The perfect Hawaiian last day begins with wind, clouds, and beautiful, angry seas. Not a swim day, but my muscles are intensely sore from two days of downward dog, that I convince my travel partners to join me in the hot tub for a free massage.
After raising my body temperature to pizza oven conditions, a swim in the pool siren-calls. After a few laps, the wind rustles; Mom and sister head to the room--along with everyone else. But surrounded by warm water, I feel protected, immune from the menacing, dark, dark, puffy clouds.
As I breast-stroke across the empty pool, the sound of flapping palm trees brings the thought of a hurricane.
By now, everyone has left the pool. I am the sole tourist, slowly stroking the length, watching, mesmerized by the rapid change in the surroundings. Forty-two umbrellas shake. Eight pool personnel rush--reaching to unlatch the umbrellas, smooth them, tie them down.
I breast stroke peacefully, like a turtle.
Rain starts to fall. Wind rushes, takes over the sound of the ocean. Raindrops become pellets, bullets. Pool personnel scramble. Fast. Rushing from lounge chair to lounge chair ripping up, pulling off, wrapping the towels, the covers. They cover 80 chairs in minutes.
I keep breast stroking. Peacefully.
A young woman looks to me and smiles. "Waves in the pool."
The wind, the rain, strikes so hard, waves do flutter in the pool. Yet, the warm water, like in the eye of a hurricane keeps me aloof, observant of the chaos, hurry, valiant attempts to save umbrellas, to keep lounge chair towels dry.
It's no longer fun. Separated from the storm, from the adrenaline that sends everyone for cover. I swim to the edge, climb the ladder and rush to my bag, my towel, try to save what is still mostly dry. I wrap myself tight, duck my head, and run as fast as I dare for cover.
With a smile on my face.
After raising my body temperature to pizza oven conditions, a swim in the pool siren-calls. After a few laps, the wind rustles; Mom and sister head to the room--along with everyone else. But surrounded by warm water, I feel protected, immune from the menacing, dark, dark, puffy clouds.
As I breast-stroke across the empty pool, the sound of flapping palm trees brings the thought of a hurricane.
By now, everyone has left the pool. I am the sole tourist, slowly stroking the length, watching, mesmerized by the rapid change in the surroundings. Forty-two umbrellas shake. Eight pool personnel rush--reaching to unlatch the umbrellas, smooth them, tie them down.
I breast stroke peacefully, like a turtle.
Rain starts to fall. Wind rushes, takes over the sound of the ocean. Raindrops become pellets, bullets. Pool personnel scramble. Fast. Rushing from lounge chair to lounge chair ripping up, pulling off, wrapping the towels, the covers. They cover 80 chairs in minutes.
I keep breast stroking. Peacefully.
A young woman looks to me and smiles. "Waves in the pool."
The wind, the rain, strikes so hard, waves do flutter in the pool. Yet, the warm water, like in the eye of a hurricane keeps me aloof, observant of the chaos, hurry, valiant attempts to save umbrellas, to keep lounge chair towels dry.
It's no longer fun. Separated from the storm, from the adrenaline that sends everyone for cover. I swim to the edge, climb the ladder and rush to my bag, my towel, try to save what is still mostly dry. I wrap myself tight, duck my head, and run as fast as I dare for cover.
With a smile on my face.
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