Hiking In Jurassic Park With Insane Bakers Of Bread

Friday night I arrived back on Oahu from two days in Kauai and three days in Maui. (Is it wrong to say "in Maui" as opposed to "on Maui" ? I feel like "on Maui" sounds like I'm being pretentious. But, I guess it's too late anyway.)

Went hiking on the Napali Coast in northern Kauai, where they filmed parts of Jurassic Park. Also hiked in Waimea Canyon, "the Grand Canyon of the Pacific." The waterfalls, volcanoes, and other geological marvels from the two islands almost started to blend together.

But the interesting characters along the way never got old, and the hostel in Kauai was a goldmine.

Mitch was from Idaho, and had just finished a farming stint. He spends summers in Alaska, teaching skiing lessons, and the rest of the year back in Idaho, leading camping expeditions for incarcerated youth. He did the entire 25 mile hike on the Napali coast.....barefoot.

Mike was a 31-year old surfer from Iowa. On my third day at the hostel, I dropped him off to his first day of work at a new job. He wasn't wearing a shirt. It made me look back upon my employment history and try to think of the job I had where it would've been most acceptable to not wear a shirt. (Obviously substitute teaching.) He was constructing roofs. Mike had been staying in the hostel for a long time, and spent most of his days surfing and hitting on the daughters of vacationing families. I eventually asked him what he wanted to do. He looked at me blankly and said "......this."

The most talkative fellow was a 49-year old bread baker, originally from Massachussetts. He is the third bread baker I've met in as many months. I don't know what that says about me. I can't remember his name, but it's not really important.

One of the most interesting parts of traveling by yourself is that you don't have anyone else to check your opinions. If you think eating three loaves of banana bread in a span of about 15 hours is the best plan for the day, no one is there to tell you to chill out (, Fatty). No one tells you to put on sunscreen. When you see something truly amazing, part of your insecurity says "Is it really this amazing?" because no one is standing next to you going "Sweeeeet."

And when a 49-year old bread baker starts rambling on about crazy crazy shit, you don't have anyone to turn to and give a subtle yet knowing look to confirm that yes, this guy is rambling on about crazy crazy shit.

I really needed someone when Mr. Breadbaker started trying to convince me that "the whorehouses back on Oahu are absolutely fantastic." I think he saw my incredulity. "Wait...you go to whorehouses, right?"

For about 10 minutes he described the benefits of flying to Oahu and visiting short term "hotels" as opposed to actually buying things for a girlfriend. He made it sound like his patronage was a purely economical decision, since paying $200 for a visit to the brothel was "a hell of a lot cheaper than buying shit for a woman....and having to worry about her."

He also pointed out that he only had $700 to his name, and didn't live in an apartment anymore, but split time between the hostel and a hammock on the beach. At least he has enough money for hookers!

The whole scene was pretty jovial until this point, when he wanted to reiterate his point about women taking your money.

Suddenly, he was telling me a story about how he walked into his friend's place, and found that "his friend had hung himself because his girlfriend took him for about $7,000." He told me about removing the noose from the guy's neck.

He described it with the same tone that he had used to talk about the weather, baking bread, and taking acid in Portugal.

Needless to say, I didn't really know how to respond. I think I changed the subject back to the Grateful Dead. I would've given anything for someone else to have been there, someone who I could've turned to afterward and said "What the F? Did you hear that?" for about half an hour.