Though we’re fortunate here in Hawai‘i to enjoy balmy weather year round, something changes when the seasons shift from winter to spring. The Makahiki rains that sweep the islands each year draw forth new growth and nourish seeds of change that reveal themselves when exuberant spring ripens into the fertile bounty of summer.
In the spirit of the season, we invite you to venture into the lush foliage that blankets 97 percent of Hawai‘i’s oldest island, discover a fashion editorial set in a blooming Maunawili neighborhood, visit a flower market in Bangkok, and glimpse one of the biodynamic vineyards championed at Kaka‘ako’s natural wine shop and cigar lounge, Brix and Stones.
This issue, we also recognize the forces that propel us, sometimes across vast distances, into uncharted territory. Follow the Hawai‘i Surf Team’s gold-medal victory in El Salvador, a daughter’s bittersweet expedition to Thailand, and a general store owner’s foray into building community in east O‘ahu.
In the pages that follow, there are those whose passions take them beyond the islands to new depths, like the Hilo-based consortium of MEGA Lab scientists, surfers, skaters, and artists who are 3D mapping coral reefs across the Pacific, and others drawn to Hawai‘i from afar, like artist Allison Leialoha Milham and architect Craig Steely.
As you embark on your own journeys of exploration and self-discovery this year, we hope these stories fill you with a zest for new beginnings and ground you in a sense of home.
On opening a square black box adorned with an image of a dark mountain and sky full of stars, a melody begins to play. A woman’s singing voice rises from a sound piece hidden within, its soulful lyrics speaking of “he pilina wehena ‘ole,” or an unbreakable bond. The song was composed by artist Allison Leialoha Milham during a month-long residency at Hawai‘i Volcanoes National Park in 2018. Mourning the loss of her mother, Native Hawaiian journalist and activist Mary Alice Ka‘iulani Milham, the artist found solace amid the volcanic landscape of the island of Hawai‘i. “She was a
Allison Leialoha Milham’s work, which spans book arts, printmaking, and songwriting, is held in various private and public collections, including the Library of Congress, Yale University’s Haas Library, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Thomas J. Watson Library.
huge part of my life,” Milham says. “The music speaks to my early experience of grieving, and this sense of knowing our relationship is ongoing.”
Born and raised in California and now residing in Oregon, Milham maintained a connection to Hawai‘i largely through her mother, who was a vocal advocate for Hawaiian sovereignty and the fight to protect Mauna Kea. With her passing, Milham desired to forge her own unique connection, or pilina, with the land that bonds her not only to her mother but also to a long line of Hawaiian ancestors who provide inspiration.
Out of this reflective healing sprung Pilina Everlasting, the enigmatic black box with its evocative tune and serene illustration of Mauna Kea on the cover. Completed in 2022, the work has been collected by several institutions, including the University of California, Berkeley, Bainbridge Island Museum of Art in Washington, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Combining graphic design, printmaking, bookbinding, and music composition, the project is a cache of treasures: letterpress prints of text and images on handmade paper, a fine press booklet featuring “Mauna Kea Calling,” an essay by Milham’s mother, a sculptural artists’ book with dense illustrations of shifting landscapes, and a 7-inch lathe-cut record of
An excerpt from “Mauna Kea Calling,” an essay by Mary Alice Ka‘iulani Milham, a Native Hawaiian who was active in the movement to protect Mauna Kea, as seen in Pilina Everlasting (2022).
A detail from Pilina Everlasting , a multimedia work designed, hand printed, bound, and published by musician and book artist Allison Leialoha Milham.
the song Milham wrote during her cathartic residency on Hawai‘i Island. “The end of the song has part of the oli (chant) ‘Nā ‘Aumākua,’ which was my mom’s favorite oli, and one she started teaching me,” she says.
Music plays a key role in much of Milham’s life and work. After graduating from the University of Alabama with a master’s in fine arts in 2012, the singer, songwriter, and musician taught printmaking and book arts across the country while recording music and creating visual art. That same year, she released Uluhaimalama: Legacies of Lili‘uokalani , a multimedia box set exploring Hawaiian history through Queen Lili‘uokalani’s music and legacy. Like Pilina Everlasting , the work is a trove of poignant objects and ephemera: postcards, a booklet, a stencil of the Queen, and a record of Milham performing Lili‘uokalani’s songs.
All of the items in the box speak to the Queen’s graceful leadership and resistance to U.S. domination, a legacy that continues to inspire activism in Milham and other Hawaiians today. “There are things that a lot of people who go to Hawai‘i for vacation, or even those who live there as settlers, still don’t have a handle on—the fact that there was never a treaty of annexation, that Hawaiians never relinquished their sovereignty, and all of the impacts of U.S. colonialism and militarism in Hawai‘i,” she says.
Future projects include collaborating with Hawai‘i State Poet Laureate Brandy Nālani McDougall on the poet’s forthcoming book, ‘Āina Hanau, Birth Land, and a large-scale project centered around the history of print in Hawai‘i. “I learned early on in my education and in letterpress printing and book arts that Hawai‘i had printing presses before the West Coast of the continent, and crazy-high literacy rates,” she says. “I’m really interested in diving more into that.”
Devoted to championing Hawaiian independence and Indigenous rights in her work, Milham is continually inspired by the fierce Native Hawaiian advocates who came before her. Her grandmother, the late Dallas Keali‘iho‘oneaina Mossman Vogeler, was a theater director and activist who directed a five-day, real-time reenactment of the overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy
Installation view of Famous Are The Flowers (2015), Milham’s solo show at the University of Missouri. Each paper flower represents a name signed to the Kū‘ē Petitions, which protested the annexation of Hawai‘i by the United States.
as part of the Onipa‘a Centennial Observance at ‘Iolani Palace in 1993. “She—and my mom, too, being a writer—both modeled how to use your art and your passion to help support what you believe in,” Milham says. “I’ve tried to figure out how to use my gifts and skills as an artist to support these things that I care deeply about from afar.”
Agroup of female dancers sit in an intimate circle under a pavilion on the lush windward side of O‘ahu, wooden spoons and metal pots and mixing bowls in hand. As music rises from a set of speakers nearby, the spoons and metal vessels become instruments, adding percussion to the soundtrack as the dancers clang them in time with the beat. The performance is the opening piece for Edible Tales, a multimedia dance installation whose subject matter—cultural heritage, social justice, sustainability—is more akin to that of an activist group than a performance company.
