There are two Mauis. The first was built by Mother Nature ages ago sans hammers, nails, or profit-and-loss sheets and can still be found in its waters, dormant volcano, remote areas, and native people. The second Maui is now the proverbial paved paradise catering to those of means. It's also home to Target, Kmart, and other McChains that weren't here five years ago during my last visit. McSigh.
What I managed in this latest voyage was to balance the best of both worlds. As Mr. Max, party of one, I lodged at some of the most exclusive properties on the island, enjoying food, drink, art, beds with high-thread-count sheets, and other finery. But I was also Mad Max, who climbed aboard two test-model Harley-Davidson cruisers, with my trusty Gibson Blues King in its soft case strapped behind me, and mowed all over the island, some days from dusk to dawn. Maui may be two completely different worlds, but both had the effect of draining the big-city acid from my veins.
The first place I hung my helmet was the Four Seasons Resort in Wailea. It's big and luxurious enough to satisfy your thirst for swank, but not so large that you'll get lost or forget you're on an island. |
