OH! AHU!

Trip to Hawaii

“Cabin Crew, enable jump seat” a static drizzle cut out from a speaker above, as a mighty thud lurched us forwards like ammunition on a slingshot. An assemblage of lights flickered from all directions as both the plane and people retched through the chaos. A thousand metal ramparts screeched as a monkey would with its tail yanked, and my insides shuffled up and down like an elevator gone rogue. Suddenly, we stopped, and for a brief moment, the symphony of pandemonium was curtailed from the conductor’s end. Then, the drop hit.

1 week earlier…

I rustle my fingers and gaze upon the sand dribbling down into the ground. The navy blue ocean glistened by the sun and emanating patches of turquoise hue crashed down upon the shoreline, as clusters of people from all age groups lingered down yonder. I sink into the warm slushie of sand, and gaze upon a neon pink building with the words “Hawaii National Preservation” engraved atop its perch. The first day of our trip was beginning to cease, and the Waikiki Beach Expansion coupled with the homespun urban Hawian vibe had led it to be quite chill. But there was more to come.

I wake up every day with a platter of sunshine fed to my face as the clock ticks late morning and the careworn bed slowly nudges me off it. Not today. 5:00 a.m, and I’m perched dormant outside a building with only a voodoo-like travel agent for closure. A tram crawls in front of me with a turtle’s pace to match my drowsiness, and off I am to a site that sparked the massacre of over 70 million people. Pearl Harbor.

The history of the venue, similar to history of any fashion, dug a hole of pure dullness into my practically non-existent cerebrum, and so during the historical elements of the Pearl Harbor tour, I took it upon myself to revitalize myself with missed sleep from the morning. Soon after however, I was upon a ferry, scavenging the waters to absorb the locations of sunken ships, sunken allies, and sunken dreams. We landed upon the dock and were greeted with a white shell the size and stature of a mitochondrion expanded a million fold. Directly below it lay the ruins of the USS Arizona, the mightiest of battalions prior to the war, with a death story intertwined in tragedy as that of the Titanic.

As the hype of the moment subsided, we boarded back to shore, and continued with our tour of Honolulu. It was quite unfathomable to me that the most urban of cities in Hawaii could still uphold such a rural manifestation, yet the island as a whole could still attract a population of 1.3 million. Even more so, as I was to discover, this almost nanoscopic island had a culture more diverse than the milk options at your local Starbucks, who’s initially unorthodox culture actually hosts an unbelievable spectrum and range. Enter: The Polynesian Cultural Center.

The next morning, I slept. That afternoon, I left. An hour away, streams of blue-berry tinged water with bumpy luscious green mountain shells zoomed by like augmented Terraria landscape, and as we parked, we were greeted by the rural version of Universal Studios. Wood as crisp as the edges of burnt toast formed pillars towering far above us mortals, with auburn colored wooden shields imprinting the bolded tiles “Polynesian Cultural Center” upon them. Students with string and petals for clothes ushered us in, and on all sides, it was as if we had entered a new world, a new paradise where laws no longer persist and civilized versions of Neolithic times return. The mission? To apprehend the lifestyle and culture of every native Hawaiian tribe in the area and learn what truly makes this place so special.

Tribe 1: Tonga. The tonga tribe uses drums as their way of communicating, and the most critical of messages are displayed through music. An array of wild beats, hoots and hollers synonymous with the noises of the jungle all collaborated in one harmony to build up the culture, as the beatings of drums grappled in the beating of our hearts.

Tribe 2: Tahiti. We enter the next section to see two Hawaian individuals getting married. Intriguing. However, in Hawaii, one cannot simply profess their love for another and call it a day. They must dance, pledge allegiance to the other, swear to never leave them, and repose with each other in a casket of wool and quilt while being watched by all in order to seal the deal on their togetherness. Other couples can feel free to do the same during that time period, as stealing the spotlight is seen as nothing less than sharing it.

Tribes 3-5: Fiji, Hawaii, Aotearoa. In these sets of tribes, culture goes hand-in-hand with the Tonga tribe, with the overwhelming difference being the distance between tribes. Cries of passion and valor, music attuned the life of the natives, and festive arts bear similarities with advanced cavemen, as the seeds of culture slowly bloom into tangibility and beauty. That, coupled with the sheer independence of natural resources, is what makes such places the gem in the eyes of the industrial world. A blessing made into a boon by the onslaught of global warming, such tribes see but a few hundred years left before the grim reaper sweeps ints scythe over the souls of the unwilling, and humanity is left to weep. The overarching effect from these tribes, the long lasting results at the very least, is the understanding of a need for preservation, an understanding tinged with negligence to move, to budge, to quench the idleness preventing us from taking action against such devastation. A few noble tribes simply won’t cut it. Come on world, it's time to stop slacking, and start packing. Let's take a trip, a journey into conservation.