Unlike conventional dance troupes that perform for entertainment, competition, or sport, Dancers Unlimited sees dance as an invitation to explore one’s humanity.
For many dance troupes, the primary objective is entertainment or competition, and all efforts are in service to the final performance. “For us, it’s the other way around,” says Keala Fung, a classically trained dancer who joined the nonprofit Dancers Unlimited as a performer and choreographer in 2010. “At DU, the process is more important than the final product.”
At the Edible Tales event, which was held at KualoaHe‘eia Ecumenical Youth (KEY) Project in Kāne‘ohe in fall 2022, audience members weren’t just passive viewers, they were co-creators: Attendees translated the taste of local honey and noni juice into interpretive movement, twisted newspaper scraps to prepare an imu, decorated plates to hang on the branches of a noni tree, and created music with bamboo sticks, accompanied on the ipu by Hawaiian master instrument maker and kumu hula “Uncle” Calvin Hoe.
Throughout its 14-year history, Dancers Unlimited’s guiding principle has been what executive and coartistic director Linda Kuo describes as a “call and response” with the community. When she started Dancers Unlimited in 2009, it was intended as a youth program to fill the void left by Furlough Fridays, a cost-cutting initiative by the state that removed 17 teaching days from the 2009 to 2010 school year at Hawai‘i’s public schools. Thanks to local community centers, studios, and dancers who donated their space, time, and talent, Dancers Unlimited was able to offer free dance classes to students left without schooling every other Friday.
When Furlough Fridays came to an end in 2011, Dancers Unlimited had established a core group of members, many of whom had returned home to Hawai‘i after dancing professionally on the U.S. mainland. The organization turned to fundraising to pay its dancers and cover operating expenses, and within ten months
of hosting its first free youth class, Dancers Unlimited was performing at Expo 2010, a major world’s fair in Shanghai, China.
Now based in both Honolulu and New York City, Dancers Unlimited has retained its grassroots feel, focusing on effecting change through individual action and self-discovery. In 2017, in response to anti-immigrant rhetoric surrounding the Mexico–U.S. border crisis, the company launched an ongoing project designed to foster dialogues around immigration—inviting immigrant choreographers and dancers to share their stories, hosting collaborative choreography sessions, and staging dance installations in response to dancers’ learnings, personal reflection, and research. In 2019, in light of renewed public protest against construction of the Thirty Meter Telescope on Mauna Kea, Dancers Unlimited turned its attention to Indigenous rights and traveled to Hawai‘i Island to join the front lines of the Kū Kia‘i Mauna (Guardians of the Mountain) movement.
Since being granted 501(c)(3) status in 2020, Dancers Unlimited has been working to bring social justice issues to the forefront of its programming, especially in Hawai‘i, where more than half of the organization’s funding comes directly from community members. “In recent years, our relationship and the way we engage with the community here in Hawai‘i has become the model for how we function in New York,” Kuo says.
In New York City, Dancers Unlimited’s programming is supported in part by New York State through regional arts councils and state-funded residency programs. In Hawai‘i, the company relies heavily on individual donations—some as little as $5, Kuo says—to sustain its work. Fortunately, Dancers Unlimited’s deep roots in the island community have allowed the company to thrive. In 2022, Dancers Unlimited’s annual fundraising campaign brought in more than $23,000, a shining reflection of the trust and relationships it has steadily built among its supporters in Hawai‘i.
“Linda has curated the space to hold people to come as their full selves,” says Nicole Maileen Woo, a company member and longtime ally of the organization who choreographed the opening number for the Edible Tales performance at KEY Project. “Dancers Unlimited is very much rooted in autonomy and sovereignty of the [individual]. That’s why, even though people come and go, the mission keeps growing and remains just as strong—because that doesn’t change.”
On a spring morning in 2022, a plane touches down in El Salvador, blues and greens streaking past the window as it flies down the runway. When it slows to a stop, 12 teens step down the airstair, talking animatedly. It was a long journey from their hometowns in Hawai‘i—and, for many, it is their first trip abroad. The group’s excitement is palpable. This is the Hawai‘i Surf Team, and their sights are set on the largest youth surfing competition in the world: the International Surfing Association (ISA) World Junior Surfing Championship. The Hawai‘i Surf Team (HST) was established to prepare junior surfers to compete in the Olympic-style event, which
dates back to 1980. With more than 400 contestants and over 30 nations represented each year, it’s the most high-profile competition in junior surfing. Many of its young contenders will go on to compete on the World Surf League (WSL) Championship Tour—the top tier of professional surfing.
For young Hawai‘i surfers, the HST is a golden opportunity to represent Hawai‘i and test their skills against their global peers. For many former members, it also provided a pathway to successful careers in the surf industry. Notable HST alumni include greats such as five-time world champion and Olympic gold medalist Carissa Moore; Kalani Robb, whose style has influenced generations of surfers; and former men’s Championship Tour surfer and big-wave rider Shane Dorian, who now serves as team coach.
Competing as part of the HST is also a source of pride. The ISA, like the WSL, recognizes Hawai‘i as its own sovereign surfing nation, and so the HST competes separately from the U.S. Surf Team. “As a Hawaiian, knowing that Hawai‘i is the birthplace of surfing, it means a lot to be able to go out there and represent our home,” says 2022 team captain Kai Martin.
With only 12 spots open each year—six boys and six girls, all ages 18 and under—team selection can be tough. According to team manager and HST 1998 alumnus Jason Shibata, the kids who usually make the team are the best talents coming out of their age group. But, Shibata says, personality matters too: Sportsmanship and being a team player are important qualities that coaches look for.
This year, assembling the team was even more challenging than usual. The games had been on hold for two years due to the pandemic, and the HST had fallen into disarray during the hiatus. When El Salvador was announced as the location for the 2022 games, Dorian and Chris Martin stepped up as coaches. With no time for tryouts, they instead relied on their inside knowledge of the islands’ youth surf scene to build a roster.
Once the team was built, the synchronicity was instantaneous. “Everyone was surfing well, and we were being strategic,” says North Shore local and first-time team member Luke Swanson. “We talked about what it would be like to travel, and it felt like everyone was listening and committed. It felt really cool to have everyone in sync.”
