The Optimistic Traveller

There isn’t any place I’d rather be than Hawaii. 

Maui is my favorite island of those I’ve visited (the perfect mix of developed and not), but I’ll take Oahu any day, or the Big Island, or Kauai. Or one of the others I’ve not set foot on. Or one of the ones that will eventually rise up out of the ocean, for that matter.

Forget the oft-stated “Hawaii is too expensive.” That’s what people say when they’ve never been and are jealous of you. Everything, cost-wise, comes out in the wash. Fresh poke (scrumptious made of any fish) is always available at the grocery stores, and there’s a ton of free and cheap vegetables and fruit growing everywhere. Jabongs, the local name for pomelo, are usually so prolific I wouldn’t be surprised if people paid you to take them away. They are delicious savory, sweet, or simply peeled and eaten as/is. I mean, don’t go to Hawaii to buy marshmallow Fluff; it might be a little pricier than you’d normally pay in Boston. Sometimes it’s expensive to fly to the islands, but sometimes it isn’t, and it’s generally cheap to travel between them. Just comparison shop a little on flights, or save your miles, like we did for our first trip together before we were married.

Mike lived on Oahu for years during his time in the Marines and had stayed in touch with some of his fellow officers, including Ron, whose new, second wife Karane immediately insisted we stay with them. Karane is a Japanese woman and one of the kindest Republicans I’ve ever met in my life. (That’s a little joke I just made with myself.) But I’d trust her with just about anything. Their first house together was in the Kāne‘ohe (meaning bamboo man) Bay area, appropriately titled for its lush valleys almost always covered in heavy, almost weighable, mist. They lived right in a crevice where water flowed from the mountain, bringing life to their giant avocado tree. Their backyard, where Ron grilled oysters and bawdily joked, his face red from the grill and all the beers, was a huge swathe of green. I fell in love with all of it – Ron, Karane, and especially this land where it would rain one minute and explode with rainbows and bright sunshine the next.

It was sublime from the moment I stepped off the plane. As is tradition, Ron placed a lei around my neck in the hot open air, and I felt like a sweaty princess. Later, when Karane’s teenaged daughter caught us fooling around during the grill party when we were supposed to be napping off our jetlag, we all had a big laugh in the middle of a memory that was destined to skip on repeat, producing lots more laughter (and possibly, discomfort) long into the future.

I’m fortunate that my first and almost every Hawaii visit was made all the more wonderful (and affordable) by the benefit of friends, either for hosting accommodations or a dinner or two. I’m not sure if that’s the reason Hawaii feels like home to me, but it can’t have hurt. The hotels we’ve stayed at, too, were lovely, often with sprawling gardens and balconies that looked out on the most postcard-picture sunsets you could possibly imagine. I haven’t been back to Maui since a huge fire devastated the historic Lahaina area in 2023, and the area is still recuperating, but the rest of Maui is amazing, too, and a quick google shows reasonably priced hotels throughout. My real Optimistic Traveller advice: if I were you, I’d get some Hawaiian friends. If you’re antisocial, use Airbnb to find your first place to stay. “Aloha” means love, and the fact that Hawaiians use it as an everyday greeting is indicative of a people inherently good, hospitable, and, above all, loving. Staying in a real home will make sense. Like “island time” is an expression that derived from soldiers’ wartime experiences with looser constrictions and less punctuality in Hawaii and the Caribbean, it’s also appropriate that “hang loose” is commonly used in Hawaii. No need to worry – just hang loose — it might be raining in this spot, but there’s a clear, sunny beach or a rainbow just a few minutes’ drive around whichever island you’re on.

The Big Island, also known as Hawaii, hosts uniquely colored beaches, made so from various types of volcanic rock and minerals. The green sand beach, Pa-pakōlea, is at the southern point of the island, and you need to park and hike to it. There I lost my bathing suit in a wave once, flopped onto the beach completely naked and stunned as Mike hurriedly tried to snap photos and various families with small children looked on. Venturing along a tiny road to another beach on the Big Island, we spied an avocado stand with an honor system payment; they were $1 each, and there was a slot in a rough-hewn wooden box to put the money in. We scooped it with our fingers and not even a smidge of salt was required.

