The Weekend in Makaha – Hawaii 2004
A supposedly friendly invitation to a weekend in Makaha reveals its true motives amidst barking dogs, an illegal poker game, and a brazen real estate pitch. But the real danger lies offshore, where a relaxing swim in the legendary surf nearly turns fatal. Battling towering waves and a terrifying loss of breath, a desperate struggle for survival in the white foam ultimately hastens a swift, unspoken escape from the wild western shore of Oahu.
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CHAPTER I – The Arrival and the Coke Closet
It was the year 2004. The island’s real estate market was still in a strange lull, a dry spell before the big boom that was looming on the horizon. We had expected many things, but not Susan’s invitation. Actually, our agent Sam was our main contact—a typical, round, incredibly warm-hearted Hawaiian. Susan managed the office in Waipahu, Central Oahu. Since 1998, she had been managing our apartment and the other clients. When she stood face to face with us for the first time, her eyes sparkled. We weren’t Americans. We were Europeans. That fascinated her. She didn’t hesitate for long: “You’re sleeping at my place.”
So there we were at the CPP entrance in Pearl City. Susan picked us up and dynamically steered her car right onto the Kamehameha Highway. The drive was a preview of what awaited us. I sat there silently—my English was practically non-existent back then. Susan talked non-stop, kept eye contact in the rearview mirror, and only spoke to Mischko.
Suddenly, she stopped. A boy got in. About twelve years old, a cousin of hers, as she said. His eyes were too big for his narrow face, his gaze erratic—drug problems, Susan added casually. A harsh contrast to the postcard palm trees lining the road. We drove deep into the west, perhaps toward Waianae, where she dropped the boy off at his sister’s. Only after that did we head straight to her house.
Arriving at the house, an entirely new world opened up. Barely had we stepped into the living room, which offered a partial view of the kitchen, when the welcoming committee rushed at us. Three dogs. A small dachshund and two giants. The black one, Cooper, reached up to my stomach; the brown one was named Bear. They barked, jumped, almost crazy with joy that Susan was finally home. Mischko immediately backed away, pressing herself against the couch. She hated dogs. Me? I loved them. Without words, just with gestures and scratching behind their ears, I tamed the pack, while Mischko watched me, shaking her head.
Hawaii Behind the Scenes: Cops, Coke, and Secret Poker
How a former police officer in Hawaii breaks the rules and reminds me of a bizarre encounter from 1993.
A Closet Full of Cola and the Escape to Illegal Poker
Then Sam entered the room—Susan’s husband and a former police officer. In Hawaii, police officers retire extremely early, so he was no longer working in the traditional sense. He was currently trying his hand as a realtor in his wife’s office to earn some extra money. Sam planted himself in front of me and said something in English that Mischko hastily translated for me. He was proud. He led me to a giant closet that was bursting at the seams: a massive, meticulously sorted collection of Coca-Cola bottles from all over the world and in all shapes.
But as quickly as Sam had appeared, he was gone again. “Where did he go?” Mischko eventually asked into the silence. Susan waved it off and smiled faintly. “Playing cards with friends. For money.” I had to laugh internally when Mischko translated that for me. In Hawaii, any form of gambling is strictly forbidden. The locals find their secret corners to gamble. And of all people, the former law enforcer, who should actually be a role model, was the first to break the rules.
The Day I Gave Tire Lessons to the North Shore’s Only Cop
In that moment, memories of the year 1993 rushed back to me, when Mischko and I were visiting our friends on the North Shore. My friend R, his wife, my wife, and I stood together at a soccer game on the sports field in Kahuku, watching the kids play soccer. His son M was on the field as the goalie, and we were watching the kids. My friend R was talking to a man next to us, who was also the father of one of the boys playing, and introduced us to each other.
Suddenly we found out that the Camaro in the parking lot belonged to him. I said enthusiastically: “Wow, what a great car!” I told him that I myself had driven two models of the exact same type—a Camaro Z28 E—for eleven years. The three of us walked over to the car because I absolutely wanted to see the inside, since I had already sold my own car in Germany in 1991.
When I looked closely at the car, I immediately noticed something. Without thinking, I said to him: “Your tires have absolutely no tread left! In Germany, you’d pay a massive fine for that.” He noticeably held back at first and didn’t say much about it.
Only after he had walked away did my friend R suddenly turn to me, smile at my wife and me, and say: “Man, do you even know who you just scolded about bald tires?!” I replied: “How should I know?” My friend R grinned and said: “You just lectured our only police officer on the North Shore that you can’t drive a car with no tire tread!” In that moment, all three of us started grinning and laughing out loud.
