LA BODA MAGNIFICA – SEGUNDA PARTE

Yeah, we could live like this all the time.  Gotta buy more Lotto tickets, that’s all. 

The week was full of “down” time to do whatever we wanted, which mostly consisted of lazing about the villas with the rest of the guests and getting together for group lunches and breakfasts.  Sorta like being at an all-inclusive resort with your family and friends.

The next real “event” was the bachelor party, which son Mike had arranged at a British pub (!?!) in downtown PV.  It turned out to be a perfect choice.  We had the second floor and its pool table all to ourselves.  The room was open to the street back there behind Mike, so the sounds of the city could come in and we could observe the rather lively comings and goings below.  We had rock coming through the pub speakers, and banda music through the open balcony from the dance hall across the street.  They had Guinness and Bass on tap, so a black and tan was in order.  Yum.

Our, er, nicely endowed Brit waitress (white dress, background, below) kept the drinks coming with remarkable efficiency, the younger generation segued from beer to rounds of tequila shooters, and mental states generally deteriorated from there.  Yours truly and the rest of the boomer generation made a dignified early retreat, leaving the boys to seek that great headache in the sky.

Next up was the rehearsal dinner, sans the rehearsal.  Just another excuse to fleece old Dad’s pockets!  :)  The dinner was held on the sand in front of the open-air, beachfront restaurant, La Palapa.    We had three long tables under thatched awnings, and the setting was perfect. 

As the sun and the wine went down, it all got quite romantic feeling.

The food was attractively plated

and, if you ordered the fish, quite good.  I thought the stuffed pork tenderloin was a little overcooked.  No matter, everyone had a great time right on into the night, especially the cutie at the far end of the table.  I couldn’t take my eyes off her as 43+ years of memories did their number on my pysche. 

 

John’s best friend from college is Mike L., whom he met in his freshman dorm.  A free spirit, Mike has eclectic pursuits, the most exotic of which is fire spinning.  Wha?  At first I thought I heard fire “spitting,” and thought that was a little far out even for Mike.  John set me straight after I expressed a bit of concern.  The spinning is only marginally less dangerous.  He takes two flaming balls that are attached to cords, and goes through a variety of twirling maneuvers, set to music, no less.  It was pretty impressive, and I still don’t know how he managed not to set his clothes on fire.

He drew quite a crowd of onlookers from the beach and the restaurant.  Kudos to Mike!  We also had another bit of free entertainment.  The restaurant will set up a table isolated out on the sand, surround it with candle lights, and call in the strolling mariachis.  This is for those special romance dinners.  Here’s a fuzzy blowup of a thumbnail on their website.

Anyway, an old coot, significantly further into geezerdom than I, was set up near us with an expensively chic young thing somewhere south of his granddaughter’s age.  Champagne was brought out, cork popped, and they got engaged!  They departed a bit before we did, with both him and the trophy sporting toothy grins that would do credit to an Ipana ad.  I suspect the underlying motivations were not exactly the same.

Like I said, a romantic evening all around!

LA BODA MAGNIFICA – PRIMERA PARTE

Boy, are we lucky.  Not only did we get blessed with two fine sons, we now have completed the set with the second wonderful daughter-in-law. 

John and Meghan finally enjoyed the fruit of their year-long planning of their wedding in Puerto Vallarta.  It took an incredible amount of work to pull this off so (apparently) smoothly.  This was more like a vacation party for the guests than a formal event.  But, let’s start from the beginning.

We took off on June 12 with our old friends, Chuck and Alice (John’s godmother), flying Alaska Airlines down to P.V.  Can’t say as I have any complaints about the airline.  In fact, they offer a “Mediterranean” lunch box that is pretty darn good.  Much better than anything that Southwest offers.  Hummus, olives, multigrain chips, pure fruit strip, almonds, and a square of dark chocolate.  Yum!  The 3 hour flight passed quickly with the Sunday Times to wade through, including the crossword.  We left in about 60 degree weather in LA, and landed in 90 degree heat and humidity in PV.  It was like someone threw a blanket over us. 

Meghan had prepared detailed instructions for working through immigration, customs, and the taxi gauntlet.  Of course, I left them on the counter at home.  About all I remembered was to avoid the beseeching cabbies inside the airport, and go to the stand at the exit.  I & C were very polite and relatively smooth.  The taxi gauntlet was anything but.  How many times can you waive your hand and say no, gracias?  About a thousand.  We got to the correct stand, had a coronary when I misread $ as standing for dollars instead of pesos, and eventually forked over about USD$45 for the 4 of us to minivan our way to the villas, about a 30 minute trip.

The minivans quickly became our preferred transportation.  They almost all seemed in newer condition than the cars, and were much more comfortable for carrying four or more people.  At times, we got mega-mini’s that carried 14 of us!  Just about every place in PV will accept $USD, so we didn’t exchange any money at the airport bandits.  Of course, the cab banditos had their own fluid exchange rates.  Officially, we were at 12 pesos to the dollar, but anything other than an ATM got you more like 10. 

