Signs, signs, everywhere signs

This past weekend I took a little side trip to the Big Island of Hawai'i to see the live volcano. As usual I didn't really get any shots of lava or anything, but I saw some other stuff on my way there.

We started out in Kona, home of the famous coffee. Of course, I didn't drink any Kona coffee there. But I did try to get some lunch, and found this place, which sounds like a nice place to meet and start a relationship with a really supportive person:


Huggo's turned out to be closed, so we headed next door to it's casual-dining-and-seaside-bar counterpart, which looks like a good place to head when that original supportive relationship turns sour:


Huggo's on the Rocks is an interesting little spot, they seem to have stolen their decor from the Gilligan's Island set when the show went off the air. Even the bathroom looks like the professor could pop his head out at any moment and show you the cell phone he fashioned out of palm fronds and cowrie shells.


Then I saw this sign as we walked around. It's obvious why they don't need to post the time and location, but I wonder why they'd need a sign at all. If you were the kind of person who was going to attend, wouldn't you just already know?


I saw this great kiosk where you can get a hot piece of glass:


If I owned a company that made chocolate-covered espresso beans, I'd give it a really appetizing name, too:


This guy is apparently going to boss you into having a relaxing good time:


This kind of thing you really only see in Hawaii. It's like saying "Chipper McHappyton's house of love shirts." I never saw a sign like that in Oakland.


Here you can see Bosco, the amazing one-man band. He was actually not too bad, he had a soft voice and cracked really bad jokes between songs. It's just that you don't see one-man bands take themselves quite so seriously most of the time.



Later that night, back in my hotel room, I took a shower. Right below the shower head, I spied this warning sign. Apparently there's something really important that only people who can read Japanese are supposed to look out for.


The next morning, we hit the road for the town of Volcano, which, interestingly enough, has an active volcano in it. On the way we saw some interesting wildlife on the side of the road:

Okay so, a zebra? Fine, whatever. But what about the poor horse kept in the same pen? It's kind of a shaggy looking horse anyway, and I think it might have a complex about it's looks. Every day, everyone comparing horse to zebra, horse to zebra. You can see that it's stopped brushing its hair, I guess it gave up trying.

Here's a gift shop that encourages burro-riders to pull on over for a look-see.


And here, (finally found it) the holy grail of road trips: the home of good food. It's nice that they let you know on the sign, no guesswork involved. And they've already had their sommolier pair your meal with two lovely beverage selections. I'd always wondered where good food came from.


Here's an interesting proposition: pay for two items and receive two items. I was so tired of paying for four things and only getting one, it's a relief to see an honest company.


Drumroll, please: The most southern bar in the US!


We finally reached Volcano. No, really, that's what it's called.


It's really odd looking there, some places are just a field of black rock. It was beautiful.


We stopped for lunch at the most obvious place.


Once you drive into the park, you can see the volcano smoking off in the distance. People come from all over the world to see it.

Smoking, smoking, all day long. Well, two can play at that game. You've got nothing on me, volcano, NOTHING!


A note of caution:

Obviously, that sign doesn't apply to us.


I chatted with the park rangers, and they explained the story of the volcanic rocks. Apparently the goddess of the volcano, Pele, feels pretty disrespected if you take rocks home with you in your bag.
I'd heard stories before our trip of people who had brought them home and then suffered car accidents, illness, and general bad luck. What to do? Well, you mail them back, of course, and then the bad luck stops. The rangers said they get a few boxes every day and just open them up at the end of the week and put them in a pile somewhere. I wanted to see the pile. They thought I was creepy for asking to see it, told me no and said, "the pile of rocks is in an undisclosed location." Maybe I look like the kind of person who's going to try to put a hex on a pile of rocks or something. The funniest part was that they said some of the things that get sent back aren't even volcanic rocks, they are either cursed rocks from some other place or green sand from some other angry beach, or really any cursed rock, stick, or plant from any insulted national park god. You can bet I checked my shoes multiple times to make sure there were no pebbles accidentally stuck in them.

The rangers said that people spend exorbitant sums overnighting the rocks back from various locations. Maybe that's how I'll make my first million: rock redelivery services. Write me an email if you'd like to invest in my startup. We can call it "Rock Return Hexpress" or something.

As we progressed on foot down the road towards the lava, the place became thick with warning signs:


This is probably just good warning in general, anywhere you go:


And here's some good advice applicable to many life situations:


Here's where the whole "lava walk" thing starts to seem less fun:


Or even a little terrifying. Here you can see that guy who stars in all the "Pedestrian Xing" signs meet his maker:


This one here has to be my favorite. I am not sure what this "D" is that they're referring to, maybe Vitamin D? It's pretty sunny there but I didn't think you could overdose on Vitamin D. Whatever the D is, it's extreme.

I am sure they'd tell us with some kind of sign if there was a danger of flying molten lava burning a hole through metal or something.

We hit the road again. Apparently, so did the lava.


One last sign before we started our walk:

These people are really serious about the water. No fooling.

The wind is so extremely dry that even my eyes got thirsty. You drink a liter of water and then reach for some more. It's maybe not the most pleasant hike across broken glass-containing-rocks, but you know, it was cool. Very cool.


It was like walking through a black field. Some of the rock looked like a curled sheet on an unmade bed:


We settled in on some rocks and watched the sunset. The wind is so dry, and there's no humidity, so the air is kind of cool but the rocks below you are warm. It was amazing.


Once the sun set, we could see little red glimmers of lava in the distance, moving down the hill. There was an aroma of printer-in-campfire. Don't ask me how I know that. But the scent was in our hair until we washed it out.

At breakfast, this little Madagascar Gecko ate some of my papaya:

We were waxing on and on about how cute they are and how much we wanted some in our yard until the waiter explained to us that they eat the sweet little brown transparent ones that live in our yard and eat all our flies. Jerks. They weren't as cute anymore after we heard that.

We wandered around the town of Hilo for a bit before our flight home. There's not much going on around there besides the airport and the volcano:


But we did see the best-ever name for an ice factory:


Which also happened to have a very good warning sign on its ice-chipper:

I'd always wondered what the result of sticking my hand in an ice chipper was, and now I know: pain.

This sort of strikes me as overly-cautious, but I suppose if you've posted a sign on a palm tree in such a way that folks need to stand right underneath it to read the sign, you'd better let people know what might happen to them at any moment:


I've always wished there was a one-stop-shop where I could get a couch, a filing cabinet, and a thousand fake grass skirts:


When we got to the airport, we stopped in for a cold beer while we waited for our flight. They carded me, but apparently they card everyone, and I do mean everyone:


We finally made it home. Right before you leave the security zone in Honolulu airport, there is this box:

But they don't tell you what it's for. Maybe it's all purpose. It made me wish I'd brought all the overdue library books I've ever held onto, the parking tickets, some broken promises, and a sin or two. I'd just jam it all in there. Maybe next time.