October 3, 2005
I have to share this ukulele story with you, because first, I think that you'll find it interesting and secondly, it will give me a chance to unload some of the sad emotions that I now have within me.
This story is about Pat, a woman that I've known for some years. Emi and I started hula with Pat. She is an older lady, and her compatriot was another “gracious, gracious lady” named Marion. It was always Pat and Marion, when you saw one you saw the other. They inspired the rest of us youngsters, because they were older and never acted as if they were. They had real spunk, moxie, and a zest for life. They were always there with the rest of us, learning the new dances, practicing the movements, suffering the rigors of hula, eating, and laughing, especially the eating and laughing. What is hula without eating and laughing?
Well, I just found out that Pat has cancer. I immediately called her to offer my help, whatever that might be. Her daughter answered and said they have already hired people to help now
that Pat is at home with not much time left. I then asked if I could visit, and was given a qualified OK with the understanding that Pat is on pain medication and not talking very much. With that understanding, I was allowed to come over.
I now pondered what I could do to make her more comfortable and at peace. I thought that I could sing and play the ukulele for her. I thought; I hoped that she would like it. My decision was based upon what my former hula kumu had told our class one day. A close hula brother was dying of AIDS, and in an act of love and compassion he had gone to the hospital and to sing for him. I thought the idea was so beautiful and that I would really like someone to sing Hawaiian songs to me as I lay dying, so it was only natural that I thought that Pat might like that too. And so, when I went to Pat’s home I brought with me my ukulele and music sheets. With the daughter’s approval I set up my music stand and started to sing and continued for some 25 minutes. Pat on her part did not say too much, but she did respond by crying, and she continued to cry throughout my singing. For further emphasize, the crying intensified whenever I started a new song. I was starting to have doubts if I was helping Pat, but when I asked her daughter if everything was OK, she calmly said, "Can't you see her tears are tears of joy?" Thinking on her words, I understood, for I would have been crying myself.
As I continued to play, I could now see that Pat was indeed actively listening to the music, for ever now and then she danced to the music, moving her hands as if she was doing hula. It was so nice to see her dance.
The only words I could discern between the crying were, "Oh my god" and Stay Bernie." But eventually, I had to leave. My voice was going, and I was starting to lose it, emotionally overloaded. I promised Pat’s daughter that I would return. The next day I did call to see if I should, could return. The daughter said that Pat was sleeping a lot lately, and she would call me if the situation changed. I think that maybe that I sang for Pat the
one and only time.
December 8, 2005
I did get a chance to play again for my friend Pat, but on the second opportunity, she slept the entire time while I played. In essence I was singing for her daughter and the helper, but I figured that it wasn’t a loss, for maybe I was somehow comforting them. By this time Pat’s daughter and I were on first name basis. We had a long conversation before I started to play. We talked and talked with the hope that Pat would soon wake up, but when she didn’t I played even as she slept. The third time Pat’s eyes were open, but she closed them whenever I started to play. Anita (Pat’s daughter)assured me that I wasn't boring her, putting her to sleep. I then assumed that the pain medication was affecting her, but even so she could hear me sing and play. I suppose my assumption was correct for just as I left, she spoke her only words directed my way, "See you, kiddo." If you knew Pat, you'd know this was so much her. It was always her way of saying good-by. Last Saturday I played the 4th time for her at her funeral. Anita wanted me to play Pupu Hinuhinu, a Hawaiian lullaby that I had sung to Pat many times. It just seemed so right to sing under the circumstances. I was so nervous just thinking about the idea of singing at her funeral, but I agreed. This would be the last time I would have the opportunity to play for Pat, and so how could I refuse? With Pat in my mind I sang. Voice somewhat trembling out of fear and sadness, the words came to my lips and rang out. E Pat, e moe, e moe e. Sleep, sleep. Footnote: I had asked Anita if Marion had come to see Pat while she was home, and she had said that Marion did not. She had called once, but could barely manage to talk to Pat. Obviously, the thought of losing Pat was more than Marion could handle. She was also unable to make the funeral. Ironically, as it turned out Marion didn’t have to go through life without Pat. She also passed away within a year of Pat’s passing. I know that they are now together, doing the hula and eating and laughing, especially eating and laughing.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
June 20, 2005 Lulumahu Falls and tragedy
This is a non-ukulele story, but interesting nevertheless. Sunday I went with a Hawaiian 101 classmate on a Sierra Club group hike to Lulumahu Falls located way up Nu'uanu
Valley. The hike takes you to a royal summer home that is now mostly in ruins and to the Lulumahu falls located at the foot of the mountain. It was a good hike, not too long, not very hot, not too muddy, and with the minimum number of mosquitoes. Further, the usual mauka showers were away on a temporary vacation. The participants of these kinds of hikes vary from local to tourists, from the fit to the unfit. In fact there was one participant who did have difficulties doing the hike, and was forced to stay back while the rest of us went on to the falls. The water fall was not large, but it was somewhat spectacular. A narrow chute of cold water spilled over from a notch in the green mountains that form the valley, splashing into a small pool. Looking up the falls, I couldn’t help but wonder what was up there to constantly resupply nature’s free show. Was there a “lost world” up in those heights? No walking trails were visible or possible. The ascent was sharp and I did not have any climbing gear with me, nor would I be willing to attempt the climb even if I did. After the group had their visual fill of the sights with and without cameras, we all left to head out. After a short time, we joined up with the individual who had stayed behind. He was accompanied by one of the group leaders who had stayed with him. When we were no more than 15 minutes away from the road the same tired individual had to rest. Plopping himself down, he sat on the ground just to the side of the trail. There were only 8 of us present at the time. The majority of the group was on the way out, not going at the slower pace as the rest of us. Mr. Outofshape was resting, sipping some water when he just slumped over. In a minute or two it became readily apparent that he had had a heart attack. Even so I still asked James, my classmate, what was happening. He confirmed what I didn’t want to believe. “Man, he had a coronary.” “You’re kidding,” I said not wanting to believe the obvious. “Yeah he did,” James insisted. I looked over to the slumped figure. The man’s face was white, his lips blue. One of the leaders, who were acting as the sweep, the one always at the rear, was quite versed in CPR, and she jumped on him like a scene out of ER. She worked on him until fatigued forced her to stop. Others took turns to administer CPR. Others included me. We worked on him for 20 to 30 minutes.
