The rest of my trip was nice and lazy and boring. I made another unsuccessful beach finding attempt in Pa’ia, where I passed up two beaches because the surf was too high.
|A disappointed beachgoer|
|Pa'ia, the town where I was gestated|
So I headed back to the hotel pool to take aquatic selfies and get sunburned. There was a narrow strip of un-sunscreened flesh on the underside of each arm which got scorched, plus I managed to wash all the sunscreen off the back of my left hand at some point, giving myself a red demi glove of sunburn. Fortunately most of the time I can just put aloe on my sunburns and they turn into suntans.
|Seawater hotel pool -- no waves! No runoff!|
|Blueberry pancakes with coconut syrup and kalua pig hash|
And I went touristing on the submarine, which was lots of fun.
|Ahoy, it's a submarine!|
|Life is the bubbles|
|We got no troubles|
|Under the sea!|
|The best gecko - a nice fat green one with a yellow tail|
|Sunset surfside table at Cheeseburger in Paradise|
“Touristy” is sort of a funny concept in my world. Sometimes I hear tourguides outside my house. And I grew up to strangers appearing in our front yard to photograph our poinsettia hedge. Somewhere at the back of my mind is an insinuation that if there are no tourists, you must be in a terrible place which nobody wants to visit. I understand people wanting to avoid touristy areas, I rarely head to Fisherman's Wharf unless the craving for In 'n Out Burger is strong. And yet I like living near a certain amount of touristy-ness, with interesting people constantly washing up on your shores.
I think about moving back, but I’m not really inclined to do it. I’m too accustomed to mainland living and I don’t want to contribute to the gentrification, but I do love to visit. Besides, I’d have trouble figuring out what island to live on, since I love them all.
|At the airport with my One-Ton Chips|