Upon arrival in El Salvador, the young surfers took time to familiarize themselves with the waves. No stranger to travel and competition, Dorian encouraged the team to hydrate, acclimate, and find their rhythm. With nine days
Team are chosen not only for their prowess on the water but for their sportsmanship and ability to enhance team morale.
Surf
of grueling competition ahead, he wanted everyone well rested. Their goal was to bring home the gold for Hawai‘i, a feat the team hadn’t accomplished since 2014.
For 10 of the 12 team members, it was their first time competing as part of the HST. The games would be their first opportunity to showcase their surfing on the world stage. The pressure was on.
On competition day, the team was gifted with big waves and winds at El Sunzal and La Bocana, conditions similar to those at their home breaks in Hawai‘i. Wahiawā’s Ēwelei‘ula Wong, competing in the under-18 girls’ division, lost in round three but battled her way through seven repechage heats to earn a slot in the final, ultimately claiming gold. In the under-18 men’s division, Swanson and Shion Crawford also worked their way through repechage heats to the final, where they secured gold and silver, respectively. When Luke Tema locked in bronze for the under-16 boys, the HST had amassed the points needed to win the overall team gold.
For Wong, being there as a team added something special to her triumph. “I love how the ISAs are a team thing, because surfing is typically a selfish sport,” she says, recalling how amazing it felt to stand among her teammates as they cheered her on. “The team dynamic was very beneficial, and we all gained a sense of family after.”
너럴 스토어 앤 델리(He‘eia Pier General Store & Deli)는 공동체와 단순하게 사는 시
대의 등불로 떠오릅니다.
As a kid growing up in ‘Aiea, Chris Manuel constantly found himself heading east. The windward side appealed to him with its slower pace of life and lush surroundings, the steep green ridges of the Ko‘olau mountain range providing a natural bulwark against the hustle and bustle of urban island life. In the calm waters between Kahalu‘u and Kāne‘ohe, Manuel fished and dove and made lifelong friends. He‘eia Kea Boat Harbor, especially, became a beloved playground and sanctuary. Over the next 40 years, Manuel would continually return to He‘eia, carving out moments of respite from busy family and work schedules. His entrepreneurial spirit had underpinned a series of productive career endeavors in plumbing and general contracting, real estate and restaurants. So, in 2019, when a friend shared news that the lease for the harbor’s little seaside general store was
Anchored by local favorites like hamburger steak and beef stew, the general store’s deli menu caters to the tight-knit community surrounding He‘eia Kea Boat Harbor.
CULTURE
He‘eia Pier General Store
Manuel works side by side with his 22-year-old daughter, Sydni, who serves as manager of the general store.
up for bid, his interest was piqued. The store, which first opened in the 1960s, had been a longtime gathering hub for the windward community but had stood shuttered the last five years. Manuel considered the prospect carefully. Operating a general store had never been on his radar, yet the idea hit close to his heart.
Manuel, along with partners Anthony and Alyssa Suetsugu, secured the bid and immediately set to work with the help of family and friends. They refurbished the interior and gave the outside a fresh coat of paint. Kitchen equipment was installed in the deli space, and shelves were stocked with everything from tabis and fishing tackle to sunscreen and snacks.
Although the buildout was exciting, Manuel was apprehensive when the general store officially opened its doors in 2020: The store’s business projections had accounted for a large tourist base, but O‘ahu’s visitor industry was crippled in the pandemic’s tight grip. In the harbor, excursion boats sat empty at their slips. “We were rolling the dice,” Manuel recalls of those early days.
“Just trying to figure out, ‘How are we gonna survive?’”
And then, the local community showed up. With no formal advertising push, news of the general store spread the old-fashioned way: word of mouth. Drawn to the store’s laid-back vibe—so cherished on the east side— retirees came by for coffee and loco moco, fishermen grabbed ice and bentos, and kids cruising on the pier popped in for hook, line, and Icees. Folks began to regularly congregate in and around the general store, talking story and cracking jokes on the green picnic tables outside.
If the vibe at He‘eia Pier General Store feels local, that’s because it is local—and wonderfully so. “The most successful times of this place were when it was a familyowned business,” Manuel says, referring to the Choy family’s 27-year stint that ended in 2008. “For us coming in, we wanted to learn from the old-timers—what this place had been like, what it is now, and what it could be.”
That respect for tradition has led the community to embrace the store’s new owners with warm support. About a month after opening, the general store assembled a hundred bowls of saimin and quietly invited the community to a sunset saimin night at the pier. “I honestly thought we’d be lucky to sell 40 or 50 bowls and that I’d end up giving away the rest,” says Sydni, Manuel’s 22-year-old daughter, who has taken the helm as the store’s manager. That evening, Sydni looked out to a crowd swelling in the harbor area, all eager for the familiar island comfort dish prepared home style—garnished with cabbage, char siu, and fishcake slices, and served with a teri beef stick.
“It was crazy, the line stretched from the store to the far boat ramp,” Sydni says, marveling at the memory.
“We sold out in 20 minutes.” In true local style, the kitchen crew scrambled to feed the multitude, emptying the refrigerators and cooking up whatever they could to ensure no one left hungry.
“The store has really helped in tightening our community,” says He‘eia Kea harbormaster Tanya Borabora. From her second-story office on the pier, Borabora has a bird’s-eye view of all the happenings in the harbor and a close rapport with those who frequent it. Each morning while she makes her rounds around the harbor, the uncles drinking coffee by the store call out warm greetings, sharing news and tidbits of pier gossip.
“They are my eyes and ears of this place,” she says with affection. When the store hosted a music night in
summer 2022, nearly 300 people attended, setting up chairs, blankets, and coolers in the parking lot to enjoy live Hawaiian music under the stars. “People came up to me for days sharing how awesome it had been,” Borabora says.
Hearing them recount the evening gave her both delight and chicken skin. “At the end of the night, everyone stood up and held hands and sang ‘Hawai‘i Aloha’ together. Then everyone helped to clean up before going home,” Borabora says, her voice softening. “I can’t think of any other harbor community that’s like this. It’s special.”
Today, Manuel lives on the windward side, a quick ten-minute drive from the harbor. Some mornings, he launches his boat from the small dock behind his house and makes his way across the bay during the soft golden hours of dawn. Most afternoons, he settles in on the picnic tables for a pau hana talk-story session with all the harbor regulars. A humble guy, he eschews any praise for reviving the little general store and, in turn, its community. Instead, he prefers to see the gift the store has given him: In heading east, Manuel found his true north.
