Exploring the Ancient Place of Refuge

Yesterday I went to the Place (or City) of Refuge, located off of Highway 11 a few miles down the road. It is a national park that contains an ancient mausoleum that was created for Hawaiian royalty, along with hand carved tikis that stand like protectors of the sanctuary, with demonic faces meant to deter evil spirits. It used to be an actual place of refuge, or asylum, for those wishing to escape the law in foreign countries. Even law breakers here on the island could escape/retreat to the City of Refuge to be purfied by the Kahunas. The one here in Honaunau is just one of several on the Big Island. The deal was that,
if one could cross the shark infested Pacific ocean from their homeland to the City of Refuge, they would simply be granted amnesty by their respective government.
To get to it, you must walk/bike/drive down a scenic route that has spectacular views of Kealakekua Bay (except for where the views are blocked by breadfruit, avocado, mango and various other kinds of trees). In the distance, you can see the slope of Mauna Loa (the volcano). At the end of the day, depending on the weather conditions, the ocean often has a hint of, pink, or lavender where the sun hits it, and from a distance, looks placid and serene. I sometimes look out toward the horizon and try to imagine the distance between here and the next continent. I can only imagine that it is a comfortable one.
You can walk into the park about a mile until you reach its border, by either going along lava rock next to the water, across the coarse sand that gets stuck under your sandals and causes discomfort, or along a lava rock trail that was created in the 19th century by colonists. Once you get past the picnic area with its barbeques and benches and into the natural reserve, it becomes quiet and desolate. Looking South, you can see the clouds patiently making their way down the Kealia Hills. If this is what refugees encountered when they first arrived, it must have felt like true freedom. Of not knowing what to do with oneself in a silent land, except experience peace, or perhaps lonliness. At least initially. The message over the loud speakers in the visitors center informed me that the necesssary purification process that refugees went was not pleasant.
The other day I brought my bathing suit and snorkel gear and searched for a place to creep into the water. On most of the coastal lava rock, the water ceaselessly attempts to overcome the natural barrier. Like a person hoisting himself onto a high ledge, it ultimately fails with each attempt -- sometimes lingering for a moment, but never quite being able to rest at the top in comfort. Sometimes the water succeeds in temporarily covering the surface of a section of lava rock, and for a moment, looks like an elevated mound of water. But always, it falls back into the sea, releasing waterfalls that sound like rapids, or like an extended exhalation of relief from strain.

I found a relatively mellow spot, took off my sandals, and carefully walked across the slippery rock until I reached the edge, where I couldn’t see my feet because there were so many bubbles. When I jumped in, it was like being in a different world. It contrast to the coarse, jet black lava rock, grainy sand, and dry hillside on land, the water is an asure blue, cool, shocking at first, and there is color and activity everwhere. You don't actually have to swim to "swim with the fishes" (as they call it), because the waves showing onto the rocks creates a push and pull movement in the water. At certain points, all fish, sea turtles, and plant matter move in unison, and it's best just to relax. Looking towards the rocks where the waves were headed, I would, from time to time, see a blast of bubbles in the water as they hit. To get an idea of what that might have looked like, think of a sheet of heavy wood being dropped flat onto a bed of dust in the night, with light reflecting off of all of the particles as they fly in all directions.
As you walk back, just as when you walk in, there are palm trees scattered along the coast. It is a pleasing site to see, as they differ in a fundamental way from those you see in California: they are not hand picked and arranged in a rigid way, and do not seem out of place. They actually look natural (because they are).
I like to go here at least a couple days out of the week -- if not there, then so some other beach along City of Refuge Road. I'll write more about those later.