Dog Laughter, Nocturnal Visitors, and the Ghosts of Las Vegas
These two incidents flashed through my mind that evening at Susan’s. It showed me once again: In the end, police officers are just normal people with the same weaknesses as the rest of us. After all, we had just come from Las Vegas ourselves—so I absolutely couldn’t blame him.
Later that evening, when the dogs had calmed down and Sam had long since gone gambling, there was another knock. Martha, Sam’s elderly mother, came to visit. We got to know her as well, had a drink together, and exchanged pleasantries until fatigue finally caught up with us. Susan eventually led us into the room of her son, who had already moved out. It was the first night in a completely foreign environment, taken in by people who barely knew us, surrounded by two giant dogs and the ghosts of an illegal poker game somewhere in the neighborhood. We got into bed, our eyes closed, and we fell into a deep, sound sleep.
CHAPTER II – Waking Up in Paradise
An Unbeatable Offer: Spontaneous Trip to Las Vegas
We had just flown from Honolulu to Las Vegas. There was this unbeatable offer: For only three hundred dollars we got the flight and four free nights at the Hotel California. We thought to ourselves, we just have to take advantage of this, because we would never get from the island to Las Vegas that cheaply again—including accommodation and meals.
Upgrade on the Las Vegas Boulevard
Even though everything would have been free for us there, we decided to ask our regular hotel, where we were registered as loyal customers and players. We wanted to know if they would give us the rooms for four nights for free so we could stay at the Frontier Hotel. We actually managed to convince the manager of the Frontier Hotel, and she comped the rooms for our stay in Las Vegas. Afterward, we quickly went to the Hotel California, grabbed our suitcases, and moved to the Frontier Hotel right on the Las Vegas Boulevard for the four nights.
Waking Up in Paradise: Back in Hawaii
After our landing back in Hawaii, everything happened so surprisingly. Now I lie here. When I open my eyes, it is already light outside. Outside the window, the giant leaves of a palm tree, which is at least as high as the peak of the house’s roof, are gently waving. A soft rustling is in the air. My ears tell me that Mischko is still sleeping soundly on my right. I lie completely still for a while so as not to disturb the silence in our guest room.
Hospitality in Makaha
A few thoughts go through my mind. My God, it’s beautiful to have friends. Other people have to pay unbelievable amounts of money just to be able to sleep in Hawaii. And us? We were simply invited to spend a whole weekend here in Makaha. All we have in our luggage is our swimwear. A slight smile crosses my lips. Actually, we could have at least brought something to drink as a host gift. We have absolutely nothing with us—no wine, no champagne. Actually, this is completely unusual for us. But what the heck?
Memories of an Unforgettable Flight Chaos During Boarding in Honolulu
While I wait for Mischko to wake up and think about our trip this morning, the memories of the flight come flooding back. We flew out of Honolulu and back again with Omni Air at the time.
You really have to experience that! I grin quietly to myself when I think of the mass of elderly Asian passengers who were on board with us. When the Omni Air employees asked the passengers to get ready for boarding, we grabbed our carry-on luggage. Suddenly, however, they announced: The mobility-impaired passengers in wheelchairs board first. We waited for at least forty-five minutes until they had seated all those passengers. Only then were we allowed to board. Ultimately, the plane took off from Honolulu to Las Vegas with an hour’s delay. That was a sight to behold—I will probably remember it for the rest of my life.
A Medical Emergency on Board
When the stewardesses announced that everyone should sit down, someone else suddenly stood up to use the restroom. Another passenger was holding an oxygen tank, and his arm hung motionless over my seat. I don’t know if that person passed away. In any case, the flight attendants took him to the last row because he needed medical treatment there. Did he survive?
The 7.5-Million-Dollar Seat
But what was even more interesting: On the way back to Honolulu, we flew with the same people. Then the captain spoke over the microphone: “Congratulations to our passenger who won 7.5 million dollars on this trip!” At that moment I thought: Man, if only we hadn’t moved to the Frontier Hotel! Then maybe we would have had the chance to win that much money. Actually, I don’t even believe in gambling. As the saying goes: “Lucky in love, unlucky at cards.” This saying calmed me down and convinced me that I wouldn’t have been the one who could have won so much money anyway.