And, before we go off to Paris in the fall, I definitely will open a Capital One account and get their ATM card.  They don’t charge a transaction fee or take a percentage.  Bank of effing America, on the other hand, charged us $5USD for each foreign ATM transaction, plus a 1% currency or something fee.  I dunno, it wasn’t spelled out on my bill.  The first time I tried to use the ATM, I didn’t understand the screen, and withdrew $11.85.  I got charged $5-plus by BofA for that amount.  To withdraw my own money!  Fortunately, John gave me some Spanish instruction on my next withdrawal, so at least I got a decent amount of money for my fees.  Die, BofA, die!

The airport is on the north side of town, our villas on the south, so we got to traverse pretty much the entirety of PV on our way there.  As it is backed by steep mountains, it’s a long, thin city stretching along the coast.  It’s an ok place, but the town itself isn’t much to look at.  The real beauty was in our villas and the fantastic views from them.  John & Meghan negotiated hard to get good rates on four villas located in the upscale (I’ll say!) Conchas Chinas area, about 5 bedrooms each, for the 34 in the wedding party.  Three of them were together, way up the hill, and the fourth was below them.  They all have names; ours was Villa Casa Serafines.  Here’s the view from our bedroom, which just about says it all:

Not too shabby.  Nor was the rest of the place.  The outside is all high-walled off from the street.  The entry is to an atrium courtyard with a fountain.  It’s open to the sky, and the upstairs bedrooms are arrayed around the balcony.  A nice spiral staircase takes you up.  Our bedroom sported a painted-metal headboard that was really cool.  We spent a lot of time in that infinity pool.  Looking over the edge was an adventure, as you’re looking straight down about a hundred feet.  I hope the structural engineers knew their stuff.  All that water is tons of weight.

Each villa had its own staff that did daily cleaning and meals.  We ate mighty fine, although we were guacamole’d out by the end of the week.  They did make the palest margueritas I’ve ever seen.  That’s a surprisingly good non-alcoholic beer at the left.  I’d like to see that imported.  Actually, the hardest working chef of the week was Janet, Meghan’s mom.  She orchestrated a fabulous meal for the whole group, seen at the lower right.

I can’t say enough about the staffs.  They were all just great.  Always smiling, always trying to please, and very expert at their jobs.  No slackers!  Ole!

The “kids” villa was equally fantastic.  Theirs was four stories tall, had a similar view, a really circular staircase, fancy bedrooms, interior courtyards and balconies, and a nice pool for Mike and Alia to laze about in.  Yes, sigh, that’s another new tattoo on his left arm. 

We had some of our meals in,

but went out four nights (including the wedding).  First up was Cafe de Olla which is a lively, casual place.  The food was good, but not to rave about, and priced fairly.  A great place for a large party to make a lot of noise and not worry about offending.  For the curious, from r to l, Loni, Meghan, M’s cousin, Dr. Sammy, her fiance, Dr. Mike, M’s aunt Susan (Sammy’s mom), M’s Uncle (Dr.) Art, M’s dad, Dr. Barry, John, and Liz, fiancee of John’s best friend Mike, who are getting married almost as I type this, in Chicago.  John & Meghan are going.  We had plenty of medicos to treat any ailments that sprang up.  Good thing Barry packed a virtual pharmacy in his luggage.

The days took on a common theme.  Kickin’ back.  That’s Meghan’s mom, the indefatigable Janet, in the pool with Loni.  Mike and John with brewskis.  The corpse needs no introduction.

Our second dinner out was the “immediate family” dinner, with John & Meghan, Mike & Alia, Art and Janet, Meghan’s sister Ashley and husband Kyle, and us.  We went to Le Kliff Restaurante, about 30 minutes south of our villas, on a rock promontory over the ocean.  This is a famed wedding spot and a very romantic restaurant.  It is all al fresco, with a huge thatched roof.  We got the primo seating, courtesy of J&M’s good planning and the fact this is off season.  Our party made up the majority of the guests that evening.  The weddings are held on that little peninsula, down below the restaurant.  Only Barry managed to hike down to check it out.  The rest of us tucked into good food and drink and we spent nearly three hours there.  It was Kyle’s birthday, hence the party hats.

 

We got a pretty nice sunset in the bargain as well.

With that, I’ll pull the shade down on this first installment of the wedding.  More to come!

HE WENT WHERE?

