We have been coming to Maui for more than twenty years. It is the kind of place you never get tired of, and if you live on the west coast, you tend to go as often as you can. For those of us out here, getting to Hawaii is what a trip to Europe or the Caribbean is for the east coast. Five or six hours if you are lucky enough to book direct, though those flights have gotten competitive and expensive over the last few years. Now, securing one usually means watching for the window when your favorite airline opens its schedule, then cashing in the miles you have saved. For us that airline is Alaska, now merged with Hawaiian under the Atmos Rewards program, and the Companion Fare from their card is what brings a second traveler along for close to nothing.
Surfers, sun, dolphins, and sea turtles, the honu, for days. Hawaiian monk seals that haul themselves up to nap on the warm sand like they own it. There is nothing quite like the magic of a Hawaiian island, and anyone who has been to Maui knows it carries a beauty and an energy that is hard to put into words.
There is nothing quite like the magic of a Hawaiian island.
The first thing you notice is that you have not left the comforts of home behind. There is a giant Costco you can hit on the way to your destination, not too far from the airport, and plenty that feels familiar, the same brands and stores you know. But when you look deeper, and especially when you reach the resorts that still lean into the island's traditions, you find the other Maui. Some places still welcome you with a kukui nut lei or a flower lei at arrival, though that custom has quietly slowed down in most spots.
Where We Stay, Black Rock
There are a lot of ways to stay here. Over the years we have tried the big resorts, the small local Hawaiian hotels, and everything in between. We like to orient ourselves around Black Rock, Puʻu Kekaʻa, at the north end of Kāʻanapali Beach. Part of it is the small dare of it, working up the nerve to jump off, which has become a kind of signature marker of every trip. And part of it is the ceremony that still happens there at dusk, when a diver lights the torches along the cliff, blows the pū, the conch shell, and leaps into the water as the sun goes down.
The Road to Hana
The other great draw is the Road to Hana. We first drove it more than twenty years ago, just the two of us, winding through it with no particular plan. Back then we bought a CD for the car, a self-guided tour that narrated the drive and told us where to pull over, mile by mile. These days there is an app for that, which is its own quiet measure of how much time has passed. We knew even on that first drive that one day we wanted to bring our kids back to see the dramatic waterfalls, the lush forest, the cliffs dropping into the sea, and the black sand beaches. The drive is as much the point as the destination, with stops the whole way, Twin Falls near the beginning, the Garden of Eden arboretum, the Keʻanae Peninsula reaching out into the surf, Three Bears Falls, Wailua Falls, and the little roadside stands selling warm banana bread.
When we finally did, we came prepared. Knowing the Pipiwai Trail waited for us at the far end, we trained for it through the fall and winter so we would have our legs under us, and the kids, nine and eleven at the time, crushed it. The drive itself, with all its pullouts and switchbacks, was not the best fit for our youngest, and we battled some car sickness in the morning, though a cool-down in the ocean and an afternoon crashing in the waves made it long forgotten. The hike is the Pipiwai Trail, about four miles round trip climbing toward Waimoku Falls, and most people call it moderate, a real effort but a doable one. There is some climbing, plenty of roots and rocks, a stream crossing or two, and mud that turns slick after rain, which on this coast is often, so we all came off it wearing a good coat of it. Along the way a giant banyan stood right there to be climbed, and the kids could not resist. There were groves of rainbow eucalyptus with their painted bark, feral pigs rooting around like someone's pets, and a boardwalk that carries you through a towering bamboo forest before the reward at the end, the long drop of the waterfall. Give it two to three hours at a family pace. For two kids who finished muddy, tired, and proud of themselves, it was worth every step.
One stop that caught us by surprise was the Hana Lava Tube, also called the Kaʻeleku Caverns, a short detour off the road not far before town. You trade the heat and the green for a cool, dripping world underground, following a lit path with a flashlight they hand you at the door, winding through a tunnel a lava flow carved out ages ago. The public stretch runs only about half a mile and takes maybe forty-five minutes at an easy pace, with handrails to steady you and an uneven floor to watch underfoot. It is the kind of odd little detour that resets the day and gives everyone something completely different to look at.
This last trip we decided to drive all the way around the island. Be sure you know your rental company's policy before you try that, because many of them do not want you on the far side. Past Hana the land turns arid and dry, the curves get more dramatic, and there is even more to see, with other hikers out enjoying the wilder stretches. Because everything is busier now, you also have to reserve access times for some of the most popular stops, like the black sand beach at Waiʻanapanapa.
Luaus, Lahaina, and the Daily Rhythm
Then there are the luaus. Over the years we have done the Old Lahaina Luau in town and the one at the Sheraton on Kāʻanapali, and both have been wonderful, great shows and great food. The buffets are enormous, and you line up the way you would at a wedding to serve yourself, and you will always find something you want, starting with the kālua pig.
Lahaina was always the spot to learn to surf, right out front at the breakwall, and we did exactly that with the kids when they were small. The water was rough that day, but every one of us got a turn standing up, if only for a second, and feeling like we were living the real meaning of Hawaiian life. We always pay a visit to the old banyan tree, the one planted back in 1873 that somehow survived the fire that devastated the town.
The days fell into a rhythm. There was Leoda's Kitchen and Pie Shop, which we hit on the way in and the way out, every single time. The daily smoothies and coffee runs from the little stands across the road in Honokōwai. The sea turtles that would surface right beside you and pop their heads up. The spinner dolphins that showed up in pods when we drove twenty minutes north to the quieter beaches, Honolua Bay and the one everyone calls Slaughterhouse, where you hunt for a spot along the road and climb down to the sand. And the restaurants you reserve well in advance, Mama's Fish House out on the north shore and the Haliʻimaile General Store upcountry, both worth the planning.
What the Years Show You
One thing that became impossible to ignore on our last trip is that nature has plans of its own, and change is inevitable. The boardwalk that runs along the Kāʻanapali waterfront, connecting the hotels, is starting to erode where the waves now crash into it. The restaurants along the water are battling the sea to hold it back.
On one afternoon we took a detour up the north coast to see the Nakalele blowhole at full force. The road out toward Kahakuloa is a drive in its own right, all tight curves and open ocean, and at the end of it you pick your way down over the rocks to where the sea has found a hole in the lava shelf. When the swell is up and the timing is right, each wave forces a column of water and spray straight up into the air, loud enough that you feel it before you see it. We stood back and watched it go off again and again, and when the light caught the mist just so, a little rainbow hung in the spray.
And then, at the end of a day spent soaking up the sun, come the rainbows. They tend to arrive in the late afternoon with a bit of mist, almost as if they are getting you ready for the dramatic sunsets to follow.
Places, it turns out, are a lot like life. Enjoy the good while you have it, and stop to notice it while it is yours. Change is part of the deal, and Maui will still be here. The shape of it may look a little different each time we come back, the way a shoreline does, but it will be here. Even after loss as devastating as Lahaina's, there is always a way to rebuild and bring something back, and you can already see it happening. That is the part we hold on to, and the reason we keep hoping this stays a place we can share with our children, and one day with theirs.
