When products are advertised in today's world there is usually some role for colour. Maybe it's a signature colour associated with the brand, e.g. Cadbury purple or QANTAS red. Often it's there to serve a function e.g. bright colours to draw your attention to the product in the same way that one is attracted to ripe fruit (or maybe blood), dull colours to push your attention to the brand's premium product. Usually the colour's purpose is to evoke an association, e.g. green to indicate natural/organic, gold to indicate quality, pink to indicate a product for females (and probably higher price). But what if the colour is the product? When a key part of the shopping experience is to select a colour oneself, e.g. buying paint, getting a new car, however, marketers have two options. They can try and make it all about the colour alone i.e. by designating colours with a code (such as in computer languages). Or they can opt to name the colour, which necessarily attaches emotional weight on behalf of the purchaser, for good or ill. One can see this as being akin to the car manufacturers BMW and Lexus numbering their car models while Toyota and Ford marketing the Yaris and Fiesta (among many others) respectively. If taking the latter route the choice of name will be necessarily dependent on the target audience. For example, while "cherry blossom pink" may be immediately understandable to residents of and visitors to Japan or Washington D.C., your average Australian (unless they live in Brisbane) will be more likely to know it as "fairy floss pink" (and definitely not 'cotton candy'!). Colours marketed to home painters tend to evoke elegance or luxury such as "antique white", "royal blue", "english rose". On the other hand colours marketed to motorists are more likely to speak of power or be aspirational e.g."malibu sunset", "onyx", "carburettor silver". Of course the large size of both markets means there will be overlap. But it begs the question, what about marketing to other niche groups? If one wants to market to doctors one needs to have an understanding of their experience. Who wants a black stethoscope when one could instead get a steth in "doctoral mortarboard black", suggesting the device will serve you well in getting your PhD. A marketer's use of colour could also suggest that they understand the medical professional's lived experience; a green set of scrubs has far less street-cred than being decked out in "malrotation & volvulus green". Colour ideas:
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For those who've been following the daily posts, below is the entire two-week journey in a single chronological post. Wish you could have been there with us! The Hawaiian archipelago is the youngest and one of the most geographically and ethnically diverse of the United States. This is one couple’s journey to them. Part 1 Hawaii is the closest US state to Australia, certainly literally and you could make a good argument for figuratively too. A small population and large tourism industry broadly parallel Australia’s position amongst Western countries. More than that the egalitarian attitude, multicultural ethnic mix, and the beach culture that most urban Australians who’ve never touched a surfboard are usually more than happy to appropriate once abroad, ourselves included, means Aussies usually feel at home. Our journey, however, commenced with the nominal reason for our trip, a medical conference in the very wet (and apparently getting wetter) metropolis of Houston. Part of the fun of getting to beyond the western coast of the US is a transit in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, or Dallas-Fort Worth. Which means experiencing the inanity, to an Antipodean at any rate, of the American airline priority boarding system. On receiving our boarding passes we note our boarding group of 9… for a 22-row plane. We take up our usual gate lounge positions and wait while the various groups are called. “Active duty U.S. military personnel (we thank you for your service), Executive Platinum AAdvantage members, Oneworld Emerald members…”. After 10 minutes of more credit cards types, frequent flyer classes, and rewards program statuses (not to mention specific early-boarding programs that probably only exacerbate the problem) than I could count the poor gate announcer is out of breath and we are only up to group 5! I later find out that the boarding process used to be worse and am thankful there are now (only) 11 groups.
Part 2 With the wife ensconced at her haematology conference it’s time to brave the inclement weather and do some exploring. Her colleagues had been grumbling that Houston was a poor choice for a conference venue with not much to do. Previously a friend of mine had mentioned on his travels to Houston that he’d attempted to find the downtown area to walk in but only found deserted boulevards and was similarly disappointed. Determined to find the truth of this I set out after dropping the wife off and indeed found the rainy, windswept streets devoid of all but a few grizzled presumably homeless people. Beleaguered and seeking refuge myself I duck into a welcoming shopping centre and find it filled with all manner of city-workers doing their shopping and lining up for their morning coffees. Picking my way through the crowds I arrive at a down-going escalator marked “tunnel entrance” and seeing many others taking this route I descend along with them.
