10 days in Oahu. Not many I know choose it when they're island hopping or fanata-sizing about hiking through birdsong throbbing jungles or canoodling in turquoise waters among sea turtles and banana-colored fish. And yet--here we are:trying not to think about dust-gray Pearl Harbor ships, faux luaus run by Mormons and weak mai-tais siphoned into Waikiki tourists.
I've come to find out what drew my paternal grandmother to Honolulu in 1946 and how she died in 1949, at 51. No death certificate. No family talk of her disappearance over the years. (As far as we know, she lived a solitary life after divorcing when my dad was a toddler. He never could look at her disappearance squarely, preferring his memory of Central Park summers with her, and their single cruise to South America. ) And yet, she seems to have led her life filled with ambition and verve. Florence flew to London during WWII to work in the Office of War Information, as a civilian. She was a vivid writer, and had planned a round-the-world voyage to research a book. The day he died, my dad still had her ivory-scabbarded sword and Burmese ebony elephant in his t-shirt drawer, along with a few treasured photos and letters. This scant evidence of her existence, and her early death have remained a mystery all my life. My dad kept a photo inscribed, "To Jim, This is the view from my lanai. Love, Mom July 3, 1946." I've come to find that view.
I've come to find out what drew my paternal grandmother to Honolulu in 1946 and how she died in 1949, at 51. No death certificate. No family talk of her disappearance over the years. (As far as we know, she lived a solitary life after divorcing when my dad was a toddler. He never could look at her disappearance squarely, preferring his memory of Central Park summers with her, and their single cruise to South America. ) And yet, she seems to have led her life filled with ambition and verve. Florence flew to London during WWII to work in the Office of War Information, as a civilian. She was a vivid writer, and had planned a round-the-world voyage to research a book. The day he died, my dad still had her ivory-scabbarded sword and Burmese ebony elephant in his t-shirt drawer, along with a few treasured photos and letters. This scant evidence of her existence, and her early death have remained a mystery all my life. My dad kept a photo inscribed, "To Jim, This is the view from my lanai. Love, Mom July 3, 1946." I've come to find that view.
As today is Veteran's Day, all state offices and buildings are shuttered. The quest will have to start tomorrow. Instead I head out for the Foster Botanic Gardens, a few blocks from our hotel. I stop for orchid leis in Chinatown (apparently the airlines have abandoned the lei-draping on arrival, probably along with the free meals and thin blankets) but I still want fragrant blossoms around my neck. Honolulu's Chinatown turns out to be pretty seedy--loads of homeless folks and shuttered cafes and saloons. A few produce stores and humbow shops have particular customers. Oddly, this is also the stomping grounds of fresh-faced Hawaii Pacific students, who don't seem to mind stepping around the sidewalk-sleeping masses. The lei shops line Maunakea street--scent of plumeria and tuberoses mix with hum bao steam and clorox. It's all a bit overpowering so early in the day, so I press on to the gardens.
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| What doesn't kill you... |
A fantastic temple fronts the botanic gardens. Incense and a perpetual flame coax me inside Yuan Kin for a brief moment, then I'm off to the temple of trees.
This critter is fondly called the "sausage tree."
Wonder if it's filled with Spam
(the meat of choice
in the islands--spamandeggs --yummm)
it does seem like the tree gods have it in for the tourists
I'll bring an umbrella with me tomorrow...
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