As of mid-April, I've moved my blog ... you can find all the past and current posts here:

www.BigIslandHawaiiBlog.com

See you there!

Mahalo,

Kelly

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kelly H. Moran, CCIM, CIPS, REALTOR
Hilo Brokers, Ltd.
www.KellyMoran.com

The Pidgin You Need - Part 2

          As promised in Part 1, here are some "pidgin" words and phrases.  Most were originally Hawaiian, but have become colloquial expressions, familiar in everyday conversation.  You will probably want to try them out, sooner or later, when you're here.  Just be prepared: some people may respond to your first attempts with indulgent smiles or amused exasperation.

          "Pau" - A multipurpose word for finished [doing something], as in "pau hana" - done working.   But "pau" or "all pau" can also mean empty or used up.

          "Hui" - a group [of people].  Many local organizations use this word in their names, as it implies having a common purpose.

          "Hana hou" - Although "hana" means work, audiences will shout "hana hou," meaning Encore! - do it again.

          "Opala" means trash or rubbish, but is not used in a negative sense.  When something is inherently dirty, or at least smells bad, it's "pilau."

          "Keiki" is literally the offshoot of a plant (e.g., bananas reproduce that way), but it's affectionately used to mean child.

          "B'm bye" - or "bumbye" - is a contraction of the English "bye and bye," generally construed to mean "sooner or later but probably later."

          "Shibai" is Japanese for B.S., and is used remarkably often by contending politicians.

          "Chicken skin" is the goose-bumps you get when you're scared or awed.

          "Shave Ice" is shaved ice, but nobody pronounces the "d."  It's a snowcone, dredged with sweet syrup; try one, sometime, with sweet adzuki beans inside.

Until next time ....

 "Eh, Brah - you kaukau a'ready?"

 "Nah.  Bumbye."

 "Get grinds?"

 "Shoot!  Brok' da mout'."

After you've been here a while, that exchange will make perfect sense.  It's spoken in what's locally called pidgin, which has a long history in Hawaii, and is still heard, though not as much as it used to be. But before we get into translations, let's clarify something: it's not really "Pidgin English."

          Linguists consider a pidgin to be an abbreviated form of a standard language, with a tiny vocabulary and a very regular grammar, neither of which changes much, over time.  A pidgin will also have been deliberately imposed, to enable speakers of different languages to conduct trade and other business.  The word "pidgin" itself was coined because it sounds a little like the English word "business."

          In the European colonies of Southeast Asia and the western Pacific, there is a true Pidgin English (also a Pidgin Dutch and a Pidgin French).  But that Pidgin English does not resemble Hawaii's pidgin, because - as linguists insist - what's spoken in Hawaii is actually a "creole.".

          A creole, they say, is a real language, which is fairly complex in both vocabulary and grammar; and although it may be rooted in one or more conventional languages, it's continually evolving and expanding on its own.

          In the 19th century, Pidgin English was introduced to Hawaii to enable communication between sugarcane field-hands and overseers from diverse backgrounds: Hawaii, Japan, China, the Portuguese Azores, etc.  But that early (true) pidgin quickly became a creole, as it absorbed vocabulary words and grammatical constructions from the workers' own native languages, and especially as it became the first language of local children.

          Until World War II, pidgin was the lingua franca (pun intended) of Hawaii's people.  Everyone who'd grown up here, and quite a few newcomers and regular visitors, could understand it.  But it was always disdained by sophisticated people, and actively discouraged in schools.  Anyone who wanted a white-collar job had to be able to speak "regular" or "standard"
English.

          But in the 1970s, when historically significant art and music styles were being revived, many local comedians began doing routines in pidgin; and local writers began creating skits, pageants and plays in pidgin.  They did this not only to keep the language from dying out, but to revel in its innate charm and colorful idiomatic expressions.

          The dialog above can be rendered as follows, but I think you'll agree that it loses something in translation:

          "Hey, Brother [or friend], have you eaten?"

          "No.  I will, later."

          "Do you have any food?"

          "Of course.   And it's delicious."

          Be forewarned: it's not advisable to try speaking pidgin with strangers - you will probably "make A" (make an ass of yourself).  But there are several pidgin words and phrases that everybody in Hawaii does know and use - I'll give you some, next time.

          If you want a head start on that, go get the book called "Pidgin to da Max" - a humorous guide to this intriguing, enjoyable pid - oops! - creole language.

 Stay tuned for Pidgin - Part 2 ......

Until about 50 years ago, you could go from island to island on either an airplane or a steamship.  If you went by sea, there was regularly-scheduled service to all the deepwater ports, and you could take as much stuff with you as you could pay for.

Today, you can only fly inter-island; and if your stuff is too big or too heavy to fit on the plane, you have to send it on a barge hauled by a tugboat, and wait for it to get there.  And although cruise ships go from island to island every day, they won't take you on for just one hop.

