A slack key guitar player, whose art owes everything to his Hawaiian upbringing and Hawaii’s past, seems to effortlessly pick his acoustic guitar with tunes that echo the gentle features of the Hawaiian landscape. Listeners can detect the trade winds, the surf, the swaying palm trees, and the graceful waterfalls - all combining to create an effect usually described as nahenahe, (soft and gentle). In doing so, it reflects the music’s deep roots, “incorporating the hula rhythms, ancient chants and drum rhythms from Hawaii’s past”, according to Chelle Pahinui, master hula teacher.
But you barely notice this.
Ensconced in a traditional-looking hale (chalet) you quickly ease into your new lifestyle. Just as your slack key guitar player eschews electrical music, so your room seems like a throwback to a different, better time. Aside from the ceiling fan, there are no modern conveniences, or shall we say, disturbances. Need housekeeping to stay away? Put your coconut on the doorstep. Forget your key? Not likely, as none of the rooms have locks.
You can spend the day looking vaguely northwest, hoping to catch a glimpse of your nearest neighbour island, Maui. Do you care to remember exactly where you are located? Ah yes, the island of Hawaii or as it has been rechristened, the Big Island.
Yes, everything is big in Big Island. The largest Hawaiian island, it has the most active volcanoes and the most coffee plantations. As you sip your Mai Tai waiting for the next meal, you reflect, realizing this resort has thought of everything. Kids wander about in this totally secure location. The freshest fish, from opakapaka (red snapper), mahimahi (dolphin fish) to ahi (yellow fin tuna) is available in creative ways. As you enjoy the pupu (appetizers), you soon get into the Hawaiian groove, and these exotic names become part of your reality.
Manta rays play in the water, visible from the beach. At night, huge lights attract them during feeding and you can snorkel right along with them. Just down the road, near the Kona airport, you take a tour of a seahorse farm, the highlight being when the seahorses carefully wrap themselves around your fingers with the delicateness of rose petals.
South of here, above the tourist drag of Kailua-Kona, right on the ocean’s edge is the priceless old plantation town of Holualoa, now an artist’s colony. The art connection is reflected in the next lodging you indulge in. The Holualoa Inn is like the best ryokan you never visited in Japan. When you arrive, the elegance of the entrance is overpowering. A long open-aired veranda welcomes you, although, oddly enough, if you arrive after six in the evening, no staff will greet you. Sound unfriendly? No, it’s all part of the Hawaiian cool. No one needs to remind you to take off your footwear; the soundless collection of boots and sandals helps you figure that out.
As you wander through the spacious library that also serves as a sitting room, you marvel at the treasures of South East Asia, wondering how such an eclectic and tasteful selection was made. The same care has been taken in your room, in which more surprises await. Japanese yukatas invite you to get comfy in your room, as well as sacs of Kona coffee. Your gaze is pulled towards the huge bay windows, which, not so oddly enough, look out onto the ‘bay’ of the ocean far away.
Then you glance downward, and recall that another of the inn’s main features is a perfect, private garden. Deny yourself the pleasure of the garden scents? I think not.
There are no coffee machines in the rooms, as breakfast is included. Gourmet breakfast would explain it better. All the fruits come from the garden, with fresh passion fruit, guava and mango making it onto the menu. Real Kona coffee, (not the slightly misleading Kona blend) is served, very fresh; from the inn’s own coffee plantation.
After breakfast, you start your self-guided tour of the grounds, over 30 acres. As you begin, you cannot help but notice the flaming red ginger. It literally throws itself at you as you pass by. There is a labyrinth, to be used as a meditative path, and as you traipse up and down the property, it slowly dawns on you that you are following an ancient royal road from Hawaii’s past. There is even a royal toboggan run. (There’s snow in them there volcanoes!)
