Daughters of Neptune

Morning at the beach in Waikiki.  The beach, the beach!  I was craving spending time at the beach with a tremendously forceful, burning intensity that impressed even me.  The morning was perfect in every way.  The sun was ruling in a clear blue sky and the temperature touching my skin was just right.  We walked the couple of blocks from the hotel to the beach, through the streets of this neat and interesting part of Awahu. 

The full glory of the beach embraced me completely.  My feet felt gently warm as I walked on the sand.  The air was full of the perfume of the sea, and I felt as if its singing waves  were just for me alone.  No way was I going to refuse the invitation to go into the water. 

The sun, the sky and the ocean took me in completely, and I was giddy with joy.  The beach and me were the entire universe that morning, there was nothing else.  I felt as if we were the whole of creation.  I was a child again, five years of age maybe, and I had entered the realm where there was no personal war, no fear or pain. 

As I sat in the water facing the great ocean and digging around for its treasures, I wondered if I could get up, start walking and keep walking until I became a permanent part of this universe.  I fancied that, if I did this, I would stay forever in this perfect world, where there was nothing but beauty and my greatly intense emotions of being alive and consumed with joy.  Of course, the wise old woman in me knew perfectly well that this was silly.  Then I thought with sadness about a Puerto Rican poet, Julia De Burgos, who walked into the ocean to end her life.  Funny, she walked to let the ocean swallow her because of her great agony, because life had lost its brightness for her, and she had nothing left in her soul but grief and despair.  And here I was, thinking about walking into the sea to perpetuate the emotions that my body could barely contain. 

Living in New York for so many years has turned me into an autum bird, feeling at my best when temperatures are cool or gently warm and the air is crisp and clear.  But I was not always this way.  I was born in Puerto Rico, into the perfection of nature, and I became a child of the trees, the plants and the flowers, no matter where they were.  My mother, however, was a child of the ocean through and through.  That was the place where she felt at home, and she was, of course, being a true daughter of Neptune.  Her wishes always were to be cremated and taken to her beloved ocean, where she could become a part of it, and it a part of her, forever. 

I know now that I have become a daughter of Neptune as well.  I almost never visit the sea, and I guess that, deep in my soul, I miss it terribly because, if and when I have a chance to go there,  the fire of my emotions burns me as it did that morning, at Neptune’s home in Waikiki.



The flight is over.  Yeah!  David and I stampeded out of the plane as fast as we could, along with the rest of the herd.  Warm, very warm, and I was starting to sweat.  I thought to myself, foolishly, of course: “I hope the temperatures here are not excessive!  Looking back, I now know that feeling super warm was the shock of being cool in New York City for so long, and that we were walking fast.  We were inside Honolulu International, but it felt open to the outside world.  Open spaces!  Yes, open areas through which the Pacific trade winds could flow unimpeded.  And birds!  Birds, birds, birds everywhere, filling the air with their wonderful songs, the lovely feathered ones that would be our constant companions through our stay in paradise. 

After grabbing our suitcases, we went to find the greeting person from our tour company, who presented us with beautiful lei.  Yay, Hawaii at last! 

One of the airport’s porters, in charge of taking our suitcases to the bus that would take us to our hotel was talking with me and raving about the dining area of the hotel we were staying, the Pacific Beach.  He mentioned this aquarium which was “really nice,” as he put it.  He also said that the food there was so delicious that many locals, including himself, went there for lunch regularly.  I was very glad to hear such a good recommendation from someone who sounded like he knew what he was talking about. 

And boy, did he ever!  The aquarium he said was “very nice” was three stories high, about a hundred feet in length, and heaven knows how large in diameter.  It was filled with 280,000 gallons of water, and it starred three magnificent manta or sting rays, who commanded awe and respect as they gently and unhurriedly moved their “wings” while going about their underwater flight.  The choreography of this spectacular aquarium was complete with abundant plant life and fish of various colors, all framing the presence of the riveting manta rays. 

The food!  The food!  The food!  Papaya to die for, served with skin and all, so I got to eat it as I did growing up in Puerto Rico, living in the house with the big beautiful backyard.  We had a papaya tree, but it was not in the big beautiful backyard, it was actually in the side garden of the house.  My father would watch the growth of the fruit and he would know exactly when to take it down from the tree, no easy task.  He would cut the fruit and all we needed to do was to gently scrape off the seeds and chow down.  Here at the Pacific Beach in Waikiki, Honolulu, I did not have to scrape the seeds, but I got to enjoy the skin.  I will tell you, I would not have minded a bit if I had to scrape the seeds!  Okay, so there were the papaya, the pineapple and other fruits.  There were eggs deliciously prepared with vegetables, Portugese sausages, freshly  squeezed fruit juices.  I just wish they had not strained the juices, especially the guava.  Lunch and dinner were no less delicious.  There was the famous kalua pork, kalua chicken, salmon, mahi mahi, rice, vegetables.  No wonder the residents and working people in the area went there to eat, as the porter told me back at the airport!  It was heaven!

Journey to Paradise on Earth

Allow me to share with you my wonderful experiences in the midst of the grand beauty of the islands of Hawaii.



Traveling is certainly not for sissies!  It takes ten hours to fly direct from Newark International, New Jersey, to Honolulu International.  Now, let us think about this for a moment.  Just imagine yourself traveling on cattle class, I mean, coach, wedged in one of those little seats with a deeply concave back, so you look (and probably feel) just like the hunchback of Notre Dame.  (Did I mention that I am a small woman?)  What did President Obama say about torture?  Anyway, all I want to say here is that you better be prepared for this arduous flight by dressing and packing to please and satisfy Homeland Security, and by taking plenty of food and drink if you do not want to starve in the skies.  Of course, the priviledged ones out there who can afford business or first class do not have to worry about most of these things most of us mortals do (more on this later).  Still, torturous as the flight is, is it ever worth it!  Stay tuned, so that you may read all about it and enjoy.

Good night.

Blessings from the Most High,

Rosa Del Fuego

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