Kaleinalu (Kah-lay-e-nah’-lu), “Wreath of Surf,” the seaside retreat of the Von Tempskys, is but another illustration of the ideal conditions that compose existence in these fabulous isles. We become almost incoherent on the subject of choice of climates and scenery and modes of living to be found from mountain top to shore. One may sleep none too warmly under blankets at Ukulele and Paliku, with all the invigoration of the temperate zone; enjoy mild, variable weather at 2000 to 3000 feet, as at the Ranch house; or lie at sea level, under a sheet or none, caressed by the flowing trade wind. “Watch out, Mate,” Jack warns; “I’m likely to come back here to live some day, when we have gone round the world and back—if I don’t get too attached to the Valley of the Moon.” One ceases not to marvel that the shore-line is not thronged with globe trotters bickering for sand lots. It is an enviable place for old and young, with finest of sand for the babies to play in, and exciting surfing inside protecting reef, for swimmers.
And here we malihinis are resting, after one day of tennis and colt-breaking up-mountain, from our six days in the saddle. Nothing more arduous fills the hours than swinging in hammocks in a sheltered ell of the beach-house, reading, playing whist, swimming in water more exhilarating than at Waikiki, romping, sleeping—and eating, fingering our poi and kukui-nut and lomi’d salmon with the best.
To-morrow we bid good-by to these new friends, who must have sensed our heart of love for them and their wonderland, for they beg us to return, ever welcome, to their unparalleled hospitality. By now we have proudly come into our unexpected own, with a translation of our name into the Hawaiian tongue, worked out by Kakina (Mr. Thurston) and Mr. Von, who speak like natives with the natives, and sometimes with each other, while the speech of the lassies abounds in the pretty colloquialisms of their birth-land.
Always they say pau for connotation of “finish,” “that will do,” “enough”; kokua for help, noun or verb—or, in the sense of approval, or permission; hapai is to carry; hiki no, as we should say “all right,” “very well”; hele mai, or pimai, come here, or go up; one oftenest hears pilikia for trouble, difficulty, or aole pilikia for the harmonious negative; the classic awiwi, hurry, has been superseded by expressive and sharply explosive synonym, wikiwiki; and when the hostess orders a bath prepared, she enunciates auau to the Japanese maids. Most commands, however, are given in mixed English-Hawaiian. The old pure word for food, and to eat, paina, is never heard, for the Chinese kowkow—kaukau in the Hawaiian adaptation—has likewise come to stay.
Peremptory commands often trail off into the engaging eh? that charmed our ears the first day at Pearl Lochs. And so, as I say, upon us has been bestowed the crown of all graciousness accorded upon Maui—the Hawaiian rendering of London, which is Lakana; although how London can be transmuted into Lakana is as much a mystery as the mutation of Thurston into Kakina. At any rate, my pleased partner struts as Lakana Kane (Kane means literally male), while meekly I respond to Lakana Wahine.
Aboard Claudine, Maui to Honolulu, July 24.
From Kahului the passengers were towed on a big lighter to the Claudine rocking well offshore; and, watching Louis von Tempsky’s lean, military figure growing smaller on the receding wharf, we felt a surge of emotion at parting. “He’s all man, that Von,” Jack said, hastily turning away and lighting a cigarette. And in my ears still rang the quaint cadences of his voice, rising from the cinder-slopes of Haleakala, or heard from smoking corral, or hammock on the beach, in little hulas of his own devising.
From the deck we saw his fine beef-cattle towed swimming to the steamer and crowded in the main-deck forward, bound for the Honolulu market. And when the Claudine swept out of the roadstead, we gazed our last, through daylight into dark, upon hoary Haleakala, whose stern head only once looked out from a red sunset smother.
The moon came up like a great electric globe, spilling pools of brilliant light in the pitchy water. At Lahaina the steamer lay off to take aboard a few passengers, and again we saw the infrequent lights of the little quiet town. We could have wished nothing better than once more to disembark at Sleepy Lahaina, and repeat the whole holiday.
Nuuanu Valley, August 1.