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Tourists, traditions
and ‘fried potatoes’

BY itself, the car's color didn't identify its occupants as tourists, but dazzling yellow spread over a top-down, Detroit-brand convertible isn't the typical vehicle seen in the health food store's parking lot.

More usual are older Volvos, bicycles, gas-sipping compacts and the occasional VW vans with faded "Keep the Country Country" bumper stickers.

An unwieldy map in the lap of the woman riding shotgun and a bewildered expression on the driver's face, however, clearly established the family as visitors. They weren't hunting organic summer squash or spelt bread. They were lost, but rather than being upset, they were having fun, "going where the road goes," as the woman cheerfully put it.

They were "bunking" at the Ihilani, she said, and had come to Moiliili to eat at Fukuya, an okazu place they'd read about, intrigued that such restaurants in Hawaii are called delicatessens, which in their home state of New Jersey serve up pastrami on rye.

They'd already hit Gulick delicatessen in Kalihi a few days earlier and their young daughters, properly seat-belted in the back seat, went wild for the sweet potato tempura and wanted more.

The family had spotted Fukuya, but were in the wrong lane to make a turn and in doubling back, ended up navigating Moiliili's back roads.

Though the girls were hungry, the woman said they didn't mind losing their way. They got to see parts of Honolulu tourists don't usually see. She talked about how the mix of housing in the area -- old wooden shacks next to low-rise apartments next to high-rise condos -- seemed to trace the city's growth. She said the parts of Honolulu she liked best exhibited character distinct from districts conspicuously designed for sameness -- worse, designed for tourists.

After I directed them to the deli, only a right turn then a left turn away, and assured the red-haired girls it would have "fried potatoes," I went on with my errands, thinking about that family and what they wanted from their trip to Hawaii.

Though they were staying at a pricey resort -- Ihilani is hardly bunking, if you ask me -- they were adventurous enough to stray from the beaten track. Not many tourists roam Kalihi. They were looking for experiences that gave them a taste of life in the islands away from the formulaic tourist attractions.

When they asked for suggestions about where they might go to further feed their hunger for non-touristy locales, I was stumped. So much of Hawaii has been given over to tourists that even tourists like this family search for something different.

Crowds and regulations have rendered Hanauma Bay, once a favorite impromptu camping and snorkeling spot, no longer welcoming. Diamond Head is the same, fixed up with parking lots and other amenities for the comfort and convenience of visitors.

Now Makapuu Point is getting the treatment. Though the paving and parking will make the site safer and though the improvement project is supposedly to preserve the coastline, the upgrade will draw more tourists than before. Where a few years ago, just a scattering of daring souls hiked the old road to the modest lookout or sidestepped down to the shelf at water's edge or climbed the ridge to the bunkers, there will be throngs. And those throngs will alter what drew people there in the first place -- the sensation of being on the edge of untamed coastline, one of the few left on Oahu.

I was telling a friend about this and about how lots of local people shun places they used to love because of all the tourists. "That's stupid," she said. Why let visitors override your pleasures, dictate where you go?

She's right. We can share, and while tourism depends heavily on Hawaii's scenic and commercial attractions, encounters with island people and lifestyle can also be engaging. Just like sweet potato tempura.

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