Diamond Head Dinner Cruise

I stand at the rail, salt-mist of the evening's tide filling my senses.

Above me, the billowing sails of the catamaran ruffle as the sky cascades from shimmering azure to a kaleidoscope of lavender, rose, brilliant gold and honeydew pink.

The sea, awash with obsidian reflection as the sun kisses her horizon, rolls and nods gently at our passing, splashing tendrils of wispy greetings upon our bow.

To my left, or more properly off the port side of the vessel, Waikiki Beach and Honolulu adorn the south shore of the island of Oahu where the twilight ritual of sprinkling the city with stardust has begun.

Clusters of pin-points of soft white light interwoven with neon glows illuminate the shadowbox shoreline, reflected as a myriad of mirror images on the glassy undulating surface of the sea. Beyond the city rise mountains, backdropped by deep purple sky, a smattering of distant spinning suns and the handsome face of the man in the moon.

Ahead of us lay Diamond Head, our destination of the evening, outcropping from Oahu's profile like a dragon-headed sphinx. Friendly faces, relaxed in casual conversation, nod and wink and smile around me. Here and there hands are held, arms are looped around waists and warm hugs are exchanged. Lovely hula girls stroll among us, offering refills of our Mia Tias, letting us know when dinner will be served.

To starboard the setting sun, a glowing orb of burnished crimson, plunges into the briny depth, pulling behind a cloaking veil of iridescent ebony. Swaddled in the moment, life seems to float and hover effortlessly, like a gull free-riding.

My thoughts trace backwards through moments of time lost early that morning to a sumptuous breakfast at a street-side diner of perfectly-poached eggs (a true and remarkable rarity) crowning a mountaintop of fluffy white rice ensconced midst a ring of Papaya, Star Fruit and Pineapple. Then to strolling through Honolulu's botanical gardens, standing agape beneath the convoluted branches of towering Banyan trees, hearing the sounds made by primordial nature, breathing air filled with the delicate floral and earthen aromas that reigned supreme millennia ago.

A spectacular display of meticulously cultivated orchids, with colors so profuse, vibrant and subtle as to make a rainbow bland, immersed my attention. The fragrance intoxicated. The radiance and variegated hue of each graceful petal, looking for all the world to have been sculpted by a master artisan, daintily shifted contrast in the dappled daylight.

"Prepare to come about…" the Captain's voice echoes from the ship's intercom. Diamond Head, behemoth in proportion, looms large off port. This extinct volcanic cone known as Leahi to native Hawaiians juts up formidably from the sea, its craggy face a barren landscape of naked rock.

The popular name, Diamond Head, derived its mistaken identity from early British sailors who, seeing the sparkling dazzle of calcite crystals shining in the sun, thought they had come upon a mountain of diamonds.

Ahead of us, around the point, lay Hanauma Bay. The afternoon was whiled away there, soaking up sunshine, palm trees swaying, relaxing on the pearly-white sands, snorkeling the calm protected waters of the cove, playing hide-and-seek with the fishes along the coral reef.

The sailing ship turns, heading up into the prevailing northeasterly trades, pausing briefly with the sails fallen slack as the bow points straight to shore. Lurching gently as the vessel completes her about-face, the sails rising and filling to billow again.

Sunset now a memory, the world in all directions appears draped in a black velvet jewel studded robe.

"Dinner is served in the galley," a beautiful young woman with dark flowing hair and a swaying grass skirt reminds us and a casual processional to the deck below begins.

Savoring the exodus from the foredeck, I linger at the rail. The wind of sail embraces me, allowing me ever so gently to lean into it, feeling the comfort of it leaning back. Music dances along the deck, reverberating the play of strumming guitars from the galley below, keeping time it seems with the lulling rhythm of the Pacific's own heartbeat, and I think to myself that as vacations go, this one is turning out pretty grand. ~~~