Okay, so my antipathy to all things opera is well known in select circles.  I have walked out on a performance at La Scala.  Had to be restrained from leaping from the balcony in Sidney.  Steel-willed my way through L.A. productions.  I just can’t stand the screeching, artificial-sounding operatic voice.  What is not so well known is that I really like massed voices:  choruses and chorales.  I guess those are one and the same.  So, while perusing the offerings in the latest email from Goldstar, the discount-ticket broker, I stumbled upon the Los Angeles Chamber Singers & Cappella performing “The Three Great Services,” a collection of pieces centering on the “Magnificat” from those services.  All are from the Tudor Era.  The first was by John Sheppard (c. 1515-1558), the next by Robert Parsons (c. 1530-1572), and the last by William Byrd (c. 1543-1623).  They sang today at the First Presbyterian Church in Santa Monica, six male voices and four female.  Mesmerizingly gorgeous.  Actually, I most enjoyed a fourth piece they included, Robert Wylkynson’s (c. 1475-1515) “Salve Regina” from the Eton Choirbook.  Talk about the rapture!  No cool-aid needed here. 

This is a top-rank group, which won a Grammy at the 49th edition a few years back for it’s

which you can sample here.  They were recording our performance of the Great Services, but it won’t be available for some time.  Anyhow, I’m not just a rock-n-roll or jazz guy.  I got kultcha, I tell you!  And no, I didn’t all of a sudden get religion.  I’m still a shallow guy:  I like the trappings without the message.

RETURN OF THE GRATUITOUS CRITIC

I won’t waste time on the junk novels I wish I hadn’t wasted time on, but while wandering through a Barnes & Nobel recently I came across another compendium (I like getting multiple books in one volume) that looked interesting:

So far I’ve read The Time Machine and am halfway through The Invisible Man.  Considering they were written over a hundred years ago, they hold up pretty well.  The latter was made into one of my favorite late-night movies that I watched as a kid, filmed back in the 1930’s with Claude Rains as the visibly challenged one.  I loved the effects when he peeled off the bandages.

Anyway, Wells is still a good read.

Another old favorite is Woody Allen, whose movies bounce along between sublime and awful, with many stops in between.  However, his latest, Midnight in Paris, definitely hit the sublime bell for Loni and I. 

 

Nothing heavy here, the “message” is hung out for all to see, the conclusion can be seen from Topeka, but it’s great fun getting there.  The scenes of Paris are nostalgic, sentimental, and gorgeous.  I think he cast the thing perfectly, with all sorts of cameos popping up throughout, and the principals are pitch perfect.  I liked the time travel device, altho even a casual rethinking reveals some inconsistencies.  Regardless, we smiled throughout and joined the rest of the audience in applauding at the end.  This was pure enjoyment.

Full disclosure:  Of course, we are a bit prejudiced at the moment, so take the review with the usual grains.  We last were in France (well, Europe for that matter) exactly 45 years ago as students.  We have great memories of starving our way through the place, not having two nickels to rub together.  I still have my copy of Europe on $5 a Day, and boy did we make good use of that tome.  Now we’re poised for a revisit in the Fall, and Woody’s movie came along at precisely the right time to whet our appetites.  We’ve let a flat for a month in the Montmartre district, and can’t wait.  I think we’ll have to budget a bit more – probably more like $5 per hour each.  C’est la vie! 

HOW I SPENT MY MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND

I used to look forward to those annual little essays you did in grade school on the first day back from summer vacation.  I could recycle the one from the previous year, since we did the same thing every summer:  spend two weeks at the Jersey shore with our relatives on my Dad’s side.  Our holidays’ weekends these days have a similar familiarity to them.  So, this post can serve as a template for a lot of Memorial Days past.

Sad sign of the times.  On the two-block stretch where we live, only we and the neighbors across the street are flying a flag.  Curious.  We also happen to be the only two that do our own yardwork.  What’s up with that?

This is not a weekend to drive anywhere, especially with gas prices still topping $4/gal.  Even tho that’s not a factor with the scoot, it’s still a hassle to deal with the traffic on PCH and elsewhere around LA with seemingly everyone trying to get out in the SoCal sun.  So, vegetate, right?  Fortunately for the hermit set, this is the ideal weekend to flop on the couch and watch sports.  And so I did.

I started (bottom center) with the weekly Australian Rules Football broadcast, which shows up here live at 2:00 a.m. Saturday morning, this one featuring the Gold Coast Suns vs. the Geelong Cats.  I’ve been a fan of ARF since the early 90’s, when Fox Sports first started weekly game-of-the-week shows.  They stopped doing that for about ten years, and just this year picked it up again.  Thank you, Fox (this shoutout limited to the sports division!).  Geelong was my favorite team, but only because of the prison uniforms (with matching socks).  This was the inaugural game for the Suns’ brand-new stadium.  It was a close match for the first half, but then the Cats destroyed them.  Next up on Saturday was the UEFA Cup Champions final from Wembley Stadium in London.  This, for most fans, is the pinnacle of football/soccer, the championship of all the club teams of Europe.  Like the ARF game, however, a closely played first half (1-1) ended up in a rout by Barcelona, 3-1.  ManU’s stats (attempts, corners, etc.) were pitiful by comparison.  Barcelona clearly was the superior team and just dominated.  Friends of ours, Larry and Rene, just happened to be in Barcelona the night of the victory, and emailed us that the place was an all-night party.  Nice timing on their part.

