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The Village’s striking thatch-roofed Hale Moana is one of two oceanfront restaurants. It‘s the informal spot for breakfast and dinner. Breakfast tempts with items like Mac-nut pancakes, sweet Portuguese bread French toast with coconut syrup and smoked Norwegian salmon with eggs. 100% real Kona coffee kick starts each day. In the evening, the menu rotates but is always strong on fresh island fish. Glen says that fish is by far the most-ordered dish, although herb-macadamia-crusted rack of lamb gives the grilled mahi-mahi a run for second, not to mention the Black Angus Porterhouse Steak served with Maui onion rings. 

Becalmed by the shed of an outrigger canoe, I stare at the spot where the cinder-black lava bowed to the exorbitant blues of the Pacific. Behind me, palms hula to the slap of mullets jumping out of fishponds. Dreamily, I watch Kamehameha—big, tall and bronzed—ride in one last wave before his dinner of fresh fish from the royal ponds. Here at Kalāhuipua‘a, King Kamehameha I finds peace now that he’s brought all the islands of Hawaii under his rule. He loves its calming beauty, its perfect waves, the manna from its surroundings, and its power. Kalāhuipua‘a is at the navel of five great volcanoes (the three on the Big Island and two across the way on Maui) and place of great spiritual power. King Kamehameha I raises his arms and with awe in his voice chants his praise to his Creator.

A crisp white linen tablecloth is knotted under the table to keep it from setting sail in the evening breeze. Chili-spiked lavosh, a flat bread, arrives and reminds me I should be deciding on tonight's dinner—but I can't take my eyes off the setting sun. I'm on the patio of the Mauna Lani's CanoeHouse Restaurant, and this teak armchair may be the supreme sunset viewing spot in Hawaii.

Six miles inland from Kawaihae is the once company town of the Parker Ranch, Waimea. Home to about 10,000 souls, there are grocers, restaurants, shops and a Saturday AM Farmer's Market with just picked tomatoes and Kona Coffee direct from a grower. There is also Merriman's, a great restaurant.

Young and small, I remember the precipitous climb up the aisle of the prop plane on my first airplane trip over 40 years ago. Gripping the armrest with both hands and face glued to the window, I’m entranced as I soar into the sky. Then, as if by magic, I was in Michigan, 150 miles from my Chicago home.