Kona Overnight & the Big Aloha

A friendly welcome by the host was my introduction to the Surf Hideaway, a basic room with bed, bath and a galley kitchen. I loved that the door and floors had been painted with tropical leaves, and the place was spic and span. No AC, but a fan that made the humidity bearable. Definitely a place for people who are good at entertaining themselves: heavy readers, sleepers, late-night partiers (no TV! – a blessing, not a curse!) who can’t be bothered by cooking (considering the limited but carefully chosen kitchen goods) and TV tray table. A very cool place.

Kona was shockingly deserted, and the shops seemed to be hurting pretty badly.

Fortunately, the parrots weren't the least bit upset about this, as long as the seeds kept a'comin.

I made one more stab at a beach, and found the old airport park beach, which had a lot going for it. It’s big, with both lawn and sand (all facilities shut down, of course), and the requisite lava path to the sea. But the sunset was spectacular…

My flight was the next day at one, so I gassed up the Chevy (prices here 10 cents more a gallon than in Hilo). 

Made a stop at the local L&L (they MUST have one around here) for Katsu chicken (basically, three meals in a box for $9), which I had to leave in the Hideaway fridge. Cruised to the airport, got through all the rigamarole in no time at all, and enjoyed an uneventful flight back to SF, the airporter, and a pick-up by T. Thanks again T!

Is this, my 14^th trip to Hawaii, my last? Could be. I left my fins and snorkel gear for other guests at the Surf Hideaway. It feels like it’s time for the big Aloha…

Getaway to Fort Bragg

Housebound for three-plus months is tough for anyone. I decided to take a spur-of-the-moment trip north on Highway 101, through the former home of racehorse Seabiscuit (and infamous pot-growing region) of Willits across the great divide on Highway 20 to Fort Bragg. Fort Bragg considered changing the name of the town recently; upon examination, the town's namesake, Braxton Bragg, turned out to have been a wildly racist, embarrassingly incompetent Confederate General who never set foot in the area. They've since dropped the issue. 

It's been a good 15-plus years since I visited Glass Beach, which is now part of McKerricher State Park. Last time I was there, it was little more than a dump site that had been thoroughly ground down by wave action, leaving thousands of bits of multi-colored beach glass. Nothing remains the same.

But first: I lucked out on AirB&B to find a place rarely unoccupied - it couldn't have been a better choice. It was a separate, fully equipped small cabin, surrounded by a gorgeous garden, enclosed in a redwood forest. The space itself was squeaky clean and full of books, pillows and every imaginable comfort, including full kitchen and bath. Kay, the owner and hostess extraordinare, met me at the gate.

No wonder this place is hard to book - if you're interested, definitely jump on it during an opening. It may be foggy at the beach, but here, a mile inland, it's sunny and quiet.

The first thing I did after settling in was a trip to Glass Beach. It's not a dump site any more. There's a big parking lot and beautiful trails throughout the bluffs, plenty of informative signs - but alas, not a lot of glass. They should rename it "Glitter Beach" or "Sparkle Beach" or some such, because tiny bits of old clear glass (colored grayish white from the waves) are littered among the shells and stones.

The sandy beaches were nearly empty; the weather was typical for a Northern California beach: sunny but windy in the early evening, about 62 degrees F.

A number of wildflowers grow in the region, some of them rare. Many were in full bloom, and to see them popping out of the waving grasses in mounds was a thing of beauty.

The old trestle - a good place to watch the sunset.

Wait, is that a body in the water?

Nope. It's someone's old beach towel/chef's apron that got away.

A note on dinner, alas. As a travel writer, I'm used to eating alone, and I seldom run into any kind of "special" treatment. Fort Bragg is a fairly large, isolated town with few sources of income for anyone except the tourist trade, which is less than half of what it usually is. That's why I was surprised by the oddly rude behavior of my waiter at Silver's at the Wharf. The staff, including my waiter, were laughing and joking with other patrons in groups of two or more - especially those that ordered from the bar. When I didn't, and ordered an inexpensive menu item, my waiter practically sneered at me. The fish and chips came quickly (decent rock cod and exceptional hand-cut fries, by the way), and timing was adequate, if somewhat unfriendly. Maybe I reminded him of his first wife.

1Woman1World..2 Years!