Thoughts in the Guest Room
As I ponder, time passes. I look around the guest room. Every now and then, you hear a passing car outside from the early risers who have to go to work. After a while, my spine speaks up and commands me to finally change position.
A Quiet Morning at the Beach
I sit up carefully and try to catch a glimpse outside. Let’s see what can be made out through the darkened sliding windows. Just like in the living room, they are covered with dark mosquito netting. The glass windows behind them are slightly open. We had intentionally left them like that the night before so the fresh, cool sea and land breeze could flow into our room.
I slowly sit all the way up and look to the left, over to the beach. From my spot, I can see the four-story hotel. It is built as if on a giant rock that extends from the shore certainly fifty meters (160 feet) into the open ocean. The hotel is constructed in such a way that all balconies and rooms face directly toward the beach—practically in the exact direction I am currently facing from the window. The distance is perhaps one hundred and fifty meters (500 feet). The beach itself lies almost completely empty and peaceful. It is, after all, still quite early in the morning. Since Susan’s house obscures part of the bay, I cannot see the spot where the small lifeguard hut stands from here, however…
CHAPTER III – The Awakening of the Ocean
Surfers, the Hard Sand of Makaha, and a Lonely Front-Row Seat The First
Surfers of the Morning
Out in the waves, I can now spot the first surfers. That’s how real Hawaiians are, I think to myself: Before heading to work, they jump into the water first. Then again—it’s actually Saturday today. All the more reason to spend every free minute in the waves.
Suddenly the quiet atmosphere is interrupted by a loud voice from a loudspeaker. Is that the beach patrol? After a minute of looking and searching, I lie back down. But real sleep is out of the question now. After about ten minutes of silence, the loudspeaker booms over the beach again. The whole thing repeats itself after maybe ten or fifteen minutes.
A Competition in the Surf
Curiosity wins. I get up again and look out at the ocean once more. Far out, I spot a motorboat pulling some people behind it—right into the surf. As the boat drops the people off, it dawns on me: This must be a competition!
It doesn’t take long before Mischko is also woken up by the noise. That’s fine with me, because I would have preferred to go outside an hour ago. After excitedly telling her what’s going on out there, I can’t stand it anymore. I stand up resolutely and go into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I don’t really know why I’m doing this—after all, I’ll be sinking into saltwater just a few minutes later anyway.
Secret Departure to Paradise
When I come out of the bathroom, I slip into my swimwear, grab a beach towel, and whisper to Mischko on my way down that I’m heading out ahead of her. At this point, not a single soul can be heard in the whole house. So I sneak silently down the stairs like a thief.
When I open the door and step outside, the warm Hawaiian sun immediately hits my face. The front door of the house faces east. To get to the water, I have to walk around the house once and across the lawn. However, it is not soft grass like you know from Europe. The grass here is incredibly hard and pricks terribly when you walk over it barefoot.
Solitude Despite the Hustle and Bustle Next Door
After walking about eight meters (25 feet) across this green, prickly surface, I finally stand on the beach, which is about half a meter (a foot and a half) lower. I slip out of my sandals and place them along with the towel up on the grass—right under a group of three palm trees that have grown closely together. This is the real, unadulterated paradise.
I am completely alone on my section of the beach. But when I look over to the right toward the hotel, there is already massive activity going on there. Dozens of people are bustling about, colorful umbrellas from various sponsors are set up—a clear sign that the big competition is taking place today. The parking lot behind the lifeguard hut is also packed tight; cars are parked bumper to bumper.
The Fascinating Play of the Waves
Even though this crowd is barely a hundred and fifty meters (500 feet) away from me, I feel strangely isolated. It is as if I were all alone in this world, because no one is in my immediate vicinity. Only eight or nine meters (25 to 30 feet) in front of me, the waves crash with full force right onto the sand. Because the beach slopes upward slightly here, the white foam of the broken waves shoots up like a small, bubbling hill, only to retreat back into the ocean shortly after. But even as the water recedes, the next wave is already breaking, pushing fresh white foam right behind it.
This fascinating play repeats itself incessantly until the last wave of a set has broken. When it finally retreats, it leaves behind a mirror-smooth, wet surface on the sand for a brief moment. After that, absolute silence reigns on the water for a magical minute. The calm before the next set.
CHAPTER IV – The Cold Surf of Makaha
The waves build up two to three meters (six to ten feet) high in front of me. I know exactly: I have to be damn careful here if I want to swim. It doesn’t take long before I touch the water for the first time today. As always, this very first contact is the coldest. But since I’m not a wimp, I bravely trudge further forward, approaching the spot where the white foam already brushes my knees.