Sunday morning we beetled off to the farmers’ market, then the Victor Benes bakery at Gelson’s for a proper breakfast to plop in front of the t.v. 

Yes, I ate them both.  Shameless, I know, but mmmmmmm.  With that, Sunday was all racing, starting with a surprisingly good Monaco Grand Prix, whose 5 a.m. start I recorded.  Surprising in that there actually were a number of passes and lead changes instead of the usual 2 hour parade that seems to be the norm now in tech-obsessed Formula 1.  I loved the shots of all the mega-yachts moored in the harbor.  How discouraging it must be to have your 300-foot behemoth outdone by a neighboring superlative.  Next up was the 100th anniversary edition (by calendar, not # of races) of the Indy 500, which had a terrific finish with the race-leading rookie crashing in the final turn and finishing second after muscling his twisted heap over the line.  Since this was the 100th, they had a lot of stories about the first, back in 1911, won by Ray Harroun in the Marmon Wasp (so named for its black-and-yellow paint scheme).  That brought back some memories of my own, as my former secretary back in the 80’s, Candace, was Harroun’s granddaughter or grandniece.  I forget which, but it was neat to have a living link to that history. 

Last up was the Coca-Cola 600 Nascar race, ridiculously lengthened to that distance for nothing other than one-upmanship.  I confess.  I used to be an avid Nascar fan, but I only watch a couple of the “major” races anymore, and even then, like this one, by taping and playing back at fast-forward until something (read, wreck) happens.  I only watch the opening laps and the last 20 or so in “real” time.  This one had its share of excitement, but ultimately ended in a restarted, two-lap runaway.  Zzzzz.

Now, lest you think I’ve sunk to the lowest common entertainment denominator, we did engage in a bit of kulcha on Saturday night.  Fortunately for us, our friends Chuck and Alice (see “Adventures in Paradise”) have a more highbrow bent, and are kind enough to drag invite us to more refined amusements.  Unlike a previous atonal music disaster that shall be mentioned no more, this turned out to be a genuine treat.

 

This play was written ca 1603/4, and scholars have debated whether it was influenced by Shakespear’s Hamlet or whether itself it provided inspiration for the Bard’s tale.  Frankly, this is a rather bawdy comedy, with lots of digs at the sycophants at the royal court, not exactly the tragic stuff of the melancholy Dane.  But, what do I know?  I wasn’t no stinking English major.  I was afraid I’d be lost in a torrent of Olde English, but not so.  True, many words were unfamiliar, but watching them being acted while said brings a lot of clarity to the proceeding.  Bottom line, this was an excellent production by a very talented cast, Actor’s Equity all, and we thoroughly enjoyed it.  It was put on at the Deaf West Theater in the NoHo arts district by the Antaeus classical theater ensemble, which is dedicated to preserving and performing classic plays.  Every role is double cast (see the lists of “Wittols” and “Cuckolds” in the playbill above) so that these working actors, who do this for a pittance, can have the scheduling flexibility to pursue other more gainful employment at the same time.  The theater was very intimate, and some of the audience in sidestage seats were made part of the action.  I was happy to be in the third row and only spectating.

I was reminded of how much entertainment diversity L.A. offers, and, sadly, how little we take advantage of it.  Ah, well, where’s that t.v. listing?

 

ZIPPIDY DOO DAH

Loosely organized insanity.  That was the 34th Occasional Pasadena Doo Dah Parade. 

Credit to “Nightranger”

Shamelessly plagiarizing from Wikipedia:

Conceived in 1978 by several friends, sitting in a bar called "Chromo's" (which no longer exists) in Pasadena, as an irreverent alternative to the traditional formality of the Rose Parade, which is also held in Pasadena. In 1978, January 1 fell on a Sunday, and the Rose Parade, which typically takes place on January 1, will not march on a Sunday. So they decided it would be fun to have an alternate parade that year. Some of the early participants were Snotty Scotty and the Hankies, The Lawn Mower Drill Team, The Briefcase Drill Team and General Hershey Bar, among many others.

The Pasadena Doo Dah Parade today features absurd and unique participants such as the BBQ & Hibachi Marching Grill Team, The Shopping Cart Drill Team, The Bastard Sons of Lee Marvin, The Men of Leisure Synchronized Nap Team, The Marching Lumberjacks, Dr. Steel's Army of Toy Soldiers, Claude Rains & the 20-Man Memorial Invisible Man Marching Drill Team, Count Smokula, and the Committee for the Right to Bear Arms, a group that marches in precise formations while carrying mannequin arms. The band "Snotty Scotty and the Hankies" is still the Official band.

And, Snotty Scotty still sucks, having lost whatever voice he had three decades ago.  For reasons still unfathomable, our LA Scooter Group decided to ride in the parade, which we’ve never seen before.  The idea was to decorate the scoots and to promote their “green” character as gas savers.  Oh kayyy.  Why not. 

