, head cocked to the side. This was no accident. This dog knew exactly where to enter the water in order to make it across before being swept out to sea.

Standing on the opposite side he barked. “Okay, now it’s your turn” said the dare on his face.

We entered the water about half the distance from where Gremmie started, and I was surprised by the strength of the current. It was determined to make its way to the waves and if you were stupid enough to go in you were going with it. It was about waist-deep, with a current that swept us both off our feet, so we swam like hell, carried downstream toward the sea. After several harrowing minutes, we both made it across where we flopped down on the coarse black sand, laughing and gulping in giant lungsful of the warm, thick, humid air.

Gremmie looked on exasperated. “Come on! There’s more! and he took off running. We just wanted to take in the grandeur of this incredible place so we sat down, watching him turn into a tiny, scruffy, speck in the distance.

After a few minutes of listening to the roaring waves, looking out at the whitecaps, I turned back toward the hillside in the direction we’d just come. “That’s going to be a hell of an uphill hike” I laughed, but it wasn’t funny.
The thought of it was killing my black sand buzz.

My friend was ignoring me. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if dolphins started jumping, right out there?”  she mused, pointing straight ahead toward the open ocean. Before I could reply the sea started boiling as a pod of dolphins began leaping out of the air one after the other, right in front of us!
We jumped to our feet, screaming!

“What the hell?”, “Oh my God!” We were literally dancing as they jumped and played.

“Wish for something else!” I yelled. “This place is frickin’ magic! Wish for a man! A handsome man! “

But my friend wasn’t going to waste a wish on such nonsense.

“I’ve heard there are wild horses all over this island. Wouldn’t it be great to see one?”
We started looking around. I half expected a Unicorn to go prancing by, when I noticed my friend was walking behind us, into the rainforest type greenery that met the sand at the bottom of the cliffs rising above us into the clouds.

She seemed to be walking with purpose, so I followed her into the cool shade of vine-covered trees, ferns, and tall grass. I can’t tell you how long we were there, fifteen minutes, half an hour? I was just enjoying the pleasant change in temperature, when my friend stopped, grabbed my arm, stooped down low, and whispered – you guessed it – “horse!”

Not fifteen feet away was a wild horse, I kid you not. It let my friend approach it and pet it. I’m not kidding. The whole scene was surreal, like something from a movie. When the magic horse finally decided to leave, we were downright giddy as we made our way back onto the black sand.

“What is this place?”

We laid on our backs laughing, looking up at the crystal blue sky. Just so you know, there is NO sky as blue as a Hawaiian sky.

After about an hour, I was starting to feel a little light-headed, and my friend had developed a splitting headache. It soon became evident she was in no condition for the hike back up the hill.

Shit. What to do?

I could see Gremmie in the distance running back our way, but unless I could strap my friend to his back, or he could run and get assistance, like Lassie, he was going to be of little help.

We were in full brainstorming mode, when I started to hear the rumble of an engine over the sound of the waves. It seemed to be coming from the hill we’d hiked down earlier that day.

And just like something out of Indiana Jones, a beat up pickup truck broke through the trees, splashed across the freshwater river, and came straight for us. My friend could barely stand up, so I talked to the guy who happened to be a very nice, local mountain hippie. Think Matthew McConaughey in his naked bongo playing days.

And maybe just the best miracle of the day.

I explained our situation, and he agreed to give us a lift back up the hill to our car.
My friend laid down in the flatbed, while Gremmie and I kept her company. The guy explained that Gremmie didn’t belong to anyone really, he was just a local dog that everyone looked after. That explained his devil-may-care attitude.

The ride was rough but it was a blessing, delivering us to our car in under 20 minutes compared to the several hour hike in the heat, uphill, that would have most certainly killed us.

Hey, my friend was sick and I was hungry!

We still marvel, to this day, about all the magic on that beach.

Did that really happen? 

I wonder about Gremmie sometimes. That scrappy little guy. He’s gotta be about 150 yrs old by now.

Is he still guiding unsuspecting seekers down that hill on a magical mystery tour to those sands of black? What do you think?

Xox

*yep, that’s me on that beach, right after the hike down the hill, feeling exuberant, and I think denim, overall shorts need to make a come-back! HA!

I wrote about this a long time ago, but I’m going to post it again.
Partly because there are so many new readers, and also because yesterday (and this morning) mark the five-year six-year anniversary—AND it’s a fuckin’ great story.

If you’ve heard it before, go make yourself a sandwich. And don’t give away the ending.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

In the spring of 2010, I went to Hawaii with my dear friend Wes to get some clarity about which direction I should take my life after the death of my store, Atik. Loss can make a person lose their trust in life—and themselves, and I was not lucky enough to escape that unspoken step of the grieving process. Besides, misery loves company.

Oh, who am I kidding? We went to drink Mai Tai’s, eat like escaped death row convicts, sit on the white sands of Waikiki Beach all day gossiping and people watching—and get massages.

All we did was laugh. Well, he laughed and I cried—then he laughed at my crying. Then I cry-laughed. It was wet and sloppy. Lots of running mascara and snot-bubbles.
You get the picture.