Tribe 6: Samoa. Finally, we navigate the borders into a new terrain- Samoa. A coconut falls on my head as I enter the domains and a concussion instantaneously ensues. Just kidding, that would be illegal, as we soon find out, especially within the boundaries of indigenous Samoa land. Coconuts, in fact, can be wielded for any purpose except cruel or unusual punishment, and food, clothing, infrastructure, and exercise galore are all purposes the Samoa use coconuts for. But if coconuts don’t grow on trees, how are the Samoa retrieving such a plentiful quantity of them? Let’s just say in the land as lawlessly lawful as theirs, they find a way.

Fire. Fire, fire, fire. All of the tribes, especially the Samoa, are capable of toddling fire like a newborn, and can spin it around in circles faster than fathers can leave to retrieve milk. The fire is so immensely captivating, that it had us reeled in until midnight. Then, the final few days approached.

Upon rising the following day, I was crouched within a net, its black legs all twisted in a knot as it sank just shy of the Pacific Ocean. In fact, the ocean was around me on all ends, its mystifyingly blue hue glorifying the scenery entangled in it. The city skyline brushed past our boat in picture perfect pauses, and waves like bumps on the Adam's apple glided past. Yet the true eye-catcher here, the center of the mosh pit lay in the Diamond Head Rock. Neither diamond, nor head, nor rock, its mountainous terrain towered over the puny city buildings as its luscious green coating flashed us humans on all sides. The mountain’s ridge protruded out as though impersonating my chin, and the texture rustled forwards as though flexing on the surrounding wildlife. The cruise, nearly 2 hours in length, spun circles round the mountain, and upon reaching the shore, the image of the mountain still lay encrypted within my mind…

Enough conceptual mayhem, the penultimate day has arrived, and it’s time to swim! We wake up at 6:00 a.m, drive over to a bay, drive back from the bay, eat, drive back to the bay, swim, snorkel, watch fish and small waves, drive back from the bay, drive back to the bay, drive past the bay, watch fish and bigger waves, drive back past the bay, and back home. Hanauma bay, with patches of water a the blue of aurelia lights, circumspect round patches of coral and fish. The fish, straight out of Finding Nemo, had patterns the likes of zebras with makeup, and flourished within the spiky reefs of coral and dunes. The bay itself, a vast spectrum of water adorned with mountain and beach on all fours, lay isolated within the borders of Oahu, and sequestered where only the daring seek to travel.

There we have it! The trip is over. Yet like emerald bay, it was the final day that held the greatest challenge yet. A simple plane ride back, with clear skies and little to no wind that would make for a smooth ride home, right? It was as if God Himself, bathed in these thoughts of mine, and influenced by some greater power of pure malice, cackled to himself in sheer cynicalness and cast down Odysseus's fate in air.

Upon departing, the plane taunted us with tranquility for a slender few minutes, before a single announcement orchestrated shock waves down our spines.

Blink. Sirens blared sound waves like a million little shards each piercing a different part of my heart. Darkness. Blink. Passengers rolled out of their seats as great monstrous flares of wind dragged them and beat them to the floor. Darkness. Blink. Vomit gushed through bags after bags as stomachs were twisted to pretzels. Darkness. Blink. Petite women in stained air hostess uniforms tumbled forwards, dominoes in the effects of our predicament. Darkness. Blink. And more darkness.

And finally, it stopped. The same 5 minutes of taunting. And it began once more. A break? Even less time to recover. Restraints could not hold the beast from its torment, and we were but the unfortunate victims of its ravenous intent. Is it over? Is it over? Please, god, tell me it's over…

Shrieks, the kind that don’t just leave, but echo for moments after filling the air, are shot around like ping pong balls, and just like it began, in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

Zoom, flick, swoosh. My ears popped open, I released my grip on my eyelids after having clenched them together for eons, and with a final thud, I felt once more the sweet, honeydew scent of home. We hit cement, my grips tightened as the atmosphere cooled 10 degrees, and after the most dramatically anti-climactic halt in history, we were free.

I’m home.

In retrospect, the Hawaii trip was a pleasant experience and a joyous break into the breaches and restful culture of the balmy beaches and various tribal organizations. I genuinely believe that a trip to an island nation the likes of it should be on the bucket list of anyone willing to vacate their premises and touch grass, and am glad to have gone on a trip like this.

Until next time, bon voyage!