He‘eia Kea Boat Harbor has long been a beloved playground and sanctuary for locals on the east side of O‘ahu.
DE SI GN
Garden State
The season’s floral prints and pastel palette bloom in a lush neighborhood in Maunawili.
Images by Daeja Fallas
Styling by Ara Laylo
Hair & makeup by Risa Hoshino
Modeled by Aiala
Production assistance by Taylor Kondo
Long-sleeve high-neck dress by Fuzzi. Blair tweed and wool patchwork blazer by Andersson Bell. Konstantino pink tourmaline maltese cross pendant on sterling silver adjustable chain necklace and dome corundum tassel earrings from Neiman Marcus. B Blossom ring in pi nk opal with diamonds and 18K rose and white gold by Louis Vuitton. ‘Opihi necklace, model’s own.
Christian Wijnants oversized short-sleeve shirt and Pali tailored straight trousers in Aster Fields Acid from We Are Iconic. Lele Sadoughi pearly crochet raffia bucket hat from Neiman Marcus. Tambour Spin Time watch by Louis Vuitton. Bracelet, model’s own.
Cotton sleeveless waistcoat from Hermès. LV Volt multi rings in 18K yellow gold by Louis Vuitton. Konstantino mother-of-pearl cross ring from Neiman Marcus.
Cult Gaia pearl bag from Neiman Marcus.
Tibi Italian sporty nylon sleeveless balloon dress from We are Iconic. Sprayed monogram triangle bikini top and B Blossom rings in malachite, white agate, and pink opal with diamonds and 18K yellow, rose, and white gold by Louis Vuitton. Cult Gaia Eos beaded acrylic clutch from Neiman Marcus.
Metallic scale crossover top and skirt by Louis Vuitton. Konstantino Pythia sterling silver and 18K gold earrings, angelic guardian crystal doublet ring, and dome sterling silver and 18K gold 5-chain bracelet from Neiman Marcus.
Wade bouclé coat in Rainbow Multi by Alix of Bohemia and Raquel Allegra tie-dye Abiquiu gauze halter dress from We Are Iconic. Ear cuff and ring by Alexander McQueen, ear crawler by Louis Vuitton. Konstantino pink tourmaline and mother-of-pearl cross pendant on men’s wheat chain necklace and dome corundum tassel earrings from Neiman Marcus. Choker, model’s own.
Design Redefined
Text by Eunica Escalante
文 = ユーニカ・エスカランテ
Images by Vincent Bercasi, Keatan Kamakaiwi, and courtesy of Craig Steely, Manaola Hawai‘i, and the MEGA Lab
写真 = ヴィンセント・ベルカシ、
Drawing from Hawai‘i’s heritage, environment, and history, artists and thinkers reimagine what it means to design for their island home.
In the wilds of Hawai‘i, from the misty upcountry of Hāmākua to the lava-covered fields of Pāhoa, mother nature casts an imposing shadow. The less inclined would find it an intimidating setting, but for architect Craig Steely, the islands’ dynamic topography is a welcome muse—a proclivity that revealed itself at the inception of his career. In 1998, the then-fledgling architect was contracted to design a home in the rugged lava fields of Puna on Hawai‘i Island. The resulting property was a sleek, futuristic structure in stark contrast to the acres of craggy a‘ā flows that surrounded it. The home was an early portent
Clockwise from top right, a MEGA Lab research expedition; featherwork artist Enoka Phillips; and architect Craig Steely at his off-grid Musubi House.
of his now-signature site-specific philosophy, where a hyperlocal understanding of the islands’ land and history offers a fresh interpretation of the oft-referenced “Hawaiian sense of place.”
Part of what sets the 58-year-old architect apart is his departure from the stereotypes that have dominated Hawai‘i’s visual identity for decades.
To Steely, plantation-style homes and island motifs have been reduced to copies of copies that now function as symbols of exoticization rather than a true representation of Hawai‘i’s current cultural landscape.
“I’m not Hawaiian, and I didn’t grow up in Hawai‘i,” says Steely, who for the past 25 years has lived half of the year in the Hawai‘i Island home he designed for his family. “That’s why I think it’s kind of appropriation if I just started copying these
The design of Craig Steely’s Bennet/ Yeo House affords expansive views of Hawai‘i Island’s Hāmākua Coast.
Hawaiian motifs.” Instead of succumbing to tropes, Steely draws inspiration from the land itself, designing homes with structures that are in conversation with their surrounding environment.
It’s an approach fostered by Steely’s childhood in the Sierra Nevada foothills, where his natural surroundings fueled a burgeoning understanding of the relationships between the built environment and natural landscape. “Some of my first architectural experiences were in the mountains, hiking around a river or rock formations,” he recalls.
With each home, Steely is building a new visual language for Hawai‘i architecture, one that has already won him several accolades, most recently the Award of Excellence in the 2022 American Institute of Architects Honolulu Design Awards for his work on an off-grid residential project called the Musubi House. Situated amid acres of erstwhile pastureland on Hawai‘i Island, the squat concrete structure rises from the rolling hills as if chiseled out of the mountainside. Floor-toceiling glass windows comprise much of the façade, offering panoramic views of Mauna Kea on one end and the Hāmākua Coast on the other. A triangular opening in the center leaves a portion of the home exposed to the elements; when it downpours, as it often does in those high elevations, a curtain of precipitation falls into the atrium below—Steely’s version of bringing the outdoors in.
While his portfolio is mainly an ode to Hawai‘i’s remote scenery, Steely has been looking to urban landscapes like Honolulu for an opportunity to flex a different sense of hyperlocality. “Every project is so sitespecific,” he says. “I have an incredible love and respect for Hawai‘i, and with each project that I do, I’m learning more about what Hawai‘i really is.”
Invigorating ‘Ike
Growing up, Carrington Manaola Yap was surrounded by ‘ike. This ancestral knowledge, passed down to him through generations of artists in his family, shaped everything about him—how he sees the world, how he moves through life. Ultimately, it influenced his approach to art, imbuing the designs for his Manaola Hawai‘i clothing line with a cultural rootedness and authenticity that has made him one of Hawai‘i’s preeminent fashion designers in the nine years since he launched the business.
