"They said a FAM trip could never be done on the Hilo side of the island. And I said, 'Watch me!"
A group of twenty-five event planners had just arrived at the Hilo International airport for a Big Island familiarization trip. Cathy Clarke, Founder of Cathy Clark Destination Management Co., provided a running commentary on our transfer from the airport to the Hilo Hawaiian Hotel.
"Now I have a saying on my trips. . ." She sat sideways on the front seat, one hand on the microphone and the other looped around the seat for stability. "If you're not having fun, let me know what I can do. If you're still not having fun, get off the bus!"
We passed a row of gargantuan banyan trees with children playing tag around their jungle roots. In front of each tree, a plaque commemorated the planter: "Cecil B. Demille," "Elvis Presley," "Elizabeth Taylor.". . .The sun had brought families out to the ocean's rocky shore for Sunday picnics and paddle boarding.
"The Hawaiian Islands are like my children." Cathy's whitish blondish hair swayed as the bus maneuvered a pot hole. "When I'm asked which one is my favorite, I have to say that I love them all the same." She winked her thickly mascaraed right eye. "But my home is on this island. . ."
Parked now in front of the hotel, Cathy blocked the aisle. Calmly and with enunciated vowels: "Remember. . ." (This was a pep talk to prepare us for our sub three-star accommodations.)"We are on the Hilo side of the island. You will have your five-star resort experience in two days. You are about to see and experience the real Hawaii I know and love. Since you are the first FAM ever, keep in mind that this is an adventure!"
Next morning on a site inspection with Linda, a muumuu-wearing Hawaiian with long black hair past her waist:
"Linda, when did the hotel last have renovations?"
"I think it was 1992, maybe earlier."
I admired this honest lamb among hotel wolves.
After the hotel tour, we loaded a coach bound for Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, home of Kiluea, "The world's most active volcano." Before the volcano, however, we visited Hilo's hot spots: a quaint old-town shopping district, Big Island Candy Company, home to maybe the world's greatest shortbread and chocolate-dipped squid, and the Imiloa Astronomy Center.
We reached the Jaggar Museum, perched above the Volcano's caldera, well after dark.
"Take your time walking to the museum. I have a surprise!" Cathy scurried off the bus, hobbling a bit with what must be a bad hip replacement. In front of the walk leading to an observational platform, she stopped and conversed with several shadowed figures in native dress. We soon caught up to her, shivering in the mountain air.
Cathy introduced us to the leader of a local Hula school, called a Halau, and ushered us onto the observational platform where we had an uninterrupted view of the caldera's red glow against the black of the night.
The dancers faced the glow, dancing to the drum beat and chant of their colleagues seated behind. They performed three numbers to the Volcano goddess, Pele, who is said to reside here. She is a deity of jealous destruction; but also the creator of new, virgin land where her lava meets the ocean.
One song was about a tempestuous love affair between Pele and another deity. Another was performed in worship of her creative force.
The dancers wore green ti leaf lava-lavas, leis, and garland-crowns of dried leaves. They rhythmically pounded their feet on the earth, bowed to the ground, chanted "Pele!" and proceeded to the caldera's edge with arms stretch high in the air. They repeated the sequence again and again in a trance-like state. This was not the gentle swaying, ukulele music, Oriental Trading Company kitsch of the luaus offered at the swanky hotels on the other side of the island.
This was a dance of passion, and of frightening virility.
After the dancing, friends and family gathered around the performers in warm congratulations. later, I overheard that twenty years ago, Pele's lava flow nearly destroyed their entire town.
On the bus again.
"Cathy," I observed privately, "Something has changed here, even just in the five years I've been coming to Hawaii. I don't feel like a colonizer anymore. I feel like a guest to far off land with a rich, thriving, culture."
Cathy sat up, almost whispering, "In the colonial era Hawaiian elders decided that they were going to put what they called, 'The knowledge,' away for a time. About twenty years ago one elder here on the Island decided that the children must learn 'The knowledge' before it died away. Once he started sharing, traditional halaus began popping up all over the place. Children are learning 'The Knowledge' again."
Abruptly she reached for the microphone.
"Who's going to join me in the bar tonight!? We're gonna drink em dry. . . Anyone have a good ghost story? I know I do! But you're probably tired of hearing me. . . No?"
My mind wandered to the potent image lingering in my mind of the dancers and the glow of Kilauea. I contemplated the feral spirituality that emanated from Kilauea and the significance of creating new land in a vast ocean.
Predictably, perhaps, I shifted from sacred to profane. Why couldn't there be, for example, a Montage Resort on the Hilo side of the Island? Something meticulously planned, and culturally aware. Guests who have done the cliche beach vacation could be lured to this side's glistening, brand new, black sand beaches. I went so far as to envision a rainy season festival selling out hotel rooms with guests desiring new and unpredictable travel destinations and weather.
"Are you having fun?!" boomed Cathy behind the microphone. "You ain't seen nothing yet!"
