Settling In Gently by R.A.Davis

Yesterday I was up for an adventure-- something new. I flipped through my handy-dandy Lonely Planet Big Island Guide book for inspiration and found an enticing-sounding entry about A-bay at the Waikoloa resort. Showers, white sands, mellow surf, the opportunity to trespass at the fancy hotels? Sounds good. So I packed baby in the car (she chanted, "Beach! Beach!" the whole way) and made for the coast. We get to Waikoloa and I'm driving along-- past the King's shops and the Queen's shops, past golf courses and over-watered manicured golf lawns. I try squinting at the microscopic map in the Lonely Planet book but it's no help pointing me which windy road to follow to get to A-bay. Finally I'm nearly at the Hilton (think indoor canals, trains, massive marble statuary) and I see a tiny sign "Public Shoreline Access Parking." The law in Hawaii guarantees that all beaches are public access. So private landowners have to provide some kind of access corr...

I spent two weeks on the mainland and came to a startling conclusion. I didn't understand a word anybody said. Even if understood the individual words I couldn't parse the sense behind the words. Everything seemed baffling. Drivers were insane. Food was strange. Small talk was indecipherable. The dress code was all pitfalls for me. Maybe, just maybe... It's not just Hawaii. Maybe I'm a malihini everywhere I go!