Part 3 The day to leave the continent finally arrives and we excitedly board our plane (upgraded to boarding group 8 this time) to Honolulu. En route my passing interest in aviation history is piqued to learn we are recapitulating a long Australian tradition of stopping halfway across the Pacific. Of course, pre-jet era aircraft (and even the first Boeing 707s) couldn’t make the trans-Pacific flight in one go and had to ‘island hop’ their way to the US west coast. This explained the presence of the QANTAS lounge in Honolulu and our subsequent frequent contact with Australians on-island. Our first morning on O’ahu, the most developed island and home to Honolulu, would be spent experiencing island-hopping of a different kind. The strategy used by Macarthur, Nimitz, and the US air force to advance on the Japanese islands was only required after the devastating 1941 attack on Pearl Harbour that prompted the US to enter World War II. At the memorial we experience a sombre reminder of the realities of war, nowhere more so than the submarine monument. The heroic descriptions of daring attacks on Japanese convoys with the members of the ‘silent service’ variously praised for having “covered themselves in glory” and “showed exceptional courage in the face of the enemy” couldn’t conceal the glaring truth that every one of the thirty or so Pacific submarines listed as “lost at sea” was followed by a list of all eighty to ninety young men who crewed her. The boat trip out to the USS Arizona, the battleship sunk so rapidly by dive-bombers during the attack that most of her crew are to this day entombed in the rusting catacomb that sits just below the surface in the shallow harbour, only confirms this notion for us. During a contemplative rental car ride back to downtown, on the wrong side of the road, I quickly learn that a Toyota Corolla > Ford Focus and the wife is very relieved when we’re finally safely home. Relief quickly gives way to excitement as we round the corner for our first expansive views of Waikiki Beach. Board short and bikini-clad sunbathers cover the wide yellow stretch of sand while children build sandcastles and attempt to bury their parents. We’ve come to the seawall-protected lagoon dominated by families, though even they are outnumbered by the predominantly female Japanese selfie-takers whose interest in the water seems to be purely photographic. The shallower than expected water is nevertheless enjoyable to soak in as we watch the surfers in the breakers another hundred metres (or 328 feet if you prefer) off-shore. As evening falls we notice a crowd gathering on a nearby mound covered with artificial grass and wander over to investigate. From the chatter it seems that this is the site of a free nightly hula show sponsored by one of the local hotels. The show starts and the ukulele-strumming MC with their dance troupe take us through the history of hula music and dances with a series of performances, ending with the Hollywood-style cellophane skirt dances that delight the crowds. After about the 10th dance our grumbling tummies decide we have bigger fish to fry. In reality, however, we definitely prefer raw fish and make a beeline for the, according to Yelp at least, best poke bowl joint in Waikiki. I’m familiar with pre-war trans-Pacific Japanese migration from studies of gastric vs. colon cancer in migrants who adopted the local American cuisine but wasn’t previously aware that many stopped halfway in Hawaii and loved it too much to continue (or, given the economics of the inter-war period, possibly couldn’t afford the onward fare). This has meant a sizable Japanese population serving up classic and modern Japanese dishes, attracting large numbers of Japanese tourists on the side. Our ahi tuna poke with ikura (salmon roe) does not disappoint but we’re as interested in sinking our teeth into the local specialty of ‘shave ice’. Having subjected the wife to one too many diatribes about the grammatical errors in the Gaga/Cooper song Shallow I bite my tongue and partake of what turns out to be a multi-flavoured grittier version of a Slurpee with a dollop of ice cream on top. All things considered, a great way to end a day on Waikiki. Part 4 The Hawaiian islands are well known for being a volcanic chain. Having been created by the movement of a tectonic plate across a mid-ocean upwelling of magma, or fished up from the ocean bed by the demi-God Maui if you prefer, they are amongst the youngest landmasses in the world. This means tall jagged peaks dominate the landscape, trapping the dense clouds of the prevailing winds resulting in numerous waterfalls. Manoa falls is one of the most popular of these and as we make our way up the winding path we are joined by progressively more activewear-clad tourists and locals alike. Banyan and monkeypod trees dominate the landscape, apparently they were planted in an effort to control the erosion caused by agricultural land-clearing and animal-hoof damage. As we walk I keep double-taking at the roots and can well understand Jordan Peterson’s claims to a highly developed ‘snake-detection’ circuit forming a core part of our biology. The falls are impressive though the selfie-takers jostling for position again provide as much amusement. We’re keen to check out the much-vaunted Nu’uanu Pali lookout in the centre of the mountains that traverse the island’s spine but less than halfway there we find that the highway is closed. Consulting the map we decide to make our own adventure to the Lulumahu Falls that appear to be close to our stopping place. Just off the highway we find ourselves in a thick bamboo forest as dense as any you might find in East Asia. As we force our way along the narrow and overgrown path we are struck by the eerie and at times deafening clacking of the trunks against one another in the wind. We later learn that just like the banyan, bamboo was planted to help fight erosion and reforest the agriculturally-cleared land. Now the bamboo forests are enjoying resurgence as a significant industry, popular amongst both tourists for rolled beach mats and island residents for domestic flooring. The wife is more interested in keeping a look-out for bamboo shoots and calling out for pandas, neither of which we eventually find. The road back home takes us past a roadside foodtruck yard and true to our hometown’s conditioning we instinctively stop to view the wares. The Leonard’s Bakery truck has a particularly long line and the wife informs me (my social media knowledge but a drop in the ocean that is hers) that their malasadas are to die for. Warm fried ovoid