Island of the Spammed

Right before I left for Hilo, thank- fully, thank- fully, my luggage arrived. I'd just gone up to drop off my sketchpads and books when Akiko called up to me and told me that the airline had telephoned, and my luggage was on the way. The fact that I'd lose more time waiting for its delivery was largely eclipsed by a feeling of relief. I wasn’t gonna have to shop for 2 weeks worth of laundry, and my guitar had been extracted from Ivan's vodka saturated hands.

While I waited, I unpacked my carry-on bag. I didn't have much in it, and there seemed to be little need to put anything away. I was wearing my one change of clothes. Otherwise, I had my bathroom stuff, laptop and a small stack of books. Ever the optimist when it comes to these matters, I’d actually thought I might read a lot of 'em, Looking at how much time I’d already lost and remembering how I’d hauled the bag back through all those airport terminals, the stupidity of what I'd chosen to pack began to sink in. Ah well...

I picked up Infinite Jest and settled into read. I was only about 5 minutes into it when I heard a motor and a then a car door. Hopeful, I walked toward the main complex, where a short, stout Hawaiian guy, maybe 45 years old, was unloading my shit from inside a minivan. We said hello, and I went about signing a release form. (Seemed a little lax as far as liability measures went—I mean, I coulda been anybody.)

He looked around at the courtyard and said, "Is this place new?"

"You know, I'm not sure. I just got here."

"You're on vacation?"

"A working vacation."

He nodded, looked around some more, then said, "So how is this place?"

I said it was cool.

He offered to help me carry my luggage over to my room. I pictured us bumbling through the brush with my large duffel bag and guitar case. I smiled. This guy didn’t know what he would’ve been getting himself into. I told him I’d get it OK, thanked him and said goodbye.

As I extended the duffel bag’s handle and rolled it up toward the trail entrance, I heard the guy shut the hatchback. Then I heard Akiko saying hello to him.

"You've made someone very happy. He's been very worried about his guitar.” I smiled and nodded back at them over my shoulder. She was right.

As I moved away, I could still hear Akiko happily chatting away w/ the guy. The flow of conversation was so easy. At first, I thought they knew each other, but then I noticed they were talking about very basic matters: where the guy lived, how long Akiko's place had been here, what it was like to run a bed & breakfast, etc.

I was being offered a first hand view of some of Akiko's truly remarkable traits: the ease w/ which she drew people out, always w/ an air of respect and warmth, and the way in which she used her knowledge of the area to raise matters the guy would know about and in which he'd be interested. She is truly gifted in these things, and I felt a strong admiration for her at that moment.

There was no time to unpack my shit. It was getting late. I threw the bag up by the bed, slid the guitar over into 1 corner and headed out to my car. Akiko and the delivery man were still talking. I waved at them, hopped in my car and got the fuck outta there.

So to Dampe Hilo Childe Steve Forceman, P.I. came. Along the way I got to actually see the landscape I'd been driving through the night before. It was different from what I'd pictured. Behind me, I couldn't see much of the mountainous area I'd entered after I overshot Akiko's. There was a discernible slope, but my view was blocked by intermittent trees and walls of earth to the left and right, about 8-10' tall and riddled with tree roots and small plants. Here and there, the road appeared to have been hacked right through the hills. There are lush, damp trees, and several side roads bear signs that direct you toward waterfalls. The area is famous for a preponderance of incredible waterfalls. It oughta be. (More about them later.)

As you approach Hilo, and the horizon opens. Between Akiko’s place and Hilo, Highway 19 follows the ocean. The proximity of road to water varies, but it's never great. Outside of town, you're pretty high up, and the road is fairly narrow, so the angle of view is steep. There are several scenic viewpoints—though you're never given a lot of warning that they are coming up. The pulls-offs are short, and the flow of traffic is brisk. It's easy to miss yr. shot, which is unfortunate, because the views are incredible. And from one stop to the next, the vistas are always different. The land and the ocean both seem to change, constantly, in a way that's reminiscent of the protean terrain around the lava flow.


One of the most glorious views of all comes at you when you hit the outskirts of the city: Hilo Bay. In rain or in the sun, it is equally striking. To fully experience it, you have to approach it from the north. There are several places to pull off here, because it is so beautiful, and even seen from behind the wheel of the car, it's magnificent. You're high up, just before the road runs dramatically back down into town. It's hazy, but not unclear—ethereal—and as you descend, Hilo gradually becomes real.