Sunset from my driveway, February 2013

I've traveled around the world, and loved (nearly) every minute of it--and I'm happy to be home. I'm lucky enough to live in a fantastic place, the San Francisco Bay Area. I've lived here most of my life (thanks to my folks choosing this area to settle in when I was small), and have enjoyed a lot of local attractions. In addition, as a member of Bay Area Travel Writers (a professional group), I'm often invited to destinations and events that are off the radar of many locals and visitors--so I'm going to continue to review and share as many of these great activities and places with you in the coming year as I can--and who knows, I might throw in an exotic destination too, since I'm a gypsy at heart.

Saturday May 11 - Amsterdam to Naples to Sorrento

Vesuvio on the way to Sorrento

I packed my back-pack with as many of the lighter-weight clothes I could stuff in and left my suitcase at luggage storage at the Amsterdam airport. An easy two-hour flight into what looked like a small airport followed (Naples airport is deceptive—it’s quite large); a tiny, stiff espresso at the counter powered me up for the half-hour wait for the Currieri Viaggi bus to Sorrento. During the wait, I sat on my back-pack, soaking in the sun, enjoying a 10 degree hike in temperature. The bus, modern and air-conditioned only cost 10 euros--the bargain of the century. The ride clung to the coast roads, and was absolutely spectacular. Tufa cliffs soar steeply from the sea, often 1000 feet or more. Homes, hotels and motley other structures are embedded into the cliffsides, cantilevered and precariously perched as if to dive in. This is earthquake country, and so much like home in some ways it’s reassuring.

Sorrento from above

Sorrento is Sausalito on steroids; the same sort of dwellings spill down into steep ravines, but many more of them. A lovely, lovely old town with narrow twisitng lava-stone cobble streets and archways, and likely a restaurant and shop per person. It’s crowded and commercial, yet never fails to be charming. Perhaps it’s the jewel-like setting.

My foresight in bringing only a backpack paid off when I got to the train station in Sorrento, where the bus dropped me off. The Hotel Ulisse was more than half-way across town, a good half-mile or more from the station. I got used to the walk, as I ended up doing it at least twice a day—thank goodness only twice with the heavily loaded backpack.

That night, I strolled on the narrow road from the Hotel Ulisse down to a little fishing village which is part of Sorrento and apart from it: Marina Grande. Dinner was  delicious; a perfectly cooked spaghetti pomodoro with fresh cherry tomatoes at the Five DiLeva Sisters restaurant (a tiny place with clear vinyl sheets for walls). 

The Five DiLeva Sisters

It was windy, but fun to watch the beautiful sunset and the people who live in this tiny village greet each other, the boats bob in the water, the stray cats search among the ropes and nets for morsels. 

A quiet evening in Marina Grande

When I returned to the hotel, I had planned to stay put; then I discovered that Sorrento had REALLY come alive. The town takes off after sunset, when it’s still warm and all the streets are lit, filled with tourists and regulars. I attended the main street passigiata, strolling the Corso Italo with everyone else, stopping by the peaceful convent of San Franchesco. I couldn't wait to explore more.

Courtyard of the convent of San Franchesco

See more images of Sorrento, Pompeii and Herculaneum on my website gallery page

Punta Egas/Is. Santiago

Yes, I am fabulous.

 Today we hiked among the beautiful tidepools at Punta Egas on Is. Santiago. Plenty of Galapagos doves, finches, hawks, marine iguanas and sea lions, plus a colony of fur seals--many fewer in number than the omnipresent sea lions (the Galapagans call sea lions "sea dogs" and the fur seals "sea wolves"). The vegetation is more lush, at least for the Galapagos. A family that mined salt once lived on the bluff overlooking the sea, and the shell of their home remains; the crews from three tourist ships met in the field behind the house for a game of futball while we attempted to snorkel in the murky waters. 

One female sea lion came ashore to pose and preen for us, and when she tired of her game, fell asleep where she lay on the warm black sand beach.

After a short cruise north to Buccaneer's Cove (not much to see there), we motored to Playa Espumilla--aptly named, as the beach was as foamy as an over-soaped washing machine. The break was so shallow and close to the beach we had to jump in up to our necks and swim ashore through the breakers. Fabrizio said a panga overturned here before, so now they don't try to land on the beach itself. Playa Espumilla was stunning: at least a mile long with white-beige sand. It was dotted with a scattering of bright orange ghost crabs, who would scurry rapidly en masse into their little beach holes whenever we approached. These are the crabs Sponge Bob Squarepants--star of stage and screen--made famous, and can they move! We walked up the beach and saw a sad sight--a number of turtle egg nests that had been destroyed by the waves and sun. The eggs were exposed and dead--life is not easy here.