Even though the sky is brilliant blue, I am still standing completely in the shade down here. The densely grown palm trees and the mountains in the background prevent the sun’s rays from reaching this part of the beach yet. It could probably take another hour before the sun fully illuminates the bay. For me, this is actually quite pleasant—I don’t have any sunscreen on my skin yet. There’s still no sign of Mischko up above. Where could she be?
The Leap into the Wall of Water
I wait in the shallow water for a while to catch the perfect moment. I want to hit the exact instant when I can dive under the next big wave. Then everything happens in a flash. A massive wall of water towers in front of me and pitches forward. In the same moment, I launch myself and dive headfirst right into it. A shock of cold shoots through my entire body—that couldn’t be prevented now.
Since I have put on my swimming goggles, I can see everything clearly underwater. Before me lies the underwater world of Makaha. But instead of colorful fish, the first thing I see is just a massive, mirror-smooth expanse of sand.
When I resurface behind the surf zone in the calmer, deeper water, I am relieved. I catch a quick breath and dive right back down. In the middle of the smooth sandy bottom, I now spot occasional stones in some places, some up to half a meter (a foot and a half) in size, just scattered about. You won’t find algae here. But that’s no surprise: When there’s a real storm here, the massive waves mercilessly flatten everything on the ocean floor. But since the breakers are currently only piling up further ahead by the shore, swimming out here isn’t actually dangerous.
Dangerous Current in Front of the Cliffs
But suddenly I notice something while swimming: The current is extremely strong. I orient myself quickly, look toward the shore, and am slightly startled. I am already drifting past the neighboring house!
Since I had the danger of the Hawaiian waters in the back of my mind before even jumping into the water, I immediately scan the coastline. Just twenty meters (65 feet) further ahead, I spot deep black, sharp cliffs extending from the beach straight into the open ocean.
Once the current pushes me against those rocks, it becomes life-threatening. At this sight, I don’t hesitate: With all my might, I begin to fight against the powerful current…
CHAPTER V – Sharks, Washing Machines, and the Art of Survival
A Breather in Deep Water The shadow still lies protectively over me, so I can take my time. With effort, I reach the spot where I entered the water. Just to be safe, I swim a little further against the current and then let myself drift slightly further out into the open ocean.
Soon I am almost fifty meters (160 feet) out. Below me, I estimate the depth at one and a half to two meters (five to six feet). This exact topography is the reason why the waves in Makaha are so extremely popular with surfers: They tower up massively for the first time about two hundred meters (650 feet) out, then break again in the middle of the bay, before finally rolling onto the beach as wash.
A Paradise for Surfers
While I swim in shallow circles, I watch the action over at the competition by the hotel for a while. The surfers stand on their boards here forever—it feels like double or triple the time they do at the famous Sunset Beach or the Banzai Pipeline. They ride a single wave for almost a full minute!
Right in front of the hotel seems to be the best spot today. Makes sense, I think to myself, otherwise they’d be standing over here with me. However, this absolute solitude slowly begins to make me uneasy. I simply don’t know the conditions out here. I keep an eye out for spots where the waves don’t break at all.
The Thought of Sharks
And indeed: To my left, heading east, is such a zone. The water there must suddenly get incredibly deep. An icy thought shoots through my head: That is the channel for the sharks. It’s easy for predators to swim right up close to the shore here. I firmly resolve: If I actually see a fin, just stay calm.
Whether I could actually do that in an emergency? I don’t know. The mere thought automatically forces me to start swimming back toward the beach. I just feel uncomfortable being all alone in waters I can’t properly assess. I look searchingly toward the shore—but there is still no sign of Mischko. She isn’t sitting on the grass in the shade, nor is she standing on the beach. Maybe she is inside chatting with Susan? She could at least come out onto the balcony for a second. After a few minutes, I decide to get out of the water.
The Hard Fight Back to Shore
But getting out in Makaha is an art in itself if you don’t want to be battered by the ocean. The waves are up to three meters (ten feet) high. A few times, the sheer mass of water slaps me back with full force, so that I land flat as a pancake on my back. Typical tourist, I think to myself in frustration. Even though I usually feel perfectly at home in the water: The finale is damn tough.
At the shore, you have a steep, smooth sand hill in front of you. If I don’t hurry extremely fast while walking up, the next white saltwater foam comes shooting from behind. In the same moment, the next wave breaks right on my back. It smacks me right in the face and I skid forward in a brutal belly flop. Being rolled over the hard sand like this is highly dangerous—you can easily break your hands or even your neck.