Well, I’ll tell you.  Because this is a parade for lunatics, not ecologists.  The parade this year was on May 1, and we were still in Vegas on April 30, so we stopped at a party supply store on the way out of town and stocked up on balloons, crepe paper, and other stuff.  As it turned out, few others did much theming to their scoots.  I think we overdressed.

I guess we achieved the green theme, but we definitely were way out of place in this parade.  I mean, it had

and (note the flying conductor suspended from the crane)

Clearly the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s are alive and well in Pasadena.  Yes, the unmistakable fragrance of the “funny weed” wafted all over.  We breathed deep.  One of my favorite groups was

Not to offend anyone, but that’s A “Cheesus Christ Pizza Company” sign on the left, and a giant pizza being wheeled in the rear.  Go, godless liberals!

One of the Doo Dah traditions is the spectators throwing food items at the marchers.  In the past, it was marshmallows, but they were banned as an awful mess to clean up.  Recently, they switched (mostly) to flying tortillas. 

As you can see, the marshmallow ban was not entirely effective.  It quickly became high sport to try to hit the moving scooter targets, especially us.  Our balloons made us look like a carnival game, so they were flinging those corn discs as hard as they could to try to break our bubbles.  We only lost one, but had to keep our visors down as we were getting smacked in the face pretty good.

We saw this one before they had put on the sign.  The baby gets hauled up those center ropes by a pully, poises at the top, and then flips over and falls.  We thought it was a guillotine. 

Not everything was creepy.  I guess. 

We were glad when it ended.  It was getting hot in those helmets, and the tires were getting coated in marshmallow slime, making for interesting handling. 

All in all, it was fun, but I don’t see making this an annual event for us.  Unless we can dress like zombies?

NOT!

HARDLEY DAVIDSONS

We were scarcely back from our trip to Maui when the siren of the open road called.  Our Los Angeles Scooter Group was having the annual ride to the wildflowers, specifically the California Poppy Reserve up in Lancaster.  This is one of the longer rides, at about 170 miles round trip from our house.  We did this ride last year, to spectacular fields of blossoms. 

Glad I have last year’s shots, cause this year was a bust, poppy-wise.  Too much late rain and not enough sun yet.  I suspect things will be pretty nice in a couple of weeks.

We met up at NoHo (North Hollywood) Scooters at 10:00, and actually got underway almost on time at 10:30.  The first part of the ride is through city streets.  We had about 23 scoots at the start.  As you can see, we’re not a bunch to be trifled with.

The route north climbs through the San Gabriel Mountains and provides some great twisties for riding.  We stopped at one summit rest area to get everyone caught up and take a breather.

From here we went up a short ways, then began the descent into the Antelope Valley.  Here’s a taste:

Oops.  I was going to insert a video, but I need to learn how to edit the thing first.  I’ll post later.

Once at the Poppy Reserve, we talked the rangers into letting us in for the price of three cars, since we could get 6 bikes in each parking slot (we lost some riders along the way).  We packed them in.

Unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing to see.  Miles of brown, barren hills with only the occasional lonely flower sticking up.  Definitely the wrong week to visit, although the poppy hotlines and web sites all promised there was more.  They lied.  We shared a potluck lunch, with the lifeless Reserve behind us.

Loni baked chocolate chip cookies the night before, and they were a big hit.  We had enough, so I took the bag over to a group of Harley riders (tattoos, colors, and all).  They liked them so much (and were so surprised anyone would approach them) that they pronounced scooterists to be “all right.”  C’mon, after all, they were at a poppy reserve.  How tough could they be?  They wondered how we got the scoots here.  Trailers?  They didn’t quite believe we came over the same mountains they did.  Gee, guys, you don’t really need 1200 cc’s to get around.

The flowers having been a bust, the next best thing is beer, so we headed back over the hills to a middle-of-nowhere hangout called “The Big Oaks.” 

This place is twenty miles in each direction from the nearest habitation.  It had a huge outdoor deck, draft beer, a decent-looking dining room, and a dog grave right where we were sitting where lies the fabled pooch that adorns their sign. 

 

One of another group of Harley riders told us the dog had been a fixture of the place for over twenty years.  It probably lapped up more beer than I’ve ever drunk.  We kicked back for a good hour or so and enjoyed the warm weather, shade, and beer.

Appropriately lubricated, we made our way out of the mountains, split from the group, and headed west towards home.  Aigh!  A full day of riding and 170 miles meant for sore backs and tushes.  But a good day!

