We’d docked at Molokai early in the morning after a choppy
passage the night before. Quite a few of
us had awakened around 4 AM.
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| View from the road on the way up- your typical, barely-two-lanes with steep dropoff-type road. |
Our choices
were a hike to a waterfall with a couple of stream crossings or a hands-on
presentation on Hawaiian culture and customs.
The presenters were men in their early 40s who were passionate about
carrying the traditions forward. Molokai
is closer to Hawaii in its original state and they wanted to keep it that
way. UnCruise is the only company
permitted to come to Molokai and it was because they’d met with the local
people and asked how they could make it work. (I heard later that some locals are disgruntled that even ONE cruise line was allowed in.) Our small size was an advantage; Molokai has only about 7,500 inhabitants
and a couple of 4,000-passenger ships in port at the same time would overwhelm
the area and completely change it (and it has for many port cities). We learned that “luau” was not the correct
word for the dinner we were to have that night; that word applies to the taro
leaves used in some dishes. The correct
word was pa’ine.
One presenter was the son of the elder who had been
entrusted with the details their history and customs. His father, in his 90s, was recovering from
surgery and couldn’t be there. We left the
people who wanted to attend the presentation behind and headed up the
mountain. It was muddy in spots and the
first stream crossing was tricky but the guides stood in places in the stream
offering strong hands as we crossed. I
did it barefoot to save my shoes from getting wet. It was a bit hard on my feet but they
recovered quickly.
We passed traces of a settlement higher up in the mountain,
with a fire pit that had been carbon-dated to AD 650. We saw nonni fruit (which smelled like rotten
cheese but has medicinal purposes, including treatment of lice), breadfruit and
a citrus fruit that was sharper than lemon or orange. Mango season, unfortunately, had passed. There was a burial ground and an area set
aside for sacrifice of animals (and maybe humans- they’re not sure). At that point a rainstorm started. The guide said that this additional rainfall
would make the second stream crossing too dangerous, so we headed back down the
mountain. It stopped after about 20
minutes. They also took us on a back path that avoided the first stream crossing.
An unexpected benefit was the driver we had on the long
ride back to the ship; I’d had a different one coming in. The road was modern but narrow, with scary
views over the side and the speed limit was usually 25 mph so we took our
time. This driver got off on the subject
of Father Damien and she just kept talking- we’d seen one church he’d built but
he’d built many others on the island.
Before he’d arrived, people with leprosy were just taken by boat to Molokai
and sent ashore. It was partly self-preservation;
the disease had already had a devastating effect on the population and they
wanted to prevent further spread, but there was no support for the people who
had been exiled. Father Damien recruited
a couple of others, including a Civil War veteran who wanted to do kind acts
for his fellow Hawaiians after the destruction of the war, and a nun recruited
from Syracuse, NY. She had replied by
letter to the appeal for people to work in Molokai and they’d actually sent
someone to Syracuse to interview her- an arduous trip, but she turned out to be
a hard-working right-hand person for Father Damien, who had already been
diagnosed with leprosy himself.
There are still a few people remaining in the colony- cured
long ago by antibiotics. There is a lot of discussion as to what they’ll do with the land after they’re gone. Because the area is so lush it’s very hard to
keep clear. Right now the National Park
Service spends millions maintaining it and keeping the vegetation from becoming
overgrown.
As we boarded the ship they collected our wet shoes and said
they’d dry them overnight in the engine room!
The evening dinner was a pa’ina at a local museum. It opened
with a chant from one of the musicians that sounded a lot like Gregorian chant
except that it was in Hawaiian, and then a doxology that I didn’t realize was
“Praise God from Whom all Blessings Flow” in Hawaiian till he was near the end.
The food was fantastic, of course- the shredded pork was the only meat other than seafood that I'd had on the entire trip and it was delicious- a mild hint of smokiness and perfectly moist after being cooked for 4 hours in an Underground oven. They did have a hula dancer- older (maybe in her 50s), in such good shape I considered taking up hula instead of going to the gym, and very graceful. She wore a long fitted dress rather than a grass skirt. Later one of the male musicians did some hula while sitting in a chair.
At the end of the evening our Captain (at right) joined them. He's very good at the guitar and the ukelele and is partial to Neil Young and Bob Marley songs.