The Trick with the “Pipe”
After several failed attempts, I finally get the hang of it: When the wave reaches its absolute peak, I throw myself right into the “pipe”, the tunnel. The wave breaks slightly past me and simultaneously spits me out of the danger zone with momentum. I use the momentum, immediately take a few quick steps behind the white foam in the sand—and I’m out! At least far enough that the next rolling wave can no longer catch me.
Since the beach is still in the shade, I don’t stand in the sand for long. I look around: It is a picture-perfect paradise. An early morning, deep blue sky, snow-white sandy beach. A few palm trees sway gently between and beside the houses. And right above the house roof in the background tower the lush green, steep mountains.
A Suspicious Silence in the House In total, I have now been in the water for almost an hour, but Mischko is still nowhere to be seen. Strange—she was going to put on lotion and follow me out. I look up to the balcony. Sam and his mother Martha are sitting there now. They are comfortably drinking coffee and watching the tourist hustle and bustle over at the surf competition. I wave to them briefly.
Half an hour later—the sun is finally blazing fully from the sky—I lose my motivation. I want to go in for good. Outside the house, directly under the wooden terrace, I discover a garden hose. Thank God! My Bermuda shorts are caked inches thick with sand. I have no choice but to wash myself off thoroughly first before setting foot in the house. As I walk up the stairs, it is suspiciously quiet. Not a soul to be seen. Only the dogs come toward me, wagging their tails. First, I want to dash into the guest room to drop off my wet towel. But when I open the room door, I can’t believe my eyes: There stands Mischko…
CHAPTER VI – The Language of Dogs and a Fat Dachshund
Locked in the Guest Room and Ex-Cop Sam’s Offer
“What are you doing? Why didn’t you come out?” I demand to know immediately as I open the room door. Mischko looks at me. “I was afraid of the dogs!” I widen my eyes in disbelief. “What? You’ve been in the room this whole time?” “Yes,” she says quietly. “I was waiting for you!”
In that moment, I think I’m going to have a stroke. It suddenly dawns on me that for the last hour she has done absolutely nothing but wait it out in this room. A deep pity overcomes me. She sat in here all alone the entire time while I was outside frolicking in the waves to my heart’s content. My God, how was I supposed to know that the dogs roam freely in the house and she is so terrified?
The Golden Rule for Encountering Dogs
I take the time to explain the most important rule when dealing with dogs to her again: “Never look dogs directly in the eyes if you’re afraid. Just ignore them. No matter what they do—they won’t hurt you. They just want to sniff you a bit. Since they already know you from last night, they will leave you alone very quickly.”
After agreeing on how she should behave, we gather our courage and leave the room together. Barely have we stepped into the hallway when the first giant comes waddling over, wagging his tail happily. Of course, it is unusual for the animals to have strangers in the house. Dogs are intelligent; they sense that. While the big one curiously sniffs us, Mischko bravely ignores him completely, while I stroke his fur reassuringly.
A Fat Sausage at Snail’s Pace
And so the three of us walk right toward the kitchen. Susan is standing there, slicing fresh bread. She greets us with a warm smile, and we chat for a while. When I finally explain to her that my wife was stuck in the room the whole time out of fear, Susan reacts immediately. She whistles for the two large dogs and promptly locks them in the bedroom. From in there, all they can do now is bark out onto the balcony, offended and dissatisfied.
Only the small dachshund remains behind in the living room. The animal walks suspiciously around on the floor and looks like a sausage that is far too fat. It is a true miracle that this fat sausage can still move at all.
The Ex-Police Officer’s Generous Offer
It doesn’t take long before we are all sitting comfortably at the breakfast table. Sam, the former police officer, looks at me and generously offers me his own surfboard so I can try my hand at the waves outside.
However, I decline politely and with a friendly smile. I explain to him that I am actually a windsurfer. In the past, I had borrowed boards from friends a few times and every time it went horribly wrong: I damaged the expensive boards, had to painstakingly repair them, and in the end they were never the same as before. I absolutely do not want to take that risk again here in paradise.
CHAPTER VII – Invitation to the Beach Party
During breakfast, Susan tells us that some of her coworkers will be coming to the beach today. They are planning a big barbecue right by the water, and we are cordially invited to join.
