Sunday, May 10, 2026

Doris Day, Me and Kauai - Talking Story with Arlo

Storytelling
Talking Story with Arlo
Time to Go
By Arlo Agogo. - a human storyteller

It was late Friday night, the kind of hour when the desert cools down when the phone on the nightstand starts vibrating like it’s got secrets from another dimension. 

Could’ve been the Groovatrons beaming in from Planet Funkadelia, but nah — it was Doris Day. Not the movie star with the big smile and the songs, but my British gal pal Doris, the retired banker with a lifetime of sharp suits and straight lines who somehow digs rolling with a desert dude like me.

“Arlo", you awake?” she asked, voice crisp even at 2 a.m.

“Yeah, but gimme a moment to make sure I'm not dreaming. OK go.”

“I’ve been thinking. Let’s go on vacation. Where should we roam? I didn’t even hesitate. 

“Kauai, Hawaii. Grand Hyatt in Koloa. That’s the spot.” 

I sent her the link while we talked, and right there on the line I could hear her flipping through the photos, getting that spark. 

She’d never been to Hawaii. Never felt the real Aloha.

But she’s got airline reward miles stacked up like poker chips and plenty of unspent adventure money. 

“You’re in charge of the morning coffee,” she said. 

Deal sealed. We are gonna roll. A couple weeks later, a car rolled up, scooped me, then her, and off we went to Vegas for the big bird to Kauai. 

First class, naturally — Doris doesn’t do halfway. 

I’m just the adventure friend, the guy who says “ I'm with yah" and means it. She likes that about me. No heavy plans, no schedules carved in stone. Just flow.
We don't even know where either one of us lives. we always meet at the AVI Casino parking structure.

We touched down on the Garden Isle and the trade winds hit us like a cool jazz riff. Rental car, windows down, and straight to the Grand Hyatt Kauai Resort & Spa. Ocean-view rooms, palms swaying, the whole five-star setup sitting pretty on Poipu Beach. 

Doris stepped out onto the balcony, looked at that turquoise water stretching forever, and just whispered, “Bloody hell, Arlo… this is something else.” That first afternoon we hit the hotel’s British-style bar for a couple of Guinnesses. The aloha spirit started working on her immediately. 

By sunset dinner on the beach, she was laughing easier, shoulders down, the corporate armor cracking in the best way. “You weren’t kidding about this place,” she said, toes in the sand. I just grinned. "Yep, Kauai’s got soul.”

The days melted into pure magic. 

We drove over to the West side to visit Waimea, where she tried snorkeling for the first time. This proper British lady, former banking heavyweight, floating in warm Hawaiian waters with colorful fish swirling around her like living confetti. She came up laughing, mask fogged, hair wild — “I can’t believe I’m doing this!”

We walked the beach at sunset holding hands, not like young lovers with big plans, but like two old friends digging the same groove. She’s not really a beach girl. I’ve always lived near the water. Watching her discover it was pure gold.

We cruised up to Princeville — God’s own country, man. lush cliffs, ocean views that make you feel tiny and infinite at the same time. Played a little nine-hole golf along the coast. I sliced a few into the Pacific (as usual), and Doris gave me proper grief about it. 

We golfed, enjoying exactly where we were. That’s our thing: no pressure, just fun. She calls me her adventure buddy, and I wear that title proudly. One afternoon we visited some old friends of mine on the island. They laid out a beautiful lunch of native Hawaiian cuisine — fresh poke, Kalua pork, poi, the works. 

Doris, who’d spent decades in boardrooms, sat there eating with her fingers, listening to stories, eyes wide. The Aloha spirit was soaking in deep now. She got it. That warm, generous, live-and-let-live energy that Hawaii gives if you slow down enough to receive it.

We tore around the small island like kids with a new toy. Sunrises that painted the sky in impossible pinks and oranges. Sunset tours along the Na Pali Coast — those jagged emerald cliffs rising straight out of the ocean, waves crashing below. It blew both our minds. 

Evenings meant great fish dinners, swimming, more hand-holding, and long talks about everything and nothing. She loosened up completely. The serious banker faded, and this lighter, laughing Doris emerged — the one who belongs on adventures. Two weeks flew by in a blur of salt air, good food, and easy company. 

No drama, no expectations beyond “let’s have fun and see what happens.” That’s what makes our trips work. We’re not trying to build a white-picket future. We’re just two free spirits who enjoy each other’s company, share a few kisses and hugs when it feels right, then say goodbye with a smile until next time.

The flight back to Vegas felt shorter than it should. The car dropped us at our usual meeting spot near Laughlin. The casino lights were blinking their usual chaotic tune in the background. Doris turned to me with that warm British smile, eyes still carrying a bit of Hawaiian sunshine.

“Best vacation ever, Arlo. Truly. I finally understand what you meant by the Aloha spirit. Thank you for showing me Hawaii in her purest form.

”We hugged long and tight, the kind of embrace that says “we did good.” A proper kiss, then another laugh. “Until we roll again,” I told her. She squeezed my hand. “Let’s fire up those dune buggies soon. Lake Havasu’s calling. I’m ready when you are.”

Until then, Doris. ”She drove off with a wave and a big smile, back to her regular life — recharged, lighter, probably already planning the next escape. Me? I headed home with sand still in my shoes and a heart full of good memories. 

Two old friends who know how to keep it simple: show up, enjoy the ride, come back when the spirit moves us. That’s the beauty of it. 

Life’s too short for anything heavier. Just good company, beautiful places, and the open road — or in this case, the open ocean. Doris got her first real taste of Hawaii.

A proper lady let the Aloha spirit rearrange her molecules.

Groove is in the Heart - Arlo

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