Coral & Rust: Notes from Hawaii
Reflections on the island paradise from a first time visitor
Back in high school everyone I knew took an obligatory family vacation to Hawaii. Except me, that is.
It was the Vancouver Eastsider's equivalent of a pilgrimage, like going to Canterbury or Mecca. Except they didn't come back with gifts from the orient, like incense and spices. Rather they returned wearing tacky ventilated football shirts that blared HAWAII 78, and of course pukka shell necklaces. Some pals of mine once went to Oahu for a week and all came back blonde. These were Italian and Greek guys with lots of body hair. There wasn't a blonde gene in their whole family tree, yet they could rival Cheryl Ladd for blondeness.
With only these perceptions of Hawaii (and hundreds lifted from cop shows) I recently took my first Hawaiian vacation. Getting their was a wee challenge. Our charter flight was on a rather cramped Boeing 757. Next time I'd even fly Aeroflot (the infamous Soviet-era airline) if they could promise a bit more legroom. The lack of circulation I felt below the waist was less of an issue for me than the in-flight entertainment, mega-hit Forrest Gump.
Arriving in Honolulu I was struck by the glorious warmth and brightness of a November day. I left YVR wearing thick cotton pants and the temperature forced me to break into a full body sweat. I surmised that it was either too hot for these trousers, or I was embarrassed at being so pale. Either way I needed a towel.
Waikiki was where our hotel was, and I should've guessed it would be the tourist ghetto. The downtown is a dumping ground for the world's worst tourist trinkets and tacky memorabilia. If this Honolulu neighbourhood ever sinks into the ocean it will not be because of the dense high-rise development, but from the millions of cheap blend t-shirts they've imported here.
Try and find one shirt that you wouldn't be embarrased to wear though. I scoured merchants' tables for just one decent, 100% cotton shirt that didn't have a bimbo on it. No such luck.
Waikiki left a bad impression, but I'll always remember the clogs. The wooden heel shoes are all the rage with Japanese females, and sidewalks rattled with smartly dressed girls clip-clopping from shop to shop. I couldn't find a thing to buy here, but they did somehow. Dealers in cheap jewelry, Red Skelton paintings and target shooting would dry up if not for these enthusiastic consumers from the Far East.
Everyday I couldn't wait to head to the beaches of Oahu. Some like the beach for relaxation, the sound of waves and tanning rays. The beach for me is an active place; to get in the water, to play in the sand. I'm too restless just to lay there, so body surfing (badly) became my new obsession.
I learned that timing is everything: you could easily spend 20-30 minutes treading water before a good wave comes through. But when you did, what a feeling. You're picked up on top of the thing, and for a fleeting moment you see that you're riding several feet above the shore. Finally the party's over. You're swallowed by water, completely disoriented for endless seconds, tossed like a paper cup. Sometimes a little void forms in front of the wave, and the water parts like the proverbial Red Sea. With nothing to cushion my fall, I'd hit the shore's bare bottom – WHOMP! After couple of these I was ragged. I dizzily crawled up the beach on my hands and knees.
Oahu beaches like Waimea, Makapu and Sunset are occupied by tourists and locals. Hawaiians are known to be beautiful people, and the youth I saw at the beaches lived up to expectations. They were gorgeous compared to the bloated tourists and the butthead military personnel crawling over Waikiki. I envied their seemingly carefree Island existence.
If Hawaii has anything to fear, it's the urge to over-develop. During my stay, a Honolulu Weekly cover story discussed the challenges to Hawaiian heritage in the face of new construction. The article questioned which of the islands' buildings and neighbourhoods were genuinely Hawaiian in design and spirit? Like my hometown of Vancouver, Honululu is a young city. Most development has happened in the last 60 years, with most occuring in the 1950s and 60s. Wilful developers in recent years have ignored the charms of older buildings and landscapes in favour of maximum profit. Honululu and Vancouver shared the same challenges of growth.
An exhibit called "Grass to Glass: The Search for a Hawaiian Sense of Place" opened to document and discuss the direction of the islands' development. A city leader even broke into tears when speaking publicly about this subject. There is a passion among the locals to protect the uniqueness of their island home. Vancouver could learn a lesson from this Hawaiian passion.
As with all good things my stay here had to end. I'll always remember my jogs in the warm morning sun, the bright beaches and the azure of the Pacific, the flowers and songs of strange birds. When I arrived home the airport newstands are filled with headlines about the O.J. Simpson trial, Quebec separatism, political scandals and petty crime.
Brudder, I'll take the top of a 10-footer headed to shore over this anyday.
