Although touristy, lu’aus today can be a lot of fun. While some


are big outdoor parties with lots of drink and entertainment, others aim to present an authentic Hawai’ian cultural experience. I’ve chosen Old Lahaina Lu’au for their evening program focusing solely on Hawai’ian traditions. A pig has been baking underground all day and the unearthing ritual is part of the entertainment. For the next 90 minutes, we feast on native dishes such as Kahlua pig, poke (fish ceviche), taro, yam, and a variety of seafood, then settle back for a sensual evening of hula, song, and dance that tells the story of Hawai’i beginning with the first arrivals centuries ago.


The road to Hana


The next morning, I’m on a 52-mile winding drive that passes through an Eden-like jungle of flowering trees, waterfalls, and infinite variations on the color green before arriving in Hana on the east coast. This lush landscape explodes with banana trees, ferns, vines, and dozens of other plant species, none of them native. Newcomers brought them here hoping to turn the island into their own version of horticultural heaven. My early departure gives me a jump on the day-trippers, and I


have the road to myself much of the morning. Locals make this drive in less than two hours but friends encourage me to slow down and enjoy the journey. A bumpy dirt lane off the highway leads to Honomanu Bay, and I’m poking around the rocky shoreline when a pickup truck rumbles up with four tattooed locals. Two wade into the bay with hand nets and start stalking large mullet swimming at the surface while their buddies on the beach whistle and point toward the fish. In the end, the mullet escape and the men return to the beach with empty nets, but no one seems disappointed. Take away the truck and this could be Hawai’i of a century ago. Closer to Hana, roadside stands appear with fresh fruit,


coconuts, and the best banana bread I’ve ever eaten. Some stands are unattended and on the honor system with bunches of apple bananas and piles of papayas; take what you like and leave money in the box. I stop at the Hana Farms stand just outside of town to celebrate journey’s end with a white pineapple, papaya, and lilikoi smoothie. It’s every bit as delicious as the surrounding scenery but I remind myself that none of these sweet tropical fruits are native. When the first Polynesian sailors arrived, there were few edible plants here. These early arrivals brought taro, yams, coconuts, and sugarcane, the first of hundreds of alien species. Seven hours and 59 bridges after starting my journey, I roll into


Hana. It’s here that the rain finally slows me down. From the deck of my ocean-view cottage at Travaasa Hana Resort, I watch squalls move off the sea and engulf the coast. Within minutes, they pass and the sun returns. These short-lived showers are part of life in Hana, and like the waves and tides, they punctuate the days with reminders that nature remains in charge here, just as it was when the first mariners arrived on these shores. The road continues beyond Hana, and an hour after leaving


town, I’m up a trail and deep inside a bamboo forest in Haleakala National Park. It may be the most eerily musical place I’ve ever set foot in. Like an enormous wind chime, giant stalks of bamboo


30 EnCompass January/February 2012 www.AAA.com


knock and clatter together, their green leafy tops swaying in the trade winds 60 feet overhead. Yet even these colossal grasses, nestled perfectly into this hushed glade pierced by amber shafts of sunlight, are invaders. When Chinese laborers came here in 1852 to work the sugar cane fields, they brought the bamboo for building materials and as a food source. The Chinese are long gone but the bamboo has made itself at home by starving out other plants and creating a monoculture similar to a grass lawn. Yet along with the luaus,


helicopter rides, and staged wildlife encounters, some things remain constant across the centuries. The ‘aina, or land, is still sacred both to native Hawai’ians and new arrivals. Wind, rain, and sunlight still flow ceaselessly around the islands and slowly sculpt the landscape. Boats and roads and aerial tours are just another way to experience what’s been here all along, in ways that the ancient ones never dreamed possible. l


Eric Lindberg (www.ericlindberg.com) is a freelance writer and photogra- pher based in Lakewood, Colo. He is the 2011 Travel Photographer of the Year, Society of American Travel Writers.


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