Fishpipe at night | Nan Palmero/Flickr
Spending four days alone on the Big Island’s western edge sounded delicious to this mother of two small children. And it was. I slept in (until 8 a.m.!), ate dinner at a normal hour, and applied sunscreen only to myself. But once I’d finished my reporting in Kailua-Kona—taken the tours, visited the historic sites, consumed my umpteenth shave ice—I started to get itchy. Surely there was something I could do that I’d never, ever do at home?
Getting a tattoo was out: too uncomfortable on the plane trip home. Instead I decided to pay $15 to climb into a giant plastic ball and let random strangers watch me try to sit up as it spun around. Fishpipe Hawaii was my little rebellion.
If you’re thinking, What the heck?, well, so was I. I had glanced over at the ride half a dozen times while strolling up and down Ali’i Drive, the town’s main drag. It sat in the open courtyard, in plain view of everyone walking by. Three days passed before I mustered the guts to try it.
The Fishpipe is a humongous, clear plastic orb that looks like a human-size hamster ball. It’s attached at the sides to a metal frame, which spins the ball at up to 45 revolutions per minute. To ride it, I changed into a borrowed T-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts (my swimsuit was back at the hotel), climbed in through a tube in the side of the ball, watched an attendant zip the hole up, and gave a thumbs-up when I was ready to start spinning. Because I was sitting in about five inches of water, as the ball turned I started to slide. Then fall. Then slide and tip and slide and laugh and slide. The only downside was that I laughed so hard I got water in my mouth. (Thankfully, the water is changed after every rider.)
After two minutes the ball slowed, and the attendant stuck her head in. “Want to ride again?” she asked. “It’s only $5 for the second ride.” Of course I said yes. When that ride was done, I wobbled out the unzipped trap door to a crowd of spectators. Some were families with children hopping up and down with excitement.
“My turn! It’s my turn! I get to go first!” one kid exclaimed over his mother’s patient protests. “No,” she said, “first me, then daddy, then you.”
I hear you, mom. I’d push my way to the front, too.
Karen Zuercher writes about Kailua-Kona for the March/April 2012 issue of VIA.
Hawaii, Kona