Exploring a Hawaiian Legend You Can Live In

It was the sundown hour at the Halekulani on Waikiki when I first met Alice Pickett of Mission Viejo. Or, in truth, she met me.

I was in a jet-lag drift, a toe-in-the-carpet mood left over from childhood and enhanced by Hawaiian trade winds. Alice Pickett was not only awake, she was outgoing. She sailed across Lewers Lounge at the heart of the Halekulani, and extended her hand.

“You must be sailing with us on the Queen Elizabeth 2,” she said. “I’m so glad. We have a terrific group. I’ve met all sorts of people here and you’ll like them.”

Her smile was so warm that I felt rotten to have to tell her that I was flying on to Tahiti instead of boarding her ship.

I inquired about her trip.

“I love cruises. I’ll go anywhere. This time we’re crossing to California,” she said. “Our first stop is Escondido.”

She read my face and laughed. “Did I say Escondido ? I meant the Mexican port--Ensenada. Wherever. It’s a great ship and we have several days at sea and then we end up close to home. You really should change your mind and come with us.”

The pace sounded tempting. And with a stack of good books. . . .

I watched as she worked her way around the teak-and-eucalyptus room, greeting strangers in the nicest fashion, as if the Halekulani Hotel was her home and this lounge was her drawing room.

In a sense it was. Alice Pickett, in the grand style of Hawaiian travel, had been returning to the Halekulani for years.

A cottage colony in the mood of the Hamptons began erupting along this beach about the turn of the century.

In the 1930s a central plantation-style home was built. Today this two-story gathering place houses the Halekulani restaurants called Le Mer and Orchids, as well as the fabled Lewers and the seafront House Without a Key. Island blossoms abound, mostly white, purple and pale-yellow dendrobium orchids.

The Halekulani has always been a special place, a serene enclave just steps from the bustle of Kalakaua Avenue and the sands of Waikiki.

When I first called, it still was a holdout of two-story cottages with open verandas. Pacific breezes filtered through, and so did the slippery strains of Hawaiian guitars and ukuleles.

Now a third generation of travelers is checking in to check out the legend. Men and women who honeymooned at the Halekulani are returning with their children and grandchildren.

Early visitors came by sea for extended holidays, crossing from California on the ships of the Matson Line. A friend of mine offers romantic tales of that era, when children born after Waikiki holidays were often christened Lurline--for the luxury liner--or Matson.

Shades of the old Halekulani may still be found beneath courtyard palms and breadfruit and kiawe trees. But the hotel’s new high-rise wings, with their pitched and upturned roofs, are also something to write home about.

I visited friends in an ocean-view corner suite on the 14th floor.

Their view swept down to the deep-blue swimming pool, with a massive tile cattleya orchid on the bottom. Their view swept up to the crater of Diamond Head and embraced a curve of mountain and Pacific Ocean. The room was white on white, seven shades of ivory--an island within an island within an island.

On the veranda below, at 5 p.m., a trio in aloha shirts and starkly white pants began playing Hawaiian tunes. Tiki torches cast flickering shadows on the sea wall.

Women arrived wrapped in the knock-out fragrance of pikake and rosebuds. Men wore leis of orange pipe-shaped blooms called cigar flowers or rope-braided ti leaves. Talk was soft. Smiles were easy. It could have been half a century ago.

The next day, as my taxi crept toward the airport through Honolulu’s rush-hour traffic, we passed the cruise ship pier. The bold white decks of the QE2 shimmered beneath a purple sky slung with a rainbow.

I thought of Alice Pickett of Mission Viejo. I bet she has a parakeet named Lurline.