What It’s Like Traveling To Hawaii Right Now
A vacation story of lessons learned
Before March 2020, anticipating travel elicited an excitement that could have been bottled up and sold. I’m a planner. I married a planner. My wife Judy and I would sit at the kitchen table with a map, guidebooks, phones, and laptop to discuss at length all we wanted to see and do somewhere. The exercise undoubtedly fueled our minds, bodies, and souls ahead of an adventure. We have formed a lifelong bond over these trips, dreaming of what’s to come.
Travel experiences ignite the senses in a way that few other activities can. Before Covid, we savored it, established learning lessons for future trips, and scrolled through photos over and over again. Then everything came to a screeching halt. Aside from a handful of brief and beautiful New England road trips, which marginally satisfied our cravings, travel as we desired to feel it ceased to exist — until recently.
The initial destination was not Hawaii. Rather, this belated honeymoon targeted island hopping off the coasts of Croatia and Greece, but the State Department’s backlog of passport processing instead created a dilemma — change the dates (again) or stay in the country. We chose the latter, feeling spoiled at such a consolation prize, quickly diving in at the table to uncover all there is to know about The Aloha State before visiting.
Traveling during the Covid era adds an extra layer of unsettling and unpredictable uncertainty. It’s risky on multiple levels. A relatively calm Spring 2021 created some optimism for safety (reduced risk) before making way for a turbulent and volatile Summer. By early August, cases were back up all over the country well after we’d booked airfare, lodging, excursions, and rental cars — enough of it non-refundable that a decision beckoned. Hawaii’s July 8th easing of restrictions was a boon for the peak tourist season and consequently erased months of hard-fought progress in a few short weeks. The Delta variant quickly found its way onto the islands.
Despite Hawaii’s governor urging visitors to stay home until November, we still intended to power through the trip responsibly. Friends and relatives shared their cautionary anecdotes of canceled flights, restricted access, and “watered down” experiences abroad. We’d invested too much time, money, and energy to turn back now. The urge was too great. How bad could it be?
The image we painted of Hawaii before ever flying over the pacific ocean included leis around our necks at the airport, fresh juices on every corner, the smell of coconuts in the air, and white sand beaches for as far as the eyes can see.
It was a paradise lush with vibrant green and floral plant life, glorious sunsets, animals living among the people, exotic bugs flying through the air, and lizards in the trees. All of this and thousands of tourists from all over the country, vaccinated or able to prove a negative test, rushing to get ahead of us in line for food or rental car. These perceptions would soon meet reality.
After 11 total hours in the air, the plane approached low enough to finally see Maui’s long golden shores meeting the emerald blue water. Out the other side of the cabin, barely visible above the clouds that hung like a puffy necklace around its volcanic neck, was the famed Haleakalā National Park. I craned my head to peer up, anticipating our climb to the top in a few days. Shades of red dirt fields lined the entire flight path against arid valleys to the west. The massive and overwhelming beauty struck us before even landing.
But not before one more short flight. Our trip began on Kauai, The Garden Island. One of the extra layers of Covid-era security occurred before we even left home, filling out a Travel.Hawaii.gov survey of our overall health and symptoms, uploading a copy of a valid vaccination card, and checking in with agents to scan a QR code during our layover in Phoenix. That checkpoint prevented delays once actually in Hawaii. Likewise, especially if you have a short layover, you’ll breathe easier with that digital pass already loaded onto your phone. Once off the last plane, we were free to explore.
The first leis on display at the busy airport were for sale in a Garden Isle gift shop. Just outside the gates, several carry-on bags were checked once more through a Department of Agriculture scanner— outside food that could become invasive is prohibited.
Dozens of eager, masked tourists exit their connecting flights from Maui and Honolulu before rushing straight to the rental car shuttles carrying a maximum of eight people and a driver at a time. They find a place in line and wait for their turn to check in and receive a vehicle. This line is where patience is paramount and the first obvious sign of Hawaiian short-staffing reared its ugly head.
We’d made our reservation three months in advance and Alamo confirmed with confidence that there’d be a Jeep Wrangler waiting. I crossed my fingers that they were right. While waiting, ignoring the ‘how I got here’ conversations around me, I imagined an even longer line months ago with fewer cars on the lot and half as many staff behind the counter. I was grateful that the conditions had improved.
Boston > Baltimore > Phoenix > Maui > Kauai, I thought.