“I was very fortunate to grow up in an environment that fosters that osmosis-style of receiving ‘ike,” says Yap, recalling the formative years he spent gaining a grasp of styling and costume design from his mother, Nani Lim Yap, kumu hula for the award-winning Hālau Manaola.
He laments how centuries of colonization have fractured the traditional means of receiving ‘ike, which once came from ma ka hana ka ‘ike—learning by doing. “A lot of our youth are not being raised in that environment,” Yap says. “It is a part of our kuleana (responsibility) to take that ‘ike and innovate ways in which we can assure that these traditions will be carried on into the next generation.”
In 2018, Yap launched Hale Kua as an initiative of Manaola Hawai‘i. The culturally driven incubator program is designed to give Indigenous artists access to the same sense of ‘ike he was immersed in as a young creative.
“Coming back from Hale Kua, you see the world in this whole different perspective,” says Enoka Phillips, a Hawaiian featherwork artist who was selected for the project’s first cohort. Before Hale Kua, Phillips was educated in a Hawaiian immersion setting, instilling in him an early understanding of a Hawaiian worldview. In high school, when he became interested in lei hulu (feather lei), he approached master lei maker Florence “Aunty Flo” Makekau. Before long, he was forgoing beach hang-outs in favor of afternoons spent in Aunty Flo’s garage, learning the deft motions necessary to transform wisps of feathers into vibrant plumes of lei—receiving ‘ike, as Yap would describe it. Later, his grandmother uncovered tins of lei hulu woven by his great-great-grandmother, revealing that Phillips’ affinity for the art form carries an ancestral origin. “It all came together,” Phillips says. “It was like, this is my calling.”
At the heart of the Hale Kua program is a week-long retreat on Hawai‘i Island designed to nurture this ancestral connection and sharing of ‘ike. Guided by Yap, the artists dance hula, learn chants, visit heiau, and meet with kāhuna, deepening not just their art practice but their identity as Hawaiians.
After the retreat, Yap continues to mentor the cohort over the next five years, offering industry knowledge gained from his years of success in the fashion business. And for Yap, the artists’ commitment to their native craft is evidence of the power of ‘ike and its role in keeping Hawaiian culture alive. “Cultural art heals,” he says. “We have to live and breathe [it] to receive the ‘ike—not just to know what happened before, but to know how we’re going to innovate and navigate forward.”
Thinking Outside the Lab
Acrowd is gathered in the remodeled second floor of the Mokupāpapa Discovery Center in downtown Hilo in 2022. Sleek wooden panels line the interior, infusing the space with convivial warmth. Hundreds of guests mingle in front of screens playing stylish surf
videos on loop and installations of local artwork and handcarved surfboards.
Despite the atmosphere, this is no art opening or surfwear product launch. It is the unveiling of the Multiscale Environmental Graphical Analysis (MEGA) Lab, the new headquarters for a consortium of researchers making waves in Hawai‘i’s scientific community.
A party for scientists may seem unorthodox, but that’s among the misconceptions the MEGA Lab hopes to rectify as it works to rebrand the public’s perception of scientists and, by extension, science. “One of the biggest reasons why there’s low scientific literacy is people don’t identify themselves with science,” says MEGA Lab chemist Cliff Kapono, who attributes the day’s growing mistrust around science to the wide gulf that exists between scientists and the general public. “If we show that normal people are scientists, [that] you are just like us, then that’s going to elevate people’s abilities to accept science.”
It’s an urgent objective for the MEGA Lab, whose research focuses on climate change and ocean ecology. As human activities threaten marine life at an alarming pace, MEGA Lab founder John H.R. Burns sees action beyond the scientific community as the avenue for real change. “If you don’t take a different approach, you’re going to keep doing the same thing, which is not fast enough to keep up with the problem that we’re seeing,” he says. This means innovating outside of the laboratory and designing new methods of communicating that effectively capture the public’s attention.
Fundamental to this approach is storytelling. The MEGA Lab’s online presence, for example, is as media savvy as a hip surf brand. Colorful images capture the researchers performing tasks that look equal parts work and play: swimming in Hawai‘i’s waters alongside tiger sharks, traveling the world to study coral reefs, and no shortage of surf sessions in between. Contextualizing these aspirational posts, though, are captions on ocean acidification, coral bleaching, and ecosystems in peril.
A growing archive of documentary films and multimedia content also serves to broadcast the MEGA Lab’s pioneering research, which applies photogrammetry to render three-dimensional maps that aid in tracking ecological changes in coral reefs throughout the Pacific. The team’s documentary about mapping the reef at Fiji’s renowned surf spot Cloudbreak, created in collaboration with the footwear brand Reef, epitomizes the MEGA Lab’s approach when it comes to translating marine science into engaging narratives. “We’re trying to innovate how science communicates,” Kapono says. “Instead of being footnotes, we produce media products that are engaging, fun, and
In gaining insight into the reefs beneath the world’s most beloved surf breaks, the MEGA Lab team hope their findings will ripple beyond the scientific community.
showcase sides [of science] that people can relate to.”
All of this is in hopes that a better understanding of climate science, and the habitats it seeks to protect, will galvinize the public toward a sea change. “We’re doing stuff with the purpose of having an impact,” Burns says. “We’re building new ways of studying and saving our reefs, but then giving that away [to make] sure that the impact goes beyond the doors of a lab space.”
Following the loss of a parent, a writer finds solace in the hills north of Chiang Mai.
A親を失った筆者の心は、チェンマイ北部 の丘で癒やされました。
t ten, I boarded my first international flight: nine hours from Honolulu to blizzardy Tokyo, followed by seven hours to humid Bangkok. In the morning, my mother and I set out on foot, the 35mm Olympus film camera she gave me hanging at my side. I was enamored by the gold-plated Buddhas and the juice stands overflowing with limes and sugarcane, and simultaneously overwhelmed by the myriad smells of the city, so unlike anything I’d known growing up in rural Maui. At a flower market, my mother bought me an amulet of crown flowers, jasmine, and rosebuds that I wore around my wrist like a bracelet, burying my nose in the heady scents as we walked through the city.
Twenty-two years later, four months after my mom died, I taxied to a flower market on Chakkraphet Road and bought myself a crown flower, jasmine, and rosebud amulet. This time it didn’t fit around my wrist, so I affixed it to my hair. The streets weren’t as vivid as I remembered: The smell of tuk-tuk exhaust and wet concrete after a hard rain, the savory and sweet scents of fish sauce and palm sugar wafting from street food stalls—it all hung subtly in the background, less colorful the second time around.