dough covered with gritty sugar, we try the original and most popular flavours while sitting on the nearby beach and are not disappointed. The crowd of birds that gathers only proves the popularity of the dish amongst the locals. A traditional Portuguese food, malasadas were brought to the islands in the late 1800s by Portuguese labourers coming to work on the plantations. They were typically made on the day before Lent by the predominantly Catholic immigrants as a way to use up butter and sugar, much like pancakes are made on this day in other parts of the world. Hawaiians have since adapted the recipe with local flavours, adding guava, haupia (a coconut pudding), and taro. We were gratified to enjoy the fruits of their labour. Part 5 If there’s one thing I wanted to do in Hawaii it was visit the Jurassic Park filming location and we got the chance today. Visitors to the islands are struck by the tall mountains covered in lush greenery that evoke television representations of the Carboniferous Period and we were no exception. Crossing the mountains to the northeast ‘windward’ side of the island we arrive at the Kualoa Ranch, an eclectic mix of tourist trap, working farm, and Hollywood location scout’s dream. The ranch was originally a sugar plantation but when this failed (salty-tasting sugar from the salt-laden winds that buffet the windward side of the island was apparently not a hit in the 1860s) the land was turned more successfully to cattle ranching. It was serendipitously discovered by Hollywood when the original film location for Jurassic Park was damaged by weather and filming had to be finished at Kualoa. We enjoy a series of pleasant tours through the valley, where Jurassic Park, Jumanji (the new one that’s not as good as the old one), and a few military movies were shot, around the working traditional farm, where the café from 50 First Dates and one set of Lost are located, and through the neighbouring jungle, where more movies than I can remember were filmed. All the while we are regaled with tales of the ranch’s re-purposing as an airstrip during World War II martial law, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson jumping on a school tour bus during Jumanji filming to sing his “You’re Welcome” number from Moana, and the island’s struggles with self-sufficiency given the high cost of foodstuff importation. We’re feeling a little sleepy by the end of the 5th hour of tours but a ranch buffet of Kualoa pork ribs and chilli con carne is just what we need to pick us up for an afternoon of swimming on Waikiki. On our travels around O’ahu we increasingly note the liberal use of the word Aloha. We knew, from Miss Congeniality of course, that it means both hello and goodbye and are greeted in this way almost universally by locals. When we notice tourist-targeted businesses e.g. “Aloha Tours”, “Aloha Towers and Spa”, “Aloha Waikiki Surf Rentals” using the term we assume this relates to the immediate association in tourist’s minds with Hawaiian friendliness. But it’s when we start noticing “Aloha Plumbing”, “Aloha Tax Accountants”, and the large signs on the freeway exhorting us to “Drive with Aloha” that we start thinking it’s a bit much. Fortunately a friendly tour guide explains that the Aloha spirit is much more than a simple greeting with deep cultural significance. In fact there is an official “Aloha Spirit Law” that requires all people but in particular Government bodies and corporations to act with Aloha in all that they do. We continue our journey with a renewed sense of appreciation for the place. Part 6 I may have wanted to relive the Jurassic era (yes, I know most of the dinosaurs in the movie were actually from the Cretaceous) but the wife definitely came here for the sea life. So when we discovered we’d serendipitously arrived at the height of whale season there was no end to her excitement. Aboard Majestic floating off Waikiki and plied with a sizable buffet lunch we were soon spotting whales almost 15-minutely as they played in the deeper water beyond the perpetual line of surfers at the edge of the reef. The humpback whales travel from their Antarctic feeding grounds to winter in the Hawaiian Islands where the pregnant females will calve and feed their young. As the young ones learn the ways of the wild we get to enjoy their 20-30 minute cycles of breaking the surface for air (we didn’t see a breach unfortunately), sinuating along for a few flaps of their fins, then arching up and down (the ‘hump’ in humpback) to show off their massive tails as they dive under again. The perfect weather coupled with a pair of whales closely following our boat to give us amazing close-up views made it a day to remember. We both love hiking and we’d heard one of the more scenic to do in Honolulu is the walk to the Western peak of the Diamond Head state monument. An extinct volcanic caldera, the craggy ring-like hills sparkled in the sun to the eyes of the first missionaries to arrive on the islands. Thinking they’d discovered pay dirt they scrambled up the steep hills only to find worthless calcite crystals. But the name stuck and the beautiful area has variously been a native sacred site, a fortification to protect the southern approach to Pearl Harbour, and a protected park that locals and visitors alike can enjoy. We do just that as we pay the nominal $1 entrance fee and walk up the progressively narrower and more tortuous path to the top. After some steep switchbacks on which we pass many tourists, young and old alike panting for breath, the path takes us through two tunnels and a series of long staircases before bringing us out through a disused pillbox onto an expansive view of the gleaming Pacific Ocean. Glaring disapprovingly at those tourists who, ignoring the many signs, are jumping on the dugout roof, posing on the helipad, and attempting to recreate the Toyota “Oh what a feeling” ads on a distant pillbox they’d clearly jumped a tall fence to get to, we satisfy ourselves with our panoramas and selfies, fancy