The town of Pahoa is described in travel books and magazines as “quaint”, “artsy”, “bohemian” and “eclectic”. When I first got there I thought those were probably some of the most generous descriptions anyone could ever give it.

My parents had this pipe dream of moving to the big island, buying land and planting their own fruit forest – to live off the land and be stress free. So they decided to rent a house for a month in the little town of Pahoa, near Hilo, and see how they liked it. A month in paradise, it couldn’t get any better than that, right?

As soon as we stepped off of the plane into the sticky, damp air, the skies opened up and it started pouring. We had been warned: that side of the island stays as green as it does, because it rains almost daily. And boy, did it rain. It came down hard and fast, pelleting the windshield as we drove a snail-like 45 mph to our home in the jungle.

The house was beautiful. The porch jutted out over and into the thick jungle, lush and green, and alive with echoes of small creatures. Now, I could go on to list all the negatives; the constant smell of mildew, the nasty cough I developed due to the mildew, the relentless mosquitos, or the ever whistling tree frogs that came out at nightfall, but I wont.

The truth is, Pahoa grew on me. I loved exploring this quaint, eclectic town. I loved getting lost in the forest on one-lane roads, covered in a tunnel of green canopy as we tried to find hidden gems and island secrets. I miss the lava pools. I miss the sea turtles and the warm, salty waters. I never thought I would, but I miss this island. Until next time, Hawaii.