Then, in a narrow alley bordering the market, I spotted a row of five-gallon buckets packed tightly with deep purple lotuses, yet to bloom. They reminded me
of my mother—her affinity for the East, her love of meditation and Sufi poetry and brightly colored textiles, especially those with a purple hue.
We had planned to return to Thailand together. I renewed her passport and started planning the trip earlier that year, before her cancer took a turn. She died in our home in Hāna that summer, with my brother and me beside her.
I decided to go on our trip anyway, which is how I found myself in the flower market that September— and later in the emergency room of a hospital in Chiang Mai with a persistent pain in my chest. After an EKG, a blood test, and a chest X-ray, a soft-spoken ER doctor concluded that nothing appeared to be wrong with me. I knew then that the pain of losing my mother—and, not much earlier, my father—now resided in my heart.
Hoping to ease my anxiety, my partner, Jack, and I took a taxi to Looper Co., a cocktail bar nestled between the Ping River and the northeast gate to the Old City, to try to laugh off the ordeal. Seated in the window of the dimly lit bar, drinks in hand and lightning flashing outside, we decided to stick to our plan to ride a motorbike north into the mountains for a few days, despite the rain and my anxiousness.
The next afternoon, we traveled north along a rain-drenched straightaway into a sunny patchwork
Cultivating creativity, wonder, and deeper connections to the world we share.
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of rice fields, banana trees, and A-frame houses. Temples—some of them dignified teak structures, others campy, glimmering mosaics of color—jutted from the otherwise flat landscape, and dogs lounged about on the quiet roads.
We stopped at an open market in Mae Taeng, where we found foi thong, or golden thread, the elusive, auspicious egg-yolk-and-pandan sweet we’d sampled once in Samui but hadn’t found again since. From there we ventured into elephant country. Twice, one of the magnificently large, leathery beasts trundled down the road opposite us, moving from one riverside camp to the next.
The river widened and muddied as we traced its curves deeper into the mountains. Landslides became more frequent, and at times we could not see the road beneath the mud. When our tires spun fruitlessly, I hopped off the motorbike and walked ahead until the mud thinned. The splatter marks of ochre clay on my ankles reminded me of Maui’s red dirt.
Suddenly missing the safety and surety of home, I grew more and more anxious as the road narrowed and disappeared beneath the mud. It was near dusk, we were running out of water, and we’d already lost cell service. I insisted we turn back; Jack urged us to trudge ahead and turn back only if conditions got worse.
Textile artist Kachama Perez is pictured at her secluded studio in Thailand’s Mae Rim district.
While exploring Chiang Mai by motorbike, the writer discovers a quiet, overgrown courtyard hidden behind a row of luxurious shops in the Wat Ket area.
Instead, they got better. Soon we were climbing uphill on mudless roads, past lush hillside coffee groves. Relief washed over me as we neared our abode for the night: a treehouse perched beside a river on a coffee farm. The pink hibiscus and ginger planted at the gate made me feel at home.
The next day and the next, we made our way through the districts of Mae Taeng and Mae Rim, discovering secluded art studios, unpeopled temples, and quaint farming villages. I would never have taken these routes if I’d been on the trip with my mom as planned—at least, not on a motorbike—but I carried her with me nonetheless.
She gave me my love of travel. Treading through the mountains of northern Thailand, I did my best to summon her resilience, her ease, her ability to stay calm in difficult situations. For the first time in days, the ache in my chest subsided, interrupted by recognition of the joy she would have felt in these places, and in being there with me.
Still, I longed for her company, her bright eyes that lit up at pleasures both simple and profound, but another part of me knew she was there—inseparable from the woman I am because of her. I feel her most in the woods, when I pick a brilliant flower and breathe in its scent, or when a warm wind brushes against me, as it so often did in the balmy highlands of Chiang Mai.
Lotus Honolulu showcases a softer side of Waikīkī, with a curated stay built around comfort.
Nestled between Waikīkī and Diamond Head Crater sits a thoughtfully designed boutique hotel that has become one of O‘ahu’s bestkept secrets. For travelers seeking a unique and unforgettable way to experience the many wonders of the island, or locals craving a serene spot for a luxury staycation, this AAA Three Diamond escape offers a wellspring of alluring benefits—from island-chic décor and rooms with a view to creative recreation options geared toward wellness and pampering, including yoga in the park and free wine tastings.
Guest service agent Zayisha Volgenau credits Lotus Honolulu’s singular experience to a thoughtful mix of amenities crafted with guests’ convenience in mind, such as on-property car rentals and beach cruiser bikes.
“You feel it right away when you step inside the lobby,” she says. “The first-class service, the inviting, upscale ambiance, and the endless creature comforts strike that perfect balance of leisure and elegance that visitors appreciate.”
Like its namesake, the lotus flower—a symbol of purity, resilience, and renewal—Lotus Honolulu is a haven of contentment, where an enjoyable rest is enriched by the wildness of the sea just a stone’s throw away.
lotushonoluluhotel.com
808.922.1700 | 2885 Kalakaua Avenue Honolulu, HI 96815
Text by Lindsey Kesel
Images courtesy of Lotus Honolulu
Tucked quietly between Diamond Head and the beach, Lotus Honolulu is a boutique hotel experience like no other.
Island Verdure
緑あふれる島
In this jaunt through lush montane forests and coastal groves, get to know some of the diverse plant life that earned Kaua‘i its nickname, the Garden Isle.
文 = ユーニカ・エスカランテ
写真 = エリカ・タニグチ
Text by Eunica Escalante
Images by Erica Taniguchi
(Foreground) Pictured amid the lush canopy of Hanakāpī‘ai Valley along the Nā Pali Coast, ‘ie‘ie is prized in Native Hawaiian culture for its extensive ‘ie (roots), which it uses to scale the length of host trees. Growing up to 20 feet long, the roots were traditionally used to weave baskets, fishtraps, and ki‘i—elaborate statues that symbolize ‘akua (Hawaiian gods).
(Background) A versatile plant, hulumoa can be found in a variety of environments, from the jungle foliage of Wailua, shown here, to the arid terrain of Hawai‘i ’ s dry tropical forests. Its name translates to “chicken feathers,” so named for its resemblance to a rooster’s tail.