About mid-way through our seven-day trip, I got the sense there was going to be a tsunami.
You know—like you do…
That evening when Wes met me at the bar for happy hour I voiced my concern. “I want to move to a higher room in our hotel. I said, stirring my drink with a hot pink plastic monkey. “I think there’s going to be a tsunami and I’m not going to be safe on the second floor.”

“Did you start without me? How many drinks have you had?” he guffawed as he flagged down a waiter in order to catch a buzz and grab a seat on the crazy clown car I was obviously driving.

“I’m serious. You’re on the third floor, but I’m not even sure that’s high enough. Let’s look into moving”, I argued back with conviction.

“I can’t take you seriously with that pink money in your hand.”

All I could see in my mind’s eye were those horrible videos from the tsunami in Thailand.

His eyes said: Have you lost your mind? But in order to calm my fears, he immediately whipped out his phone and started to look up Hawaiian tsunami.

“The earliest on record was reported in 1813 or 1814 — and the worst occurred in Hilo in 1946, killing 173 people.” he was reading a Wikipedia page.
“So it happens kind-of-never, and I’m okay with those odds.” He raised his drink to toast “To surviving that rarest of all disasters—the Hawaiian tsunami” We clinked glasses as he shook his head laughing at my continued squirminess.

Still laughing he mumbled under his breath, “But if it does happen, which it could, ‘cause you’re pretty spooky that way— it will be one hell of a story…”

The first week of March the following year, 2011, our great friends, the ones who ride the world with us on motorcycles, asked if we wanted to join them at their condo in Maui. I was printing our boarding passes before I hung up the phone; you don’t have to ask me twice to drop everything and go to Hawaii.

On the beautiful drive from the airport to Lahaina, the air was warm and thick, filled with the fragrance of jasmin and rain as we wove our way in and out of the clouds that play peek-a-boo with the sun all day on the Hawaiian Islands. With a view of the lush green mountains formed from the ever-present volcanos to the right, and the deep blue Pacific churning wildly to our left, it really felt like Paradise Lost.

That’s when it hit me like a bolt of lightning.

I turned down the radio of the rental car that was blaring some five-year-old, Top Forty song.
“We’re going to have a tsunami”, I announced.
It didn’t feel like if — it felt like when. A certainty.
“I think we’re more likely to have a volcanic eruption than a tsunami.” my hubby replied nonchalantly, turning the radio volume back up.

Damn! I love my husband. He cohabitates with all the voices in my head without batting an eye. Most men would run for the hills.
He just stays rational. A volcanic eruption in the Hawaiian Islands is…the rational supposition.
God love him.

I had never mentioned my premonition from the trip the previous year—too odd; but I let loose for the remainder of the drive, wondering aloud about what floor their condo was on and worrying if it would it be high enough. Neither of us had any idea and I’ve gotta tell ya, I breathed a sigh of relief when the answer came via text. The sixth floor. Their condo was on the sixth floor, overlooking the pool, facing the ocean.

We spent the next week eating and drinking amazing food and wine, snorkeling, swimming, driving around, and whale watching. As a matter of fact, the ocean outside of our resort was a veritable whale soup.

There is a passage between Maui, Lanai, and Molokai (both which we could see in the distance), that the whales like to use as a detour from the open ocean, and we could see them breaching from our balcony. They were present in high numbers and especially active.

It was extraordinary! Everyone said so. Even the guys on the whale watching boats agreed with our friends—they’d never seen a year like this one.

Two days before our departure, on the eleventh, it all seemed to come to a screeching halt.

The ocean was as passive as a lake that day. I hiked alone down the beach to a little cove that was billed by the locals as “swimming in a tropical fish tank,” There was nothing. Literally not one fish. People kept remarking how odd it seemed. The guys on the whale watching catamarans were perplexed because suddenly, there were no whales.

We made dinner in that night and by 9 pm I was just the right amount of sun-kissed, buzzed, full and sleepy. After my shower, I turned on the TV in our room for the first time the entire trip to catch the results of American Idol. As I got dressed and dried my hair I casually flipped around the channels. American Idol, Baywatch re-runs, CNN. Then I saw it.

The bright red BREAKING NEWS banner at the bottom of the screen: Huge Japanese Earthquake and Tsunami.

I screamed something incoherent as I ran out into the family room, half-dressed, my bare feet sliding on the polished floors, knocking things over, becoming hysterical.
“You guys! Turn on the TV! Oh my God! Turn on the TV!” I yelled, grabbing the remote; but it looked like something that powers the International Space Station, so I threw it toward my husband.

“Oh, I don’t want to watch TV…” I heard someone say, but Raphael could tell something was wrong. He said later it felt like 911 when everyone was calling and the only thing they could manage to say was: Turn on the TV!

“CNN. Find CNN!” I was so freaked out I could barely speak.

When the images came up on that big screen HD TV they were even more terrifying.
It was a helicopter shot, high above the coastline of a small city. There was a wave with a white cap as far as the eye could see. it looked like it spanned almost the entire coastline and it was headed straight for cars, boats, houses…and people.