 

Several of us tried to swim in the surf to cool off--fighting that break was an effort, and at least one of our party got swamped. Getting back in the pangas took some timing. I got my first sunburn today, falling asleep on the sun deck after fighting the waves. Fabrizio tried to body-surf, and like the rest of us, ended up with a pants-full of black sand. I don't envy the crewmember who has to clean up the showers tomorrow.

Some days the crew is very attentive to my dairy allergy, other days, not so much. Today was one of those, when they could just about conceal their annoyance. I don't know whether the cook didn't have enough warning before he had to shop for the trip, or, in spite of the boat owner's efforts to inquire about food allergies and preferences, they really don't care. All that aside, the cook was a genius at salads and vegetables, and I feel the crew really made an effort to make us comfortable. Special thanks to Carlos, the panga expert, for getting us out of a potentially bad situation at Bahia Urbina. It's customary to leave tips for the crew and guide--they deserve it.

Tonight is my last night--tomorrow we go to the Darwin Research Station and breeding center outside Punta Ayora (the big city hereabouts) before boarding a bus to Baltra for the plane.

Punta Moreno, Is. Isabela

Hard to believe, but I've already lost sense of what day it is. I find myself content to watch the sea out of the window of my cabin. We had a busy day today. First, we motored all night--a 14-hour trip--to Punta Moreno on Is. Isabela, the largest island in the archipelago and our southernmost point, where we hiked into a pa hoe'hoe lava field that looked like melted licorice frosting on an enormous cake of sand. Every surface was covered by marine iguanas; it took profound attention to not step on one. They're big as chihuahuas, with a disdainful expression fortified by their frequent need to snort out a stream of salt from their nostrils--a by-product of living on a diet of ocean algae. These iguanas have developed special glands that filter the salt, and they nod their heads to bring the salty stream to the nostrils. Other iguanas--and frequently, our legs and feet--got a shot of the crusty white. The females are smaller and darker, but just as pugnacious-looking, in a feminine way of course. We walked a distance on the sand and encountered more sea lions and their puppy-like babies, including one that was alone. 

Death is a constant here--occasional decomposing carcasses feed the struggling multitude. Skeletons of a seal and whale were equally picked clean. We went out on the pangas (motor launches) later to snorkel. The water in the cove we chose was murky, with poor visibility--the Galapagos, relatively speaking, are young volcanic islands, and there is plenty of ash in the water, stirred up by a choppy current in the western archipelago. I fear I'm fated to never get close to a tortuga. Others spot penguins, rays and plenty of turtles, while I drift among the tropical fish--pretty, but not exciting.

 After lunch, we motored to Punta Espinosa on Fernandina island, the westernmost of the large islands. We walked through a forest of sorts--dry, brush-like trees, some with bright yellow flowers, and a pretty, poisonous tree that could have stood in the Garden of Eden, the manzanillo. The temperature away from the shore soared, and sweat dampened a lot more than my upper lip as we marched along the dusty trail. In the forest, the twittering of Darwin finches could be heard among the trees. 

We spotted several tortoises, one so close to the trail we almost had to step over him. 

We also encountered a few land iguanas--so different from their marine cousins. One in particular was bright yellow; his diet consisted of yellow flowers from the trees.

Some passengers went for a snorkel from the beach later, and I dipped into the water, which was as murky as this morning, a little rough, and full of seaweed. I came back in, took off my gear, and contented myself with a swim close to shore. Returning snorkelers told tales of rays and turtles, and I was annoyed with myself for not going out further. I swallowed too much water when I first went out and struggle with memories of nearly drowning as a teenager every time I set foot in the ocean. Several of the young people (and one of the intrepid oldsters) swam to the boat from shore--600 yards.

Tonight, a peaceful (or as our guide Fabrizio Maldonado would say in his charming accent, "pissful") night.  Fabrizio, born to a couple of elementary school teachers here in the Galapagos, is fervent about ecological protection of the islands, and incredibly knowledgeable, which makes up for the occasional absence of "first class" hosting skills by the crew. I think any lapses are due more to inexperience than intention; each crew is hired anew for each tour, though most of our seven-member crew (plus Fabrizio) worked together before. We motored all last night over rough sea to get here, and now we're bedded down in a cove until morning.

