Pele's Home

Upon the volcano, stepping gently around Pele's House, you sense her sleeping deep within the earth below you. The crater, gigantic, like her very own cage fighting ring, where she is the star, the every present Goddess dancing to her own tune, making her own new earth. The only thing one can do in her house is take off your shoes, and politely sit down at the table.

Island Hoppin'

As the travels unveil, the wandering continues. Today I showed up at my friends house in Hilo after I hitch-hiked down from Hawi, which is about 2 hours away. This one old man picked me up, must have been close to 75 years old, driving this little red sports car. I stuffed my bag and Ukulele in the tiny-ass trunk and hopped in. His wrinkled arms were covered in old tattoos, hair slicked back with fancy shades covering his eyes. Right off the bat he start chatting it up about how fortunate I am to be able to travel aimlessly without the troubles of "modern life" keeping me put. All in good time I told him. His voice and inflections sounded like he was 18, just so stoked on everything. As a young boy in Honolulu he watched the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor from his little house up in the hills. I asked him what he did back then when he was my age, and he replied "Shit man, we smoked A LOT of POT!" I'm telling ya, this man was for real, quite the character. He let me off in Wiamia, across the street from a house my GGGG Grandfather owned, with a heart full of Aloha. After I walked a little ways out of the busy streets of town towards Hilo, I came across some horses along the road that seemed to laugh at my awkward stance and funny looking thumb sticking out into the road like bait for some giant fish. I loudly replied, "oh you think this is funny that nobody is picking me up do ya?", but then quickly glanced around to see if anyone was near by to hear me talking sarcastically to a horse. Anyway, this one man pulled over in an old Mercedes that was the same year and color as my (I mean my Dad's) old Mercedes - and he ran it off veg-oil too. He oddly reminded me of my Dad as well, but then again any jolly, slightly rounder stature man with a beard does.

The days preceding in a slight s ummary: Met up with me ole Pops in Maui, headed to Oahu for a few days to be his sidekick. Some research was done and come to find out I'm 1/128 Hawaiian - can't ya tell. Royalty bra, Royalty. Jaunted up to the North Shore, where we sat right in front of Pipeline and watched it go off. I huge check-off on my To-Do List of Life. I paddled out for just one wave, snaked Kelly Slater, dropped in on Sunny Garcia, sprayed Andy Irons in the face, held deep in the tube, and ran over Gerry Lopez as I was spit out of the barrel. Paddled in and ate a sandwich. Luckily my Dad snapped a good shot of me (attached). We ran around Waikiki like troubled farm folk drunk at a barn dance. And just as a side note: walking around down there makes you feel like you're in some soft-core Asian porn; go there and you'll see what I mean. Flew to Big Island, north to Kohala where I stayed with my good friend Brian in his shack and watched the grass grow as they worked all day, and now here I am. Until next time.....