Hawaii: Life in the slow lane in Maui town of Paia

East of Kaanapali, northeast of Wailea, down the hill from Haleakala volcano, on the road to Hana, is the best piece of Maui that hardly anybody visits.

On the gale-swept north shore beloved by the windsurfing world is Paia, a funky post-hippie beach town of muumuu shops, organic-food stores and, for my money (and lots of it), the best fish restaurant in the islands.

Though just a few minutes' drive from the airport at Kahului, Paia is most often overlooked by the tourist hordes headed to the golf and spa resorts that dot the west coast of Maui.

And not without reason. If you want luxury, great beaches, five-star Pacific Rim fusion food and up-all-night party bars, go west. But if a somewhat windy and rocky but less trodden slice of tropical life sounds like it might be to your liking, hang a left out of the airport and journey down Highway 36.

Before the first three tracks on your old Don Ho cassette have played through, you'll be pulling into Paia. The town is a compact stretch of slightly ramshackle, early 20th-century storefronts housing an oddball collection of antique dealers and curio shops with their requisite scowling carved wood tikis of the toothsome, fierce demigod Akua Kaai. Sprinkled around town are good-for-you organic eateries like Picnics, which serves a spinach-nut burger. Side streets feature a kaleidoscope of New Age favorites, from shiatsu massage to crystal healing to casual wear made of hemp.

During the weekend, the main drag through town can bottleneck as the SUVs and minivans head toward Hana. But the rest of the week Paia has a slow tempo that's bound to take the knots out of visitors' city-stressed shoulders.

Fishbowl-size mai tais

For the best in local food and lodging, drive out to Mama's Fish House, the retro-Polynesian restaurant set alongside a scenic stretch of beach the locals call Channels. Mama's is one of the more expensive fish places in Hawaii, and I've read a couple of guidebooks that have grumbled that it's overrated and overpriced. Fine by me — easier to get a reservation without those suckered by the naysayers.

The combination of potent tropical drinks, great fresh-fish dishes and the burnished-wood-and-tiki-torch ambience is worth it. Consider the slightly higher price tag compared with other island eateries a kind of "charm surcharge."

A dive into Mama's begins with one of its fishbowl-size mai tais — the best I've tasted in all the islands. Appetizers include macadamia-nut crab cake and Maui onion soup.

There's usually a long list of fresh fish on the menu with details like who caught it that day. "Sauteed deep-reef opakapaka caught by Bert Oliveira off Kipahulu" or "Mahi-mahi caught by Mark Hobson off north shore." I picked the pua me hua Hana, a "feast of old Hana" that included opakapaka and mahi-mahi, Molokai sweet potato, baked banana and coconut.

A good way to beat the cost of lodging is to sleep at Mama's. A quartet of rentals snuggles up to the restaurant, and one of the best amenities is that you're automatically extended "kamiana rates," the traditional 20 percent discount offered locals at many Hawaiian restaurants and other businesses.

The air-conditioned one- and two-bedroom units come with cable TV, a VCR and a CD player, where my old "Hawaii Calls" radio-show discs played nonstop. There's a full kitchen if you want to give the restaurant a rest, and a washer and dryer you share with other units. Downstairs units have large covered patios with a gas grill, and upstairs units feature spacious lanais.

A path leads down to a rocky wave-crashing Kuau Cove. It's not exactly a vacation-poster kind of a Hawaiian beach, with its turbulent waves and lots of pointy volcanic boulders. But the rocks keep the breakers manageable, so even nonswimmers can safely splash around in the shallows.

Where windsurfers fly

A short drive or long hike away is Hookipa Beach, the place where the best windsurfers in the world come to jet across the waves, flying end over end, or twisting as they fly through the air.

The wipeouts were spectacular — the colorful sails suddenly smashed into brine. The large number of unfortunate amateurs who try Hookipa meant the emergency helicopter flew over us twice in two days looking for windsurfers who either got caught in the outside currents or ended up wallowing in the rocky eddies along the shoreline.

The closest thing to a hospitable swimming spot is Baldwin Beach — but be forewarned: The churn can get heavy here, too.

Paia's also a convenient gateway to the famed sunrises at Haleakala Crater, the dormant volcano that looms over the island, as well as the upcountry cowboy country of Makawao and Pukalani with their Texas-goes-tropical atmosphere.

Paia's pleasures are also easy come, easy go. At 10 a.m., I was strolling an empty beach. By 10:30 a.m., I was elbowing my way through the tourists lining up at the Aloha Airlines inter-island flight check-in line. Paradise was close, but so far away.