:: Hawaii Fryve O ::

Thursday, August 15, 2002

I burned the hell out of my feet. They're bright red, itchy, and peeling. On top of that, a full week of wearing flip-flops of nearly disposable quality had rubbed the outside of my insteps raw, causing quite a pair of abrasions. I laid awake in bed for over an hour last night vacillating between making a concerted effort to ignore the itching of the dead skin and the scabs and furiously scratching at them.

Then I thought of how they came to be like this.

Visions of long sandy Hawaiian beaches filled my head, followed by apparitions of my friends on surfboards. I recalled hiking through a rainforest to arrive at a series of deserted freshwater pools, shrouded in foliage and fed by a thundering waterfall, with the roots of overhanging vegetation puncturing their otherwise glassy and serene surface. The subsequent jaunt through dense surrounding groves of bamboo followed this recollection.

I thought of strolling on the extra-terrestrial surface of a long-dormant volcano and how it contrasted perfectly with the lush, verdant hills over which the sun set that evening. I couldn't forget the many rides through the expansive sun-drenched fields of sugar cane, or along the misty coast, stopping periodically to purchase and devour fresh mangos and pineapples. Snorkeling off the side of an anchored catamaran sprung to mind. And of course, there was the boundless magnanimity of our hosts.

One particular remembrance came to mind: lying on Baldwin beach, situated down the coast from the airport, and watching planes periodically take off over the ocean. It seemed a cruel reminder at the time that my stay there was fleeting. It was, as one tripmate put it, as if they placed the airport there to not-so-gently remind you: "one day, you too will leave this paradise."

[ of course, one could take this as an existentialist affirmation, and squeeze every last ounce of vivacity from the moment, but Camus I am not, and my glass-might-later-be-half-empty paranoia got the best of me ]

So last night in my shoebox-sized Manhattan bedroom (a room usually permeated with dull insouciance), furiously ravaging my poor feet, and thinking about the previous week's delights, I heard a plane fly overhead and thought: "one day, I too can return."

I hope my feet never heal. Anything that reminds me of Maui can't be all bad.

Posted by morland @ 06:17 PM

:: Comments ::

What makes me truly envious about your trip to Hawaii is that none of those details seem at all implausible.

I curse you!

Posted by: Scott Ganz on August 15, 2002 10:25 PM

muka laka hiki, why don't you lei me?

pass the poi mahalla.

boom badadoom, badadoom, badadoom

Posted by: jason feuerstein on August 16, 2002 02:36 PM

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