Archives for posts with tag: tourism

In Hawaii, we are surrounded by an abundance of tropical plants.  And in this climate, everything grows exuberantly and wildly, both in size and color.  Backyard gardens are lush jungles of succulents and vines and even roadside hedges and highway dividers boast vibrant displays of year-round flowers.  For instance, the main road through Kapalua, near where we are staying, is lined with hibiscus blossoms the size of salad plates.

We’ve had a big dose of local flora but to get a more comprehensive feel for what grows in this warm and hospitable habitat, we decided to visit a formal garden.  So, having fueled ourselves at the Gazebo Restaurant (see March 1, 2013), we headed back to the Upcountry and the Kula Botanical Gardens.

Located along the route to Haleakala National Park (see February 26, 2013, part 2), the garden rises up a west-facing slope of the dormant volcano at an elevation of about 3000 feet (the views of the lowlands and west Maui from the parking lot are phenomenal).  Pathways meander through the eight acres of densely planted beds and at particularly scenic spots, benches, pavilions and gazebos provide comfortable places to sit and contemplate (or simply enjoy) the surroundings.

Although formal in its arrangements of plant families (they provide a helpful map) and carefully tended, the garden has an endearing rustic quality.  It is not overly pristine like some gardens I have toured and that makes it all the more approachable and welcoming.  Almost everything is labeled for those (unlike me) who keep track of scientific names and places of origin.

Eight acres sounds huge but in fact, the Kula Botanical Gardens are just the right size for an hour or two of relaxed strolling, chatting and photographing.  We made an entire circuit of the grounds—oohing and aahing as we came around each bend—before heading back home for an afternoon at the pool.

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One of the must-see attractions on Maui is Haleakala National Park, the site of a dormant volcano at the center of the island.  A popular itinerary involves driving to the summit before dawn, catching the first rays of the rising sun (well before it reaches sea level, 10,000 feet below) and then cycling down the narrow, windy park road to a well-earned breakfast.

We wanted to see the park again this trip but even the idea of getting up in the dark held no appeal.  After consulting with our friends, we decided to go there for sunset instead.  This allowed them to spend the morning on the beach (while we were exploring the Dragon’s Teeth Labyrinth; see February 26, 2013) before we met in the early afternoon to drive up to the park.  On the way, we planned to stop by the Surfing Goat Dairy and the Alii Kula Lavender Farm.

To make part of a long story short (unusual for me, I know), the goat farm was less than exciting (to be fair, we did not take the tour) and the lavender farm was just closing when we arrived there at 4:00 pm.  But the weather was beautiful and because our friends had rented a convertible, we were able to enjoy the drive with the top down.  Getting there was at least half the fun.

It was late in the afternoon as we started up Highway 378 towards the park entrance.  As we climbed in elevation, the air grew cooler and, eventually, we had to put the top back up (convertibles work well for the driver and front-seat passenger; for those in the back seat, the effects of weather are amplified by the fast-moving air).  When we were still a few miles away, we entered the clouds that seem always to cling to the upper slopes of the mountain.

The entrance to the park is at about 7000 feet of elevation (for reference, this is the same as Donner Pass and Echo Summit, the two main highway crossings through the Sierra Nevada).  When we finally arrived, we were deep into the clouds; it was rainy and dark with passing squalls.  In this weather, sunset would not be visible and we weren’t sure we wanted to go on.  But the informational signage kindly provided by the National Park Service reminded us that conditions at the top are often different from those at lower elevations.  Encouraged, we paid our fee ($10) and proceeded.

We had forgotten two things from our previous visit to Haleakala (for sunrise) in 1989.  First, the summit is a long way from the park entrance:  about 10 miles of narrow, windy road and another 3000 feet of elevation.  Reaching the park entrance gave me the feeling of having arrived but we still had another half-hour of traveling ahead of us.  Getting there might turn out to be more than half the fun.

At about 9000 feet of elevation, we popped out of the clouds—like an airplane reaching cruising altitude after taking off on an overcast day—and into the sunshine.  It was an exhilarating experience.  The summit is above the tree line (in truth, not much else grows up here) and the terrain is otherworldly.  The rocky terrain and absence of vegetation makes me think of photos of Mars and being above the clouds adds to the sense of being in a place not exactly of the earth.  It felt more like being on the edge of an adjacent planet, looking down over the clouds at the ocean and low-lying lands of Earth below.

The second thing we had forgotten about the summit is that it is cold up there!  The ambient temperature was a brisk 40 degrees and with wind chill taken into account, the effective temperature was well below freezing.  It made taking photographs difficult.  None of us had brought appropriate gear and so, with an hour left until sunset, we opted to head back down the mountain and enjoy it from a lower—and warmer—elevation.

