July 4 rolled around and Fletch had the brilliant idea to make sweet treats for everyone called firecrackers. So we spent a day gathering supplies, soaked some strawberries in a bowl of vodka, then dipped them in marshmallow cream and blue sprinkles. Red, white, and blue, get it? The blue sprinkles were supposed to be pop rocks, to create the popping sensation like a firecracker, but pop rocks were nowhere to be found. The treats were a hit regardless. We also attempted to inject some tangerines and watermelons with vodka, mostly because once we found the injector, it was too tempting to start fueling everything up with cheap Costco vodka.
We spent the day barbecuing at Dave’s house. When the sun began to set, a few of us went on a field trip down the block in search of a good viewing location. An older couple saw us peering towards the horizon through a gap on their property’s tree line, and invited us into their backyard to watch. There they pointed out a small path that led through the trees and came out at the top of a concrete wall overlooking a construction site. It was the perfect sunset watching spot. We all let our legs dangle down the wall and watched as the sun did that magical thing it does every night, that magical thing that somehow never ceases to awe.
Island life is usually synonymous with early mornings, and early mornings mean that 10:00 is a late night out. As such, the party was long over before there was any thought of fireworks.
A large swell had moved in on Maui, meaning Matt was sent home early from work every day that it was too rough to go out kayaking. We spent many of those days playing disk golf to help him prepare for his upcoming tournament.
I never really knew what disk golf was until we walked through the course the first time. I had seen the baskets around my college campus before, but not thinking much of it, had just assumed it was a target to throw a frisbee at. Turns out there are numerous baskets set up to make up an entire course, just like with golf, and the rules are similar as well. The only difference is you are throwing frisbees instead of hitting golf balls, and the course usually involves dodging around trees and hiking over hilly terrain. As Matt’s friend Gundy liked to point out, golf is a good walk spoiled; disk golf is a good hike spoiled.
Fletch and I just went along for the hike and observed the pros our first time to the course, but it looked like good fun, even for someone with no hand-eye coordination, so we decided to give it a go the next trip we made. I wish I could say that I finally found a sport that I might have a shot at, but my hand-eye coordination was even more horrendous than I had remembered. Hey, at least I was able to laugh at myself.
Our evenings were spent, more often than not, at Kam 3 (short for Kamaole Beach Park III). A good group of people never failed to convene, and the time was spent drinking Truly’s, playing cornhole, and watching the sun set.
When Friday evening rolled around, Matt and Molly picked us up and brought us to an event called First Friday. Apparently every Friday of the month, a different town in Maui would put on a little street fair, complete with live bands and food trucks. First Friday was in the town of Wailuku.
We parked the truck and wandered the length of the street lined with stalls selling handmade hand bags, second hand cds, and food from many corners of the world. Live bands were set up at each end, one of which Molly was friends with the vocalist. Matt made a beeline for the stand selling cds, excited because all his truck had for music was a cd player. He then spent the rest of the evening trying to decide which cd we would play on our way home. If only I could go back in time and tell my younger self what a novelty cds would one day become.
We sampled lots of different food, beginning with corn on the cob covered in seasonings. From there we moved on to a veggie empanada, and then the Thai food stand where we ordered a tofu pad thai. We found a picnic bench in front of the band and sat down to enjoy our food, mentioning as we ate that we wanted to go diving tomorrow if the weather would permit. A young kid on the other side of the table scoffed at us, saying it was too surgy to dive at the moment. Of course then he let on that he was an underwater photographer and worked for cruise ships, so that just told us that he needed bathtub-like conditions for both his camera and his inexperienced guests.
Our last mini meal of the evening was a bowl of mung dahl from the Fiji-Indian food stand. It tasted like home, and Fletch and I realized that between the empanadas, pad thai, and dhal, we had effectively eaten our way through three of our last four homes (Honduras, Thailand, and Fiji). We decided to skip the musubi (spam sushi) which had been a staple in Palau. I know it’s actually a Hawaiian thing, but let me work it into my storyline here.
The whole way home we rocked out in Matt’s truck to the cd that he had painstakingly chosen: (drumroll please…) The Blues Brothers. His truck must have been bouncing down the road from all of us dancing in our seats. It was a perfect end to a perfect day with awesome friends.
