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ISLAND
MAGIC – Stories, Experiences and Observations
Nanakuli, Hawaii
©
2007 - 2008 Gilbert Belmudez
(Note: Regard this
true story as a rough draft. I am
writing it from a few notes and a lot of memory. If
there are some inaccuracies in Hawaiian
spelling, geographical description, legend, custom or any other
details, feel
free to contact me with corrections and opinion. Critique
is more than welcome.)
The
Beginning
I was thirty years old when
I landed in Hawaii
for the very first time on April Fools Day, 1980. I had no place
to stay,
no job prospect and knew no one. I knew little about Hawaii
and when I arrived at Honolulu
airport I was mesmerized by the beauty and confused with an uncertainty
as to
what I should do. My luggage consisted of a full duffle bag and a
sleeping bag.
The
first thing I did was put on my flip-flops and deposit my boots and
duffle bag in
an airport locker I rented for two weeks. This allowed me to
travel
lightly with just the sleeping bag into which I rolled up the barest of
necessities such as toiletries, shorts, a towel, one change of clothing
and an
old serape I had purchased in Tijuana
fourteen years before. I had no credit cards, no bank account and
about
two hundred dollars to live on in my pocket.
Eventually finding a bus I went to what I believe was somewhere between
Waikiki
and Honolulu.
I got off the bus not far from the ocean and wandered around a bit
until I came
across a small park separated from the beach by a low seawall. A
handful
of people were gathered at a picnic bench listening to a guitar player
who seemed
in no hurry to go anywhere. I wandered over and listened for a
while. At some point I casually introduced myself and explained
how I had
just arrived for the first time in Hawaii.
Someone greeted me with an “aloha”. “Welcome
to the islands”.
It was late in the afternoon and soon the sun
was setting. Everyone I was
with wandered away and disappeared. I sat on the sea wall for a
while as
night time settled in and looked out to the dark ocean waters. I
was
worried about what I would do as exhaustion began to take over.
There was
a bush close by that formed a canopy of sorts over a small space I
found I
could squeezed into. Enough so that I was sure no one would spot
me as I
dozed off huddled under my Mexican blanket.
I could glamorize my first night on the
islands by saying all went well but the
truth is I was miserable. The rain moved in and even with my
poncho on I
was soon soaked. It was hard to sleep and silent tears rolled
down my
face as I lay there wondering what I had done. “How stupid of me”
I
thought. Here I was suffering and wet when I could have stayed in
California
and at this
very moment been relaxing on a dry couch and watching TV.
Instead, I had
put myself in a ridiculous situation and never felt so lonely in my
whole
life.
*
* *
The next morning brought
welcomed sunshine and in no time I was using the seawall to spread my
wet items
and get them dry. I sat on the sand and watched as people began
to arrive
on the beach. A local woman, maybe about forty years of age, sat
nearby. She wore sort of a sundress with Hawaiian patterns.
Her
skin was bronze in color and her hair, perhaps once dark, had a
bleached color
that was a mixture of reddish hues and streaks of dark blond. The
woman
noticed me tending my things drying on the seawall and began a friendly
conversation with me. She spoke in a local accent and knew
immediately
that I was not familiar with Hawaii.
When you are alone like I was and starting anew, you take your chances
with
people you don't know and I was no different as I began to confess to
her how I
was clueless and didn’t know what to do or where to go.
She
spoke slow enough for me to understand and pointed out that I could
catch a
certain bus a few blocks away which would take me out of the
city. “Go to
Nanakuli”, she said. “Just tell the bus driver to let you off in
Nanakuli
and there you will see a nice white beach where you could probably stay
for a
few days. After that, you’ll figure things out.”
I’ve got to take a moment to explain
something here. Anyone who knew Oahu
then, and I’m assuming not much has changed on this
subject since, will tell you that sleeping on the beach in Nanakuli is
not at
all a very good idea. First, it is against the law and second,
the people
there would not take kindly to someone trying to camp where there is no
designated camping area. Remember, I was naïve and to me,
the woman’s
suggestion seemed better than nothing so I did as she instructed me and
soon
found myself on a bus headed in that direction. When I later told
this
story to locals whom I got to know the only explanation they could give
me was
that I was blessed with kokua. “Good fortune”. Some have
even
suggested that the Hawaiian woman I had met was the spirit of
Pele.
Especially because her hair symbolized the colors of fire and because
for the
next week I spent at Nanakuli beach I felt nothing but aloha from the
local
residents. Under the circumstances they would have had every
right to
tell me to move on. I now realize how fortunate I was to be
accepted.