ADVENTURES IN PARADISE

ALOHA!  Considering the general state of the world, and the U.S. in particular, we’re pretty darn lucky.  We’re still alive, not yet completely decrepit, blessed with good friends, and reaping the meager rewards of decades of living below our means.  So, party till you drop!  We just got back from a week in Maui, at the Wailea Elua condos just below Kihei (southwestern shore).  We were “helping” our old friends, Chuck and Alice, to celebrate their 40th anniversary.  We had the good fortune to introduce them all those decades ago, and have enjoyed the benefits ever since.  They “won” the bidding at a charity event for this private condo, which was absolutely super.  Of course, we’ll go;  what are friends for, eh?  (Chuck’s a transplanted Canuck.)  The above photo looks north towards the Lahaina/Kaanapali end of the island, and shows part of the walk path that runs for a mile or so in front of the beachfront resorts and condo developments, including ours.  Loni and I rolled out early each morning on the path to take our daily speedwalk, and what a setting. 
The condos occupy 24 acres of beautiful grounds, stretching from the sand up to the main road leading in.

Yes, we could get used to this!  Groundskeepers scurried around constantly removing any fallen leaf or frond.  Everything was immaculate.  The condo itself was perfect.  I guesstimate our 2br 2ba to be about 900 sq. ft., and it felt very spacious.  This is part of the living room looking towards the dining room; kitchen (better equipped than our own) is to the left of the dining room.

It had a large lanai-balcony from which we could see the ocean horizon and the island of Lanai (to the right, below).

Our flights over & back were on American, probably my least favorite airline due to their historical culture of being in the forefront of screwing passengers every way possible, thanks to former CEO’s Casey and Crandall.

  We decided to cram everything for the both of us into one suitcase to minimize the checked bag charge at $25.  We did take carry-ons, but made sure they fell within the limits set out on American’s website.  We needn’t have bothered.  They were letting steamer trunks on as hand luggage.  The idiocy of a checked-bag fee combined with lax or no enforcement of carry-on restrictions should be profoundly evident to even the dim bulbs at American, but I guess not.  It was amusing to watch those who boarded after us try to force oversized valises into already-stuffed overhead compartments.  It wouldn’t have been so funny had we boarded after them.  That being said, I really can’t say that I have any complaints about the flights.  They left and arrived on time, the plane was reasonably clean, and the attendants were seasoned pros.  Actually, one was the most, er, mature attendant that I’ve ever seen.  Keep on truckin' gal, keep on truckin.’  The movies were lame (“How Do You Know”) to unbearable (“Gulliver’s Travels”).  I watched the first, if only to break up the 5 1/2 hour flight, but had to turn off the second.  Awful.  They did have a very decent jazz channel, and with the Sennheiser noise-canceling earphones it actually sounded quite nice.  I switched to my iPod Touch later and it sounded even better.
Landing at Kahului,

we collected our bags and jumped on the shuttle to the Budget car rental.  I’d gotten a decent deal using Cosco’s links, which saved us the “extra driver” daily fee of $13.  Budget proclaims that it features Fords, and trumpets the Fusion in its ads, it being the “full” size car it pictures.  Having had one of these when we visited the Big Island a couple of years ago, we opted for it again.  Not.  Despite their ads, despite having “reserved” that specific car, oops, Budget doesn’t even own any Fusions on the whole island.  So, we got “upgraded” to a full size car:  a Mercury Grand Marquis, only inches shorter than the Queen Mary, just as maneuverable, with unlaughable gas mileage.

  Uncomfortable seats front and rear.  The only saving grace was we could get our luggage for four into it with careful squishing, despite the trunk largely being occupied by a full-size spare.  The design of this boat predates Ford’s current nascence, and it truly is a child of the 80’s.  I mounted our GPS (carefully toted from home) and we took off.  Uh oh, red light glowing from the dash, but absolutely no indication what it is for.  Not wanting to risk being charged for a new engine, we circled back and informed the nice girl at the desk.  She came out, puzzled a while, looked in vain for the manual, went over to another copy of the heap, played around there, came back and cheerfully announced that it was no problem.  The other one did it too.  What is it?  Dunno, but don’t worry about it.  Oh, kay.  I noted it on the damage checklist for our car, relying on that to shift the blame if we fried something.  We wound our way south to the condo and settled in.  A quick trip to the market for essentials (read: booze).  The sun definitely was over the yardarm in Los Angeles, so we welcomed ourselves to paradise.

We first visited Maui with C&A over 35 years ago.  None of this development was here then.  Kihei was almost the end of the road.  Time has changed all that, but one tradition remains from that visit:  home made ersatz pina coladas!  Coconut flavored rum, pineapple juice, crushed ice, and vanilla ice cream.  Blend well.  It slides down.  Oh yes, it slides down.  This scene was to be repeated throughout our week.  And thank you to the condo owner for stocking an incredible array of glassware.
My main objective here was to snorkel every day and, except for arrival day, we accomplished that, even on departure day.  The beach right in front of our place was a gorgeous crescent of sand, with a rocky jetty that segued into a decent coral reef that went out quite far.

Notice the windmills snaking up the old volcano to the north.  It’s the Kaheawa Wind Farm, consisting of 20 windmills, each 180 feet tall.  I think it is a visual blight, but it’s claimed that they provide 9% of the island’s power needs, enough for 11,000 homes.  Can’t argue with the need for alternative energy, but I wish they had painted them in browns, to blend in better.
Anyway, we established a pasties-only beachhead,

and decided to gear up with our “rashguard” shirts (for surfers, you know) with their 50-SPF rating to avoid burning our milky bodies while we snorkeled.

