Issue link: http://digital.canadawide.com/i/118148
Oahu's pineapple industry is a shadow of its former self, but harvest scenes can still be found. standards, perhaps, but not only is the water absolutely free (unlike the former, a state park), the adjacent community happens to be one of the most affluent on the planet, which provides for considerable architectural interest. As well, Lanikai and adjacent Kailua are the preferred vacation spots of a certain Hawaiian native son and his adorable young family. If the snorkellers and stand-up paddle boarders are intermingled with men in dark suits and dark glasses speaking into their collars, the president is probably in the vicinity. It's only a matter of minutes beyond suburban Kailua and Kane'ohe when Hwy. 83 (which we've switched onto) begins to take on a different flavour. Lots of dips and curves, industrial ruins, vine-enmeshed cottages – and hey, is that graffiti suggesting we're not welcome? Perhaps, but we can safely ignore it. It was in communities like this that the Second Hawaiian Renaissance blossomed in the 1960s and 1970s, empowering native Hawaiians to believe that their culture – even if thoroughly intertwined with others – was worth preserving. (The First Hawaiian Renaissance coincided with the last days of the Hawaiian monarchy in the late 19th century, but the place to investigate that is back in Honolulu.) Today, while some of the other islands are largely given over to resorts, Oahu boasts a complex economy and culture, and not everyone embraces tourism as an economic panacea. Still, to the extent such feelings exist, they're rarely expressed directly; indeed, the so-called Aloha Spirit of friendly acceptance is the closest thing to religion on an island that seems almost un-American in its failure to embrace churchiness. Wait, I take that back. We're now in La'le, mere minutes from the North Shore, but a world away in attitude. The tidy-looking enclave is an overwhelmingly Mormon town, complete with a campus of Brigham Young University. Not uncoincidentally, it's also 32 W E S T W O R L D p28-35_Oahu.indd 32 >> WINTER 2012 home to the Polynesian Cultural Center, a Mormon creation staffed by BYU students drawn from around the Pacific by generous scholarships. The 17-hectare "living museum" celebrates the history and cultures of Polynesia with exhibits and events such as the world's annual Fire-Knife Dance Competition, all showcased in six traditional South Pacific villages: Tongan, Fijian, Hawaiian, Samoan, Marquesasan and Aotearoan. Educational and interactive activities abound, backdropped by the sound of drums and bursts of applause and laughter as unexpected events unfurl. On my visit, for example, I was plucked from the crowd at the Samoan pavilion to compete against a sinewy U.S. Marine in a fire-making competition. Let's just say the marine won, though fun was had by all – well, all of those watching, anyway. Realistically we can't stop during this fly-by because there's just too much to see and do. So my advice is to make the Cultural Center a day or half-day excursion on its own, perhaps capped by attendance at its impressive evening luau – almost certainly the only dry one on the island. I t's midday now, and our stomachs growl as we pass the first shrimp trucks that have become a North Shore institution. We cruise by, though, knowing better options are just ahead: the fish tacos or ahi sandwiches at Shark's Cove Grill – just a trailer with picnic tables, really – or one of several spots in funky Hale'iwa. Around every corner there are glimpses of the water, backed by a soundtrack of sonic boomlets, and the one thing utterly clear is that we're not going in there. So, if the Pacific is a no-go zone, what do tourists do on the North Shore? Well, from November through April they mostly wander around in an awed stupor, mesmerized by the waves and the audacity of those who choose to cavort about in them. Until the evolution of modern boards in the 1960s, even hardcore Jim Sutherland 12-10-19 9:56 AM