A group of twenty-five event planners had just arrived at the Hilo International airport for a Big Island familiarization trip. Cathy Clarke, Founder of Cathy Clark Destination Management Co., provided a running commentary on our transfer from the airport to the Hilo Hawaiian Hotel.
"Now I have a saying on my trips. . ." She sat sideways on the front seat, one hand on the microphone and the other looped around the seat for stability. "If you're not having fun, let me know what I can do. If you're still not having fun, get off the bus!"
We passed a row of gargantuan banyan trees with children playing tag around their jungle roots. In front of each tree, a plaque commemorated the planter: "Cecil B. Demille," "Elvis Presley," "Elizabeth Taylor.". . .The sun had brought families out to the ocean's rocky shore for Sunday picnics and paddle boarding.
"The Hawaiian Islands are like my children." Cathy's whitish blondish hair swayed as the bus maneuvered a pot hole. "When I'm asked which one is my favorite, I have to say that I love them all the same." She winked her thickly mascaraed right eye. "But my home is on this island. . ."
Parked now in front of the hotel, Cathy blocked the aisle. Calmly and with enunciated vowels: "Remember. . ." (This was a pep talk to prepare us for our sub three-star accommodations.)"We are on the Hilo side of the island. You will have your five-star resort experience in two days. You are about to see and experience the real Hawaii I know and love. Since you are the first FAM ever, keep in mind that this is an adventure!"
Next morning on a site inspection with Linda, a muumuu-wearing Hawaiian with long black hair past her waist:
"Linda, when did the hotel last have renovations?"
"I think it was 1992, maybe earlier."
I admired this honest lamb among hotel wolves.
After the hotel tour, we loaded a coach bound for Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, home of Kiluea, "The world's most active volcano." Before the volcano, however, we visited Hilo's hot spots: a quaint old-town shopping district, Big Island Candy Company, home to maybe the world's greatest shortbread and chocolate-dipped squid, and the Imiloa Astronomy Center.
We reached the Jaggar Museum, perched above the Volcano's caldera, well after dark.
"Take your time walking to the museum. I have a surprise!" Cathy scurried off the bus, hobbling a bit with what must be a bad hip replacement. In front of the walk leading to an observational platform, she stopped and conversed with several shadowed figures in native dress. We soon caught up to her, shivering in the mountain air.
Cathy introduced us to the leader of a local Hula school, called a Halau, and ushered us onto the observational platform where we had an uninterrupted view of the caldera's red glow against the black of the night.
The dancers faced the glow, dancing to the drum beat and chant of their colleagues seated behind. They performed three numbers to the Volcano goddess, Pele, who is said to reside here. She is a deity of jealous destruction; but also the creator of new, virgin land where her lava meets the ocean.
One song was about a tempestuous love affair between Pele and another deity. Another was performed in worship of her creative force.
The dancers wore green ti leaf lava-lavas, leis, and garland-crowns of dried leaves. They rhythmically pounded their feet on the earth, bowed to the ground, chanted "Pele!" and proceeded to the caldera's edge with arms stretch high in the air. They repeated the sequence again and again in a trance-like state. This was not the gentle swaying, ukulele music, Oriental Trading Company kitsch of the luaus offered at the swanky hotels on the other side of the island.
This was a dance of passion, and of frightening virility.
After the dancing, friends and family gathered around the performers in warm congratulations. later, I overheard that twenty years ago, Pele's lava flow nearly destroyed their entire town.
On the bus again.
"Cathy," I observed privately, "Something has changed here, even just in the five years I've been coming to Hawaii. I don't feel like a colonizer anymore. I feel like a guest to far off land with a rich, thriving, culture."
Cathy sat up, almost whispering, "In the colonial era Hawaiian elders decided that they were going to put what they called, 'The knowledge,' away for a time. About twenty years ago one elder here on the Island decided that the children must learn 'The knowledge' before it died away. Once he started sharing, traditional halaus began popping up all over the place. Children are learning 'The Knowledge' again."
Abruptly she reached for the microphone.
"Who's going to join me in the bar tonight!? We're gonna drink em dry. . . Anyone have a good ghost story? I know I do! But you're probably tired of hearing me. . . No?"
My mind wandered to the potent image lingering in my mind of the dancers and the glow of Kilauea. I contemplated the feral spirituality that emanated from Kilauea and the significance of creating new land in a vast ocean.
Predictably, perhaps, I shifted from sacred to profane. Why couldn't there be, for example, a Montage Resort on the Hilo side of the Island? Something meticulously planned, and culturally aware. Guests who have done the cliche beach vacation could be lured to this side's glistening, brand new, black sand beaches. I went so far as to envision a rainy season festival selling out hotel rooms with guests desiring new and unpredictable travel destinations and weather.
"Are you having fun?!" boomed Cathy behind the microphone. "You ain't seen nothing yet!"
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