Now we were all transfixed. Silently glued to the screen with the frantic sounding Japanese commentary running in the background. This was all happening LIVE.

The CNN anchor sounded reassuring, telling us that Japan had one of the most advanced tsunami warning systems on the planet. Sirens had started sounding a few minutes after the large off-shore earthquake, warning the population to make their way to their pre-determined evacuation points up on higher ground.

We watched in horror as churning brown water began rushing onshore with a ferocity that was nauseatingly familiar.
It just kept coming and coming. Undeterred by the breakwater…and the thirty-foot wall they had built to withstand a tsunami.

“God, I hope they had enough time” I whispered.

Suddenly the CNN picture was minimized as the face of a local anchor at the Maui station took up the entire rest of the screen.
“Good evening”, he read off the cue card, “The entire Hawaiian Islands have been placed on tsunami watch due to the large earthquake off the coast of northern Japan. We will keep you posted as scientists get the readings off of the tsunami buoys that dot the span of the Pacific Ocean from the coast of Japan to the west coast of North America. If it looks like a tsunami is coming our way, the watch will turn into a warning.” He swallowed awkwardly, I saw his Adams apple quiver.
“Stay with us for further instructions.”

The screen was filled again with the escalating destruction in Japan.

I started to shake uncontrollably, my eyes filling with tears.

Then I saw him out of the corner of my eye. My husband flinched. It got my attention and when I looked his way our eyes met and he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Remote in hand, he turned toward me slowly and deliberately. His mouth dropped open, his eyes were full of…questions.

Then with no sound, eyes locked on mine, he mouthed my prophecy from earlier that week: We’re going to have a tsunami.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Really, the hair on my entire body. Even my chin hairs stood at attention.

The shrill wail of a Disaster Alert Siren brought us both back to reality.
It was official—a tsunami was imminent.

To Be Continued…

What in the hell was going on? I had unwittingly been given a front-row seat to a disaster that I’d known was going to happen for a year!

Why the hell was I in Hawaii again? What was my part in this tragedy?

I never wanted to be someone who predicts disasters. Seriously Universe? Give me another job. Anything.
Something else. Something not so fucking scary.

Be careful what you wish for. Now I talk to dead people. But not the scary ones. Funny ones. The bossy but kind ones.
Thank God (Scott) for small favors.

Anyway, the local anchor came back onscreen to inform us that one of the deep ocean buoys had registered a tsunami fifteen feet high and getting larger, with a velocity of over five hundred miles per hour, headed directly toward the Hawaiian Islands.

It would get to us in five hours.
3 a.m.
Of course it was coming in the middle of the night! Fucking three a.m!
The witching hour. The time when nothing good ever happens. Oh, and by-the-way, dark water is one of my biggest fears.
I was petrified.

Ginger was feeling sick and went bed. The guys opened another bottle of wine and started playing cards, remaining lighthearted, partying while waiting for the inevitable.

I went back to our room, shivering with anxiety under the blankets, glued to the TV while the disaster siren wailed in the background.

Right around midnight they got the second buoy reading. The wave was larger and picking up speed as it headed our way.

Suddenly the intercom came on inside the condo. Nobody even knew there was an intercom connected to the main resort which was run by Marriott.

A voice cleared it’s throat.

An extremely nervous young man’s voice, shaky, cracking and squeaking, blared loudly throughout the condo. Haltingly, he instructing everyone in units below the fifth floor to evacuate to the roof. “Bring blankets…pillows…water and, um, your shoes, it’s going to be a long night”. His anxiety was palpable.

Uh, okay Voice of Authority.
Didn’t they have anyone available with a more mature tone? Something deep and fatherly? A voice that could console us and instill calm.
This kid’s voice and delivery were comical to me. In my imagination he was the pimply faced nephew of the lady who fed the stray cats behind the parking garage. One minute he was doing his calculus homework, the next, he was behind a microphone, advising hundreds of tourists during an impending disaster. He was the only one that was expendable in an emergency. Everyone important had a task.
Holy crap, he was the best they had.

Thank God something was funny.

One of trembly, squeaky, scared guy’s announcements advised us all to fill our bathtubs in order to have plenty of drinking water in case the sanitation plant was wiped out.

Intermittently he’d come back on with further instructions, Anyone with a vehicle in the lower garages, please move them to higher ground behind the main hotel, he advised, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears.

Not long afterwards I heard voices, car keys, and the front door slam as the guys went to move our cars.

In the dark from our balcony, I watched the groundskeepers running around like headless chickens rushing to clear the sand and pool surround of hundreds chairs. Then they emptied the rental hut with its kayaks, snorkels and fins, inner tubes and dozens of surf and boogie boards.

If you watch the Thailand tsunami videos it is those seemingly innocuous beach toys that become deadly projectiles in fast-moving water. You may not immediately drown, but a surf board or a beach chair coming at you at hundreds of miles an hour will kill you for sure.

It was too much. The destruction in Japan was too much for me to handle.
I watched multi-story buildings get washed away like they were kids toys. We were so close to the water. Could our building withstand the rush of the initial wave? How high up would the water come?
The third floor, the fourth—or higher? What was going to happen?

