Kona Village
The Big Island, HI

"Oh no, my sign has sprouted," cries Lani. And indeed, coconut number eight—by the sweet-smelling Hawaiian hibiscus—is growing into a little palm tree. Lani is Lani 'Opunui, Kona Village's steward of Hawaiian history and culture. She uses coconuts to mark the plants in Kona Village's Botanical Garden, a tropical hollow created by lava flow in 1801. Here the village nurtures Hawaiian trees, shrubs and flowers which are either unique (native) or have uniquely evolved (endemic) on the islands.

Number nine—still a coconut—is a false sandalwood tree. "With the leaves stripped off, false sandalwood looks like, and even smells like, the real thing," Lani says. In the 1820’s, after the real sandalwood was wiped out, Hawaiian Chiefs attempted to fool the merchants with false sandalwood—just a trifling treachery in the duplicitous history of the sandalwood trade.

Kona Village, on the other hand, is the real thing: a cross between a mellow, well-loved beach house and an elegant, exotic Polynesian village. Sculpted from the Kohala Coast’s moonscape of overlapping lava flows, lazing around a crescent bay and brimming with natural lagoons, it’s the perfect escape clause from life's frenzied contract. The architecture of Polynesia—thatched roofs, open lanais, high ceilings and natural building materials—blends in just right. Traditional long houses are adapted for the common rooms and guests put up in thatched roof bungalows, called Na Hale. They range from an intimate Fijian hale for two with thatched roof shooting up to a narrow peak and tucked around the lagoon, to a two-bedroom beachfront Samoan topped with a shaggy conical roof.

Opting for a beach hale would normally be a no-brainer. In fact, the choice is far from easy. The pond hales sit among sea-green lagoons, idyllically mirroring palms and Birds of Paradise. Black Swans whose long necks curve to tangerine beaks, and Moluccan Radjah ducks drift in their shade.

Kona Village reserves its dominion for their own guests—and their own swans. This custom comes not from some highfalutin’ attitude—the Village is singularly devoid of such 'tudes—but to maintain its "removed-from-the-world" atmosphere. In the mid 1960’s when the village was built, it really was removed from the world. Guests, staff and supplies all arrived either by small plane or the owner’s schooner. Today, guests come by road, but all cars go directly to a discreet car park, thus preserving the peace. There are no televisions, no radios, no piped-in music and no discos; and, for good measure, the only phones are in the front office.

Kona Village, moreover, is genuinely connected to Hawaii. When not getting to know Hawaiian flora, Lani has me wondering just what the ancient Hawaiians were up to with their petroglyphs. Lani points out that there are over 70 canoe sails, but no canoes in the petroglyph field Kona Village has preserved. She wonders, was this training for early Hawaiian navigators or requests to the "canoe-beckoning winds?"

Rectangular rows of small round holes bring to mind a cutthroat Parcheesi game. "Gambling," Lani remarks, "is one of the few vices that Cook didn't introduce to the islands. The Hawaiians were always great gamblers." Yet, out here on all this rock with no shade, we reason, is an unlikely place for a game—perhaps a calendar? navigation? fortune-telling? "Who could know?" Lani says and tells of Auntie Eleanor a wise, traditionally-raised elder who remembered her grandfather using these holes to determine when to fish.

Shamelessly doing nothing is also encouraged. Strategically placed hammocks, jacuzzis on lanais and sheltered Pacific inlets are within moseying distance and vintage venues from which to gain perspective on life.

Activities from slow-poke snorkeling to Ernest Hemingway game fishing are on tap, too. Whale-and-tropical-fish-watching by glass bottom boat or outrigger canoe, Hawaiian palm weaving and the more prosaic tennis clinics are on the agenda. Most of these activities—and all three meals—are included in the price. Ergo, many guests just stay put for their whole vacation, then return year after year and eventually generation after generation.

The staff stays around, too. Fred Duerr, Kona Village's long time General Manager is the wizard behind all this staying power. He has a knack for hiring and then encourages the staff to just be themselves. And so they are: delightful, sometimes quirky and always charming.

Fred tells of the year that the husband of a couple of long-time regulars confided he was dying. He asked Fred to help his wife feel comfortable returning to their vacation "home" after he was gone, and to not let her to dine alone. When the widow returned, Fred or one of his staff invited her for dinner every night. But, day after day, she declined the invitations—the guests she knew from years past had already filled her dance card. That’s the kind of place Kona Village is, a place where friendship has time to build amidst and among the guests and the staff. And that’s exactly the way it feels, even on a first visit.

My Palau Hale is easy to settle into, it’s like a secluded grass shack with a villa interior. It’s only thirty feet across a black sand beach to the blues of the Pacific. I throw open the doors and windows and never to close them again. From my lanai, I can soak in my jacuzzi au naturel with only a glance at the back of another hale. I can fall asleep in the big four poster bed listening to the swash of the surf and the slow revolutions of the fan overhead. Woven palm mats cover the high ceiling, Hawaiian artifacts hang on the walls and 100% Kona coffee fills the coffee maker. Surprises like a small flash light, macadamia-nut-avocado-oil lip gloss and a tub with a view are stowed away in the large, new bathroom.

Late every afternoon, the coconut with Kona Village's logo sits on my front stoop to let the village know I don't want to be disturbed. I slip into my jacuzzi to watch the sunset. Kona winds play snare drum with the palms and the crickets beat their tambourines. Low clouds reflect the alpenglow flaming from apricot, quieting to rose and dimming to violet. I spot the stars of the summer triangle; and while I couldn’t actually see Aquarius rising, the Village’s astronomer, Jon Lomberg assured me it was "out there, somewhere behind the clouds."

By Kate Crawford          May 2002

LINKS WITH ATTITUDE

Here is Kona Village's website. 

Check out those three meals a a day.