Yeah, yeah, hold the smirks.  I look like a blue-footed Booby (Sula Nebouxii for youse Audibon types).  At least I managed to find a mask that doesn’t fill with water, but I hated the mouthpiece of the snorkel.  It felt like one of those “dam” thingies that dentists use these days when doing extensive work on you.  I launched, and started exploring. 

This is a nice reef, and there were plenty of fish to see, including whole schools just hovering motionless except for swaying back and forth in the wave surges.  I have a thing for the weird tube fish, and there were a number of them.  I managed to get into the rocky area, which is not a particularly bright idea, as the wave surges raised and lowered the water level by a couple of feet at a time, making navigating over shelves a little tricky.  Timing is everything.  My rash guard shirt wouldn’t help if I got dropped onto the reef.  I was in a near fully enclosed pool, pondering my next move, when I glanced to my right and was almost eye to eye with a giant sea turtle.  He/she was at least 3 feet long at the shell, and caught in the same enclosure as me.  We swayed in the surges together, and I moved a few feet away so as not to get raked.  It started to swim out and over a ridge, so I followed, fortunately on an upsurge.  I then followed it through the rocks for a couple of minutes, before it finally went where I dared not.  But it was quite an experience.  On the way back I saw a large moray eel slithering into a hole, then popping its head back out and giving me the eye while its jaws were opening and closing.  I kept my distance, and swam back to shore.  As I was sloshing out, I met a guy who asked if there was anything good here.  I assumed my best Cousteau impersonation, and gave him the benefit of my vast experience.  Notice the enthralled audience.  (Why are they all grinning?)
  
All this work takes it out of a guy.  Fortunately, the condo boasted a very nifty library, and I found a Ruth Rendell that I hadn’t read.  Let’s see, page 1, . . . .

I guess I’m at that age where an afternoon nap cannot be denied.
We spent 7 nights here, ate out 5 and grilled 2.  There was a nice grill on the deck, so we bought some marlin steaks, veggies and potatoes and set to work.  Couldn’t find the switch to the porch light, so the camping headband light came in handy to see how things were progressing.

And they progressed quite nicely, thank you.  That’s a homemade orange pepper, cucumber, sweet onion and tomato salsa on top of the fish.  Yum!

Chuck is an accomplished amateur photographer and had just purchased a new camera he wanted to try out on a sunrise over Haleakala.  This is one of those must-do things when you visit Maui, but only once.  We had all done it before, so Loni and I slept in while he and Alice got on the road at 4:30 a.m.  It’s quite a drive, with a 10,000 foot elevation gain, so it takes a while.  Can you imagine the gas that MGM pig was sucking on that climb?  Yikes.  Anyway, they had the good luck of hitting it on the only morning of the week when the peak wasn’t shrouded in clouds, and got some very nice shots.  Here’s one:

While C&A were bagging these views, we moseyed on down to the beach to snag views of our own.  The condo property owns a beautiful little point of land that is fenced off from the public by those hedges at the left.

They place lawn chairs out there so we poshies can lounge in comfort and watch the little people on the beach.  Ah, so THIS is how the other half lives.

Although our little reef was fine, there are more spectacular places to snorkel around Maui.  The diving guidebooks say that little Molokini, an almost entirely submerged volcanic half-cone a few miles off shore, provides the best snorkeling in all of the Hawaiian Islands.  You can only get there by boat, so we signed on with the Boss Frog outfit to take us there.  The trip leaves from Ma’alaea, which is up the coast, just about where the darker shadow mountain line reaches the sea in the picture above.  Check-in was at 7:15 am, so we rolled out in the pigmobile at about 6:30.  Good thing we did, as the parking was extremely limited since all the dive boats leave from this small harbor.  We were on the “economy” cruise, so no double decker for us, just a basic boat.

It was more than adequate.  The bigger boats serve a barbeque lunch, but the cold-cuts sandwich bar we had was just fine.  They serve decent pastries, fruit and drinks on the way out.  It took about an hour to get to Molokini, which is entirely unremarkable above the water.  No trees or significant vegetation.  But it’s shaped like a crescent, and the bay formed by the arms is sheltered from the prevailing winds and currents, resulting in relatively still, clear waters with average visibility of 100 feet.  The boats all set out long anchor lines to stay in position, then we were off down the ladders and snorkeling in the cove.  Molokini is the smaller dark island in the foreground; behind is Kahoolawe.   

