Travel Writing

 Travel writing has not exactly gone as planned, and I promised myself to refrain from writing horribly cliché shit like, it’s because I feel so at home here, but it’s true – to an extent. That, and I’m absolutely beat at the end of every day after chasing around a very precocious three year old and trying to keep a teething one year old happy. I don’t know how Monica does it. The endless patience she has with her kids is admirable and likely unattainable for most of us, but ever since we became friends when we were ten, Monica knew she wanted to have kids and to be a teacher. Lo and behold, she has two kids and is a teacher. Back then she wanted like, six kids, but Ryan has whittled her down to two, at least for the time being.

So yes, kids have been at the forefront of the beginning of my “hero’s journey,” or so my friend Will calls it – protagonist's journey just doesn’t have the same ring. We have had a few good beach days, a Costco run, done a bit of farm work and did a yoga class yesterday morning in quite possibly the most stunning studio I’ve ever been to. But for the most part, everything seems strangely normal. I could get used to this island life.

Our yoga “studio” and a very gnarly wave out the back

As you can see from this photo, the waves were also FIRING. I’m embarrassed to admit that I did not paddle out. The waves on the Big Island tend to be heavy and unforgiving, breaking on lava rock and coral in shallow water. This isn’t to say that I won’t surf, but my arrival coincided with one of the biggest swells of the winter, and I was hoping to get my feet back in the wax on some keiki (kid) waves before charging da big ones. I paddled out at a break yesterday, watched a double overhead set roll through, and promptly paddled back to the beach. Way to call me out, Mother Nature.

I scored an old Subaru from Monica’s step sister, who is kindly renting me her beater car for adventuring. I’m staying in the cutest little cabin studio on Monica’s farm, which is about 10’ x 20’. It has a mini fridge and running water, and with more amenities than my boat, it feels pretty luxurious. My roommates are two very tidy geckos. The only thing is that there is no bathroom, so I have to walk to the main house, which is maybe a 45 second walk from my cabin. But there are wild pigs known to roam through the land, so occasionally at night I’ll pee in the jungle right outside my door. I just hope the people staying in the Air BnB on their property don’t notice. I can only imagine those reviews…

The ol' Subie

I promise the next time I post I will have much more exciting news, or at least a funny kid story or two. In the meantime, here is a picture of a keiki pineapple growing right outside my cabin: