Travel

Life on Earth is an exercise in impermanence and constant change. Although we spend most of our time here trying to attain certainty, the only thing we can be sure of is that all things must pass. It’s not surprising then that what cracks our ostensibly unbreakable shell of security is Mother Earth herself. Floods, droughts, earthquakes, hurricanes, shifting continents, ice ages and ultimately earth’s undeniable status as a piece of cosmic debris fading into an ever expanding universe, occasionally remind us to cherish what we’ve got rather than chase what we want.

The Island of Hawaii is one of the few places in the Western world where human beings have not yet managed—and don’t care—to hide from the creative and destructive powers of nature. Also known as the Big Island, this 800,000-year-young and 4,038-square-miles-large island (93 miles long and 76 miles wide) is one of the last actively forming land masses in the world, and its 120,000 inhabitants are reminded daily of its growing pains and joys. In the shadows of Mt. Kilauea—the most active volcano in the world—life adapts to a constant lava flow that changes land patterns from one day to the next, converts shorelines into clouds of steam, and sends a thick cover of “vog” (volcanic fog) into the skies above.

The Big Island is a climatic, biologic and geologic smorgasbord. With desert to semi-arid to temperate to tropical zones, you could be caught in monsoon-like downpours while your neighbor is taking a swim on a sunny beach five miles down the road. You could be watching sea turtles swim at the foot of Mauna Kea (Snow Mountain) while people are skiing at the top (13,796 ft). You could walk on white sand beaches on the West side (Kona) and the same day climb on lava tubes on the East side (Hilo). There are plants, birds and insects that are found nowhere else in the world, although over 300 of them (and counting) find themselves on the endangered species list.

Yes, like so many other indigenous places around the world, modern civilization has taken its heavy toll on Hawaii. Ever since Captain Cook set foot on the islands in 1778, the native life, based on respect for the sea, the heavens and the earth has little by little been replaced by annexation treaties and high-rise hotels. Yet somehow the spirit of hospitality and love of the land has been handed down to the island’s current residents, both native and non-native. This legacy was made clear to me during a week in the remote community of Pahoa in the South East of The Big Island, where I got to hang out with its spirited and musical residents.

Iopa K. Maunakea is a big man with a big heart and an even bigger smile. The ukulele strapped around his neck seems to have found a permanent home in the warming cradle of chest and hands. On my first night in Pahoa I saw him play with his band Bruddah Kuz at Punatix Bar, but I knew I had discovered the source of his musical inspiration when I bumped into him and his songs at the Sunday farmer’s market on Old Pahoa Road, surrounded by orchids, pineapples and a motley crowd of earthy, happy looking people:

“I’d like to thank you all for being there for me 

And you keep coming back, and you’ll know just what I mean

I know that this is the place that I want to be

            Without the We there is no Me”

             The last verse of “Waimanalo Hangloose” gives the visitor a good idea of what life on the East Side of the Big Island is all about. In a place where few homes have running water and the goddess Pele decides who will stay and who must move (fiery lava buried the entire town of Kalapana, just a few miles south of Pahoa, from 1986 to 1990), looking out for each other is essential. And while the issues of colonialism and  globalization and their effects on ecology and native populations are manifest in a growing sovereignty movement, the vibe one gets from the locals is that we’re all in this together. In fact, it seems that the love for the land and respect for each other is their  ultimate defense against an invasive entity that seems systemic and anonymous.

Nature, music and reverence to the powers of creation—listening to Iopa it occurs to me that they are all one and the same. You almost don’t have to talk to him to know that his music is inspired by the magic of this land and his place in a long line of ancestors. But should you decide to ask you would be charmed by a magnetic stream of mana’o (thoughts), observations, humor and kindness. Conversation will ultimately  always shift to Katherine K. Maunakea, Iopa’s “Kupuna” (grandmother), whose governing principles of life in a fragile, ever-changing world rings true for all of  us sentient breathing organisms: “In order to keep what you have, you must give it away. Give it away freely. To keep learning you must educate others.”

Music in Pahoa is all around you. From marimba ensembles to Buddhist chanters to the dreadlocked, didgeridoo-blowing Austrian expatriate to the local kids playing grunge metal with an island twist, sound happens all the time, especially when and where you least expect it.

On a rainy Saturday afternoon I’m invited to jam with local folk band Into Wishin’ at their rehearsal space that is literally located in the middle of the jungle. To get there I have to drive up a washed-out dirt road  (Pahoa got 50 inches of rain this winter) and look for my right turn at telephone pole #75. After that it’s all instinct for a city cat like myself. I spin my wheels through a tiny opening in the dense and lush rain forest vegetation and magically slide into a secret garden-like cove, almost slamming through the mosquito nets that separate the musicians from the jungle.

             Next thing I know I’m equipped with an acoustic-electric Ovation guitar, plugged into a state-of-the-art sound board and encouraged to let my hair down (it actually stands up in such humidity). The result is a solar-powered stew of mellow island folk injected with a tinge of urban/industrial acoustic restlessness transmitted directly to whatever  creatures might dwell beneath the dripping green curtain wrapped all around us. The one thing I know for sure is these creatures are nothing like the neighbors at my Oakland rehearsal space...

  On my last night I get another musical treat, something that puts an exclamation mark to a week of swimming in tide-pools, climbing on lava tubes and riding a motorcycle along narrow-winding coastal route 132 (Red Road): an all-out jam session at a birthday party with Iopa and the rest of the gang. Iopa busts out all the Bruddah Kuz crowd pleasers and before I know it there are two more guitars, violin, flute and  percussion grooving along. I for one can’t help but throw in some Franco double stops and an occasional Habib Koite finger-pick. Now that’s globalization!

  Iopa Maunakea sums it up for all of us in “nei Keia la,” the grand finale of the evening:

“I’m living in today, I’m living in right now,

don’t worry about tomorrow, tomorrow is not right now.

            I can’t dwell on yesterday, or my life will go astray,

            if I live right now, today, then I know I’ll be OK.

            Life is life from day to day—you’re living in

            Hawaii—nei Keia la”