This was great stuff.  Brilliant fish, a whopping moray eel, and pretty nice coral.  The visibility was as advertised, which was pretty cool.  We spent about an hour paddling around, which was plenty.  Although the water isn’t cold, it was cool.  Definitely not bath water.  No underwater shots.  We don’t have a waterproof camera, and opted not to spring for the $30 it cost to rent one from the boat.  After we left Molokini and the other dive boats behind (above pic), we headed for one of the spots loosely described as “Turtletown.”  I thought this was one specific location, but it turns out to be a meandering line that varied from 100 yards to 300 yards off the Kihei-Makaha shoreline, running parallel to it.  The turtles for some reason congregate along that “path,” and there are “cleaning stations” where the remora feed off the detritus that clings to the turtle shells.  We didn’t see any of that action, but we did see two turtles swimming along the bottom, which is two more than most people reported.  These were about 30 feet below us, so not the close encounter I had with the one on our reef.  All in all, the trip was well worth it and we’d recommend it if you have a free day.  Cost us $60 each for a five hour excursion, including food.
We were pooped when we made it back to the condos, so we flopped down on the private point and just enjoyed the view.  Ahhhhhhhhh.
 
We really got lucky in our choice of restaurants, and we ate them in the proper sequence.  I had been taken aback a bit in researching the dining scene online, finding description after description of “expensive but once-in-a-lifetime worth it.”  Hmmm, not for us.  During one of our morning walks, we passed a signboard for one of the resorts down the beach that featured one of Puck’s “Spago” restaurants.  The menu showed no appetizers below the high-20’s, and entrees ranging from $38 to $84.  Double yikes.  Sorry, but food just doesn’t taste that good, unless Thomas Keller is personally manning the range.  Our body clocks were slowly adjusting from California time, so we were ready to eat at earlier hours anyway.  Hey, early bird specials anyone?  It appears that most of the standalone restaurants, not associated with a resort, have such deals, and we found that they were terrific.  Full portions, no skimping. 
Our first night we didn’t want anything fancy, as we were tired from the flight.  We ended up at Alexander’s, which was billed as a fish ‘n chips place, but was much more.  There is NO ambiance here, unless low-rent island shack is your thing.  Do not be discouraged.  Three of us opted for the grilled mahi plate (rice & veggie & salad).  For TEN bucks (!) it was just fine.  But the winner was Alice, who chose calamari strips.  Good night!  These were thick, tender, non-chewy, and delicious.  Flip-flop your way here for the best low-cost meal on the island.
Our second nite we moved up a bit in style, and hit the early special at the Big Wave, with a two-for-one deal.  So, for $25, we got two meals of excellent fish, substantial portions.  A nice outdoor area to eat in, but again nothing fancy, although a definite step above Alexander’s on the ambiance scale.  Like a lot of the restaurants in this area, Big Wave is in a strip mall, so there was plenty of parking.
After a home grilling nite, we opted the next evening to start getting a little fancy, and we hit a winner in the 808 Bistro.  This place would be a bargain anywhere, but especially in a ridiculously priced resort area like Maui. We ate off the early bird menu, with three courses for $25! Even without the early (5-6pm) menu, the same dishes on the regular menu are hardly any more. My brined grilled pork chops ( boneless, thick, juicy, and perfectly cooked medium rare as ordered) with caramelized onions with fruit, were delicious. C&A loved their falling-off-the-bone braised shortribs. Both dishes came with garlic mashed and grilled asparagus, a generous mixed greens dinner salad and choice of dessert. We tried all three: sweet hawaiian bread pudding with ice cream, fudge brownie sundae, and two scoops of local-made ice cream. Oye. We were stuffed.

We liked the ambiance of this place, as it had a “Hawaiian” feel to it.  Outdoors eating in a garden setting, either on an open air patio or under a covered lanai.  We preferred the latter.  We decided to make this our final night’s dinner spot as well.
In between, went to a superb restaurant called Cuatro.  This place would be a standout anywhere.  They serve sushi-grade fish in all their preparations, and the seared Ahi was melt-in-your-mouth succulent.  We grinned our way through the entire meal.  A nicely appointed place, again in a strip mall, but not as much Hawaiian ambiance as 808.  More white tablecloth.  This was undoubtedly the best dinner we had, and it would stand up foodwise to the best Los Angeles has to offer at any price.  But, even they had an early special, so we delected while saving.  Good wine list.  It’s a small place, so reservations are almost a must.  We got lucky and just walked in, but I wouldn’t count on that working.
Our last night, back at 808, we took advantage of their BYOB policy (they sell no alcohol, but encourage you to bring it).  We didn’t want wine, but rather more pina coladas!  But how to get them there?  We had the will of the dedicated lush, so there had to be a way.  I mixed up a couple of batches at the condo, found a funnel, and poured them into an empty Sprite mega-bottle that Chuck had finished (he’s our teetotaling driver).  When we got there, we asked for an ice bucket, and voila!  They brought glasses, and we poured scrumptious pc’s from the hilarious green bottle.  We were the envy of all.  Or, the object of ridicule.  We didn’t care.

So, our adventure in paradise ended in an alcoholic stupor.  But that’s one mental image I can live with.  Aloha, and Mahalo!