Over Thanksgiving week, my husband and I went on our honeymoon. We stayed at the St. Regis Princeville, on Kauai.
I’d been to Kauai before, with my mother and siblings, back when there was a Club Med. I’d read that they filmed Jurassic Park here. I’d scrolled through online photos. But I was surprised anyway.
If you’re grumpy from a long flight, you at first might think the entrance to the hotel looks like a suburban country club.
You might even in a curmudgeonly moment think that the lobby suggests Dubai, Shanghai, or some other magnet for large sums of anxious capital. As we know, I’m a faded fabric Sturdy Gal and don’t expect crystals in the tropics. But hold that thought. Even I know that it’s boorish to complain in any way about one’s good fortune.
Besides, the lobby window changes everything.
We resisted the view long enough to put our suitcases in the room. The St. Regis group has great interior designers in my opinion, neither too moderne (final e used advisedly), nor too foofy (entire word used advisedly, albeit with some hand-waving.)
A peek into the bathroom. The green marble told us we could come back later.
So inevitably, we were drawn to the water and the view. Sitting by the pool, eating lunch at the Nalu Kai Bar and Grill. This is, as an aside, your only lunch option. Try not to despair.
Or on a cushioned chair by the little beach. One day my husband even rented us a cabana. Such pampering I have never had in all my born days.
Even the path to the water is beautiful. That’s the aforesaid little beach, coarse clean sand atop lava and coral. Makes for good snorkeling, I’m told. And lovely floating towards the horizon, which I know first hand. But even the mighty Pacific plays a supporting role to the mountain and its ridges – behind the palm trees.
Oh, yes, since you ask, of course we ate. Fruit for breakfast.
Sushi for Thanksgiving. As one does. The turkey was carved in the back. Along with some beef but it was hard to see the exact cut since my eyes were rolled back into my head from unprecedented food consumption. Another In All My Born Days moment.
But the resort’s primary reason for existence is the mountains in light.
Or the middle of the day.
Behind drinks on the terrace. I see you, oh verdant folds of tropic.
Even when it rains,which it did quite convincingly for two of our five days, clarifying exactly why everything is canopied,
there’s generally light.
If you find yourself suffering from Stendhal’s Syndrome du Soleil, you can retreat to the lobby bar at night. I have to add, the St. Regis service personnel may even beat out the view for appeal. So nice. So friendly. Not an iota of annoyance or snobbery anywhere in sight.
But prepare yourself, because it’s highly like that you will wake up to the sun traversing, yet again, the changing face of Makana. That’s the Hawaiian name for what the West has called Bali Ha’i, ever since the movie, “South Pacific.”
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