I have taken CPR many times never thinking that I would actually ever use it, but use it I did. When I took the class, they didn't explain the gut wrenching details like the slime that made it difficult to clamp your mouth over his, the smell and taste that lingers in your mouth like the bile that you regurgitate, your teeth hitting his as you try to breath life into his still body, the gurgling of his breath as it leaves his fluid filled lungs, the smell of his shit as his sphincter loses it’s muscle tone. I’m only thankful he didn’t regurgitate in my mouth, a common occurrence with coronary victims. With the cellular phone so common a device, 911 had been called at the beginning of the crisis, but it probably was longer than 30 minutes before the first rescue crew finally showed up. They would have been there sooner, but they had gotten lost. Such is fate. With them came the police, firemen, and a helicopter to take him out. Too much, too late. I don't think he made it, and probable it was for the best. It was way too long a time that he was not breathing and lacked a heartbeat. His brain must have been mush by then. I don't know if the Hawaiian Gods were there, but only when he died did it start to pour and the rain continued throughout the entire time. I didn’t know him. No one did. The papers in his wallet said that he lived on Kapahulu Street and his name was Dan Owens.
Relieved of our responsibilities I decided to leave with mixed emotions. Part of me wanted to stay to see the outcome. Another part wanted to flee. Walking out I passed one of the four good Samaritans who had performed CPR. As I was just about to pass him, I paused long enough to shake his hand. In those few seconds I’m sure that we were verifying our bond of sharing the same gut wrenching experience. We both had endured a most disgusting activity in the attempt to save a life. I mumbled, “Good job,” “Yeah, you too,” he said. Our eyes could barely meet.
As we walked out of the jungle and on to the road it was a surprise to find a news van on the road. News travel fast. He asked us a few questions, and then we left. We were all soaked and suddenly very tired.
When I finally got back to the condo, I immediately took a long hot shower and rinsed and brushed my teeth over and over, but I could still taste him. My hands were almost shaking, and so I walked up to a local tavern, Shinshotei, and ordered a double scotch. After a large gulp of the alcoholic medicine, I said to the bartender, “Do you want to hear a story that just going to floor you?” I just had to talk to someone, release some of the stress that had been building up. The bartender, like all true bartenders, allowed me to spill my guts and after several drinks I felt somewhat better, and thank God I didn’t dream of Dan that night.
Footnote: Many years later Emi and I were on another Sierra Club hike in Hawaii and we were talking to one of the leaders, Randy by name. I don’t know how we got to talking about my CPR encounter, but we did. Surprisingly, he knew all about it. He is one of the ranking members and he had talked to Dan’s relatives; his parents I think. Dan was visiting Hawaii and was quite interested in hiking in Hawaii. Go figure, a guy like that, so out of shape. He had numerous books about hiking and his parents wanted the club to have them. I had to ask Randy, “Did he make it?” “Nah, he died,” Randy said, a matter of fact like. Even though I didn’t know Dan, I was upset to hear that he had passed away. A part of Dan will always be part of me.
Valley. The hike takes you to a royal summer home that is now mostly in ruins and to the Lulumahu falls located at the foot of the mountain. It was a good hike, not too long, not very hot, not too muddy, and with the minimum number of mosquitoes. Further, the usual mauka showers were away on a temporary vacation. The participants of these kinds of hikes vary from local to tourists, from the fit to the unfit. In fact there was one participant who did have difficulties doing the hike, and was forced to stay back while the rest of us went on to the falls. The water fall was not large, but it was somewhat spectacular. A narrow chute of cold water spilled over from a notch in the green mountains that form the valley, splashing into a small pool. Looking up the falls, I couldn’t help but wonder what was up there to constantly resupply nature’s free show. Was there a “lost world” up in those heights? No walking trails were visible or possible. The ascent was sharp and I did not have any climbing gear with me, nor would I be willing to attempt the climb even if I did. After the group had their visual fill of the sights with and without cameras, we all left to head out. After a short time, we joined up with the individual who had stayed behind. He was accompanied by one of the group leaders who had stayed with him. When we were no more than 15 minutes away from the road the same tired individual had to rest. Plopping himself down, he sat on the ground just to the side of the trail. There were only 8 of us present at the time. The majority of the group was on the way out, not going at the slower pace as the rest of us. Mr. Outofshape was resting, sipping some water when he just slumped over. In a minute or two it became readily apparent that he had had a heart attack. Even so I still asked James, my classmate, what was happening. He confirmed what I didn’t want to believe. “Man, he had a coronary.” “You’re kidding,” I said not wanting to believe the obvious. “Yeah he did,” James insisted. I looked over to the slumped figure. The man’s face was white, his lips blue. One of the leaders, who were acting as the sweep, the one always at the rear, was quite versed in CPR, and she jumped on him like a scene out of ER. She worked on him until fatigued forced her to stop. Others took turns to administer CPR. Others included me. We worked on him for 20 to 30 minutes.
