The sun is shining. The trade winds are blowing. No Polynesian beauties in grass skirts doing the hula greeted our plane, as was the custom in ye olde days, according to the airline commercials which first started recommending Hawaii as the cure for cold weather. Still you’ve got to hand it to them. It sure beats the Jersey Shore.
I always thought New Jersey was paradise. But actually making the hajj for the first time to our most far western state, I see that I am mistaken.
Like many thoughtful Americans, my wife and I are considering where to move should presumptive already acting Pres. Trump actually take office next January. You can have your Canada, New Zealand, the Turks & Caicos Islands, all 50 of them. Even Antarctica could be better than the next four or eight years under Donald Duck. I will take Hawaii.
Maui— the first of the Hawaiian islands ever to be seen by a Kitman since one of our distant seafaring cousins from Bialystok had been a member of the crew of the HMS Bounty, a loyalist who made the 42-day row by life boat with Capt. Bligh, or so it is said — is much beloved. The highlight was our visit to Hanalei Bay, said to be the legendary Bali Hi, where we could rent a thatched shack and palm tree and wait for Pres. Trump’s impeachment or decision to resign from the job so he could explore better business opportunities.
It turned out Bali Hi was not an island (as seen in the movie musical “South Pacific”), only the tip of the peninsula. The cinematographer went out into the bay and shot it from behind in a clever way so it looked like an island.
It was raining as we drove up the crooked shore Kuhio Highway #56 towards Princeville to suss out the figment of Hollywood’s imagination. At least we could sit on the veranda of an expensive hotel bar, drinking a mai tai or two and imagine Mary Martin washing her hair. But it was so foggy we couldn’t even see the bay where the cameras were turned around. I guess I’m hard to please. Aloha, Bali Lo.
Later, I learned Hanalei Bay also starred in “The Wackiest Ship in the Army” and “Lilo & Stitch”
Everybody said Maui can best be seen and appreciated by the expensive helicopter ride. But I have a fear of flying. The winding roads leading up to the volcanoes offer incredibly beautiful vistas. But I get dizzy climbing Washington Heights. Neither of the Kitmans in the expeditionary party enjoys volcano watching. And doctor’s order prevented my parasailing and zip- lining.
As gorgeous and breathtaking as Maui was, it was like the Rockaways compared to Kauai, the real paradise.
What impressed me, other than the hotel prices —you can easily live on $500 a night, as affordable housing is defined in Hawaii— and what made the three islands we visited unlike New Jersey with palm trees, was something that was missing. In Kauai, as well as Maui and Oahu, the landscape lacked billboards and other forms of commercial communication.
Apparently, there is an ordinance banning outdoor ads of all kinds on highways.
Holy Senator Daniel K. Inouye!
How do people know about the next place to buy souvenirs, where to eat or sleep, buy their Burma Shave or any of the other signs of civilization?
How boring! Nothing to read as we drive along the highways. Nothing to do but contemplate the incredible scenery.
Even more glaring an omission in this so-called paradise is the absence of that other major contribution to civilization, political ads. How do the people know who or whom to vote for?
Not only were there no political signs nailed to the palm trees and planted in the gardens and beaches, for or against Trump, nobody we met during our two weeks in Never Never Land was talking about, either for or against, the Big Kahuna himself.
We had finally managed to find a Trump-free zone.
Until something better comes along, it’s Westward Ha! for the Kitmans in 2017.
NEXT: TURKS & CAICOS
June 4, 2016