That doesn’t sound bad to us at all. While we are still sitting comfortably at the table chatting, I look outside. The first arrivals have already shown up at the beach and are setting up a large white gazebo for shade. Right after, they set up the first folding chairs in the sand.
Half an hour later, the group has grown to eight people, mostly around my age—six men and two women. In the meantime, Mischko diligently helps Susan in the kitchen slice the bread for the day. Susan has big plans: She wants to bake a cake for tonight. The plan is set—after swimming at the beach, everyone wants to meet up at Sharon’s house. So it’s all building up to a bona fide party, and with people we don’t know at all, except for Susan and, of course, Sam.
Sam’s Pride and Joy: The Yellow Oldsmobile
Sam himself had already said goodbye to us early in the morning, as he went off to play golf. Before he left, however, he absolutely wanted to show me his classic car. When we went downstairs together, he opened his garage. Inside stood an Oldsmobile, the kind they drove back in the days of Elvis Presley—and the car is bright yellow!
Sam is incredibly proud of the car. The car was completely rebuilt. When he opened the hood, all the engine parts gleamed in pure silver. I’d rather not know how much money he invested in this project. He surely could have bought a brand new, ultra-modern car for that amount. But since he is an absolute car lover, I completely understand. I told him that in Europe I myself only drove American cars, namely the Camaro Z28 E.
Playing Games with the Gentle Giants
While Mischko bustles about in the kitchen, I am drawn outside onto the balcony. The two large dogs, Cooper and Bear, are still locked in the bedroom and are only allowed out onto the balcony. I take the opportunity and start luring the two of them with their favorite cookies. It isn’t a real game, though, because there is a massive, heavy tabletop acting as a barrier between the dogs and me.
The two giants give it their all, repeatedly rearing up on their hind legs and are completely out of breath after just a short time. Finally, they give up for the moment, duck down, and disappear into Susan’s adjoining bedroom for a few minutes. Shortly after, they come back out, licking their chops. I suspect their water bowl is over there on the other side of the house and they just had to cool off first.
Warm Hospitality
Suddenly, Jim shows up in the house. He is a coworker of Susan’s and just wants to say a quick “Hello.” He looks in on us and explicitly emphasizes once again that we are more than welcome to join the group down at the beach at any time.
That is incredibly nice of them, but the situation still makes us a little uncomfortable. As strangers, we don’t want to just impose ourselves. When Jim makes his way back down to the beach, I remain standing on the balcony for a while, watching the colorful hustle and bustle in the sand and continuing to keep the two exhausted dogs occupied.
CHAPTER VIII – An Expensive Apartment in Makaha and the Unexpected Drama in the Evening
Half an hour later, we have finally overcome our hesitation. We grab two folding chairs from Susan’s garage, throw the beach towels over our shoulders, and thoroughly apply sunscreen. Then we step off the prickly patch of grass on the right side of the house.
Before us lies the ocean—as deep blue as the sky itself. While the sun beats down mercilessly from its highest point on our left side, the beach to our right is almost empty. Across its entire one hundred and fifty meter (500-foot) width, there are at most a few scattered families. They are far away from us.
Warm Welcome Under the Gazebo
The group under the white gazebo welcomes us incredibly warmly and with great curiosity. Especially because we come from the completely opposite side of the world and they are all Americans, they hang on our every word. On this day, I am the only one of all the guests using this beach with its strong surf to swim a bit and play in the waves. The others prefer to stay in the shade.
Around four o’clock in the afternoon, the others finally call us all in. Susan has slaved away in the kitchen all day with Sam’s mother, Martha, preparing the food. Everyone helps themselves as they please and eats what they like. Once we are all full, the first guests say their goodbyes, while Jim and his friend stay behind.
A Nocturnal Offer and Utopian Prices
Now Susan finally reveals her plan, without us having ever spoken a word about it beforehand: She wants to show us a two-room apartment in the “Makaha Plantation” complex! Since Jim and his friend are also curious, they tag along. Jim, who also works as a realtor in Susan’s office, leads the way in his car through the now pitch-black Hawaiian night, while Susan drives us behind him in her car.
When we stand in the offered apartment, we are almost floored. The monthly maintenance costs alone are a staggering five hundred dollars here! That is almost three times the amount we pay for our apartment in Pearl City. The area isn’t bad and the view is great, but the price is utopian.
Susan mentions casually that she herself plans to buy something here for retirement later. I have to frown internally: Why does she want to do that when her husband Sam is going to inherit the large house from his mother later anyway? We keep our thoughts to ourselves, however. After saying goodbye to Jim and his friend—the two drive back to Honolulu—Susan takes us back home.