we spy a whale or two, and head back down. Having driven hundreds of miles on the wrong side of the road during our previous trip to the US I didn’t think I’d have too many issues with driving this time. While that may have proved to be true we did, however, have significant issues with parking. Finding street parking in downtown Honolulu in general is very difficult. Finding street parking in Waikiki even in the winter off-season is practically impossible. I’d done my research before arriving and knew of the free parking along the Ala Wai canal (in 7 days I never once saw a free space there) and the few spots in the southwest of the suburb that were similarly perpetually occupied. Our combined Indian-Asian ‘cheapo’ genes refuse to countenance $5/hour so-called ‘garage’ parking so we embark on an exploration of the surrounds to eventually find free all-day parking behind the zoo. We console ourselves that we’re effectively earning $5 a minute on our daily round-trips to the parking area. Keen to pay homage to my Australian origins I buy a bodyboard and head out into the surf. We watch the daring local kids sitting astride wakeboards and bodyboards just off the pier at the southern end of Waikiki. When a suitable wave presents itself one or two catch it, taking care to bail before the lagoon wall. I try to join in but only get multiple foot wounds from the universally rocky seafloor and after half-catching a wave, decide that’s me and take a disinfectant-heavy shower to avoid Gram negative infection. Part 7 With a free day scheduled for ourselves to end our Honolulu adventure we decide to spend it on the north shore. On a Kualoa rancher’s recommendation we head to the macadamia nut farm that borders their property and enjoying the free macadamia-flavoured kona coffee we lean on the railings and watch the chickens. As soon as you leave urban O’ahu you’re struck by the flocks of chickens everywhere you go. They don’t seem to belong to anyone (the wife comments that at least homeless people in Hawaii would probably never go hungry, as long as they weren’t vegetarian) and aren’t particularly bothered by foot or vehicular traffic. Chickens, along with pigs and dogs, were the first intentionally introduced animals to the Hawaiian islands, brought by the original Polynesian settlers over a millennium ago (rats came across as stowaways). At one point chickens had a “kapu” placed on them, what seems to have been a royal decree forbidding their killing, and they proliferated tremendously. When the mongoose was introduced to control the rat population, a failed experiment given the nocturnal nature of rats and decidedly diurnal habits of mongooses, this helped to keep chickens in check (not to mention decimate native bird populations) but there are still flocks of them freely roaming the countryside wherever you go. Taking the coastal road we find ourselves cruising past more beaches than we can count but decide that the first beach we come across after the famous Mike’s Huli Huli Chicken (well, known to me from the Food Network at any rate) will be our stop. Turns out the first few (among them the popular Sunset and Pipeline) are crawling with tourists so we finally stop at a beach fronting onto a shallow rock lagoon. A bit apprehensive that we may have made a poor choice we step around the sunbathers and scramble gingerly over the rocks into the shallow water, only to find it teeming with all manner of sealife. Getting the goggles on we chase schools of reef fish, avoid sea urchins, marvel at swordfish, and even spot a few eels snaking along the rocky floor. We’ve accidentally splashed into Shark Cove, one of the best snorkelling spots on the islands, and we take full advantage of our good fortune, chasing fish until it’s too cold to swim any longer. Friday evenings at around 1945 in winter sees big crowds gathering on the northern Waikiki shores and the few piers in that area to watch the free fireworks show put on by one of the larger resorts above its lagoon. Such largesse certainly attests more to the burgeoning tourist industry rather than the Hawaiian state’s wealth. Preferring to hire a car and stay in Airbnb rentals, we genuinely enjoy the freedom of driving around and cooking for ourselves while on holiday (though I can’t exclude the influence of those aforementioned ‘cheapo’ genes). This gives us firsthand experience of gas (thanks to Stephen Fry I now see that ‘gas’ is likely a more correct term than ‘petrol’ for the 91% octane hydrocarbon mixture we power our cars with) and food prices wherever we travel. Hawaii seems to have particularly high living costs, certainly fuel is more expensive than both San Francisco and New Zealand, and milk is upwards of AUD$4 per litre (compared to the AUD$1 per litre in Australia, which granted represents a discount on the true value cost due to aggressive supermarket pricing). A brief investigation reveals that this is due in no small part to the Jones Act, which decreed that all inter-state commerce in the US must be via entirely American owned and crewed vessels. Needless to say Jones Act vessels tend to have higher operating costs than most Asia-Pacific region competitors. Previously the solution was for Hawaii to engage in direct trade with Asia but just as the success of the A380 is making some destinations that can’t handle this aircraft size less competitive for some airlines to service, so too the advent of super-massive container ships, which can’t be serviced by Hawaiian ports, has made a stop at Hawaii impossible for many trans-Pacific shipping lines. Many plucky locals see this as an opportunity and local agriculture, boutique and at-scale alike, is evidently blossoming to fill the void. Part 8 As our time in Honolulu draws to a close we pack our bags for the next leg of our journey. Taking the rental car shuttle to what amounts to a pair of demountable site offices in the middle of a parking lot we check in at terminal 3 for our first inter-island flight. Possibly the most relaxed airline