Waipio: A Place To Fill The Senses

WAIPIO, Hawaii - The veranda at Tom Araki's Waipio `Hotel' is what travel is all about.

I'm sitting with my feet up on the green wooden rail, sideways to the table, making lazy notes. Beyond the garden is the gurgle of water sluicing through gates to irrigate the taro patches.

Past that is the forest and the beach and even a tiny patch of blue sky out over the ocean. The walls of the valley rise up sharply on either side, green ramparts that emphasize Waipio's isolation in time and space.

Salt, mangos, kerosene and mosquito coils form the traditional aroma of the old Pacific.

There is that feeling in Waipio that travelers crave, that coming-upon-you-suddenly realization of being Somewhere Else.

It doesn't have so much to do with where you are or how far you are from home. It has to do with how completely you are there, how much you are involved with the place at the expense of all the everyday occupations of the mind. Places like Waipio fill the senses to the exclusion of everything else.

It is a gray twilight, and a light rain is falling. My clothes are soaked through from our exploration of the valley. But the beer we brought is still cold and I can't imagine being anywhere else.

After a while Araki walks over from his house with some kerosene lanterns. ``I brought you some avocados, too,'' he adds. He also wants to show me an 1881 map of the valley, made eight years before the Kingdom of Hawaii became a possession of the United States.

Waipio had already seen its heyday. There had once been thousands of people living in the valley. In times of drought people would paddle from other islands to Waipio because there was always food here.

In 1881 it was still a whole town with churches, schools, butcher shop, rice mill, even a jail. In the days when the big, ocean-going outrigger was the standard mode of transportation, Waipio was just as accessible as anywhere else on the Big Island.

But with the advent of horses, wagons and eventually cars on the main road that almost encircles the island, the main way in and out of the valley was by the steep and treacherous trail from the top.

``The buildings all fell down,'' Araki says. ``Now all the land is going to waste. If you walk around you see it.'' Even without the floods and tsunamis, nothing lasts long on the windward side of the Big Island without maintenance.

Tom Araki's parents arrived on the Big Island in 1907 as contract labor for a sugar plantation. Tom was born two years later. He lived most of his life in Hilo, working in the construction business. He moved down to the valley when he inherited the house and land.

Taro in Waipio is the last wet taro left on the island. Araki has three patches, two that his father planted about 20 years ago. While most people harvest the whole plant, it is the root that is used to make the infamous staple of the traditional Hawaiian diet, poi.

But it is muddy, back-breaking labor. Araki only harvests the leaves, which are steamed to make spinach-like lau lau.

People who have heard about Tom Araki's call from all over the country. But from their questions it's pretty obvious they've only heard so much. ``How many rooms?'' they ask.

``Just five.''

It was built as ``Officer's Quarters'' for the Peace Corps. Besides the rooms there is a bathroom at the end of the porch and two kitchens downstairs with Coleman camp stoves. No hot water, no refrigeration, no electricity. People ask if there is a television in the lobby. ``No television,'' Araki replies. ``Also no lobby.''

Araki makes a point of the fact, however, that he spent a lot to get good beds in his clean but primitive little rooms. But the charm of the place isn't that you get the beds. You get Tom.

Earlier that day, we had driven down the narrow, 45-degree, four-wheel-drive road into the valley and set out to explore on foot. The valley is a maze of muddy roads and meandering streams. We were lucky enough to run into Tiffany, Amber, Chad, Kriya and Maile, who make up about half of the kid population of the valley and combined, have about 39 years' experience in Waipio.

``You should write: Waipio, Kid's Paradise,'' said one.

``Not!''

``Honest da kine, yeah.''

``Well, sometimes it's boring.''

School had just started, and they talked about having to make the steep trek up the hill to school, of being isolated except for a dozen friends.

They show us around. First we stopped at their favorite guava tree. ``Sweetest fruit in the valley,'' they say. Coffee, mango, breadfruit, grapefruit, papaya, avocado, oranges, manioc, persimmon, and a variety of melons and berries all grow wild in the valley.

Then we slogged through the mud to a waterfall, picking up a few more kids on the way. I was all set to jump in the pool at its base when Chad stopped me. ``The fourth pool's better.''

The fourth pool, however, was straight up the pali - the wall of valley. It was also worth it - a deep, shady pool. You could jump from a rock six feet off the water and still not touch bottom. The water cascaded down the cliff, through the moss. We floated, splashed, stood under the fall.

The valley really must be a great place to grow up. In fact, this is where the great unifier of Hawaii, Kamehameha I, grew up, according to John and Bobbye McDermott, authors of ``Our Hawaii.'' As a boy, the young king-to-be was hidden here from chiefs afraid of his prophesied power.

Staying up drinking with Tom Araki at his little place in Waipio Valley was a good idea. Getting up early in the morning to walk through the forest to Waimanu Valley was a great idea, too. Doing them in that order is definitely not my best idea ever.

Since ancient times, the trail has set off up the pali in 45-degree switchbacks - about 1,400 feet in only six zig-zags. On the other hand, during the climb the view is pretty incredible - straight down, with the opposite wall of the narrow valley facing you from a mile away. The surf makes a white line across the black sand beach, behind which is an ironwood grove and then a bright green swamp.

Above that, most of the valley has grown wild again, except for a few isolated taro patches. Higher, as the valley walls converge, are the twin massive falls cut into the sheer rock.

But I'm only putting off the inevitable, so reluctantly I turn to climb out of the valley.

IF YOU GO:

Waipio ``Hotel,'' Tetsuo Araki, 25 Malama Place, Hilo, HI 96720; phone 1-808-775-0368 or 1-808-935-7466; evening is the best time to call. Cost is $15 per person per night. It's advisable to make reservations three to five months in advance. Shuttle service is available for $20; call 1-808-775-7121.

Steve Barth is a free-lance writer based in the Los Angeles area.