Lost, Found, and Almost Scammed: Driving around Maui

I was driving in the opposite direction that I were supposed to be going. I didn’t know this at the time, blissfully ignorant of our impending doom. I was riding with a scruffy, silver-maned old man in the darkening night, listening to his ever more fanatical stories of his alternative church. Finally, we stopped, and he told me to get out. This was not my destination.

I was standing outside of a strange, alien-like house of worship. A UFO had landed in the backwoods of Maui, and some old hippies had chosen to worship inside. He told me to enter and pray. Was this where I would be captured? Surely, I should do something. But I did nothing and followed him into the dark courtyard. I kneeled there in silence with him for a few minutes. Then I got up and walked back to the old man’s truck. This time he drove the right way. A short while later, I arrived at the farm I was staying. I offered him some money for his troubles, knowing he would decline. He accepted and grabbed the twenty-dollar bill out of my hand. I had arrived.

It was my own fault I ended up there. I had chosen the cheapest Airbnb on the island without taking a look where that was or what was nearby. The answer was nothing.

When I landed in Maui earlier that day, I pulled up the address in Google Maps to find the nearest bus route. No buses went that way. I checked Uber. No drivers in our area. I called a taxi service. They said they would be there in 10 minutes. I asked for the price of the taxi ride. $100 for a 10-minute ride. This was where the eccentric old man entered the picture, offering his church mobile to take me where I was going.

The island of Maui is covered in dense plumage of forests – a true Hawaiian outback. This was my view moments before plunging forward on the zipline above.   

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I knew that hitchhiking around the island was not a realistic option to and from the farm. I needed a car. On Craigslist, I found a guy posting a cheap van for rent, and my host was able to give me a lift there. The man was Russian and rented cars out of a tent in a big muddy lot. I picked up the van and finally was able to move freely around Maui as I liked.

Within two days, however, my luck seemed to have changed for the worse. I was returning from a hike to Twin Falls when I discovered that the rented van had a large dent on the side. It was a hit and run incident.

I called the Russian owner who bade me call the police. I waited for two hours in that dusty parking lot for the police to arrive until finally giving up. Before leaving, I got in contact with the owner of a coconut stand across the street who had cameras recording the area. I was determined to find the hit and run culprit on my own.

The next day, I carefully examined the footage that the coconut stand owner had provided me, trying to find the exact moment another vehicle had struck the van. While it was grainy, I believed I had evidence, including a license plate. I called the police again. Finally, after another three hours of waiting, a cop car pulled up to the Airbnb. The two police officers approached, and I started rattling off the story. As I was explaining about the incident, the security footage, and the license plate, I could see the police officers grinning facetiously, looking at each other.

“Look, in Maui we don’t pursue hit and run drivers. We have a no-fault system. Unless there are any injuries, no lawsuits are allowed. And chances are, we won’t be able to find them anyways”.

At least, I think they said that last part. So that was it. There was a good chance I would be responsible for the damages the van suffered. I was still in Maui for another few days, and I tried to focus on enjoying the remainder of the time there.

I did a trip up to Mount Haleakala, catching a breathtaking sunrise from the top of this island volcano. I remember how cold it was at night waiting for the ambling sun and how the elevation caused my bag of chips to puff up on the drive up, ready to explode.

Finally, it was time to return the van to the Russian man. I had been dreading the moment I would find out how much money I was liable for. In my naivety and inexperience, I hadn’t purchased rental insurance on the vehicle. My visa card actually provided free rental insurance but only if the full payment was made with the card. For some inexplicable reason that I do not recall, I paid partly in cash and partly in credit. When I pulled up to the lot, the Russian man was waiting.

“Where is hit and run?”

I pointed to the dented body on the right side of the vehicle. He bursts out laughing, nudging me good naturedly.

“Don’t you see rust? This happened years ago. No hit and run.” There was never a hit and run incident to begin with. I just never noticed the dent when I rented the car in the first place. All that anxiety and worry, getting the police involved and reviewing security footage like a private detective, were completely unnecessary. The mixture of relief and amazement at my own stupidity was the overwhelming emotion on the flight home.