Of course, there is an inter-island "Superferry" now , that can carry people, freight, autos, trucks, buses and tanks.  It began service from Honolulu to Maui and Kauai last fall, but the first sailings were public-relations disasters.  The Superferry's operators had been assured by state officials that they wouldn't have to file an environmental impact statement.  But protesters who massed on the shores, or dove into the water, were insisting that they should - and in court, a judge agreed.  Service was trimmed; but stormy January weather kept the ferry in Honolulu, and in February it was suddenly sent to drydock for repairs, and likely won't sail again until late April.

This is an unfortunate development for all concerned.  There are environmental impacts to inter-island seaborne transport.  Harbors accustomed only to ocean liners and containerized freight must be re-configured, possibly even dredged anew.  And car-carrying ferries do increase the risk of accidentally spreading pests, such as coqui frogs, bee mites, or fountain grass.

But surveys have found a majority of Hawaii's people would like to have the option of taking a ship instead of a plane, especially if it were cheaper.  And many would, at least once in a while, like to drive their own car around another island.  The State's economy would benefit from being able to simultaneously move school groups with their buses to historic places; visitors with their tour-vans to hotels; construction crews with their equipment to public works sites; growers with their produce trucks to farmers' markets; and soldiers with their armored vehicles to training grounds.

One can only hope that, when the Superferry starts running again, operators and protesters can agree to give it the one test it did not get a chance to meet: providing regularly scheduled service.

But we on the Big Island can only sit and watch . . . and wait another year or two, at least, before a second Superferry arrives, that will serve Kawaihae.

Farmers' Markets Rock 
          Hilo foodies have not one but two farmers' markets for fresh fruits and vegetables.

The Hilo Farmers' Market, which was started ten years ago, is held in an empty lot downtown on Kam Ave. at Mamo St., across from the bus station and the bandstand.  The variety of produce there is enormous, although some offerings, such as sweet Maui onions, come from other islands.  A few stalls open every day, from dawn until about mid-afternoon; but on Wednesdays and Saturdays the market is enormous, with dozens of stalls that spread across and up Mamo St. into several other empty lots.  Besides food, on those days, vendors offer aloha shirts and muumuus, collectibles, and handicrafts - some of which are locally made, though most are imported from Asia and other Pacific islands.

          The market has some ongoing issues.  The nearest restrooms are across Kam Ave. in the bus station.  Tents and tarps overhead have to be set up and taken down so often that many of them leak in the rain, creating huge puddles.  And the rough gravel underfoot, uncomfortable for many people, is an obstacle course for the physically challenged.

          In 2007, a competing market opened on Kinoole St. near Puainako St., in the parking lot of a small shopping center.  The Kinoole Farmers' Market is much smaller than the downtown market, but its vendors are required to offer only locally-grown produce.  Shoppers there also find more exotic varieties of fruit and vegetables, and a wider selection of garden and orchard plants in containers.  Though it's far from the center of town, it's easy to park at, and - being on pavement - easy to get around in.  It's open only on Saturdays, from dawn to noon; so dedicated foodies usually go there first.

          The downtown market, however, is due for improvement.  Keith De La Cruz, the "Market Master," recently obtained permission from the County to erect a two-story market building on the main Kam Ave.-Mamo St. lot.  It will have a smooth concrete slab floor at ground level; restrooms and a restaurant upstairs, along with some offices, including his.  Almost no one is opposed to this project, and if it gets built - as De La Cruz hopes, within in the next year or two -  it would be a new "anchor" for downtown businesses, and could even spur improvements to the bus station and bandstand park across the way.
 

HERE ON THE BIG ISLAND  -  VOG

          Every once in a while, here, you will be reminded - in a way that you would rather not be reminded - that you are living on a living volcano.

          It looks like haze, but you sniff it, and . . . you're reminded.   It's the volcanic smog known as "vog."

Wherever Kilauea erupts, sulfur bubbles out.  Hot lava cooks it with water vapor from the air (you may have done something like this over a Bunsen-burner in high-school chem.) which produces two noxious gasses.  One is hydrogen sulfide, a.k.a. "rotten eggs," which is bad enough.  But the other is a choke-hazard called sulfur dioxide.  When you visit Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, and the rangers have put up warning signs to keep you back from an eruption site, it's not only because the lava crust may be too brittle to walk on.  It's also because too much hydrogen sulfide is being vented, and you'd be walking right into it.

          Sometimes there's hardly any vog from Kilauea; other times there's a lot.  The prevailing Northeast trade winds will send vog southwest over Ka'u; and if there's enough vog, it will eddy around the southern end of Mauna Loa and drift north up the Kona coast.  But once in a while the wind shifts, and a warm southerly breeze sends the vog up through Puna to Hilo, Hamakua and Kohala.

          One reason people say they like to live here is that there's no air pollution.  It would be more accurate to say there are no smoggy industries here.  Vog is, uhh . . . air pollution.  But hey, it's "natural!"

