I asked if he'd lived on Kauai all his life, and he said he was born on Oahu but moved to Kauai in 1974. His family, which is huge, camps at Anahola Beach for a month every summer. Beach camping is restricted to three days, but the aunties and uncles and brothers and sisters line up and reserve the same spot for successive three-day intervals. He talked joyfully about their time together. He said his kids, age 3 and 5, adore the beach.
Hawaiian families are close.
A clerk at Hawaiian Airlines said I could take an earlier flight to Honolulu, and I accepted gratefully, feeling I'd rather spend the time there than in Lihue. Arriving in Honolulu, I checked my bag and asked about shuttles. I chose the city bus in honor of my mother, a spunky traveler who explored new cities on metro transit, often making friends with women her age and being invited into their homes. I caught the wrong bus, realizing my error as we passed the Pearl Harbor Memorial, and scrambled across the highway just in time to catch a bus going the other way. The ride to Waikiki was ten miles of dilapidated wartime housing.