I have taken CPR many times never thinking that I would actually ever use it, but use it I did. When I took the class, they didn't explain the gut wrenching details like the slime that made it difficult to clamp your mouth over his, the smell and taste that lingers in your mouth like the bile that you regurgitate, your teeth hitting his as you try to breath life into his still body, the gurgling of his breath as it leaves his fluid filled lungs, the smell of his shit as his sphincter loses it’s muscle tone. I’m only thankful he didn’t regurgitate in my mouth, a common occurrence with coronary victims. With the cellular phone so common a device, 911 had been called at the beginning of the crisis, but it probably was longer than 30 minutes before the first rescue crew finally showed up. They would have been there sooner, but they had gotten lost. Such is fate. With them came the police, firemen, and a helicopter to take him out. Too much, too late. I don't think he made it, and probable it was for the best. It was way too long a time that he was not breathing and lacked a heartbeat. His brain must have been mush by then. I don't know if the Hawaiian Gods were there, but only when he died did it start to pour and the rain continued throughout the entire time. I didn’t know him. No one did. The papers in his wallet said that he lived on Kapahulu Street and his name was Dan Owens.
Relieved of our responsibilities I decided to leave with mixed emotions. Part of me wanted to stay to see the outcome. Another part wanted to flee. Walking out I passed one of the four good Samaritans who had performed CPR. As I was just about to pass him, I paused long enough to shake his hand. In those few seconds I’m sure that we were verifying our bond of sharing the same gut wrenching experience. We both had endured a most disgusting activity in the attempt to save a life. I mumbled, “Good job,” “Yeah, you too,” he said. Our eyes could barely meet.
As we walked out of the jungle and on to the road it was a surprise to find a news van on the road. News travel fast. He asked us a few questions, and then we left. We were all soaked and suddenly very tired.
When I finally got back to the condo, I immediately took a long hot shower and rinsed and brushed my teeth over and over, but I could still taste him. My hands were almost shaking, and so I walked up to a local tavern, Shinshotei, and ordered a double scotch. After a large gulp of the alcoholic medicine, I said to the bartender, “Do you want to hear a story that just going to floor you?” I just had to talk to someone, release some of the stress that had been building up. The bartender, like all true bartenders, allowed me to spill my guts and after several drinks I felt somewhat better, and thank God I didn’t dream of Dan that night.
Footnote: Many years later Emi and I were on another Sierra Club hike in Hawaii and we were talking to one of the leaders, Randy by name. I don’t know how we got to talking about my CPR encounter, but we did. Surprisingly, he knew all about it. He is one of the ranking members and he had talked to Dan’s relatives; his parents I think. Dan was visiting Hawaii and was quite interested in hiking in Hawaii. Go figure, a guy like that, so out of shape. He had numerous books about hiking and his parents wanted the club to have them. I had to ask Randy, “Did he make it?” “Nah, he died,” Randy said, a matter of fact like. Even though I didn’t know Dan, I was upset to hear that he had passed away. A part of Dan will always be part of me.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
May 16, 2006 Kaneohe Senior Ukulele Group
May 16,2006, it is another wonderful day in O’ahu. The day started early. Emi and I were to meet Al at 7:45 AM in the lobby, not a decent wake up time while on vacation if you ask me, but it was the time set by Al. I had met Al on the first day while entering the condo. He was carrying his guitar and I had my ukulele in hand. It was like fire and tinder. We just hit it off just like that. Anyway, he had invited Emi and me to go with him to his senior group in Kaneohe for a session of ukulele, singing, hula and fellowship. Al insisted on driving even though I wanted to drive; it was the least that I could do. In the early morning and moving against the flow of city bound traffic, we reached the senior center in no time at all. For whatever reason, Al likes getting there early. Pulling into the parking lot, you can almost feel the quiet of Kaneohe compared to Honolulu. Here the air is cool without air conditioning. It is still early, only 8:15, and the program starts at 9:00. Doing the math, that gives 45 minutes to wait, but it is time not wasted. A few people are also there and everyone knows everyone. It is one big family. Soon, introductions were made, conversations filled the air, and then music erupted spontaneously. The various people that came up to us had their instruments in hand and they started to play, started to sing. It was wonderful. It was music that was natural, notes and flowing from the heart, but I didn’t know the chords; I didn’t know the words. Al helped and called out the chords so that I could play, participate in a limited way. This continued with more and more players joining in. It was like a Hawaiian hootenanny. Al actually plays ukulele as his main instrument of music, but he was playing a guitar for this meeting. He wanted to challenge himself by switching to guitar. There was a bass guitar player present. He spontaneously took the lead by playing a riff of chords, the rest of the gang joining in with their ukuleles and voices. They just knew what he was playing and joined in. As for me I didn’t know right from left. Al had to again coach me, telling me the chords being played. I fell in love with their singing. It was so real, natural. And the best part, they knew how to do that Hawaiian yodel that I so want to do.
Finally it was 9 and the program started promptly. They were obviously not using Hawaiian time. Now, there were three guitar players and one piano player. In addition, there was a lady who briefly went over each song, sang lead, and reminded us when to modulate. And talking about modulating. They were modulating like crazy. They modulated constantly, between every verse for every song. It was fun and challenging to have to continually change chords. The songs were so varied that I could not even explain them except for the fact that I only knew about a third of them, but loved every one.
