Oh my friends, I’m back in Wisconsin, and it’s cold, but I’m back, but it is very very cold. But I had a lovely vacation, so I really can’t complain, or if I can, if I’m entitled, I will choose not to. Complaining is for dorks! Here is the sad part of my vacation: I let Rachel down. By not blogging this past week, that is, which is really too bad when you consider what an awesome hostess she was, nearly wrecking her car to drive me to every beach in Maui and then putting up with my unquenchable cravings for soda and agreeing to give up that thing that we were both going to give up but then I kind of stopped giving up. Rachel, you are awesome, thank you!
So the thing is, if I were actually going to write about the good times I had in Hawaii it would be pages and pages long, because there were many. Use your imagination: if it was glorious and Hawaiian, we did it. So instead I am going to write about the one bad day that we had which was a Friday, which is not the day of the week that you would expect to be the bad day. It all started out with a cloudy, windy day at the beach. At some point we both admitted that we were cold and not really enjoying ourselves, so we decided to get an early start on the evening’s activity, which was to be an epic beach-side camping trip, capped off the following morning with some surfing! (I had already tried surfing a few days earlier which might have been more successful if I knew how to swim). Somehow it took us four hours to pack, but we managed to get to Lahaina before sundown and set up camp. We hung a hammock with rusty bungee cords, and when we both climbed into it it broke, which was very funny and not at all painful, thank God, but there went our plan for sleeping arrangements, and maybe that was the first sign of bad things to come. Our friends started a fire and some more friends joined us and as the sun set over the Pacific Ocean we enjoyed some hamburgers off the grill and a few drinks and everything was going so well.
And then the man with the blinking yellow light approached. We watched as he stopped at a few camping sites before ours and then when he reached he asked (was it in Pidgen?) if we had a permit. We did not and he told us he would be back in an hour and we’d better be gone. We tried to be friendly and he changed his tune–he’d be back in a half hour and give us a ticket if we were still here. So we packed everything up and moved a mile down the road where the man with the blinking yellow light had informed us we were free to camp without a permit. Maybe it was free because it was right on the edge of the freeway with a million cars zooming past us. The ceremony continued–there was fire dancing and s’mores and White Russians–we were unstoppable. Until it came time for bed, and without our hammock or a tent or a cushy van with an air mattress (like SOME people had), Rachel, DJ and I found ourselves squashed into the trunk of DJ’s car and as the violent wind shook our car about, I slept the worst, most uncomfortable sleep of my life. And in the morning I woke up and I was covered in ketchup. And best of all, which is to say worst of all, there were no waves, ergo, no surfing, which had been kind of the thing that started the whole adventure. But I’m pretty sure that if you have a series of lousy events but share them with some really great people it still ends up being a great experience, which is what happened. It was the worst day and also the best day, and to celebrate we drove into Happy Valley and crammed together into this little booth at this little dive called Tasty Crust, and when they boast of having “World Famous Pancakes” they really aren’t exaggerating.
If you want to hear about some of the more classically good times, I have stories of those as well. Or just take it in by pictures. Full photo album here.