The Road to Hana

Our first day in Hawaii was admittedly, a bust. A total and complete, embarrassing, hide-your-face-in-shame bust. It was supposed to rain, you see. Not just that first day, but the entire time we were in Maui. The forecast was bleak, filled with rainclouds and 80-100% chance of precipitation day after day of our very expensive, much-looked forward to vacation. 

So when we woke up that first day and saw the grey skies, we were not surprised, but we thought, just maybe, we could enjoy an hour or two by the pool before the rain started thrashing down on top of our swimsuits. One hour became four, which then became five. The skies were mostly cloudy but the sun peeked out from time to time and the temperature was pleasant. We had to make the most of it though, didn't we? It was going to rain all the rest of the week, after all.

The next day we woke up horribly sunburned. Words cannot describe the color or the texture of our skin. We looked like burnt breakfast sausages, ugly browned in odd spots. We were red, and raw and in horrific pain. We were swollen and uncomfortable and both expressed fond wishes for being flayed alive. And, to top it all off, the sun was shining. Brightly. (As it would continue to do with nary a drop of rain for the whole week). 

So what could we do? We rented a car and decided to explore to island, specifically the illustrious "Road to Hana" which is zig-zag hairpin roads through the rainforest, past waterfalls and greenery and impossibly beautiful scenery. Which, sounds pleasant. 

Unless, that is, you are prone to car-sickness. 

Which, I am.

We developed a pattern as we drove by the different attractions. Pause, snap a photo of the unusual jungle plants, take a few steps toward a waterfall and marvel at its beauty, and then I would vomit. Stop again, park the car, walk around a park and gaze down at the water below, and then, I would vomit. We would drive a little further, stop the car for Maui's famous banana bread, I would puke, and then we would have shaved ice by the side of the road and look at goats and chickens and cats, cats, cats that stalked the outskirts of the trees.  

The road was long, and made longer by very slow speeds and frequent stops to marvel, and/or emptying the contents of my stomach. When we had ventured about 30 miles or so toward Hana, I begged, most earnestly, to turn around, knowing that every mile traveled, every hairpin turn, meant having to replicate the same turn on the way back. Mercifully, my husband obeyed, and we headed back, with the same frequent stops and bouts of carsickness, until we returned to our hotel, the sun still cruelly shining above, to apply aloe and drink something cold in a dark room. 

We may not have made it all the way to Hana, but we made it part of the way there, and avoided further burns, even if it was at the price of a steady stomach. Even in the beauty of Hawaii, it seems one must allow for lobster burns and a little vomit. 

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