A new hire, her nametag labeled ‘Trainee’, learns on the fly one customer at a time, hunting and pecking drivers license and insurance information into the computer system. She sweetly and awkwardly welcomes tired and excited tourists to Kauai, training her brain to complete a certain type of multitasking. Trainee represents the last leg on this long journey spanning some-6,000 miles and doing her best. She is far from jaded, reluctant, or resentful. I remind myself to smile.
After 30 minutes, our luggage is finally loaded into the back of a jazz blue Jeep and we begin the 25-mile drive to Princeville. Deeply inhaling the warm island air, I imagined resort traffic ahead with chickens in the streets. The directions, though, showed a clear path to the condo. We prepared for random potholes and fallen palm tree branches lining the sidewalks, but to our surprise found fresh pavement and well-marked signage. The sidewalks were clear, traffic was minimal and parking was ample for a quick dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Kapa’a. Tacos and beers — a staple, as we would soon learn, of modern Hawaiian culture as much as any.
The sun was beginning to set. On our left, as we drove north towards Anahola and Princeville, Kauai’s verdant canyon rose from the earth reflecting the light in shades of yellow, orange, pink, and white. On our right, as the tree lines faded, beach parks emerged with their crashing waves, golden sand, running trails, and spidery-robot lifeguard stands. With a good night’s sleep, we’d save tomorrow to fight off the jetlag with the Aloha spirit.
Hawaii regulates its circumstances to prevent future vacations from cancelations, and to keep the present population safe. Masks are required indoors everywhere and speeding in any vehicle is highly discouraged. Kauai’s roads and traffic were all manageable when open to the public. The north shore Hanalei Bridge road restricted access while crews repaired a giant landslide, but otherwise, we felt free to explore all that the island had to offer, even Polihale Beach if we were to be so adventurous. In a short time, we felt the pinch that the entire state was encountering; its own set of overlapping issues that get passed through to the tourist.
Two weeks before our arrival, Governor Ige reinstituted restrictions for dining and activities to 50%; 10 people indoors and 25 people outdoors where applicable. This was first introduced in 2020 to keep case counts down after reopening. We had a few dinner reservations that were still on the books but otherwise wondered how the mandate would affect crowding and overall dining demand? Would they call to cancel our table?
The calls never came. We adjusted to the number of food trucks, restaurants, and other general stores that were all closed for days at a time due to short staffing and widespread supply chain issues. At 4:00 PM on a Thursday, an entire food truck park sat closed and unoccupied like some Hawaiian culinary ghost town. Last known activity: 2020.
After a third attempt to find dinner on our first full day, we ultimately settled for groceries from Foodland to grill by the pool — another fine consolation. As teriyaki smoke under a soft yellow light filled the cool night air, I imagined Hawaii in the winter of 2019–20. The Christmas tourist season had come and gone; a presumably busy spring and summer influx on the horizon. Restaurants staffed locals and mainland transplants alike. Food trucks fought for space on busy parking lots, the hum of their generators heard echoing well into the night.
When mandated closures gripped the industry without any sign of soon letting up, service industry positions were suddenly no longer needed. And as appealing as it might seem to live in Hawaii without the burden of a job — or tourists for that matter — that lifestyle is not easily sustained. How many people conceded to the virus and left the islands? When stores and restaurants finally began to reopen, how many people ran to fill those open positions?
Like on the mainland, fundamental issues in the Hawaiian dining, leisure, and hospitality industries remain to this day. There aren’t enough staff to fill the need and it shows. How long will these businesses take to evolve and repair themselves? How many will see it through?
Our excursions went on as planned. A charter departing from Port Allen on the south shore packed 25 or more people onto a catamaran for a loop around the west and northwest coasts of Kauai — a truly spectacular sight to see. Judy and I sat at the uncrowded front of the boat before dinner, a maritime happy hour, where the captain indicated that splashing would occur once they picked up speed. We were joined by one other couple equally interested in the front seats’ added spectacle.
They were 20-somethings from Los Angeles, fresh off a flight that afternoon and already embarking on their first planned activity. Giddy with a mutual Hawaiian-vacation fueled surge of adrenaline, we found ourselves in competition, east versus west coast, as to who could withstand the most water. By the time the captain stopped for photo opportunities, all four of us were drenched and laughing hysterically.