I turned off the TV, the room was dark and quiet and instantly I felt a drop in my anxiety level. You can get sucked into the endless loop of death and destruction—its like a drug.

I unhooked the CNN IV, grabbed my phone, inserted my ear buds, pulled up a meditation, and started to calm my nervous system down. Slow…deep…breathing. In…and out… after a few minutes I could feel my shoulders drop and my face relax. I’d been unconsciously clenching my jaw for hours.

My mind started to unwind. The siren went way, fading into the distance, the boy’s terrified voice becoming a muffled form of white noise.
I actually relaxed into a half sleep state. Aware of my surroundings, but extremely relaxed.

The meditations came to an end. Silence. I was still okay.
No longer spinning in fear. No longer afraid.
“What’s going to happen, how bad will this be?” I asked no one in particular.
Just a question I needed answered.

Here’s where the magic happened.

A very loving, clear and calm voice answered back:
What do you want to happen? How bad do you want it to be?

What? I get a vote? This answer left me flabbergasted. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this felt extraordinary.

Somehow, instinctively I knew that I couldn’t say make the tsunami go away—there are some things we are powerless to change.
What I could change was MY experience of it. What did I want to happen to me, to us?

Script it the voice said, and that has changed my life.

Okay…I said in my head, remembering the videos from Thailand, you can come up to the palm trees that line our pool area and define the boundary between the beach and our resort. That’s it. To the palm trees only, not into the pool and not into our resort.

No further conversation was needed. No idle chit-chat, no more Q & A.

I fell asleep. A deep sleep rich with meaningful dreams that I can’t remember
Inside one, a muffled voice that felt like it was underwater warned: Stay away from the ocean, Do NOT get near the water, We are on lockdown, stay inside your rooms.

It must be happening crossed my mind, but I was too deep to care.

Only as far as the palm trees…up to the palm trees…

When I finally opened my eyes I could see daylight. Raphael was asleep next to me and I could smell coffee.
Obviously the tsunami had come and gone—and everything seemed…normal.

These are pictures of the waterline the tsunami left behind. It is still waaaaay up the beach at this point, about three hours after it came ashore. It surged forty feet UP the beach, over dry sand, and stopped right at the palm trees that line the pool, and our resort.

Script it. Imagine it. Feel it. Ask for it. Relax.

That proved to me, without a doubt, that we can script our circumstances. There are things we can’t control, but there are so many that we can.

Get calm, and set boundaries. How bad/good do you want it to be? What do you want to happen?

We have control over our immediate circumstances.
Script it.

This changed my life–I hope it changes yours.

Carry on,
xox

IMG_0914 (check it out)

I wrote about this a long time ago, but I’m going to tell it again.
Partly because there are so many new readers, and also because its come up a lot lately—and besides, it’s a fuckin’ great story.(*Also because as of tonight 9/16/15 there is another tsunami watch in the Hawaiian Islands after a large earthquake in Chile).

If you’ve heard it before, go make yourself a sandwich. And don’t give away the ending.

In the spring of 2010 I went to Hawaii with my friend Wes to get some clarity about which direction I should take my life after Atik (my store) died.

Oh who am I kidding. We went to drink Mai Tais, eat like escaped death row convicts, sit on the white sands of Waikiki Beach all day gossiping and people watching—and get massages.

All we did was laugh. Well, he laughed, I cried—then he laughed at my crying. Then I cry-laughed. It was wet and sloppy. Lots of running mascara and snot-bubbles.
You get the picture.

About mid-way through our seven-day trip I got the sense there was going to be a tsunami.
You know—like you do…
That evening when Wes met me at the bar for happy hour I voiced my concern. “I want to move to a higher room in our hotel. I think there’s going to be a tsunami and I’m not going to be safe on the second floor.”

“Did you start without me? How many drinks have you had?” he was laughing, flagging down a waiter in order to join this crazy party he figured I’d already started.
“I’m serious. You’re on the third floor, but I’m not even sure that’s high enough. Let’s look into moving.”
All I could see in my mind’s eye were those horrible videos from the tsunami in Thailand.

His eyes said: Have you lost your mind? But in order to calm my fears he immediately whipped out his phone and started to look up Hawaiian tsunami.

“The earliest on record was reported in 1813 or 1814 — and the worst occurred in Hilo in 1946, killing 173 people.” he was reading a Wikipedia page.
“So it happens kind-of-never; and I’m okay with those odds.” He raised his drink for a toast “To surviving that rarest of all disasters—the Hawaiian tsunami” We clinked glasses as he shook his head laughing at my continued squirminess.

“But if it does happen, which it could, ‘cause you’re pretty spooky that way— it will be one hell of a story”.

The first week of March the following year, 2011, our great friends, the ones who ride the world with us on motorcycles, asked if we wanted to join them at their condo in Maui. I was printing our boarding passes before I hung up the phone; you don’t have to ask me twice to drop everything and go to Hawaii.

On the beautiful drive from the airport to Lahaina, the air was warm and thick with just a hint of the fragrance of rain as we wove our way in and out of the clouds that play peek-a-boo with the sun all day on the Hawaiian Islands. With a view of the lush green mountains formed from the ever-present volcanos to the right, and the deep blue Pacific churning wildly to our left, that place really felt like Paradise Lost.

