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| Hanauma Bay |
Since we returned from our trip to Hawaii last month, I've been thinking about becoming one of those guys who says "mahalo" or "brah" without irony. I don't think I've ever been to a place that has chiseled itself so neatly into my head, even as I was aware of its famous propensity for doing so. The way its native patois pops up in the strangest places, how it remains a shortened euphemism for "paradise" in the American mind. But having been there, it all makes sense, it is all fair, and isn't a simulacrum or a discourse or whatever.
So many of the amazing things you hear are actually, seriously true. It is a natural marvel. We spent three different days at Hanauma Bay, Olga and I taking turns snorkeling while Mila played in the sand and learned how to paddle along. On two occasions, I found myself out on the reef, face to face with a very large sea turtle. One time, I watched him (from a respectful distance! I paid attention during the film they make you watch about reef safety and manners) have his lunch and float around. Thinking back on it, I think to myself, really? I saw that? not in a movie?
And even the bona fide touristy stuff has a kind of earnest shamelessness about it that makes it pleasant. The few times we went to Waikiki (we did a pretty good job of going as authentically 'native' as we could) I enjoyed visiting the markets, with their stacks and stacks of tikis and surfboard wall-clocks. I even picked up a tiny statue of Lono, the harvest god, for my desk. I remained self-aware enough to resist buying an aloha shirt, which would become instantly unwearable back in New England.
And beyond the things you see, there were the people, that famous "aloha spirit" that actually seems to exist. We stayed with our friends at their house on the eastern end of Honolulu, and to get to their house from almost anywhere, we had to take the main east-west high. From the beach or the store, you had to merge onto the road, and then in the space of two long blocks had to cross three lanes of significant traffic to make a left turn onto their street. I can't conceive of making this maneuver in much of Massachusetts without a fit of curses, rude gestures, honking horns and angry glares. But I swear, we did this everyday in Hawaii and it was never a problem. Cars would slow down, wave you along, take their time. You just had to hit the blinker and wave thanks and the entire universe seemed to be on your side. Paradise.
The singular alignment of so many different cultures there has a lot to do with it. It is a wonderful thing, and a hopeful picture of what this nation can be. We ate a ton of magnificent Asian food -- sushi, noodles, anything that was more colorful than the pale imitation we find back home. It was amazing how many different kinds of people you saw there -- Chinese, Japanese, Portugese, different kinds of white people from the mainland. They were there for awhile, or they were passing through. We were amazed at the number of Japanese visitors we saw, even though the drop-off in arrivals from the country since the earthquake was a cause for major concern. Waikiki feels almost like a distant neighborhood of Tokyo. This kind of mix is something that you can be of two minds about. I remember the story Sarah Palin's dad told about his daughter's abortive college career at the University of Hawaii at Hilo and Hawaii Pacific University. She left, he said, because she got freaked out by the ethnic diversity and eventually found a happy home in Idaho. So you can think of it that way, or you can think that this is what a healthy future looks like.
Of course, not everything is all rainbows (although, I've never seen so many in my life before. Every afternoon it seemed, one or sometimes two over the mountains. Absurd). One thing I wish I had learned more about is the role of native culture. Much is made about showing proper respect and deference for Native Hawaiians, in place names, ceremonial matters, and the like. But to phrase it carefully, I'd wonder how much of this is real and living and how much a created tradition adapted for current conditions. The Hawaiians themselves famously broke their own tabus in 1819, and were quick to embrace the various kinds of Christian that showed up on their shores. So what can we make of current efforts to make these traditions alive again? I suppose that's one for the anthropologists.
And of course, staying with a local family -- my old college friends -- showed us that even though it is paradise, people still lead lives that are recognizable as belonging in the early 21st century. Our friends are a doctor and a lawyer, they work very hard, worry about daycare and schools, and have remarkably familiar problems for a young family. Only difference is they don't have to have winter coats in their house.
Another thought that often occurred to me is how there are dark undercurrents there. For a place without snakes, or bandits, or dangerous extremes of cold or heat, an astonishing number of visitors don't leave the islands alive. Every beach and park features signs that are brutally frank in what you can and can't do, and while it seems almost quaint and overcautious -- like those airline safety cards -- they really mean it. I subscribed to various Hawaiian news twitter feeds, and there are an amazing number of stories about tourists drowning, or falling off something, or getting lost somewhere, or just plain vanishing. So even at the best of times, under the best of circumstances, reality can get you. Maybe even more so because you let your guard down.
Hawaii is going to stay with us for a very long time. I can't remember the last time I came back from a big trip relaxed and ready to face life again. It seems, strange to say without being ironic, that I learned some things. And now I frequently find myself staring at the map in our house, looking at those little specks in the middle of vast nowhere of the Pacific, wondering, just how are we going to get back there?
