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Travel

Gem in a strand of islands

Visitors marvel at the spectacularly cut vistas on the peaceful Hawaiian island of Kauai.

By ELLEN PERLMAN
Published March 5, 2006

	[Photo by Ellen Perlman]
	The Na Pali coast provided the backdrop for the filming of South Pacific. "Pali" means razorback cliffs and "na pali" means lots of them, according to a local.

The waves were crashing outside the window of our restaurant on the island of Kauai in Hawaii. The ocean looked powerful and treacherous. Then we spotted lights in the water. Two people were bobbing in the surf with headlamps, wearing snorkeling gear. What the heck were they doing out there in the dark? How pretty could the fish look at night? It turns out they don't look better by moonlight. Only tastier. The snorkelers knew what we didn't: Nighttime is a good time to go spearfishing.

Catching sight of the snorkelers fishing at night was one of the many surprising things we experienced on Kauai. We also found a sleepy Brigadoon-like town that transforms itself once a week into an art lover's haven, where "wild" animals really should be domestic and rainbows appear daily and in full color.

Expect the unexpected on Kauai, Hawaii's "garden island." Visitors go to the state's fourth largest island for its stunning natural wonders, such as Waimea Canyon, "the Grand Canyon of the Pacific," and the verdant Na Pali coast, location of the filming of the movie South Pacific. But en route to the main attractions, the personality of this intimate island comes through in small, unanticipated ways, often through its people.

For one, it's not just Don Ho or Dan-O who use "aloha" with abandon. Shopkeepers nearly always "aloha" for hello when you enter and "mahalo" for thank you when you leave. Directions are not "north and south" but "mauka and makai," meaning toward the mountains or toward the sea. That's not unique to Kauai (pronounced kuh-WHY-ee), but the pace of life on the island allows it to shine through.

Our travels took us mauka the first day. We set out for Waimea Canyon on a warm day, driving past shops offering gear and guides for diving, snorkeling, biking, kayaking and pleasure cruises. Once past the small town of Waimea, on the south side of the island, it is an 11-mile winding drive into the interior to reach the top of the canyon. We stopped at Pu'u Hina Hina Lookout for a glimpse of the canyon.

And there we were set upon by brightly colored roosters with black, red and gold feathers who clearly had no sense of time or place. Shouldn't they be down on the farm, sounding off at dawn? Instead, they live in a forested area at the top of a canyon, on a tropical island and cock-a-doodle-doo at noon. Or 3. Or whenever. Brown hens and red-crested cardinals also strutted across the black asphalt, inspecting to see if this most recent vehicle to arrive brought food. Many more of their compatriots were hanging out at the edge of the woods.

We left them pecking in the parking lot and headed to the overlook to take a quick peek into the canyon. Then we continued up the road for our planned hike to Waipoo Falls. The trail starts as a rocky dirt road. Wild ginger, with roots as thick as corn cobs, grows along the side of the road, along with passion fruit trees and other exotic flowering trees and plants with colorful blossoms.

The road soon narrowed to a more challenging hiking path. Startled black geckos darted away from our stomping boots. Dust kicked up, pasting itself onto our sticky skin. We made our way to a rocky promontory with great views of the canyon. The promontory gave me that woozy, stand back from the edge sensation. There are no fences.

Though not as big as the Grand Canyon, Waimea is vast. Helicopters that take sightseers around look like motorized dragonflies in the distance, disappearing when they get closer to the other side. The canyon walls reveal the large number of volcanic eruptions it took to create the island, showing up in multihued layers of old lava. Blued lichen, red dirt and green plants and bushes make for a colorful vista.

We almost didn't continue 3 miles up the road through Koke'e State Park, until the cashier at the shop near the entrance insisted we must. She was worth listening to. The lookout there provides a shocking and beautiful contrast to Waimea Canyon - you can see the edge of the Na Pali Coast. I soon realized how unoriginal my gasped comment was, as every person who arrived after me also exclaimed, "Oh, wow."

The cliffs are green and buckled like an accordion. Waterfalls spill down in places. We had just left a hot, dry climate and here found cool, moist air chilling our exposed skin. As we watched, gray clouds were quickly moving across, pulling a curtain on the scene. It was our cue to get going.

On the way back, we left the main road for a bypass through Hanapepe, an old cowboy town. It turns out that the local cafe is open for dinner just one night a week, Friday, when the art galleries stay open late. We decided to cancel other dinner reservations, go wash up and come back.

What looked like a dusty, somewhat down-at-the-heels town in harsh sunlight turned into a charming artists' village at night. White lights twinkled along the tops of the galleries and locals streamed into the restaurant for a gourmet meal before or after moseying in and out of the galleries.

Surrounded by plantation towns, Hanapepe attracted laborers in the early 20th century, many of them Chinese and Japanese, who came here on labor contracts. When they were finished with their obligations, they went on to open little shops. "This town was free and open," said Dawn Traina, a gallery owner who wrote a brochure of town history. "It was like Sin City over here. There were brawls in the streets."

That was in the 1920s and '30s. In the '40s people would drive from all over the island to visit the USO club to socialize. But when the airport moved from nearby Fort Allen to Lihue, where it is now, and a highway bypass moved traffic from going directly through the town, the economy faltered. Locals hope interest in the arts will revive it.

In Hanapepe we enjoyed the sesame-crusted ahi. But elsewhere on the island, we went native with the food. Sort of. My favorite breakfast was the poi pancakes (with a vaguely purple color from the purple sweet potato that is the basis for poi) and the Belgian waffle with macadamia nuts. I alternated using coconut and passion fruit syrups. The "real" local breakfast would have been the loco moco: eggs on a hamburger patty smothered in brown gravy with white rice and toast. But I have my limits when it comes to breakfast food.

We weren't content just to climb, hike, eat and drive our way around Kauai. We also chose to fly around it to see Waimea and the Na Pali coast from another perspective. "Pali" means razorback cliffs and na pali means lots of razorback cliffs, our helicopter pilot, Isaac Oshita, 30, told us.

He pointed out Ni'ihau, the "forbidden island," so named because tourists like us and most other residents of Hawaii don't get to go there. There are no roads, hotels or restaurants, though the island is only about 20 miles from "civilization," that is, Kauai. The Robinson family owns the island, population 250, and it is inhabited mostly by ethnic Hawaiians who live without electricity. "Way out there, that's like ancient Hawaii," Oshita said.

The one-hour flight took us over cliffs and beaches, taro fields and waterfalls, several of them made famous in movies and TV shows, including Jurassic Park and Fantasy Island.

Hovering in the dark, wet canyon beside the steep walls of Mount Wai'ale'ale ("rippling waters") we saw fingers of waterfalls that can become one big sheet during rains. Mount Wai'ale'ale is the rainfall capital of the world, with an annual rainfall that averages 451 inches per year. It's hard to comprehend why Waimea Canyon, so nearby, is so dry and dusty.

We buzzed over Hanalei Bay, the island's largest bay, made famous by the song Puff the Magic Dragon. In another canyon near the coast, wild black goats were munching from the side of steep canyon walls. They, and wild boar, are favorite prey of hunters.

We hovered there awhile and then flew back out, overlooking the blue Pacific and the cliffs and the little hidden beaches along the coast. Surveying his home island, Oshita told us, "It doesn't get any nicer than this."

Take it from a local.

Ellen Perlman is a freelance writer living in Washington, D.C. Information from the Denver Post was used in this report.

[Last modified March 5, 2006, 07:37:15]