That’s when it hit me. I turned down the radio of the rental car that was blaring some five-year old, Top Forty song.
“We’re going to have a tsunami.” I announced.
It didn’t feel like if — it felt like when. A certainty.
“I think we’re more likely to have a volcanic eruption than a tsunami.” my hubby replied nonchalantly, turning the radio volume back up.

Damn I love my husband. He cohabitates with all the voices in my head without batting an eye. Most men would run for the hills.
He just stays rational. A volcanic eruption in the Hawaiian Islands is…the rational supposition.
God love him.

I had never mentioned my premonition from the trip the previous year—too odd; but I let loose for the remainder of the drive, wondering aloud about what floor their condo was on and worrying if it would it be high enough. Neither of us had any idea and I for one breathed a sigh of relief when the answer came via text. The sixth floor. Their condo was on the sixth floor, overlooking the pool, facing the ocean.

We spent the next week eating and drinking amazing food and wine, snorkeling, swimming, driving around, and whale watching. As a matter of fact the ocean outside of our resort was a veritable whale soup.

There is a passage between Maui, Lanai, and Molokai (both which we could see in the distance), that the whales like to use instead of the open ocean, and we could see them breeching from our balcony. They were present in high numbers and especially active. It was extraordinary. The guys on the whale watching boats agreed with our friends—they’d never seen a year like that one.

Two days before our departure, on the eleventh, it all seemed to come to a screeching halt.

The ocean was as passive as a lake. I hiked down the beach to a cove that was supposed to be like “swimming in a tropical fish tank”—nothing. Literally no fish. People kept remarking how odd it seemed. The guys on the whale watching catamarans were perplexed. Suddenly,no whales.

That night after my shower I turned on the TV in our room for the first time the entire trip. I’m still not sure why.
We made dinner in that night and I was just the right amount of sunburned, buzzed, full and sleepy.
As I got dressed and dried my hair I casually flipped around the channels. American Idol, Baywatch re-runs, CNN. Then I saw it.

The bright red BREAKING NEWS banner at the bottom of the screen: Japanese Earthquake and Tsunami.

I screamed something incoherent as I ran out into the family room, half-dressed, knocking things over, becoming hysterical.
“You guys, Turn on the TV! Oh my God! Turn on the TV!” I grabbed the remote, but it looked like something that powers the International Space Station, so I threw it toward my husband.

“Oh, I don’t want to watch TV…” I heard someone say, but Raphael could tell something was wrong. He said later it felt like 911 when everyone was calling and the only thing they could manage to say was: turn on the TV!

“CNN. Find CNN!” I was so freaked out I could barely speak.

When the images came up on that big screen HD TV they were even more terrifying.
It was a helicopter shot, high above the coastline of a small city. There was a wave with a white cap as far as the eye could see. it looked like it spanned almost the entire coastline and it was headed straight for cars, boats, houses…and people.

Now we were all transfixed. Silently glued to the screen with the frantic sounding Japanese commentary running in the background. This was all happening LIVE.

The CNN anchor sounded reassuring, telling us that Japan had one of the most advanced tsunami warning systems on the planet. Sirens had started sounding a few minutes after the large off-shore earthquake, warning the population to make their way to their pre-determined evacuation points on higher ground.

We watched in horror as churning brown water began rushing onshore with a ferocity that was nauseatingly familiar.
It just kept coming and coming. Undeterred by the breakwater…and the thirty foot wall they had built to withstand a tsunami.

“God, I hope they had enough time” I whispered.

Suddenly the CNN picture was minimized as the anchor’s face for the local Maui station took up the entire rest of the screen.
“Good evening”, he read off the cue card, “The entire Hawaiian Islands have been placed on tsunami watch due to the large earthquake off the coast of northern Japan. We will keep you posted as scientists get the readings off of the tsunami buoys that dot the span of the Pacific Ocean from the coast of Japan to the west coast of North America. If it looks like a tsunami is coming our way, the watch will turn into a warning.” He swallowed awkwardly, “Stay with us for further instructions.”

The screen was again filled with the escalating destruction in Japan.

I started to shake uncontrollably, my eyes filling with tears.

I saw him flinch out of the corner of my eye. It got my attention and when I looked his way his face looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
With the remote still in his hand, my husband turned toward me slowly, deliberately.
His mouth dropped open, his eyes were full of…questions.

Then with no sound; his eyes locked on mine; he mouthed my prophesy from earlier that week: We’re going to have a tsunami.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

The shrill wailing of the Disaster Alert Siren brought us both back to reality.
It was official—the tsunami was imminent.

To Be Continued…

IMG_0910 (watch this)

I wrote about this a long time ago, but I’m going to tell it again.
Partly because there are so many new readers, and also because its come up a lot lately—and besides, it’s a fuckin’ great story.

If you’ve heard it before, go make yourself a sandwich. And don’t give away the ending.

In the spring of 2010 I went to Hawaii with my friend Wes to get some clarity about which direction I should take my life after Atik (my store) died.