          For current visitor access to Kilauea, The Hawaii Volcanoes National Park is at: www.nps.gov/havo

          To find out what's happening inside Kilauea, the Hawaiian Volcano Observatory is at:  http://volcano.wr.usgs.gov/kilaueastatus.php

          And to know which way the wind blows, the National Weather Service is at: www.prh.noaa.gov/hnl/

HERE ON THE BIG ISLAND - Hilo for Hula! 

       There's one week a year when every hotel room in Hilo is booked solid, and it's not during Summer vacations or Winter holidays.  It's the week of the Merrie Monarch Festival - March 30-April 5, this year - when Hilo celebrates its status as the world capital of hula.

          King David Kalakaua (dubbed the "merrie monarch" for his joie-de-vivre) liked to have the Islands' ancient dances performed.  This upset the missionaries and haole educators who had long tried to suppress the native culture and language.  But Kalakaua understood that, for the Hawaiians - with no previously written language - hula was a kind of cultural language, ideal for telling stories and passing on myths, and that it ought to be preserved for future generations.  So, the world's largest hula festival is named in his honor.

          But a royal command alone did not - could not - keep hula going.  After the overthrow of the monarchy, puritanical attitudes again prevailed, and for most of the twentieth century hula was denigrated as mere entertainment.  The careful movements of hands and bodies that had evolved to tell complex tales were crudely simplified to fit tourists' expectations of something "Hawaiian." (The cliché of grass skirts and twirling hips, by the way, is actually Tahitian.)  And for much the same reasons as girls elsewhere took piano lessons, girls in Hawaii took hula lessons.  Boys, however, did not - like ballet, hula was considered an effeminate pursuit.

          But then, seemingly overnight, in the 1970s, hula came roaring back.  Along with the revival of traditional Hawaiian folk music (see Posts: "Hawaii Musics (Plural)" - Part 1 & Part 2) with which some styles of hula were closely associated, there was a renewed interest in Hawaiian legends, language, and traditional handicrafts, many of which also had links to hula. And the surviving kumu hula (masters/teachers of hula) attracted new acolytes.

But the tipping point came when two of the Islands' most celebrated musicians - the Cazimero Brothers - started a hula halau (school) for men.  Before European contact, the biggest, strongest Hawaiian men danced high-energy, athletic forms of hula.  And now, in the Merrie Monarch Festival, it's the beefcake troupes in the male hula competitions that draw the loudest cheers.

           The top competitive events are held on the last three (Thurs., Fri. and Sat.) nights; and if you haven't already gotten tickets, you probably can't get them now: they go on sale for only one week, at the beginning of each year, and sell out almost immediately.  But those competitions will be televised, live, so you can watch them anywhere in the state.

          Every other event, all week long, is free.  Informal hula shows are presented each weekday at noon, at the Hilo Hawaiian Hotel and the Naniloa Volcanoes Hotel, on Banyan Drive.  There's a huge arts-and-crafts fair, with many handicrafts related to hula and Hawaiian music; and a big parade winds through downtown Hilo, starting at 10:30 Saturday morning (Apr. 5).

          Admission to the big Wednesday night (Apr. 2) show - though not a competition - is also free.  Just be sure to get to the stadium early, because it will fill up with local families long before the 6:30 starting time.  It's worth noting that although that venue was originally built as a tennis stadium, it's Hilo's largest performance space, and it's named in honor of the late Edith Kanaka'ole, the Big Island's most famous kumu hula.

          For more information, call 808-935-9168, or visit the Merrie Monarch Festival's website, at: http://www.merriemonarchfestival.org/

          Wait - that's not a horror-movie.  But it was filmed on the Big Island.

          The carnivorous caterpillar is the common name of a singular creature that most certainly does attack its prey.  And where was it first found?  Why, right here of course!

          The early Hawaiians must have overlooked it, for there was no known Hawaiian name for it, nor was it mentioned in chants or myths.  But it's not easy to spot.  It's small, dull green and brown, like a little twig; it keeps very still when larger creatures are around; and it metamorphoses into an equally un-glamorous moth.

           People have studied caterpillars for millennia, and the silkworm has long been domesticated.  But until this member of the Eupithecia family was seen in action, in the 1960s, caterpillars were considered to be vegetarian.  Other Eupithecia caterpillars, elsewhere, eat only flowers and fruit.  In Hawaii, they eat fruit-flies.

          Subsequent field-studies around the world have now identified carnivorous members of other caterpillar species.  So entomologists assume that each evolved from a plant-eater in a local, relatively isolated habitat, where there was an open ecological niche for a small insectivore.

          At first sight, you'd think it was an inchworm.  It advances along a branch by humping up in the middle and hoisting its back end forward.  But when it does, you can see that it has legs only near each end, not all along the sides.  When it senses prey, it clutches the branch with its rear legs, lifts its head, and snatches the passing insect with its forelegs and jaws.
What happens next is rather like a man eating corn on the cob . . . .