boarding we’d ever experienced (and in America too!), our Mokulele ground crew simply weigh our bags, weigh us, then 5 minutes before flight time call us by name and walk us over to the plane. Our first flight on a prop plane, the 11-seater Cessna Caravan (2 pilots and 9 passengers) was surprisingly stable and after a safety briefing faster than a horserace call we are treated to excellent views of the Pearl Harbour-Hickam base, Waikiki, Diamond Head, and presently the entire island of O’ahu. Half an hour later what was initially a red line on the horizon expands to become sheer cliffs dropping straight into the ocean at the edge of a lush green tableland slashed with red where the soil shows through the sparser scrub. Closer to the airfield the scrub gives way to parcels of cropland and as we land we face the volcanic mountain range that forms the backbone of almost every Hawaiian island. Stepping onto the tarmac our ears are greeted by… silence. In stark contrast to bustling Honolulu, Moloka’I truly deserves the description of an untouched paradise. Getting into our rental car we head into Kaunakakai, the largest town on the island with population of barely 4,000, and find that Sunday afternoon sees almost everything closed. There is one corner store that is clearly open and attracted by the signs claiming to purvey the best ice cream in the state we head on in. The enthusiastic ice cream lover behind the counter is very welcoming and has us try at least 6 distinctly Hawaiian flavours before letting us order from their selection of 40, not knowing (or perhaps he did) that we’d be back for more daily while on-island, certainly helped by their birthday freebie program and my birthday being the next day. Having checked in to the best Airbnb we’d stay in for the trip on the island’s western border we make our way down to Kepuhi beach where I’m hoping to finally catch a decent wave. The surf is big so taking care to stay out of the lines of the many surfers already in the water I paddle out. Unfortunately I’m not the bodyboarder or swimmer I thought I was so after taking a pounding by the breakers, covered in sand I head back, consoled by the wife’s excitement at having found a dragon’s egg-like volcanic rock. Part 9 Having been given a Red Balloon certificate for possibly the best birthday present I could think of by my lovely thoughtful wife we cross the island to Murphey’s Beach. Equipped with her snorkelling gear it’s the wife’s turn to get into the water and see what she can see while I explore the rocks. Gazing across the strait to the bigger island of Maui we hope to see some whales but no luck comes our way once more. Murphey’s Beach is the site of the Dragon Tail rock formation, a curiously shaped rocky outcrop where the lava that formed the island evidently flowed out to sea and hasn’t yet been eroded away. We pick our way across this, marvelling at the varied igneous rocks we see layered on top of and running through each other. I’m told the number of native Hawaiian words for lava and the rocks formed therefrom rival the Inuit words for snow types. Seeing the incredibly heterogeneous and all the more beautiful for it nature of this rockform I can well understand why. Moloka’i is one of the least developed of the Hawaiian islands and at first glance of the sheer cliffs, deep yellow sand, tall surf, and lush interior jungle you might wonder why. An even passingly observant drive along the main east-west highway, however, quickly reveals that the locals are perfectly happy with this situation. The road is dotted with signs exclaiming “Cruise ship not welcome!” and exhorting tourists to “Visit, spend, go home”. “Private property, no trespassing” signs are common in Honolulu given the tendency of tourists to wander off the public paths, but in Moloka’i these are almost universal. You can tell the local’s cars apart from the tourists’ rentals by the graded coating of red dust that reaches the windows on the former, and the “Molokai Mo Bettah” bumper stickers that are Pidgin for what you think they mean. There’s also a growing movement to legislate to prevent residentially-zoned property being offered for short-term tourist rental to protect the character of the island. Our apartment being in a designated beachside resort away from the towns we are safe from this ire but nevertheless feel that the tourist board-applied moniker of “The Friendly Isle”, clearly aiming to attract yet more visitors, is probably objected to by a not insignificant proportion of the locals. An ice cream later (sweet potato and taro make surprisingly good ice cream flavours for what are essentially starchy vegetables) we’re back at the beach resort and make full use of the barbecues to grill some steaks from the local livestock co-op (Hickory-marinaded by the wife of course… when in Rome). Having visited in the winter off-season we find much of the grounds undergoing annual maintenance and the constant drilling and banging even after sunset certainly explains the reduced rates. One upside is that the coconut trees need trimming to prevent ripe coconuts falling and crushing unsuspecting tourists below. We can’t believe our luck and obtain a few of the choicest specimens from the off-cuttings that litter the lawn, for later enjoyment. Part 10 As the cloud system we were warned about in Honolulu tracks south the weather turns overcast and wet so we stick to the plan of today being a hiking rather than beach day. Finding the turn-off from the highway to the cemetery we soon find ourselves on a dirt road with pasture on our right and thickening scrub on our left. Spotting some yellow blobs on a tree ahead we pull over and sample what turn out to be just-ripening guavas. Pushing on, the road leaves the pastures behind and turns into a deep cutting snaking up the hillside. Clearly decades old and in places probably cut by hand the road takes us past some large reservoirs to the edge of the forest preserve. It’s here that the drizzle starts, the tall trees and