An Owie on Maui
As a "break" from the stress of my pending divorce, I headed to Maui for seven beautiful, balmy, sunny days. This was a spur-of-the-moment trip. My children were on a 10-day vacation with my soon-to-be-ex, so I was free with no plans.
I knew I wanted to spend a few days on the beach to "recover" - but I had no thoughts about going to Hawaii. I was thinking of going to Jamaica or the Bahamas, as I'd never been there, either.
A lovely lady I know said to me, "Well, dear, the Bahamas or Jamaica are where East Coasters go to vacation. You're not on the East Coast anymore. Those places are really far from here. You're on the West Coast now! Go to Hawaii!" So I thought, "Why not go to Hawaii?"
After browsing a few websites, I made arrangements on line and flew Hawaiian Airlines to Maui, and I reserved a room at the Grand Hyatt Hotel.
This was a big deal because it was VERY expensive (by my standards); but I figured I deserved it, dammit!
Anyway, I had never stayed at a Hyatt - sadly - (and now I don't know how I could ever go back to the "other than Grand" hotels I have frequented in my many years of travel.)
Hawaiian Airlines had the nicest and most laid-back flight attendants I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. They had the Aloha spirit, and I could feel it on the plane. It was strange being so far away from my kids and part of me felt guilty being away from them; still, off I flew, five hours over water, to this island I had no idea about at all! I had heard that Maui smells like flowers when you get off the plane. I wanted to smell flowers and be in the sunshine. My divorce process made me feel like I really needed those things, and I was anxious to have them!
When I arrived on Maui, I realized that the air did smell like flowers, and I had a lei made of orchids placed around my neck when I landed, just like I'd seen on TV! Just like on "Fantasy Island!" This was REALLY awesome!
A cool limo driver took me to the Hyatt and gave me the tourist spiel on the way. He told me where I could get great food, where in town I could find a good luau, and where to shop. He was a California transplant...totally a "beachy" guy - laid back and comfortable in his own skin. He said the Hyatt was his favorite hotel to drive to just because the lobby was so incredible. He was right. The hotel lobby was so beautiful, I could have camped at the front desk! It was open, like a courtyard, with exotic plants and birds adorning the hallways. There was a lovely woman handing out cups of cold (Hawaiian?) punch as I walked in. I was truly in paradise. My room was gorgeous - I had a waterfront view. The palm trees were swaying in the breeze; the waves were pounding on the shore. Who could ask for anything more?
I spent the next seven days doing nothing but eating the best food I'd ever had, and laying poolside or beachside. I had brought five novels with me, foolishly thinking I'd catch up on my reading. I also brought my computer, thinking I'd catch up on my e-mail. Divorce sort of put those things on the back burner for me for a long time. I was planning to catch up on old habits like those I mentioned, but most importantly, I wanted mostly to catch up on sleep. Rest. Calm. Serenity. Me. Who was I now?
Well, I never read one paragraph of a book I brought with me. I did purchase a guide book from the hotel gift shop. I did this to see all the places I'd be missing on Maui as I laid by the beach drinking cold water, virgin Bloody Marys and eating Otter Pops that the staff passed out to sweating sun tanners. I read the first six pages of the guide book, all of which included information on life indigenous to Hawaii - jellyfish, sharks, poisonous centipedes and leptospirosis in streams and such. I looked at all the cool places to see as a tourist: the fun hikes and bike tours, luaus and night life. All I'd be missing because my fat arse wasn't moving off the beach chair. And I didn't feel one bit guilty for feeling that way.
I ate at awesome places - The Hula Grill, Bubba Gump's, and fabulous in-hotel restaurants at the Hyatt. I didn't have one bad meal or gain one ounce of fat. Miracle of miracles! Oh, and yes, Hawaii keeps all the best pineapples ON Hawaii. There's nothing like sweating poolside and chomping on great chunks of the best pineapple on the planet to cool you down and make you feel pampered.
