Whale Song

We woke up with the sun this morning to go on a whale watching tour, after arriving home late the night before from seeing an incredible Hawaiian singer named Willie K. We saw him at an Irish bar called Mulligan's in Wailea, and he blew my mind with his voice, and his guitar and ukelele playing. He can sing anything from old Hawaiian music, to opera, plus he has a wicked sense of humor. I'd suggest anyone who goes to Maui to try to find a Willie K performance.

Our Ultimate Whale Watch cruise started at 7am, and 17 of us piled onto a large raft that would take us into the dark blue waters to search for whales. Passengers were groggy, but armed with the latest camera technology. I felt like I was at a press conference, hearing all those camera clicks. We took off fast, skimming the ocean, as soon as our guide saw a couple of spouts.

Then we saw a Mom and her baby, plus a male whale to watch out for them, their lower backs arching gracefully out of the water.

Mom and baby were playing, fin slapping the water. You can see two fins raised up if you look closely enough.

Then we saw a huge chunk of tail push out of the water, and slap the surface. The guide says that tail weighs 70 tons. It was over too quickly for a photo, but you can see the splash.

The whales travel in packs of two or three, and we were so close we could hear them breathe, big exhales that spurted mist high into the air.

We even saw one whale point its face above the surface, the guide says the whale was looking around, seeing what was above water.

One whale got so close to us, that it was only a 20 feet away, and I saw its back curving into the water. We thought for a second it might swim under us, but we didn't see it again.

They say when a whale dives, it leaves a slick on the surface of the water, a window to the depths of the ocean where the whale disappeared. Whalers used to think this was oil from the whale's skin.
The guide also put a hydrophone in the water, and we got to hear the whale song. It was a melodic tune, sung in recognizable refrains. The naturalist says all whales sing the same song, depending on the time of year, no matter where they are in the world. These are such amazing, gentle creatures, and I felt blessed got to see them up close. It's hard to believe there used to only be 1,000 of them left in the world because of whaling, now there are close to 30,000.
I'm so glad people love whales now, and are only armed with cameras, not guns or spears.

I can't wait to go whale watching again!

Hangin Loose...in the Hawaiian rain.

Hawaii has been misbehavin' lately. I woke up on Tuesday to storm clouds, a gray ocean, then rain falling on Lahaina, painting the road black. Tourists slumped in chairs, muttering, "Is it gonna rain all day?" David and I took it in stride, being from Seattle, and drove all the way to Maui's upcountry to check out the farmland, tropical forests, and a little town called Mokowoa, or something like that. I'm too lazy to check it out. It was interesting, but nothing to write home about. On our way there, we stopped at a lookout, and I saw evidence of humpback whales - white puffs in the deep, gray ocean. We saw their backs curving out of the water as they took a breath, a truly wonderful experience. Tourists yelled and pointed, training their binoculars like a single eye on these magnificent creatures. That's one thing I have to do before I leave - whale watch.

David had a little work to do, so I left him at a Starbucks in Kihei and went to explore the beaches in South Maui. I passed the Grand Wailea, Four Seasons, and countless gated communities with pristine palm trees, and short, manicured grass. I'd guess South Maui is where the celebrities vacation, with its rugged hills and hidden, curving roads.

I kept driving past the resorts in Wailea, and the road became narrow, the foliage like desert. I saw cacti with big paddleboard arms, and wiry, black trees. I drove until I saw a sign for "Makena State Park," and turned right onto a dusty road that ended in a huge parking lot. I got out, put on my water shoes, and walked down a trail that was part sand/part rock. When I saw Big Beach, it took my breath away.

A beautiful crescent with thick, golden sand, and turquoise water.

I walked in the warm water, feeling my feet sink into the sand. Lifeguards sat at their posts, and warning signs talked of undertows an shallow, breaking waves. I could feel it, even as the water rushed around my calves. It was strong, and I could easily fall victim to its grasp.The beach was pretty empty, so I continued walking, talking photos with my small, waterproof camera. Mist hugged the distant hills.

The far end of Big Beach in Makena is punctuated by thick, sharp lava rocks, and I imagined the steaming lava hitting the water thousands of years ago.

For some reason, I was really amazed by this lava rock. It's texture, its shape, the way it dried exactly how it landed on the beach.

It was a beautiful beach, and a calming, peaceful experience. I saw islands in the distance, and the beach didn't have many people. I'd definately come back here with a cooler of beer and food, and just watch the waves roll in and out. I might even take a dip, if I was right in front of the lifeguard stand.

It's 730am in Hawaii on Wednesday, and I'm looking out my hotel room window at trees bending in the wind, the flag whipping wildly on my deck. The sky is blue, though, and the sunlight is already hitting boats moored in the ocean. Soon I'll go on a walk and try to find Baby Beach, which I hear is popular with tourists and locals. I don't mind the wind, but hope the rain goes away. For Good. By the way, my birthday flowers are looking mighty happy!

Hau'oli lā hānau!