elevation presumably trapping the grey sheets of clouds as they drift past. The road starts to get treacherously muddy with traction control coming on more than once so we opt to leave our little Elantra by a reservoir and continue on foot. Paying closer attention to our surrounds they look curiously familiar and we discover that the majority of the trees are eucalypts! The occasional interspersed conifer only increases the similarity with the Victorian northeast, where I spent much of my Scouting youth, and we begin to feel at home, though the wife is convinced there are bears or at least foxes to be wary of. As we get higher the precipitation increases to the point where our combination of old worn-smooth runners, lack of raincoats, and cameras to protect forces us back, not that we’d have likely seen much from the island’s central lookout anyway. We head back to the highway and this time swing north through Kualapu’u to the tops of the cliffs that formed our first view of Moloka’i. From there we look down on the Kalaupapa peninsula jutting out from the otherwise unbroken line of cliffs. By land it is accessible only via a single steep mule trail and the price for a mule-back tour down this path is steep. When leprosy first struck the Hawaiian kingdom it was known as Hansen’s disease. As an aside there’s an increasing preference for Hansen’s disease to be used as the preferred term over leprosy given the historical stigma associated with the latter. This is in contrast to the rest of the medical field where the trend is for eponyms to be replaced with descriptive names; Reiter, Wegener, Churg and Strauss, Down, and yet others have lost their claims to naming primacy to this trend (though at least one of those, being a Nazi, lost it primarily for that reason). But Hansen’s disease was what caused the Kalaupapa colony to be founded by one of the kings named Kamehameha, though to be fair ‘founded’ is particularly generous when in truth the initial patients who were banished to the peninsula were simply thrown (possibly literally) from a boat and told to fend for themselves. As the colony’s numbers swelled and the death toll climbed a particularly compassionate Father Damien travelled to the peninsula to minister to the outcasts. His selfless work eventually cost him his life through contracting the disease himself but his example inspired others to continue his work. With the advent of sulfones and the discovery that leprosy is actually one of the least communicable diseases, the colony is no longer an effective prison and the few remaining patients are able to leave or stay as they desire. With the mule trail closed due to the weather we content ourselves with taking in the peninsula from above, briefly visit the nearby salaciously but appropriately named natural “Phallic Rock” formation, once again fail to spot any more whales, and return home. Following our by now customary ice cream we head to the much-vaunted Dixie Maru beach on the middle of the western coast. A relatively protected small cove the beach is popular with fishers, families, campers, and those who just want to relax on the beach alike. A wide sandy centre is flanked by two long volcanic rock fields extending around the neighbouring heads and it is these that attract our attention in search of sea life. Among the cairns left by tourists from days gone by we find wide rockpools filled with small fish, crabs, and sea cucumbers that keep us entertained for hours, the wife even cleaning a few sea cucumbers of sand for good measure, while I find more entertainment in watching crabs fight each other for the best hiding spots as the tide recedes, reminiscent of Jordan Peterson’s oft-described and much-derided lobster analogy. The gathering clouds preventing us from seeing the fabled green flash of sunset, we decide against taking a sea cucumber to try and instead leave to pan-fry a sample of the island’s pork, which is as good as advertised. Part 11 Another rainy day, we head for Purdy’s macadamia nut farm, which we’d reached too late the previous day, it only being open from 1000-1400. Once there we are taken by the particularly jovial sole farmer through the process of growing, harvesting, shelling, and roasting the nuts in preparation for sale. He insists we shell our own nuts and try various nut types and products, keeping up a monologue on production the entire time. A local guide, the ex-husband of his cousin he informs us, has a group of tourists with him on the farm and when he and the farmer get together all manner of good-natured banter (and a good deal of nut jokes) fly thick and fast between them. On finding out we are from Australia things really get heated. As we are told, the macadamia is native to Queensland Australia but was only commercialised as a foodstuff in the Hawaiian islands after being brought here as an ornamental plant. The novel machinery developed to assist the industry was heavily patented and protected by the owners, essentially confining macadamia production to the islands for decades. According to our gleeful hosts had Australians discovered the potential of the macadamia first we could have really put ourselves on the map (we didn’t realise our country was in need of this) but at any rate our countrymen’s historical oversight has been the islands’ gain. An ice cream later, by now the rain is easing, we’re back on the coast, this time at the next beach up from the surfers at Kepuhi. A wide field of sand once again flanked by volcanic rocks with few beachgoers greets us and we attempt a casual swim. More powerful than we had expected, the waves are soon dumping us consistently but putting our sandshoes on and gritting our teeth we head out beyond the shore break and are soon jumping abreast and diving under the oncoming waves with ease if no semblance of elegance. A fellow swimmer reports being able to hear whalesong underwater but being unable to ourselves we head to the rocks, a particularly sizable one of which the wife turns into her own private