          Here are two links for video of this remarkable Big Island resident.

• National Geographic
• NaturesFootage  

Hawaiian Musics (Plural) - Part 2

[Click here to first read "Part 1"]

          In the first two decades of the 20th century, paralleling America's fascination with the ukulele there was a craze for pseudo-Hawaiian "novelty" songs.  Some featured nonsense words, like "Yakka-Hula Hickey-Doola."  Some were risqué ditties, like "They're Wearin' 'em Higher in Hawaii."  Others were vaudeville numbers built on ethnic jokes, like "O'Brien is Tryin' to Learn to Talk Hawaiian." You probably won't hear those songs in public today.  Few composers on Tin Pan Alley had ever been west of New Jersey; but their songs did help to get Hawaii's visitor industry going.

          Fortunately, by the 1930s, songs combining proper Hawaiian and English words had become hits on the radio, and are still in the repertoire of local musicians.  Known as hapa-haole (half-Caucasian) songs, these include "On the Beach at Waikiki," "The Hawaiian Wedding Song," and "My Little Grass Shack in Kealakekua." (You know that one . . . it's "where the humuhumunukunukuapua'a goes swimming by.")

         By now, show-bar and luau entertainers have gotten hundreds of thousands of people - maybe even you - singing along to "Pearly Shells" or "The Hukilau Song."  Hapa-haole songs are still being written; and in a delicious irony, there is now a rendition of "Little Grass Shack" sung entirely in Hawaiian!

          Just as on the mainland, there was a folk-music revival here in the 1960s and '70s.  Young local musicians sought out obscure, older musicians in rural places, and got them recorded.  Among their traditional and vintage songs, in both Hawaiian and English, many were accompanied by slack-key guitar, a style that local guitar players immediately took up and celebrated.

          As the two generations played and recorded together - almost always acoustically, not amplified - new popular songs were composed in both languages.  A burgeoning interest in "world music," since the 1980s, has stimulated interest in Oriental and Polynesian musical styles, particularly in drumming.  And Hawaiian songs have now been cross-pollinated with the Reggae rhythms of another famously musical tropical island - Jamaica - to produce the sound known here as "Jawaiian."

          You can hear the music of the islands on Big Island radio stations, but bear in mind that our huge mountains block the signals, so most stations broadcast from the east side can't be heard in the west, and vice versa.  KHBC in Hilo (1060 AM and 92.7 FM), KAPA (100.3 FM in Hilo,

99.1 in Kona -- website offers live streaming radio broadcast), and KWXX in Kona (101.5 FM) have Hawaiian music formats.

          Newspapers have been published on the Big Island since the mid-19th century.  Most have been in English, though there were Hawaiian language papers here until the 1920's, and Japanese language papers (the largest was the Hilo Times) until the 1980's.

          Two daily newspapers circulate here now: the Hawaii Tribune-Herald covers the whole island from Hilo, while West Hawaii Today, focuses on the Kona and Kohala districts.  Both are owned by a Mainland chain called the Stephens Media Group, headquartered in Las Vegas, NV.  Being the only local dailies, they run nationally syndicated news, features and columnists, but also cover Big Island politics and issues, and provide extensive coverage of local sports.  And both run a list every day, of islanders who have been arrested or charged.

          The dailies are delivered to subscribers' homes throughout the island, and can also be purchased from coin-boxes in commercial areas, alongside boxes for the two Honolulu dailies: the Advertiser and the Star-Bulletin, which are home-delivered only within Hilo, Waimea, and Kailua-Kona.

          Two tabloid-size newspapers also serve the Big Island, and while they can be subscribed to by mail, they are free of charge in boxes around the island, and so are mainly picked up that way.  The feisty Hawaii Island Journal, published every two weeks, is owned in Honolulu by the publishers of the city tabloid Honolulu Weekly.  The Big Island Weekly, though owned by Stephens Media, is editorially quite independent.  Both are "alternative"
papers: staunchly pro-environment, giving plenty of "ink" to counter-cultural topics, and intensely supportive of Native Hawaiian issues.
Both also run a column locally written in "pidgin" English.

          To be fully informed, it's worth reading at least one daily and one alternative paper regularly; and all four are available online, at:

          While coverage of local issues may not be as comprehensive as some readers would like, the Big Island is about as good a newspaper market as you'll find in any rural American county that's 200 miles from the nearest big city.

          There aren't many trees like koa.

          There are other beautiful woods, of course.  But look up close.
Just beneath a polished koa surface, ripples appear, like dunes along shores.  And koa has a wonderful resonance with plucked strings; no wonder ukulele luthiers prefer it.

          There are other materials for making a racing canoe.  But Hawaiian tradition calls for a long koa log, cut in solemn ceremony, and hand-hewn.