I couldn't ask for a better place to start my 29th year than on a deck in Lahaina, Maui, overlooking the ocean.I spent the morning relaxing, shopping, watching the cruise ship passengers through a telescope on my deck. Then David and I ate at the Plantation, and got snorkeling gear from a shop across the street. I'd heard about this beach north of us called Kapalua Beach, which is named as one of the Top 10 beaches in Maui. It's crescent shape, and still, smooth waters are perfect for swimming and snorkeling, which I soon found out for myself.

At first, the water felt cold, but our bodies adjusted quickly, and it was like being in a bathtub. I had no goosebumps, and marveled at the tropical fish, and pink coral that looked like brains. The heavy salt water held my body, and I felt myself rising and falling with the waves, one with the breath of the ocean. It was a relaxing, soothing experience. When we finished with our underwater sightseeing, we crawled back on the beach, tired but happy, and let the sun bake the salt into our skin.

The water dried quickly, the sun wasn't too hot, and palm trees swayed gently above, their long fronds like fingers carressing the breeze. I couldn't ask for a more relaxing place.

Then it was on to the Old Lahaina Luau that evening, which is rated as one of the best, most authentic luau's in Hawaii. We were greeted with a fresh lei and a mai tai, and led to our table with a perfect view of the stage.

The space was large, with palm trees, thatched huts, and the ocean just a few feet away.
Then it was time for dinner, and our server, a buff Hawaiian surfer wearing a yellow and orange sarang, led us to the buffet, where we had kalua pork, mahi mahi, teriyaki chicken, fresh mango and papaya, rice, bread, and all sorts of things I can't even describe. It was delicious, and the mahi mahi's flowed as the hula dancing presentation began!

This was a traditional luau that included the history of Hawaii. The men wore loincloths, and little else.

The dancing was incredible, with the women moving their hips so fast, and it time to the music. It was like belly dancing on crack. I don't know how they do it, but it was amazing to watch.
Then it was time for a couple's slow dance, with the sound of the waves, and a Hawaiian love song.
After the whole thing was through, I got a photo with the performers, a Hawaiian God and Goddess. Amazing dancers, these two!
It was the birthday of my dreams. How am I going to beat this when I turn 30 next year?

Another Day in Paradise

I woke up at 530am to the sound of the ocean breathing. In and out, it sighed, a living being in the inky blackness of morning. A warm breeze flitted through my open windows, lifting the lace curtains in my vintage hotel room at The Lahaina Inn. The streets were quiet, the lights dim, all vestiges of late night partying wiped clean by salty, sweet air.

Maui is a gentle place, where tropical flowers pop red and orange, where palm trees dance, and where the sun awakens the ocean with pink brushstrokes of light. (Please pardon the iPhone photo)

Sailboats bob in the azure ocean, just beyond our balcony's white fence railing. The sunlight finds its way onto the warm, burgundy slats, and I sit rocking, enjoying the awakening city. The rumble of cars is scarce here, instead, I listen to birds sing as they hop in the branches, happy it's a new day.
We had breakfast at Betty's in Lahaina with views of the ocean, then drove up to Ka'anapali and went for a long walk along Maui's tourist trap. Hyatt, Marriott, Westin, you name it, all with sparkling outdoor pools and tiki bars. People sat on chaise lounges and romped on white sand, palm trees grew out of impossibly short grass. Not really my scene, but we had a good, long walk. Then we found the type of beach I love, where waves crash wildly against black lava rocks, and surfers are black dots in an ocean that mirrors the sky.

The waves were big and powerful, tumbling tubes of blue that lashed the rocks with long, frothy fingers.
(Yes, I know I'm about as white as it gets. Blame it on my European roots)
Oneloa Bay is much quieter up on the boardwalk, which stretches over 1.5 miles along these beaches near Kapalua. We're going to come back when we have our walking shoes, and explore all this little gems, bays carved by centuries of waves beating the lava rocks into submission.
It's Sunday evening, and the sun is setting, the ocean is silver outside my hotel window. Soft guitar music plays from Cheeseburger in Paradise, and I think at this moment I could very well be there, in paradise.

An unlikely friend

If you had told me a couple years ago I'd be sitting in Pike Place Bar and Grill with an Italian physicist named Andrea Chincarini, who's working on a gravitational wave detector in Eastern Washington, I would have laughed. Where would I have encountered such a person? And how is it that without ever meeting face-to-face, we could get along so well? The miraculous invention of the Internet, that's how.

A year and a half ago, I started visiting a beautiful blog, called The Dusty Lens. I found it through my coworker Lisa's sister's blog in New York City, and was immediately enthralled by the stunning photography and poems. The word were so deep, the photos abstract and beautiful, that I began reading the entries whenever they were posted. This mysterious Italian poet/physicist/photographer called "AC" started reading and commenting on my blog as well. We linked to each other's blogs. Thus, through the mist of the Internet, we became distant friends, who knew each other well through words and images.

This blogger hasn't been posting as much lately, and I wondered if I'd ever read his stuff again. A couple weeks ago on Facebook, I saw that he'd be in Seattle, so I invited him to grab a drink, or coffee, or food. We met for sushi at Umi's Sake House, and talked about physics, the little that I do know. I found him to be gentle, down to earth, and interesting. We went for a beer with David and brother-in-law Prasad after that, and spent hours talking about how physics and art collide, how the science brain is the artist brain, how physics and poets think the same way: they are in a quest for the unknown, to find beauty in slices of life nobody else sees.

