Time for a Little Kuleana

Best rental deal on the island. Tourists give me a wide berth.

Four weeks ago when we arrived at the Kauai airport, we had never seen so many people here with their luggage and gear and kids and dogs. It was startling. Understandably, people are amping to travel, to get out of their homes where they've been stuck sheltering, take themselves away to a tropical island, forget their troubles and the daily dose of grim news.

I know. I am one of them. And it's a complicated situation. As Governor of Hawaii David Ige recently stated: "It's not a good time to come to Hawaii."

As you've doubtless heard, rental cars in the islands are going for as much as $500 a day.

Friends on the island have loaned us a Kauai cruiser and based on our calculations we are saving more than $10,000! That sounds ridiculous, but it's true! 

About 50-percent of the restaurants here are shuttered, many because they cannot find enough employees. We heard that two cooks walked out of the kitchen of a popular dining establishment during happy hour, because they were simply overwhelmed.

We have not attempted to go out for dinner. The few places still serving evening meals are swamped, wait lines are too long, reservations impossible. At the Westin Resort in Princeville, occupancy is about 25-percent and most visitors are driving their expensive rentals to Foodland super market to shop for items to cook in their rooms. The resort restaurant is open limited hours with a limited menu.

Electric bikes have proliferated and are dashing down pedestrian paths like wild horses.

The road to Hanalei, one of the most popular and beautiful locations on Kauai, is closed most of the day.  If you choose to go there, you will sit in your car and wait. Hawaiian time is flexible, meaning you must adjust your schedule to go with the flow. Which can be unpredictable.

The road is closed due to a landslide that keeps sliding. Following heavy rains in April of 2018, when 50-inches came down and swamped Hanalei destroying homes and cars and the main park, Black Pot Beach, a mudslide forced the closure of the only road in. Residents of Hanalei, Ha'ena, Wainiha were left stranded. They had to vacate or bring in supplies by boat.

That road was cleared and the hillside was bolstered, repacked and covered with heavy-duty netting. As far as access, all seemed fine. Then early this year during several days of serious rainfall, that netting was pushed away as if it were made of paper mâché. The resulting slide of the hill revealed new problems of unknown tunnels that may be compromising the firmness of the earth there, which is mostly red, volcanic dirt that turns to mud when saturated.

Currently, there is one lane that is passable, a narrow ledge above the Hanalei River Valley that defies modern engineering. Its camber tilts downward. Pass at your own risk, as so many are doing three times per day, with long lulls in between. Man's faith in his ability to subdue nature is astounding.

It is borne of the same arrogance that has convinced the white man that he is the chosen conqueror of native peoples. This story goes deeper than an invasion of tourists. Throughout the islands we conquerors who will pay $500/day to drive a Tesla are called malihinis, newcomers. We first arrived with the great voyager Captain James Cook, and remember what happened to him.

Many islanders cheered the Governor's statement. Many visitors decided to keep their reservations and come anyway. I learned while working at a seaside amusement park that people, at least we "Americans," will do what we please no matter what the sign, or the guy with the badge, says.

The governor's pronouncement was in reference to the rising cases of COVID throughout the islands caused by the super contagious Delta variant and opening the island up because the economy depends on tourism. This disconnect  -- we want tourism but not too many -- is a problem. The term "over tourism" has been on the lips of the executives of Hawaii's Tourism Authority.

At the same time, Hawaiian real estate values are rising by the minute. Forget a grass shack anywhere near the beach. Zuckerberg dropped $53 million for a 600-acre spread near the shore. Other tech warriors and entertainment poobahs are grabbing up the land in a modern-day gold rush.

Children of islanders who have been here for generations are forced to leave to find jobs.

Whatever this all means, one thing is certain: the astounding beauty of Hawaii will emerge the victor. The issue for us crazy people is can we adjust?  Can we tread lightly? Can we respect traditions of those whose land we took away? Can we accept limits to our luxuries? Can we all get along in the true spirit of aloha?

It works both ways. Some islanders are resentful, but if surface optics mean anything, many more have been imbued with generosity and friendliness that make Hawaii so welcoming. It aligns with the sway of the palms trees, the scent of gorgeous flowers and song of tropical birds; the drift of ocean currents and liquid motion of life beneath the sea.

Hawaiian music and dance -- the hula -- intertwines with this land- and seascape.

A popular word today among the Hawaiians is kuleana, which means responsibility. That's probably what we all need more of, if we want to embrace true aloha.

The Stones' Straight Man

Charlie Watts, 1941-2021

Around 1964 when I was in high school, my buddies and I knew the names of all the Rolling Stones. There was Mick Jagger, the sly lead singer, Keith Richards on guitar, Brian Jones on guitar, Bill Wyman on bass guitar and Charlie Watts, the poker faced drummer. They were the antidote for the Beatles.

Our high school house parties were known for drinking, smoking, making out and goofing off, all to the music of the Rolling Stones. Each high school in our pocket of Southern California had their party band -- be they surfers or greasers -- and ours was the Rolling Stones. 

Their blues-based sound was raw with a defiant tone, certainly more dangerous than the high-pitched harmonies of the Beach Boys or the smooth styling of Marvin Gaye, who had their followings.

Little did we know that Charlie Watts, whose death was announced yesterday at age 80, was an essential ingredient to the music of the Stones. He was a jazz drummer, not a rock n' roller. Reportedly, it took a while for Keith to convince Charlie that Elvis was the real deal.

Charlie would have been happier playing in small clubs with Miles Davis or Charlie Parker. The Stones dug into their pockets to hire Watts as their man with the sticks.

When "Satisfaction" hit the top of the charts in 1965, I counted the minutes every hour until the song was played again on KHJ Los Angeles AM radio. I turned up the sound on my car dial and sang along, loudly.

When I'm drivin' in my car, and the man come on the radio
He's tellin' me more and more about some useless information
Supposed to fire my imagination

I can't get no, oh, no, no, no, hey, hey, hey
That's what I say
I can't get no satisfaction, I can't get no satisfaction
'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try
I can't get no, I can't get no

"Watt's backbeat gave early hits like "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" steady testosterone drive, and later tracks like "Tumbling Dice" and "Beast of Burden" a languid strut," according to Ben Sisario in the New York Times."

"To me, Charle Watts was the secret essence of the whole thing," Keith Richards wrote in his 2010 memoir, Life.

One reporter referred to Watts as the world's "politest man." When the guys started to party, Charlie hit the sack. He was married to the same woman for 50 years. When the guys were debauching, Charlie was pressing his tailored suits. His appearance was in dire contrast to the flamboyant outfits of Jagger and Richards. He looked like their accountant.

His drumming style, too, was the essence of understatement. He played with economy of motion, hitting the back-beat a micro-second behind Richard's aggressive lead guitar. Emotionless. Steady. Reliable.

I regret that I have never attended a Rolling Stones concert. Like Charlie, I prefer smaller more intimate settings. I doubt that he would have attended a Stones' concert if he weren't in the band. Yet I've always looked forward to hearing their latest work. And I'll never tire of listening to the Stones' classic tunes that always spark a youthful uproar from my past.

Thanks, Mr. Watts. May you rest in peace.