Today I toured downtown Lahaina as part of a program called “History in Our Back Yard,” organized by the Lahaina Restoration Foundation (a non-profit historical society that manages a number of historic sites in the town). The program is intended for teachers in the area, and between 10 and 15 teachers enjoyed a walking tour of significant historic and cultural sites while volunteers explained their significance.
Sites ranged from Moku ‘Ula, the sacred island where once Hawai‘ian royalty dwelled to the old prison and everything in between: three Buddhist Missions, the oldest church in Lahaina, the King’s Taro Patch, the Baldwin House, Hale Aloha, the courthouse, the banyan tree, the Pioneer Hotel, the print house where the first newspaper west of the Rockies was published (in the Hawai‘ian language), the smokestack for the old sugar mill...more than I can easily name. It was amazing (just like last week’s Huaka‘i bus tour), and added to the mound of evidence that I am where I belong.
On the mainland, I was in many ways a round peg in a world with square holes. On Maui, I find smooth, well-worn round holes where I fit just fine. I am home.
The cruise ship was anchored off shore, making today “Boat Day,” and the area by the courthouse was swarming with posturing, posing, self-important “Look at me!” cruise passengers (tourists). They were loud and obnoxious, and everything they did was clearly intended to draw attention to them.
It worked, too, though in my case at least, the attention was not admiring or appreciative. They had no attention to spare for the amazing place they stood; all their attention was on getting the attention of others. “Tourists,” I thought. “If they only knew how ridiculous they look.”
I much prefer the stereotypical rubbernecking redneck, getting a crick from looking at the tall buildings in New York City; s/he is interested (if unsophisticated), and I myself have stood in awe with my jaw hanging open, without one thought for how I looked. Awesome sights ought to be seen as wonders, and wonders deserve a reaction. I pray I’m never “too cool” to gawk and point at something wonderful.
This led me to reflect a little on how I, a lifelong tourist in many ways, did it differently.
My sojourn as a world traveling tourist began when I was a Navy rating on the U.S.S. England, a guided missile cruiser. I sometimes think that the very best thing about being in the Navy was the chance to travel. While I didn’t travel as much as some, I still visited: Victoria, British Columbia; Subic Bay, the Philippines; Singapore; and Perth, Australia. I loved it.
I loved meeting new people and seeing new places and learning about cultures other than the one I grew up with. I loved discovering different customs and different cuisines and different couture. I was always mindful that I was a guest and as a good guest, it was my duty to adapt to whatever degree possible to the culture and customs of my hosts.
I was always a little embarrassed for my shipmates and countrymen who just didn’t get it; who apparently had no capacity to appreciate the “different.”
They were the ones who wouldn’t even try food that wasn’t what they were used to at home. They were the ones who figured that English was the only “natural” human language, and if you just spoke it loudly and slowly enough, any “heathen” would automatically understand. They were the ones who asked for cheap American beer in Australia (which had a number of quite good beers, and no, I don’t mean Foster’s). They were the ones who lived in a fantasy world where everything was just like it was “at home” and if it wasn’t, then somebody was doing it wrong (and “somebody” was whoever wasn’t doing it like it was done at home).
In a word, they were arrogant, and I had no desire to be numbered among them.
I’m not trying to suggest that I was some tourist paragon; I was quite likely less culturally sensitive than I should have been, but at least I tried, and I believe my hosts gave me credit for the effort. I was always treated very well by the indigenes I met, and to this day I take some pride in that. I at least tried to be humble and understand my hosts and their culture, rather than be arrogant and instruct people on what they were doing wrong.
Later, I had the privilege of traveling to Mali to visit my dear friend Angie, who was a Peace Corps volunteer in that country for three years and more. Again, I sought to adapt to the degree it was practical, and to learn what it was like there, rather than try to make it just like the place I called home.
Likewise, for the past twelve years I’ve traveled with my family to Hawai‘i and all of us came not to live the way we did on the mainland but instead to explore and discover the ‘āina (the land) and its customs and culture. We met the people where they were and tried to get to know them, we got away from the tourist destinations and activities (although we did some; a luau is really not optional for first-time visitors, and it can educate), we put ourselves where we could encounter the “real” Hawai‘i.
When I moved to Maui almost 10 weeks ago, I did much the same. I avoided the tourist destinations and activities (for the most part). I strove to adapt to the rhythms and patterns and practices of island life. I sought to learn and understand the culture I choose to be a part of.
Today’s epiphany was that as I’ve done this I have continued to think of myself as a guest. I’ve been a good guest, respectful and flexible and humble, but I’ve behaved as if I don’t belong. My customary reserve has been intensified by this, so I haven’t asserted myself, asking to be included in social events or activities, putting myself into social circles, inviting myself along.
Silly.
I am not a guest. This is my home, now; this is where I belong. I am not a guest.
I am home.
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