          There are other long-lived trees.  But koa seeds can lay dormant for years, not sprouting until the ground is disturbed.  And the wood is plenty hard.  A grand formal stairway was built of koa in the 1880s, at the heart of Iolani Palace, in Honolulu; and it's the only entirely original wooden structure there that's still in use.

          Koa are found nowhere but Hawaii, and are most abundant on the Big Island.  They grow best in the cool, misty uplands, though not where their feet stay wet.  Canoe-makers admire them straight and cylindrical; wood-carvers favor the spreading, gnarly ones, for more intricate grain.  Whatever their shape, koa trees grow tall, eventually over-topping whatever surrounds them.

          And other trees do tend to surround them.  Ohia - whose lehua blossom is the Big Island's official flower - is a familiar companion to koa in the wild.  Where the land has been disturbed, koa can be huddled by an
opportunistic waiawi thicket.   

          Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about koa, however, is why it's so "popular" that other trees cluster round it.  Koa is not like other trees.  It's a legume.  Like peas or beans or clover, koa draws its most important fertilizer - nitrogen - not from the ground but from the air.  And having used what it needs, koa "fixes" the excess nitrogen: sending it down and out through its roots, enriching the soil, where other plants and trees can draw it up.

          Did you ever think a tree might have the aloha spirit, too?

          There's a small pork industry here.  A handful of farmers raise pigs, and a few butchers sell or specialize in the whole animal, for which there is always local demand.  Kalua pig, baked by hot rocks in an underground oven (imu) is the centerpiece of every luau.  ("Ka lua," by the way, simply means "the hole," and so is also local slang for toilet.)

          Not much bacon is made here, but most supermarkets carry local brands of  "Portugese" sausage, for which, instead of mincing the meat fine, as in "Italian" sausage, the meat is very coarsely chopped.  And some people make sausages at home, which they sell from their trucks along the highway.

          But there are more feral pigs here than domestic stock.  If you drive uphill on the gravel roads, past where most people live, into the former sugarcane fields, mauka pasturelands and rainforests, you may well see them on the road.  They are the hairy (mostly black-haired) descendents of small Polynesian pigs that sailed here with the first Hawaiians, and which later mated with the European porkers that the haoles brought.

          Pigs are large, omnivorous mammals, with no natural predators in Hawaii.  Man is their only enemy, and in one-on-one combat they would have the advantage.  They can weigh at least as much - even twice as much - as a man weighs.  And they can charge at you with long, sharp tusks.

          It's always "open season" on pigs here; and in the dense forests, local guys hunt them with dogs.  (Skip this if you're squeamish: dogs corner a pig, and hold it by the ears until the hunter arrives with his gun.)  So, if you don't have a dog with you when see pigs on the road, they usually won't be spooked.  They know you're there (hearing and smell are their strong senses, though their eyesight is poor), but they will wait a moment or two before they amble or skip - they don't sprint - into the brush.

          Perhaps, in that moment of hesitation, they're reasoning that you are not a threat.  Pigs, after all, are highly evolved creatures; maybe they've learned a few facts about us and our behavior, over the years, which they employ to ensure their survival.  It might go something like this: "If a human appears, but you don't hear a big bang, or if no pig suddenly drops dead for no reason, just walk away."

A Far-Sighted Solution

          Over the past 30 years, observatories have been built on many of the cinder cones at Mauna Kea's summit.  And although a Hawaiian ceremonial structure stands on the very highest peak, science and religion have not always dwelled there in harmony.  But the aloha spirit has prevailed since
2005 with the opening of 'Imiloa, the Astronomy Center of Hawaii, in Hilo.

      Conceived and built not as a museum but as an "interpretive center," its three shiny conical roofs evoke the Big Island's largest volcanoes; and all the landscaping is in native Hawaiian plants.  More importantly, inside, 'Imiloa honors the Hawaiians' culture and religion - especially their concept of creation, which is presented in considerable detail, right alongside the findings of today's astrophysicists about "black holes" and the "big bang."

          Another large permanent exhibit showcases the Polynesians' voyages around the Pacific.  Reaching Hawaii would have been impossible without their (literally) astronomical navigational skills.  Wherever links can be made between modern astronomy and Hawaiian cosmology, they are made.  And everything at 'Imiloa (which means "far-seeing") is captioned in both Hawaiian and English.

      The work of the various observatories is also explained in plain language, with interactive, hands-on exhibits - something that probably should have been done, somewhere on the Big Island, decades ago.  Mauna Kea is particularly well suited for telescopes that use infrared and "submillimeter" wavelengths of light, which reveal far more details about the stars and galaxies than can be seen in ordinary "visible" light.

          'Imiloa (www.imiloahawaii.org) also has a planetarium, with various star-shows several times a day, and a café run by a local celebrity chef.  It's just mauka of the University of Hawaii's Hilo campus, and open Tues.-Sun. from 9 a.m. - 4 p.m.

