Not taken in Hawaii, but one of the few bee photo's I've taken! Chicago, 2017.
Thousands of miles from home, somewhere in the South Pacific, we drove alone down a highway. Sprawling palms and ferny Hāpuʻu trees extended into the road, seemingly trying to reach out and grab our car. Continuing down the winding road, we scanned the overgrown shoulders for mile-markers. We had a simple mission: between miles 90 and 91, turn right at the yellow gate. In the blur of brush and rusted guardrails, I spotted a flash of reflective green: mile 90. Slowing down, the next half-mile of road offered no apparent yellow gates, much less anywhere to pull off the road; tall trees and thick jungle vines formed a wall of flora on the side of the road.
Seconds passed like minutes as we continued along, searching for any sign of the gate. The further we drove the further that our stress-levels rose— where was that damn yellow gate? In the distance, I spotted mile-marker 91. Did we miss our turn? Did we fail our mission?
Suddenly, almost as if on cue, the wall of jungle life parted and revealed a yellow gate guarding a narrow dirt road. We followed down the road, past corrugated sheds filled with chemicals and rusted tools. Splattering mud on the car, we navigated past a toilet in the middle of the path and arrived at our destination: our Airbnb.
Opening the car door, my ears were immediately engulfed by the roar of the thousands of bees that buzzed and swirled around us. At this point I wondered to myself, “How did I end up here? Why am I calling the set of a movie about a 1980s South American drug cartel my home for the night? And why all the bees?”
For better or worse I seem to find myself in these sorts of situations quite frequently. This was just Christmas vacation on the big island of Hawaii.
Based on the nature of how I travel, all of my trips are booked at the very last minute and I’m never guaranteed a seat on board a plane. Thus, it's tricky to plan ahead, book accommodations, etc. I like to call this "spontaneity", because it makes me sound more cool and carefree; I’m a risk-taking adventure junkie who can’t be bothered by plans! In reality, entirely lacking plans and booking hotels while boarding the airplane presents a number of logistical issues. Hence, I lived on a Hawaiian bee farm while spending the week before New Years’ in Hawaii.
The Big Island. Mauna Kea looms over the rest of the island.
It all started when I booked a shockingly cheap Airbnb from the jetbridge of a San Francisco-bound flight. As one would anticipate, hotel and Airbnb rates on an island during Christmas were outrageous and availability was limited. There was one Airbnb listed for $4,000 a night! I was in Chicago, planning on connecting through San Francisco to get to Kona, Hawaii. I figured I'd book the Airbnb while in Chicago, and then 4.5 hours later, while in San Francisco, double-check to make sure that the Airbnb owner approved the booking. My options, aside from the $4,000/night mansion, were a "quiet retreat in the orchids", a completely unfinished house, or "the rainbow cabin" in a hippie commune. I went for the orchids and boarded my flight.
Upon landing in San Francisco, I found no response from the owner. No problem, I assured my carefree, spontaneous self; it was only 7 AM Kona time, so the owner probably wasn't even awake.
Hawaii, 2017.
Eight or so hours later, I found myself in Kona after a pleasant experience with no food and no leg room in a middle economy seat. Hungry and tired, I couldn't wait to pick up the rental car, relax at the Airbnb for a few hours and then get a spam-filled Hawaiian dinner. That is, until I checked my phone and noticed that the Airbnb owner, who had most of the day to approve/disprove my booking, did not respond. No problem, I reassured my spontaneous self, "I'll just call the owner and if I don't get a response I'll book one of those other Airbnbs I saw while I was in Chicago." I called the owner only to find out that the number does not exist. I tried again. Same message. Still not panicking because I'm so CAREFREE AND SPONTANEOUS...
Hippie commune it is!
Just kidding. All of the Airbnbs, with the exception of the $4,000/night place, are sold out. Now I panicked. Spontaneity is overrated bullshit and a hopeless romantic dream that movies and Instagram accounts have completely fictionalized! So I called Airbnb support, trying to figure out if anyone can help. Simultaneously, my girlfriend wandered off to find an info kiosk to see if we can find anywhere else to stay. After 45 minutes on the phone with Airbnb, I still had no place stay, but I did get a nifty $50 voucher! Meanwhile, my girlfriend and the kindest info desk lady ever had called every hotel and bed and breakfast on the island, to no avail. I looked to see if I could find a hotel on another island; maybe we could just commute between the islands. Except, the hotels and Airbnbs on all of the other islands are also sold out (except for Molokai, but I don't think they have any hotels there). At this point, I was set buy a tent and sleeping bags and camp anywhere.
