Posted on: Friday, February 15, 2002

When 'aloha' really isn't aloha

By Lee Cataluna
Advertiser Columnist

Lee: Aloha at a price

It was a warm January evening on Waikiki Beach, the kind of night the tourists dream of, the kind of night locals only really notice when we're hanging out with friends from the Mainland ("Oh, das' right. Get couple feet of snow at your house, yeah?")

There was just enough light coming from the courtyard of the Moana Surfrider and Duke's Canoe Club to make walking on the sand a fairly safe proposition. The wind was soft and it carried the sounds of Augie Rey singing "Cuando Cuando Cuando" all the way from the Royal Hawaiian Hotel.

Waikiki at its best.

Three women were sitting together on the sand, talking and laughing. As we neared, one stood and approached me with a plumeria lei hanging off one wrist. Her face slid into a practiced smile. "Aloha!" she sang, as she aimed the lei at my head.

I knew instantly something was wrong. I couldn't pinpoint it, but why on earth would a total stranger give me a lei while I'm walking on the beach? It was the wrong context. It's not graduation. It's not my birthday. It's not at a volunteer luncheon. I'm not checking in to the Sheraton. What up? I had a flash-back to that old KGMB Friday night favorite, "Black Belt Theater," and the goriest martial arts movie of them all, "The Flying Guillotine." Whoosh! That thing was closing in on my neck.

I held out my hand to stop her and mumbled, "No, thank you," which, of course, goes against everything we're ever taught in this Island culture about the custom of receiving a lei. There's major conflict in refusing the gesture. It's like going to a first birthday lu'au and not eating anything. Even worse.

So as I'm trying to cope with my culturally imposed guilt and second-guessing my first reaction, I learn the truth about the smiling woman and her plumeria lei from someone who had experienced this setup. The whole routine is supposed to go like this: She spots an unsuspecting tourist walking along the beach at night; she approaches, smiling warmly, exuding the whole Auntie Aloha persona; she slips the lei around the victim's neck and says, "Aloha," just like in the visitors bureau commercials; but as she pulls away from the pseudo-embrace, she says softly, "Five dollars."

Waikiki at its worst.

It could very well be that this woman is doing the best she can to support her family. Perhaps the only resources she has access to are a productive plumeria tree, a lei needle and string. And it's not like she's saying, "Aloha ... 20 dollars." At least she's not selling crack, right?

The incident, however, shows what happens too often here, in big and little ways: "Aloha" is something that comes with a price, and even worse, "Aloha" is sometimes part of a ruse.

Lee Cataluna's column runs Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Reach her at 535-8172 or lcataluna@honolulu advertiser.com