pool. As the sun sinks lower we leave a sand dragon on the beach for posterity, our last day on Moloka’I drawing to a close. A Cessna Caravan, a Boeing 747-400, and a 737-800 later we’re back in the hometown we love so much. We’ll forever remember Hawaii for its Aloha spirit, beaches, sealife, volcanic mountains, food, jungles, waterfalls, history, and people. The wife and I resolve to return, a promise made all the easier by the high probability of one of us having a future US conference to attend necessitating trans-Pacific travel. Experiencing Pele’s fury is definitely on the to-do list (the volcanoes of Hawaii Island rather than the ridiculously over-priced Peter Lik photo) as are surf lessons and possible scuba diving. Whatever we get up to we know it’ll be a great time and can’t wait to return to this island paradise. The Hawaiian archipelago is the youngest and one of the most geographically and ethnically diverse of the United States. This is one couple’s journey to them. Another rainy day, we head for Purdy’s macadamia nut farm, which we’d reached too late the previous day, it only being open from 1000-1400. Once there we are taken by the particularly jovial sole farmer through the process of growing, harvesting, shelling, and roasting the nuts in preparation for sale. He insists we shell our own nuts and try various nut types and products, keeping up a monologue on production the entire time. A local guide, the ex-husband of his cousin he informs us, has a group of tourists with him on the farm and when he and the farmer get together all manner of good-natured banter (and a good deal of nut jokes) fly thick and fast between them. On finding out we are from Australia things really get heated. As we are told, the macadamia is native to Queensland Australia but was only commercialised as a foodstuff in the Hawaiian islands after being brought here as an ornamental plant. The novel machinery developed to assist the industry was heavily patented and protected by the owners, essentially confining macadamia production to the islands for decades. According to our gleeful hosts had Australians discovered the potential of the macadamia first we could have really put ourselves on the map (we didn’t realise our country was in need of this) but at any rate our countrymen’s historical oversight has been the islands’ gain. An ice cream later, by now the rain is easing, we’re back on the coast, this time at the next beach up from the surfers at Kepuhi. A wide field of sand once again flanked by volcanic rocks with few beachgoers greets us and we attempt a casual swim. More powerful than we had expected, the waves are soon dumping us consistently but putting our sandshoes on and gritting our teeth we head out beyond the shore break and are soon jumping abreast and diving under the oncoming waves with ease if no semblance of elegance. A fellow swimmer reports being able to hear whalesong underwater but being unable to ourselves we head to the rocks, a particularly sizable one of which the wife turns into her own private pool. As the sun sinks lower we leave a sand dragon on the beach for posterity, our last day on Moloka’I drawing to a close. A Cessna Caravan, a Boeing 747-400, and a 737-800 later we’re back in the hometown we love so much. We’ll forever remember Hawaii for its Aloha spirit, beaches, sealife, volcanic mountains, food, jungles, waterfalls, history, and people. The wife and I resolve to return, a promise made all the easier by the high probability of one of us having a future US conference to attend necessitating trans-Pacific travel. Experiencing Pele’s fury is definitely on the to-do list (the volcanoes of Hawaii Island rather than the ridiculously over-priced Peter Lik photo) as are surf lessons and possible scuba diving. Whatever we get up to we know it’ll be a great time and can’t wait to return to this island paradise. The Hawaiian archipelago is the youngest and one of the most geographically and ethnically diverse of the United States. This is one couple’s journey to them. As the cloud system we were warned about in Honolulu tracks south the weather turns overcast and wet so we stick to the plan of today being a hiking rather than beach day. Finding the turn-off from the highway to the cemetery we soon find ourselves on a dirt road with pasture on our right and thickening scrub on our left. Spotting some yellow blobs on a tree ahead we pull over and sample what turn out to be just-ripening guavas. Pushing on, the road leaves the pastures behind and turns into a deep cutting snaking up the hillside. Clearly decades old and in places probably cut by hand the road takes us past some large reservoirs to the edge of the forest preserve. It’s here that the drizzle starts, the tall trees and elevation presumably trapping the grey sheets of clouds as they drift past. The road starts to get treacherously muddy with traction control coming on more than once so we opt to leave our little Elantra by a reservoir and continue on foot. Paying closer attention to our surrounds they look curiously familiar and we discover that the majority of the trees are eucalypts! The occasional interspersed conifer only increases the similarity with the Victorian northeast, where I spent much of my Scouting youth, and we begin to feel at home, though the wife is convinced there are bears or at least foxes to be wary of. As we get higher the precipitation increases to the point where our combination of old worn-smooth runners, lack of raincoats, and cameras to protect forces us back, not that we’d have likely seen much from the island’s central lookout anyway. We head back to the highway and this time swing north through Kualapu’u to the tops of the cliffs that formed our first view of Moloka’i. From there we look down on the Kalaupapa peninsula jutting out from the otherwise unbroken line of cliffs. By land it is accessible only via a single steep mule trail and the price for a mule-back tour down this path is steep. When leprosy first struck the