Cozy End to the Evening with a Scare
Arriving back home, we sit comfortably together with Susan for a while longer. Sam’s mother, Martha, is also part of the gathering again this evening. We chat relaxedly. The small, fat dachshund sits obediently on the couch to the left of Susan, and Mischko sits right next to it. Everything is peaceful.
But suddenly, the two large dogs come running boisterously, tails wagging, out of the bedroom toward Susan and start barking loudly. Mischko, who is terrified of dogs anyway, is terribly startled by the sudden noise, dodges the couch, and flinches backward as quick as lightning.
The Bite in the Dark
This frantic movement in turn startles the fat dachshund on the couch. In total panic, he snaps at her hand—and bites Mischko right in the finger!
While I immediately throw myself on the two large dogs to calm them down and bring the situation under control, chaos breaks out in the living room. Mischko holds her hand in pain. Once the commotion has died down a bit, old Martha hurries over immediately. She fetches first-aid supplies and expertly treats Mischko’s fresh bite wound with the appropriate medicine.
The Scare in the Night
I felt incredibly sorry for Mischko. But in the end, it was her own frantic reaction that had so terribly startled the small dog. Since this lazy, fat fellow with his short legs was constantly glued to Susan’s side, he probably thought in his panic that Mischko was trying to attack Susan or him. Sitting down, he just turned his head and grabbed her hand as quick as lightning. Because he had bitten my wife’s finger, I would have loved to throw this good-for-nothing, who otherwise just sits around and eats all day, straight onto the grill. After the initial shock, we all finally go to sleep.
Uncomfortable Shopping in Waianae
The next morning—it is Monday—we are suddenly alone in the house. Since we are starving but don’t want to rummage through Susan’s kitchen uninvited, we decide to hit the streets. About fifty meters (160 feet) from the house is a bus stop. We board the bus to Waianae to stock up on groceries at a supermarket there.
But the atmosphere in the store is oppressive: The locals glare at us darkly from head to toe. This area belongs to the poor, original Hawaiians—tourists rarely wander out here. We are extremely relieved when we can leave the store again. Waiting for the bus back to Makaha also becomes a torture, as the sun beats down mercilessly and there is no shade far and wide.
CHAPTER IX – Alone in a Deserted Paradise
A brutal surf and a small dachshund with a mighty guilty conscience.
Back at the house, we breathe a sigh of relief. We sit in the kitchen at home eating breakfast. The kitchen and living room form one large room of about ten by five meters (30 by 15 feet). When you come up the stairs from below, a giant glass window, about ten meters long, immediately catches your eye. Through it, you look directly out at the ocean. Below this window is the kitchen countertop. On the right side is the rest of the kitchen, housing the cabinets, the refrigerator, and the stove.
Who do you suppose immediately made scarce when he saw us? The small dachshund—or rather: the fat sausage. The biter with his short legs looks like someone who knows exactly what he did last night. He knows very well that he is guilty because he bit Mischko’s finger the night before. The way he looks at us, he would love to bite again right away. Even the previous evening, because of his weight, he would probably have been far too slow if he had had to stand up to do it. I glare at him. He notices my look, retreats to his couch, and waits there in vain for his mistress Susan. No Susan—we are here, and the sausage gets nothing!
After breakfast, Mischko washes the plates. The two large dogs are fortunately locked away. Susan has blocked off half of the massive balcony so that the two giants can only walk around there. Mischko therefore no longer has to be afraid.
Afterward, we are drawn outside again. We go down to the beach. The entire hundred-and-fifty-meter (500-foot) long beach all the way to the hotel is completely deserted this Monday. We have paradise all to ourselves. But the surf is extremely high today, and the waves crash incessantly with brutal force onto the sand. Even I, as an experienced swimmer, have to time the absolute exact moment to dive through the rollers and reach the safe side behind the danger zone.
The Tactic in the Waves
The sun slowly moves downward in the sky, while I swim southward parallel to the shore out in the deeper water. Since I have spent the whole day in the water, I actually feel perfectly comfortable and safe. Thanks to my swimming goggles, I have a clear view of the bottom. I am well versed in professional swimming and have developed my own technique over the years.
It essentially works like the front crawl: Stretching the hands forward alternately and pulling them through the water from front to back—left, right, left, right. When taking a breath, I turn my head and check the water’s surface with a glance toward the open ocean. Then follows the same rhythm: right, left, right, left—breathe, check the ocean, and glance briefly at the beach.