*
*
*
The bus stop was where the
woman had directed me to. I was soon
headed out of the Honolulu
area. I figure that if I had started out
from the King Street
area the entire trip was about 27 miles and by bus lasted close to an
hour. Frankly, I was exhausted from the
worry and
stress of knowing nothing about my future and it was a relief to rest a
spell as
the bus went along its scheduled route. We
went past Pearl City and the Pearl Harbor
area
as we continued along the coast. I did
start
noticing there were less buildings and people along the way and to play
it
safe, I asked the driver to let me know when we arrived at my
destination. He smiled and said, “No
problem”.
I just started to doze off
when I heard the driver announce “Nanakuli!” and came to a stop. There were a few buildings where I got off
but not much activity. A small
convenience grocery store was where I had gotten off the bus there was
a used
furniture store nearby. About 200 yards
away was a local post office. All of
this was on the mountain or Pali side of the only road ( Farrington Highway)
that passed through the
area. Directly behind was a fairly good
size community of homes. Beyond and
further inward was square mile after square mile of sugar cane. Across the street was Nanakuli Park,
an expansive white sand beach with picnic benches and a public restroom. It stretched at least about ¾ of mile.
I stepped into the
convenience store and bought some food to satisfy my hunger and also
save for
later. Then I crossed the road and
settled on the sand at the edge of the park area. It
was beautiful and the sound of the waves
was therapeutic. The horizon is
expansive there and aside from a few clouds you could see clearly and
what
seemed for miles. I didn’t know how
lucky I was because the rain that had soaked me the night before was
the last
of a storm that had finally passed through and the days I would spend
in that
area would be without rain.
My entire stay at Nanakuli
was to be about a week, from Wednesday, April 2 to Wednesday, April 9. I know that local people wondered who I was
and what I was about. Some of the
younger men came by to relax at the beach after what I figure was a
hard day at
work. They greeted me with curiosity and
it was difficult for me to understand the accent of Hawaiian pidgin. As a Chicano from California
and because of my racial mixture I could have passed as a part of the
racial
diversity in Hawaii
but for my naivety and the obvious west coast accent.
When they realized I was not from the islands
they spoke slower and more distinctly so I could understand them.
I found out that there is a
large community of indigenous Hawaiians living in Nanakuli and to me
even then,
this became special. In return, I
treated the area with a strong respect and although my visit was
obvious, I did
not do anything to bring more than the average attention to myself. In return, my stay was respected.
The days were quiet and full of self analysis
and the nights were spent peacefully huddled in my sleeping bag. At one point I realized the keys I carried
with me were a useless reminder of past possessions and I
unceremoniously
tossed them into the sea. They were a
weight worth discarding and a part of a subtle change I was beginning
to go
through.
Each evening the same young
men who I originally met would come by and visit as the sun set in the
horizon. We would talk a while and then
they would leave for their respective homes. When
Friday came along they invited me to go with
them to a local bar
that had live music. Sort of Portuguese
music, if I recall correctly. The next
night I went to see a movie with them at a drive-in theater. Sunday came along and it hadn’t dawned on me
what day it was until the park began to fill with families celebrating
what
became my first and most memorable Easter in Hawaii.
I was sitting alone trying
to enjoy the beauty of everything that was happening around me when a
little
girl came up and timidly invited me to take part in the Easter banquet
her
family had prepared. I was thrown off
and a bit embarrassed but her smiling mother and father settled my
nervousness
with a warm welcome of aloha. It became
my first luau.
*
*
*
I
knew that I had to make a move and get on with
life. A couple of days after Easter I
mentioned this to my regular evening visitors and they agreed, sort of
hinting
that it was time to move on. Several of
them mentioned that Maui was a good
idea. I was thirty years old and they said
there
were a lot more people on Maui who
were my age
or younger. I would get along well and
there was plenty of work. Two of my
friends had been working construction and told me that until recently
they had
were flown back and forth between Maui and Oahu in order to work on the
new
hotels that were being constructed at an area known as Kaanapali. They offered to give me a ride to Honolulu Airport and I accepted.
First,
they waited as I picked up what I left in the
airport locker a week before and then took me to the entrance of an
inter-island airline they always used when going to Maui,
Royal Hawaiian Airlines. I liked the
idea because at that time the fare was cheaper. If
I recall correctly a one way ticket was about
$35.00. I got off their car and we shook
hands. Before they left one of them turned
to me and
said, “Remember. From now on if someone
asks where you come from bruddah, you tell them from Nanakuli, Valley
of the
Giants.” Comments
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