A shield volcano on Isabela

Picture this: on front of us, the shield volcanoes of Isabella island form deep gray mounds against a near-black sky. What keeps the heavens from their habitual darkness is a brilliant white moon, set high above the island. On the sun deck, the wind is blowing steadily from the south; like everything here on the equator, it's a mix of hot and cold. The moon is so bright, it lights a wide swath of water rather than a narrow beam. If you stare down at the light on the water, and let your eyes go slightly out of focus, patterns form: a kaleidoscope made from bits of black paper and silver leaves. Orion, my namesake is overhead, but there are bright stars here that only are seen by eyes in the southern hemisphere. The breeze brings the scent of the land--dry vegetation and rotting earth, and the clean smell of the sea.
 

Galapagos Arrival

Thank COPU (that's Central Operating Principle of the Universe, for those in the know) for the kindness of strangers. First, I got the same cab driver as on the way in--a nice fellow, and above all, a helluva driver who got me to the airport on time in spite of morning traffic and lumbering buses that had all the speed of brontosauri at an herbal lunch counter. Then the fun really began...
 

Baltra airport

Ecuador has an elaborate system for just about everything, including getting foreigners from Quito to Baltra in the Galapagos, coupled with a near-total lack of information in English and among the airport personnel. I wandered around and around the small national airport, asking this person and that, getting different answers--often because of the language barrier and my nearly absent espanol. I ended up in the quite long TAME airline queue. Fortunately, a young man came to the line at the same time, and he spoke excellent English, thanks to six months in Chicago (I think every American that travels beyond US borders has thought, "why does everyone else in the world speak at least two languages except us?"). He went up to the front of the line with my info sheet and got the lowdown. I was to go to an unmarked door inside the terminal nearby. They then directed me to go outside. I immediately went to the wrong door, and was directed to another outside door. Finally, that was the right one! After that, back to inside door number 1, paid my $10, and was sent back to the TAME airline line, where my gallant young friend had held a place for me. Then he was delayed at the gate for some reason, a cell phone to his ear and a worried look on his face. I hope it turned out all right for him.

A sign at the Baltra airport

In the terminal, the flight was late, and TAME personnel kept disappearing. I ended up talking to an Israeli doctor, a woman who was also traveling alone, and together we managed to figure out which gate the flight was leaving from. She came enroute from Spain, couldn't land in Quito because of the torrential rains last night (the weather in Quito can manifest all four seasons in a day). Her flight ended up going to Quayaquil on the coast, enduring a six-hour layover, then flying into Quito; here she was, wandering around the same waiting room as me. The joys of travel; it's a way to test yourself, that's for sure.

Interesting note about the money: Ecuador uses American dollars as their currency; for change, they give you Sacajawea dollars, which I haven't seen in the US in years. They're highly valued here. Fun fact: Ecuador is named for the equator, which evenly divides the country and the city of Quito. 

The intense blue tint is from the blue shades on the dock

Reps from the yate Fragata picked us up at the airport in Baltra--I thought Baltra was a town, but it's a military installation. All together, we are three young couples, three older couples, a young single girl, and yours truly--an international assortment, from Holland, Switzerland, Canada, French Canada, and America. A jolting bus ride from the military installation brought us to the boat. Before we boarded, we got a taste of what the Galapagos is famous for--a sleeping marine iguana kept guard outside the boat launch and a sassy sea lion posed magnificently for pictures on a bench.

When I say the descriptive "first class", what comes to mind? Chilled cocktails on the foredeck? An abundance of hot water any time the urge strikes to shower? This is not Fragata, a slightly careworn boat whose last refitting was a decade past. Not that the crew doesn't try--they definitely make up for the faded brightwork. Yacht life isn't quite what I expected--for one thing, the simple act of taking a pee is not at all simple. No paper can enter the sewage that is flushed into the open sea in the Galapagos--that means, wipe (or more realistically, dab) and dispose of the paper in a container next to the toilet. Poop? We won't even go there. I'm sure I wasn't the only person who did a little toilet diving the first day…

The boat took us to Sombrero Chino, a small island south of Is. Santiago, where we went for our first snorkel--the water sparkled with schools of silvery anchovies, and the reefs were populated with all manner of colorful fish: pastel pink and yellow parrotfish, yellow-tailed wrasses, a cobalt blue sea star and much more (the Galapagos video is ready! Check it out:  vimeo.com/joanneorionmiller). It was an excellent dive followed by a short walk among a few sea lions with adorable pups. The sun disappeared into a neon sunset. A few of us gathered on the Fragata's sun deck to watch the last of the golden light darken to shades of gray-blue.