The Blue Buddha

Island cars are one way to beat the car rental rates. Or not.

Flying to Hawaii is much easier than last year. No tests are required and masks are optional. About 60-percent of passengers on our Hawaiian Airlines flight covered their faces. About one-third of the seats were empty in the back of the cabin of the Airbus 321 neo aircraft, known for cutting fuel-burning emissions by 16-percent. Its long narrow body flies lower and faster.

We were told not to change seats because that would upset the balance of the plane. We had never heard that one before. As we approached the Maui airport in Kahului, where we would make our connection to Kauai, the plane began to rock from heavy headwinds.

We sat in aisle 15 which had no windows, so we could not judge our proximity to the ground. It reminded me of the Disneyland ride, Guardians of the Galaxy the previous week, where I sat with my granddaughter Viva inside a dark chamber that rose and fell like a squirrel running up and down a tree. Pretty soon you don't know if you're going up or down because you cannot see.

The rocking of the aircraft lasted longer than the Disney ride. The Tradewinds were blowing strong when we landed on the ground in Maui, following the interminable approach that had Barbara and I squirming in our seats.

A short hop to Kauai later, daughter Bryna, who lives on the island, picked us up at the airport. As we headed north on the narrow Kuhio Hwy the greenery thickened as man-made construction disappeared the farther we went. If the island road crews were to stop their regular trimming of trees on the sides of the road, the jungle would take over. There would be no road.

Surrounded by multi-shades of green plant life, spotted with dots of red lehua flowers, it felt as though the world's problems were fading away. The nerves in my body began to dial down and I remembered why this place drew me in: Ever changing clouds moving gracefully through patches of blue; floral fragrances filling the humid air; the signature sound of swaying palms that influences the hula and instrumental strings of island music; and perhaps most of all, the spirit of aloha expressed by residents whose attitudes have been imbued with the island flow.

You could live on this small island without an automobile, which would be good for all living things, as we're often called. But, alas, king car is practically necessary even out here in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. 

At some point you're going to need supplies which means a trip by automobile to CostCo, the central market of Kauai where you'll see a mix of dark-skinned locals who smile and wave at each other, as well as a range of visitors shopping for supplies for their island stay, like us. It's the center of convergence, linking west and east, north and south.

For lunch, enjoy a meaty hot dog for a buck-fifty, comes with a soft drink of your choice, or a slice bready pizza for two dollars, served outdoors.

We have run into old friends at the Kauai CostCo, folks we hadn't seen in years and never on this island. And we've made new friends whom we see again. The island is a mere 25 x 33 miles.  

Most civilization carries on near the perimeter, for the center of this ancient volcano, the oldest of the Hawaiian chain, rises steeply toward the sky or falls just as severely into valleys tangled with vines and trees. Lava turns out to be very rich soil.

The island remains part of the United States, which becomes blatantly obvious by the sight of all the Jeeps and oversized pick-up trucks that burn gasoline like factories on wheels. Try parking one of these beasts in a standard parking space. Do you really need that ginormous rig to carry two foam boards and a fishing pole? 

And yes, the Teslas have arrived, the E-car that reminds us of the geek who would be god, the wealthiest and one of the most annoying men in the world. Elon Musk's Teslas have come with the beautiful people, aka celebrities who have discovered paradise. These folks have helped alter the economy by purchasing prime real estate, driving prices skyward.

A sub-economy has been developed by the celebs who hire handy contractors to caretake their palaces when they're away. Some have hired the best chefs on the island for their private use, leaving restaurant owners scrambling for cooks, not to mention bartenders, wait people and kitchen staff who cannot afford to live here.

B's Kitchen in Princeville features two hand-made signs near the entrance: "We're hiring! All positions."

The owner of B's, a guy named Austin, filled  me in about celebrities hiring chefs. He mentioned actor Matt Damon. We knew that musician Carlos Santana had found his personal chef at a restaurant in Kilauea. Word travels fast on the coconut wireless. These chefs are known to go on the road with their employers, willing to travel being a secondary requirement.

When Bryna landed here several years ago after more than a decade of traveling and living in South and Central America, she finally settled down. The alternative vibe on the island and distance from mainland culture made her feel at home, a place to raise her two children, one, Mystiko, was born on the island. 

Barbara and I rejoiced. We finally had a place to visit her and our grandchildren that wasn't thousands of miles away like Uruguay, where granddaughter Viva was born. We arrived three days after her birth following 15 hours of air travel and five hours of driving.

The island culture is laid back, to a fault if you ask Michelle Obama. In his latest memoir, former President Barack Obama tells the story of Michelle calling his leisurely walking style his Hawaiian stroll.

The friendly go-with-the-flow nature of island life became readily apparent upon arrival at our Puamana condo in Princeville. During our last visit six months ago, in an effort to beat the exorbitant car rental rates of $250 per day, we purchased an island car for $2,000 from friends who were leaving Kauai. 

An island car is one whose paint job has faded from the intense tropical sun and whose body shows signs of rust and caking of red dirt from the aforementioned rich lava soil. Our new ride, a 2005 Honda CRV,  easily qualified, with the bonus of hula stickers on the windows.

Next to a Tesla, the Blue Buddha, as our neighbors christened it, stands out like a wizened kupuna (Hawaiian for elder). We opened our wallet and spent a few more dollars to fix a few minor problems, like overheating in traffic.

Upon our recent return the Blue Buddha refused to start. Or I should say it did start with a battery jump, then it refused again, when I stopped at the store in the middle of Hanalei town. I began asking local merchants for jumper cables which were provided by a friendly employee at the surf shop. This time, Buddha refused to turn over.

I asked a guy coming out of a store if he could give me a lift to Princeville, a couple miles up the road. No worries. That's how I met Austin of B's Kitchen. The next day I met a surly looking but good-hearted tow truck driver who had the golden touch that Buddha wanted. The engine hummed like a faithful power lawn mower.

"You need a new battery. This one is shot," said the tow driver, a Buddha in his own right with ample body, shaved head, long beard falling from his chin and multiple tats on his arms.

So I drove 23-miles to Kapaa to the closest auto parts store where I met Dennis who sold me a new car battery and even installed it for me for no extra charge (pun not intended). I pulled out of the parking lot singing a popular Hawaiian mele (song) -- Henehene Kou Aka -- about finding love riding the bus around Waikiki.

But when I stopped for gas the Buddha wouldn't start up again. So I ran back on foot to see Dennis at the auto parts store. Then Dennis and I ran together back to the Buddha at the gas station, dodging cars on the Kuhio Hwy. 

He went to work cleaning the battery terminals and the connecting cables. Then we heard a plunk. The head of his socket wrench fell into the engine compartment. The Buddha was playing tricks again.

Then came the moment of truth. "Start her up," said Dennis.

The Buddha refused to start.

"Put it in neutral and try it," he said.

The Buddha started.

We drove back to the auto parts store where Dennis got his magnetized instrument and was able to fish out the socket head from the engine housing.

From this point it would be just me and the Blue Buddha who had a new battery.

"Good luck," said Dennis.