Predawn Waikiki by Roland Merrill of Waikiki, Hawai’i

 

Predawn Waikiki,

Roland Merrill,

Waikiki, Hawai’i....................

It’s usually right before sunlight touches the south coast when my parents and I wait by the Duke Statue ‘til what is the right time to get in some sets. I find the darkness refreshing, the moonlight fading, sending its last streaks of white light along the sea to the horizon. With its dive into the sea, it takes the winds with it leaving behind still glassy water. Trees like statues stand along the peaceful shore. The only sound you hear was waves, washing up and down the sand. The sun never wake up yet, it’s soul filling warmth still climbing up the east side cliff faces radiating enough light to change the sky from black to blue. The blue of predawn is the right time. 

The paddle out is like a dream, I feel weightless, my board gliding across the surface of the sea. My arms reaching down into the water, the ocean resisting my pull, each stroke taking me further and further out. I reach my spot and sit up on my board, staring out to the horizon waiting to see which wave was going be the lucky first.

With the shore to my back, I spot a set of waves off the horizon. Watching and anticipating where the wave going, so I could position myself. Then, I start paddling out towards the wave, confirming to those few dawn riders around me, that I was indeed going for that wave. As I got into position, I wait for the wave to come couple yards behind me, then fiercely I swing my board around back to shore, 3 or 4 strokes was all it took before I am being carried by the water. The waves here were long and slow breakers, deep carving turns and laybacks was going help me manage my speed. Slowing down the ride meant slowing down everything, those few seconds riding the wave turns into minutes, then days until it’s a still moment engrained in my mind. White wash trails the board behind as it begins to cut along the crest, the nose pierces through, parting and feathering the wave—I ride. I see the hotels on the beach front seemingly empty, the shoreline clear of swarms of people, towels, and umbrellas, just the beautiful undisturbed sand. I ride over top the broken-up reef and rock a few feet under me, breaking the serene surf with my board. By the time the wave has dissipated, I’ve made it back to shore, only to turn out towards the horizon and paddle out again.

Naturally I’d want to stay out at the break forever, however as the sun’s bright horizon replaces the last of the dark shadows with morning, the surf break steadily becomes more and more crowded. The locals get in the last of their waves leaving the surf as the first surf lessons are being taken out to assume the break—our time ended.

It wouldn’t be long ‘til the tourist was awake, the quiet turned loud, the emptiness filled with crowds, and the calm turned hectic. The hotels and beach stands start putting out rows upon rows of umbrellas and lounge chairs out on the sand to prepare for the first rounds of tourists laying claim to their small section of beach. The salty ocean air fades away to the pungent aroma of sunscreens and tanning lotions. The roads become noisy and busy with honking horns, the sidewalks crowd. Catamaran boats sail out of Ala Moana harbor and plow through the break and waves towards shore, parking up on the sand offering sailboat rides to anyone willing to cough up an arm and a leg. By the time the nights cold air had been fought out by the warm rays of the sun, my parents and I, as well as, the other early morning locals, would be leaving the beach. Waikiki had been taken over for the enjoyment of outsiders and labor of locals. 

The first shops in the area to open up were the surf shacks, ABC stores, and hotels with their staff arriving on the peninsula in droves. the workforce coming in from everywhere but Waikiki. The staff are locals people who commute from “out of town” flocking to the 5 mile stretch of hotels and overpriced commodities. Geared toward tourists, out of reach for the worker. When all of the workers seem to be in place the tourists begin. 

There is a true and real resident group of Waikiki, those with no where to go, no one to go to, the homeless. Their presence, impossible to ignore, yet at the same time, so easy to look past. The mind, basically deleting the shopping carts, stolen bikes, trash bags, and people who seem to wander mindlessly. The homeless reduced to ghosts, Photoshopped out of ads that tell tourists to “Come. Visit. Paradise!” 

Enormous buildings tower into the sky, high end shops like Rolex, Prada, Saint Lauren, etc. lined the main strip of Waikiki, Kalakau’a Ave. Most people in Waikiki don’t even notice it, they’re relatively sheltered in their hotel rooms, in the safety and under the ‘guise’ of Waikiki and its hospitality. In between all the fancy stores, restaurants, hotels, and beaches you see um. The scattered few with no home or family, passing around the last of the batu they get. The 2 massive black bags full of recyclable plastics and aluminums in each hand or hanging off the sides of their bikes. Yelling, arguing, and sometimes fighting were increasingly difficult to ignore, especially as the homeless would bunch up in areas. Most wouldn’t even glance an eye to the crazy lady screaming into the busy street, whose black shorts and t-shirts are riddled with holes and tears that you can see right through it all. But who she yelling at? Just step away from it and go back to enjoying Hawai’i, it’s not like it can be like this everywhere in this “paradise” Right? 

My block has a few regular roamers and wanders, some of them been here ever since I been born. One man in particular, Mickey, for as long as I can remember, has been living a certain lifestyle (below low income) on the same block. His story began by being found by the “Landlord of the Block” who would regularly host garage sells, which were immensely profitable yet hard to manage. The landlord provided Mickey with a small Home Depot Garden Shack (with electric) as a place to sleep and he would work when the landlord needed help. The landlord has passed, yet I still see and talk to Mickey every day but now he lives in a unit in an apartment down the street. If only we all felt a duty of care for all of those without anything in Waikiki, everywhere even. The homeless in Waikiki, more or less Hawai’i, struggle with a lot of issues that many local people with homes deal with such as; drugs, cost of living, employment, unreliable government, etc. They may have just tipped over the edge of a manageable life leaving them with few to no options, some may have fallen down a spiral and have fully turned away from society. Yet the day draws to a close, housekeeping cleans the rooms, beach boys pack up all the umbrellas and chairs, the sea has decongested, tourists have taken their pictures, and the homeless still in between the cracks, remain largely unacknowledged.