I never got a chance to write about the other day—on the way to the volcano, I got to explore South Point, the southernmost place in the United States. after a disturbingly long drive down the side of the volcano with myriad switchbacks, I reached land’s end. Black sand beach, an ancient Hawaiian settlement, a heiau, a blowhole, and a tunnel through lava cliffs to another underground tunnel that leads to the sea.
Two boys swam through it, but I didn’t as I was too scared, and I was utterly alone. A haole among the aina. The racial tension was palpable. I don’t stay long and continue on my way up to Volcano where I ran into poet Garrett Hongo who works in the bookstore gift shop, and we spent the afternoon talking of poetry.
I watched the frothy waves sing the new black sand into being at Kaimu Black Sand Beach in Kalapana. In 1990, when the volcano erupted, it covered the beach in lava and ash. Amazing to see erosion in action.
I watched the frothy waves sing the new black sand into being at Kaimu Black Sand Beach in Kalapana. In 1990, when the volcano erupted, it covered the beach in lava and ash. Amazing to see erosion in action.
At the lava fields, we saw where the lava flows into the sea and the sides of Kilauea glowed red like embers from a forest fire. You could actually see the red glow of the caldera against the skyline at night. But the best of all, were the lava tubes, smooth pahoehoe that traveled underground and spilled into the sea.
A molten river of rock. Explosions of steam and lava better than fireworks and everyone oohed and awed as each spectacular flow lit the night sky. Grandmothers and babies witnessing the creation of new land along with the rest of us. We traveled one and a half miles over newly minted lava flows.
Today as I snorkeled in Ke’ea Bay, I had a new understanding of the formation of the land because I had seen it in the making. Like with the eclipse, there was no possible way to prepare oneself for the experience. You had to be there.
At the Waikaloa Hilton, a fantasyland resort along the lines of Disney World, replete with trams, boats, random false lagoons pools, hot tubs, both hot and cold waterfalls, dolphins…you name it. Everything was way over the top. I hated every moment of it.
At the bar of Dona Tahiti’s restaurant, after a leisurely boat cruise, I eat pistachios. Opulence, extravagance, any latinate word will do—it is certainly gorgeous but I’m beginning to feel a little crazy. A blonde waitress from Moscow seats the couple next to me. She is prikrasnaya. I am thinking between languages.
