1.25.21 :: Oahu

Liz and I once stood in line next to Joshua Jackson at LAX and his naked feet next to my naked feet was the celebrity highlight of my life—until this morning.

That peak Pacey moment was nothing compared to the starlet I met today. For there, poking his beautiful yellow face out of the water, mouth open in what I like to think was a smile, not once, not twice, but three times for some big gulps of air before going back on his merry way, was a sea turtle. His black eyes were looking up—while I was looking at him, not five feet away.

My heart exploded. I mean, how much can a girl take?

Waking up to rainbows not only on the horizon, but reflected in the water. Walking into bath-warm water for an hour-long wade in a jade green sea that matches my toes. Floating next to a Pomeranian on a boogie board, for crying out loud.

I didn’t think the day could get any better, but as I drove to Haleiwa, IZ on the radio, top down, my resting heart rate just above coma, I felt the peace that often only comes with a head full of gratitude. How did I win this lottery? I wondered. After lunch and a watermelon mojito I made my way to the Banzai Pipeline, only to pass the sign for Waimea Valley and take a quick detour. A bonus of traveling solo: You can do whatever you want, whenever you want, never second guessing yourself or the other person. (And this Gemini can be a professional second guesser.)

I hadn’t researched the valley—didn’t know what to expect. Signs said a waterfall was ¾ of a mile in and that sounded much more feasible and fun than the Kouliouou Ridge Trail I attempted last week. Despite my spirit team—monarch butterflies and birds and violet flowers sprinkling magic along the trail—guiding my hiking boots onward, I only made it about a mile and a half in before giving up the good fight. I was exhausted (it’s pretty steep), hadn’t brought enough water, and hadn’t trained enough to drag 200 pounds of body and bones up the mountain. The path worked in a zig zag, so you could see exactly how far you’d come: from the damp, jungle base to the iron-dense midsection that had reddened the dirt and was covered in what appeared to be white straw. I liked to think I was clambering up a giant porcupine—or Shakespeare’s thatch roof. I had made it pretty far, but the last mile would destroy me, I knew. So, I high fived myself, because that’s what you do when you’re alone and talking to the trees, and headed back down.

Today, it was an easy stroll to the waterfall, and the walk was gentle on the soul. Not only were the mountains on either side enclosing me in their dense embrace, a canopy of trees shielded the valley from the midday sun. So many exquisite and foreign flowers were hidden along the way, some so high up I could only look with an open mouth; others so low to the ground, I hunched down to take a closer look and tease the petals with my fingertips to get a sense of their existence.

Birds, wind, and rustling leaves were my playlist. And the water. Rushing around rocks and roots in the opposite direction, until you get to the spot its rushing from and you wonder who first came upon this special pool. I threw on a life vest and crept toward the edge. It’s 30-feet deep with a strong current from the falls that must be...100 feet high? (I'm short and have no concept of height!) I had battled the bay across the street the other day and lost my Gucci sunglasses and my 30-laps-a-day-pre-covid pride. This waterfall was cold and fresh; everything I wanted after my walk. Plus, in vacation Hawaii, it feels like you’re in a constant state of dampness, moving from one bathing suit to the next. It was nice to plunge into crisp, unsalted water for a change. I followed a sweet man and his two daughters, about 7 or 8, into the churn and we laughed and kept each other from being swept downstream.

The dip was truly a dip—maybe five minutes. You want to move along so others can have turn. But I made sure to slowly gaze at the mountain beauty around me, and, again, thought: What a wonderful world. 

I walked barefoot to a dry area, where I shook myself like a dog and threw on my clothes. I've never been so free with my body as in Hawaii; not only letting it all hang out, but simply not caring if anyone sees. Perhaps it's because everyone else here is the same. There are all kinds of bodies in all shapes and sizes and colors in varying stages of undress. Too buttoned up or coiffed and you stick out like a winter hat—pink pom pom shouting, I'm not comfortable here yet!

My favorite ritual is now washing and wringing out my Target bikini every night.

Down the road, at the Banzai Pipeline, I planted myself near the top of the shore, laid out my shirt and shorts on the rocks to dry off, and didn’t even pretend I could swim in these waters. Banzai is home to the “World’s Most Deadliest Wave” due to the reefs (basically big rocks) right at the shoreline. The waves, crazy high and intense, take no prisoners. I went in about knee-deep and got a good leg workout from just trying to stay upright. The water is temptingly warm, but in the same breath absolutely terrifying. Better to sit and stare at the many surfers who know what they’re doing—fearlessly waiting their turn to ride the next crest. I was lucky enough to spot one guy seamlessly glide straight through a huge wave. It was like seeing him come through a curl of chocolate. He then coasted to shore, turned around, and paddled right back out again, powering headfirst through every crash that tried to push him back.

I was and am in awe.

Photographers, fellow tourists, a surfer who broke his board in half while battling the sea (we exchanged a very nice smile (him) and a sad grimace at his board (me)), and even a guy with a small dog and metal detector all joined me as we watched these artists for hours. At BookEnds, a used bookstore in Kailua, I had almost picked up an autobiography of a surfer but had gone for a YA rom-com instead. However, I remember flipping through and finding a spot where he said surfing was a part of him—a unique yet shared slice of his soul that I’m sure only comes with the feeling of anticipating the ride and meeting the moment with an ease I, for one, will never know.

The sunset was a clean white. When I looked left down the long stretch of beach, I saw dark silhouettes on a blinding canvas: a trio of surfers, boards under their arms; a girl crouched at the shore, hair to her waist, hugging her knees and staring into the horizon; a woman helping her elderly mother navigate the sand.   

A perfect day, if I say so.

I hope you all are keeping warm and well. Sending aloha and rainbows your way. xx