City streets,
country roads
A Kalihi native and her counterpart
from Maili explore the unknownIsland residents seldom stray far from home. Oh, we go to the office, to school, to the mall, but, generally speaking, we tend to stay within a few miles of the neighborhood.This affliction is not exclusive to Hawaii natives. Those who have lived on the mainland used to think nothing of commuting 50 miles to work. But now these same people consider the drive from Niu Valley to Pearl City, roughly 20 miles, "too far".
The reason may be that we live on a small island so, everything being relative, a hundred miles in Arizona is equivalent to the distance between Manoa Valley and Hawaii Kai Costco. It may also be that Oahu's congested roadways make it an ordeal to get anywhere. Or maybe gas costs too much.
Whatever -- this habit can keep people largely ignorant about places other than their stomping grounds.
Michelle Ramos is a city girl, born and raised in the Kalihi-Liliha area. She confessed that she used to be unsure about the North Shore, thinking everything from Kahuku to Mokuleia was Haleiwa. Kimberly Fu is a country girl who lives on the Waianae Coast and used to view Waipahu as the end of the world. The two recently took to the road to explore places they had never or seldom been to.
These are their reports.
I passed empty bus stops and
stores with empty lots—what time do things
open around here?By Michelle Ramos
Star-BulletinWhen I was a child, going to the country was an all-day adventure.
On weekends, we would pack snacks and set out for my aunty's house in Sunset Beach. Once there, my mom or one of my aunties would take us across the street so we could collect cat's eyes and puka shells -- good fun when you're a little kid.
As I got older, the country became a haven, a place where I could eat and watch TV without having my mom tell me to clean my room or wash the clothes. My aunty always prepared tons of food and everyone who visited brought more. Cakes, pies, chips and dip and the TV -- that was all I needed.
Then came the teen-age years when going out with my friends meant more than anything and we would cruise the island just for something to do.
Now that I'm in my "working" years, going to the country has to be for a reason. Few of my friends have the time or are motivated to leave familiar ground.
So I was glad for the opportunity to go exploring again.
My road companion, Kimberly Fu, doesn't drive so I arranged to pick her up at 9 the next morning.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
Kim gave me her address and explained how to get to her house.
First, she said, I was to go past a yellow mountain.
"Yellow mountain?"
"You'll see it," she replied, as one who's familiar with hometown landmarks tend to do.
Then I was to pass the theaters, the McDonald's and gas station. "I think it's a 76," she said.
"OK," I said, scribbling directions, but not really paying attention. There's only one road in Waianae, I thought. How could I get lost?
On cruise day, I made sure I had my Tamagotchi, pager, cellular phone and extra clothes (just in case) and I headed west. As I rounded a hill near Honokai Hale in my air-conditioned car, stereo blasting, the openness sucked me in.
The ocean with its different shades of blue stretched to the horizon like in the postcards, luring me from thoughts of work and the office.
As the speed limit dropped from 55 to 35 mph, the "city stress/pressures," as some country people describe them, seemed to diminish in me. The music from my radio was also diminishing.
I tried reassuring myself that I wasn't so spoiled that I needed music constantly. It's so peaceful, I thought. I don't need the radio blaring at me, spoiling nature's serenity . . . but why is 92.3 FM the only station I can catch?
As I slowed down to stay with the speed limit, I wondered if I shouldn't be breathing in nature's aromas -- the salty air, the smoke from Campbell Industrial Park.
I turned off the air conditioner and pushed the buttons to open the windows and sunroof. Ahhhh, the wind blew through my hair, in my face. The heat penetrated my car. Yuck. I zapped everything closed again and punched the air back on. Enough of that.
Soon the yellow mountain Kim described loomed ahead of me. But I was distracted by the beauty of the day and didn't notice that I'd passed the yellow mountain.
Then there were two more yellow mountains ahead of me. Still no sign of Kim's street.
I continued driving. The weather-beaten houses with their unlandscaped yards faded behind me. No one house stood out over another. No fences protected them from the traffic.
Where was that piece of paper with the directions? Groping through my bag, I found it. I was on the right street, I thought with relief.
Peering at every street sign, I
passed empty bus stops and stores with empty parking lots -- what time do things open around here? Finally, my instincts told me I'd gone too far. I turned up a street by a building with a nice lawn.
"Excuse me, do you know where the theaters are?" I asked a young girl.
"Uh, that way," she replied as she pointed in the direction I'd just come from.
I made a U turn and headed back. Then it dawned on me: I was supposed to turn off this street to get to Kim's. But I forgot to ask which one. I thought I should look at a map, but I didn't have one. What for? There's always somebody I can ask directions from in the city.
I retraced by path to the 76 gas station, filled up the tank -- and asked directions.
Only 15 minutes late, I pulled into Kim's driveway. That her house had a big yard was impressive to an apartment dweller.
I told Kim about getting lost and she reminded me that she said she lived in Maili. That wouldn't have helped me. There were no signs saying "Welcome to Maili."
That ordeal over with, we decided to cover her home territory. As we headed down Farrington Highway toward Kaena Point, Kim gave me the tour. She knew everything -- from which store was the oldest to the history of some of the buildings. (Later, I would be embarrassed that I couldn't answer Kim's questions about places she considered my turf.)
"There's Waianae Mall," she told me. That's Tamura Superette, where "everyone in Waianae once worked" and the post office that everyone liked because "it's a nice building."
When we reached Yokohama Bay, I was struck by the clean, white sand where no one was swimming or tanning. A boat lazily rocked on the ocean and a few fishermen stood casting from the rocks.
One of them was a 26-year-old fellow who was born and raised in Waianae. He said he liked the country because of the privacy.
"What do you do in your free time?" I asked.
"Fish or dive," he replied.
"That's all? Do you go to the movies?"
"Hardly. Things cost money (in the city). Here we fish, dive and play sports."
All of the country people I spoke with said they loved living there because there was no pressure and lots of privacy. OK.
We decided to have lunch in Waianae and pulled into a parking lot for an office building and Tasty's fast food, where hand-written signs in the windows advertised summer specials. I could only see two people working inside -- a woman taking orders and another cooking. The woman asked me if I wanted my fries plain and I said yes, unsure of what she meant (no salt?). Then I saw the other people's fries covered with a yellowish sauce. Not like McDonald's.
While we were waiting for our food, I noticed that none of the children around us had Tamagotchis. Just the past weekend, I had been at the Ward Street McDonald's and seen a little girl with five Tamagotchis hanging on a chain around her neck.
Then I noticed that the cars that trundled past weren't shiny and none were of the makes I am used to seeing. No BMWs, Mercedes, Acuras or Hondas. I also didn't see one person driving while talking on a cellular phone.
Tasty's is a strictly "to go" place; there are no tables to sit at while you eat. So we headed to town, to regions unfamiliar to Kim.
For the next nine hours we toured Kahala, Koko Head, Makapuu, Waimanalo, Haleiwa and other areas.
My conclusion? The country parts of the island all looked like country. Mountains, trees, small stores, two-lane roads. The North Shore had more people on the beaches and the weather varied a little in different parts, but that was about it.
Maybe living in rural Oahu wouldn't be too bad, but, frankly, I don't want to. At least not now. See, everything I need -- movie theaters, restaurants, clubs, the malls -- is five to 20 minutes away from where I live. And everything stays open later than 6 p.m.
If I lived in the country, what would I do the next time I ran out of typing paper at 3 a.m. for my 15-page report that's due at 8 a.m. the next day?
Michelle Ramos is an editorial assistant.
She now knows the exact locations of Nanakuli, Maili,
Waianae, Makaha, Makua and Kaena Point.
Country Roads