The Road to Hana on Maui is extraordinary – stop and pick mountain apples, usually left to rot on the ground or sold only by locals at roadside stands, never at stores, even though they’re delicious, mild, crunchy, and refreshing with the density (or lack thereof) of crisp pears or watermelon. I’m not sure why the market for them isn’t booming.

Oahu deserves a drive to the North Shore (and, while you’re at it, all the way around), to Shark’s Cove and Turtle Bay (giant sea turtles sunning in the sand are a frequent sight, official badge-wearing volunteers hovering nearby to prevent people from getting too close), where I’ve snorkeled many times, turning to suddenly see the unmistakable ancient face and sidelong glance of a turtle slurping algae from the rocks, so close he could be a bedpartner. I always float and wait, telepathically insinuating my problems as though he’s my therapist or a bartender. And near the huge beach of Waimea Bay, there’s a stunning botanical garden worth the few dollars to walk through. This area is known for its surfing, so make sure the tide is low and the water calm when you swim. I once had the breath knocked out of me at Shark’s Cove during the winter/surf season and tumbled a great distance through a wave (and possibly, time) before landing, unsure if I was alive. My sinuses were filled with gurgling water for days after. That, in fact, was the day I learned to deferentially fear the ocean when appropriate. I hope that I will never fear it too much or respect it too little again.

You can also check out the Dole plantation on your drive around Oahu. No question that it’s mainly a big store from which to sell overpriced and only vaguely pineapple-y items, but the train tour is cute and will teach you a lot about how pineapples are grown, and the pineapple soft serve ice cream alone is worth the stop.

If for some reason you’re only in Hawaii to shop for designer goods, the retail is lower than even in Europe for Gucci and Louis Vuitton – something about the region they’re imported from, in addition to Hawaii’s comparatively low sales tax. If instead you like to go thrifting, there are a lot of options, too, and you are guaranteed to find great deals on vintage Tommy Bahama for men and women, kimonos and Japanese-style dresses with frog closures at the neck, and, of course, Hawaiian shirts up the wazoo for way lower prices than pretty much anywhere else in the world.

A place of great magic. I had a miscarriage there. I conceived my son there.

The morning after the latter, we went to Waikiki Beach. It’s somewhat touristy, yes, but you can get a lovely fish taco with fresh jalapenos at the famous Duke’s or one of the other oceanfront restaurants, and the beaches remain pristine regardless of the crowd numbers. A short walk away are the zoo and other attractions, and if you keep walking along the water eastward, you will find Diamond Head crater for a nice hike, and other, less populated beaches near an ideal residential area where Ron and Karane made their second home together. Keep going in that direction, now too far to walk, and you’ll hit the protected Hanauma Bay, a wondrous preserved coral reef with, thus, fantastic snorkeling. You are required to watch a short video before trekking down the steep hill to the bay. Whatever you do, don’t step on the reef at any point. My first visit, before the video was required and when I hadn’t snorkeled more than once or twice before in my life, I was screamed at from the beach, “GET OFF THE REEF!,” in a growling, furied voice that often haunts me in my sleep.

On this day in Waikiki, I had with me a tiny radio someone brought me back from Asia, about two inches long, battery operated, regular earbuds of yesteryear that connected with an old-school headphone jack. I sat and tuned to an FM station while Mike walked down the beach to snorkel, promising he’d find me something special. He has a dream to one day wander with a metal detector and be a crazy man. (He has half of this dream already requited.)

I settled on the blanket with a magazine. Fifteen or twenty minutes passed, and I saw him walking back up the beach, head down, when “Danny’s Song” by Loggins and Messina came on my radio. It was a tune that reminded me of childhood and driving across country in a pickup truck with my parents, eating cold pork n’ beans from a can and passing it back and forth. “Even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with ya, honey…” and wishes for a son, “conceived in love…a family where once was none.”

He sat down on the towel beside me, and I handed him one of the earbuds so we could listen together: They’ve just begun, and they’re “gonna fly to the sun.”

Had we not already been married, this would have been a good way and the right moment to propose. In his palm was a ring with a row of three diamonds, and he handed it to me as the song ended. He’d found a treasure, as promised. I wear it around my neck sometimes, a memento of one of the most romantic moments of my life, and the night before, and my beautiful boy, and all the incredible experiences I’ve had since, on my visits to the islands of Hawaii.