Oh who am I kidding. We went to drink Mai Tais, eat like escaped death row convicts, sit on the white sands of Waikiki Beach all day gossiping and people watching—and get massages.

All we did was laugh. Well, he laughed, I cried—then he laughed at my crying. Then I cry-laughed. It was wet and sloppy. Lots of running mascara and snot-bubbles.
You get the picture.

About mid-way through our seven-day trip I got the sense there was going to be a tsunami.
You know—like you do…
That evening when Wes met me at the bar for happy hour I voiced my concern. “I want to move to a higher room in our hotel. I think there’s going to be a tsunami and I’m not going to be safe on the second floor.”

“Did you start without me? How many drinks have you had?” he was laughing, flagging down a waiter in order to join this crazy party he figured I’d already started.
“I’m serious. You’re on the third floor, but I’m not even sure that’s high enough. Let’s look into moving.”
All I could see in my mind’s eye were those horrible videos from the tsunami in Thailand.

His eyes said: Have you lost your mind? But in order to calm my fears he immediately whipped out his phone and started to look up Hawaiian tsunami.

“The earliest on record was reported in 1813 or 1814 — and the worst occurred in Hilo in 1946, killing 173 people.” he was reading a Wikipedia page.
“So it happens kind-of-never; and I’m okay with those odds.” He raised his drink for a toast “To surviving that rarest of all disasters—the Hawaiian tsunami” We clinked glasses as he shook his head laughing at my continued squirminess.

“But if it does happen, which it could, ‘cause you’re pretty spooky that way— it will be one hell of a story”.

The first week of March the following year, 2011, our great friends, the ones who ride the world with us on motorcycles, asked if we wanted to join them at their condo in Maui. I was printing our boarding passes before I hung up the phone; you don’t have to ask me twice to drop everything and go to Hawaii.

On the beautiful drive from the airport to Lahaina, the air was warm and thick with just a hint of the fragrance of rain as we wove our way in and out of the clouds that play peek-a-boo with the sun all day on the Hawaiian Islands. With a view of the lush green mountains formed from the ever-present volcanos to the right, and the deep blue Pacific churning wildly to our left, that place really felt like Paradise Lost.

That’s when it hit me. I turned down the radio of the rental car that was blaring some five-year old, Top Forty song.
“We’re going to have a tsunami.” I announced.
It didn’t feel like if — it felt like when. A certainty.
“I think we’re more likely to have a volcanic eruption than a tsunami.” my hubby replied nonchalantly, turning the radio volume back up.

Damn I love my husband. He cohabitates with all the voices in my head without batting an eye. Most men would run for the hills.
He just stays rational. A volcanic eruption in the Hawaiian Islands is…the rational supposition.
God love him.

I had never mentioned my premonition from the trip the previous year—too odd; but I let loose for the remainder of the drive, wondering aloud about what floor their condo was on and worrying if it would it be high enough. Neither of us had any idea and I for one breathed a sigh of relief when the answer came via text. The sixth floor. Their condo was on the sixth floor, overlooking the pool, facing the ocean.

We spent the next week eating and drinking amazing food and wine, snorkeling, swimming, driving around, and whale watching. As a matter of fact the ocean outside of our resort was a veritable whale soup. There is a passage between Maui, Lanai, and Molokai (both which we could see in the distance) that the whales like to use instead of the open ocean, and we could see them breeching from our balcony. They were present in high numbers and especially active. It was extraordinary. The guys on the whale watching boats agreed with our friends—they’d never seen a year like that a one.

Two days before our departure, on the eleventh, it all seemed to come to a screeching halt. The ocean was as passive as a lake. I hiked down the beach to a cove that was supposed to be like “swimming in a tropical fish tank”—nothing. Literally no fish. People kept remarking how odd it seemed. The guys on the whale watching catamarans were perplexed. Suddenly,no whales.

That night after my shower I turned on the TV in our room for the first time the entire trip. I’m still not sure why.
We made dinner in that night and I was just the right amount of sunburned, buzzed, full and sleepy.
As I got dressed and dried my hair I casually flipped around the channels. American Idol, Baywatch re-runs, CNN. Then I saw it.

The bright red BREAKING NEWS banner at the bottom of the screen: Japanese Earthquake and Tsunami.

I screamed something incoherent as I ran out into the family room, half-dressed, knocking things over, becoming hysterical.
“You guys, Turn on the TV! Oh my God! Turn on the TV!” I grabbed the remote, but it looked like something that powers the International Space Station, so I threw it toward my husband.

“Oh, I don’t want to watch TV…” I heard someone say, but Raphael could tell something was wrong. He said later it felt like 911 when everyone was calling and the only thing they could manage to say was: turn on the TV!

“CNN. Find CNN!” I was so freaked out I could barely speak.

When the images came up on that big screen HD TV they were even more terrifying.
It was a helicopter shot, high above the coastline of a small city. There was a wave with a white cap as far as the eye could see. it looked like it spanned almost the entire coastline and it was headed straight for cars, boats, houses…and people.

Now we were all transfixed. Silently glued to the screen with the frantic sounding Japanese commentary running in the background. This was all happening LIVE.