Anyway, my second to last night there, I went to The Plantation Restaurant. I had a fabulous meal with terrific service. On the way home in the cab, full belly and all, I was chatting with the driver and suddenly I felt what I thought was a scratch of some sort on my right thumb. I thought maybe I cut myself on the zipper of my purse. I rubbed the area with my left hand, kept chatting away, and suddenly I felt something crawl down my leg. I screamed and at the same time, I jumped off my seat. As a result, I kicked my right foot in to the passenger seat in front of me. This resulted in a big injury - my right toe hurt like hell and began to throb. The cab driver pulled over ASAP, opened my car door, and the overhead light went on. When the car was lit up, the driver yelled, "Dear God!" I said, "What is it?" He said, "A centipede! And it's gotta be 18 inches long!" I only saw the last four inches as the driver kicked it out of the car and proceeded to smash it to bits on the side of the road; the four inches I did see being enough to gross me out for life and scare me to death!
In the meantime, I was racking my brain..."Centipede? Where have I heard of these things? Wait! The guide book! Aren't they POISONOUS?" There was dead silence as my driver got back in the car and headed back to the Hyatt. He said, "Wow, I can't believe that thing was in my cab. I'm so sorry! Man, that had to be 18 inches long! I didn't know they got that big!"
This did not bring me great comfort. I'm thinking, in slow motion, "Aren't they POISONOUS?" I said, "Am I gonna die? Am I gonna be okay? Should I be worried?" All the while, my foot is throbbing to beat the band. The guy really didn't answer me. I kept saying, "Should I go to the doctor?" Honestly, the bite didn't hurt as bad as my toe did.
He dropped me off, rather quickly. In hindsight, he may have feared a lawsuit. I checked at the front desk. "I've been bitten by a centipede. Should I be worried?" The front desk guy says, "Wow! Let me call security." So, a big, tall guy shows up with a first aid kit and asks to see my thumb. I say, "Jeez, it only feels like a bee sting, really." He gives me insect wipes, talks about the fact that by now if I were allergic I'd probably have had symptoms of anaphylactic shock, so I was, most likely, fine.
The next day I was a bit sick to my stomach; my toe hurt like hell, but I was a survivor, Dammit! I picked up my Maui Guide book and found out that there is "No cure for a centipede bite", and locals say that "the bite can be as mild as a bee sting or as painful as a gunshot wound." Apparently, according to the guide book, the bigger the centipede, the more control they have over their venom, the less painful and powerful the sting. I guess it's better to be bitten by a big, huge, ten-foot-long centipede than a half-incher. Wow, I was sure lucky then, right? My toe - not so much. Oh, and the guide book mentions that locals say the only cure for a centipede bite is to "Stay drunk for three days." Not so easy for a girl who doesn't drink alcohol. Do I always have to SUFFER?
I'm a person who doesn't really have good luck. I'm also a pessimist, so that might have a lot to do with it. I draw bad stuff to myself a lot. (I watch Oprah from time to time and learn these things).
My dad used to say to me, every time I moved to a new state, "Maureen, does the Governor of that State know you're coming? Surely there will be a hurricane, tornado, flood, fire - something!" (He wasn't kidding.)
I didn't catch up on my e-mail, read any books, or find great serenity on Maui. Instead, I ate like a pig, tried to relax, and met lots of really cool people all on vacation, all trying to chill out, too. I didn't get a great tan because, well, I'm not a risk taker. I wore 70 sunblock all the time. If I felt a bit risky, I put on 50 instead. My dermatologist would have my head if I used any less than that. She takes my skin VERY seriously. (Besides, once you get over thirty, they're not freckles anymore - they're AGE SPOTS. I've got tons of those).
Of course, with my bad luck history, I needed to be bitten by that centipede in Hawaii. There's no such thing as a perfect trip. At least not for me, and I needed to remember that my life still is a bit the same as it was before my divorce. No, the governor of Hawaii didn't know I was going to be in Hawaii, and neither did I. Good thing. If I thought about the risk of a last-minute-unplanned-trip, I might not have gone. That would have been a shame. I can't wait to go back to Maui and do nothing - (some day when I'm rich).
I think I'm gonna like the new me...
p.s. - I'm gona need surgery on that toe...
Cheerth!
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