Emi loved the entire event, because they had a strong contingent of hula dancers, and they danced about nine dances, inviting Emi to join them. Emi is a wonder. Not knowing the dances, she was still able to move in time with them. She followed so well, one person was convinced that she had been there before. As for the hula, seniors or not, they were something . I mean great, and I know great when I see it. I didn’t suffer years trying to be a good hula dancer for nothing. If I didn’t become good, I did learn enough to recognize good. They were not your typical gracious ladies type dancers either. They were moving their bodies like young ladies just ready to party, and Emi was one of them.
For the rest of the day:
Lunch at Golden Duck. Our first taste of Chinese cake noodles, a very Hawaiian/Chinese style of cooking that is so loved by the locals, but I prefer gwun lo mein.
Went to our internet café to connect to the web.
Met with Al. I think he wanted to be sure I knew how to play any song and sound good.
Walked around the perimeter of Punchbowl in my flip flops in the evening. It wasn’t planned. If it was, I wouldn’t have been wearing flip flops.
Had dinner at the venerable Rainbow Drive-In.
Another day frittered away….
Finally it was 9 and the program started promptly. They were obviously not using Hawaiian time. Now, there were three guitar players and one piano player. In addition, there was a lady who briefly went over each song, sang lead, and reminded us when to modulate. And talking about modulating. They were modulating like crazy. They modulated constantly, between every verse for every song. It was fun and challenging to have to continually change chords. The songs were so varied that I could not even explain them except for the fact that I only knew about a third of them, but loved every one.
Emi loved the entire event, because they had a strong contingent of hula dancers, and they danced about nine dances, inviting Emi to join them. Emi is a wonder. Not knowing the dances, she was still able to move in time with them. She followed so well, one person was convinced that she had been there before. As for the hula, seniors or not, they were something . I mean great, and I know great when I see it. I didn’t suffer years trying to be a good hula dancer for nothing. If I didn’t become good, I did learn enough to recognize good. They were not your typical gracious ladies type dancers either. They were moving their bodies like young ladies just ready to party, and Emi was one of them.
For the rest of the day:
Lunch at Golden Duck. Our first taste of Chinese cake noodles, a very Hawaiian/Chinese style of cooking that is so loved by the locals, but I prefer gwun lo mein.
Went to our internet café to connect to the web.
Met with Al. I think he wanted to be sure I knew how to play any song and sound good.
Walked around the perimeter of Punchbowl in my flip flops in the evening. It wasn’t planned. If it was, I wouldn’t have been wearing flip flops.
Had dinner at the venerable Rainbow Drive-In.
Another day frittered away….
May, 17, 2006 Shinsho Tei
May 17,2006. It is 10 PM, and Emi and I have just come back from Shinsho Tei, a local bar located in the Nu’uanu Square Shopping Center, a short walk from the Queen Emma Garden condo where we are staying. After our two hour stay this proximity is now a blessing more than a convenience. The last time I was at this establishment it was some 12 months ago right after my traumatic CPR hiking experience. I had told Emi that we should stop by just to have their wonderful pupu of fresh ahi sashimi if for nothing else. Walking in at 7:30, a party like atmosphere struck us full force. Sitting down at the almost full bar, the bartender/owner, Mel, seemed to recognize me from last year. He either has a real good memory or is just pretending to remember as a friendly gesture, but then everyone there was friendly. Within 15 minutes we were talking to Stan and his girlfriend to the left and Bobby who was sitting to the right of me. It was the friendliest group of people that I ever met, even more friendly than the mythical bar owned by Sam Malone in “Cheers“. Stan was a retired Honolulu fireman as his t-shirt stated in bold graphics. Bobby physically reminded me of John Goodman. He had retired at 50, but started a business and only recently retired for the second time. Mel, who proudly declared that he was Portugee, stated that he loved his job. In his words, “Where else can you party it up and still be running a business?” Accepted as one of the gang, the contest started to see who could buy more drinks for the other, and the drinks never stopped flowing, even for Emi.
Their humor was so typical of the island’s unique sense of humor. For example:
After Emi had two drinks Stan asks Emi, “So Emi, how do you feel?”
Emi replies, “I feel fine.”
“I know you’re fine. I asked how do you feel.”
After a few drinks a haole man with an Asian woman came in and replaced Stan and his girlfriend at the bar. They had to leave, because Izzie, Stan’s girlfriend, had drank too much, too fast. Mel the owner obviously knows the newly arrived couple, for his first words to the man were, “Ehh, no haoles until past 10 PM.” So much da kine loco humaa.
To my delight the pupu was still sashimi, but later on pork rinds and tako was brought out. When questioned, Mel reluctantly admitted that the pork rinds were indeed pork rinds, but it was OK to eat because it was “pauk” not really pork. “Pauk OK, not like pork.” he said with some unknown logic at work.
Along with the drinking, it was a karaoke bar, two wireless mike being passed around with each song. Stan and Bobby had great voices. After they found out that we were from San Francisco and had been married for 30 years, Stan and Bobby made it a point to sing, of course, “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”. Stan also sang the Hospital song, a song that talks of love at first sight. It is a local song that I’ve heard before, but didn’t know where. It is a very pretty song, and both Emi and I enjoyed the gesture. But it was better when Stan sang Hawaiian songs. Yes, I said Hawaiian songs. They have Hawaiian karaoke songs here. About time I say. This is Hawaii after all. It was so fun. And no I did not sing. I was to sing “Desperado” with Stan, but he left before the song came up.