The CNN anchor sounded reassuring, telling us that Japan had one of the most advanced tsunami warning systems on the planet. Sirens had started sounding a few minutes after the large off-shore earthquake, warning the population to make their way to their pre-determined evacuation points on higher ground.

We watched in horror as churning brown water began rushing onshore with a ferocity that was nauseatingly familiar.
It just kept coming and coming. Undeterred by the breakwater…and the thirty foot wall they had built to withstand a tsunami.

“God, I hope they had enough time” I whispered.

Suddenly the CNN picture was minimized as the anchor’s face for the local Maui station took up the entire rest of the screen.
“Good evening”, he read off the cue card, “The entire Hawaiian Islands have been placed on tsunami watch due to the large earthquake off the coast of northern Japan. We will keep you posted as scientists get the readings off of the tsunami buoys that dot the span of the Pacific Ocean from the coast of Japan to the west coast of North America. If it looks like a tsunami is coming our way, the watch will turn into a warning.” He swallowed awkwardly, “Stay with us for further instructions.”

The screen was again filled with the escalating destruction in Japan.

I started to shake uncontrollably, my eyes filling with tears.

I saw him flinch out of the corner of my eye. It got my attention and when I looked his way his face looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
With the remote still in his hand, my husband turned toward me slowly, deliberately.
His mouth dropped open, his eyes were full of…questions.

Then with no sound; his eyes locked on mine; he mouthed my prophesy from earlier that week: We’re going to have a tsunami.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

The shrill wailing of the Disaster Alert Siren brought us both back to reality.
It was official—the tsunami was imminent.

To Be Continued…

IMG_0910 (watch this)

In 1994 I traveled with a friend to the Big Island of Hawaii and the trip turned out to be magical.
No really. Magic happened.

I hadn’t thought about it for many years, but on my walk today I started remembering all the amazing things that took place, especially on one particular afternoon, and that usually means I should write about it.
So here goes:

We were guests of a friend who was working on a movie being shot on the Big Island. The studio was springing for her condo up in the hills overlooking the deep, blue Pacific, so she invited us to spend some time in her pre-paid paradise.

Pretty magical already, right? Just wait.

I can’t exactly remember how, but we met a really wonderful woman who worked at The Four Seasons, with the dolphins.
Best. Job. Ever.
She was around our age, easy to laugh, spiritual, toned and tan. Her connections allowed us to use the facilities and more importantly, go out on a lava rock jetty with the waves just below us, trade winds billowing through our beachy hair…and meditate. It was ridiculously spiritual, just like you imagine it would be.

Does it get more magical than that? You betcha.

While our one friend worked all day on her movie, my other girlfriend and I rented a convertible and decided to explore the island.

Someone had told us about a magical black sand beach at the end of a five-mile hike, so that was the focus of our journey.
We started that day like we did most, bathing in a tranquil cove, where the water was as calm and warm as a bathtub. We spent about an hour floating and soaking the sleep out of our eyes, rinsed off at an outside shower, threw shorts and t-shirts over our bathing suits – and took off. Well, not before stopping at the local gas station/market to fill up, get a diet coke, a Yahoo, a kit kat and a peppermint patty.

You know, key components for creating magic.

I remember following someone’s directions and finally arriving at an unmarked, gravel pull off on the side of the road. Besides a few cars parked nearby, there were no signs of life. Was this the way to the black sand beach? We sure hoped so.
My friend and I decided to head down and take our chances and ask the first person we came across.

The temperature was perfect, with a breeze and lots of shade, so the hike started off easy.
God was a show off that day, as we were surrounded by dense, lush greenery, and every kind of flora and fauna Hawaii had to offer. We started down; admiring, well, everything, until we came to a fork in the dirt path where we stopped, looking around for a sign of some kind, or a clue as to which direction we should go.

I remember this as clearly as if it happened yesterday:
We were in a clearing with a path veering to the left, and another one on the right, wondering which to take, when out of nowhere, a small scruffy dog with tufts of hair all askew appeared.

My friend called him Gremmie since he resembled a gremlin, and he answered to it. He interacted with us for a minute or two, seeming friendly but preoccupied.  Clearly he was on his way somewhere special and we were keeping him. He seemed familiar with the area so we asked Gremmie the way to the beach.

Without hesitation he gave us a look of great conviction, as dogs do, and started down the path to the right – so we followed.

We walked for a long time with him running ahead of us, turning around occasionally to check our progress.
It was evident he was a pro, weaving in and out of vines and narrowing paths, sure-footed, with the confidence of a dog twice his size. Toward the bottom, the path got steep with deep ruts in the cliff side. Little Gremmie seemed to know the way, jumping and traversing obstacles, stopping to make sure we made it to the bottom. I think I saw him give me stink-eye on a particularly tricky part, eyeing my lame “hiking boots” with their worn out soles as I slid on some loose dirt. Seems he had opinions about my poor choice of hiking attire.

All in all, it took us just under two hours to make our way down, but it was worth it because there we were standing on an endless stretch of uninhabited beach.

A beach of black sand.