This afternoon, the sun is already quite low. To protect my eyes from the extremely strong sun rays, I mostly keep them closed when taking a breath toward the open ocean. At the beginning of my tour, I open my eyes after every twelfth arm stroke to check if a wave is building up. If it is, I am ready to swim into it in time so it doesn’t drag me into the danger zone.
Because this system works absolutely perfectly all day long, I become more careless: Instead of looking out at the ocean after every twelfth arm stroke, I change my rhythm and only open my eyes every eighteenth time. This new tactic works wonderfully for about half an hour. I still see the waves building up in plenty of time. Meanwhile, Mischko sits relaxed in the shade under the palm trees, watching me.
CHAPTER X – The Treacherous Giant Wave
I am about halfway across the bay when this exact routine fails deadly. I turn my head to the right as usual to take a breath and check the ocean. In the same moment, the naked shock hits me: I am looking directly into the steep, dark blue vertical wall of water of a wave that has reared up right next to me! I wanted to inhale in that exact moment. But since the wave is only about an inch (two centimeters) from my mouth, the water would run straight into my lungs when I inhaled.
Instead of taking a breath, I instinctively shut my mouth in this emergency. In the same fraction of a second, the wave smacks me in the face, rolls me along the shore, and throws me at least two meters (six feet) through the air. I land hard on my back. Since I actually wanted to inhale exactly in that moment, I keep my mouth shut tight with compressed lips for another agonizing two seconds, while the wave mercilessly pushes me toward the beach in the white foam.
Fighting for Every Breath
When I finally open my mouth, I take the full force of the foam. The spray shoots toward my lungs, hitting the vocal cord nerve directly, which cramps up immediately as soon as the water reaches it. I start gagging loudly and try desperately to cough the water droplets back out—without being able to get any air. I cannot breathe and, in my panic, make desperate attempts to get oxygen somehow. Nothing.
The entire time I am being pushed in the water toward Mischko. With both hands under my buttocks, I try to somehow stay on top of the water. Suddenly I feel the sand beneath me and finally have something to brace myself against. While the wave pulls up toward Mischko, I absolutely must not inhale. I close my mouth again. But instead of getting air, the next batch of water slaps me in the face in the very same moment. The wave is so close that it threatens to immediately sweep me sideways and hurl me against the beach.
Rescue on the Beach
Mischko hasn’t noticed my life-and-death struggle in the water at all. When I finally drag myself, gasping and spitting sand, onto the dry beach, I first have to tell her in detail what almost just happened. She really thought the whole time that I was just having fun in the waves.
Around three o’clock in the afternoon, we decide that it’s getting to be time. We absolutely want to leave the house before Sam comes home. After one last thorough shower in front of the house, I take another look up. The two large dogs know me well by now. They just look down at me curiously. If they were loud on this Monday, it was only because they were chasing each other. Sam had, after all, locked them away in their bedroom, only leaving the balcony door open so the two giants could at least get some exercise. The house itself is massive—at least twelve meters (40 feet) long, and the second-to-last house on this street in Makaha.
The Escape from Paradise The Premature Departure
We pack our things and walk the fifty meters (160 feet) to the first bus stop, which actually belongs to the “Makaha Plantation” complex. We stand there for a while and wait. When the bus finally rolls up, we are just glad to get out early. As we ride the bus toward Pearl City, I take a deep breath and am simply thankful to be alive.
Suddenly we spot Sam’s car out the window in the oncoming lane. He has finished work and is on his way home. He has no idea that his weekend guests are already fleeing.
The Conclusion on Makaha
Mischko wouldn’t have gone swimming again that day anyway. She dislikes the brutal Hawaiian surf just as much as the unpredictable dogs. I must admit, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with it in the long run either. I prefer it best when my wife goes into the water together with me and we can enjoy the time in the ocean together.
Well, we were invited, and it was definitely an experience worth having. However, the moment Susan wanted to show us the apartment, a thought immediately shot through my head: This invitation had not been extended out of pure friendship. It was much rather an attempt to encourage us to buy the apartment—with her husband Sam earning good money on the side as the realtor. Had I been a rich man, perhaps I would have done her the favor. But we are simply glad that we have enough to travel to the Hawaiian Islands at all and live there.
One thing was absolutely clear to us when we got off the bus in Pearl City: Because of those dogs—and those intentions—we will probably never go back there again!
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