We decided that after our delicious meal at Mama’s Fish House, we would go find a waterfall on The Road To Hana. Lest you think we actually went and drove the road to Hana, that would be a negative. We drove ten minutes to a waterfall.
We are not Road To Hana People.
You need to know this about yourself if you decide to drive it.
You either are.
Or you are not.
And if you are not, then you really, really are not.
They do not call it “Divorce Highway” for nothing.
Last year, when we first arrived at our hotel, we stepped into an elevator with a family of three. They were so downtrodden. Heads low. Sweating. If it were not for the sweating, I would have assumed they were the first unfortunate souls in a zombie apocalypse.
We stood next to them. Cheer bouncing from our skin. Our necks freshly leied from just checking in.
The zombie family recoiled at the sight of us.
I guess fresh leis are to zombies what garlic garlands are to vampires.
I couldn’t help myself. “What happened to you?” I rudely questioned.
The dad briefly looked up. He would not look me in my eyes. The lei’s power was too much.
“We just got back from The Road To Hana,” he mumbled.
The elevator stopped and they shuffled out.
My husband and I looked at each other as the doors closed. Our eyes made a silent pact.
“We will never become those creatures.” Our eyes told each other. We will never travel to Hana.
Fast forward a year and a half. Our stomachs full from the best meal of our lives. Our feet all clad in a various assortment of flip flops and sandals.
“Let’s find a waterfall!” I proclaimed.
It had to be the two Relaxers I had drank an hour before.
I have never wanted to see a waterfall. I have been on “The Jungle Cruise” at Disneyland before. I have seen the front side… and the backside of a waterfall.
Many times.
I was good.
But somehow we found ourselves traveling on The Road To Hana, towards Twin Falls.
The waiter had said it would be seven minutes on the road. Then there would be a little fruit stand (the sweet saving grace of the trip. They sold coconut water and apple-bananas).
“It’s justa five minute walk from ther’,” his sweet Southern accent promised.
We must not have tipped enough.
Either that or five minutes in Maui is different than in other parts of the world.
Our watches must not have caught up.
Or maybe he assumed we had all ready been zombified from having taken the road to Hana to the restaurant.
Zombies can walk far. And are horrible at math.
We took all of our belongings out of the car.
All of them.
The signs told us to.
We began the walk.
In our stupid, impractical open-toed shoes, we set out on a hike.
Our shoulders laden with a camera bag and purses.
We are nothing if not always unprepared.
I should have paid attention to the people walking from the other direction. Back towards their cars. Their t-shirts clinging to their wet bodies. Their heads set low.
But I didn’t. I was too busy oohing and aahing about the trees as we wandered down a rocky path.
I was imagining I was Joan in “Romancing The Stone.”
This lasted for about five minutes before the complaining began.
“How much farther?”
“My feet hurt.”
“Whose idea was this?”
“Ugh! It is so hot.”
And the complaints were all coming from me.
I was in character.
We crossed a small river pond body of water .
And we walked.
A lot.
We finally made it to the waterfall after forty five minutes. Sweat was pouring down our faces. Across the small lake, a cheering crowd of people clad in various forms of swimwear had formed around the water’s edge.
They were laughing.
Splashing.
Immune to a forty-five minute walk in the heat of a humid day.
Lovely.
It was a party and zombies were not allowed.
We turned around and headed back to our car.
Down trodden.
Heads low.
Sweating.
Shuffling.
We had caught the dreaded virus.
Otherwise known as physical exertion.
There was no help for us.
When we finally got back to the hotel, our eyes squinted at the pure gleaming whiteness of the buildings. We shuffled past newly arrived guests getting their fresh leis oblivious to the adventures that might await them.
I heard one of them ask the girl at the front desk,”How long will it take us to get to Hana?”
I shambled past them.
Sniffed in disdain the fresh lei upon her neck.
The newbie was asking the wrong question. The right question is, “How long will it take in Maui/Zombie time to get to Hana?”
I could have warned her. Told her to stay in the comforts of the hotel. But that would not have been fair.
You either are Road To Hana People. Or you are not. You need to know which one you are.
Because on The Road To Hana, it is survival of the fittest.
It is good to know which one you are.
Before that lei.
Goes around.
Your.
Neck.