Today, you set your sights on the world’s most active volcano, Mauna Loa, on the outskirts of Hilo, Big Island’s second city. Firstly, you head up to the summit of Kilauea Caldera, where a huge display of steam is guaranteed. It’s Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of fire’s, way of reminding us that she is in charge of Nature here. Later that night, you drive down to a natural fireworks display at Kalapana, where Big Island is literally being formed before your eyes. Happily, this spectacle is not in any way commercialized. It is totally unplugged: flashlight in hand you make your way across the weird black landscape in time for sunset, when the escaping lava explodes out of the rocks, before crashing down into the sea with a sizzle.
Your inn in Hilo belies all this frenetic natural activity. First put on the map when visited by author Jack London in 1905, the Shipman House B&B was, at that time, the most luxurious residence in these parts, owned by a wealthy rancher. It houses the first elevator in a private residence. Thoroughly modern in 1899, it is now like a frozen timepiece, hardly changed since those days. Upon arrival you are handed a catalogue of all its treasures.
Your last view of Hilo is young people practising ukuleles in the park.
You fly through Honolulu airport and change planes - it doesn’t look to be a very likely place for an unplugged adventure.
The first resident of Kauai to greet you is also the island’s most ubiquitous. A crowing hen, (you can’t figure out why, since it’s past noon), tries its best to pester you as you eat on an outside terrace. You will get used to them - they are everywhere, and, indigenous to the island, they are protected.
You make it to your most unplugged experience yet. At Waimea, tiny chalets, formerly the houses of plantation workers have been relocated to a seaside location right out of a storybook. Nearby, Captain Cook first set eyes on the Hawaiian archipelago. Russian entrepreneurs tried to make a go of it here soon after. And from the porch of your little cabin, your gaze is attracted to the mysterious and foreboding, Nihau, the Forbidden Island, where you hope to spot frolicking whales.
Most Hawaiian accommodation, including your old plantation hut, includes a kitchen. You bring in fresh fish from the local town fishmongers, dining casually as you wonder how the public beach in front of you remains virtually empty. The odd jogger lobs by. Local school children in groups jog by. You laze in the hammocks, with no plans for the next day.
Your final old-style Hawaiian lodge near the end of the highway at Haena is located on a spit of land where waves crash in all day long. It goes without saying; there are no phones, nor stereos, nor TVs. The shudder of the surf is so powerful you think of closing your window, cutting yourself off from the nature you came to enjoy. You change your mind. On the beach, you can walk for hours in either direction.
If you go towards the west, you end up in the area when many a Hollywood film has been filmed. Think Jurassic Park, Bali Hai, South Pacific and Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. The irony is you have no desire to be ‘entertained’ through artificial means.
Coincidentally, it’s also the beginning of the Na Pali walk, considered by many to have the difficulty and interest of Peru’s Macchu Pichu trail. Visiting the Na Pali coast is a must and since it can only be done by foot, boat or helicopter you start on foot. You don’t have time for the 12-mile hike and opt to visit it another day by boat. You snorkel in secretive bays and try and recall in which Hollywood blockbuster you’ve seen these magnificent caves and cliffs before.
In nearby Hanalei, (nearby that is after crossing 7 one-lane bridges that force all traffic to a halt and never allow large trucks or tour buses), you reach a town whose residents include millionaires, surf bums and hippies still living in the sixties. At the local community hall, next to the grounds where earlier you bought unbelievably fresh mangoes and pineapples, you happen upon a live acoustic concert that answers all your questions about acoustic Hawaiian music.
The performers, a local couple, Doug and Sandy McMaster, explain every tune they are about to play and then perform it, nahenahe (gentle and sweet) on their slack key guitar and ukulele. Sandy nonchalantly explains, “Our audience experience the true meaning of ‘aloha’. Play our music at home, but not while driving - you might be so relaxed you’ll fall asleep!” Almost, on cue, as they play, a huge rainstorm blows through. You barely notice it, or put another way, it fits in perfectly.
You head back to your lodging, each one-lane bridge carefully after the other, with this sweet music in your mind. You bed down for one last time in your oceanfront room, waves crashing along. Your last sight, before nodding off is the ceiling fan, just barely moving. You don’t need it, but you leave it on - the mere sight of it is reassuring.
Hawaii
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