Bobby had lost his wife about two years ago, and six months later he had a heart attack. Of course, his doctors told him to change his not so healthy life style, but in his words, “If I stayed home I’d be bored to death. What’s life all about anyway? Isn’t it to be as happy as possible. My friends are here. I have a good time here, and if I die I’ll be with my wife.“ What could I say except to agree with him and take another large sip of my drink.
So you kno wat? Like Iz sez, “Sheez, Hawaii, wot a place.”
Their humor was so typical of the island’s unique sense of humor. For example:
After Emi had two drinks Stan asks Emi, “So Emi, how do you feel?”
Emi replies, “I feel fine.”
“I know you’re fine. I asked how do you feel.”
After a few drinks a haole man with an Asian woman came in and replaced Stan and his girlfriend at the bar. They had to leave, because Izzie, Stan’s girlfriend, had drank too much, too fast. Mel the owner obviously knows the newly arrived couple, for his first words to the man were, “Ehh, no haoles until past 10 PM.” So much da kine loco humaa.
To my delight the pupu was still sashimi, but later on pork rinds and tako was brought out. When questioned, Mel reluctantly admitted that the pork rinds were indeed pork rinds, but it was OK to eat because it was “pauk” not really pork. “Pauk OK, not like pork.” he said with some unknown logic at work.
Along with the drinking, it was a karaoke bar, two wireless mike being passed around with each song. Stan and Bobby had great voices. After they found out that we were from San Francisco and had been married for 30 years, Stan and Bobby made it a point to sing, of course, “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”. Stan also sang the Hospital song, a song that talks of love at first sight. It is a local song that I’ve heard before, but didn’t know where. It is a very pretty song, and both Emi and I enjoyed the gesture. But it was better when Stan sang Hawaiian songs. Yes, I said Hawaiian songs. They have Hawaiian karaoke songs here. About time I say. This is Hawaii after all. It was so fun. And no I did not sing. I was to sing “Desperado” with Stan, but he left before the song came up.
Bobby had lost his wife about two years ago, and six months later he had a heart attack. Of course, his doctors told him to change his not so healthy life style, but in his words, “If I stayed home I’d be bored to death. What’s life all about anyway? Isn’t it to be as happy as possible. My friends are here. I have a good time here, and if I die I’ll be with my wife.“ What could I say except to agree with him and take another large sip of my drink.
So you kno wat? Like Iz sez, “Sheez, Hawaii, wot a place.”
Charlie & June
This short writing is about Charlie and June, a couple that Emi and I met while at the Hapa Haole Hula & Vocal Competition being held at the Hale Koa Hotel. The Hale Koa is a somewhat fancy hotel on the Western end of Waikiki close to Fort DeRussey, a location that Emi and I usually do not frequent, but this was a special occasion or so we thought. I did have a suspicion that the event put on by Kumu Victoria Holt Takamine, would be for the tourists and not a legitimate competition. Not to be prejudice we went to the show. As I watch the performance I found it just adequate. It is painfully obvious that the top name entertainers and halau were not there, which was disappointing.
Emi and I had been seated at a table with 6 mainland haole tourists. As the show progresses they began talking more than watching. I don’t recall exactly how we started talking, but I find myself talking to June, the lady sitting next to me. One does need to be sociable. She and her husband were from Florida and were staying at the hotel for two weeks with a short daytrip to the Big Island thrown in as a bonus. They knew very little about Hawaii. This ignorance was obvious when they asked me questions like, “Why is that British flag here? What does Hale Koa mean?” (The answers being the British flag looks like the Hawaiian flag because of their influence and hale koa means house koa or koa house.) I answered their questions. I try to be helpful, give them advice to make their trip more enjoyable but before I did I had to ask them, “What do you like to do? What kind of food do you like to eat? What interests you?” I asked them these questions, because it is my opinion that you can’t advise people what to do, unless you know what they want to do, otherwise you may give them ideas that are your interests, not theirs. My interests are swimming in the sea and eating poi, like a real kanaka. June answered, “I like history, and Charlie, well he was an electrical engineer so he basically only likes technological stuff. As for food….I don’t like raw fish or anything too strange.” All my suggestions melted away like Crisco in the hot Hawaii sun. No raw fish! She might just as well have said that they don’t eat rice, or macaroni salad, or kim chee, all essential food staples for the local population. The more we talked, the more it became clear that they had no idea what the real Hawaii was, beyond the general images put out by the tourist board and Hollywood. Further, I wondered if they had any desire to know the real Hawaii. When we parted, June’s last words were, “Maybe I’ll see you around on the hotel’s grounds.” I wanted to say, “Not unless I’m tied up and dragged here.” But I merely said, “Yeah, maybe,” with a weak smile on my face.