As the girls retreated to the stern for another round of drinks and to use the bathroom, Ryan and I came down from the hysteria to cheers and get to know each other. He and Chelsea met through work — a farming and distribution service in Southern California; legitimate business but for the little detail he slipped in that sales and operations were underground.
“It’s really expensive to get a license in California,” he said. My excitement waned a little.
On the topic of Covid, Ryan asked about our clearance method. “Did you guys get tested?” “No, we’re vaccinated,” I said. He went on to describe a severe case of trypanophobia, essentially a fear of needles, which prevented him from scheduling a vaccine. He continued to describe a foiled plan to forge a vaccination card before their trip. I finished my drink and put six feet between us.
When the charter ended, we exchanged numbers at the off-chance of meeting again. Judy fell asleep on the 90-minute ride back to the condo as heavy rain pelted our windshield. There would be waterfalls and news about our new friends in the morning to go with hot cups of Kona coffee.
It took just a few days to understand Governor Ige’s plea to stay home. His warning of a less than desirable Hawaiian experience was aimed at locals and tourists alike. Hawaii hasn’t recovered from the initial Covid damage. The islands are littered with tourists who do not embody the true spirit of Aloha, which may be true for any period of time, but this time a health crisis still looms over the state.
The second half of our trip would offer a different experience than the first. Maui and Kauai are like siblings that you know are from the same family but inherited separate sets of genes. Maui is larger, busier, and more popular — all for good reason. The Valley Isle has charm and mind-blowing mystique at every corner, seashore, and crater.
We stayed north of Lahaina, Hawaiian for ‘Cruel Sun’, the former royal capital of the islands. Down the street sat a few restaurants, a Luau, and a shopping center with Starbucks, Safeway, and Longs Drugs. Across the street from there stood another grocery store, Foodland, and the beginning of an industrial park. Go further up the road and residences line both sides of Hwy 3000.
I suddenly realize when we climb up that hill behind the wheel of a Mustang convertible that this is a town where kids grow up and locals work to support their families in countless ways. Hawaii has a long, fascinating history that we step into the second we exit the plane. This is more than paradise, it’s a perfect balance between the mythical and real.
Front Street in Lahaina is a commercial district peppered with popular restaurants, shops, homes, and services that serve the Hawaiian tourist. Judy booked us a couples massage, for example. There were enough clothing stores and boutiques for every style. A brewery, several pizza shops, seafood & happy hour bars once visited by Guy Fieri, and sweet treats on every corner. You might even stumble upon Mick Fleetwood’s famous bar. At the southern end of the street is a school.
The crowd was half of what I expected. Mostly masked shoppers and diners, kids and parents, locals and visitors, moved from place to place with relative ease. The medium-width sidewalks withstood the two-lane foot traffic. Several homeless people took their positions near the Banyan Tree or along the bridge overlooking Lanai.
Parking appeared sparse — not difficult to imagine a Front St. gridlock with too many cars waiting for a handful of spots in a tight lot. There is only so much room to roam on this dead-end street. We spent minimal time in Lahaina, appreciating its beauty while seeking to explore the rest of the island.
There is one activity, call it an expedition, that I’d repeat on every trip to Maui. It requires a reservation. The only day with two reservations available was our anniversary, a perfect start to that celebration. It is a two-hour drive from Lahaina to the summit of Haleakalā National Park. The first hour is open highways in the pitch morning dark. The second hour is a series of switchbacks to the top, the temperature dropping to 35 degrees Fahrenheit by the time we exit the vehicle.
The crowd was dispersed over several viewing areas, loved ones huddled close in excited anticipation of the rising sun. Sunrise overlooking the dormant crater, clouds drifting across the horizontal landscape while the palette of colors at 10,023 feet dances across the vertical sky. As the sun broke free and clouds pushed down to lower altitudes, a surface emerged like something on the moon. Energy from the earth below flowed through our feet.
Happy anniversary, Judy. Only in Maui, only in Hawaii, will this moment on the top of a volcano in the pacific ocean occur. We come from thousands of miles away to paint a real image of the natural phenomenon in our mind’s eye. Please forgive our travels.
Several miles north of Lahaina is where most of the resorts reside — an ant-farmed assembly of buildings and roads cut off from the main highway except for a few turns. Our visit to the northwest shore, poking around at the resort life, rewarded two tourists like us for taking a chance — for figuring it out.