Yesterday evening, we arrived in Hawaii for the start of a weeklong vacation.  I’m not expecting any sympathy but it’s a long trip, especially coming from the east coast.  The distance is almost as far as Australia is from the west coast and takes most of a day to cover.  We left our house a little after 4:00 am and, after changing planes twice (an unfortunate downside to flying from our nearest airport) and driving for an hour, arrived in Kapalua shortly after 6:00 pm (11:00 pm at home).

After briefly catching up with the friends we’re vacationing with (and who are generously sharing their timeshare), we went to bed around 8:00 pm.  Complete exhaustion has helped us adjust to local time (five hours earlier than at home) but the loss of a normal day is a surreal experience.

Still, I’m not complaining.  Hawaii is a beautiful place and the weather has always been nothing less than ideal in my experience.  It’s at about the same latitude as the Caribbean but it always seems balmier and, somehow, more welcoming.  Being out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean (as opposed to being nestled between North and South America as the Caribbean is) makes it perennially breezy and warm (and not oppressively hot and humid).  Of course, I’ve never been here in the summer.

In fact, I made my first trip to Hawaii in the winter of 1989 (Rachel spent the summer of 1983 in Lahaina but that’s her story to tell).  Rachel and I had survived our first year in Oberlin, Ohio and had treated ourselves to an island holiday (we were there for Christmas and New Year’s).  Ohio was in the middle of a cold snap and when we took off from Cleveland Hopkins airport, the frigid air was 14 degrees below zero.  When we arrived at the Kahului Airport in central Maui twelve hours later, the ambient temperature was a sultry 86 degrees.  A diurnal range, for us, of 100 degrees!

On the shuttle ride to our hotel (in Kaanapali to the northwest), the radio played, “Aloha Friday, no work till Monday”, which would have been a fitting welcome even if it had not been Friday (it was).

Architecturally, Seattle is a beautifully diverse city draped over a hilly strip of land between Puget Sound and Lake Washington.  Its climate is moderate and, contrary to the perceptions of many, not that rainy.  At least it hasn’t been rainy when we have been in town.  After several visits, I can count on one hand the number of days we were affected by showers and I don’t think we have ever had to deal with full-out rain.  It helps that we usually visit in spring, summer or fall.

Winter is definitely the rainiest season and one year, we made a trip to the Northwest at the end of October, just before it began.  We experienced no rain while in Seattle but after spending a few days here, we drove up to Vancouver, BC.  We took the long way (we rented a car that time) via Vancouver Island, a scenic voyage that involved three ferry crossings (Seattle-Bremerton; Port Angeles-Victoria and Nanaimo-West Vancouver).  We made the final passage into Vancouver on a sunny October 31 but on the next day, November 1, the rain began almost like clockwork.  It was wet for the remainder of the vacation.

But we have had no rain on this trip.  The days have been sunny and warm (70s) and the nights cool (50s), quite a relief compared to the conditions back home.  To make the most of the pleasant weather, we made a trip to Bremerton today by ferry.  Although the ferries are utilitarian in their primary purpose—many people commute this way every day and vehicle travel to the west would be impractical without them—they also provide a valuable service to tourists.  For a very modest fare, visitors can enjoy a sightseeing cruise of Elliot Bay, Puget Sound and the fjords of the Kitsap peninsula.  In other words, getting there (and back) is at least half of the fun.

In Bremerton, we took a quick walk around downtown but found that most of the activity was happening on the waterfront.  The Puget Sound Naval Shipyard looked busy (for a Saturday) and most of the restaurants with a view of the marina were full.  We particularly liked the beautifully-designed Harborside Fountain Park.  Its main attraction is a group of five structures that each look like a cross between a Richard Serra sculpture and a submarine conning tower (an actual example of which is on display outside the nearby Puget Sound Navy Museum).  At short and unpredictable intervals, huge bubbles of water erupt from the top of the structures and splash into the basins surrounding them.  It is very exciting—especially the first time—and delighted the many children wading in the fountains.

On the return trip across the sound, I was startled to see Mt. Rainier looming to the south.  How could we have missed such a huge mountain on the way over or during the last two days, for that matter?  It was always there, of course, but there are two reasons we didn’t notice it sooner.  First, it is often foggy or cloudy in Seattle (but not rainy!) and sometimes, the sky doesn’t clear until the afternoon.  Second, in a city—especially a hilly one—sight lines are easily obscured by terrain and buildings.  Theoretically, Mt. Rainier would be visible from our 31st-floor hotel room window.  Unfortunately, the building across the street is in the way.