The freighting thing about June and Charlie is that I don’t think they’re unique. I have a deep fear that a large percentage of tourists come to Hawaii and leave with out any idea, in my opinion, of all that is Hawaii, beyond Waikiki and what it represents. The malihini (newcomer) cling to what is familiar and do not enter any zone of “strangeness.” I witnessed this conservative behavior while eating at Rainbow Drive-In. A visiting family was at the cashier and each and everyone ordered…can you guess? No not the beef stew, not the pork long rice, and not the loco moco. They all ordered a HAMBURGER, mainlander‘s comfort food. I wished that I could have shared all the great things that make me come back to Hawaii over and over, but I can’t, but I will share with you a few of the little happenings, sights, or foods that send Emi and I into another heaven:
And speaking of another heaven, that was the name of the play that Emi and I went to. Fred Dodge, who leads the Makua Valley hikes, told us about this play. Fred was one of the most gregarious person that I met here on the island, and to hear him talk you’d say that he was a pure haole, but he wasn’t. He had an aloha for Makua Valley that was pure Hawaiian. For example, before entering the valley he had a companion that made a vocal request in the form of a Hawaiian chant to enter. Only then were we allowed to enter. We were then instructed to stop at a close-by ahu (rock mound altar) where offerings were given. We had brought Hawiian salt; Fred had brought stream water from his neighborhood. I digress, back to the play…We went on the opening night. The seating surrounds the “stage.” which places you right next to the actors, within touching distance. The play was about Katsu Goto, a Japanese store keeper, who was lynched on the big Island back during the days of the sugar cane plantations. A bonus for us was meeting Jean and her husband Russell, who are season ticket holders. Russell did not say a word for the first 30 minutes of verbal exchanges, but by the end, he was non stop. As Jean noted, “Oh he’s like a child. Shy at first, but once he gets started, you can’t stop him.” You wouldn’t believe that he was an assistant attorney general for the State of Hawaii. Emi and I enjoyed his odd sense of humor. He said that he used to be somebody when there were fewer aag’s, but now that there are over hundred and he’s just one more, a nobody. Although, he said that his hand was famous, because it had touched Bruce Lee’s back. I then slapped his then open hand, and it visibly disturbed him as if I was taking Bruce from him. I think he was just acting the emotion; I hope so.
A nice and easy but still beautiful hike is walking the old Pali Road. You start from the lush Ko’olau golf course located on the windward side and at the foot of the Pali. It is a sedate hike, even for tourists and so there are tours for them that traverse the long abandon road. We went all the way up to the top, the lookout point. I don’t recommend doing that, because you have to go under the freeway and past portions that had recent rockslides from the winter rains, but if you want, you can. The State had made the area kapu, but we didn’t know that until we reached the top where the only sign was posted. Some nights later on the TV news they showed an elderly gentleman that bikes the path to reach his place of work five days a week. Now that everyone knows, the authorities will surely be waiting for him, better him than us. As for the tours, we met one on the way up. It was led by a man dressed in traditional Hawaiian garb and he warmly greeted Emi and I with “Aloha.” So I politely answered, “Aloha no.” The tourists were so thrilled to hear two kane kupuna talking in their native language. So cute, yeah?
Emi and I love the food here in Hawaii. So ono, but maybe not always the best for you. One of our favorite restaurant is “Ojisan” where the food is healthy unless you drink too much of the beer. It is a smaller Japanese restaurant located on Kapahulu. It is very family like but the décor is tastefully modern. When we went there it was packed by locals only, but the proprietor allowed us to stay even though we didn’t have reservations. We had croquette, chicken teriyake, oshinko, grilled saba, gobo, and a large beer. Excellent food, excellent beer. Only had two…two big ones. The croquette was so crispy on the outside and so soft on the inside, sort of like a Leonard’s malasada made out of potatoes. The saba was cooked just right. It was juicy and bone free. The oshinko was of a variety not usually served, natsu, takuan, and some green stuff that I didn’t know but loved eating it. The best part is the free parking at the rear of the shop.
Other food subjects…Surprisingly, we found excellent shave ice at a Korean restaurant called Home Style Cooking in Pearl City, although it took the guy about 10-15 minutes to make them. With nothing else to do we watched him the entire time. We were so hot and thirsty at the time, but then we‘re hot and thirsty almost all the time in Hawaii. Also, a surprise was finding ono malasadas in Ewa, just of the main road. They were made in a trailer by a Korean couple.
And then there was the night we wanted to have a drink at an establishment with a panoramic ocean view. We tried two places, but one was for the young types who liked loud music and the other didn’t have any music at all (E & O only have music on Thursday’s night). I decided to try a restaurant that we had seen located next to the Kawalo Marine Research Center. We only knew of the Center, because I was doing some writing that involved the place, and so we had hunted it down so that I could review the setting. It’s located in Kaka’ako in the middle of nowhere. Kaka’ako is a strange place. It is the home of a medical center, children’ center, the UH marine center, the homeless and surfers. The drive out there was down a very dark and lonely rutted road. Emi was sure we were lost and would soon be carjacked. She thought that we were still home where carjacking is a reality. We finally did reach the site. By then it was raining. Cars were parked everywhere. Walking into the establishment, John Dominis, we were shocked to see a huge restaurant full of well heeled, customers. We were more dressed for Zippy’s, but they didn‘t say a word as we walked in. There were large marine pools throughout the restaurant. It gave you the feeling that you were in a tropical lagoon at night. Multiple food prep stations abounded. Hugh fish lay on glittering ice as if they were resting for some unknown trip. The menu emphasized fish and sushi, but had everything else. Two local guys were playing recent oldie but goodies like Hotel California. The place was completely unknown to us, but not to the rest of the people, not to Al, my neighbor and ukulele mentor. Emi thought it was a throwback to the 70’s with it’s décor of dark exotic looking wood, lava stone walls, and fantastic view of Waikiki and Leahi (Diamond Head). She half expected to see Cricket or Jack Lord walk in.
The whole island is just waiting for anyone to discover the hidden gems in the most unlikely locations. All you need is a car, the money, time, and an appetite. June and Charlie will never know the gastronomical pleasures of local fare.