A‘ali‘i, photographed here along Waimea Canyon’s Kukui Trail, is a pioneer species. It’s among the first to take root after a lava flow and one of the few native plants able to sustain fires. As such, ‘a‘ali‘i represents rootedness and resilience, as exhibited by the ‘ōlelo no‘eau (Hawaiian proverb), “He ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani mai au; ‘a‘ohe makani nāna e kūla‘i.” I am a wind-resistant ‘a‘ali‘i; no wind can topple me over.
(Above) Often mistaken for the more common hāpu‘u, ‘ama‘u is distinguished by the fiery red hue that colors younger ferns. It’s an apt attribute, for it is commonly found sprouting amid cooled lava flows, though ‘ama‘u also thrives in damp conditions, like here in the Kōke‘e forest.
(Left) Brought to the islands by Polynesian voyagers, ‘ōlena possesses medicinal properties that have been valued for centuries. It is used in lā‘au lapa‘au (plant medicine) to remedy a variety of ailments, and kapa makers favor its bright yellow pigment to create dyes. It can be identified in the wild by its fragrant inflorescence, as seen growing here in Kalalau Valley.
(Right) Ferns, like this pala‘ā, were among the first plants to colonize the islands. In Native Hawaiian culture, each fern species served a distinct purpose. Pala‘ā, pictured here in Kōke‘e and Wainiha, is known as the lace fern for its filigreed fronds. The goddess Pā‘ūopala‘ā is named after the fern, as she often manifests as a skirt made of pala‘ā.
(Below) Characterized by its signature golden blooms, ‘ilima is a favorite of lei makers for its delicate yet vivid petals. Giving an ‘ilima lei is considered an act of wellwishing. A single-strand lei can take up to thousands of ‘ilima to complete. Thankfully, ‘ilima thrives in any condition, like along the dry southern coast of Kaua‘i, as seen here.
(Left) ‘Iwa‘iwa is the only maidenhead fern native to Hawai‘i, a rare sight in the wild compared to the more common varieties later introduced to the islands. ‘Iwa‘iwa favors damp and shaded environments, like sea caves along coastlines, as photographed here inside Maniniholo Dry Cave in Hā‘ena.
(Right, foreground) As this fern’s name suggests, wahine noho mauna (mountain-dwelling woman) grows solely in high-elevation forests. Easy to miss, its fronds reach only up to eight inches long. Its presence in a forest, as seen here along the Alaka‘i Swamp Trail, signifies a healthy ecosystem.
(Right, background) This stream at Keahua Arboretum in Wailua feeds a variety of foliage, including pai‘i‘iha, or downy wood fern, the first fern species to be recorded as naturalized in Hawai‘i in 1887.
(Above and at right) Valued for its versatility, hala is a necessity in Native Hawaiian culture. The leaves are woven into mats, pillows, and thatching. The roots are fashioned into cordage. Hala flourishes across Hawai‘i in coastal groves or in valleys, like along Hanakāpī‘a Trail, pictured at right. Male trees, pictured above, grow fragrant white flowers called hīnano, whose supple bracts are woven into mats. As male hala trees are scarcer than their female counterparts, a hīnano bloom is particularly prized.
FA RE
delectable hidden gems
Best in Glass
by Sarah Burchard
by Chris Rohrer & Camille Huguenot
Text
Images
From France’s
Beaujolais region to an underground wine shop in Kaka‘ako, track the rise of a movement
in this primer on lowintervention wines.
Take a look at the bottles lining the shelves of your local wine shop. Because the U.S. government allows winemakers to add more than 72 chemicals to their products, practically all of the wine on the market contains additives, coloring agents, and synthetic yeasts used by high-tech winemakers to manipulate its color, fragrance, and flavor. Luckily, delicious wines without chemicals do exist. The difficult part is finding them.
Rick Lilley became a natural wine advocate after traveling to France in 2016 and 2017 with the sales team from wine importer Kermit Lynch, who, in the ’70s, was among the first U.S. wine importers to champion natural wine and has since become one of the most trusted names in the wine business. When Lilley returned from France, he urged distributers to carry Lynch’s wines so that he could offer them at 12th Ave Grill, where Lilley served as wine director. The more natural wines Lilley tried, the more he lost his taste for conventional, New World winemaking. When guests began asking Lilley where they could purchase the wines he was pouring, he came up with the idea for a natural wine shop.
프랑스의 보졸레 지역에서부터 카카코의 지하 와인 가게에 이르기까지 알려지지 않은 와인에 대한 이 입문서에서 운동의 발흥을 추적해 보십시오.
When he and his wife, Elaine, opened Brix and Stones—a wine shop and cigar lounge tucked inside an auto-collision shop on Waimanu Street—in early 2020, they were committed to transparency. More than a third of the inventory consists
Translation by Eri Toyama Lau 翻訳 = ラウ外山恵理
of natural and low-intervention wines made with organic grapes and no additives or chemicals. In spring 2023, the Lilleys plan to expand the business by opening a wine and whiskey bar below the shop and offering tastings and education on the wines and spirits it carries. Guests will have the opportunity to learn how the grapes are grown, how the wines are made, and what exactly is in them.
Natural wines begin on biodiverse vineyards, where the grapes are grown without pesticides and cultivated alongside animals, trees, and other crops to maintain the land’s ecological balance, which in turn produces clean wines that are high in antioxidants and other nutrients. Low-intervention wines contain low levels of sulfur dioxide, a stabilizer and preservative; wines that are 100 percent natural omit sulfur dioxide altogether. Both are fermented with wild yeast as opposed to “designer” yeasts created to manipulate the flavor and fragrance of wine. There is no sugar added to increase the alcohol content, nor is there water added to decrease alcohol content. Unlike conventional wines, which are often filtered with egg whites or fish bladders, natural wines are 100 percent vegan.
Natural wine may be seeing a rise in popularity over recent decades, but Georgians have been producing wine using natural methods for the past 8,000 years. The knowledge was almost lost during the Soviet reign, when monocropping was enforced, and most of the world’s vineyards—which also produced wine by traditional means for thousands of years—began introducing synthetic chemicals with the rise of industrial agriculture after World War II.
The natural wine movement began in 1965, when winemakers from the French province of Beaujolais returned to their grandfathers’ methods of farming organically and making wine without manipulation. Once U.S. wine importers discovered wines like these in France, the movement migrated to New York and California.