          There is more than one kind of avocado, as you will realize on a walk through the local farmers' markets.

          What's available in mainland cities is only the small variety, once known as an "alligator pear," that's grown in Southern California and Florida.  But because those places don't have a particular fruit-fly that lives in Hawaii (though they have their own fruit-flies!) you can't buy a Hawaiian avocado on the mainland, or take one back with you.

 Well, that just leaves more for us, here.  And we enjoy at least three major varieties: the little "pear" of course, with its thin green or brown skin; a larger version that can sometimes approach a football in size; and a round, softball-size avocado with a thick rind.  They all grow almost everywhere on the Big Island, though Kona seems to produce the largest ones. And while most varieties are bright yellow-green inside, the meat of those "softballs" is darker, and nuttier in taste.

          When an avocado is slightly soft to the touch, it's ready to eat. And it's always eaten raw.   Try one on the half-shell with a spoon, seasoning it with salt and pepper, or with Japanese furukake, or even with ketchup (really!)  Most people slice an avocado for sandwiches, or mash and spice it up for guacamole.  An avocado can be heated, as (for example) an omelet filling; but unlike almost every other fruit, it simply can not be cooked, canned or preserved.

          It can, however, be sweetened.  Euell Gibbons, the late naturalist, was fond of making Avocado Chiffon Pie in a graham-cracker crust.  His is a standard chiffon recipe (egg yolks, milk, sugar and gelatin, heated to boiling, then cooled), to which he adds mashed avocado pulp, cools it again, and folds in stiff-whipped egg whites.  As he says in his book Beachcomber's Handbook, "Don't dismiss the avocado as a dessert fruit until you have tried this fluffy, delectable pastry."

Sticky Fingers

          Poi was the staple food of the Hawaiians.  Even late in the 19th
Century, King Kalakaua included a big wooden "calabash" bowl of poi in a banquet he hosted for author Robert Louis Stevenson.

Making poi is tedious but simple: the chunky, purple roots of the taro plant are either baked or boiled (to get rid of the root's sharp-edged oxalic acid crystals), and then pounded into a sticky paste.  If it's so thick that a glop will stay on a single digit, it's known as "one-finger" poi; but it can be thinned with water into "two-finger" or "three-finger" poi. (Traditionally, everyone dips their fingers in one calabash; hence, a child who's adopted is said to be the family's "calabash cousin.")        
      
     Poi is always served at a luau, and alongside every Hawaiian" plate-lunch or dinner entrée in a restaurant.  Many people - visitors, especially - don't know what to do with it, and leave it uneaten.  It's true that freshly made poi is rather bland.  Local connoisseurs prefer "day-old" poi, which has been allowed to ferment slightly, and has a pleasantly sour tang.

          Like corn-meal grits, poi can be eaten plain, but it's more easily
enjoyed in combination with something truly flavorful.  There is no known
allergy to poi, so any child can eat it, and will, especially if the parents
eat it, too.  Few people can resist kulolo - a fudge-like dessert of taro,
sugar and coconut.

          But poi itself is more useful when paired with a savory food, like
the marinated raw fish in poke, or like the slivers of raw onion crusted
with sea-salt that local folks enjoy.  That's a pretty strong combination,
even with "sweet" Maui, Kula, or Vidalia onions; but try dipping it in poi,
and both the onion's bite and the salt's crunch are moderated.  Similarly,
something made with chili pepper, sharp mustard or hot curry can be "cooled"
by a drizzle of poi.

          So, think of poi not as a course but as a dip - even for highly
seasoned chips - and you may soon find yourself asking for more.

Nature and Culture

          It's the oldest wood-frame building on the island.  Many of its ohia posts and beams, erected in 1839, are still holding it up; and you can still walk on its wide koa floorboards.  What's different, now, is what's on top (originally thatch, but by mid-century wood shingles) and what's inside: a "house museum."

          It was built by and for David and Sarah Lyman, the first New England missionaries to settle in Hilo.  Progressive educators, they founded two schools, but were also eager to teach local kids about the world beyond Hawaii.  So they asked friends, visitors and sailors to send them mineral rocks, seashells, and man-made artifacts from foreign lands.

          In 1932, the Lyman's youngest daughter (then in her 80s) saved the house from demolition, and it was turned into a museum.  In 1972 a modern museum building was erected next door, to showcase what had become an enormous and eclectic collection.

          Today, the Lyman Museum is the Big Island's only natural-history museum, with a permanent display of minerals and shells, plus dioramas and models explaining Hawaii's oceanic and terrestrial climate zones.  It's the island's only cultural museum too, featuring early Hawaiian artifacts, Chinese fine arts, everyday objects from all of the local immigrant cultures, and tours of the original Mission House.

