Maui Spotlight

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After a six-year absence, I was finally heading back to Maui's appropriately named Big Beach (Oneloa Beach), on the island's arid and sun-soaked southwestern shore, one of my favorite stretches of shoreline in Hawaii – or anywhere in the world, for that matter. On scenic Highway 31, I whizzed by kayakers gliding past the 7-mile stretch of rental condos and drove through the plush and rambling resort area of tony Wailea. I pulled the car over near an empty lava field, and got out to feel my sandals scrape across shards of broken, black lava rock. The Hawaiians have more than one word for lava, and what I was treading on was a'a, the prickly kind that looks like it froze in mid-eruption. Luckily, the lava rock had been mulched down into a weathered coastal walkway (nowadays called the King's Highway) that corkscrews 15 miles past the foundations and walls of long abandoned Polynesian villages and fishing camp ruins. The ocean beside me was bright, but I could make out a raft of snorkelers carefully dipping their bodies into the water. The slopes of the faraway Haleakala volcano loomed to the left, and the lava field – calm and sedentary after Haleakala's last eruption in 1790 – spilled down from the volcano's side, and sat there frozen like a piece of captured history.

I first fell in love with Big Beach when I lived on the neighboring Big Island of Hawaii in the 1990s. During my time as a kama'aina (island resident), I published a guidebook (Rainbow Handbook Hawaii, 1998) and visited nearly every conceivable beach, or tidy spit of pink, yellow, white, black, red – and even green – sand in the state. I couldn't wait to feel Big Beach's spongy, golden sand again. By the time I arrived, it felt as if no time at all had passed since I lived here. At times, it even felt like I was stepping back into a Hawaii that never knew jet travel, or tourism – or even automobiles.

Close, but not accessible to Maui's aromatic eucalyptus forests and Maui's only vineyard, the Tedeschi Winery, Big Beach had somehow remained completely untouched by developers, not an easy feat in the 50th state. The sprawling, 3,300-foot-long crescent of sand is still lined by wild brush instead of hotels, while the lava flows of Haleakala unfurl in the distance. No matter how many people populate the beach, or what day you show up, it always feels roomy – sometimes empty. Here, locals and visitors swim side by side while humpback whales breach in the shallow waters offshore and schools of tropical fish swirl in halos around a submerged crater that doubles as their home.

I unpacked my beach bag and went for a swim in the warm Pacific water as the sun slowly descended toward the horizon. There was a faint thumping in the background, coming from the direction of Little Beach – a small sister beach to the north, where clothing is optional. I dried myself off and climbed the small bluff that separates the two beaches, and gazed down onto a large gathering of people banging drums. I had forgotten that on Sundays at sunset, a weekly circle of drummers congregates, sending the surrounding crowd into an inescapable relaxation. Locals, visitors, transplanted mainlanders, and even children join in on the fun, proving that in Maui, a simple sunset is often all that's needed to invoke a party.

It's this promise of escape from the everyday that makes Maui a sort of pilgrimage spot for the weary traveler. You can journey to its beaches and feel your body in nature, cleanse yourself under secluded waterfalls, then clear your mind on top of mountains surrounded by ocean. You can even bang drums on beaches at sunset. Maui helps you refresh yourself. Few places left in the world have that overwhelming tranquil atmosphere that swallows you whole.

While many tourists discovered Hawaii in the 1950s, Maui itself remained largely undeveloped until the 1980s when the elegant resort areas of Wailea and Ka'anapali were erected on the southwestern and northwestern shores, respectively. While locals have been known to grumble about the island becoming too crowded, outsiders, and former islanders like myself see it as remarkably pristine and even sometimes empty, regardless of the new mini-malls and condos that continue to alter the landscape. But whether you're a first-time visitor or a regular, it's hard not to notice the fields of sugarcane gesturing in the salty breeze, and the remote roads – devoid of cars, exhaust, and people – leading deep into Maui's mysterious and untrammeled interior. It's also hard not to notice the residents who still wear smiles on their faces, as if to say, "Here, there is time enough for everything in life to figure itself out." Maui, in its purest, unadulterated form, can still be found, perhaps explaining why locals frequently refer to the mana of the 'aina, the mysterious spiritual force of the land. You can find it too; you just have to know where to go.

• The sunrise from the top of Haleakala

• Comparing the color of sand on Maui's many beaches

• A piece of macadamia pie at the end of every meal

• Surfing, or at least watching experts ride the waves

See Aspen Travel Guide