In 2001, Alice Feiring was the first wine journalist in the U.S. to advocate for natural wine. She called out wine critic Robert Parker and his 100-point wine-scoring system, arguing that it encourages a formulaic approach to winemaking, and also chided large wine corporations for influencing sommeliers to train themselves and their guests to view conventional wines as “correct” and natural wines as flawed. By 2010 natural wine was trending in the U.S., although natural wine producers still represent only a tiny fraction of the industry.
Brix and Stones owner Rick Lilley considers Domaine Breton’s biodynamic wines among the best in France’s fabled Loire Valley. Triptych by Camille Huguenot.
Early adopters fear that too much emphasis on the word “natural” will encourage winemakers to capitalize on a trendy new buzzword. Prices are beginning to creep up due to demand, and wine buyers are finding it increasingly difficult to source these wines due to their already limited availability. And with the exception of anomalies such as Santa Cruz’s Bonny Doon Vineyard, which began including ingredient lists on its bottles in 2007, it is difficult for consumers to know whether a wine is natural or not by its label—the industry doesn’t require winemakers to disclose their ingredients.
Luckily, in Kaka‘ako, Brix and Stones is there to help. “There are a handful of importers dedicated to natty wines,” Lilley says. “Once I get familiar with them, I’m able to learn more about the producers they carry and their philosophies. Since the term ‘natural’ is unregulated, you really have to decide on your own what your beliefs are.”
Hotel Renew—and its new coffee house, Recess Café—is redefining the boutique luxury experience for visitors seeking a well-rounded Waikīkī stay.
Text by Lindsey Kesel Images courtesy of Hotel Renew
Tucked among the sea of accommodation options dotting Hawai‘i’s most famous strip of sand, Waikīkī Beach, Hotel Renew is a breath of fresh air for those looking to recharge, explore, or do a little of both. An inviting and upscale home away from home, Hotel Renew promises an intimate guesthouse experience geared toward locals and visitors with an affinity for luxury and an appetite for adventure. Everyone from solo travelers to families—and any small pets along for the ride—are welcome at Hotel Renew.
The seaside setting features charming spaces with decadent design details that combine mid-century and modern tropical aesthetics. The ambience is plush, contemporary, and comfortable, with Pacific Ocean views filling many of the windows. Hotel Renew’s sleek suites feature luxe linens, mid-century furnishings, and textured white oak—plus a long list of entertaining accoutrements, such as a flat-screen TV, free Wi-Fi, mini-fridge, and Illy espresso machine. Spa-worthy bath amenities, personal fitness equipment, and other extra special touches add to the indulgent and fun boutique hotel vibe.
Hotel Renew’s coffee and cocktail concept, Recess Café & Bar, is a perfect place to fuel up for a day in the sun or a night on the town.
One of Hotel Renew’s biggest selling points—its central location in the heart of Waikīkī’s vibrant shopping and dining district—makes it easy for guests to access some of O‘ahu’s best hotspots and off-the-beaten-path places. Situated one mile from Kapi‘olani Park, a threeminute walk from the Honolulu Zoo, and one block from the beach, the hotel is a convenient jumping-off point for all kinds of recreation, both on land and off shore. In the adjacent Kapahulu neighborhood, mom-and-pop shops full of Hawaiiana and vintage treasures mingle among cherished local eateries such as Sweet E’s Café, Uncle Bo’s Pupu Bar & Grill, and Leonard’s Bakery. Just a 15-minute drive west along the coast is the funky Kaka‘ako warehouse district, home to eclectic boutiques, craft breweries, and larger-than-life murals by local and international street artists.
Tucked inside the lobby of Hotel Renew sits a sweet, stress-free spot where guests can recharge and refresh. Recess Café & Bar serves a variety of locally and responsibly sourced coffee, including Waialua/Columbia coffee blends on drip, pour-over coffee made with singleorigin Brazilian beans, cold brew over ice, and madeto-order specialty coffee drinks, such as cortados, flat whites, and cappuccinos. From early morning sips to late
nightcaps, there’s something for everyone: Beyond coffee, the menu includes smoothies and cold-pressed juices, wellness shots, fine liquor, and vacation favorites such as bloody marys and mimosas.
By setting everything one could want within reach, the hospitality team at Hotel Renew has crafted an oasis of calm for savvy travelers seeking a more refined approach to rest and relaxation. Visitors are often pleasantly surprised when they settle in, says hotel manager Rena Agngarayngay, a reaction that is completely by design: “We’re aiming for a sophisticated version of serenity and a fresh perspective on the Waikīkī experience that hits all the right notes for our guests.
Hotel Renew is the perfect home base for adventure and renewal, with a distinct sense of community that really enriches the few days they spend with us.”
hotelrenew.com
808.687.7700 | 129 Paoakalani Avenue Honolulu, HI 96815
For the Common Good
Aloha United Way appreciates our Toqueville Society members who each contribute more than $10,000 per year to help fund the highest priority community initiatives in Hawai‘i. Your support means the world to so many.
Our Tocqueville Society members share more than a commitment to doing good—these like-minded community leaders are passionate about driving community change and expanding Aloha United Way’s legacy of courage, creativity, and partnership.
Contact Ellen Kazama, assistant vice president of Aloha United Way, to join the more than 130 Toqueville Society members whose contributions light the way for community change.
Ellen Kazama 808.543.2223 | ekazama@auw.org auw.org/tocqueville-society
Inspired Residences
Situated in the heart of Kaka‘ako, residents of Ālia’s one-, two-, and three-bedroom homes awaken each day to expansive views of the Pacific Ocean, Ala Moana Beach Park, and the captivating Ko‘olau Mountains. Just steps from Ālia’s lush entryways, the thriving streets of Kaka‘ako and its collection of cafés, boutiques, and creative energy await. Whether the destination is the beach, shops, or dining out with friends, the best of the city is always within reach for residents.
Abundant Amenities
Inside the tower, Ālia features the most diverse collection of amenities Kobayashi Group has offered. Two pools, a bowling alley, sauna and spa complete with a cold plunge, pool-side cabanas, and two fitness centers are but a few of Ālia’s extensive residential offerings. Outside, thousands of feet of open space form our famed Great Lawn, making it easy to slip into nature without ever having to leave the premises.