On Monday morning, Emi went to the Waikiki Community Center. A Japanese visiting couple told Emi about it. I left her there and walked to Sans Souci to swim. The current was so strong that I almost floated going one direction, but had to sprint swim to get back to where I started. When I came back to WCC, Emi and her fellow classmates were still at it. The kumu was Nalani Kealae. I was told his father was Moe Kealae who was one of the most famous Hawaiian singer. I didn’t know him; I do now. He was the one who made famous the “Hospital” song that Stan sang for us at the Shinshotei. I stood at the door and watched the wahines do their thing. I always like to watch hula. The ability level varied. The participants were not being taught Lovely Hula Hands or Hukilau. It was real hula. There were about 50 dancers and 95% were Japanese. Jody, my Kaimuki ukulele teacher, told me that Japan is like Hawaii with regards to loving Hawaiian culture, only 100x more. I didn’t believe him at first, but am now rethinking. These people come to Hawaii to learn as much Hawaiian culture, unlike June and Charlie. They know what they are going to do.
I wanted to explain to June and Charlie that Hawaii was unique, that Hawaii was the only place in the USA that sings their national anthem (Hawaii Pono I) as well as the American national anthem, the only place that race is not an issue unless you wanted to kid around, the only place that has their own conglomerate language, and the only place that has a foreign language as its original language. They wouldn’t know what I was talking about. While ethnic Hawaiians become more and more assimilated by all the other races, their culture grows and grows. How can a culture survive while the original population pass away? Just watch Hawaii and you’ll understand. Who will be the new “Hawaiian” ? A Japanese who comes to Hawaii months out of every year just to study the culture or a Pake who lives in San Francisco who was taken away from his “one hanau” (birth sands) when he was only nine, but never stopped loving all that is Hawaiian. Maybe even June and Charlie could become Hawaiian if someone showed them the real Hawaii.
Emi and I had been seated at a table with 6 mainland haole tourists. As the show progresses they began talking more than watching. I don’t recall exactly how we started talking, but I find myself talking to June, the lady sitting next to me. One does need to be sociable. She and her husband were from Florida and were staying at the hotel for two weeks with a short daytrip to the Big Island thrown in as a bonus. They knew very little about Hawaii. This ignorance was obvious when they asked me questions like, “Why is that British flag here? What does Hale Koa mean?” (The answers being the British flag looks like the Hawaiian flag because of their influence and hale koa means house koa or koa house.) I answered their questions. I try to be helpful, give them advice to make their trip more enjoyable but before I did I had to ask them, “What do you like to do? What kind of food do you like to eat? What interests you?” I asked them these questions, because it is my opinion that you can’t advise people what to do, unless you know what they want to do, otherwise you may give them ideas that are your interests, not theirs. My interests are swimming in the sea and eating poi, like a real kanaka. June answered, “I like history, and Charlie, well he was an electrical engineer so he basically only likes technological stuff. As for food….I don’t like raw fish or anything too strange.” All my suggestions melted away like Crisco in the hot Hawaii sun. No raw fish! She might just as well have said that they don’t eat rice, or macaroni salad, or kim chee, all essential food staples for the local population. The more we talked, the more it became clear that they had no idea what the real Hawaii was, beyond the general images put out by the tourist board and Hollywood. Further, I wondered if they had any desire to know the real Hawaii. When we parted, June’s last words were, “Maybe I’ll see you around on the hotel’s grounds.” I wanted to say, “Not unless I’m tied up and dragged here.” But I merely said, “Yeah, maybe,” with a weak smile on my face.
The freighting thing about June and Charlie is that I don’t think they’re unique. I have a deep fear that a large percentage of tourists come to Hawaii and leave with out any idea, in my opinion, of all that is Hawaii, beyond Waikiki and what it represents. The malihini (newcomer) cling to what is familiar and do not enter any zone of “strangeness.” I witnessed this conservative behavior while eating at Rainbow Drive-In. A visiting family was at the cashier and each and everyone ordered…can you guess? No not the beef stew, not the pork long rice, and not the loco moco. They all ordered a HAMBURGER, mainlander‘s comfort food. I wished that I could have shared all the great things that make me come back to Hawaii over and over, but I can’t, but I will share with you a few of the little happenings, sights, or foods that send Emi and I into another heaven:
And speaking of another heaven, that was the name of the play that Emi and I went to. Fred Dodge, who leads the Makua Valley hikes, told us about this play. Fred was one of the most gregarious person that I met here on the island, and to hear him talk you’d say that he was a pure haole, but he wasn’t. He had an aloha for Makua Valley that was pure Hawaiian. For example, before entering the valley he had a companion that made a vocal request in the form of a Hawaiian chant to enter. Only then were we allowed to enter. We were then instructed to stop at a close-by ahu (rock mound altar) where offerings were given. We had brought Hawiian salt; Fred had brought stream water from his neighborhood. I digress, back to the play…We went on the opening night. The seating surrounds the “stage.” which places you right next to the actors, within touching distance. The play was about Katsu Goto, a Japanese store keeper, who was lynched on the big Island back during the days of the sugar cane plantations. A bonus for us was meeting Jean and her husband Russell, who are season ticket holders. Russell did not say a word for the first 30 minutes of verbal exchanges, but by the end, he was non stop. As Jean noted, “Oh he’s like a child. Shy at first, but once he gets started, you can’t stop him.” You wouldn’t believe that he was an assistant attorney general for the State of Hawaii. Emi and I enjoyed his odd sense of humor. He said that he used to be somebody when there were fewer aag’s, but now that there are over hundred and he’s just one more, a nobody. Although, he said that his hand was famous, because it had touched Bruce Lee’s back. I then slapped his then open hand, and it visibly disturbed him as if I was taking Bruce from him. I think he was just acting the emotion; I hope so.
