There is a single non stop flight each week from Fiji to Hawaii which I had decided to book seats on when we were still in Australia and which carries us in less than six hours to a place that that is American in law but not entirely in spirit. What did I feel when we stepped off the flight late in the evening, passing easily through US immigration with a smile and then taking a taxi in the warm humidity, past neon lights, tall apartment blocks and west coast highways? A mix of emotions; ironically at home despite being in the middle of the Pacific Ocean while at the same time conscious of the warnings from some friends that we would be disappointed if we didn’t visit the other islands. But I was tired after traveling for so long and needed some time by my self to walk without purpose in a new city, to sit at a sidewalk cafe and observe life around me, have a massage if I felt like it, and if America is young, then this part of it is even younger, having joined the union in 1959 so there is an overwhelming optimism in the air despite the gloomy politics.
Our hotel was in the center of Honolulu and was a 1950’s example of the forward thinking and commercialism that defined mid-century US culture, some might call it kitsch or vulgar but I don’t, I respect the energy and optimism of that time even if it seemed sometimes like we had stepped out of a 1950’s post card or a scene on a Hawaiian shirt. It took a while to negotiate a good room, one that overlooked the central pool and steps from the tiki bar where vacationing Americans hung out for most of the evening drinking sweet alcoholic cocktails and fried finger food, it wasn’t long before we joined them. The best part was visiting an adjoining secret bar which was full of scantily dressed younger people, a backdrop of R & B and rap music, the first I had heard for a long time and already a fitting return to US culture.
Hawaii has a huge reputation to live up to. The famous TV series of the 1970’s portrayed its glamour and danger in a way that was completely unconvincing to a cynical teenager but was hard to look away from the fast cars, beaches and girls. When it first came out we watched with a black and white television and there was something compelling in the deep shadows and bleached sunlight, but when we eventually upgraded to a color television it was paradoxically even less realistic, at least for those of us watching under heavy grey rain clouds in England, our new TV delivering highly pixelated images of chemically blue skies, roaring Oceans and bronzed, sunglass wearing, gun slinging, too cool protagonists. It must have stuck in my memory as I always associated the state with that of an alternative world, one that I could never connect with.
It has soft goodwill, friends who have been here love it and talk about their vacations with hushed reverence. We reluctantly agreed to stay in Honolulu and take day trips, staying on Oahu. We had a loose agenda, a day snorkeling, another hiking on the northern part of the Island and a visit to Doris Dukes house “Shangri La” a place that was extraordinarily difficult to procure tickets for and we only did this by setting an early morning alarm clock when we were in Sydney.
One day we joined a cruise from the bay on a sail boat to snorkel with turtles. On the way out to the Pacific we had been told that there was a chance that we might see one of the late migrating whales heading back to Alaska. They make the journey here to Hawaii to mate, feed and get warm, escaping the harsh northern winters. About 30 minutes into the sail a cry went out and a plume of water could be seen about half a mile away, we turned in pursuit and then silence for about another ten minutes before miraculously seeing the whale rise from the Ocean and slam his tail onto the waters surface. It was a magical thing to behold, to share the seascape with one of these giants. More surprisingly was how close it was to the City, which we could see to our right bustling and restless. We turned back towards it and settled in an area already populated by about seven similar boats, put on our masks, snorkels and fins and jumped in. Almost immediately a turtle fearfully bolted past us and that was it….no more Ocean life but plenty of humans in the water, a group speaking Japanese, it was too crowded for me, or perhaps it was the absurdity of floating in the Pacific surrounded by a hundred or so people with the competing Japanese, European and American languages ringing in my ears, so I swam back in the increasingly chilly waters to the boat for a drink.
On another occasion we took an Uber to the west of the Island to hike up a well known trail that gave views over the Pacific. When we arrived it was clear that the trail wasn’t “easy” as promised but the opposite, requiring ropes at certain points to help you across steep rocks. Just as we reached our first view of the Pacific it was obvious that a storm was on its way, a milky sheet of rain was clearly moving across the Ocean in our direction, but Mary pressed on as I looked for shelter. Fortunately it was warm and I had a beach towel to cover me, but others were making their way down the trail quickly. They had inside knowledge of what happens on sudden downpours like this….the path turns rapidly to mud, with the addition of slippery rocks it becomes trechourous and it look an uncomfortable hour to negotiate back to the road safely, but we were covered in mud from frequent slips. We walked to the main road and then down slipways to the Ocean where we undressed and washed our clothes in the aggressive waves, letting them dry in the sun, before walking onwards to the beach and then lunch ion local town.
Our visit to Shangrila prompted conflicting emotions for me. We met in the museum of art in Honolulu which held an impressive collection of twentieth century art and then took a mini bus to a suburb at the edge of the city. The home itself is very private from the road, but opens up to the sea as it is built into land that gives extensive ocean front views. Doris Duke built this house to be used as a winter residence. Its components come from all over the world – and reflects here love for Islamic and Hindu art. But its not done in an academic manner or has any pretension stop be a museum of the highest quality – its an exercise in style. The other visitors dwelled over these artifacts and the glamour while I walked down to the edge of the garden overlooking a small cover which contained the fierce currents and waves channeled by the sea; there was a sign saying no access and swimming prohibited and surrounding this was a group of teenage boys in defiance, diving in. The house was indeed beautiful and the commitment to making it impressive, but she had the wealth to do this – money obtained from tobacco and the haunting of millions early deaths from lung cancer. Although Doris Duke, at the time the richest girl in the world, and someone who did some very admirable things in her, has a legacy tarnished by her fits of anger and the well reported death of a former employee yet we were all complicit in our silence and respectfulness; cynicism and politics apparently has no room here in this already over furnished place.
I was grateful for a few days in the city, walking with Mary to her Yoga, eating a Poke Bowl or Sushi in the evenings, taking the time to amble to the beach and photograph the surfers. I enjoyed the bars overlooking the Ocean with their outcast clientele, outrageously tattooed bar tenders, strangely I felt like I fit in.
jnmanson 