          Currently, there is also a reproduction of an early 20th century Korean homestead; a stunning half-hour film about Kilauea's eruptions that overran Kalapana in the 1990s; and through April - in celebration of the museum's 75th anniversary - a display of some odd but memorable objects that have been in storage for years.

The museum (www.lymanmuseum.org) is at 276 Haili St., just mauka of downtown Hilo, and is open Mon-Sat from 9:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
 

Five-O in O-Seven

          There must be an unwritten law in the TV business that there shall always be an action/adventure series shot in Hawaii.  Currently, it's  "Lost."  In the early 1960s it was "Hawaiian Eye," a private-eye show set in Waikiki; more recently, it was "Magnum P.I."  But perhaps the most famous - certainly the longest-running - is "Hawaii Five-0," produced from
1968 to 1980 and currently re-running on Honolulu station KWHE.

          "Five-O" is the fiftieth-state's state police: a plainclothes unit reporting directly to the governor.  In reality, there has never been a statewide police force; each county - essentially, each island -maintains its own.  And real cops in Hawaii don't work as Five-O's do, in dark suits and ties.

          The show was filmed almost entirely on Oahu; but some footage was shot here, in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, for a 1974 episode called "A Hawaiian Nightmare."  The premise: Unless a $500,000 ransom is paid, a bomb will explode, sending molten lava down into Hilo.

          Prospective terrorists must look elsewhere for inspiration. Kilauea's lava doesn't flow through Hilo; it flows through Puna.  And although lava from Mauna Loa could reach Hilo - it has done so before - man-made explosions can not ignite eruptions.

          On the fan web site at www.mjq.net/fiveo there are cast bios, links galore, and some unexpected trivia.  Turns out there are lyrics (who knew?) to Morton Stevens' hard-driving "Five-O" theme music, and Don Ho used to sing them:

If you're feelin' lonely / You can come with me.           
Feel my arms around you / Lay beside the sea.           
We will think of somethin' to do.           
Do it till it's perfect for you / And for me too.           
You can come with me.

Rainy City

          Somebody always asks, "Does it really rain a lot in Hilo?"

          Most of the year, Hawaii's weather comes from the northeast tradewinds, and Hilo's on the northeast side.  Being in the middle of the ocean, though, the island gets most of its rain in brief squalls, from small clouds that drift ashore and empty themselves in a couple of minutes.  You can look out to sea from Hilo and watch them coming in, so there's plenty of time to get under shelter.  On average, though, most of Hilo's rain falls late in the afternoon or at night, when the land is cooler, and those squall clouds pile up against Mauna Kea before condensing.

          And occasionally we get two or three or four days of rain in a row.  So Hilo does have the reputation of a rainy city.  But it's all relative.  Seattle, with about 40 inches of precip a year, gets a rainy reputation.  New York gets forty, too, but not the rep.

          Hilo does get more rain than any other city in Hawaii, and more than the other northeast-facing towns on the Big Island: annual rainfall goes down as you go up the Hamakua Coast.  In a normal year, Hilo will get about 120 inches - one is tempted to say "ten feet" - of rain.  When less than eight feet falls in a year, people here will say we're in a drought.

So, yes, by Mainland standards, Hilo is a rainy city. 

But hey! Hilo's most famous natural attraction isn't called "Rainbow Falls" for nothing.  

You may see a lot of rain here, but you see a lot of rainbows too - like this one just offshore from the beach parks in Keaukaha.

And anyway, Hilo isn't the wettest place in Hawaii.  Far from it. Literally.  That honor belongs to Waialeale, on Kauai, which every year gets nearly 500 inches - some forty feet of rain.

Driving Local

          Driving on the Big Island takes a little getting used to.  You can go up to 55 on only a few highway stretches; almost everywhere the limit is 45 or less.  Passing lanes are rare; and off the highways, most roads are skinny, with narrow shoulders.

          You may be surprised at other drivers' courtesy: many will wait to let you make a left turn in front of them.  And at their informality: some people drive barefoot, or in zoris ("flip-flop" sandals).  To the delight of car-renters, the nearest gas station to the Hilo Airport - aptly, the Aloha brand - is also among the least expensive.

          At the urging of astronomers to minimize the island's nighttime glow, streetlights use low-pressure sodium lamps that have a yellowish color, similar to the "caution" light in a red/yellow/green traffic signal.  That unfamiliar hue may be disconcerting, but it's easy to see by, especially in the rain.

          Unlike houses, car roofs don't have overhangs.  So a lot of drivers here get "rain-guards" installed.  They're rigid strips of transparent plastic that are fastened to the top edge of the car door's windows; so you can keep the glass rolled down an inch or so yet stay dry when it's pouring outside, or cool the inside temp a bit when you have to park and lock in the sun.   (Makes you wonder why they aren't standard equipment. But they're available online from WeatherTech (www.weathertech.com), which catalogs them as "side window deflectors.")

