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Wednesday 
01 August 2007
lava lovah
what a difference a few million years makes.
mere days ago, makena beach was a hospitality cliche; a postcard so full of maui-esque stereotypes that no one would dare string them together. balmy temperatures, warm multi-hued blue waters, dreadlocked sand skimmers getting pounded by the surf, and hoards of scantily clad beach babes.
okay, “hoards” may be slightly hyperbolic. there weren’t really that many doe-eyed, barefooted, young things frolicking about in string bikinis. although the exact number in a hoard may be subject to debate as the word is not well-defined, statistically.
i just like the phrase “scantily clad.”
the north end of makena beach is cut off by an ancient lava flow that the eye can trace up the hill toward its source and down into the surf. it’s possible, almost, to imagine the searing heat and the cataclysmic explosion of steam as the magma hit those protowaters. of course there was no one around to see it, and even if there were, they wouldn’t have enjoyed it.
i just like the word “magma.”
while my family played tag with the startlingly large waves at makena beach, a buddy and i went to explore the other side of the lava. turns out there is a hidden notch worn into the face of the cliff, making it easy to get a vantage point up on top. from there we discovered a smaller, secluded beach opposite the one below us. “that’s the nude beach,” my friend wistfully predicted.
we clambered and scrabbled and traversed along the old flow to the point where it now quietly enters the water. you can actually see how far the lava spread, and the convoluted shapes it took before it cooled and froze in place for all eternity. or until the ritz carlton people come along to bulldoze it up so future guests don’t stub their delicate toes.
after this reflection we continued around to the previously noted small beach, which, turns out, actually is a nude beach.
and there we stood, in a state of utter perplexity. at first our inner teenagers wanted to run down, babbling happily and incoherently, to frolic with the young nubiles. upon further review, however, there were a lot of penises flopping around the vicinity, which was off-putting. nothing wrong with penises, anatomically, they’re very good at what they do. but i don’t find them esthetically appealing, flopping around like that, when i’m trying to pay homage to more feminine appendages.
also, there’s no way to justify a stroll down a nude beach, unless you’re nude yourself. you can’t say, “don’t mind us, we’re not looking, we’re just taking a walk on the beach,” when there’s a non-nude beach just a couple hundred feet away. moreover, it’s pointless to tour the nude beach if you’re specifically not looking. if you’re walking, you’re looking, or you’re comatose, which would be a neat trick and medically hard to explain.
and speaking of explanations, what kind do you offer up to the wife, were she somehow alerted to your activities? “hello, sweetie! haha…what? nooo, strangely i have no idea how i got naked. isn’t that crazy? sweetie? wait, come back!”
so, while my inner teenager was still celebrating our discovery, my inner married guy was saying, “nothing to see here, move along.” and except for a barely noticeable detour to get a brief look at the devastatingly fine behind of a young bo derek look-alike, that’s what we did.
there’s such a short distance between the beaches at makena. the divide is old as time itself, and so interesting to poke around, exploration-wise. so full of wonder and magic. a veritable treasure trove of metamorphic and metaphoric delights.
the divide, that is. what lies beyond is beyond me.
next: falling at twin falls.
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Lava Lovah…
It’s a short stroll to the nude beach at Makena, so keep your eyes open…….
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i just like reading ‘metamorphic and metaphoric delights’ …
:)