Riding a rental bicycle around the island under the blackening sky. At the moment, I arrived at the beginning of the path to the rocky cliffs, a downpour started. I waited with the bicycle under a roof. Tourists filed out of the parking lot in droves, as I jealously watched. Then, the rain stopped, and everyone was gone. And the sky still black. I walked along the muddy path, lined by planted palm trees. A growing sense of awe overtook me. With lush green vegetation in the foreground, the swelling ocean caught between the black lava rocks and the black sky is something to behold. Memories of this point in the big island of Hawaii came back to me, when I was staring out at the sea, some Pagan ornaments hanging on a fence in front of me — a similar kind of day, a moment of time that for whatever reason has lingered in my consciousness for 10 years.

And then I glimpsed the rocks. It was breathtaking, beyond what I could have expected. There’s outcrops of rocks about 150 metres in distance, and the rocks are all perfectly shaped into platforms, and rising crystallized hexagrams. And the waves of the ocean break against the rocks, the white crests a powerful contrast on this day when the ocean color is practically black. I’m at a loss to describe it more, except to say that it’s one of the most mysterious places I’ve ever seen it, and it was so powerful to regard it.

Finally, some other tourists came onto the scene, and the rain started up again. Walking my bicycle back to the parking lot, I came upon a van stuck in the mud. I stopped to help — other Koreans joined the scene, but none got as muddy as me. I was trying to improve my Karma, cause I knew I’d be needing it — encroaching darkness, pissing rain, and 20 kilometres back to the town. And sure enough — this bus driver generously stopped in the middle of the road, plugging up traffic, and let me bring my bike on the bus.