I had a beer with Andrea Chincarini again on Wednesday night, and we spoke of more casual things: life in Italy, what he and his wife do for fun, that he has 30 bottles of Italian wine in his apartment, which is just steps from the Mediterranean sea. They have dinner parties every weekend, and eat tiny fish whole. They live in this tiny town of Chiavari, and both work as physicists. Andrea studied Tai Chi in China for a month, and visited Australia for a month to work on more gravitational waves there. This person is so fascinating, so deep, that I was sad to see him go. It's hard to meet a new friend, and then they fly home halfway around the globe.

I am thankful for the Internet, in that it can bring friends together. Everyone claims it keeps people apart, and we only interact through the impersonal, glowing white screen. But sometimes, you get lucky, and meet someone in person who you would have never had the chance to interact with. I'm thankful that David and I will now have someone to visit in Italy, who can show us the hidden spots, the truly authentic restaurants, the way of life on the Italian Riviera. And our house will always be open to him. The Internet is magic.

Writing a Book is Harder than I thought

All weekend long, the inspiration didn't hit. I sat staring at my computer screen, willing the creativity to flow through my brain, allowing me to write long, stunning passages of prose. Instead, the words were forced and erratic, cumbersome and nonsensical. I thought the story was going one direction, but the characters wouldn't budge. MOVE, I shouted at Arturo and Isabelle, DO SOMETHING. Instead, they laughed in my face, and stayed in place on paper. Sometimes, when the characters refuse to do what you want, you have to take a step back, and analyze where the story is going. I was making them move too fast. Isabelle told me to slow the heck down, no way was she ready to meet Arturo's parents. So I rethought where I was taking the story. When you hear fiction authors being interviewed after they write a book, they will often say the characters guide the story, that their fingers are just the vessel to allow these characters to speak. And when I get into the mindframe of my book, it happens like magic. My fingers fly, struggling to keep up with what the characters are saying. The scenery becomes as vivid as the real world around me, and I write with passion and intensity. Unfortunately, this didn't happen this weekend.

So far, I've written 44,171 words, and that's just a couple hundred more than I had last weekend. I woke up this morning, completely ready to write the scene that was playing in my head last night. The problem? I had 5 minutes to write, then had to catch the ferry to participate in my daily life of work, eating, surfing the Internet, etc. When my mind opens to the creative process, it's like a beam of light that shines straight through me, illuminating the way. I know exactly where I want to take the story, and exactly the way to describe it. One thing about being a writer is that each writer has a unique worldview, and unique way of putting words on paper. I want to tap into that uniqueness, instead of forcing the words to come.

At 155 pages, I believe my book is a little more than halfway done. That will complete a short fiction novel. I don't mind if its short, I just want the story to be complete. I want Isabelle and Arturo to find their way. I want to know how they plan on achieving their goals, what they will say to each other, what experiences they will have. Right now, my two main characters are suspended in time, waiting for their creator to give them life.

Bothered

Last Friday, I saw Seattle Police Officer Timothy Brenton's family get out of a black SUV with tinted windows. I saw the family walk through a human gate of saluting law enforcement officers, a sea of blues and reds, into the empty hole of Key Arena. I saw Officer Brenton's son carrying the American flag, his daughter in a pretty dress, both tow-headed and solemn. I wondered if these two small children understood the gravity of their father's funeral, a man who died while serving the city of Seattle, a man executed while doing his job. Reporters around me struggled to hold in tears at Officer Brenton's memorial service, as the gigantic video display showed this man as a boy, as a married man, as a father. He was always smiling.

Last Friday the newsroom erupted in shouts, ringing phones and live interviews as police zeroed in on the suspect of this horrific crime. We went wall-to-wall with breaking news coverage, the excitement of it all a papable buzz. The man had turned his gun on detectives, and was shot in the head, rushed to Harborview. He's recovering now from his wounds, something the Officer he's accused of murdering will never do.

There's a Facebook page dedicated to Officer Timothy Brenton, and 20-thousand people are members. His wife, Lisa, posted pictures of that fatefall Halloween: the kids carving pumpkins, walking down a wooded trail. Underneath the photo is the caption: The Last Walk. I think of that family, loving each other, celebrating this Halloween day, and kissing their father and husband goodbye. None of them knew he'd go out on patrol, and get blasted with fire from an assault rifle, never to come home again.

Last night I dreamed of this woman, Lisa, this devastated wife. I went to her house for an interview, no recording devices allowed, and she told me how much she was hurting, how she was trying to rebuild her life. I think about her often and what she must be going through, a feeling I hope I never know.

Today I will attend a press conference at the King County Prosecutor's office, to find out what charges they will levy against this Christopher Monfort. He's accused of killing Officer Timothy Brenton, wounding Officer Britt Sweeney, and firebombing several police cars in downtown Seattle. The accused man's motives will never be understood for me, but hopefully through this charging, the family will find some peace.