Hawaiian kingdom it was known as Hansen’s disease. As an aside there’s an increasing preference for Hansen’s disease to be used as the preferred term over leprosy given the historical stigma associated with the latter. This is in contrast to the rest of the medical field where the trend is for eponyms to be replaced with descriptive names; Reiter, Wegener, Churg and Strauss, Down, and yet others have lost their claims to naming primacy to this trend (though at least one of those, being a Nazi, lost it primarily for that reason). But Hansen’s disease was what caused the Kalaupapa colony to be founded by one of the kings named Kamehameha, though to be fair ‘founded’ is particularly generous when in truth the initial patients who were banished to the peninsula were simply thrown (possibly literally) from a boat and told to fend for themselves. As the colony’s numbers swelled and the death toll climbed a particularly compassionate Father Damien travelled to the peninsula to minister to the outcasts. His selfless work eventually cost him his life through contracting the disease himself but his example inspired others to continue his work. With the advent of sulfones and the discovery that leprosy is actually one of the least communicable diseases, the colony is no longer an effective prison and the few remaining patients are able to leave or stay as they desire. With the mule trail closed due to the weather we content ourselves with taking in the peninsula from above, briefly visit the nearby salaciously but appropriately named natural “Phallic Rock” formation, once again fail to spot any more whales, and return home. Following our by now customary ice cream we head to the much-vaunted Dixie Maru beach on the middle of the western coast. A relatively protected small cove the beach is popular with fishers, families, campers, and those who just want to relax on the beach alike. A wide sandy centre is flanked by two long volcanic rock fields extending around the neighbouring heads and it is these that attract our attention in search of sea life. Among the cairns left by tourists from days gone by we find wide rockpools filled with small fish, crabs, and sea cucumbers that keep us entertained for hours, the wife even cleaning a few sea cucumbers of sand for good measure, while I find more entertainment in watching crabs fight each other for the best hiding spots as the tide recedes, reminiscent of Jordan Peterson’s oft-described and much-derided lobster analogy. The gathering clouds preventing us from seeing the fabled green flash of sunset, we decide against taking a sea cucumber to try and instead leave to pan-fry a sample of the island’s pork, which is as good as advertised. The Hawaiian archipelago is the youngest and one of the most geographically and ethnically diverse of the United States. This is one couple’s journey to them. Having been given a Red Balloon certificate for possibly the best birthday present I could think of by my lovely thoughtful wife we cross the island to Murphey’s Beach. Equipped with her snorkelling gear it’s the wife’s turn to get into the water and see what she can see while I explore the rocks. Gazing across the strait to the bigger island of Maui we hope to see some whales but no luck comes our way once more. Murphey’s Beach is the site of the Dragon Tail rock formation, a curiously shaped rocky outcrop where the lava that formed the island evidently flowed out to sea and hasn’t yet been eroded away. We pick our way across this, marvelling at the varied igneous rocks we see layered on top of and running through each other. I’m told the number of native Hawaiian words for lava and the rocks formed therefrom rival the Inuit words for snow types. Seeing the incredibly heterogeneous and all the more beautiful for it nature of this rockform I can well understand why. Moloka’i is one of the least developed of the Hawaiian islands and at first glance of the sheer cliffs, deep yellow sand, tall surf, and lush interior jungle you might wonder why. An even passingly observant drive along the main east-west highway, however, quickly reveals that the locals are perfectly happy with this situation. The road is dotted with signs exclaiming “Cruise ship not welcome!” and exhorting tourists to “Visit, spend, go home”. “Private property, no trespassing” signs are common in Honolulu given the tendency of tourists to wander off the public paths, but in Moloka’i these are almost universal. You can tell the local’s cars apart from the tourists’ rentals by the graded coating of red dust that reaches the windows on the former, and the “Molokai Mo Bettah” bumper stickers that are Pidgin for what you think they mean. There’s also a growing movement to legislate to prevent residentially-zoned property being offered for short-term tourist rental to protect the character of the island. Our apartment being in a designated beachside resort away from the towns we are safe from this ire but nevertheless feel that the tourist board-applied moniker of “The Friendly Isle”, clearly aiming to attract yet more visitors, is probably objected to by a not insignificant proportion of the locals. An ice cream later (sweet potato and taro make surprisingly good ice cream flavours for what are essentially starchy vegetables) we’re back at the beach resort and make full use of the barbecues to grill some steaks from the local livestock co-op (Hickory-marinaded by the wife of course… when in Rome). Having visited in the winter off-season we find much of the grounds undergoing annual maintenance and the constant drilling and banging even after sunset certainly explains the reduced rates. One upside is that the coconut trees need trimming to prevent ripe coconuts falling and crushing unsuspecting tourists below. We can’t believe our luck and obtain a few of the choicest specimens from the off-cuttings that litter the lawn, for later enjoyment. |
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May 2020
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