Eventually, some hour and half later, we have a break through. The info desk has located a bed and breakfast near the volcanoes with availability for tonight only as well as two days from now, on Friday. We book both nights, completely unaware of what we will do for the other two nights we'll be on the island.
View of Kilauea, after we checked into the Volcano B&B. Hawaii, 2017.
As we drive across the island to the Volcano bed and breakfast, my girlfriend furiously searches for any Airbnbs, hotels, motels, or remote semblance of shelter at which we could stay for the other two nights. We come across all kinds of options: campgrounds, the $4000/night Airbnb, and overpriced resort hotels.
Eventually, my girlfriend turns to me and says somewhat hesitantly, "there's this $60-a-night place we could stay at for tomorrow, but it has no reviews."
Questioning an unreviewed Airbnb, I ask her if the pictures look nice.
"It look lovely! The place was just built by the owners!"
Brand new? $60 a night? Is this for real? I wonder. I tell her to book it, as the place sounds fantastic.
Finally, after concealing the true nature of the Airbnb, she reveals, "it's on a working bee farm...".
One day later
Note the green sand building up the wall surrounding Papakolea Beach. Hawaii, 2017.
Following a fantastic morning which included a three mile hike to Papakolea beach, one of only four green sand beaches in the world, and a jump off the southernmost point in the United States, we were en route to check-in at the bee farm. Naturally, we were both pretty anxious to see what the bee farm was all about. After booking with the owner, she informed us that the bee farm doesn't actively make honey, but rather breeds queen bees, and is one of the largest queen bee breeders in the world. In order to produce so many queen bees, there were over 200,000 bees on the farm. We could expect to come into close contact with the bees and since it was an active farm, we should expect bee farmers to be working early in the morning.
As we drove around Hawaii's Highway 11, we couldn't find the address in the GPS. In fact, we drove past the entrance to the bee farm twice, until we pulled out the directions the owner gave us. Eventually, we turned off onto an extremely steep and secluded dirt road, the apparent entrance to the farm. The instructions read something like: go down the steep dirt road, make a left at the fence, go past the shed and park close to the apartment. In my mind I read: don't lose traction in your cheap sedan on the steep dirt road, make a left at one of the random fences, hurry past the creepy shed, and park near the random toilet sitting out in the middle of everything, not too far from the dilapidated car tire. Also, don't get stung by the myriad of bees surrounding you.
A view of the bee farm, through the screens. Photo by my girlfriend.
We pulled up next to the toilet and stepping out of the car, were immediately engulfed in the sound of the bees. All the 200,000-plus bees buzzing at once created an incredible hum, almost as loud as the waves of the ocean crashing on shore. It was surreal and impressive, and, after growing used to it, quite soothing. Both my girlfriend and I agreed that "bee sounds" needs to be added to the nearest CD of "calming nature noises" you can find in your local Target.
The AirBnB itself was phenomenal. Despite the warnings, the bees left us alone. They'd fly around but didn't even so much as land on us. The owners had done a fantastic job building the apartments: they were clean and spacious, and had screened in porches. Coincidentally, the bee farm was located in a perfect location: not too far from Kona and not too far from the volcanoes, which turned out to be one of our favorite parts of the island. However, the highlight was definitely the bees. Never in my life have I seen or heard so many bees. It was almost a therapeutic experience to be surrounded by so many tiny beings; once you got over the overwhelming number of little creatures buzzing around, their presence was extremely calming.
The adorable interior of the AirBnB. Photo courtesy of girlfriend.
I realized that in all my feigning spontaneity and definitely not panicking I had forgotten the joys of serendipitous encounters like the one I had at the bee farm. Had I planned the trip ahead of time, there's not a chance in the world I would have stayed on a bee farm. Sometimes, it pays to fly 2,000 miles without a place to stay on an island with nowhere to stay.
To anyone visiting the Big Island, if you find the bee farm Airbnb, don't hesitate to book it. Both a retreat from the numerous tourists and a fantastic way to immerse yourself in nature. Plus, how many people can say they've stayed on a working Hawaiian bee farm?