Ka’anapali Beach has less than 10 visitor parking spots tucked into a lot used by valets when the garage is full. They’re labeled ‘Beach Parking Only’ which is like finding money on the ground when looking for a place to unload and keep your vehicle at the beach. Travel guides with enough underground insight will try to explain the exact location better than me. Was it too good to be true?
Beach gear hanging from our hands, arms, and torsos, we walked 1/10 of a mile to the sand. Ka’anapali, where tiki beach patios and rows of angled balconies overlook the ocean. A lava flow cut the beach in two pieces many years ago, leaving a popular cliff jump called Black Rock at its tip, and below it, a snorkeling area. The water runs 20–30 feet deep, clear as glass when the sun is shining through. Dolphins, turtles, rays, and fish all visit daily. A shark may have been lurking from afar.
The beach was uncrowded both times we visited, the only one on either island to see us twice. Afternoon wind, common on this part of the island, mostly spared the visitors and their food. We were lucky. Tommy Bahama chairs spaced out in perfect social distances — a natural instinct of veteran beachgoers carried over into the Covid era. Our trusty cooler sat full of local lagers and seltzers on ice as the sun sank to somewhere between Molokai and Lanai.
This is more than paradise, it’s a perfect balance between the mythical and real.
When Judy is in heaven, the feeling is mutual. She appeared as comfortable, entertained, and non-threatened as I’ve ever seen her — a great sign for relaxation to come. Few other setups could prompt her to insist that I jump off Black Rock again. Ordinarily, The Safety Patrol would not approve.
That’s the magic of Hawaii, it seems. Even in the middle of one of the worst eras of our collective lives; a time in history that will be studied and discussed for centuries to come. These islands will forever inspire a sense of awe inside of those blessed to experience them.
But what if they’re loved to death? Our most prized national landmarks, parks, and other lands, manmade or natural, will forever face the “good” problem of crowding and over-tourism. Access is limited in places like Ha’ena State Park on Kauai and Haleakalā to combat the trend. Restaurants can only host so many reservations. Parking spaces are a finite commodity. Hawaii evolves to these and countless other issues with every passing year.
One moment sticks out as an opportunity to do better. Judy needed to run into a Longs Drugs pharmacy for a few items. Circling the parking lot, I eyed up an open space just down from the main store entrance. As the car clearing out of the space drove off, I slipped in right behind him in what felt like perfect timing.
As I looked to my left, a local Hawaiian stared through his passenger side window at me with a look of angry scorn. I waved, pleaded, and apologized. It was a true mistake! He cursed and parked three spaces away. I waited. He approached my car, spit, and yelled at me some more.
“Hey man! This is Hawaii, man! We supposed to have the aloha spirit in us, man! Sharing and shit!” He said.
I apologized louder, sterner than the first out of frustration for getting under someone’s skin unintentionally. He yelled back, “FUCK YOU, man,” and stepped into Longs Drugs.
There is a certain resentment for tourism that lives and breathes on the underbelly of Hawaii. It feeds on interactions like this one. A responsible tourist learns customs and facts before visiting a new place, doing their best to respect a native culture. A responsible local learns patience and how to be a good host, doing their best to appreciate a place so beautiful that world travelers have it high on their lists.
And in this case, a moment to teach the spirit of aloha: Generous, helpful, thoughtful, gracious, tolerant, caring, hospitable, patient, loving, and friendly. At least according to the bottom of a can coozie that Judy bought at an ABC Store. We’d stow that away for next time.
On the plane ride home, I watched a documentary about Summer 1970 when Jimi Hendrix was convinced to come to Maui and put on a concert. The stage was on the side of an upcountry hill, just down from Haleakalā summit. Buses of people hitched a ride to the drop-off, the film showing 1970’s-era footage of Front Street and its rustic charm.
A lot has changed in 50 years. 50 years from now, what will Hawaii look like? What will sea levels make of these developed lands? The thoughts come in and out of my conscious mind as Judy hands me another beer.
One thing’s for sure — Jimi would still come to play here, even if he says he’s reluctant.
So, that’s a few things you can expect when traveling to Hawaii. In the winter, add whales, one of nature’s gentle performing giants. Year-round, Hawaii is a part of America with its own little world. To keep them connected to us mainlanders for a long, long time, learn to be as sustainable, respectful, knowledgeable, and responsible on your travels as possible.
Mahalo!
