Kailua Kona

Ascending Mauna Kea after sunset-when most tourists have retreated back to their tropical cocktails-is like climbing onto the roof of Earth itself, stepping into a celestial speakeasy that flaunts its stars as shamelessly as a Vegas lounge flaunts neon. At nearly 14,000 feet, this dormant Hawaiian volcano not only offers a thrillingly thin atmosphere (bring layers and aspirin-altitude headaches and shivering make poor souvenirs) but also boasts telescopes positioned like cosmic paparazzi, relentlessly scanning the universe for its juiciest secrets. Arrive around dusk, ideally at the visitor center halfway up, to acclimatize gently and chat with resident astronomers who talk about galaxies as casually as your neighbor discusses lawn care. Planning ahead a few days is wise-you'll need a rented 4WD and a tank full of gas, and set aside about $150 if you hop onboard an organized tour. Pack a thermos of something warm, gloves, and snacks that crunch loudly enough to remind you it's still Earth beneath your feet. Sure, it's chilly, remote, and absurdly lofty-but you'll earn bragging rights to having peeked through the clearest window to the cosmos this side of NASA. And decades later, at some insufferable dinner party, you'll still recount how you stared boldly into the abyss, and-unlike Nietzsche-it winked back at you.

Taking a day trip to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park to peer into the fiery belly of Kilauea volcano is a bit like signing up for geological therapy; it's awe-inspiring, humbling, and at least slightly unsettling. Here you're walking atop an active volcano that, quite frankly, couldn't care less about your Instagram feed, and has been belching smoke and oozing lava since long before humans learned to roast marshmallows. Arrive just after dawn if you value tranquility (and parking spots), or brave it at dusk when glowing lava creates cinematic lighting Spielberg would envy. Plan at least a week ahead, especially if volcano chatter has recently made headlines, and don't forget to pocket a crisp $30 per vehicle entry fee-think of it as a modest cover charge to Earth's own rock-and-roll show. Sturdy shoes, water bottles, and a sense of humor are mandatory; hilariously overpriced souvenirs are optional. Sure, an encounter with nature's molten tantrum might wrinkle your vacation wardrobe with sulfur fumes, but standing atop Earth's most dynamic geology, feeling the warm breath of the planet beneath your feet, guarantees one hell of a story to brag about at dinner parties-regardless of whether volcanic eruptions or overpriced tourist menus provide the more authentic scare.

If your idea of adventure includes being gently stuffed into a metal tube and lowered under the sea like a misplaced sardine-all while humming Beatles songs to push back thoughts of impending doom-then the Submarine Adventure in Kailua-Kona Harbor is exactly your sort of gig. Descending a hundred feet below turquoise waters off the Big Island of Hawaii, you'll mingle (comfortably dry, thank Poseidon) with technicolor fish, grumpy-looking eels, curious sea turtles, and coral gardens that effortlessly outperform any IKEA showroom. It's difficult not to marvel at the absurdity of humans inventing a way to conquer depths that nature explicitly said we had no business visiting. Book your trip a couple days in advance, aim for the mid-morning departure (before the sun overheats fellow passengers into grouchy sweatiness), and expect to fork over around $130 per person-pricey, but still cheaper than buying your own submarine on Craigslist. Pack a reliable camera for proof that your tales of underwater espionage aren't fanciful rum-and-pineapple hallucinations. Strange? Perhaps. Claustrophobic? Maybe slightly. But trust me, when you resurface-hair tousled, eyes wide, and a newfound respect for creatures who wisely chose evolution over smartphones-you'll have one hell of a story, even if it means you'll think twice before ordering seafood ever again.

Forget your garden-variety, postcard-perfect beach stroll-Papakōlea, on Hawaii's raw and windswept South Point, is like stumbling upon Mother Nature's own eccentric art experiment. Here, olivine crystals erupt from volcanic ash, creating a surreal patch of glittering green sand-one of only four such oddities on the planet. Getting there isn't quite a leisurely barefoot ramble; it's more of a sweaty two-and-a-half-mile pilgrimage under an unapologetic sun, best embraced early in the morning or the brisk glow of late afternoon, so pack a hat, plenty of water, sturdy shoes, and sunscreen strong enough to deflect judgmental stares. Plan to set aside half a day (budget around $20-30 for gas and snacks), leaving ample time to marvel at how the gem-like sand shimmers dramatically against impossibly blue water. Sure, by the end you'll have sand in places you never imagined and calves screaming obscenities you didn't know existed-but there's something genuinely satisfying about lounging on volcanic crystals born from an eruption older than humanity itself. Besides, how often does your cocktail-hour beach anecdote involve a hike through hellish sun to lounge on the Earth's jewelry box?