Downtown Hilo is well populated, but not crowded. The main street, Kamehameha Avenue, briefly splits off from Highway 19 and then runs parallel to it. Here, the highway separates it from the beachfront. Again, I was reminded of some of the quiet lakeside towns in northern Michigan, with whitewashed buildings that seem to date back to the 40s or 50s. It's like a small town from the movies. There are lots of beautiful old historic buildings both on Kamehameha itself, and on the northern streets that intersect it. Scattered through the downtown area are some fine dining establishments, some art galleries and a couple of museums—including the very classily-run Pacific Tsunami Museum, which, itself, survived two tsunamis—in 1946 and 1990. Built in 1930, (fortunately, in concrete,) it was originally the First Hawaiian Bank Building.

The museum is just one example of the fine job the people of Hilo have done in maintaining some of the older buildings, most of which date from the first two decades of the 20th century. Like the Museum, many structures have been converted to a different use. Others, like the Palace Theater continue to serve their original function. It was built in 1925 and is in near-vintage shape after a restoration begun in 1990. It has this large, striking, Art Deco style lobby, wherein you can buy popcorn before enjoying a flick—frequently, but not always, something sorta indie or foreign, but prob. not too out there.

Not that Hilo’s all Ivory Towers and points of historic interest. A good part of the city’s spirit is quite down-to-earth. You’ll often run across a kind of humor here that's less polite, and a good deal more blunt. Not that anyone was ever anything other than cool when I dealt with 'em. (Minus the Burger King staff, but I already mentioned that.) There are some great diners in Hilo that serve traditional, Spam-laced Hawaiian food. (My Favorite is Ken’s House of Pancakes.) And I don't mean that shit you get on the internet about penis enlargement, cheap real estate, et. al. I mean the, uh, meat. The Great Mystery Meat. Spam.

Actually what it tends to breakdown to is spam-accented versions of some of your favorite diner classics. Do ya like ham n' eggs? How 'bout Spam n' eggs??? With ham! Now you're really livin'!!! (That is, until 5 minutes from now, when yr. heart explodes.) Many of the menu items mix Spam w/ one or two other non-hybridized meats and, usually, w/ eggs as well. And then, frequently, all of this is topped w/ beef gravy and served w/ mashed potatoes. It's insane. Not at all what I was expecting as far as Hawaiian food goes.

Poi does exist, but wasn't nearly as ubiquitous as Brother Spam. And I never saw a whole roasted pig the whole time I was there, nor luaus, 'tho I saw plenty of what I'm told are the contemporary equivalent: family cook outs in parking lots & local parks. Usually w/ lawn chairs, gas or charcoal grills, music, laughter. I'm not sure about the scholarly notion of cultural continuity in this analysis, but what the fuck?

In Hilo, there are stores of all kinds for the avid shopper. There are coffee shops—all of which seemed to have internet access—and at least one gallery/performance space, probably connected w/ the U of Hawaii at Hilo crowd, given its sorta young sorta hip air. It took me back to my youth: xeroxed leaflets announcing upcoming gigs by local bands, theater productions, etc.

Past downtown Hilo, 19 becomes the busy sort of highway you find on the outskirts of most small-medium cities, w/ heavy traffic rolling past gas stations, strip malls and convenience stores. (A special salute to the Wiki Wiki party store, but more about that fine establishment later.) Before long, you hit that major intersection w/ Highway 11, right in front of the airport. If you continue past 11, Highway 19 becomes Kalanianaole Avenue. Gradually the traffic falls off, and the road begins to have a more suburban aspect, then soon, a more rural one.

If you make the turn onto 11, the traffic becomes even heavier, you pick up an extra lane on each side, and larger stores start popping up—most connected by a network of parking lots. If you aren't adverse to speed bumps, you can cruise past Subway, KTA, Little Caesar's, an Aloha gas station or two—all w/o going back onto the highway. 'Course there's different shit on each side of the road, so if you wanna move from this KTA complex over to the largest parking lot of all, you gotta cross 11. Over there are the really big stores—Office Max, a department store or 2, and most prominent of all, one ominous, gargantuan Wal-Mart… Bwah hah hah hah….