Gremmie didn’t stop for long. He obviously had an agenda as he ran ahead to a river of fresh water that had cut a swath through the rain forest, down from the mountains, dissecting the beach, making its way to the sea. It must have been raining at the top of the mountain because the water was moving pretty fast and it was too wide to jump across.

My friend and I were assessing the situation, figuring out if we could make it across when we turned to see Gremmie running way up-stream. I mean like where we could barely see him. Then, just like that, he jumped in and swam for all he was worth, traversing the current as it swiftly carried him down river toward us.

Keeping his head bobbing above the water, his legs going a mile a minute, his small, scruffy face a study in concentration, he zoomed past us toward the open ocean.

“Go Gremmie, go!” we screamed over the sound of the crashing waves, “Swim!” and just at what seemed like the last possible second…he made it across.

“Yeah! good boy! Way to go!” He shook off, not even out of breath, and looked across at us, jumping and screaming like crazy women. He looked bemused, head cocked to the side. This was no accident. This dog knew exactly where to enter the water in order to make it across before being swept out to sea.

Standing on the opposite side he barked. “Okay, now it’s your turn” said the dare on his face.

We entered the water about half the distance from where Gremmie started, and I was surprised by the strength of the current. It was determined to make its way to the waves and if you were stupid enough to go in you were going with it. It was about waist-deep, with a current that swept us both off our feet, so we swam like hell, carried downstream toward the sea. After several harrowing minutes, we both made it across where we flopped down on the coarse black sand, laughing and gulping in giant lungsful of the warm, thick, humid air.

Gremmie looked on exasperated. “Come on! There’s more! and he took off running. We just wanted to take in the grandeur of this incredible place so we sat down, watching him turn into a tiny, scruffy, speck in the distance.

After a few minutes of listening to the roaring waves, looking out at the whitecaps, I turned back toward the hillside in the direction we’d just come. “That’s going to be a hell of an uphill hike” I laughed, but it wasn’t funny.
The thought of it was killing my black sand buzz.

My friend was ignoring me. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if dolphins started jumping, right out there?”  she mused, pointing straight ahead toward the open ocean. Before I could reply the sea started boiling as a pod of dolphins began leaping out of the air one after the other, right in front of us!
We jumped to our feet, screaming!

“What the hell?”, “Oh my God!” We were literally dancing as they jumped and played.

“Wish for something else!” I yelled. “This place is frickin’ magic! Wish for a man! A handsome man! “

But my friend wasn’t going to waste a wish on such nonsense.

“I’ve heard there are wild horses all over this island. Wouldn’t it be great to see one?”
We started looking around. I half expected a Unicorn to go prancing by, when I noticed my friend was walking behind us, into the rainforest type greenery that met the sand at the bottom of the cliffs rising above us into the clouds.

She seemed to be walking with purpose, so I followed her into the cool shade of vine-covered trees, ferns, and tall grass. I can’t tell you how long we were there, fifteen minutes, half an hour? I was just enjoying the pleasant change in temperature, when my friend stopped, grabbed my arm, stooped down low, and whispered – you guessed it – “horse!”

Not fifteen feet away was a wild horse, I kid you not. It let my friend approach it and pet it. I’m not kidding. The whole scene was surreal, like something from a movie. When the magic horse finally decided to leave, we were downright giddy as we made our way back onto the black sand.

“What is this place?”

We laid on our backs laughing, looking up at the crystal blue sky. Just so you know, there is NO sky as blue as a Hawaiian sky.

After about an hour, I was starting to feel a little light-headed, and my friend had developed a splitting headache. It soon became evident she was in no condition for the hike back up the hill.

Shit. What to do?

I could see Gremmie in the distance running back our way, but unless I could strap my friend to his back, or he could run and get assistance, like Lassie, he was going to be of little help.

We were in full brainstorming mode, when I started to hear the rumble of an engine over the sound of the waves. It seemed to be coming from the hill we’d hiked down earlier that day.

And just like something out of Indiana Jones, a beat up pickup truck broke through the trees, splashed across the freshwater river, and came straight for us. My friend could barely stand up, so I talked to the guy who happened to be a very nice, local mountain hippie. Think Matthew McConaughey in his naked bongo playing days.

And maybe just the best miracle of the day.

I explained our situation, and he agreed to give us a lift back up the hill to our car.
My friend laid down in the flatbed, while Gremmie and I kept her company. The guy explained that Gremmie didn’t belong to anyone really, he was just a local dog that everyone looked after. That explained his devil-may-care attitude.

The ride was rough but it was a blessing, delivering us to our car in under 20 minutes compared to the several hour hike in the heat, uphill, that would have most certainly killed us.

Hey, my friend was sick and I was hungry!

We still marvel, to this day, about all the magic on that beach.

Did that really happen? 

I wonder about Gremmie sometimes. That scrappy little guy. He’s gotta be about 150 yrs old by now.

Is he still guiding unsuspecting seekers down that hill on a magical mystery tour to those sands of black? What do you think?

Xox

*yep, that’s me on that beach, right after the hike down the hill, feeling exuberant, and I think denim, overall shorts need to make a come-back! HA!