Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
anchor, as I had read how poor the holding ground was there. Quickly, we dropped the
dinghy over the side and, guiltily patting Murphy, we hastily rowed off to the shore to ex-
plore the town of Hanalei.
The main access road dominated this hip little town, with its bars and realtors and fast
foods, art galleries, and restaurants. It was noisy, rude, and rich. The now gang was in town.
It was a rich hippie town. Opulence was everywhere, as were rental cars, glossy women,
and smooth, suntanned, blonde men. Surfers and sailors, tourists, and the scruffy wealthy
laughed, yelled, hustled, and drove about uninhibited as only the Americans could. You
either joined in or watched from the sidelines.
It was a far cry from the blue solitude out at sea. I was shocked. Susan smiled at me; she
could read my thoughts.
“Come chum, I know what you need,” she said happily, steering me into a little street bar
that has, sadly, long since closed down.
“It's a bit early, don't you think?” I protested, looking at my watch.
“Three o' clock and we are celebrating our arrival in Kauai! Have you ever had a martini?”
“Well, no actually I haven't,” I admitted sheepishly. “Probably everything else though!” I
stated defiantly.
“Two double martinis, please,” she yelled to the local behind the old wooden bar top. There
was a friendly din in the dimly lit smoky bar. It smacked of an earlier Hawaii where woven
banana leaves and rustic wooden stools and tables were the chosen, practical decor. Rusty,
old fans wheeled lethargically overhead, barely moving the clouds of cigarette smoke that
hung in the room. Loud, laughing voices of men and women could be heard braying about
absolutely nothing. Appreciative looks from men darted over a smiling Susanne.
She seemed at home in this hubbub. A stool was dragged over for her by a young and star-
ing local adolescent, and we sat down near the entrance. A shaft of hot afternoon sunlight
felt good on our backs. The martinis arrived, and the olives were speared and swallowed.
The drink was delicious and foreign to my palette. I had never had a martini, and I didn't
know which I enjoyed more: the drink, her company, the noisy bar or just being here on
Kauai. The drink hit me between the shoulders like a silver cloud of morphine. It was won-
derful. All of this, I loved it. More martinis were ordered.
“My treat,” she kept saying. The din got louder, the afternoon sun warmer, and our tensions
melted away. Susanne smiled indulgently at me with her sexy, big mouth and green eyes.
She looked ravishing in this smoky light. The barman reached up and turned on some mu-