 <Auto Rain Guard>

          Whenever you're driving, though, please be alert.  Remember that motorcyclists here are not required to wear helmets; and that nearly all Big Island police cars are unmarked.

HERE IN HAWAII

Snow

The Big Island’s summits are once again wearing their white diadems. The first snow of . . . yes, winter is upon both the "white" and the "long" mountain. Snow comes to Hawaii in a storm, with thunder and lightning; wind and rain. Local TV newscasts originate in Honolulu; they do run video clips of snow-capped Mauna Kea. But their big weather story is what the storm leaves there: a soggy mess of drains overwhelmed, puddles for intersections, and stuff washed out to sea.Though snow on Mauna Loa is a rarer event than snow on Mauna Kea, it often goes under-appreciated. So big and broad is Mauna Loa that, on TV, it doesn’t look like a snow-capped peak; it looks like a snow-capped stadium roof. Better to see it in person; though the only way to make snowballs there is to make a high-altitude hike first.You can get to the snow on Mauna Kea, however, sitting down. A car or truck with four-wheel drive can get you up to where there’s enough to play on. Some winters, there’s even enough to ski on. You still have high altitude to reckon with; and sunburn; but (for a change) it helps to have had experience driving through snow and ice.If you don’t visit the snow, you will at least take delight in seeing what it does to the vistas of our tallest mountains. And you will probably grin every time you see a four-wheel-drive pickup come down from the Saddle, its bed heaped high with snow, to play with back home.

 “Things will be great when you’re downtown,” as the song reminds us.  And it’s certainly true of Downtown Hilo.

 The core of the city is easy to walk around in, and always fun for shopping and window-shopping.  It’s essentially bounded by Kam Avenue along the Bayfront and Kinoole St. two blocks mauka; by Waianuenue Ave. on the Hamakua side, and Ponahawai St. on the Waiakea side.

 Many downtown stores stay open late on the first Friday of every month.  But the biggest and brassiest of these first-Fridays is the first Friday in November (Nov. 2, this year), when there is free live music in storefronts and on street corners from 5 in the afternoon to 9 in the evening.

 It’s called “Black & White Night.”  People are encouraged to wear black and/or white clothes – and they do: strolling around in everything from the formal to the ridiculous.  (There’s costume competition, too.)  Parents and children like to go on the Treasure Hunt, collecting “stamps” at various downtown businesses, many of which also offer free snacks.

 But it’s the music that really draws the crowds.  Alice Moon, who originated Black & White Night and continues to produce its events (amoon@bigisland.com), estimates that, last year, nearly 5,000 people came to what she calls “Downtown Hilo’s biggest strolling party.”  Local musicians play jazz, rock, bluegrass . . . you’ll hear something for every taste.  And this year, there will also be an after-hours dance party to a vintage Swing band, from 9 to midnight.

 So . . . come on down!

You hear that a lot, from visitors, especially first-timers. Maybe they've cruised the Caribbean islands, most of which are downright tiny by comparison. Or they've seen the other Hawaiian islands first - Maui, Oahu, Molokai, Kauai, or Lanai - before coming here to the Island of Hawaii.

In the words of the late naturalist Euell Gibbons, "This one island is considerably larger than Delaware and Rhode Island combined, and rises to an altitude much higher than New Hampshire and Vermont would be if they were stacked one on top of the other."

It covers 4,000 square miles - literally twice the area of all the other Hawaiian islands combined. And since it measures 100 miles long by 100 miles wide, you need a full two hours to drive non-stop from one end to the other. But that's not the best way to see Hawaii. Better to take at least two days, and make a circumnavigation. There's an airport with rental cars on each side: in Hilo on the east side, and in Kona on the west, which also serves the big resorts that are oases on the black lava fields of South Kohala.

Driving from Hilo, the "classic" visitor route is clockwise: heading first to the volcano - Kilauea has been especially active, lately - and coming up to Kona from the south; spending a night there, and going back to Hilo by way of the ranchlands of Waimea and the lush Hamakua Coast. From Kona or South Kohala, the "classic" drive is typically counter-clockwise, heading south through the coffee fields of Kona and the windswept landscape of Ka'u, to see the volcano. Worthwhile side-trips are to North Kohala, still reminiscent of its "old Hawaii" days, or to rural Waipio Valley. It takes a four-wheel-drive vehicle to cross the island over the Saddle Road, but renting one (and being very careful!) you could visit the astronomy center at 9,000 feet, and even attain the 13,900-foot summit of Mauna Kea, which is often snow-capped in the winter.

The Big Island is therefore practically a continent in miniature, with all but two of the world's climate zones - sorry, no glaciers or sandy deserts, but everything else from tropical jungle to alpine heights.

That quote from Euell Gibbons, by the way, is from his 1967 book Beachcomber's Handbook, which has marvelous recipes for local fruit, vegetables and fish, about which I'll write more in the weeks to come.