She can chew you up and spit you out.

Wednesday was my 26th birthday, so Pete and I decided to celebrate. But first, there was work to be done. Another morning of weed-whacking for him, and planting pineapples for me. They’re quite easy to plant aside from the fact that I kept getting pricked by their sharp leaves. By the end of the day my hands were pretty torn up. We have work gloves, but I’ve found that they’re just not as good as when you use your bare hands. You can really feel what you’re touching and interact with it more efficiently.

Pete made a reservation at a hostel in Kailua for my birthday so that we could go out in the “big city” and not have to worry about getting home the same night. The only other option we considered was going out in Captain Cook, but it’s slim pickings here. We would’ve ended up at a little Mexican dive called Senior Billy’s, which is as sad as its name suggests.

Getting to Kailua was amazingly easy this time. We got a ride from a guy named Miles just a few minutes into walking. It turned out that he runs the bed and breakfast “Ahh Paradise,” which is just down the road from us, and he knew Steve. He’d moved here from Alaska and had plenty to say. He also offered Pete some paid work planting coffee trees on his farm (also nearby), and Pete took his phone number when Miles dropped us off in the next town over.

Our second ride came just as quickly, a young Mexican man and his daughter. They were carrying a live chicken that kept making noise, but only the daughter spoke English, so there was no pressure for conversation—always a plus when you’re hitchhiking and telling the same crap to strangers over and over again. They dropped us off in the center of Kailua, which also happened to be where they lived.

We had a few drinks, and since it had been awhile since we’d drank, that’s all it took for us to decide to go and check in at the hostel. It was only a ten-minute walk to the hostel and was very easy to find. The people were all young wanderers who told us stories about living off abandoned farmlands in the southern region of the Big Island near Pahoa. Apparently a lot of hippies hang out down there because you can just about live for free if you camp out and pick fruits and vegetables (and fish if you want to). This one dreadlocked guy (Pete suspected there were scorpions living in his hair) was giving us recommendations that included a drum circle and a vegan pizza night at some Hare Krishna house. We definitely want to go check out the area, but I doubt we’ll be dropping by the Krishna pizza night.

For dinner we went to a super delicious Thai restaurant, where we both got meat dishes (a nice treat) and Pete accidentally shattered his water glass all over the table (and us). I thought it was funny when the waiter brought us a Band-Aid. Afterwards, we attempted to have a big night on the town, but we’d forgotten that our usual bedtime is 9:00. We struggled to have one more beer before 10:00, aided by a cup of coffee. But not even caffeine could take command over our circadian rhythm, so we walked back to the hostel, content with our own version of a big night on the town. It was a very happy birthday.

The next morning we took our time wandering around town, having a leisurely brunch, and then heading home. It wasn’t easy getting a ride back, but eventually (after switching our route several times) a young woman stopped and drove us to a shopping center a few miles away. From there we got picked up very quickly by another woman who was with her 13-year-old daughter. They were very nice, the mother telling us about how she’d come to the Big Island 7 years ago, and her adjustment period. She was the third person to mention how Hawaii seems to accept or reject people. Then she started spouting off about how the porous rocks absorb water and conduct electricity, which then causes peoples true natures to come out. I think she was getting her science a little confused, but she tried to explain to us in detail why Hawaii was so particular. So far I think Hawaii’s pretty neutral when it comes to me.

It’s funny how many people seem to personify this island. I suppose it’s because they equate it with Pele, the volcano goddess, since the island is always referred to as a “she.” But what Pete and I are finding is that Hawaii seems to attract a lot of weirdoes. Nice weirdoes—but still weirdoes.