A nice and easy but still beautiful hike is walking the old Pali Road. You start from the lush Ko’olau golf course located on the windward side and at the foot of the Pali. It is a sedate hike, even for tourists and so there are tours for them that traverse the long abandon road. We went all the way up to the top, the lookout point. I don’t recommend doing that, because you have to go under the freeway and past portions that had recent rockslides from the winter rains, but if you want, you can. The State had made the area kapu, but we didn’t know that until we reached the top where the only sign was posted. Some nights later on the TV news they showed an elderly gentleman that bikes the path to reach his place of work five days a week. Now that everyone knows, the authorities will surely be waiting for him, better him than us. As for the tours, we met one on the way up. It was led by a man dressed in traditional Hawaiian garb and he warmly greeted Emi and I with “Aloha.” So I politely answered, “Aloha no.” The tourists were so thrilled to hear two kane kupuna talking in their native language. So cute, yeah?
Emi and I love the food here in Hawaii. So ono, but maybe not always the best for you. One of our favorite restaurant is “Ojisan” where the food is healthy unless you drink too much of the beer. It is a smaller Japanese restaurant located on Kapahulu. It is very family like but the décor is tastefully modern. When we went there it was packed by locals only, but the proprietor allowed us to stay even though we didn’t have reservations. We had croquette, chicken teriyake, oshinko, grilled saba, gobo, and a large beer. Excellent food, excellent beer. Only had two…two big ones. The croquette was so crispy on the outside and so soft on the inside, sort of like a Leonard’s malasada made out of potatoes. The saba was cooked just right. It was juicy and bone free. The oshinko was of a variety not usually served, natsu, takuan, and some green stuff that I didn’t know but loved eating it. The best part is the free parking at the rear of the shop.
Other food subjects…Surprisingly, we found excellent shave ice at a Korean restaurant called Home Style Cooking in Pearl City, although it took the guy about 10-15 minutes to make them. With nothing else to do we watched him the entire time. We were so hot and thirsty at the time, but then we‘re hot and thirsty almost all the time in Hawaii. Also, a surprise was finding ono malasadas in Ewa, just of the main road. They were made in a trailer by a Korean couple.
And then there was the night we wanted to have a drink at an establishment with a panoramic ocean view. We tried two places, but one was for the young types who liked loud music and the other didn’t have any music at all (E & O only have music on Thursday’s night). I decided to try a restaurant that we had seen located next to the Kawalo Marine Research Center. We only knew of the Center, because I was doing some writing that involved the place, and so we had hunted it down so that I could review the setting. It’s located in Kaka’ako in the middle of nowhere. Kaka’ako is a strange place. It is the home of a medical center, children’ center, the UH marine center, the homeless and surfers. The drive out there was down a very dark and lonely rutted road. Emi was sure we were lost and would soon be carjacked. She thought that we were still home where carjacking is a reality. We finally did reach the site. By then it was raining. Cars were parked everywhere. Walking into the establishment, John Dominis, we were shocked to see a huge restaurant full of well heeled, customers. We were more dressed for Zippy’s, but they didn‘t say a word as we walked in. There were large marine pools throughout the restaurant. It gave you the feeling that you were in a tropical lagoon at night. Multiple food prep stations abounded. Hugh fish lay on glittering ice as if they were resting for some unknown trip. The menu emphasized fish and sushi, but had everything else. Two local guys were playing recent oldie but goodies like Hotel California. The place was completely unknown to us, but not to the rest of the people, not to Al, my neighbor and ukulele mentor. Emi thought it was a throwback to the 70’s with it’s décor of dark exotic looking wood, lava stone walls, and fantastic view of Waikiki and Leahi (Diamond Head). She half expected to see Cricket or Jack Lord walk in.
The whole island is just waiting for anyone to discover the hidden gems in the most unlikely locations. All you need is a car, the money, time, and an appetite. June and Charlie will never know the gastronomical pleasures of local fare.
On Monday morning, Emi went to the Waikiki Community Center. A Japanese visiting couple told Emi about it. I left her there and walked to Sans Souci to swim. The current was so strong that I almost floated going one direction, but had to sprint swim to get back to where I started. When I came back to WCC, Emi and her fellow classmates were still at it. The kumu was Nalani Kealae. I was told his father was Moe Kealae who was one of the most famous Hawaiian singer. I didn’t know him; I do now. He was the one who made famous the “Hospital” song that Stan sang for us at the Shinshotei. I stood at the door and watched the wahines do their thing. I always like to watch hula. The ability level varied. The participants were not being taught Lovely Hula Hands or Hukilau. It was real hula. There were about 50 dancers and 95% were Japanese. Jody, my Kaimuki ukulele teacher, told me that Japan is like Hawaii with regards to loving Hawaiian culture, only 100x more. I didn’t believe him at first, but am now rethinking. These people come to Hawaii to learn as much Hawaiian culture, unlike June and Charlie. They know what they are going to do.
I wanted to explain to June and Charlie that Hawaii was unique, that Hawaii was the only place in the USA that sings their national anthem (Hawaii Pono I) as well as the American national anthem, the only place that race is not an issue unless you wanted to kid around, the only place that has their own conglomerate language, and the only place that has a foreign language as its original language. They wouldn’t know what I was talking about. While ethnic Hawaiians become more and more assimilated by all the other races, their culture grows and grows. How can a culture survive while the original population pass away? Just watch Hawaii and you’ll understand. Who will be the new “Hawaiian” ? A Japanese who comes to Hawaii months out of every year just to study the culture or a Pake who lives in San Francisco who was taken away from his “one hanau” (birth sands) when he was only nine, but never stopped loving all that is Hawaiian. Maybe even June and Charlie could become Hawaiian if someone showed them the real Hawaii.
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